#nsfk

Tony spent his birthday doing roleplay with Steve, and he enjoyed it very much😍💕

1: by @mixed_blessing (x), 2: by @anubis0055 (x), 3: by @kelsk-art (x)

My first contribution to the 2025 @cap-ironman RBB! For which I got this extraordinary and amazing fic by @mobiusonajetski!! Bonus (kind of spoilery) doodle under the cut.

Still new to the 21st century—and to the unexpected quirks of his own maturing, serum-enhanced physiology—Steve Rogers is the last surviving member of the bygone Project Rebirth still young enough to experience the acute hormonal fluctuations that younger supersoldiers had once been prone to as they'd adjusted to their new bodies. Unfortunately, the SHIELD doctor who used to treat these soldiers for their unique symptoms back in the 40s isn't around anymore. Lucky for Steve, there is one man alive today who's qualified to provide the special kind of relief he's needing.

Doctor-Patient Privileges by @fohatic, now on Ao3 (find the uncensored art there, too!)

~

He's seven and Obie takes his hand at the funeral. The fresh dirt on his parents' graves is wet from the rain, already packing down from the weight of the tears spilled on them.

Tony hasn't cried though.

It hasn't felt real. Last week, his parents were dancing around the kitchen, so in love that it hurt because there were so few happy memories he has of them. He feels like someone else must be buried here, like he'll turn around and they'll be standing there, his father holding the umbrella over both their heads.

But they aren't. He's alone. Even Ana and Jarvis are gone, flown back to England almost as soon as the policeman knocked on the door with the news. They didn't even say goodbye.

"Tony, Tony, Tony," Obie sighs. His large hand engulfs Tony's, reminding him that he isn't alone, not while he has Uncle Obie with him still. "Don't you worry. We'll strike back at the bastards who did this."

He doesn't understand the words--his parents died in a car crash, didn't they? It was no one's fault.

But he does understand the promise in Obie's words when he says, "I protect the Family."

~

He's nine and sitting on Obie's lap as Obie goes over the books with him. This is something Obie started doing after his birthday, teaching him the ropes of the business. Tony's eyes have been opened these last six months, watching bribes be passed over and deals go down and torture sessions in the basement. Out of everything else, keeping the accountants straight is probably the most benign, the most honest, thing they've done.

"Tony, my boy," Obie sighs, leaning back in his chair. "Stand up for a second. Right here at my side."

For all that it's genial, it's still an order. Tony stands.

"You see what's wrong with these lines here?" Obie asks him.

Tony nods. "They don't add up." He'd actually noticed them an hour ago, but Obie doesn't like it when he's too smart. He says that he's protecting Tony from people who'd want to use him, but sometimes, Tony wonders if Obie, like Howard, just hadn't liked it when Tony was smarter than him.

"That's right. But don't worry," Obie says. He reaches inside his desk drawer, pulls out his preferred Sig Sauer, and sets it on the mahogany grain. "We protect the Family, don't we?"

~

He's thirteen and Obie has just sold him for the first time. Tony can barely look at the mayor for fear that his disgust will shine through. The mayor is supposed to be good. He's supposed to do the right thing. He isn't supposed to look at Tony with so much want that it makes his stomach twist.

Obie sees it though, and he smiles when he says, "Can you give us a moment? I need to send him over to the girls, get them to pretty him up." But when Tony looks up at him, wordlessly pleading for anything but this, his eyes are cold.

The moment the door snicks shut, Obie grabs his chin, fingers digging in painfully.

"You listen here, boy," he hisses, grip so tight that Tony wonders if there will be bruises later. For the first time, he thinks that he might actually hate his Uncle Obie. "You will do this. And do you know why? You're protecting the Family, you got that?"

It's not an option. Tony nods mutely.

~

He's nineteen and he's spent three months with the Ten Rings. Three horrible, torturous months where he spent every moment wondering if this would be the moment he died. Three months that only needed to be a week if Obie had paid the ransom when it was sent to him.

Obie never did pay it. He didn't even rescue Tony. The Captain's mob found him when they were rescuing one of their own. He's been jealous of the loyalty other Families have, but never like this.

"You understand, don't you?" Obie asks him.

Tony stands across the desk from him and wonders when it started to look so small. He remembers the first time he saw Obie kill someone when he was nine. He'd had to practically stand on his toes to see over it. Now, he links his hands behind his back and thinks that it just looks like Obie's overcompensating for something--and more than that, it isn't even doing a good job of it.

"I had to protect the Family," Obie says.

Tony wonders when he stopped being part of the Family.

~

He's twenty-two and Steve tugs on his hand when Tony starts to get out of his bed.

"You don't have to," Steve murmurs. "You could stay here with us."

He's been a "guest" of Steve's organization for the last month. It's been, possibly, the best month of his life. He'd never known that anyone could love him like that, that anyone would love him like that, and he never would have known it if the Widow hadn't kidnapped him off the street while the Hawk delivered a ransom note through Obie's bedroom window.

"You know I can't," Tony says regretfully. He'd known it as soon as the ransom had come delivered by young Peter Parker, practically trembling with fear at just the thought of what Obie would do if he came home without the golden goose.

"What do you even do for him? He sure as hell isn't using that brain of yours."

Tony rolls his eyes, taking no offense at Steve's comment (it certainly isn't like he enjoys serving the Family on his back) and digs his shirt out from under the bed. "Don't you know?" he tosses over his shoulder. "I protect the Family."

~

He's twenty-five and Obie is trying to bluff his way out of a bullet.

"I see they don't make loyalty like they used to," Obie blusters, trying to pretend that he isn't sweating.

"I guess not," Tony says evenly, the gun never wavering in his hand. He idly wonders if Obie is regretting personally teaching him how to shoot.

"You'll never make it out of the building."

"Maybe. Maybe not," he allows. He knows that he will, though. Steve's people--his people--have the place surrounded. "But even if I don't, you sure as hell aren't either. This empire belongs to me, Obie, and I'm taking it back."

"You can't," Obie tries desperately, wiping his brow. "Tony, Tony, Tony. Don't you remember? The first lesson I ever taught you--you protect the Family."

Tony hums, thinking about Rhodey's raucous laughter when they built DUM-E and Bucky geeking out over bad sci-fi films with him and Natasha braiding his hair in the early hours of the morning and Steve kissing him like he's made of spun glass.

He smiles viciously and fires.