Stiles always comes in like clockwork at seven-thirty in the morning, stands in line with his face solely focused on his phone, mindlessly rubs the sleep out of his eyes every few minutes, orders a large black coffee when he gets to the counter, takes a big gulp as Derek processes the transaction, and then beams at Derek with the light of a thousand suns.
In a deeply segregated city of the very rich and the very poor, a traumatized mutant turns up in Stiles’ dark alley, and turns his world upside down. While a terrorist known as the Mutant Maker attacks and turns unsuspecting citizens, Stiles and his strange new friend must help each other stay alive and one step ahead of the Hunters who would take them down.
Stiles has a very unique superpower, in that he doesn’t exist. He’s invisible, untouchable, unhearable-is that a word?-and just not there. He feels like a ghost most of the time, although he can’t walk through walls (he tried, the wall took offense and his nose paid the price) and he can still trip over his own feet. He blends perfectly into the background and no matter how hard he tries, nobody knows he’s there.
Superman has a crush on Stiles. How does Stiles know? Well, there’s the fact that he can’t do his damn job without Superman swooping in and saving the day. And there’s the fact that he sticks around and chats him up afterward too. Stiles is a cop and knows how to read signs, so it’s not just him being full of himself.
It’s flattering, sure, but Superman is boring and Stiles has no interest in him. No, he much prefers the dorky reporter Derek Hale.
Beacon Station is an extraplanetary center of research and exploration. Human scientist and minor disaster Stiles Stilinski lives there, as does the grumpiest alien ever: Derek Hale, the titular Sergeant Spacewolf himself. After a rocky start to their acquaintance, they’ve settled into sort of a love-hate relationship, wherein Stiles pines and provokes in approximately equal measure, and Derek grudgingly tolerates.
When a mechanical failure leaves them stranded together in the vacuum of space, the impending doom of almost certain death forces the truth of their feelings to the fore. Will our heroes finally get together? Will it even matter? Will they survive the danger?
(Yes, yes, and yes. There wouldn’t be a story to tell otherwise.)
Stiles has simple goals in life. To successfully complete his secret radar project without getting fired, to get a cottage on the Moon, and to untangle his mess of feelings for Moon Station 3 deputy, Derek Hale. Heck, he’ll even settle for two of the three.
Life in Stark tower tended to run to a rhythm that would be
shockingly normal to what people may imagine. You couldn’t always be out
Avenging and trying to save the world. Jetting off to various locations with
dangerous missions ahead of you. So, at that point in time when there was
nothing to do but relax the occupants of the tower did tend to fall into a
strangely domestic routine.
At promptly 6am Steve Rogers would emerge from his rooms,
freshly showered and perfectly groomed and dressed. Smelling of old spice and
charcoal shower gel. There was no wandering around in ones’ pyjamas for Captain
America. He had an image to uphold after all and besides that there were women
in the tower that he had no desire to offend.
He would go up to the shared kitchens on the upper levels of
the tower. It was a strange decision in his view to have the bedrooms below the
kitchen but Tony insisted that he wanted to eat with the best view in New York,
hence the top-level kitchen.
Once there he would take two plain white cereal bowls out of
the cupboard nearest to the fridge and fill them with the noxiously healthy
oatmeal that was all he ate this early in the morning. He would then fill one
bowl with half milk and another with full cream taking both to the breakfast
bar and starting on the half one that was his own.
Halfway through the bowl at roughly 6:09am Bucky would
appear. Blurry eyed and surly. Bucky didn’t share Steve’s aversion to pyjama’s
and often wandered into the kitchen with his hair riotously falling over his
face wearing nothing but a soft white t-shirt and loose jogging pants.
There would be no conversation between the two of them yet,
Bucky didn’t start to become verbal for at least another 30 minutes. Steve
would simply push across the oatmeal and the two would sit, eating in silence.
Natasha would be next at around 6:30. Hair still wet from
her shower and wearing baggy lounge clothes rather than tight fitting fighting
jumpsuits. Her first stop was the coffee machine that try as they might neither
Steve nor Bucky could figure out how to work.
She’d brew strong black coffee and slide a mug over to each
of them with a small smile as she got her own coffee, chopped up some fruit and
sat beside Bucky eating and occasionally allowing him to steal half a grape or
a piece of watermelon from her bowl.
At about this time Bucky would finally become verbal once
more, brain starting to kick in so the three of them would discuss what kind of
training was on the agenda for the day, if there were any mundane errands that
needed doing. Hey the laundry didn’t do itself.
Sam and Wanda usually appeared about the same time, their
rooms were on the same level of the tower and they generally walked up to the
kitchen together. Wanda was like the younger sister Sam didn’t have and hadn’t
ever wanted but in some ways, he felt protective of the young woman.
Sam would have coffee, Wanda would not. Pulling a disgusted face
each and every time someone asked her to try it, a face that no else could
replicate no matter how many times they tried, and Clint did try. Often, embarrassingly
Sam liked some sort of toast variant, normally whole meal
and topped with a layer of butter that would give anyone heart disease just
looking at it. He’d sit next to Steve and proceed to start heckling Bucky, the
two of them arguing like children. This would continue until Natasha threatened
to stop giving Bucky fruit and only letting him have the noxious oatmeal if he
didn’t stop it and to somehow disable Redwing and throw him in the trash if Sam
Wanda liked the sugar laden cereal of small children. She’d
grown up in relative poverty in Sokovia and the sweet treat cereal was
something they had never been able to afford. Only sold in expensive American stores.
Now however with Tony footing most of the bill she was gorging herself. some
days it was lucky charms then fruit loops other times chocolate crispies. The
choices were endless and it made her smile each time she pulled one of the
colourful boxes from the cupboard. She’d take the bowl over to the table, pull
her legs up underneath her and sit there humming softly to herself. Wanda didn’t
talk much, but then when she could hear every person’s thoughts running through
her head there wasn’t much need to talk.
Tony would come in sometime around 7:30 often with dark
circles under his eyes. It was debatable if he’d even been to bed the night
before. The man may have an insufferable ego however he was incredible
dedicated to his job.
He’d empty the coffee pot declaring that the stuff that
Natasha made was as toxic as drinking engine oil, he’d then brew up some sort
of fancy Peruvian blend that had aromatic hints of dark chocolate and honey or
something equally pretentious.
Tony didn’t eat breakfast his billionaire stomach couldn’t
handle food that early in the morning but he would often sit down with the
others anyhow. Normally waving his pretentious coffee under their noses playing
up how much grander it was than their $5 buck bag of standard beans.
Tony would also normally be the one to consult with Steve
about what training was top priority right now, if mission briefings still
needed to be consulted and whether the team needed new equipment.
That of course left Clint ‘Hawkeye’ Barton. The wildcard of
this little domestic set up everyone had going on. Clint had successfully
managed to sleep through every single alarm clock the team had gotten him. They’d
tried loud blaring ones, it hadn’t worked. They’d tried vibrate the bed ones,
it hadn’t worked. They’d tried having FRIDAY blast out cheesy one-shot wonder
pop hits and that still hadn’t worked. The man could have literally slept
through a nuclear explosion.
So, they all tended to take it in reluctant turns to fill a
jug of ice cold water and go throw it over the comatose Barton.
Clint luckily took all this in good humour. He knew he was
awful and was happy to get a quick dump of cold water and at least be in time
By 8am the team had usually all finished eating, whoever had
been elected to be chief dish washer for that day was ensconced by the sink and
the others filtered out of the kitchen to go about their own days.
It was slice of normal for the team of Avengers, that few
hours in the morning when nothing was more important than just grabbing
breakfast and being with each other.
Just a simple morning ritual that somehow had become a
routine for each of them.
Heyo, my potatoes!
And a happy new year! I’m so very sorry for not posting anything in the last days, but here we are! :D And because I didn’t do a christmas themed fanfiction (as you can find lots and lots of them on tumblr) I’ll do a belated New Year’s fanfiction. :D I hope you enjoy! ♥
Lyrics used in this imagine: MAX - Basement party (Amazing song! Amazing singer! Check him out :D [x] )
Summary - Tony’s throwing one of his famous and very flamboyant parties on the top floor of the (new) Avengers tower as it has a big balcony for all the guests to gather and watch the fireworks - because it’s silvester and the next year is going to begin soon. But before this eventful years ends, Bucky desperately has to tell you something.
Words - 1,763
Warning - pure FLUFF ♥
“I’m so excited! This is by far the best view over New York.”
Wanda’s eyes twinkle in the party lights with pure excitement and a bright smile plastered on her face. And it even grows bigger the moment a song Natasha, Wanda and you know.
“We have to dance!”
In seconds we’re on the dancefloor, our already emptied glasses left for good as we’re standing in a circle, dancing, while singing in unison with the lines.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said in a nauseated voice, “I feel perfectly fine.”
“No, you’re sick as a dog and I can’t let you go out like this.” Steve only used his stern voice when he was trying to be serious. The two of you had only been officially dating a for a few months, but Steve picked up the overprotective boyfriend role pretty damn quick.