It’s @hello-shellhead‘s birthday today and I just wanted to wish her a very wonderful and fantastic one! She’s always gracing us with her brilliant art and she’s so talented as well as a kind and beautiful person. So I just wrote a little something and I really hope that you like it, Gina!
Because you can never have too much for Tony baking and failing at baking.
“I’m in need of assistance.”
Steve furrowed his eyebrows in slight
confusion but didn’t object as he leaped up from the couch and made his way
towards the kitchen. It was only when he heard a loud crash that he found
himself sprinting with panic settling over his chest.
“Tony!” He shouted worriedly as he skidded
to a stop in front of the kitchen door. “Tony, are you okay? Are you-?” His
words were cut short when he caught sight of the mess that the kitchen was in.
Steve couldn’t believe his eyes as they took in the flour and egg covered
surfaces as well as floors, a variety of mixing bowls which each had a
different colour and three cake tins with burnt cake resting inside of them.
In the middle of all this mess was Tony who
was glaring down at the three burnt cakes before raising his hands to his head
and rubbing his temples with his index fingers.
“I just try so hard and I can’t even make a
cake.” He grumbled heatedly before looking up at Steve and his eyes widened
when he saw Steve struggling to keep in his laughter. “Oh no, don’t you dare.”
Tony warned him, eyes now narrowed though it looked more adorable than
Maybe it was because the flour that
decorated his cheeks and nose.
“Don’t I dare what?” Steve replied
seriously but it didn’t work as his voice wobbled slightly with amusement. “I
wasn’t doing anything.”
“You were going to laugh.” Tony told him,
expression blank. “You were going to laugh at my misfortune like the evil
monster you are.”
Steve snorted in amusement as he took a
chance and wandered further into the kitchen, flinching as he stepped on an egg
shell. He looked down at the tiny white pieces before gesturing down at them
and back at Tony.
“Are you serious?”
“What? So I got a bit excited on my first
“Uh huh.” Steve said, totally convinced as
he got close to Tony and wiped the small bit of flour that rested on his
forehead. “You know, Natasha would love the cake even if it was ordered from an
Tony huffed but didn’t say anything as
Steve gently brushed off flour from his hair and even his goatee.
“I just wanted to do something special for
her.” He admitted with a small pout even as he leaned into Steve’s hands a
little when they reached his cheeks.
“I know but she’ll appreciate it because it’s
from you.” Steve said truthfully before grinning. “Trust me, I’m always right.”
It was Tony’s turn to give a snort of
amusement as he gazed up at him with playful eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of
ourselves.” He laughed before nodding as he glanced around the kitchen. “Alright,
we’ll order her a cake from Peggy’s tomorrow.”
“There we go.” Steve murmured before
leaning in and pressing a soft kiss against Tony’s nose, pleased with the cute
crinkle that Tony always did. “So you called me because you need assistance?”
“Well, I was going to ask if you could help
me bake another batch.” Tony explained before reaching over for one of the many
empty flour packets. “But that’s impossible now because I…used all the flour.”
“Most of it did go to the floor and on you.”
“Hey, you can’t say that I didn’t try.”
Steve rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help
but gaze fondly at a grinning and messy Tony.
“Yeah, you did.” He replied before leaning
down to peck his lips. “But I’m not helping you this mess clean up.”
who have both been tremendous additions to the fandom and made a lot of people very happy this year, but have also both been very kind and very wonderful and very encouraging towards me and my baby steps in writing.
Thank you for being who you are. I hope you have wonderful and relaxing days with your loved ones and that the coming year shows you both the quiet and the boastful sorts of kindness. <3
This is for you (and the tiny but beloved SteveTonyBucky fandom). I hope you enjoy it.
the past, when
tended to keep a lot of pillows on his bed, as well as at least two
would snuggle down under the blankets, bury his face on, in and under
the first pillow-mountain and drape the rest of his body over the
second. One arm and leg would be far flung, the other curling around
the soft heaps around him.
learned to take up space. Had
trust himself in the space his queen-sized bed provided. And if he
had to commandeer the space alone, well… it was warm and soft and
comfortable with or without companions.
it’s different. Their
bed is custom made, because king size isn’t
enough anymore when you
into the really athletic possibilities of threesome sex. Also, he
rarely sleeps alone.
few times he goes to bed and wakes up alone in their bed, he is
usually a picture perfect star fish. He thinks he’s looking for them,
even in sleep.
find their way back to bed after a few nights,
mostly a good stretch.
he is out of town on business he takes queen-sized beds again. He
will don one of the several Alpha-scented shirts in his luggage, and
put at least one more on his head pillow (because he always -packs
steals a shirt each, and they always sneak at least one more marked
article of clothing into his suitcases). He sleeps okay on those
nights, but he never feels as rested as when he sleeps at
When the bed is Steve’s alone for
the taking, he doesn’t. His physiology allows him to function on
minimal amounts of sleep, so he avoids the action as much as he can.
Most times he is successful, and has at least one of his spouses back
with him before he has to crash.
times he stretches out on the couch, puts on something on the TV and
hugs a pillow to distract himself from how empty his arms are. He
passes out for a few hours then, but it’s never more than his body
needs to keep up bare functioning.
gets yelled at for this behavior by nearly everyone, but
he doesn’t see the point of making the effort. The fact that it makes
both Bucky and Tony reluctant to leave him all alone validates his
strategies to him, anyway.
things got…. better, Bucky slept sitting down in corners, with his
back to both walls, his arms wrapped around his knees and his head on
top of them. It made him as small a target as possible during the few
hours he really needed to let go of his awareness. Two, three hours
in regular intervals were what got him through. When he needed to let
his body rest, he could lie himself down while conscious.
he likes sleeping alone as little as Steve does. But he tries to not
let the punk get away with his bullheadedness, so he does his best to
set a good example. Mostly, he tries to fool
his subconscious by taking up his customary spot on the far side of
the bed, back to the wall and attempting the pillow trick Tony has
told him about: amass enough pillows to mimic a human body, put
scent marked articles of clothing on them and hug as necessary.
works, though not well. He sleeps, but nearly always feels cold and
unsettled in the morning.
In later years he will figure
out – during a longer patch of sleepless nights, observing his
peacefully next to him – that his oversensitive nose picks up on
the minuscule changes in scent that sleep cycles bring with them
and there simply is no imitation for that.
Sleeping in Two’s
everything Steve and Bucky simply conked out next to, on top of or
in the vicinity of each other. There were no armed militias to watch
out for yet, no bullets to dodge.
If Steve was sick, Bucky would
sit next to him for a while to keep the boredom at bay, and sometimes
they would fall asleep like that, waking up lying next to each other
and huddling for warmth.
When Steve got stronger,
healthier, taller, they were too busy taking life by the proverbial
horns to think much about sleeping arrangements beyond ‘next
horizontal surface’. Sometimes there were bed partners of Bucky’s
to arrange around, but the more they fussed about the addition of
Steve to the sleeping parts of the night, the sooner they were
usually set aside. Looking back on it, Bucky thinks it wasn’t exactly
fair of him, but he had been too young and too
to figure out what it really said about them, about what he had with
Steve. Also, none of his
had been serious enough for anyone to fuss about it.
and ice and amputations
there is a
phenomenally long while of lying next to each other with eyes open.
Bucky wouldn’t sleep with another person in the vicinity, and Steve
couldn’t until he knew Bucky got some actual rest. They both caught
the necessary hours while away from each other.
Steve passed out on the couch one day after the first few months.
Watching the usually straight backed and tense Alpha, with his
massive shoulders and the undeniable force he commanded, snoring
lightly in the morning light, looking oddly young and
with the dark circles under his eyes and the sallow color of his
skin, had uncoiled something in Bucky. When he woke a few weeks later
in his habitual corner position, to Steve’s scent still lingering in
the room, he knew that something had changed. Steve had, for however
short an amount of time, watched him sleep, and Bucky hadn’t woken.
Whatever had made Bucky survive the caves and the pits and the
experiments – it had gone dormant enough that Bucky could accept
Steve as someone safe.
It took weeks and months after
that, but slowly Bucky became used to sleeping
in a horizontal position again. And he became used to sleeping next
to Steve. In turn, Steve began to sleep at all.
wasn’t until the VA and Yinsen and Tony, that things got good enough
that Bucky could sleep while touching any part of Steve. Gradually,
they got used to each other’s bodies, to being held at night. It was
usually a toss up, whether Bucky would roll away to sleep alone on
his side, or whether they would stay ever more tangled up in each
other. Sometimes it was just too overwhelming for him, having an
Alpha’s scent so prevalent when he was going to be so vulnerable.
Sometimes he could feel Steve being uncomfortable with the closeness,
but too stubborn to admit it to himself. And God knows, it’s
always been Bucky’s lot
to mitigate Steve’s stubbornness and save the man from himself. So he
would move away and they would try again the next night.
the present day it’s all different. It’s more like it was before.
the day they will conk out on and next to each other as their bodies
or moods demand. Relaxed and trusting and utterly sure that they are
safe with the other, that their flanks are covered and their backs
are watched. Steve mentions
Bucky had even begun to snore.This
of course, nothing
But the idea of it appeals
to Bucky anyway
being so normal, so civilian that snoring was not a death sentence.
night, during those intermittent stretches of time when Tony has to
leave town for the company, it’s the most farcical production
imaginable. They will spout big words of being alright, of being
adults, of being psychologically sound and resilient and not bothered
by a few nights apart, and as they are saying it Steve knows, and
Bucky knows, and Tony a couple hundred miles away knows that it’s all
will postpone going to bed for as long as possible: they’ll
director’s cuts or classics that last a minimum
four hours or
out new recipes that take five (Tony learns to gauge the severity of
his absence by the fanciness of the welcome home meal he
for late night runs or workouts or sparring sessions. Just
that will tire them out and make them fall
faster. It never works on the first night, and any sleep attempt
usually leads to frustrated and very rough
sex. The following nights are more manageable, and Tony is usually
back before a full week passes.
When he isn’t, sleeping
into a competition of care-taking between Steve and Bucky. Hot baths,
foot rubs, massages with relaxing oils, they try different things.
All of them underlaid with the desperate message of 'you are not
alone, you haven’t been abandoned, I will take care of you until our
omega is back – please don’t leave me too’. Everyone is aware that
it’s not an ideal or healthy constellation between the three of them,
but it’s the best they can manage.
Over the years, they even
improve slightly: when Pepper and Tony go on a three week trip to
Europe to get through a negotiation marathon, they cope. They sleep
between three and four hours on average, they eat though the
to a slight weight loss, but
collateral damages to people and buildings are kept at a minimum. The
second honeymoon over Christmas
feels like a reward that’s hard-earned.
it’s Tony home alone with one of them, it’s not so much a question of
quantity, but of the quality of sleep they get.
to Alphas Home
the first night is usually celibate. Both Steve and Bucky feel too
restless without the additional protection of another alpha to relax.
Plus, whether they admit it or not, there is some guilt in
sharing Tony. One way or another, sex on those first nights is always
somewhat lacking in the afterglow. After
a while Tony learns to simply not instigate it.
are second or third nights of twosomeness, it turns into the sort of
omega-spoil fests everyone they know accuses them of: handfeeding
of assorted delicacies and favorite foods, excessive
interest in the latest company or workshop project, impromptu gifts,
and a sort of hyperfocus on
every physical or
sexual need Tony
might possess. Always topped off by vast amounts of prowling.
Anything that will re-assert
the present Alpha as a fit and capable mate.
once remarks that it makes him understand what life must have been
like for the omega queens of old. This
makes Steve unfathomably smug
Bucky takes it as the starting point of
a new research project. (Years later he will stumble upon the
translation of a diary by
some obscure courtier that turns out to be a
mine for male omega pampering. Tony gets so completely blissed out in
the following weeks that it’s absolutely worth the way
Pepper lays into them for turning
the head of her R&D department into a quivering mess shortly
before a deadline.)
the actual sleeping arrangements are mostly determined by defensive
strategy. Bucky brings the shield to bed (which Steve in police
custody somewhere neither needs nor deserves after pulling another
goddamn stunt, the punk), pulls Tony close and covers him under it
while keeping a watchful eye on the door. In most cases he keeps
watch the entire night and then naps throughout the day.
has a slightly harder time of it. He crowds Tony into Bucky’s spot on
the far side of the bed next to the wall and then does his best to
curl around him and
become a human
how relaxed he is at the beginning or how soundly Tony sleeps,
Steve’s adrenaline level always rises during the night. Depending on
how long Bucky is away the scent of overprotective and aggressive
alpha eventually permeates through their
entry way and onto the outside
Their neighbors begin to tiptoe or rush past their door
when that happens.
learns to take it all in stride and does his best to distract the
available spouse by being his manic, magnetic and impossible self
cranked up to eleven. It has the added benefit of exhausting himself
the emptiness on
his other side more bearable.
lets at least one of his thousand and one issues float past his
brain-to-mouth filter. If Steve and Bucky catch it (and they get
at that over the years), they pounce on it as a personal mission.
This has the all around benefit of being a thorough and guilt-free
distraction for the alpha in question and feeds
eventual reassurance for Tony,
that YES he can be as issue ridden and weird as he wants or needs to
There’s no way anything gets rid of those two Brooklyn Behemoths.
The standard night has a tried and true
sleeping arrangement. Bucky always gets the far side of their bed, as
far away from the window and the door as possible, with a wall to his
back. Tony is naturally deposited in the middle, cocooned off from
any boogeymen any of their subconsciousness’ might dream up and
usually giving off so many happy / content / resting omega
pheromones that even such anxieties and suspicions as are developed
by a war gradually recede, making room for relaxation and eventual
sleep. Steve naturally takes the outer position, leaving him both as
the first line of defense in an emergency that will never actually happen and
in a position to watch over his spouse and his mate. To watch their
muscles loosen from the strain of the day, to see their breaths slow
and deepen and to simply observe them sleeping, both safe and warm.
There are numerous nights where he forgoes –
forgets really – falling asleep himself, too entranced by the sight
they make, too addicted to the knowledge that they are his.
That Bucky made it through to the other side of that war, that Steve
had somehow been able to get him back from that abyss, that Bucky is
well-fed and muscular and humorous again, more than ready to cuss
Steve out and call him an ass when is behaving like one. And Tony.
From the beginning to the present day there are innumerable moments
where Steve’s thoughts turn reverent over the fact that there is an
omega there with them. Deigning to be held, willing to be touched and
kissed and claimed. Letting them love him, and loving them back.
And not just any omega – as blasphemous as
the thought feels – but the best one, the perfect one. An
omega so compelling, so indomitable, so incandescent that he
seems to undo and overturn and reconquer everything the war has taken
from them: giving Bucky back the arm he lost by replacing it with one
he made with his own hands, coaxing and prodding and tempting him
back to being the man he was before monsters tried to take his
humanity away from him. And loving him. Loving Bucky in the way Steve
couldn’t, in a way that let him grow and let him rest and let him
defeat the shadows behind his eyes. Steve could have worshiped him to
his dying day for what he had done for Bucky alone, could have done
But somehow, most implausible miracle of all,
he had decided to give Steve a chance as well. A chance to
earn an omega’s regard, a chance to finally provide something other
than violence or destruction. A chance to live for something, after
so many years of worrying about dying for something worthwhile. And,
still so unfathomably, he hadn’t made it an either-or. Hadn’t asked
for either Steve or Bucky – a competition Steve would have so
plainly lost – but both of them. Had made it prerequisite in fact.
And suddenly Steve had found himself with everything he had ever wanted, had ever
hungered for and never dared to dream of.
And all of it wrapped up in Tony.
Tony with his quicksilver
mind and roguish humor and so much kindness hidden behind his
nonchalant attitude. Tony with his doe-like eyes, who can enthrall
Steve with a look and a smile to the point that he loses all sense of
self; whose gaze had been so vulnerable and defenseless at one point
that Steve had felt an
irrevocable purpose bloom
inside him, filling
up all the cracks that life had hewed into his
sense of self. Tony, who had
not only accepted Steve’s overwhelming protectiveness, but was prospering under it.
Despite the fury that ices down Steve’s spine and
freezes every gentle impulse he has whenever he thinks of all the ways
Tony had been hurt to make him relish the obsessive attentions of two
possessive war alphas, he is sometimes shamefully glad of it. Glad
that it had worked out this way. Even when he knows he shouldn’t be. Even when he
should wish for all of them to have met earlier, as healthier and
saner people. But even if he shouldn’t, he can’t help but revel in
the knowledge that Tony will come to him for protection, that
it will be Steve drying his tears and kissing his wounds,
that it will be him delivering retribution.
And that it would be the
kind of retribution no one else could dream up or hope to withstand.
Not when he can unleash not only his own ugliness on them, but also
Bucky’s. The thought elicits a perverse sort of pleasure, making him
feel both elated and nauseous. He never feels more repulsed by his
alpha instincts, but he also knows he wouldn’t trade.
Steve has never seen himself as a truly good
man. Whatever noble qualities others perceive in his character, his
base motivations have always been as selfish as the next man’s. He has accepted
that years ago.
But lying next to the two most important people in
his life and observing them sleep peacefully, he feels like he has a
chance at becoming a better man. And itis always this blessed
feeling that eventually lets him fall asleep.
A/N: This is a drabble and a writing exercise for a larger non-dark (!) abo and non-powered AU that’s been spooking around in my head since the trailer for ca:cw came out and is an attempt at an antidote for the emotional mess that movie is.
The drabble itself should not be confusing, despite making allusions to the hypothetical plot of that story. At least I hope so. If it is, please let me know.
Tony stares out the window, into the street watching the bustling city thrum and thrive around him. Rain is pouring from the heavy black clouds above, beating out a steady staccato rhythm on the asphalt. Fall leaves whip harshly in the wind, the driving force of the rain.
Tony can feel his heartbeat in time with rain and the storm brewing in the clouds. He twirls his fingers absently above the molten liquid in his cup, the spoon moving in sync with his fingers.
He watches the street intently as the tempo his heart is dancing to increases. He can feel the magic crackle and hum distractingly, reaching out for the pulse of energy filling the air.
Love magic. Natural love magic. So intense it’s waking the steadily grounded energy lying in wait beneath his skin. He feels the spark gathering from blocks away and he is alert to the alluring charge. He has always been sensitive to all types of magic, as is a Witch’s nature, but never has he felt it awaken him like this before.
The tattoos that litter his body begin to shift and dance restlessly across his skin. The silvery blue snake weaving a hectic pattern between his knuckles. The dark thunder clouds perched on either shoulder blade rumbling threateningly, promising lightning and rain. Even his dragon who is generally fairly docile and content to lay dormant rustles its wings and lifts its head in anticipation.
The pressure in the air grows heavy as the source of the energy grows closer. Tony snaps his head to the bar where Angel Wings (a handsome entrancing dark skinned man with the warmest laughter and the most beautiful pair of enchanted white metallic wings) sits chatting with Clint enjoying his breakfast of bagel and orange juice. Tony’s eyes trail over the tight curls at the base of the man’s intriguing neckline and down the slope of his muscular back. Red shirt fitted nicely against his lean frame and down to the tight fit of dark blue denims that cup the swell of an ample ass perched on the bar stool.
But it’s the literal sparks a deep golden amber color that Tony is watching avidly dance along the oblivious man’s delicately beautiful hands, up his well sculpted arms and across his wings which flutter under his gaze.
Oblivious to what only Witches can sense; the wild magics of the world. The pressure increases as the other source advances on The Widow Maker’s Cafe & Coffee House.
The Widow Maker herself (the house’s owner commonly called Natasha and Tony’s dear Witch-Sister and friend) watches Wings too, then gives Tony an eerie smile.
Tony’s fingers drum out a nervous tempo at the look. He doesn’t notice the own arc-reactor blue sparks dancing across his skin, singing to his tattoo beings. He’s to wrapped up in the pressure sizzling in the air and the energy calling to him.
He can feel the way the souls bound in fate’s magic surge towards each other. The scent and pure power intoxicating to his senses. Tony hates that he can sense it, hates the way it rubs against him like a satisfied panther after a tasty meal. Hates how delicious love magic tastes against the pallet of his tongue and finger tips. The way he can feel it in his bones.
This particular bloom of electricity tastes like the finest brandy poured over the silkiest velvet coffee ice cream; a cool burn melting sinfully against his tongue. It’s never been this intense before.
The metal earrings lining his ears begin to tingle with the need to release the pent up energy now coursing through his veins. The multitude of intricate metal rings tighten and twist where they rest on his fingers. The metal bracelets gently rattle and his necklaces twist and constrict at his throat and over his reactor. The runes on his skin flare to life like burning embers, glowing a deep amber-red. His magic furls and bucks against the grounding implements that keep it from its freedom.
Tony’s adorable bat bots tucked into the lines of his jackets twitch awake, jerking and fluttering their mechanical wings at the commotion.
Tony’s outward appearance is calm and still, only the Widow Maker can see the building tension. She smiles into her work enjoying the show, she hasn’t seen Tony this wild since Maria passed away. For once the view is tinted with joy.
The door to the coffee shop bursts open with a gust of wind, the glass rattling as the wooden frame slams into the wall. The enchanted metal widows spider above the door scurries up its chain web startled at the commotion.
The tension thickens when in walks the source of the voltaic atmosphere. The wind whips around the man, looming like Van Helsing. Brown silky hair tied up in a bun with loose strands framing the most ethereal steel-blue eyes and teasing a rosy plump mouth. Cheeks flushed from the cold, white soaked shirt where the rain slanted beneath the umbrella in the handsome man’s metal fist, soft fabric clinging tightly to chiseled muscle. Draped in a long leather jacket and fitted into the most edible pair of blue jeans, combat boots shuffling awkwardly as a sultry smile ticks up at the corner of a well stubbled jaw.
Tony’s heart is pounding now in his chest, but it isn’t just the vision before him that has him so unsteady. It’s the silvery red sparks jumping along Van Heartthrob’s wicked biceps, skipping and stuttering over his pectorals and dancing around the tempting clavicles peaking from underneath the indecent white v-neck.
Tony tenses and waits for the romcom moment to occur. For the two souls to crash together and for the love story to complete its stirring cycle. But the two men don’t even glance at each other, even when the door bangs shut with another gust of howling wind.
Tony knows that no one but he and the Widow know what is about to transpire.
Sensitive Witches were a rarity even this day and age. But that’s what had bonded he and the widow to begin with. She’s watching just as entranced is he is, as the charge in the air furls and grows.
Tony waits with baited breath as the tension in the room steadily builds.
But nothing happens, they don’t touch or even brush as Van Heartthrob walks passed Wings’ space at the counter. Their gazes don’t meet as Heartthrob greets Natasha jovially. They don’t even glance at each other even when Van Heartthrob waves to Clint as he prepares to leave.
Tony’s magic is restless, the flowers twined about his clavicle and upper bicep begin to wiggle, then suddenly burst into full bloom and Tony’s breath catches in his chest. Nothing has ever made Persephone (the rose bush planted on his left side roots and vines tangling up his ribs) bloom before. The energy is too much for him, he presses his finger to his shoulder and plucks the struggling rose, stem and all, from his skin.
The sensation is soothing as the soft petals and sharp thorns scrape against his flesh as he pulls the living tattoo from his body and into the tangible world. The rose bush replenishes the flower immediately growing another blossom, but Tony doesn’t notice.
He’s twirling the flower between his fingers as he studies intently the movements of the increasing sparks jitter between them as Van Heartthrob walks by Angel Wings again on the way out the door. That’s when the unthinkable happens.
The thunderclouds (Zeus & Hades) clap and rumble as rain water begins to pour steadily down Tony’s spine and pool in his lower back, his arc reactor flares with a burst of light and his magic shoots from his fingertips of its own accord and trips Van Heartthrob straight into Angel Wings arms before he can move passed him.
Tony watches stunned and bewildered as their magic and his magic swirl together growing wilder, before he comes back to himself and sucks his magic back in close to his body mortified by its reaction. He’s never lost control before.
He watches confused as their magics muddy and clash against each other and then is torn from his daze by loud yelling. Wait, yelling?!
He stares horrified as Wings gets into Heartthrob’s face, but not for the passionate kiss that’s supposed transpire when love magic ensnares, but to snarl angry words about hot coffee and idiots who can’t watch where they’re going.
Van Heartthrob snarls back and pushes the man in front of him roughly with a “Fuck you man, it was accident, maybe you shouldn’t have had your chair so far out in the path way.”
Their energies are getting tighter and angrier and Tony has know idea how it’s gone so wrong when moments before the feeling was so melt in your mouth sweet. Now it’s a raging inferno.
He’s matched tons of love magic personally and seen millions more happen naturally but never this wrong or explosive.
Everyone’s paying attention to the angry combative Warlocks now and the shop is tense waiting for it to come to blows. Tony’s magic bursts out from his grounds again and surges forward to soothe the bristling lighting bolts into softer shock waves.
Wings steps back sneer in place, grabs the jacket on the bar stool next to him, throws money on the counter for his breakfast and says “Whatever man, I am out. See you later Clint.” Then he storms from the building wings twitching and fluttering all the way.
Heartthrob relaxes minimally, rubs his hand over his face and asks the Widow Maker if he can get a redo on his order, and then bends over to clean up the spill. She agrees shortly, but Tony’s startled to find her eyes not looking at Heartthrob at all but staring at him intently.
She grins viciously and then turns to serve her customer. Tony fiddles with the rose in his hands and then looks down at the coffee on his table, probably cold, and the way the spoon is stirring a whirlpool that’s splashing up the sides of the cup. He startles, yelps and stops the unruly magic abruptly, then looks up at the gaze he can feel burning into him.
Van Heartthrob is staring at him eyes looking stunned and curious replenished coffee order now in hand. Tony feels his face heating and then he sees his magic bright blue magic soothing the edges of the silver red surrounding the man. He sucks in a sharp breath and pulls hard until snaps back underneath his skin, like a scolded child.
Heartthrob’s eyes are glued to him even as he’s leaving and then a gentle smile creeps up his face and Tony can’t look away. Again without permission Tony’s magic reacts to the attention and the rose he’d been twirling, blinks out of his hand and straight into the open petal palm of Van Heartthrob who was just starting to walk passed the window of his booth.
The man startles looks at Tony through the window with wide gleaming eyes and winks as he smells the rose cheekily and continues on his way.
Tony goggles down at his hands in betrayal, “What the actual fuck?”
The forget-me-nots behind his ear giggle. He sighs into his palms and feels his magic finally settle underneath his skin, the grounding finally working. Natasha brings over a refill for his coffee, steaming hot,and grins at him.
“That was a train-wreck,” he mutters as he looks at her through one slitted eye, not wanting to move his head from where its pillowed comfortably on his arms.
“It might not have been if you hadn’t pulled away.”
Tony frowns her “And what? Interfere with most epic love story of all time? It was my fault it went wrong in the first place.” He mumbles into his arms. "If my magic hadn’t jumped out and ruined everything, they’d have been making out right now!“
Natasha narrows her eyes at him and stares at him like he’s stupid. Which isn’t as a common occurrence as you might think so it unnerves him a little. That look is usually reserved for Clint.
"You don’t see it do you?” She says slowly as if talking a particularly dim witted toad stool.
“See what? What is there to see? Unless you are talking about my magic betraying me, ruining some unsuspecting soon to be couple’s day and giving flowers to unfairly smoking hot strangers, then no I have no fucking cool what you could be talking about,” he snaps frustrated.
He was a way better match maker than this usually and most of the time he didn’t even have to try. So how had he ruined a natural meeting so thoroughly? He’d gotten Thor & Steve together and Rhodey & T'Challa, hell he’d even had a hand in Clint, Tasha’s and Phil’s matching. How could this have gone so wrong.
She continues to stare at him incredulously. Then she seems to come to some sort of decision and smiles that eerie smile at him again.
“Well if you are so certain it was you who ruined their moment, then shouldn’t you try to fix it?” The question sounds too innocent for his comfort. Natasha doesn’t do innocent.
“What are you up to, Widow-witchling?”
“Nothing Merchant-darling, just helping you find a way to ease that guilt I see brewing in your eyes.” She smiles again and walks back to help Jan tend to incoming customers.
“I don’t trust you,” he calls loud enough for her to hear, but not enough to draw attention to himself. The toaster (Brave) under his right armpit wiggles, like it always does when he finds the urge to run to Rhodey for help and comfort.
“You shouldn’t” she says with a decidedly wicked laugh.
He rolls his eyes fondly, downs the hot coffee in one scorching go and gathers up his Stark Spell Crystal Tablet, leaving enough money to cover his tab and a sizable tip and rushes out the door.
He needs his Honey-bear, to protect him from her evil ways or at least help plan how to fix Van Heartthrob and Angels Wings’ horrible first meeting. Natasha is right about one thing, he has to fix this. Somehow he is going to fix this.
The Widow Maker watches gleefully as the Merchant of Death strides passed her cafe in all his glory. The bushes that line the windows in front of her cafe, bloom and burst into color as he walks passed, magic dancing along his arms and fingers searching for the answering sparks it had blended with earlier. She smiles as texts Rhodey a heads up.
No, she hadn’t seen Tony that wild in a long, long while.
hadn’t thought this all the way through.
on his heels, looking down at the shoes he was currently wearing, and
contemplated just burning them.
thought they were cute, especially with the little wings at the side, but Clint
was right. They were obviously still fashioned after Steve’s design and there
was no way to know how Bucky would react to his boyfriend wearing someone
But he was
in this mess now and Bucky was already waiting for him after all so Tony made
his way over to the living room.
came into sight, Bucky’s face lit up and Tony blushed a bit. Bucky always
looked good, but especially so when he was smiling like that at Tony. It also
helped that he was wearing Tony’s favourite red henley.
up?” Bucky asked when Tony didn’t immediately come closer.
“So, I can explain,” Tony started and Bucky’s
face took on that fond exasperated expression he always wore when Tony came to
tell him something exploded yet again.
happened?” Bucky asked with a little smirk, after he made sure that Tony wasn’t
obviously injured. He didn’t even stop at the shoes.
like I got the wrong shoes,” Tony admitted and Bucky’s eyes immediately fell
down to them.
you mean? They are cute, I like the wings.”
squirmed a bit under his gaze. “But they are still Steve’s design.”
think that far, but there is currently no real merchandise for you, everyone
still uses Steve’s uniform design and technically these are Steve’s
are not,” Bucky declared and held a hand out for Tony. “You decided to wear
them for me, and since I am the only Cap there is right now, these are mine.”
mad,” Tony breathed in relieve and Bucky shook his head.
“How can I
be? You are wearing my stuff,” he said with a very pointed look at the shoes
and then the pullover, which was most definitely not Tony’s.
blushed again and then took Bucky’s still outstretched hand. “It’s
comfortable,” he defended himself and Bucky smirked.
“I bet it
is. You know what’s also comfortable? This place right here,” he said and
patted the spot on the couch to his right.
to check that for myself,” Tony said and plopped down, one leg tucked
underneath him and the other outstretched over Bucky’s lap.
found a comfortable position he also tucked his face into Bucky’s neck, because
there was nothing more soothing than feeling the rumble when he spoke and being
engulfed in his smell.
really worried about this, huh?” Bucky asked and stroke a hand up and down
maybe,” Tony mumbled into his skin and Bucky chuckled underneath him.
your genius you sure are stupid sometimes.”
shrugged as best as he could and Bucky hugged him a bit closer.
There was a
movie on but Tony didn’t bother to catch up on the storyline, too comfortable
where he was right now and Bucky had turned his head so he could pepper Tony’s
hair with little kisses, so he wasn’t paying that much attention either.
to bed?” Bucky asked after a few minutes and Tony nodded as much as he could
with his face still smashed into Bucky’s neck.
move?” Bucky curiously asked and Tony shook his head at that.
pretty damn comfortable, and even though a bed sounded good as well, he had no
intention of moving.
Bucky huffed and then slightly changed his position. “Hold on then.”
leaned forward, and slid his right hand under Tony’s ass. Tony instinctively
tightened his grip on Bucky, slinging his leg around his hip, rather than drape
it over his lap, and in one smooth motion Bucky stood up.
quickly brought up the other leg to encircle Bucky but other than that he
stayed exactly where he was, clinging to Bucky like a little baby koala.
Tony mumbled and then slightly turned his head so Bucky could hear him better,
“it’s really hot that you don’t even need your metal arm for this.”
Bucky told him. “I’m gonna show you what else I can do with this arm,” he
continued and Tony couldn’t help but smile happily at that.
though that sounded promising as hell, Tony wouldn’t mind if Bucky would take
the long route to their bedroom.
Steve met Dr. Banner outside the Barnes’ home and together they eased James onto the portable cot. He was bundled up while Steve was gone, arm wrapped up and sitting beside James’ body. Low by his hip as if in morbid reminder that it was no longer attached. Steve forced back a swallow, feeling bile in his throat as blood soaked through the bandages wrapped tightly around James’ shoulder.
Mrs. Barnes hefted a bag, fingers clutching the strap with pale fingers and white knuckles.
“He’ll help.” She whispered, a mantra meant to reassure herself. She blinked up as the doctor took her free hand.