#bigstarkenergywrites

[capfalcon]

to be loved

"Why do you look like my mother? Are you her?"

The spirit laughs. "No, Mr. Stark."

"What are you? God? Jesus?"

"No again, Mr. Stark."

"Alright, the cryptic shit is getting boring, hit me, trust me, I've seen aliens, go on, do your worst."

"I'm...your soul," the spirit finally says, with a soft look in her eyes. It almost hurts, the way she holds herself, so similar to Tony's mom.

"You don't look like my soul."

"Well. I say soul, because that's the most approximate word humans have created so far. But really, I'm an amalgamation of the people you've loved. The things you care about. This was just one of the many forms I can take."

"Alright, show me."

The spirit smiles a little, like she knew Tony would say that, and Tony has a sinking suspicion that she did know.

"If it'd help you," she replies, before she starts to shift. It's not like when Tony's seen Loki shape shift, more like a faint glow, a shimmer, and then she changes, slowly, bright light pouring off her.

"Rhodey?" Tony asks, reaching a hand out. It's his birthday in a week. Tony didn't get to give him his gift yet.

"I am not Rhodey," the spirit says again, voice low and soft, as if she knows how much it hurts. More light tumbles off her, until she's a different person entirely, a man with white hair and a sharp, pressed black suit. At first, before her form fully solidifies, Tony worries that it'll be Howard. He doesn't want it to be Howard.

But then the light clears, and the unmistakable smile of Jarvis comes into view.

"You have loved a great many people, Tony," the spirit says, already shifting again. Peter, Pepper, Harley, Bruce, Natasha, they all fade in and out of view in a haze of light.

Eventually, the spirit settles on a tall, broad shouldered man with crystal blue eyes, and Tony doesn't even need to guess to know who it is.

"Steve."

"Did you know, you rarely ever called him by his name? Why was that, Tony?

Tony shrugs. "He's Cap. Rogers. Living hero. Kinda weird to call him Steve."

The spirit studies him with Steve's eyes, and Tony wants to look away, but finds he can't.

"You loved him too, Tony. You know it as well as I do."

Tony lifts a hand and waves it around. "You said it yourself, I loved a lot of people."

The spirit smiles again, like it doesn't believe him, and Tony finds himself longing to see the real version of that smile, on Steve Roger's actual face.

"These are all the people that you loved, Tony. You were a deeply loved man," the spirit says, eyes unblinking.

"Yeah, well, they were all too good for me."

"No," the spirit says gently, hand outstretched to rest on Tony's shoulder, Steve's eyes a piercing blue, "You deserved every ounce of the love they gave you. I think that you'll find that the ones we love never truly leave us. And if you ever find yourself in need of a reminder," the spirit says, glowing brightly, "I'm at your service. Welcome to the afterlife, Tony Stark. Welcome home."

#stevetony #stony #tony stark #superhusbands #iron man #ironman #idk im sad oka #mine #bigstarkenergywrites

[capfalcon]

manu in matrimonium

(alternate title: can I have your best friend’s hand in marriage?)

Steve pulls Rhodey into a seperate conference room when he’s just about to leave the compound. He’s nervous and fidgety, which is a shock, Rhodey’s never seen him like this before.

Steve sits them both down and nervously starts stammering. He’d been in complete shock of Rhodey since he’d first met him, but there’s an added sense of urgency in his words and motions, as if he knows exactly what he wants to say, but can’t find the words.

“Rhodes,” he first starts with, then, “James,” and then “Sir-”

Rhodey laughs, and reaches a hand out, settling it on the guy’s bicep (jeez, Tony got lucky) “Steve,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “What is it?”

Steve sighs, and reaches into his leather jacket pocket, giving him another nervous glance before pulling out a small, black box. He sets it on the table and looks around before flipping it open.

It’s a ring, a gorgeous one. It’s blue tinged, dark, ocean blue, and Rhodey instantly knows what it is.

“You’re going to-”

“You want to propo-”

“You’re asking me-”

He can’t even form a full sentence, staring at the ring, and Steve’s paling face. Finally, he clears his throat, and speaks. “You’re asking me for my blessing?”

“Yes,” Steve replies, his blue eyes wide and uncertain.

Rhodey already knows his answer, (he’s known it since he met Steve Rogers), but hey, he’s got Captain America scared, why waste the opportunity?

“You treat him right,” he says, pointing a finger at Steve. “You be good to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rhodey wants to laugh, he wants to laugh so badly, but it’s also...sweet. Tony deserves Steve, he really does.

“Sir, I know how close you are, and I just wanted to ask first. I mean, I knew Howard, of course, but I was twenty, and Tony wasn’t born and-” Steve cuts himself off, rubbing at the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly.

Rhodey shakes his head and stares Steve down for a few moments, enjoying the way he fidgets and squirms. Finally, he decides to have a little mercy on the guy.

“Okay,” he says, slowly, “You have my blessing.”

Steve smiles then, a real smile, and Rhodey understands perfectly why Tony fell for him. 

“Thank you, James,” Steve says, reaching a hand out to shake his hand. Rhodey stares at in disbelief. 

“Come on, man, we’re gonna be brothers soon, fuck the handshakes,” he says, and then pulls Steve in for a hug. 

Steve laughs, and pulls away after a couple seconds, picking the ring box back up and slipping it back in his pocket. “Thank you,” he says again, sincerity dripping from his every word. 

“No problem, Cap. But treat his dumb ass right, you hear me?”

Steve nods, as he pulls open the door, blue eyes serious. “I will.”

And Rhodey has no doubt, as Steve says it, that Steve’ll keep his end of the bargain for the rest of his life. Rhodey shakes his head and sinks into his chair again, a smile on his face, memories going through his mind.

God, Captain America just asked for his permission to marry his best friend.  When did his life get so weird?

The day you met Tony Stark, his brain answers. 

And well, that’s true.

#superhusbands #stony #stony fic #stevetony #steve/tony #steve rogers #tony stark #captain america #iron man #ironman #stony fanfic #avengers #bigstarkenergywrites #stony fanfiction #stevextony #steve x tony #mine

[capfalcon]

birthday pancakes

“It’s your birthday,” Tony said, threading his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“I know,” Steve replied, a half smile on his face as he looked up at his husband, perched on one of their high-stools next to the kitchen island.

“What do you wanna do, hmm? Skiing in the Alps? I could make it happen, you know. Just say the word.”

“I can’t ski, Tony.”

“You can’t?” Tony asked, as he turned quickly around to flip a pancake moments before it completely burned. 

“You know I can’t. Remember when we had that job in Switzerland and Nat tried to teach us? I don’t think my ass has ever been that shade of purple.”

Tony turned back around and leaned against the kitchen counter, a smirk on his face. God, he was beautiful, even after all these years. His hair was lighter, sure, and they couldn’t exactly fold each other in half anymore, but Steve was still sure, as sure as he could ever be; that he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with Tony, growing old together.

“I kissed it better. I could do it again,” Tony suggested flirtatiously, winking at Steve before leaning forward across the island to kiss him.

“I hate to turn you down on such a generous offer, but no thanks. Honestly?” 

“You always are,” Tony interjected, leaning forward to pepper a various array of kisses across Steve’s face.

Steve smiled, and then leaned away slightly so he could actually finish a sentence. “How about,” he said slowly, “We spend the day in? Watch a few movies, eat pizza and ice cream?”

“Oh, Steve Rogers, how very American of you.”

Steve snorted, and leaned forward to reach around Tony’s waist. “Yeah,” he agreed, between kisses, “Well, it is the Fourth of July.”

Tony smiled back, a dazzling grin, before resting his arms around Steve’s waist. “Well then,” he said, “A day in sounds perfect. We’re still gonna have sex though, right?”

Steve laughed. “Yes, Tony, we’re still gonna have sex.”

“Right then, sounds perfect to me.” 

“I’m glad you approve.”

Tony smiled, and then leaned forward, resting his head on Steve’s chest. “Happy birthday,” he murmured, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Steve whispered, closing his eyes and resting his head on top of Tony’s.

“You’re both idiots,” Natasha commented, startling them both.

“Oh, and your pancakes are burning,” Clint added helpfully, plopping down on the couch. “Happy Birthday!”

#stony #steve/tony #stevetony #superhusbands #steve x tony #stevextony #stony fic #stevetony fic #mine #bigstarkenergywrites

[capfalcon]

love amongst thieves

(soft, sort of happy)

Tony has been a thief long enough to know when someone is following him. But that isn’t the reason why he isn’t surprised when a hand reaches out to gently hand him a warm cup of coffee. He’s been taught by the greatest thieves in the world, has stolen Picassos and Monets, has hung Rembrandts in his home, but that isn’t why he isn’t surprised by the blonde haired, soft spoken man standing next to him.

“I brought you coffee,” the man says, eyes staring forward, as if he isn’t talking to Tony at all. “Two sugars,” the man says softer, the wind blowing through his hair. It’s longer than Tony remembers it. “Just the way you like it.”

And then the man looks at him, and Tony knows that this is the reason why he’d felt the man’s presence before he’d even saw him, that this was the reason why he’d been comforted, rather than startled by him. You don’t really ever forget your husband, even if you haven’t slept in the same bed for 4 years.

“Steve Rogers,” Tony replies, taking the warm cup and wrapping his cold fingers around it, “How thoughtful of you.”

Steve glances down at him, for just a second, before re-adjusting his gaze to a faraway building. “You looked cold. You really should wear gloves, Tony.” 

“It’s my day off,” Tony says, staring out at the crowd of people bustling through the city, bundled up in scarves and hats, all desperate to escape the cold.

Steve smiles then, an unmistakable little thing, and Tony allows himself the luxury of looking at him. Steve’s eyes are just as blue, startlingly crystal clear, but his hair has grown longer, long enough to be blown by the wind. His profile is as handsome as it’s ever been, except this time, framed by the small wisps of snow and century old buildings, Tony thinks absentmindedly that he’s seen a lot of art; but nothing could compare to the way the sun shines through the clouds in order to rest on Steve’s eyelashes.

There were a few simple rules that good thieves follow, whether they like them or not. Don’t get cocky. Don’t con an honest man. Don’t underestimate a mark. But the one that Tony is reminded of while staring at his husband in the morning light of a city in England, is the one that hurts the most to be reminded of.

Don’t ever love something you can’t bear to lose.

And as Steve’s eyes glance down at him, as the wind blows through Tony, Tony knows, with absolute certainty, that no thief is ever supposed to love anything as much as he loves Steve.

“So,” Steve finally says, voice still low and serious, “Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?” Tony answers.

“What, I can’t visit my husband?”

Tony takes a sip of his coffee, choosing to ignore the way the words “my husband” cause his chest to clench tightly. “How’d you find me?”

Steve gives Tony a look, and Tony nods in concession. Steve always had a knack for finding him, even when he didn’t want to be found. Especially then.

“I wanted to see you,” Steve finally says, voice low as his eyes track the ground beneath them. “I miss you.”

“I’m here,” Tony says, as Steve lifts his head, a smile on his face, achingly sad.

“You’re here,” Steve agrees, quietly, and Tony knows that they’re both thinking the same thing. The things that neither of them can-or will say. That Tony is here, that they’re both here, that they sleep together sometimes, but that they go home to different places, that they’re married, but that neither of them wear rings, that they love each other, but that they can’t be together.

That Tony is here, but only to steal something; and once it’s stolen, he won’t be. 

“You have a tail,” Steve whispers, after what seems like eons of them staring stupidly into each other’s eyes. Tony knows, of course, has known, for days now, that Interpol has been following him, but he’s still surprised that Steve noticed. He shouldn’t be, after all, Steve was one of the greatest thieves in the world once. 

Once.

Tony doesn’t respond, instead choosing to grip the collar of Steve’s thick, woolen coat and pull him forward, into a soft, desperate sort of kiss that they rarely get to have. Steve’s lips are warm, and Tony feels a shiver run through him as he realizes just how cold he has been. As he remembers, like a fact that he’ll never forget, Steve is always warm.

That thought aches more than when Steve pulls away, his lips red, his golden eyelashes coated with snowflakes.

They stare at each other for a few more seconds before Steve gives Tony another sad, soft smile. “I miss you,” Steve repeats, and Tony knows what he actually means, knows that it’ll hurt too much to say-hurt both of them.

“Makes two of us,” Tony returns, and Steve’s smile turns a little softer. 

“Be careful,” Steve reminds, his hands falling away from Tony’s jacket. 

“Always am,” Tony replies, his trademark smirk on his face, except that he knows it’s softer this time, tinged by something real. Steve always did have that effect on him.

Steve smiles, and then leans in one last time, pressing a warm kiss to Tony’s lips, a warmth that seems to spread through Tony’s entire body, all the way down to his toes. 

“Be safe,” Steve whispers, and then he’s stepping away, his warmth quickly getting blown away by the wind and snow. Tony finds himself aching to reach forward and grab Steve’s hand, to stop him, to spend a day, a week, a month together in the city, like a real married couple, on vacation.

But instead, he tucks them into his pockets. He can’t have Steve.

Not now.

So, Tony holds his cup of coffee, and watches as Steve does exactly what he did 4 years ago, and walks away, his silhouette quickly fading into the crowd.

#stony #stevetony #steve/tony #steve x tony #superhusbands #stevextony #stony fic #stevetony fic #steve rogers x tony stark #im really proud of this #also they end up together when they're old #it's just like #not the right time #they're busy men #who love each other #but it's not the right time #mine #bigstarkenergywrites

[capfalcon]

sacred

“You know you can leave anytime, right?”

Steve looks up from his precarious seat on the edge of their bed, eyes narrowed, a confused look on his face. “Tony-” he starts.

“No, I mean it, Rogers. Just because we’re married now, just because we live together, just because of all this-” Tony says, with a vague hand wave at the surrounding Avengers compound, “It doesn’t mean you have to stay. I know you. I know that you’d stay out of some obligation, and I’m saying that you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I want you to be happy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean, don’t make me say it again.”

“Tony,” Steve starts again, voice soft, and eyes piercing, “I don’t want to leave. Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Tony says, almost if not of of his own volition, too quickly.

“Okay,” Steve says, sitting gently back down, “Then that’s one thing covered. We had a fight, Tony. It’s happened before. It’ll happen again. But that doesn’t mean I want to leave.”

“Okay, well I’m just saying I wouldn’t blame you if you did, I know I’m a lot. I don’t admit it when I’m wrong, or I do and it’s too late and you’re already mad, or some shit like that. So I’m saying you can leave. If you ever want to.”

“I don’t want to. You’re my husband, Tony.”

“I know.”

“I love you, Tony.”

“I know.”

“Okay then,” Steve says, voice soft as he tracks Tony’s random pacing with his eyes. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, of course, Rogers. We had a fight. I’m not going to fall apart because we had a fight.”

“Okay.” Steve’s voice is gentle, almost like he doesn’t believe him.

“I’ll be fine, Steve.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, I’m me. You’re you. We’re us,” Tony says, gesturing to the space between them like it should mean something. 

“We are.” Steve’s tone is wry, and Tony dares a glance up, the corner of his mouth tugging up in the smirk that Steve loves and hates all at once. He stops pacing for a second, and then just looks at Steve. His expression, for once, is vulnerable and open. And even if it wasn’t, Steve would know what he’s thinking, Tony is, after all, his husband. But the look on his face is planative and almost painful, so Steve shuffles aside and pulls down the covers. 

“Let’s go to bed,” he finally says, tugging up the corner of the blanket so Tony can shuffle underneath it.

Tony gives him a look before conceding and sliding in next to him. “Are you mad?” he whispers, just as both their breaths start to even out.

“No. You?”

“Thinking about it. Probably not,” Tony teases, and Steve retaliates by poking him in the side before gently rubbing his hand over the same spot.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Tony eventually whispers, quiet in the dark room.

“I don’t want to leave, so that works out nicely.”

Tony snorts underneath him, and Steve is reminded of how much he loves this man, and of all the reasons why. He’s brilliant, kind and caring, but most of all, this is what he’s bad at, he’s bad at emotion and talking, hell, they both are, but he tries. 

God, Steve loves him so much that he’d do anything, jump on a live bomb, fall off a cliff, sacrifice the universe; all for him.

“I love you,” Steve whispers back, leaning down slightly to press a kiss to Tony’s temple, resting his head against the back of Tony’s neck.

“Love you too,” Tony responds, turning around to kiss Steve back in a kiss so sweet that Steve thinks his body might actually turn to mush.

They eventually settle off to sleep, Steve’s arm slung over Tony’s waist, Tony’s even breathing slowing. In the last moments before sleep takes over, Steve finds himself thinking that this is exactly what he’d thought marriage to Tony Stark would be like.

Complicated, simple, and truly, effortlessly worth it.

#stony #stevetony #steve/tony #steve x tony #stevextony #tony stark #steve rogers #tony stark x steve rogers #superhusbands #steve rogers x tony stark #im freaking exhausted #and it's 3 am #and im sad as all get out so have this sh*tty angst #i mean sorta angst #idk i just want a bowl of soup #anyway #goodnight #or good morning #either way whatever #bigstarkenergywrites #mine #wish it wasn't lol

[capfalcon]

don’t look back

(harley/peter, happy ending)

Okay, so, Peter’s got to admit, he’d never really questioned the idea that he was straight. Which, thinking about now, seems ridiculous, but honestly, he had other things to do, like saving New York, or going to homecoming, or you know, homework.

So he’d never really stopped and thought to himself, “Hey, what if I like boys?” That is, right up until the moment where Harley Keener grabbed the collar of his lab coat, pulled him close, and kissed him until Peter could barely breathe.

That had required a little more thinking about.

And that thinking had led him to here, right now, standing in front of Harley fucking Keener (who is an infuriating 3 inches taller than him,) stammering about how that was his first kiss with a boy, and how it’d been great and mostly about how he kinda wanted to do it again. And again. And possibly for forever.

“Wait, that was your first time kissing a guy?” 

“Yeah. Is that...is that some sort of problem? Because like, Aunt May’ll be super cool about it, she’s awesome, so if that’s your worry, she’s great!”

“No,” Harley replied slowly, still staring at Peter tentatively, “But I can’t do this. I’m sorry, Peter. You’re...great, and I’m sure you’ll find someone great.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I’ve already come out. I’ve done the whole shame thing, I’ve done the whole closeted thing. I can’t date someone who isn’t out. I don’t want to do that. I really am sorry, Peter.”

“I’m not ashamed, Harley.”

“You say that now, but I don’t want to be a part of your gay freak out.”

“My what? I’m not having a gay freakout.”

“Yet.”

“No. Ever. Look. I’m a nerd. I’m the guy who gets chosen last for P.E, I only ever get invited to parties if I say I know Spider-Man,” Harley laughs a little, and Peter finds the courage to keep talking. “I get called Penis Parker. I’m not exactly popular. I spend my weekends with my best friend building Lego sets. I’m not ashamed of that, just like I’m not ashamed of being attracted to you-or any other boy.”

Harley just looks at him, expression skeptical.

“Okay, see. I don’t care if they call me names because I’m gay, or bi, or whatever. They call me names anyway. But I’d never really stopped to think about whether I liked girls or boys, or anything like that. And then you kissed me. You kissed me, and suddenly, it was like things fell into place. You kissed me, and I felt the opposite of shame. I felt like I...existed. Like I was Luke Skywalker, like I was holding a lights-”

And Peter would have finished his sentence, except it’s kind of hard to talk when someone else’s mouth is on yours. Harley has a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer, tilting his head downwards (damn him and those 3 fucking inches), but then Peter pulls away.

“Wait,” he says, “Are you-are you just kissing me to get me to stop talking?”

Harley laughs, and the sound reverberates through Peter’s spine, where Harley’s hand is still cupping the back of his neck. 

“No,” he says, eyes soft as he looks down at Peter.

“Oh. Okay then-” Peter goes, before leaning forward and finally kissing Harley the way he wants to. 

When they finally break apart, Harley’s hands are resting on Peter’s hips, and Peter leans forward to rest his head against his shoulder. “Man,” Harley says, after a beat, with laughter in his voice, “Tony is going to flip his shit.”

“Fuck,” Peter replies, eyes widening. They end up staring at each other for a second before they both break out into frantic giggles, holding onto each other for balance.

And when Harley laughs like he is now, his lips slightly red and his curls flopping across his face, Peter wonders how he could've ever thought that Harley wasn’t the best thing he’d ever seen.

#peter's voice is rlly hard to write and i tried my best im sorry #harleypeter #harley/peter #peter/harley #peterharley #harter #is that their ship name? #idk man #someone send me their offical ship name bls #anyway i tried #i stole like 10% of this diaglogue from grey's anatomy btw #nico and shmitt r the best thing ever i love them so much i would die for them #harley keener #peter parker #parley #idk man tht sounds too much like parsley #i don't like parsley #but anyway #mine #bigstarkenergywrites

[capfalcon]

memento vivere

(angst, h/c, hopeful ending)

When the doctor says, “You have cancer,” Tony’s world whites out. His knees go weak, and if he wasn’t already immobilized in a goddamn hospital bed, he’d be on the floor. He knows that she’s still talking, her dark red lips moving, her braids shifting with every syllable she forms, but he can’t hear a word she’s saying.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since those three words, but his haze finally breaks when Steve goes “What are the odds for recovery?”

The doctor puts on a face Tony’s seen before, the same face the doctor had when he’d told Tony that his mother and father were dead. Tony’ll never forget that face, for as long as he lives.

“It depends on the surgery,” she says, slowly, and Tony feels his heart begin to race. It’s not exactly that he’s scared of dying, hell, yesterday he offered himself up for a strange mutant to eat him, he’s not scared of that, but it’s the...finality of it. The lack of choice. 

You have cancer. 

You have cancer. 

You have cancer.

It feels like the universe is laughing at him. Besides him, Steve grips his hand as the doctor says “I’ll leave you two alone to process,” and Tony immediately feels sick. Steve seems to sense it, and grabs the trash can, holding it between them, rubbing comforting circles against Tony’s back.

“Shh,” he whispers, painstakingly kind as Tony empties out what was left of his gluten-free eggos into the trashcan. “That’s right honey.”

When Tony finally finishes throwing up, he looks Steve in the eyes, and just...breaks down. It’s a little humiliating, but if anyone finds out, hey, no one wants to make fun of the guy with cancer! It’s a morbid thought, Tony’s aware, but he’s allowed, he figures. 

“Sorry,” he finally chokes out, into Steve’s side. 

“No, no.” Steve’s still rubbing circles on his back, soft, gentle circles that make Tony want to throw up again. God. He can’t imagine how Steve must feel right now. If he was the one in this bed (serum be damned,) Tony would be going absolutely nuts. Instead, Steve’s at his side, holding trashcans and letting Tony sob into his side.

“Cancer,” he finally says, looking up at Steve and whispering the word. It sounds so final. So cold. Like death.

“Cancer.” Steve repeats. “But we have to listen to what the doctor has to say. It’s going to be okay, honey.”

“You don’t know that.” Tony’s voice is hoarse, from throwing up and from crying. 

“Of course I do,” Steve says kindly, eyes soft as he looks down at Tony to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re Tony Stark. You’ve been through so much worse.”

Tony lets out a chuckle at that, albeit a weak one. The irony of it is that Steve’s right, Tony has been through worse. Afghanistan, The Mandarin, Hydra, Ultron. Tony’s been in far more dangerous situations before, with far less likely chances of success, and yet, he’s still here. 

With that thought running through his head, and Steve’s comforting arms around him, Tony finally drifts off, the drugs in his system taking over.

In the morning, when he wakes up, Steve is slumped over in a hospital chair, but his face breaks out into a beautiful smile when Tony says his name. 

“Hey honey,” Steve says, standing up and immediately reaching for one of Tony’s hands, “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I just got told I’ve got cancer. Oh wait, too sad? Right as rain then, just dandy.”

And instead of getting mad, like Tony knows other people would, Steve just smiles and drops a kiss on his temple. “Glad you’re feeling better,” he murmurs, and Tony just squeezes his hand in response.

Then, the doctor comes in, and explains in her sad, kind voice, that there’s a surgery Tony can choose to have, with a 70% success rate. All Tony can think about are the 30% chances that he’ll die on that table, with Steve left alone in this fucking hospital room.

The 30% chances that Steve will become a widower.

The 30% chances that Natasha will have to drag Steve home and make him soup and force him to eat. 

The 30% chances that Rhodey will cry in some country he doesn’t know the name of.

The 30% chances that Pepper will be left to run the company alone, and the Stark Industries logo everywhere will haunt her.

The 30% chances that Tony, will, in fact, die in this hospital, but not in his suit, not in the air, not in battle. That he’ll die exposed and strapped down to a table, completely unable to do a goddamn thing.

30%, he thinks, ruefully. That’s higher than guessing on a 1/4 multiple choice test.

“When would the surgery happen?” Steve asks, besides him, still holding his hand. 

“Ideally, some time within this week.”

A week, Tony thinks, not enough time at all. He doesn’t want a week. He wants a whole goddamn life with Steve and Pepper and Rhodey, he wants every single second he can get, not some vague promise of a week.

“Okay, thank you,” Steve replies, and the doctor leaves. The click of her heels is almost enough to make Tony throw up, if only he had anything to throw up.

“Honey, did you hear what she said? 70% success rate. That’s good, Tony. Honey?”

“Right!” Tony says, trying to fake it, to put on a brave face for Steve, kind, beautiful Steve who doesn’t deserve this at all. Steve, who should be at home, making breakfast, instead of in this shitty hospital, holding his husband’s hand and trying to make him feel better.

You have cancer. 

“70%,” Steve gently reminds, eyes holding Tony’s. 

“70%,” Tony echoes. Steve responds by smiling, just slightly, and getting into the small hospital bed, curling his body around Tony.

“It’s going to be okay,” Steve whispers into Tony’s side, his warmth seeping through him. 

And for some reason, Tony can’t bring himself to argue. 

Five days later, he gets wheeled into surgery with Steve smiling at him, eyes bright and sad all at once, a quivering smile on his face. 

“I love you,” Steve tells him, hand gripping Tony’s tight, too tight. 

“Love you too,” Tony says, and tries to smile. Steve’s face echoes it, and Tony knows they’re both making pained, sad attempts to convey important feelings and thoughts, but he doesn’t care anymore.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” Steve says fiercely, eyes blue and bright. “Okay, Tony?”

“Okay,” Tony replies, trying to match the conviction in Steve’s voice. “Relax, Steve, honey, it’s only a couple of hours. I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t adopt a dog without me.”

Steve laughs, a weak, surprised little thing, as they come to a stop in front of the red surgery doors. 

“Okay,” he promises, voice filled with laughter and tears. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And then the finality of this moment hits Tony, his throat closing up and his heart beating faster. Memorize Steve’s face, his brain begs, and Tony does, taking in every curve of Steve’s cheekbones, and every shade of blue green in his eyes.

“Love you,” he repeats, and Steve responds by leaning down and kissing him hard. 

When he finally pulls away, Tony knows that there are a few tears running down his face, which is absolutely ridiculous, 70% is high, he’ll be fine, they’ll be fine, it’ll all be fine.

“Love you too,” Steve echoes, and then says, more firmly, “I’ll see you when you wake up.” Tony nods, and then they’re pushing him through the red doors, Steve’s hand falling away from his. The last thing he can see before the doors close is Steve’s face, smiling despite it all, like he knows a secret Tony doesn’t.

A few minutes later, the world fades away to blinding, brilliant light.

#stony #stevetony #steve/tony #steve x tony #superhusbands #stevextony #steve rogers x tony stark #stony fic #stevetony fic #mine #bigstarkenergywrites #i did it i wrote a cancer fic #i woke up and i just felt like writing a cancer fic so whoop de do heres a cancer fic #ishipallthings #but it's a happy one bc i was sad of sad cancer fics #and yes tony survives #he survives yall and lives . ahappy life #don't worry he survives #anyway #i literally just wrote this i know it's rough im sorry it's all i've got

[capfalcon]

ashes

(angst)

Steve cries more than Pepper does, at the funeral. More than anyone. Rhodey is a close second. He can’t bring himself to go up to the casket. He knows what’s in it-nothing. 

He can still hear Tony’s voice in his head.

“Why so glum, Cap?”

“Cheer up, with a face like that, people will think you’re at a funeral.”

He would laugh, if only he weren’t afraid of choking on his own tears. He wants to go back, to undo it all, to win a different way, to say what he needed to sooner, to be better, to be something that Tony deserved, to do what was right. 

More than anything, he wants to go back.

The next week, he goes back. Visits the grave. Pepper is there, a watery smile on her face. 

She nods at him. Steve isn’t sure if she knows how he felt about Tony, how Tony felt about him, but if she does, she doesn’t mention it. She pats him on the shoulder and walks off, and Steve is glad they didn’t get married, because now, at least Pepper won’t be a widow.

(He’s glad for other reasons too, more selfish, disgusting reasons, but he’s got a lifetime’s worth of sins now, what’s one more?)

He sits down, on the grass, staring at the grave. He didn’t bring flowers. It felt...wrong, somehow.

“Hi, Tony,” he manages to get out, and warm, wet tears track their way down his face.

“I just...I wanted to say I’m sorry. And I know it’s too late-too late, I’m always too late. I just wanted to say it. Wanted you to know.”

The believer in him wants so badly to hear Tony’s voice, to believe that he’ll meet him in some other life, in a kinder one. The cynic in him tells him to shut up, to move on, to forget Tony, but Steve’ll never forget him, not for as long as he lives.

“I’m sorry.” Steve finally ends on, and his voice cracks on the last syllable. 

Sitting by Anthony Edward Stark’s grave, Steve wishes, now, more so than ever, that he could go back, make things right, save Buck, save himself, save those people, and most of all, prevent Tony Stark from ever meeting him.

From ever learning who Steve Rogers was. From ever being loved by him.

If Steve could do anything, he’d do that. 

Instead, he sits at the foot of the grave of the man he loves, wishing and hoping and praying, dreaming of a world that doesn’t exist anymore.

#stony #stevetony #stony fic #steve rogers #tonystark #tony stark #steve/tony #steverogers #steve x tony #stevextony #captainamerica #ironman #iron man #captain america #stony fanfic #stony fanfiction #mine #bigstarkenergywrites

[capfalcon]

together forever

(angst with a hopeful ending)

“No,” Steve says, his lips frozen and blue, his hands shaking as they grip the frayed pieces of Tony’s shirt.

“No,” he says, and warm, wet tears drip down his cheeks, but he doesn’t even care. He blinks furiously, trying to keep them at bay, not because he cares, but because he wants to see Tony, wants to convince him no, no, this is all wrong.

“We’ll win another way,” he whispers, and the corner of Tony’s mouth quirks up in a smile.

“No,” Tony says, shaking his head, running his hands over Steve’s shoulders, “No we won’t.”

“Tony, you shouldn’t do this. You can’t,” Steve insists, and at this point it doesn’t even matter that his voice cracks on every word.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers, leaning in to hug him, wrapping his arms around Steve and squeezing tight, almost so tight that Steve can’t breathe. Steve squeezes back, just as hard, as if he can keep Tony alive just by sheer willpower.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers again, in the space between them, and Steve can count every eyelash, he can see every fleck of gold in Tony’s eyes. I’m sorry reverberates through him, and Steve doesn’t even have to question what it’s for. I’m sorry for everything we didn’t have, for everything we did, for everything that’s going to happen.

I’m sorry.

Tony looks up at him, and even as he faces certain death, his eyes are alive, looking at Steve through dark eyelashes that are coated with tears.

“I love you,” Steve says, softly, and Tony breaks out into a sad, melancholy grin.

“I know. I love you too,” Tony whispers, and then he leans up to press a kiss to Steve’s lips.

It’s demanding and soft all at once. Tony kisses like he’s drowning, clinging to Steve like he’s a lifeboat. It’s a goodbye, and Steve can feel it in every fiber of his soul.

And then, just as quickly as the kiss had started, it ends, with Tony pulling away, running a thumb over Steve’s lips.

“I love you,” Tony whispers, and then he’s gone.

His heat dissipates from where he was just pressed up against Steve, and his eyes blink once, twice, before he steps off the cliff.

“No!” Steve screams, watching as Tony falls off the side, watching as his body hits the rocks below, turning to ashes once it does.

“No,” he whispers, unbelieving, over and over again, until Natasha drags him back onto the spaceship.

Three weeks later, when Thanos is dead, and the gauntlet falls off of Steve’s hand, the lights above him get brighter and brighter, until all he sees is white.

He enters the afterlife to the sound of a familiar voice, and an oh so welcome grin.

“Hey Cap.”

#stony #stevetony #steve/tony #stevextony #stony fic #steve rogers #tonystark #tony stark #ironman #iron man #steve x tony #stony fanfic #bigstarkenergywrites #mine #stony fanfiction #captain america #captainamerica