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stovetuna · 4 years

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This is for @bardingbeedle who yelled at me in the tags and then on messenger and ultimately inspired me to write some “lorge soft steve” and tbh who am I to refuse. (also high-key inspired by this masterpiece of fanart I RBed [again] earlier today)

(takes place shortly after the events of Avengers Assemble episode 2x07, aka the best fic none of us ever wrote)

(heed the READ MORE!)

***

Tony is hustling from one meeting to the next, all but literally running into the kitchen for a cup of afternoon coffee, when he spies Steve Rogers bent over the communal living room coffee table. That in and of itself isn’t exactly outside the realm of normal Steve Rogers activities—the man does love a good brood, even if he won’t admit it and doesn’t do it as often as he used to.

But Tony wracks his brain for possible reasons why Steve would be hunched up around the shoulders like he’s expecting a body blow any minute and keeps coming up empty. Not even fresh coffee makes his synapses fire faster. Did they forget his birthday? Impossible. Did someone send Captain America hate mail? Uh, doubly impossible, especially because Tony’s got lawyers screening their mail for that kind of stuff (they’ve got more than enough pressure in their day-to-day lives, time-slip dinosaurs and age regressions notwithstanding).

Maybe Steve found a piece of upsetting news, or some fact of modern history that isn’t sitting well with him? That’s a lot more likely.

Before he can remind himself that Pepper’s waiting in his office to put him on a call with the president of MIT—something about a commencement speech, if memory serves—Tony is sauntering into the living room, nonchalant, tongue already prickling with some smart remark. He’s got it all written out in his head like a perfect line of code up until the moment he’s standing in front of Steve and sees the expression on his face.

“Whoa, who ran over your puppy?”

Tony winces, wishing for the millionth time that his mouth and his brain could work together simultaneously, but no. Worse, Steve doesn’t even answer him—he just frowns harder, if that’s even possible, and folds in on himself like his shoulders alone don’t take up half the length of the massive couch. Tony lowers the hand holding his coffee and blinks.

“Steve?”

“Oh!” Steve jumps upright, and quick as a flash moves something vaguely folder-shaped behind his back. “Tony! I didn’t hear you walk in—don’t you have a meeting right now?”

Something in Tony’s chest squeezes at the sight of that smile and at Steve’s impeccable attention to detail. But really, ever since the incident with the Time Stone, when he’d jolted back into his adult body and come to in Steve’s arms, he’s felt completely knocked off-balance. Now everything about Steve Rogers—the man, not the superhero—is a revelation. Every smile, every word, every look has Tony tripping over his own feet, tongue, thoughts. He may be back in his adult body, but he’s never felt more like a prepubescent teenager with a crush, fidgeting in place under Steve’s gaze.

“It got postponed,” he lies, because whatever has put that pinch between Steve’s eyebrows is way more important right now. “What’s up?”

“Nothing!” Steve replies, too loud and too quickly. Tony gives him a look. Steve flushes, shrinking in on himself even further, like he wants the couch to devour him. “Uh, nothing important. Just an anniversary I forgot about.”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to frown. He likes to think he’s got a solid mental calendar of important dates for all of his teammates memorized at this point—Natasha’s move-in, Bruce’s lab incident, Sam’s SHIELD acceptance, Steve being found in the ice—but none of those are today.

“Got room for one more?” Tony asks, nodding at the scant space next to Steve on the couch when the man gives him a questioning look. Steve’s cheeks immediately go a charming shade of pink, which churns the coffee in Tony’s empty stomach with a vengeance. Steve shifts to press himself against the arm as Tony moves to sit down next to him, almost crushing the folder Steve had hidden earlier in the process. There’s a gasp, and a lightning-quick hand, and then Steve, pale and breathless, is holding a manila folder against his chest like it’s the secret to the Super Soldier Serum.

It’s weird—Tony knows Steve trusts him, and vice versa. They wouldn’t have solved the riddle of the Time Stone if they didn’t trust each other. So to sit next to Steve, who’s gone from morose to terrified in the three minutes since Tony walked into the room and feel a wall between them is jarring. And upsetting. He’s only been nursing this crush for a few days, and Steve’s not that perceptive…is he? Maybe he is. Maybe this is Steve weeding out Tony’s feelings before they’ve even had a chance to grow.

Tony shakes his head at the thought. No, Steve’s a lot of things, but cruel isn’t one of them.

“Care to share with the class?” he asks, gently so he doesn’t spook Steve. It seems to work: Steve relaxes, tension falling from his shoulders as he eases into Tony’s presence. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, but keeps the folder pressed securely against his sternum. Tony tries hard not to steal a glance at the way Steve’s shirt pulls across his broad, thick chest as he breathes.

“It’s nothing.”

“Cap, if it was nothing, you wouldn’t be trying to Honey-I-Shrunk-Myself into the couch right now.”

Steve Rogers in active wear doesn’t cut quite the same figure as Steve Rogers in full Captain America regalia, it’s true, but that doesn’t mean he’s small. Like this, he’s just as large and has just as much presence as he does in uniform; it’s just…more human. Less Captain, more Steve. Both are devastating in their own way, but only Steve—friendly, blushing, awkward, unassuming Steve—makes Tony acutely aware of the distance between their bodies, down to the last electrified hair.

Catching his own breath, Tony puts his full mug on the coffee table and drops his hands into his lap, turning his head to watch Steve chew on whatever words are fighting to come out. Be patient, he tells himself. Whatever this is, Steve’s struggling with it, and Tony can have some tact when he wants to.

Finally, Steve closes his eyes and sighs. When he lowers his hands, the folder goes with them. Tony glances at the cover and almost swallows his tongue.

“Is that—?” Steve makes a noncommittal sound, like a ‘yes’ but softer, uncertain, like he’s not sure Tony’s reaction is a good one. Tony swallows his excitement with a wince. “Is that the Project Rebirth file? I told Fury to give it to you a long time ago, but I wasn’t sure he did.”

Tony is so preoccupied looking at the folder he doesn’t hear Steve’s gasp or notice his eyes lock onto him. “He did,” Steve replies quietly after a pause. “But that’s isn’t…that’s not what this is about.”

That’s kind of a surprise. The sudden appearance of the Project Rebirth file would explain Steve’s face and body language, but if it’s not that…

Steve hands the entire folder over to Tony without another word.

“Uh,” Tony gapes, too awestruck to achieve any kind of higher brain function.

“Look at the date,” Steve says. It’s not an order, just a gentle request, but it doesn’t prevent a shiver from rippling down the length of Tony’s spine. If he was hyperaware of the space between their bodies before, it’s even worse now with Steve leaning every-so-slightly toward him and reaching out a hand to point directly at the date written on the faded label.

22 June 1943

Tony blinks. “It’s the anniversary…of you?” He opens the folder without a second thought, and the first thing he sees is a picture of Steve. There are other things in the file—sheaves of what look like medical reports, heavily redacted memos, and carbon copies of typed letters—but the only thing Tony can focus on is Steven Grant Rogers circa 1943. The Steven Grant Rogers of before.

He’s touching the photo before he can stop himself, being so, so careful as he traces the narrow shape of the man in the photograph while the real, supersized thing sits next to him.

“It’s the first time I’ve really had a chance to sit and think about what it was like, before,” Steve says, unprompted. “Everything happened so fast once I got the serum, I didn’t have time to just…take it all in. And then I went into the ice and—well. You know the rest.”

All skin and bones, this man, back then. But the jut of his jaw is the same; the serum didn’t change that, or the flinty stubbornness in Steve’s eyes, or the proud set of his shoulders, just daring the world to try and fuck with him. Tony smiles—Steve before the serum is like a matchstick, short and thin and always one spark away from bursting into flame. He really didn’t change a bit.

When Tony finally looks up from the photo (not gazing, of course not), he sees Steve’s expression has gone pinched again, his arms now crossed in front of his chest.

“Alright, there’s that face again. Out with it, Cap.”

Steve really shouldn’t bite his lip—it’s bad for Tony’s health. But Tony’s comment does get him to smile a little bit, which is good. “I guess…it’s been over seventy years since I got the serum, but most days I still feel like that skinny guy in the picture.” Tony watches him as he speaks, taking in the faraway look in Steve’s eyes, the shrinking posture, the downward turn of his mouth—who says I can’t be observant, Tony thinks—and wishes he and Steve were the kind of friends who hugged outside of catastrophic cosmic events. God knows it looks like Steve could use one, as wound up and tense as he is right now.

“I’ve broken so many things by accident because I keep forgetting I’m this, now,” he says, gesturing broadly at himself with one hand. Frowning, Steve uses that same hand to brace his forehead, elbow dropping down onto his thigh. The man is the picture of misery, and Tony aches to comfort him. It’s a physical pull in the pit of his stomach, urgent and needy—like if he doesn’t get his arms around Steve Rogers right this second, something important inside him is going to malfunction.

Tony shoves his hands under his thighs and nods. “Dr. Erskine could turn you into a super soldier,” he says softly, “but he couldn’t erase the first 27 years of your life.” He doesn’t speak his next thought aloud—that if there was in fact a way to erase those years, Tony would have signed up for the very first clinical trial. It’s a grim thought, and not something Steve needs to hear right now, but it’s been on Tony’s mind ever since his brief return to adolescence, and it’s a hard one to shake.

But what Steve heard seems to help. He peeks at Tony through his fingers and swallows loud enough even Tony can hear it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “something like that.”

“What else?”

“What?”

“What else is bugging you? About this?”

Steve lowers his hand and stares at Tony. Stares. It’s such a feeling, being stared at by Steve Rogers, Tony can feel the heat climbing up from underneath his t-shirt. Even the arc reactor feels a bit warmer in his chest.

“How could you tell?”

“You’re still doing your level-best impression of a Shrinky Dink, Cap,” Tony replies. “Kind of hard not to notice.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Steve laughs, a hoarse, dry sound, “but you’re not wrong. I guess…I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words.”

“Try.”

Seriously, when Steve looks at him like that—like he did when Tony soared through the air as Iron Kid, all awe and pride and warmth—Tony feels capable of anything. Anything. He’d bottle that feeling, if he could, just like he’d bottle the color of Steve’s hair in the afternoon light coming in through the living room windows right now, all warm, pale yellows shot through with gold. If the photo in the file were in full color, Tony would bet his fortune Steve’s hair would be the same shade it is now.

Because Steve Rogers has always been perfect. Damn him.

“I still feel small,” Steve says, and any thoughts of hair and perfection derail abruptly. Looking into the middle-distance past his nose, he continues, “I don’t fit in this body. That doesn’t make sense, but—it’s like the super soldier is a mold, and I’m just there rattling around inside it, too small to fit. Does that—does that make any sense?” He looks at Tony imploringly, begging him with his eyes to understand. Tony feels that tug again, worse now, to wrap his arms around Steve and hold him tight. Call it returning the favor for the other day with the Time Stone, call it acting on his crush, whatever.

No one so large has ever looked as small as Steve Rogers does right now.

“It does,” Tony croaks.

“Really?”

“Really. I mean, how do you think I feel inside the suit?”

Steve makes a sound at that—not a whimper, not a gasp, but something hovering between the two that splits Tony’s heart right down the middle. “I never thought of it that way,” he whispers. “But that’s it. That’s exactly it.” Visible relief fills Steve’s lungs and makes his entire body go lax, leaning closer to Tony in the process. Tony, of course, is hyperaware of Steve’s size—everyone except Thor and Hulk is small compared to him—but now he’s equally aware of who’s operating the Cap-suit, so to speak.

“The only difference is, I can take my super-suit off,” Tony says, pinching the underside of his own thigh to cut off a laugh—Steve hasn’t seen The Incredibles yet—and continues, “you can’t. That’s bound to make a guy feel uncomfortable, even you, Mr. ‘I can handle anything you throw at me.’” He elbows Steve a little, good-naturedly, for emphasis, and gets a full, beautiful smile for his efforts.

God. Skinny or huge, Steve Rogers is gorgeous. It really shouldn’t be allowed.

“Yeah, good point.” Face still split by a smile—I put that there, Tony preens—Steve leans against the back of the couch and sighs. “There are things I miss, though. About being small. I didn’t think I did, until…” He glances at Tony, then, and there’s no missing the blush creeping up his neck.

“Until?”

“The other day,” Steve replies. “When you de-aged, and I—when we—” Tony bites his tongue so hard he’s pretty sure he tastes blood. Don’t interrupt. Let him get it out. Steve laughs breathily. “When I hugged you, I was so glad I was in a position to protect you, physically, like that. But later on I kept thinking about how much I miss being the protected one, sometimes. Not always, but. Sometimes.” Steve looks at the photo and sighs. “I keep thinking about what it felt like when ma looked after me when I was sick, or when Bucky put himself between me and the bigger guy because he knew I couldn’t take another hit…sure I resented it a little, being so weak, but I liked…that.”

“You liked being cared for.”

The look Steve levels at Tony could drive away a storm.

“Yeah,” he husks. “I did.”

“And now that you’re—” Tony waves a hand at Steve’s everything, “—this, you think you don’t, what, deserve care?”

“Maybe?” Steve blinks. “I don’t know.”

“Cap—Steve,” Tony says, putting his hands palms-up in his lap so Steve can see all of him. No threat, no judgment. “Everyone wants to feel cared for. It’s human nature. And just because you’re superhuman doesn’t mean you’re inhuman.”

Damn if those therapy sessions Pepper forced him into aren’t paying off big time right now. If the sheen in Steve’s eyes is anything to go by, Tony’s hit the nail right on the head.

“Oh,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Tony smiles. Butterflies be damned, he moves the project file onto the coffee table next to his now-cold mug and turns toward Steve. Slowly, he opens his arms. “C’mere,” he says, so quiet only Steve would hear if anyone else was around. As it is, they’re alone in the tower, and Steve doesn’t hesitate—one moment Tony’s arms are empty and the next he’s got 240 pounds of solid muscle curling into his chest and Steve’s tucking his big head under Tony’s chin like the world’s neediest Bernese mountain dog.

Thankfully, Tony’s arms are just long enough to fit all the way around Steve’s massive shoulders. And even if they weren’t, he’d find a way to make it work.

Knees knocking together, feet brushing up against each other on the carpet, Steve shifts and adjusts until he can wrap his arms around Tony’s waist. Once he settles in, he sighs right into the notch at the base of Tony’s throat. “Thank you, Tony.”

“Anytime, big guy,” Tony replies, softly with a warm smile he thinks Steve can’t see.

#bardingbeedle #steve rogers #tony stark #pre-getting together #stevetony #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #rachel writes fic #HAPPY JUNE 22 #KINDA #ignoring the fact that I'm posting this at 0130 on June 23 :3 #insecure steve rogers #insecure tony stark #tony and I see the same therapist lol #stovetuna writes #and yes 22 June is apparently the MCU date of Project Rebirth #PERFECT TIMING

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musicalluna · 4 years

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panning for gold

@bardingbeedle here is your birthday fic!!!!! ily, i hope you enjoy <3

Tony is not a stupid man. So when Captain America asks him if he wants to “step out” with him, of course he says yes.

He’s amused because Steve plans the date and picks him up at six o’clock on the dot. His amusement must be written on his face because Steve ducks his head like he’s embarrassed and says, “Ah, I know this isn’t exactly how things are done anymore, but it took it out of me just to ask, so...”

He’s sweet, painfully so, and Tony couldn’t stop himself from smiling if he wanted to. “Hey, who’s complaining?”

Steve smiles back, his shoulders relaxing a little, sweet and appreciative. He’s really something else and if Tony’s not careful he’ll be in trouble. Steve’s a good guy—the best, really, but there’s no way Steve is interested in dating Tony long term. It’s probably not conscious, but he’s interested in the experiences Tony can provide. Fancy dinners, lavish vacations, expensive presents. Sure, maybe there’s some attraction there, some connection, they’re friends, aren’t they? But it always comes down to Tony’s money. He’s not about to hold that against Steve. They can have a little fun. “Come on,” he says, slipping his arm through Steve’s. “Take me out on the town.”

Steve beams, hand curling around Tony’s on his elbow.

–

They go to a place called “The Big Gay Ice Cream Shop” and Tony barks out a laugh. Steve smiles, glancing at him slyly out of the corner of his eye. “I thought it seemed appropriate.”

“You aren’t wrong.”

Steve holds the door open for him, which is another charming gesture. They spend a little while at the counter sampling flavors and leave twenty minutes later with waffle cones the size of their heads. Tony automatically goes for his wallet at the register, but Steve catches his hand and pushes it back into his jacket.

“My treat.”

Tony blinks, surprised. “Oh.” He shrugs after a moment and grins. “Okay, then.”

He can’t remember the last time someone paid for him for...anything. It may have never happened. He’s always been the one with more means than sense. The experience is novel and he can’t help the way it lingers in the back of his mind through the rest of the date, which is a long walk back to the Tower.

Steve is funny in the driest way and smart as hell in a way that’s unlike Tony’s own intellect, but that just makes it all the more fascinating to talk to him.

Plus, he’s gorgeous, which Tony is reminded of when they finally meander up to the Tower and into the elevator. Steve leans back against the elevator wall, hands in his pockets, his head angled toward the floor, and he smiles at Tony, looking at him through his sandy eyelashes.

It knocks Tony for a loop.

He still hasn’t quite figured out how to breathe again when Steve says in a low voice, “I had a really good time tonight, Tony. Can we do this again?”

Tony works his tongue around his mouth for a second, trying to get some moisture back into it. “Yeah,” he says faintly, “me too. This was fun. How’s, uh, next Tuesday?”

Steve glows at him. That’s the only way to describe it. Tony’s stomach swoops like he’s pushing Mach 5 in the suit. “Six?”

“Yeah,” Tony rasps.

Steve pushes off the wall as they arrive at the floor that holds his apartment and Tony feels his passing like electricity over his skin. “Okay. See you then.”

Oh, Tony thinks as the doors close, yeah, I’m in trouble.

–

“IFC is playing The Shining,” Steve says while he and Tony head downstairs on Tuesday. “I thought we could go see it?”

“You’re into horror?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know, but I hear it’s a classic. One of the best of all time?”

“I saw it when I was ten so I can’t comment on anything other than the fact that it scarred me.”

“You were ten?” Steve says with a look somewhere between incredulity and amused of-course-you-did, which is a look Tony is used to getting.

“Dad kept telling me I was a baby and I wanted to prove him wrong. I snuck into the theater. I couldn’t sleep for a week.”

“Well, now I’m really curious.”

“Wow, asshole,” Tony says.

Steve shrugs, hands in his pockets again. It’s like he thinks he’s too big—taking up too much room. “I keep tryin’ to tell people...”

It feels like Tony’s heart grows in his chest. God, he’s so fond of Rogers. He’s a shit.

–

Steve pays for the movie and their concessions, too.

Tony thinks about saying something, but he’s not sure what exactly he’d say. Stop it? I have money (obviously)? He can’t come up with anything that doesn’t sound ridiculous. So he just keeps his mouth shut and watches the movie.

It’s definitely not as scary as he remembers, but there are still some creepy moments. Some of it just gets him because of how much it reminds him of Howard.

When they leave the theater, Steve is in a somber mood.

“That was...interesting,” he says, obviously struggling for words. “They implied that Jack was in the hotel in the past, too.”

“Yeah.”

Steve goes quiet, mind obviously churning.

They walk in silence for nearly a block before Steve finally shakes his head. “Sorry, that was… I wasn’t expecting that.”

He’s unsettled Tony realizes. “Are you okay?”

Steve looks over at him, a flush creeping over his cheeks. “Yeah, uh,” he scrubs a hand over the back of his head. “It’s just—the way he lost control…”

“Reminds me of my dad,” Tony says, before he can think better of it and he only just manages to stifle a wince when Steve looks over at him, eyes wide.

“Howard was like that?”

“I mean he never tried to axe me, but—” Tony shakes his head, brushing that all away. “He was your friend, let’s not get into that—”

Steve grasps Tony by the wrist, bringing him to a stop on the sidewalk with barely any pressure at all. Tony gets the sudden urge to shake him off, but he mashes it down. Steve’s face is serious, tinted orange in the sodium vapor lights. “You and I are better friends than we ever were, Tony. If he ever did anything like that to you—” His mouth goes tight. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Tony stares at him, feeling strangely overwhelmed, so much so that he can’t speak. He can’t find the words for—anything.

Steve’s face softens and he puts a hand very lightly in the small of Tony’s back. “C’mon. Ice cream?”

Tony nods and lets himself be led.

–

He’s doing it deliberately, Tony realizes after they’ve gone on three more dates. On their fourth date, Tony pulls out his wallet early trying to beat Steve to the payment, but Steve says, “That’s okay, Tony. I’ve got it.”

“You’ve gotten it every time so far,” Tony says.

“Yeah,” Steve says mildly, handing over his credit card, “what’s your point? I want to.”

Tony doesn’t actually have a good argument to counter that, so he lets his hand drop. Steve smiles at him and it’s like Tony can feel the Pavlovian neuro-paths forming in his brain. Jesus, he’s a sucker. This was supposed to be a fun little fling because when you’re offered the chance to date Captain America you don’t say no, but Steve keeps asking him and Tony keeps saying yes. And Steve’s sticking around even though he’s the one paying for everything. It doesn’t track at all.

Coney Island is a blast, partly because of the attractions, but mostly because of all the stories Steve tells him about what a scrappy little cuss he was. He even tells Tony about a time when Bucky made him go on the Cyclone and he threw up and he actually manages to smile during the story. It’s the first time Tony’s heard him talk about Bucky without a thread of raw agony in his voice. It sounds stupid, but he’s honored. It’s taken the team two years to start cracking through Steve’s walls and it’s humbling to realize Steve feels like he can say these things to Tony and that it’s helping.

They stay until well after sundown and Tony can’t stop looking at Steve under the kaleidoscope of multicolored lights. He’s relaxed, happy, and it’s beautiful.

“Let’s ride the Ferris wheel,” Steve suggests, and Tony just says okay. He’d say yes to just about anything Steve suggested at this point.

It’s a warm night with a cool breeze—pretty much perfect as far as nights go. Despite the fact that the line is fairly lengthy, they end up in one of the fixed cars alone. Tony’s stomach flips when Steve sits and pulls Tony down next to him, wrapping his arm around Tony’s waist. The midway is all lit up below them, backed by the beach and the dark water beyond. This is the first time Tony’s been on a Ferris wheel in years and it’s making him feel like a kid again. It’s goofy, but there’s something magic about it.

“It’s pretty amazing this is still around,” Steve says, and Tony drags his gaze away from the view. “There was a big fuss when it opened. It was called the Dip-the-Dip back then, but it was just like this.”

“People do some incredible things,” Tony says, and Steve meets his eyes.

“They sure do.”

Their car reaches the apex of the wheel and rocks slowly to a stop as the wheel pauses. The breeze is cool, blowing Tony’s hair in his eyes and he reaches up to push it back. When he can see again, Steve is close enough Tony can feel the heat of his skin against his cheek and he sucks in a breath, heart breaking into a sprint.

“Gonna kiss you now,” Steve says, voice low. Then he cups Tony’s face in both his big hands and kisses him so gently it feels like his thoughts go spiraling away on the breeze.

The blood roars in his ears and he only realizes he was holding his breath when Steve draws back and Tony sucks in a gasp, his hands clutching at Steve’s leather jacket. Steve is warm underneath it, but the lining is cool and smooth against the back of his knuckles.

Steve smiles at him, sucking Tony’s stomach right back out of his body, and then leans in again and presses another featherlight kiss to his mouth. “Been wanting to do that for weeks.”

Tony makes an inarticulate noise and shifts impossibly closer to Steve, the heat of his thigh like fire against his leg. “Well, don’t stop now,” he rasps.

Steve lights up, his eyes reflecting back all the colors of the lights as they go by, and then he’s kissing Tony again, tongue easing into Tony’s mouth and sending sparks through his scalp. He moans, blown away by how good it feels to kiss Steve. Oh, god, he’s supposed to give this up? Like hell.

–

After that he’s plunged from “getting in over his head” to “in way over his head”. He tries so goddamn hard to protect himself from the inevitable heartbreak caused by people who don’t realize they’re in love with his money and not him, but he wasn’t ready for Steve Rogers.

Steve who hasn’t let him pay for a single thing in the three months they’ve been dating. Not so much as a coffee. What is he supposed to do with that? What is Steve getting out of this if he won’t take Tony’s money?

“STOP,” Tony bursts as Steve takes the check holder, “Stop. I can’t take it anymore. What is this, the world’s longest con?”

Steve blinks at him and the waiter slowly backs away from the table and disappears. “What?” Steve finally says.

“You won’t let me pay for anything! But people date me for my money. So I don’t understand what’s going on here. Are you trying to lull me into a false sense of security? Because, if I’m being honest, I’m already fucked. I’m into you. Way into you. So even if you are, you can just cut it out. You can have whatever you want.”

Steve’s face pinches and he puts a crease in the check holder, his fingers are gripping it so hard. “No, Tony. It’s not...it’s not a con. I didn’t want you to think that I even might be interested in you for your money.”

Tony shrugs, feeling small. “Everyone is.”

“I’m not,” Steve says firmly. “And I’ll keep paying for things as long as it takes you to believe that. I don’t need or want your money. I want you.”

Tony swallows, shoulders hunching and his fingers curling reflexively when Steve reaches across the table to put his hand over Tony’s. “You’d...pay for stuff forever? Even though I can afford—basically anything?”

“I’m dating you to spend time with you, Tony, not so you can buy me things. And I don’t want you to feel like it’s unfair or I’m coddling you or something. If you want to pay for your share, that’s fine. But I don’t need you to pay for mine. And I’ll never expect you to.”

Steve really is unbelievable, Tony thinks, staring at him across the table. “You would,” he says, knowing it’s true even as he says it.

“I will,” Steve says, like a vow. A shiver goes down Tony’s spine.

He curls his fingers around Steve’s and looks down at the tabletop, flicking aside a crumb. “And what if I wanted to buy you things?”

Steve is quiet for a long moment. “We can talk about it. The idea makes me uncomfortable, I won’t lie.”

“Because you feel like you’d be taking advantage.”

Steve smiles crookedly at him. “You thought I was running a con on you.”

Tony huffs and digs his fingers into the corners of his eyes. “Okay, fair. I’ve...I’ve never dated anyone like you, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes soften into something almost like sadness. “Maybe after awhile then, Tony. We can start with splitting the bill and see from there.”

Tony nods jerkily. “Yeah. Okay.” After a beat, he blurts, “Thank you.”

Steve sighs and smiles ruefully. “You don’t have to thank me for caring about you as a person. But you’re welcome.” He kisses Tony’s knuckles and it sends a chill up Tony’s arm. “Now can I pay for dinner?”

“Please do,” Tony says, hooking his ankle around Steve’s under the table. “I’m ready to go home and give you a very...thorough thank you.” To his delight, Steve’s eyes go dark. He pulls a stack of bills out of his wallet and tosses them into the check holder without looking.

“Let’s go.”

Tony laughs all the way out of the restaurant. Maybe this is going to work out after all.

#stevextony #musicalluna writes #steve rogers #tony stark #iron man #captain america #bardingbeedle #fluff #get together #money #tony stark has issues

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musicalluna-draws · 4 years

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@bardingbeedle i saw your tag earlier and i HAD TO

#tony stark #sketch #musicalluna draws #fanart #monochrome #bardingbeedle

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sirsapling · 4 years

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On the 9th it was the birthday of the very very wonderful @bardingbeedle who without, we never would have brought Trouble to life in the first place!

So, it was only fitting that @festiveferret and I got together and wrote/illustrated the fluffiest thing we possible could, for the fluffiest person we know. Happy Late Birthday Beed!

Read it here!

See the art here on Twitter

And If you’re new to the Trouble verse (officially called Papa Don’t Preach) you can:

Start the story here!

#stevetony #stony #Anthony Stark #ults!anthony #my art #ults!Tony #Ults!Steve #ults #fic: trouble #in trouble deep #Little Bits #fics and fic recs #fics #bardingbeedle #festiveferret

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wingheadshellhead · 2 years

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your meta will be the light in this dystopian landscape we call earth it will literally water my crops heal my soul allow me to drink from the fountain of youth PLEASE OH MY GOD also HELLO ITS SO VERY NICE TO SEE YOU ON MY DASH 💗❤️💖💗❤️💗💖💗❤️💗❤️💗❤️💗💖💗❤️💗❤️💗❤️💗❤️💗❤️💗

THIS FILLED MY HEART WITH SO MUCH WARMTH THANK YOU. im so pleased to see you still around!!!!! <3 ONE OF MY FAVE MUTUALS OF ALL TIME i cherish u so much

#bardingbeedle #me counting the number of mutuals still around i CRY

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starksnack · 4 years

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for your birthday ask game! - 🎨 + stevetony + purple! :D

tony is trying to teach steve how to play a new video game

#stony #stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #marvel #starksnack draws #ask 7 #birthday celebration #kait celebrates #starksnack answers #bardingbeedle

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valdomarx · 5 years

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Potts keeps ending up with Stevens’ dog tags.

It starts with Stevens in civvies, getting ready to go surveil a target in a nearby bar. He realizes he still has his tags around his neck, and that’s no good for an undercover op.

He takes them off and hands them to Potts, who will be monitoring from the surveillance van.

“Look after these for me, will you, Potts?”

Potts grumbles, “What am I, your mother?” but he takes them and keeps them safe anyway.

It somehow becomes a habit.

Whenever Stevens is going undercover and Potts isn’t coming with him, he gives him his tags before he leaves.

It comforting, in a strange way. Stevens might be miles from home and in an unfamiliar place, pretending to be someone he’s not among dangerous people, but he knows a little piece of his real self is safe with Potts.

When he gets back from his missions, Potts will drop the dog tags into his hand and make a dismissive comment and they both pretend it’s no big deal.

But occasionally, Stevens will close his hand around Potts’ for just a moment, and Potts will look at him with a weight that says far more than words.

Eventually it goes bad, like it always does. Stevens’ cover gets blown while he’s infiltrating a mafia operation in Chicago and he gets beaten to hell and tossed in a cell in a dank warehouse in the South Side.

His captors lack the skills for the more sadistic forms of interrogation, but they make up for it with an enthusiasm for petty violence. It’s not the worst confinement he’s endured, but it’s not an experience he’s keen to repeat.

Fortunately for him they aren’t much better at guard duty than they are at interrogation, and after a few days he manages to get hold of a pen. It doesn’t take long for him to use it to pick the lock on his handcuffs, jimmy open the door to the cage they’ve been keeping him in, and make his escape.

The mafiosos took his radio equipment and he doesn’t want to risk contacting SHIELD on an open line so it takes him another two days to make it back to Camp Lehigh.

When he walks through the gate he heads straight to the research lab, hoping to catch Potts before he inevitably gets hauled off to the med bay. He's got an ugly black eye and he's pretty sure his jaw is fractured, and several agents he passes on the way express alarm at his condition.

Still, for now at least, he pushes open the door to the lab and just breathes, taking in the low buzzing of the fabrication machines and the smell of motor oil and savoring the feeling of being home.

And then he catches sight of Potts, slumped over a workbench. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks like he’s been crying. He looks, frankly, a total mess.

Stevens' heart aches with how good it is to see him.

Potts looks up and takes him in, and Stevens sees joy, worry, anger, and guilt all pass over his face in the span of a few seconds. Eventually his expression settles on an unconvincing attempt at casual indifference.

“You made it home in more or less one piece, I see,” Potts says, and he’s trying for aloof but his voice is shaky.

Stevens walks over and puts a hand on Potts' shoulder. Potts lets out a tiny sob of relief before visibly pulling himself together.

"I suppose you'll be wanting these back?"

He uncurls his fist to reveal Stevens’ dog tags, which he’s been holding into so tightly they’ve carved lines into the skin of his hands.

Stevens hesitates, then gently closes Potts’ hand back up and covers it with his own.

“Why don’t you keep those for me?”

Potts sniffs and squints at him. Stevens knows he can't bear anything that seems like pity.

"I'll only lose them," Stevens continues. "You'd be doing me a favor."

Potts considers that and eventually nods. He pushes up his glasses, wipes his eyes with the cuff of his lab coat, and puts the tags around his neck.

The tags sit on Potts' shirt, next to his heart. It seems right somehow.

He places a hand on Potts' chest and feels his heart beating. Stevens smiles for the first time in a week.

"I had to make it home,” Stevens says quietly. “My heart's here."

#stevetony #stony #bardingbeedle #ishipallthings #doctor potts & captain stevens #my writing #long post #don't tell anyone but secretly... i'm soft #**

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