#aurumacadicus answers
Note
92 or 14 maybe? 🤔
Going with 14!
--
Prince Anthony was picking his feathers out again.
Steve wordlessly set his shield aside and walked over to grab his hands, yanking them down, away from his wings. "Your highness--"
"I know!" Prince Anthony exclaimed defensively. His wrists jerked in Steve's grip, though, back toward his wings, and he wilted under Steve's stern glare. "I know," he repeated miserably.
It broke Steve's heart, but he turned to grab the picking glove, and while Prince Anthony obediently stuck his hands in so the mouth could be cinched tight around his wrists, he couldn't help but think it wasn't fair. Maybe Prince Anthony wouldn't be picking himself bald if he didn't have to choose a suitor in the next three days.
Prince Anthony had always been put off by the cock parties, as he'd called them--"cockerel balls" had always seemed to lend a layer of refinement to them that they didn't deserve, he'd said. Mostly, it was young cocks approaching and trying to impress prospective hens, and as Prince Anthony had a sizeable fortune behind him, he'd been the one most flocked to. It had made him suspicious, nervous even, of anyone's attention. Steve had watched, heart sinking with every ball, as grabby kids who barely knew what to do with a cloaca fawned all over Prince Anthony for the chance at his wing in matrimony.
It had given him nothing but a dim view on mating parties and cocks in general, which was probably why he'd gotten away with his secret for so long. He was so visibly disgusted after each cockerel ball that everyone assumed even if he was pregnant, he'd get rid of it as quickly as possible. Only when the rumors about his sudden cravings for sardines and almonds got loud enough to reach the royal court did it become necessary for Prince Anthony to undergo medical examination. And, well, when it was found to be true, that a royal hatchling was on the way, an unwed, pregnant royal was deemed a hazard to... what was it they had said? Public decency and the dignity of the crown?
Either way, it meant that another cockerel ball had been set up as quickly as possible, and Prince Anthony no longer had the choice of saying no to all comers if he wanted to keep his financial backing, even if he plucked himself bare in the meantime.
Steve watched Prince Anthony begin to pace, feeling helpless. His prince was in trouble, and he could do nothing of import to stop it. Prince Anthony looked like a caged animal as he walked up and down the carpet. He wasn't even showing yet. Was the palace hoping to get him wed immediately and lie about the hatchling being early? Someone would be bound to talk. That's what had started this mess, after all.
"I suppose," Prince Anthony began, voice halting and pained as he turned to pace in front of the window, obviously hoping the sun's rays would help him feel better. "That Lady Pepper is. Nice enough. Could pass the egg off as hers if we married."
"I suppose," Steve agreed, hoping he sounded noncommittal instead of just bitter.
"Or. Or that kind--Bruce? I think?"
"The alchemist Bruce was very kind," Steve answered with a nod.
"Or I could... I could just..." Prince Anthony stopped in front of the window, staring outside. Then, as quickly as he stopped, he turned around, eyes wide and beseeching. "Run away with me."
Steve's mouth dropped open in shock. He blinked at Prince Anthony slowly, unable to comprehend what he'd just been asked. Prince Anthony was a well-loved public figure, and while Steve was famous for his work in the war, he'd never been... someone people wanted to see running the country. In fact, if anyone ever found out that he was the one who had henned the heir apparent, he likely wouldn't be able to see him again. Prince Anthony was royalty. Steve had clawed his way up from the streets. He was only Prince Anthony's personal guard because there had been several attempts on his life, and Steve was the best at what he did.
"Run... away...?" Steve finally repeated, still not quite believing it.
"I'm just a figurehead for this stupid country," Tony spat, hope giving way to anger. "They only kept royalty on as a tradition they didn't know how to quit, as a show. I don't have any real power. And that's how they can bully me into getting married, picking a cock I don't even like all that much to be the legitimate father of my egg--So. So let's run away."
There were many reasons why Steve should say no. The country loved Prince Anthony, for one--he was only behind his late mother in terms of charity, and was quickly gaining on her record; despite the fact that he had no real power, he always did his best to influence parliament to vote in favor of the people; and the whole country had collectively swooned when a tabloid had leaked a picture of him holding a baby at the hospital with the quote 'babies need to be held' splashed under it. Steve was a nobody, come up from nothing, and most people did not have good things to say about him coming up from nothing because of the war.
Prince Anthony's gaze was steady, though, when Steve met his eyes. He was certain of his decision. That was one of the things Steve liked about him--he knew what he wanted, and if he could get it, he eagerly went through with it. And if he couldn't get it, he was a gracious loser.
"Your highness," Steve began with a sigh.
"I don't care if we're poor," Prince Anthony continued before he could voice his dissent, the determination in his voice making Steve's mouth snap shut in surprise. "You'll take care of us. And I--I have an education. I can get a job to help. You helped make this egg," he added sharply. "Are you refusing to take responsibility? And could you really just let someone else raise your chick?"
If he told himself it was for the better, to make sure the chick got everything it needed or wanted, he probably could. Prince Anthony would love it enough for the both of them, even if his new spouse only tolerated the chick. It wasn't ideal, but then, neither was getting Tony laden with egg before marriage. A marriage that couldn't happen because of who he was and who Prince Anthony had turned out to be. Steve opened his mouth to tell him in no uncertain terms that he would not be taking the spot from a more deserving rooster.
But he didn't want to. And Tony was clearly showing he didn't want to either. So he looked up at Tony and nodded sharply. "Alright, Tony."
"Tony," he repeated in a whisper, shocked. Steve only ever called him that in bed; he needed the separation of work and intimacy, and it helped to remind Tony, too, that he couldn't reach out and touch whenever he wanted. Steve watched as Tony's mouth spread into a wide smile as he lunged toward him, hooking his bound hands behind Steve's neck and pulling him down for an overjoyed kiss just bordering on desperation. Apparently, eschewing his proper name was all the real confirmation he needed of Steve's feelings.
Steve threw his wings up in a mating display just to make sure there was no misunderstanding.
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Saw your tags on the book club post and just wanted to let you know, one of our fellow club members has digital copies of all the books in the poll that she is happy to share with the club!
oh that would be wonderful!!!
#book club#ask and answer#aurumacadicus#also you probably sent this like that same day but i never get asks so i just. hadn’t been checking lol
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Hellooo I'm sending this ask because I'm obsessed with this topic but: Your grandmother learned a different type of cursive from you which is why you might have trouble reading it. The style of cursive has changed over time, so some of the letters are literally different from how you learned them: Pre-sixties was looped cursive, post-sixties was cursive italics, and in the 2000s was a weird either-or of like four different distinct types of cursive. Okay bye <3
That's very true! 83 I wonder why it changed over time though. Like, my mom's cursive is that pre-sixties kind of looped sort of cursive, easy to read. Grandma's was so small and slanted and everything looks like it runs together. The wild thing is, I used to be able to read it well. Like, I'd sit there and watch her writing her letters to her penpals and everything, and I could read what she wrote in her birthday cards. Same with my grandpa and my other set of grandparents. Strangely dad's cursive was a little more blocky, but maybe that was just him...
I remember getting a letter from a gal I know from the goat world, she's in her eighties. It wasn't long ago that I got her letter and opened it up and thought it was one long scribble until I realized it was grandma cursive, lololol, it took me SO LONG to remember how to read it, and I had to tap my bestie to help me translate it.
CURSIVE IS COOL, MAN
#aurumacadicus#giggs answers#genuinely wish I'd learned how to write cursive better but my school dropped it like a year after I learned it#same with learning how to write a check lololol#I never developed cute handwriting either#I got onto a computer early and I feel like I relied on typing so much that my handwriting went to shit#BUT I CAN SURE TYPE FAST
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@aurumacadicus i love ur rut idea and wanna raise you to a different fandom because i constantly have omegaverse Thoughts
Imagine spock, technically an omega but functionally... a vulcan, who have ever different sexes/genders than humans, and so has experienced one (mild) heat and many mild suppression shots, and jim, big (lol) bad (nah) alpha (this is true) of the ship (most people would actually say this is scotty) beginning a very sweet relationship. Spock ain't no blushing virgin but okay he's not super adventurous and maybe vulcan has different views of sex than earth and maybe he just enjoys how loved and sweet jim makes him feel when they engage coitous ("we make love spock, please") so maybe it slips his mind the finer points of human sexuality for awhile until jim starts getting weirdly aggressive and territorial.
Okay, this is fine, he can handle this!! A rut can't be that different than pon farr, and even a strong human like jim cant hurt him too badly without serious effort. He can totally handle this. :) (he is both scared and horny.) "Spock, buddy, I'm gonna have to lock you two in," Bones tells him, and he thinks haha, another funny human joke! ... right? Only Bones is dead serious, and normally maybe he wouldve laughed but he kinda wants spock to actually know what he's getting into.
"Pardon?"
"I can lock your door too, if you don't want him getting in there and scenting and destroying everything. Yknow, the one in the bathroom?" Spock isn't sure how to answer. Bones keeps going. "You might want access though, in case you need to nest. His rut might trigger your heat, yknow? It's HIGHLY unlikely, but you might want that safety net, if you don't mind some ripped pillows. We can move the breakables now if we're fast enough and he doesnt hear me with you."
Turns out Jim is one of those alphas who's kicking snarling growling grabbing breaking in a rut and Bones had to deal with his territorial bullshit all through the academy. Luckily Bones never keeps anything of value anyway. Spock thinks Bones expects him to be scared by this, but instead something ancient and unknown to him in his vulcan blood purrs and stretches at the thought that he should willingly be allowed to go in that territory and be part of it.
Spock learns A LOT of things about himself during Jim’s rut :)
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I posted 871 times in 2022
37 posts created (4%)
834 posts reblogged (96%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@iam93percentstardust
@imposterogers
@aurumacadicus
@replicae-sin
@gayspacesprinkles
I tagged 38 of my posts in 2022
#marvel - 19 posts
#mcu - 18 posts
#tony stark - 7 posts
#she hulk - 6 posts
#the avengers - 6 posts
#spider man - 4 posts
#steve rogers - 4 posts
#jennifer walters - 3 posts
#ask answered - 3 posts
#she hulk spoilers - 3 posts
Longest Tag: 83 characters
#naturally i will still be reblogging marvel content and posting any thoughts i have
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
When Jen and Matt started flirting in lawyer it was so cute I can't even lie
48 notes - Posted October 7, 2022
#4
Poly fake dating au where someone accidentally tells their judgmental parent that they're dating their whole friend group and then it's also friends to lovers
55 notes - Posted February 7, 2022
#3
Rhodey had threatened him into this. Tony stomped petulantly into the common living room- or it would have been petulant if he'd had the energy to feel anything except teary and exhausted. It wasn't really a stomp either, more of a heavy shamble.
"I'm having a really bad depressive episode right now," he said, "so if someone could keep an eye on me to make sure I don't off myself, that would be nice."
There. Could be taken as a joke. Probably. He could spin it into one and leave, he could-
Tony was not at all prepared for his teammates to all drop their various activities and turn to look at him, similar horrified and concerned expressions on their faces.
57 notes - Posted February 10, 2022
#2
Clint: so like how does it work with the three of you? Who's the big spoon and who's the little spoon?
Tony: easy, I'm a knife
Bucky: he's the middle spoon
Steve: yep
73 notes - Posted July 16, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
One of the things I really hate about the MCU is that when Marvel comics first came out they were about like, punching nazis and being anti police. Now Disney owns everything and it all has to be sanitized and only controversial enough to draw the largest possible audience and they've become formulaic and the whole universe of the comics just doesn't spread to movies as well. Even early MCU was just . . . Better before it became like,,,, this.
212 notes - Posted February 7, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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159 or 139 for the ficlet please!
(Also, do these numbers correspond or a prompt or are we just winging it here, curious minds would like to know how this lottery is working 🧐)
These numbers correspond to a prompt set which I can post a link to after this is done but I wanted the randomness of it. No offense but you guys always go for the same prompts (which don't get me wrong, make sense for the characters/my writing) but I wanted to stretch some writing muscles!!!! So I anonymized the list :3c
--
Steve groaned when he realized he couldn't ignore the constant pinging of his phone anymore. It had well and truly rung through his half-dozing state. He pushed himself up, popping each vertebrae as he attempted to blink the sleep out of his eyes, then yawned, loud, and scrubbed at his eyes.
He took a glance around his room, then squinted in confusion when he saw his lamp had been knocked off the bedside table, there was a... sock? On the ceiling fan? And the ceiling fan was askew, the edges of the blades scraping the paint off on one side and nearly low enough to clip his hair on the other. He stared at it, mouth hanging open in confusion, especially as it finally registered that it was not a sock hanging from the fan, but a ripped pair of tights.
Steve grabbed his phone, still staring at the tights, as he wondered how, exactly, they'd been ripped right down the middle of the crotch and where, exactly, the other half was. He found it as he rolled onto his back to check his phone, one end tied to the foot board of his bed, the other tied around his ankle. He blinked slowly, then thumbed his phone open, peering at the notifications.
[Bucky]
If you don't respond, I'm calling the cops
Steve blinked again, then sent a simple 'responding' and scrolled up to see what was going on. He came to the conclusion that he'd disappeared halfway through a party. Bucky and Natasha's engagement party, maybe? They were celebrating something, he remembered. The first messages has been teasing, calling him a curmudgeonly old man, then jokes about him getting lucky, then concern as he'd never replied to any of them. He flipped back to Bucky's messages.
[Me]
Yo what happened
My lamp's broken? And my ceiling fan? I'm tied to the bed kinda.
He looked around again just for good measure, then did a double-take at his sheets. He snapped a picture and sent it along as well.
[Me]
Also, my bed has glitter in it for reasons I do not recall.
Bucky's response came only a few seconds later.
[Bucky]
Oh my god the stripper??????????????!
I wondered what happened to him!!!!!!
"The stripper?" Steve asked, squinting at the screen in confusion.
The door to his bathroom opened, and a man stepped out, naked as the day he was born. He was beautifully damp. He had a towel wrapped around his hair. Steve understood, suddenly, why half a pair of tights were on the ceiling fan. He immediately wanted to fuck this man so athletically that the other half snapped off his leg and flew onto the ceiling fan too.
"I ordered breakfast," the man said casually, pulling a duffel bag from... somewhere. "It should be here in about fifteen minutes. I'm Tony, by the way," he added, picking a pair of briefs out of the bag.
"You don't have to put those on, Tony," Steve offered, instead of doing the polite thing of offering his name back, or asking if he wanted anything else.
Tony let out a bark of laughter. "Just as charming as last night," he teased, shaking his head.
God, Steve hoped he'd been charming last night. "So... were we introduced last night?" he asked carefully. "And you thought I forgot your name?"
"I was introduced as Bambi last night," Tony said, offering him a smirk. "And you waxed poetic about my big brown eyes until I basically had no choice but to fall into bed with you."
"Bambi," Steve repeated, and then, louder, "Ooooh, Bambi." Suddenly he remembered exactly what had happened last night, up to and including how his room had gotten messed up, and it had started with Tony finally asking, 'Does that make you Faline? Or are you more of a Ronno?' and Steve just picking him up and carrying him toward the door as Tony giggled in his arms.
Well. Food was coming. He'd have time to convince Tony he was more than just a fan of brown eyes. Tony had a cheeky smile. He found those always seemed to get him into trouble in the best way.
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i'm not sure if tumblr is lying to me or not about when you responded to my ask but i only just got the notification for it, so. if you're still doing the 1-161 stony ficlet challenge, can i request 123 if that one hasn't also been taken? ps i'm really loving the ones you've posted so far, they're great! <3
Thanks! It's been a lot of fun!
--
Steve grit his teeth as Tony carefully, casually prodded his thigh with the toe of his left foot again. They were fighting, and he couldn't tell if this was an olive branch or a deliberate attempt to make him lose his cool.
They didn't fight often. They argued a lot, of course. He and Tony both had very strong personalities, and they also had very strong opinions. More difficult still, Steve was from a different time, and while he'd made great strides in acclimating himself to the time (and while Tony had been very patient as he learned) some things he said and believed still had them butting heads sometimes.
Tony prodded his thigh again, and Steve sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He would not give Tony the satisfaction of reacting.
"I'm not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention," Tony finally declared, prodding him again.
"We are fighting and I'm still mad at you," Steve answered curtly, looking back down at his book. He figured that was attention enough, with the mood he was in and their fight still hovering at the edges of their conversations.
The ball of Tony's foot stayed pressed to his thigh a moment longer before he slowly drew it back. "Oh. Sorry."
Steve slanted his gaze over at that, brows furrowing together at the tone of Tony's voice. It was the one he used when he knew he'd misstepped but didn't understand why. He looked genuinely upset before his emotional shutters came back down as he returned his gaze to his tablet. He pulled his feet in closer, tucking himself tighter into the corner of the couch.
Steve watched him, considering, then carefully asked, "We... are still fighting, aren't we?"
"Of course. Obviously," Tony scoffed, prodding at his screen a little harder than he usually might.
Steve waited a beat, but Tony didn't plow on like he usually did when he was angry. He'd had no problem shouting for hours yesterday, but Steve had no doubt he'd come up with new things to shout if he was still very upset. He cast around his mind for what Tony's sudden change in heart and remembered, frowning, that Colonel Rhodes had huffed out a frustrated, 'well, his parents never apologized to each other, at least not in front of him, so he thinks fights just stop eventually and you carry on as usual.'
Tony must have just been... ready for things to carry on as usual. Steve set his book in his lap and sighed again, tipping his head against the back of the couch. He'd been the second one to sit down on the couch. Tony must have thought that was an olive branch. And maybe it had been, he realized, turning to look at Tony again. Maybe, unconsciously, he'd been ready to end the fight, too. But not like Tony wanted, where they simply stopped talking about it and returned to life as normal.
"I'm sorry," Steve said, because he was. His ma always said it took two people to fight, after all.
Tony prodded at his tablet a couple more times, then turned his head a little, peering at him out of the corner of his eye. "...For what?" he finally asked, skeptical.
"For fighting," Steve answered simply. He'd learned early on that if he said too much, Tony would have more to read into.
Tony turned his head away, then looked back at him, eyes narrowed. "...I'm... sorry... too," he finally said, slowly, like he was waiting for Steve to spring some sort of trap after each word.
It hurt a little, Steve could admit to himself. But luckily, he'd learned that it wasn't his own shortcomings as a boyfriend that caused Tony to be suspicious of something he thought was a good thing; the lists of people who had hurt Tony in the past were all available online, after all. Not necessarily under that label, but Steve was pretty good at reading between the lines.
And it was a step in the right direction, Steve figured. Acknowledging their wrongs to each other was certainly better than just letting them go unsaid. They could have a discussion about it later, when the hurt wasn't so fresh and they had time to decompress.
Until then, Steve reached out to grab Tony's ankle and drag his leg back out, and Tony squawked as he was pulled across the cushions. "C'mere."
"Brute!" Tony howled, trying to claw his way back across the couch, but Steve's grip on his leg was immovable. "Stop fucking dragging me everywhere you want me, you neanderthal, I--"
"You what?" Steve asked, flipping him easily, and immediately dug his thumbs into Tony's arch, exactly where he knew Tony got sorest. Tony let out a moan, and Steve knew he had won, at least for the moment.
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69 🫡🫡🫡
There were eight 69's in my inbox I just want you all to know.
--
"Hey, um, so, hello," someone said, voice cracking.
Steve blinked slowly, not quite understanding. He'd heard that tone of voice before, but never directed at him. Normally Thor, or Bucky, or even Natasha, when she was wearing a tank-top that showed off her arms. Someone seeking help, needing muscle. Steve was scrappy, but he also wasn't the first person anyone ever turned to for help. He turned, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
The man who had sidled up to him was wearing clothes way too nice for the bar Steve and his friends called home base. As he watched, the man shifted, and he saw a peek of a red sole on the bottom of his shoe. His watch looked expensive, too. He bet the guy's buttons were more expensive than some of the liquor behind the bar.
"Hello," Steve answered belatedly.
"I'm gonna be frank with you," the man said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "My ex is following me. I have a restraining order and the police are on the way but. You know. New York. So. Just pretend to be my date? Please? So I don't look like I'm wandering around helplessly. I need to look like I came here on purpose."
"Okay," Steve answered, the novelty of the request sort of making everything else absorb slowly. Then the rest of what the man said hit him, and he straightened up from where he'd been slouching over his beer. "Restraining order?!"
"You said okay no take-backs," the man answered, eyes darting back and forth as if he was already choosing someone else to ask if Steve really said no. "I'm Tony. Can we hold hands? Or. Like. I can go. Is there a bathroom here? Is there a window in it?"
Tony was panicking, Steve realized. He was about to shake out of his skin. Whoever his ex was, he was really scared. And he should be, Steve figured belatedly. From what he'd been told, restraining orders could be hard to get.
He reached out, bypassing Tony's trembling hand to instead grab Tony's chin, gently forcing him to turn to face him. "I'm Steve," he offered kindly. "Hi, Tony."
Tony squeaked, cheeks taking on a pink tinge. "Hi," he managed, shuffling his feet awkwardly.
"Don't worry," Steve told him, trying to convey that no matter what, here, he'd be safe. If Steve couldn't protect him, his friends were here to take up for Tony instead. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Tony exhaled shakily. Steve took a moment to wonder if it was from relief or if it had anything to do with the shocked blush on his cheeks. Now probably wasn't the time to figure it out, he lamented, even as he stood from his stool to offer it to Tony and subtly waved over at Bucky and Clint by the dart board. They noticed, and Clint got Natasha's attention where she was talking with Maria and Sharon.
Good. Everyone was on alert.
Steve turned his attention back to Tony, giving him a kind smile. "So. Can't say I've ever been someone's first choice when it comes to choosing a fake boyfriend."
Tony swiveled his gaze away from the menu to blink at him, stunned. "Why? You're very cute."
It shocked a laugh out of Steve. "Yeah, but I don't look very strong," he offered.
"...I don't. Want him to go after you," Tony answered after a brief, uncomfortable pause. "He'll just feel sorry for you. That I'm your date. So."
Steve bit back the urge to grip his hands into fists. "...Hmm," he offered, instead of 'what the fuck' or 'lemme at him.' He patted the back of Tony's hand soothingly. "Well. If he says even one thing wrong, rest assured, my fists are up."
"Huh?" Tony asked, but Steve just patted his hand again.
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13, because it's my favorite number!
Steve was ashamed to admit it, but he'd never once thought to worry about Tony's health. Sure, sometimes Tony overworked himself, but it seemed impossible for him not to, with his company and SHIELD and the Avengers to work for, and the one time Pepper had mentioned stepping back, he'd shot her a look of such disdain out of the corner of his eye that everyone in the room felt the need to apologize for the suggestion.
And it wasn't like Tony was bad at taking care of himself, at least these days. He attempted to keep to a regular sleep schedule. He had a varied diet, but most times Steve noticed him gravitating to the healthier options anyway. On the days he had nothing but busywork scheduled, he managed to squeeze in an hour at the gym. He even scheduled rest time for himself (and Steve could admit, if he counted their date nights, he had a lot more relaxing time than his schedule reflected).
On top of that, Tony seemed... impossible to knock down? He complained when he was tired, but for the most part, he acted his same old self. He'd never even gotten a cold in the six years Steve had known him.
That was apparently by design, though, and Steve kicked himself for not taking the slight hesitation in Tony's movements before he reached out for Nathaniel, snot and all, to bounce on his knee more seriously.
"The responsibility for my weakened immune system is mine," Tony said, and he sounded so reasonable, but all Steve could do was stare at the oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, because he was on his second week recovering from pneumonia. His left hand was held between both of Steve's own, and it took everything in him not to squeeze it tight. "Steve. I never told anyone about my health problems. It's not just you."
"I--" Know was on the tip of his tongue. Tony's health information was private. Had been even before Iron Man. But Steve couldn't bring himself to say it. He should have been watching. He should have realized. Tony washed his hands and disinfected things more than anyone he ever knew, but he'd thought that was rich-person eccentricity. Not health consciousness. "You can't die," he finally croaked, leaning down so he could press his forehead to the back of Tony's hand. "Please don't die."
It wasn't what he wanted to say, wasn't the proper way to convey what he meant. But he didn't know the words. All he could think about was waking up to a weak, wheezy, 'Steve, call an ambulance' as Tony burned hot beside him. All he could think about was what if he hadn't woken up. It had barely been loud enough for his enhanced hearing to hear. JARVIS wouldn't have been able to catch it and call for help himself.
He could have lost him.
When he finally lifted his head to check if Tony had fallen asleep, because he hadn't answered, he found Tony simply staring at him, blinks slow and syrupy. He sucked in a sharp breath. Tony didn't need this. He was recovering. Steve should have waited until he felt better to bring this up, wait until he was comfortable back at home--
"You're so young," Tony murmured, and Steve's breath caught in his throat. "I'm sorry I never noticed, Steve. I'll try harder to tell you these things, okay?"
"I don't want you to do something you're uncomfortable with," Steve managed, then bit his bottom lip against any other words.
Tony's mouth curved up into a wry smile. "I think my fiance should know everything about me, even the uncomfortable things."
Steve blinked at him, frowning. He felt a tear roll down his cheek. He opened his mouth, closed it. Then he choked out, "You did not just propose to me from your hospital bed."
"Is that a no?" Tony asked, brows furrowing together in concern.
"No, we're getting married, no take-backs. I'm just so... So. I'm just fucking so," Steve choked out, bringing Tony's hand up to his face again so he could press a trembling kiss to his knuckles. "I should go get the the chaplain right now. Serve you right to get married in this bed."
Tony laughed, and then he coughed, and Steve decided not to tease him about getting married in the hospital again until he was off oxygen at least.
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May I please request Stevetony and 4 (Oh, can you feel this?) for the Featheruary prompts?
I went a different direction for this one lol
--
Tony waited until he saw silvery blue scales under the water before he hopped from his perch, using his wings for balance as he carefully edged down to the where the water lapped at the rocky shore below his nest. He knew Steve would scold him, because his people were known to take on each other’s colors to attract easy prey during seasons when the schools of fish they hunted were lean. Tony couldn’t even accuse him of lying, because someone had once tried to come up using silver-blue scales in an attempt to eat him.
Tony had no idea how to explain to Steve that the color hadn’t been exactly right. When Steve had found a handful of blood-slick scales to compare them to his own, he’d pointed out how they’d shined the same way in the sun. But Tony had been able to see the blue wasn’t quite icy enough, that the silver didn’t penetrate deep enough, that the tiny, blush-red scales where his fins attached to his powerful tail hadn’t been the right shade under the silvery translucence of the fins as the other siren had attempted to dance for him. It just hadn’t been right. So Tony had obediently stayed up in his nest, feathers fluffing nervously until Steve’s right-colored scales sliced through the water at high speed, crashed into the other siren, and then blood had bloomed like scarlet flowers under the surface.
At least Steve had been able to eat, even if Tony had had to turn away, feathers flat in disgust.
Steve shot him a flat, unimpressed look as he broke the water, slicking his hair back out of his face. “Would there even be a point to me saying it again?”
“No,” Tony answered, hobbling over to him, carefully picking his way over the rocks. He wasn’t a rock bird. He liked flat land. But people were looking for him there. And he couldn’t be mad about rocks when he had Steve as a friend.
“I should leave,” Steve groused, crossing his arms over his chest. “You just won’t be happy until I find your feathers and blood on the ground.”
Tony tapped him with one taloned foot, prodding him to roll over onto his back. “It’s your fault for not scaring the other sirens off.”
“Is that what you do? Just scare others off and trust them not to come back?” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes.
Tony blinked at him, brows furrowing together. “Yes.”
“…And that works,” Steve asked in surprise.
“Yes,” Tony answered, tilting his head at him. He didn’t know why sirens had to be so dumb. He respected when other birds were defending their territories. And most birds respected his back! Sure, there were scuffles sometimes as they tested boundaries, but it rarely ever extended to anything more than posturing. This was Steve’s beach. The other sirens should respect it.
“That explains so much about you,” Steve sighed, finally rolling onto his back so Tony could settle comfortably in his lap. “I need to keep moving to keep my lower gills wet.”
Tony considered the feathers on his legs, feet dangling on either side of the girth of Steve’s fish tail. He wasn’t a water bird. But then, he wasn’t a rock bird either. He was a lot of things he wasn’t for Steve. “You’ll protect me,” he decided. Steve was bigger than any others he’d seen of his kind, with a tail twice as long. He placed his taloned fingers over Steve’s stomach. “Just don’t go too far out. If I fall off, I’ll sink.”
“’course,” Steve scoffed, tail beginning to sway back and forth to propel him in long, slow circles. “I’ve seen you in the water. Inelegant little thing.”
Normally, Tony would bristle. He was not an inelegant little thing. He was a prized specimen of his kind. But he could admit that to Steve, he seemed that way. Even Steve’s human half was bigger than him, muscular and bulky, and when he was sitting on Steve like this, his tail seemed to extend for miles. And he was quite elegant in the water, after all, twisting his large body in ways it seemingly shouldn’t be able to simply because of his size.
Steve would probably look pretty inelegant trying to fly, he figured. And Steve always said it with such fondness, he thought it might be a way of expressing affection.
“Do your kind mate?” Tony asked. He’d always wondered. He’d only seen Steve kill and eat others of his kind. Never express romantic overtures.
Steve’s mouth spread into a lazy smile. “Once in a lifetime. It requires a lot of trust, you know, when your mate could turn around and eat you in your sleep.”
“Oh,” Tony said, unable to swallow down the disappointment rising in him. He scolded himself for it immediately. He was just lonely. Steve… obviously didn’t feel loneliness like he did. Steve wasn’t a flock animal, and Tony was. But that was his problem. It wasn’t Steve’s fault that Tony didn’t understand things like that. His kind mated for life, but it seemed they weren’t so picky as sirens.
He probably wouldn’t ever meet Steve’s standards for mating. He was small, and weak, and wanted by humans. He was prey, technically, even if Steve had never acted on it.
Steve tipped his head from side to side to wet the gills on either side of his neck, keeping a careful eye on Tony with each move. “Is something wrong? Your tail’s dragging in the water.”
Tony forced a smile. “Oh, can you feel this? I must not be that small then, if I’m changing your direction.”
Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. Finally, he started again, apropos of nothing, “My mother said sirens and harpies share the same common ancestor.”
Tony frowned in confusion, glancing from his feathers down to Steve’s glimmering scales underneath him.
“Sirens used to be able to fly,” Steve continued, twisting to drift down with the current. “Harpies used to be able to stay underwater. Then humans started hunting them. They had to adapt. Overcome. Sirens dropped to the ocean floors to avoid them, and harpies took to the skies. That was ages ago, so long our oldest forefathers in the deepest depths are the only ones who remember it. I’ve only met one. My mother brought him food because he was too big and too old to hunt anymore. He had me shaking behind her fins, he was so scary. Do you know what he talked about as he was dying in her arms?”
“Being able to fly?” Tony guessed. He thought, if he could swim and couldn’t any longer, he’d miss the water sluicing through his feathers. Perhaps the siren had missed the air against his face.
“He missed his harpy mate,” Steve said gently, reaching out to cup Tony’s cheek carefully in his palm. “Humans had captured her, turned her into a songbird for their traveling shows, and he never saw her again.”
Tony sucked in a startled breath, turning his gaze away, even though it made something in him ache, pulling his face from Steve’s hand. “…Maybe it’s better that he didn’t,” he said.
Steve just looked at him for a moment, frowning. Tony wondered if he was remembering the first night Steve had found him, half-plucked from the stress of his escape and subsequent miles-long journey by foot. ‘Easy prey,’ Steve had called him, coming up out of the water, and Tony hadn’t had the strength to even be scared. He just remembered Steve taking in the full extent of his injuries before he’d hissed a poisonous, ‘Humans,’ and Tony had passed out face-first into the water.
Steve moved his hand so he was cupping Tony’s cheek again. “I’d rather see you one last time, under any circumstances, than see you one last time, hopeful and healthy, and then never again, knowing you were suffering all that time.” He smiled a little. “I don’t think you’d eat me while I slept, after all.”
Tony blinked at him, surprised. Finally, though, he let out a delighted little tweet and leaned in, pressing his lips to Steve’s crooked smile.
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132?
"Steve?" Tony croaked, and then, louder, more distressed, "Steve?!"
Steve fought the urge to hold him tighter. His hands were numb, and the numbness was starting to spread up his arms, too cold even for gooseflesh to rise along his skin. He couldn't risk hurting Tony when he was already injured. "Tony."
"Where are we? What happened? Why are--it's so cold," Tony asked in a rush. He squirmed in Steve's hold. "Did we... did we have a mission?"
"I thought I lost you," Steve whispered into the back of his neck. "I still might. We're snowed into a cave. I didn't get a chance to send an emergency signal."
"Oh," Tony murmured, squirming slowing to a stop.
"That missile hit you, and you fell like a stone. I thought you'd died. But I was already so cold that I couldn't tell when I finally got to the armor. I'm so glad you're awake."
"...So..." Tony began slowly. "You didn't even know if you were holding a corpse?"
Steve flinched, burying his face in Tony's back with a shuddering sigh. No. He didn't. The snow was already coming down heavily, visibility was down, he'd lost feeling in his hands trying to tear the icing armor off of Tony, and he'd worried that the warmth of Tony's body against his numb fingers had been because he was so cold. Tony had gotten colder. He'd thought maybe he hadn't had a heart beat left to heat him, even as he'd hoped it was just a normal reaction to the cold.
He would have held Tony until he was torn from his hands, though. Maybe even longer, if he still had strength.
"Okay," Tony said, voice soothing, when Steve couldn't bring himself to answer verbally. "Okay. I still have my watch gauntlet. I can send a beacon that way. We're gonna be okay, Steve." He shifted in Steve's arms. "Is this--is this your top? Did you put it on me to keep me warm? Steve. You'll freeze."
"I survived it once before," Steve answered mulishly, but only realized just how terrible it sounded when Tony couldn't help an overwhelmed sob in response. The knowledge that Steve would strip off a desperately needed layer to put on someone he thought was dead, just in case, and end up freezing to death himself... it was probably shocking. Heartbreaking, maybe, if he allowed himself to think about it too much.
He didn't tell Tony that he would do it again in a heartbeat. That seemed like too much when he was cold and injured.
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142 for the stony ficlet thing!
Steve hummed as Tony began to shift beside him. Tony was a warm weight on top of his arm, breath puffing softly against his chest. He curled his arm in a little, pulling Tony closer so he could bury his face in his hair.
"Mmh," Tony grunted, and Steve felt his eyelashes against his skin as Tony's eyes fluttered open. "You're still here?"
Steve blinked, frowning, then ground his teeth against a sting of hurt. "Did you really think I'd leave?"
Tony tipped his head back to meet his eyes, eyelids still heavy with sleep. "You'd be the first not to."
Sleep made Tony honest, Steve thought, lifting his other hand to gently press the backs of his fingers to Tony's cheek. He couldn't imagine Tony ever admitting that if he were fully awake. He watched Tony lean into his touch, rubbing his cheek against his fingers like an affectionate cat, and wondered how the fuck anyone had managed to leave a bed with Tony in it.
He wanted to ask. He wanted to know how many people had left Tony to find the other side of the bed cold, hand reaching out for a body that wasn't there. He wanted to know if Tony just expected him to leave because he was used to it, or if he actually thought Steve was the type of fella who'd fuck and run. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do to put Tony's mind at ease, make him realize that Steve was in this to stay.
"Can I kiss you all over?" he asked instead, carefully taking Tony's chin between his thumb and index finger to tip his head back a little further.
Tony blinked at him again, slow and syrupy, and he watched as the question registered in his mind. His hair was sticking up in odd directions, and he had fabric marks on his cheek. It was the most beautiful he'd ever seen him. He wanted to see him like this every morning. He'd wait to tell him that, though, he thought, watching as Tony's lips parted. Until they were a little more settled. Until Tony didn't seem surprised when Steve stayed.
"Of course, Steve," Tony answered, voice soft. His hand came up to wrap around Steve's wrist, holding his hand steady so he could turn and press a kiss into his palm.
Steve slid his hand back into Tony's hair, holding him steady as he leaned in to press their lips together. He thought that was a good place to start, kissing Tony until he was breathless and then trailing his kisses back to his ear, down his jaw and throat, until all Tony could do was gasp and moan beneath him.
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149? 👀
Steve avoided video games in the common room as a rule. It wasn't that he didn't like video games, of course--he enjoyed a story-driven single player game, and he was quite fond of the indie games that Sam had suggested when he saw that 'Nintendo (Switch???)' was written on his list. Something about team games, though, it was... difficult. He just couldn't.
"Probably because you're a sore loser," Clint mused in response to Steve's furiously roared 'did you just blue shell me?!'
"I am not a sore loser," Steve spat, turning to glare at him.
"You are," Clint said simply as Steve's King Boo rolled in at a perfectly respectable seventh place. "Tony, back me up."
"Don't," Steve barked as Tony opened his mouth. "I am not. Leave me alone."
"You don't like to lose. It's what makes you such a good team leader, sweetheart," Tony soothed, wrapping his arms around his neck and smacking a loud, wet kiss to his cheek.
"Well," Steve grumped, crossing his arms over his chest. "I guess so."
"Yeah, it's why you kept fighting on a broken leg in the last battle," Clint added, in a way he probably thought was helpful.
Tony's arms clamped tighter around him, and Steve let out a faint 'Gck!' as it choked him, hands flying up helplessly to grab his wrists. "You said it was just a sprain," he growled.
"Oh, well, bye," Clint said, dropping his controller and bolting from the room, and Steve could only watch miserably as he disappeared into the elevator, leaving him with Tony, who still had his arms tight around his throat.
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82 for a number
"Tony," Steve sighed, trudging after Tony as he stormed into their bedroom.
"I don't want to talk to you, traitor," Tony snapped, stomping over to the bed. He knelt down to grab out one of his suitcases, then stood again, throwing it onto the bed with jerky movements.
Steve crossed his arms over his chest with another sigh. When Tony ignored him, he leaned his shoulder against the doorway and watched as Tony stalked over to the dresser like a cat with wounded pride. "Would you feel better if I apologized?"
"No," Tony answered immediately. He opened a drawer seemingly at random and began pulling out handfuls of clothing. "It was my fault for thinking that you might care."
"Okay," Steve muttered to himself, standing up straight again. He moved into the room carefully as Tony walked over to stuff his handfuls into the suitcase, because Tony could simply turn and fling it all at him. Luckily, Tony seemed too consumed by his offense to notice. He pulled out the wads of clothes as Tony swiveled to go grab something else, turning to walk over to the dresser and put it back in the drawer.
"I just can't believe!" Tony exclaimed, grabbing shirts from hangers at random. He turned to stomp back over to the suitcase and fling them in. "Loki cursed me and you don't even care!"
"Of course I care," Steve sighed, walking back to the suitcase to take the shirts back out. He raised an eyebrow when he found most of them were his, then shrugged, turning to walk over to the closet. He considered hanging everything up again, then shrugged, shoving it on a shelf at random. "We all care, Tony."
"Not enough!" Tony barked, moving back toward the dresser. He opened a different drawer and grabbed just as blindly as he had before. "No one cares that I'm benched, that I have morning sickness, that I--"
"We all care, Tony," Steve repeated sternly.
"The male body was not meant for carrying a baby!" Tony exclaimed, flinging his handfuls into the suitcase. He let out a snarl when Steve came and grabbed the clothes back out. "I am not overreacting!"
Steve did not allow a sigh that time. "I didn't say you were," he answered carefully.
"I'm allowed to be upset!" Tony snapped. "Everything hurts and I'm scared and doctors keep poking me!"
Steve turned to face him, leaning back against the dresser and crossing his arms over his chest again. "I never said you weren't allowed to be upset, either. I know this sucks for you, Tony. I'm the one who rubs your aching feet and back. I'm the one who holds you when you're overwhelmed. And I'm the one who yells at the doctors when they get too interested in poking you. I don't like it when you're upset, sweetheart. What caused this? What can I do to help?"
Tony looked uncertain for a moment. "...Clint ate my last green jello," he finally said, and his face began to crumple. "And now he's going to feel bad. But I don't want him to feel bad. I just want my jello."
"Sweetheart," Steve sighed, rushing toward him to pull him into his arms as Tony began to sniffle. "It's okay. It's fine."
"I hate feeling like this," Tony whimpered into his chest. "It isn't fair."
Steve buried his face in Tony's hair and sighed again, feeling helpless. "Yeah, I know. It isn't fair. Loki was an asshole and you're the one having to suffer for it. I'm sorry."
"Don't tell Clint," Tony whispered.
"I won't," Steve promised, rubbing his hand up and down Tony's back. Once Tony's breath had settled, he leaned back a little, raising an eyebrow. "Where were you going to go, anyway?"
Tony blinked back at him for a moment, considering. Finally, he answered with a simple, "Away."
"Of course," Steve huffed, and while it was a struggle not to roll his eyes, he managed it. The last time he'd rolled his eyes while Tony had still felt vulnerable, Tony had sicced Happy on him in a fit of rage, and Steve had unfortunately learned that Happy carried a special Superhero Specific Taser and he was always one hundred percent on Tony's side. "Well. Let's get this suitcase put away, and JARVIS can order some more green jello, and--"
"And peanuts," Tony added.
"And peanuts," Steve agreed. "And I'll rub your feet until it arrives. Okay? I'm here to help you solve your problems."
"Kill Loki," Tony said. "It would solve a lot of problems."
Steve huffed, face going sour. "I've tried. Thor won't let me."
Tony jerked his head back to stare up at him, shocked. Finally, though, a slightly hysterical laugh tore out of his throat, and Steve leaned down to press a kiss to his smiling mouth before he could somehow find a way to be sad again.
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7 for the ficlets 💜
Steve saw Natasha's hand reaching for him and turned so his back was to her with a growl.
"Steve," Tony sighed in his arms. He sounded tired. "You're drunk."
"Am not," Steve said. It only slurred off his tongue a little. He adjusted his arms around Tony and settled him more firmly in his lap. "Not possible."
"You and Thor have been knocking back Asgardian mead for two hours," Tony said, tipping his head back to frown sternly at him.
Steve did not like when Tony frowned sternly at him. He leaned down to pepper his face with kisses, because Tony never frowned when he did that.
"Steve, maybe wait until you get back to your room?" Bruce tried kindly. "Tony, could you maybe--"
Steve growled and turned again. "Go 'way."
"Steve, you can't get jealous just because one of our other friends is talking to me," Tony chided, frowning at him again.
"I'm not jealous," Steve said. He noticed a hand reaching from around him and snarled, turning to snap at it with his teeth.
Natasha grabbed his face tightly, and he whimpered as she glared down at him. "Did you just try and bite me?"
Steve took a moment to think about it. He was in a very precarious position, probably. She could snap his neck. But! He had a stronger neck than she was used to. Maybe it would be fine. "Nnno," he answered slowly. Just because it might be fine, he was pretty sure Tony wouldn't like it if he had to watch him be murdered.
"Go to bed, Steve," Natasha told him. There was a threat in her tone maybe? Steve couldn't be sure. Her face was blurry.
"...Only if I can take Tony," he decided.
Tony swiveled his head to glare at him. "Of course I'm going with you. The novelty of me getting to take care of you is not lost on me."
Steve immediately popped to his feet, swinging Tony up into his arms like a princess. Prince? He stared at Tony's shocked face for a moment, then nodded firmly. Yes.
"What the fuck are you talking about," Tony sighed, exasperated.
Steve wasn't sure he was talking about anything. "I should eat something," he finally decided.
Tony patted his chest, shaking his head fondly. "I can order pizza."
"I think I'll eat you," Steve plowed on, headed toward the elevator, but didn't make it very far before Tony want back to frowning at him sternly. "Vitamin D."
"WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT," Tony bellowed, and Thor yanked Tony from Steve's arms before Tony could thump him soundly about the head.
Steve scowled up at Thor's blurry face. "Give him back." He put up his fists. "Or else. He's mine."
"I hate it here," Tony sighed as Thor passed him over to Natasha so they could start punching each other. "I should just leave them here."
"Maybe we should order that pizza," Natasha said, easing him down onto his feet, as Steve and Thor fended off the sudden broom attack that Clint went at them with.
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42 for number ficlet!
"You're a complete moron!" Tony shouted, waving his hands over his head for emphasis as he paced up and down the tiny shack they'd holed up in. "I said I could disarm the bomb. I said I could fly us out of there. I said I could handle it! And what did you do instead?!"
"I got blown up," Steve answered morosely.
"You got blown up!" Tony shouted, as if he hadn't spoken. "And now Natasha and Bucky are tromping around in the Siberian wilderness trying to find help because your dumb ass has to sit and stitch itself together AND! Barring HELP! FOOD. IN THE SIBERIAN WILDERNESS."
"Green pine-cones are perfectly edible and full of nutrients," Steve began.
Tony loomed over him on the tiny cot Bucky had wedged him onto, looking apoplectic with rage. "What did you just say to me."
Steve opened his mouth, then carefully closed it again, considering. On one hand, in literally any other circumstance, Tony might be interested to know about the fact that small, green pine-cones could be used as a food source in case of an emergency. Right now, though, he could see that Tony was wound tight. He had said that he could handle it. Tony was always rankled when he thought people underestimated him.
Steve didn't underestimate him, though. He knew Tony could disarm the bomb. He knew Tony could fly them out. He knew Tony could handle it. He knew all of those things. And he also knew that if there was even an inkling of doubt in Tony's body, he would have stayed to make sure everyone else got out safely.
But that would have meant leaving Tony behind. Steve was incapable of doing that. Not when he knew that Tony would easily throw his life away if it meant saving someone else's. So he'd taken the brunt of the explosion with the shield, so Tony didn't have a choice.
He'd do it again in a heartbeat, but he thought if he said so, Tony might actually use a gauntlet on him. So, instead, he said, "Will you at least hold my hand while you yell at me?"
"No," Tony barked, even as carefully took one of Steve's hands between his own. His thumbs moved back and forth slowly. "And my yelling is absolutely deserved."
"I know," Steve sighed, and even to his own ears, he couldn't keep all of the fondness out of it. He watched Tony's eyes soften and managed to give his hand a minute squeeze, trying to comfort him. "And then I'll tell you about the pine-cones."
Tony sucked in a wet breath. "If I never see a pine-cone again, it will be too soon."
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