neato-nico

[neato-nico]

Ok, ok.

Queer platonic Tony/Rhodes/Pepper.

Running their own Private derivative firm/business whatever.

And they are well known for solving some of the most outrageous unsolved cases.

Have fun.

Hh 🥺 This idea is so good and I am so stupid.

--

“Tony, you can’t just take on cases pro bono without talking to us about it,” Rhodey said sternly.

Tony opened his mouth, but Rhodey gave him a quelling look. He closed it. He took a moment to make his eyes as big and wet as possible before turning them on Pepper.

“I hate that you can do that,” Pepper told him sharply, taking a step back in horror. “Stop that immediately.”

“Hmm.” Tony let his puppy eyes drop. He’d forgotten that Pepper’s first response was always terror that he was capable of such a thing, and he’d missed his chance to turn them on Rhodey, who was the one actually susceptible to them. “I have a good reason,” he said instead.

“We are still paying for your last good reason,” Rhodey snapped.

Tony spread his arms, eyebrows raised in surprise. “How was I to know that searching for that old man’s grandkid would lead to us to getting involved with the mob?”

“Normal people would back off and get backup when they realized that not only were they dealing with the Ravagers, but they were also going up against the crime lord Ego,” Pepper said icily.

“I was only lightly stabbed,” Tony argued.

Pepper and Rhodey both went stonily silent. Tony winced. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought up his injury. They’d both been very worried at the time.

“Why is it so important that you take this case that you’re doing it for free?” Pepper finally sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Tony manfully did not squirm, but only because they could sense weakness and would pounce on it immediately. “Sometimes it’s just good for the soul to do something nice.”

“You’re not nice,” Rhodey reminded him, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re kind, but you’re not nice.” He stared at him, hard, then added, “Spill it. Or I’m making tuna casserole for dinner.”

“I like tuna casserole?” Tony began, then noticed that Pepper was turning faintly green. “No! Pepper promised to rub my feet tonight!” he wailed.

“Tell me or hold her hair back,” Rhodey ordered.

Tony looked back and forth between them, wounded. Finally, though, he ducked his head, answering, “He tried to give me his allowance money to find his uncle. He’s pretty sure he’s dead, but insurance won’t pay out without a body, and he and his aunt are struggling without it.”

Rhodey felt all the fight rush out of him at once. “Allowance money.”

“He was wearing his uncle’s suit to try and look older I think. It didn’t work,” Tony added quietly. “He looked so small.”

“One of these days, one of us is gonna have a baby, and then we’ll all be in trouble,” Pepper sighed. “They’ll have us wrapped around their finger.”

“If one of us has a baby, I’m going to become a stay-at-home dad, and you guys won’t have to worry about me doing pro bono work,” Tony said proudly.

Pepper and Rhodey stared at him, honestly considering how to procure a child for him. He was stabbed last month. And now he was going to be looking around for a missing dead person. And he wasn’t necessarily the most discerning person when it came to danger.

“You’ll find a way to do pro bono work,” Rhodey said after a moment.

“I will,” Tony agreed, sighing.

“If I find a baby in your car on a stakeout, I will beat the absolute shit out of you,” Pepper told Tony sternly. “And if you get stabbed again, I’ll kill you myself.”

“I’m not going to get stabbed!” Tony exclaimed.

.-.

“At least Pepper can’t get mad about me being stabbed,” Tony decided.

“Mr. Stark you’ve been shot please shut up,” Peter begged, gripping his hand tightly. “The operator on the phone says the ambulance will be here soon.”

“I am going to be so insufferable about not being stabbed,” Tony continued. “I might even get a baby out of it.”

“What?” Peter asked, aghast, but then the ambulance was pulling up outside the alley and he was very preoccupied with that instead.

[neato-nico]

#48 for winteriron for the kisses ask??

...out of habit.

Much to Bucky’s delight and Tony’s dismay, he is able to identify twelve different ways to steal the Declaration of Independence other than what was portrayed in National Treasure.

“I can’t believe I missed that one,” Tony groans, sounding like he’s genuinely embarrassed at having only identified eleven ways to steal the Declaration of Independence versus Bucky’s twelve.

Bucky just laughs and tells Tony, “Eleven’s not bad, doll, for an amateur.”

“Excuse me?!” Tony cries, sounding put out. “I may have only been 34 when I saw National Treasure for the first time and not a senior citizen like you, but I’m not an amateur, I’m a professional.”

“A professional would have identified all twelve ways to steal the Declaration of Independence,” Bucky tells him seriously.

“Fri, are you hearing this? Betrayed by my own friend in my own home- make note of this frankly hurtful behavior, and the next time I’m inclined to have a movie night with Bucky, remind me of the cruelty that took place tonight,” Tony says with his arms folded across his chest, looking amused despite his best efforts to appear disgruntled.

Bucky takes one look at his expression and bursts out into laughter all over again.

“You’re mean,” Tony pouts, clearly trying his best to look offended. It’s a futile attempt on his part though, given how obvious it is that he’s on the verge of laughing too.

“And you’re a sore loser,” Bucky points out, grinning as he adds, “In addition to an amateur.”

Tony grumbles under his breath at his rude and unfair comments, but he’s smiling as he says it.

Bucky just smiles back at him as he turns his attention back to the-

Tony leans over into his space and kisses him on the cheek. Bucky knows his eyes are wide as he looks over, and no doubt he’s blushing too as he clears his throat and goes, “That- um, you- what was that for?”

Tony shrugs, flush high on his cheeks as he says nonchalantly, like it’s no big deal, “You looked happy.”

Happy? Bucky almost clarifies- me? He hasn’t felt happy in- in a long time, so long that he’s not even sure he remembers what it feels like to be happy. But he looks at Tony, thinking of the peace and safety he feels when he’s with him, and he thinks of their laughter and he realizes, I am happy.

A couple of days later, Bucky’s grinning as he watches Dum-E and U argue over who gets to bring the tennis ball back to him when Tony does it again. Bucky’s aware that he’s approaching from the desk he was working at, but he is still utterly taken by surprise when Tony presses up close into his personal space, stretches up on his toes, and kisses his cheek. He’s gone as quick as he comes, going right back to his desk and the gauntlet he’s working on, but the same flush is high on his cheeks again.

“What was that for?” Bucky manages to ask, when he’s done gaping at Tony like a love-struck teenager.

Tony glances over at him as Dum-E drops the ball into his hand triumphantly. “You looked happy,” he says.

Bucky turns away and smiles.

It happens again and again, and again. Bucky asks every time and Tony gives the same answer every time: you looked happy.

And if Bucky finds himself coming to the workshop more often or asking for more movie nights to see if he can get a kiss on the cheek from Tony, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Bucky is in the middle of arguing with Sam over who has the better taste in music when Tony enters the kitchen, half-asleep and clearly in search of coffee. Bucky stops his argument long enough to smile and say, “G’morning, Tony,” before he’s right back in the argument again.

“Now, hold on, I know you didn’t just insult Marvin Gaye!” Sam cries out, affronted.

“Of course I didn’t!” Bucky says, offended. “I like his music just fine, I was just merely pointin’ out that your taste in music could be improved if you listened to- what was that for?” he interrupts himself on autopilot when Tony sits down next to him at the kitchen counter and kisses his cheek before raising his mug to his lips.

“You looked happy,” Tony mumbles back his standard response, clearly still more asleep than awake as he sets his mug down on the counter and leans over to put his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky smiles softly at him and brings his arm around his shoulders before he continues, “Like I was saying, your music taste could be improved if you listened to- what’s wrong with your face?”

“Excuse me?” Sam huffs, staring at him weirdly still. “Take a look in the mirror, Barnes, and are we just not going to address the elephant in the room?”

“You were the one who cut me off before I could tell you-”

“No, not that, when did you two become a thing?” Sam gestures wildly between him and Tony. Bucky just stares at him blankly. “The kiss on the cheek, Tony sleeping on your shoulder; when did you two start dating?”

“We’re not,” Bucky says, frowning at him. “Tony just kissed my cheek, it’s our thing, you got a problem with that?”

“Your what?”

“Our thing,” Bucky repeats, starting to get defensive. “It’s nice, I like it, and it’s none of your business.”

Sam raises his hands a little. “Not judging, man,” he’s quick to reassure. “Just didn’t expect it, I guess.”

“I kissed him cause he was happy,” Tony says softly into his shoulder like it’s the only necessary explanation, and it is.

Bucky glares at Sam, silently daring him to say anything either against their thing or Tony. “It’s sweet,” Sam says after a moment, giving Bucky an all-knowing grin like he’s aware of something that Bucky’s not. “Now, bionic man, tell me, exactly whose music is so good that it’ll refine my already perfect taste in music?”

Bucky snorts and off they go again, like nothing ever happened.

Tony continues on with the kisses after that, now just without care of whether they’re alone or not. When they’re together, Tony kisses him all the time: while they’re watching a movie, while they’re working on a car engine together, and even while they’re talking about what their plans are for the day.

Tony also kisses him while he’s baking, while he’s reading, and while he’s playing with Dum-E and U. If Tony’s up early to catch a flight and happens to come across him and Steve as they’re laughing and coming in from a jog, Tony kisses him. He’ll kiss him while he’s bickering with Sam about something, or while he’s competing with Clint about who’s the better sniper. (He is, but Clint isn’t willing to admit defeat yet.) Tony’ll kiss him while he’s eating breakfast with Nat, or listening to Thor’s stories of Asgard, and he’s even brave enough to interrupt his cooking sessions with Bruce in order to steal a kiss.

Every time Bucky asks, “What was that for?” and every time Tony always says, “You looked happy.”

It’s their thing.

“You know, that first time you kissed my cheek when we were watching National Treasure, that was the first time I’d been kissed since HYDRA captured me,” Bucky tells him one day as they’re lounging on the sofa together.

Tony sets his tablet aside and looks at him. “I didn’t know that,” he says, looking unsure for a moment, as if he’s trying to gauge how serious the conversation is. He must see the gleam in Bucky’s eye because he adds, “I’m glad I was your first though.”

Bucky snorts, laughing easily like he always does with Tony. “Yeah doll, me too.” He looks at Tony, taking in the warmth in his eyes, and then leans over to kiss his cheek. He lingers there for a moment and then pulls back, heart pounding.

Tony half raises his hand like he’s going to touch his cheek. His eyes are wide and his cheeks a little flushed; in the last four months he’s been kissing Bucky, Bucky has never kissed him back, until now. “What was that for?” Tony asks hoarsely.

Bucky shrugs and says nonchalantly, like it isn’t a big deal, “You looked happy.”

Tony’s blush deepens. “I’m- I’m always happy when I’m with you,” he says quietly.

Bucky leans forward so there’s only a few inches of space between them. “Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly.

Tony glances down at his lips briefly and then looks back up as he nods, saying softly, “yes.”

Bucky leans in and closes his eyes, kissing him gently.

“What was that for?” Tony whispers when he pulls back. 

“That was for always making me happy.”

Tony grins and kisses him again.

End.

[neato-nico]

I love their friendship.

And also Anastasia 😂 Thank you for noticing 💕

[neato-nico]

Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt “hope is a heartache”

He can count on one hand the amount of things he owns now, ever since the trials left him pretty much on the street, couch-surfing amongst his friends, passed around like a strange, prickly artifact none of them know what to do with. He’s never quite figured out how to be nice, how to sand down his cutting edges — never known how to be bearable, even, never had to. All of his life, he relied on external factors to make people like him, and now they’re all gone, all his things are gone and he’s too much. Too much to deal with, even when he’s trying not to be.

Too much at Pansy’s, when he’s trying to make breakfast and nearly burns down her kitchen, too much when he’s shopping for groceries and the mothers at the market cover their children’s eyes so they won’t catch a look at his branded arm, too much when he’s working his disgusting job cleaning a withering pub, which earns him barely enough to feed himself. Definitely not enough to buy anything to add to his astounding collection of belongings.

In truth, he owns five things. The first one is the ugliest cat in the world, which saw him once in the back alley of the fucking pub he cleans and plastered itself to his leg, refused to let go. His most prized possession. The second are the clothes on his back, the nice trousers and shirt he’d been wearing the day of the trials, before losing everything. The third is his one other change of clothes, his work uniform. The fourth is his mother’s emerald locket, kept safely underneath one of Pansy’s sofa cushions, for when Draco is forced to sell it.

The fifth is a napkin. Not even a nice one, just a regular paper napkin, nearly torn, creased from the countless nights Draco has spent folding and unfolding it.

Inside the napkin, in smudged black ink, is Harry’s number.

And perhaps it’s worth it, the whole thing, the having-nothing thing. The day Harry walked into Draco’s godforsaken pub and sat at a table to plan his lessons, the world shifted on its axis, rearranged itself a few degrees to the right, and Draco honestly started thinking perhaps it’s worth it.

When Harry saw him, that first time, his green eyes opened wide like saucers. Surprised, not displeased. “Malfoy, you work here?”

Draco thought to deny it, but in one hand he held the mop, and in the other a bucket. His cheeks burned with shame. “Yes.”

They talked. Nothing much — an update. Harry was working at a primary school, he said, teaching children how to control their accidental magic. And, “I’m just here,” Draco said, when Harry asked him what he did with his time.

There was a smile there somewhere, in the beautiful tanned face. Before leaving, Harry grabbed a napkin and wrote down his number. “If you ever need me, or ... or maybe just want to chat. You can call.”

Draco owns five things, and none of them is a cell phone. He said as much when Harry returned a week later and asked, half hurt, half joking, why Draco hadn’t called.

“Oh,” Harry replied, perplexed, and returned the next day.

Now they talk, most Wednesdays. Harry shows up and talks, and in between sweeping the disgusting floor and wiping down the equally disgusting tables, Draco talks too. He’s still too much, still as unbearable as he always has been, but it almost seems to be the thing that makes Harry like him. It certainly appears that way, when he doubles over, a hand to his belly, a boisterous, carefree laugh flying out of him after Draco makes a sarcastic comment. It’s odd. It’s nice. Draco is not nice, but this is.

He can count his belongings on one hand. He changes houses every couple of weeks, moves from Pansy’s to Greg’s to Blaise’s and back again. He works in a shithole. His parents are dead.

He’s happier than he’s been in years.

There’s a can of coke he keeps next to the locket, now, with the top cut out. In it, there’s a roll of 5 pound notes that he’s been saving. He thinks he might have enough to buy a cell phone in a few more weeks, or a meal for two, and a bus fare to the local primary school.

And so perhaps there’s yet one more thing he can say he has now: Hope.

[neato-nico]

When it hits you, that raising a shape-shifting baby of a different species might not be as easy as you thought 

vs 

When you find out that your new child is the coolest baby you’ve ever held

idk it was funnier in my head

[neato-nico]

For the birthday prompt: [Winteriron or Stuckony] Omega Tony soothing Alpha Bucky after a panic attack/nightmare shortly after they get him back to the Tower/Compound. Maybe a little bit of the team being overprotective on the omega genius and had been keeping him away from the "dangerous" and traumatized alpha assassin. But in the end, Tony just struts in like it's nothing and Bucky just f'ing melts to do whatever Tony says (in a sweet way, not a creepy one). Please?

Tumblr is doing weird things with the asks so if this doesn’t work, bear with me and I’ll post the story in the notes.

This story got a little bit (okay, maybe more than a little bit) away from me so I hope this is still what you were hoping for! I went the Stuckony route here and I’m also headcanoning that after a few years of dating Steve, Tony has mostly gotten over his emotional constipation.

As always, everything I write is on ao3 but tumblr doesn’t like links so I’m not including that

~

The first time Tony sees Bucky Barnes, it’s through a screen.

It’s the first real lead they’ve had in months, since the flurry of sightings immediately following SHIELD’s collapse. The team had sent Natasha and Clint to check it out. They’re both betas, and Nat’s ability to control the calming pheromones all betas let off gives them an edge over an alpha they suspect is on the verge of going feral.

He’s not on the verge, Tony realizes when he sees Barnes on the screen for the first time. He is feral.

Eyes clearly gone red, clear even through the low saturation of the screen, baring his fangs at Natasha and Clint as they cautiously approach, growling so fiercely that the other people in the market are giving him a wide berth as they peer at him fearfully from under their lashes—Bucky has been pushed past the point of breaking into ferality. It’s not surprising. Their entire world crashing down—literally, in this instance—would be a lot for any alpha to handle, but for one trying to deal with seventy years of brainwashing and amnesia? Yeah, Tony’s not surprised.

There’s something slightly terrifying about it. Alphas going feral is supposed to be a nightmare story, something you tell children about at night to scare them into being good. It’s not supposed to be something you see in a crowded marketplace. And when Tony thinks about how easy it would be for something to go wrong, if they’d sent someone other than Nat or Clint—like Steve who had wanted so badly to be the one to bring his friend in or even Tony with his omega pheromones evolved to tempt alphas into paying attention to him and only him—he shudders.

But—there’s something almost piteous about it too. It’s clear that Bucky is terrified beneath his snarling veneer, clear that he doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, and something in Tony’s heart shifts the same as it had the first time he saw Steve.

Something thrums deep inside him to the tune of mine.

“I can help,” he says.

Beneath him, Steve shifts uneasily, saying, “Tony—”

“I want to,” he interrupts. He turns, Steve’s arm sliding from his stomach to his hip, and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, watching Nat raise her hands placatingly out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve had six months to get used to—everything. It wasn’t his fault, I know that, and—and you still love him, Steve, I know you do.”

“I love you,” Steve says, which isn’t really much of an argument.

“I know.” He smiles when Steve rolls his eyes at the well-worn response. “But you love him too. And… he feels like you did when we first met.”

He can feel Steve tense, and he tucks his head deeper into the crook of Steve’s neck, purring quietly to force him to calm. He knows his alpha is only worried about his safety. Bucky isn’t the same person he once was and even if Steve still has feelings for him, it’s only instinct to be worried about the omega he’s also in love with. But he doesn’t need to be worried. Tony is more than capable of taking care of himself and his own instincts are screaming that Bucky won’t hurt him, that Bucky is his. Only once Steve is fully relaxed again does he continue, “Please, Steve. I want to help. I want to know him better and I want to know if what I’m feeling about him is real. Let me?”

Steve sighs but Tony feels his lips curve upwards where they’re pressed against his hair. “I don’t let you do anything.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

~

Bucky is still feral by the time he, Nat, and Clint return to the tower, but it’s tinged now with panic. Tony can smell the sour scent it all the way from where he and the rest of the team are waiting in the kitchen and Bucky’s still outside. He’s not sure if that says something about his strength as an alpha or the depths of his panic, but either way, it’s not good. He glances again at the screen where he can see Natasha trying to calm Bucky down enough to get him to enter the building—the windows blacked out so that Bucky doesn’t panic further at the sight of the team just inside the landing pad—but it’s no dice.

“I’m going out there,” he announces.

It’s meant to just let everyone know that he’s going, but everyone else seems to take it as an invitation to stop him. The noise in the kitchen swings up into an uproar. Even Steve, who knows that he has every intention of helping, has tucked him up against his side, keeping him from taking a single step out of the kitchen.

“He’s dangerous,” Bruce argues once the initial noise has died down a little. It’s telling that Steve doesn’t immediately argue with him the way he normally does when someone says something bad about Bucky.

“We’re all dangerous,” Tony shoots back, ineffectually trying to wriggle his way out of Steve’s arms. “I’m dangerous and biology practically dictates that my orientation is about as dangerous as a bunny rabbit.”

Steve, who has been on the receiving end of Tony’s intense heats, snorts.

“Look,” he continues, “Nat’s not having any luck getting him to calm down enough to come inside and right now I’m really worried he’s going to either steal the Quinjet and take off or jump off the tower and take off. Either option comes with a lot of paperwork that I have to sign so I’d prefer it if he just came inside so why can’t I try? We can’t send another alpha out there, he’ll take that as a sign of aggression, and we can’t send Sam. The last time Bucky met him, he kicked him off a helicarrier. So that means we’re down to me. Sucks that it’s me but I’m our best option.”

“If he hurts you—” Steve begins.

“He won’t,” Tony says softly and turns so he can nose at Steve’s scent glands. “You won’t let him. I know you’ll be right there, ready if something goes wrong.”

Steve clearly still doesn’t want to let him go out there but his arms loosen enough for Tony to slip away. He smiles at the others, hiding his own nerves beneath a façade of self-confidence that he absolutely doesn’t feel. It’s not like any of them are wrong: feral alphas are dangerous, and this one is more dangerous than most. But he’s not wrong either: Bucky is in more danger the longer he stays out there. Hydra is searching for him and it was sheer luck that the Avengers found him first. But he doesn’t know how long that luck will hold, so the quicker they can bring him in out of the cold, the happier he’ll be.

He straightens his shirt and steps outside, ignoring the way the rest of the team trails him to the door. Bucky’s red eyes snap instantly to him. It’s unsettling, a little terrifying, and Tony has to stop himself from reaching for his sunglasses or from jamming his hands in his pockets. Instead, he holds himself loose and open, hands at his side and palms open so Bucky doesn’t think he’s hiding a weapon in his fists.

“Tony, what do you think you’re doing?” Clint murmurs, alerted to his presence by the sound of the door closing. Natasha is still concentrating on Bucky, trying to soothe him. Even from where he’s standing, he can feel her pheromones washing calm over him and he revises his plan to include her. He’s never felt this kind of strength from her before but he’d be an idiot not to use it.

“It’s okay,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on Bucky, who’s growling lowly now. “Go back inside, Natasha and I have got this.”

“Can’t do that,” Clint says. “Steve would have my head if—”

“Steve’s my backup. He’s right inside. Go inside; I can’t calm Bucky down if he’s worrying about you.”

“But—”

“Please.”

He thinks it’s the please that does it. By now, the team knows that the whole Tony Stark doesn’t use social niceties thing is bullshit but he still spends so much time in the workshop, and so much time teasing the others when he’s not working, that it’s still an indicator that he’s completely serious about something.

Clint doesn’t waste time asking any other questions. He, more than anyone else on the team except for Steve, knows better than to underestimate people and question them when they’re confident. And Tony is about as confident as he can be. There are ways that this can go wrong, absolutely, but they’re running out of options and what he’s about to try is something that’s been scientifically proven to be effective.

He doesn’t watch Clint go, though Bucky does, only to snap his gaze right back to Tony as soon as Tony takes a step forward. He places a hand on Natasha’s shoulder as he passes her, murmurs into her ear too low for even supersoldiers to hear, “Keep up the good work. You’re helping,” and comes to a stop within armlength of Bucky, knowing that Bucky could easily reach out and hurt him if he wanted to.

It seems to throw Bucky off, who blinks at him. Tony smiles at him and reaches up to his neck, loosening the scent blocker just enough to dilute the bonded scent pouring off of him and allow his own to filter in.

Bucky blinks again. “Omega,” he says eventually, voice rusty with disuse.

Tony smiles again. “That’s right.”

“And… Stevie?” Bucky guesses. In that moment, he sounds so young that it makes Tony’s heart break. Bucky had his future stolen away from him just the same as Steve did. He can’t fully regret that because it brought them both to him, but he knows how much pain and healing Steve had had to go through after waking up in this century and he knows what Bucky will still have to do, and he hurts for them.

“Steve’s my alpha,” he says. “Do you remember Steve?”

Bucky hesitates and then slowly nods. The red is slowly starting to recede from his eyes—though Tony isn’t sure that has anything to do with what he’s doing or if it’s just because he’s managing to baffle the alpha—and then Natasha shifts. It’s nothing more than a twitch of her leg but Bucky instantly notices it.

Before Tony realizes it, Bucky has snatched him to him, tucked him behind the mass that makes up Bucky’s body, and is snarling at Natasha, eyes scarlet red again. Just barely, he sees the door start to open and if it does, if the team comes out of it ready to fight, they’ll lose Bucky.

“No!” he shouts, startling Bucky. It’s enough though. The door pauses. Tony can see Steve through the crack, looking terrified, but he isn’t hurt. He’s okay. Bucky hasn’t done anything other than seemingly try to protect him.

He darts in front of Bucky again, wraps his arms around his shoulders, and tugs him down to his neck, tucking his face into the loosened scent blocker so he can inhale both Steve and Tony.

“Settle,” he commands. It’s usually a command an alpha uses for their omega but there’s precedence of omegas using it too. He draws on every ounce of strength he typically reserves for the boardroom and pushes it into his voice, ordering him again when Bucky lets out an answering growl.

It takes a moment but Bucky suddenly melts, going limp and boneless against him. Tony’s only half-expecting it; the alpha’s weight takes him by surprise and they sink to the ground, Bucky taking in huge gasping breaths as he breathes in their combined scents.

“Oh my darling,” Tony whispers, hands coming up to stroke through Bucky’s hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

~

Without quite meaning to, Bucky ends up moving into the guest room on his and Steve’s floor. Tony means to put Bucky on his own floor but then Bucky spends the afternoon following him docilely around the common areas, as sweet now as he was feral a few hours earlier. The others still seem a little wary but as time passes and it becomes obvious that Tony is in fact doing some good, they start to relax. By the time they’d be heading up to bed, Bucky is stretched out on the couch, head on Tony’s lap and feet tucked under Steve’s legs, as the team watches a movie.

“I think he’s imprinted on you,” Clint observes dryly as he heads for the elevator. “Like a duck.”

Tony doesn’t look up from where he’s carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair but he feels the alpha tense. “That’s okay, darling,” he comments idly. “I’m pretty sure Steve and I imprinted on each other once we started living together too.”

Natasha groans. “Don’t remind me. It was like watching a Disney movie without the singing animals.”

“Disney movie?” Bucky asks, voice muffled by Tony’s thigh.

“I’ll show you,” Tony assures him.

The rest of the team starts slowly filtering out until it’s just the three of them. Tony and Steve exchange a look over Bucky’s head, not needing to communicate with words after the years they’ve spent together. They’re both concerned about where Bucky will sleep tonight. With a quick glance toward Bucky and a tilt of his eyebrows, Steve tells him that he would be more than happy with Bucky staying with them, but he’ll leave the decision up to Tony. No one likes the scent of a distressed omega after all, and the easiest way to end up with a distressed omega is by inviting someone into their space that they don’t want there.

Fortunately, Tony would be more than happy with Bucky there. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said that one look at Bucky and it had felt like they were meant for each other, just as it had felt with Steve—and, he suspected, just as it had felt with Steve and Bucky, even if they’d never made a move.

But he wants the choice to be Bucky’s, so he gently lifts his hands away from Bucky’s hair and asks, “Bucky? Do you want to have your own floor? We’ve got a few extras for when we expand the roster. Or you could stay on our floor, if you’d prefer?”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate to say, “With you.”

He knows Bucky doesn’t mean it the way he wants, doesn’t mean that he’ll join them in their bed, but maybe… Maybe someday, once Bucky is better (he isn’t so naïve as to think this is the end of it; he only has to look at his own history with backsliding after Afghanistan and Stane and the palladium reactor to know that) and if he and Steve can figure out the right words to invite someone into a triad bond…

Well. Maybe someday.

~

He wakes up in the middle of the night to Steve gently shaking his shoulder. “Waz wrong?” he mumbles, blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did I have a nightmare?”

“No, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, leaning over to kiss his bare shoulder. “Bucky wanted to know if he could join us. Said he was worried about Hydra.” He doesn’t say if Bucky was worried about Hydra taking him away or someone else, Tony or Steve, he notes, but the answer is the same either way.

“’Course he can, long as he’s not a blanket hog.”

He fully expects Bucky to climb in on Steve’s other side. It only makes sense: the two grew up together so of course, Steve would be the middle in this instance. Instead, Steve tugs Tony closer to him so that he’s spooning up behind him, and Bucky crawls under the blankets so that he’s facing Tony, looking more relaxed as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Huh. Maybe there’s something to what Clint was saying about Bucky imprinting on him. He would be more worried, but alphas don’t imprint on someone unless they feel safe with them, unless there’s the beginning stirrings of a mating bond in the back of their mind, even though a full bond takes time, communication, and love to develop. Considering that Tony’s pretty sure he’s imprinted on Bucky the same way, he really isn’t that concerned about Bucky’s feelings.

Still though, he makes a note to sit down and talk with Bucky eventually about how they can’t just rush into this. They’ve all been through too much to immediately strike up a relationship. Bucky isn’t in the right mental state at the moment. And as for Tony, he wants to make sure they’re all on the same page and that Bucky won’t regret this two years down the line. Hell, he’s still uncertain that Steve won’t regret this at some point, so he definitely wants to know that Bucky’s sure of his feelings.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow-Tony, he decides. Tonight, he’s going to snuggle into his alpha’s warmth and enjoy having Bucky close by instead of somewhere out in the world where Tony can’t keep him safe.

~

The next day is weirder. Not in a bad way! Just—here: when Tony finally drags himself away from the warm spots in the bed that his mates (not his mates; his mate and his mate’s best friend… who might one day be his mate), makes his way into the kitchen, and sleepily grumbles, “Coffee,” there are suddenly two steaming mugs in front of him, one from Steve and one from—someone else. He raises his eyes slowly to where Bucky is watching him with hopeful eyes. That answers that question then.

“Uh, thanks, Snowflake,” he says and takes a cautious sip out of the one Bucky put down. It’s not that he thinks it’s poisoned. It’s just that Bucky has been here for less than twenty-four hours, there’s no way that he know how exacting Tony can be about his coffee, how particular—how—how…

Huh. This is pretty damn perfect actually.

He takes another, larger sip and then looks at where Steve is busy making breakfast for the three of them. Steve watches him with an amused look in his eyes. Tony knows Steve isn’t concerned about someone else preparing his coffee—Bruce has done it plenty of times and whenever Rhodey’s in town, he insists that he’s the only one who can make Tony’s coffee—he’s just enjoying watching the two of them together.

He thinks about the nights he used to wake from a dead sleep to the sound of Steve weeping over Bucky, about the concerns he used to share with Tony that Bucky wouldn’t want to stay with them or would want to leave. He wonders now how much of that was fear that Tony wouldn’t want Bucky to stay because he wouldn’t be able to stomach housing the person Hydra used to kill his parents. Silly alpha, he thinks fondly. As though Tony wouldn’t love anyone Steve loves.

At least that’s a fear he can put to rest.

Gulping down half his coffee in one go, he leans back in his chair and casually says, “Steve, you’re fired. Pack your things and go. I’m keeping this one. His coffee is lightyears ahead of yours.”

Steve bursts out laughing and crosses the kitchen to pull him up and kiss him soundly. Tony purrs into the kiss, answered with a low rumble from Steve and then, so low he almost misses it—another rumble from Bucky. He smiles triumphantly and pulls away with another kiss, hands resting on Steve’s broad chest.

“Better finish up that breakfast, soldier,” he says teasingly. “Got things to do today in the workshop and I need my alpha down there to stand around and look pretty. You too, Bucky Babe,” he calls over his shoulder. “Universe gave me two supersoldiers, be a shame not to take advantage of that.”

He doesn’t know what Bucky looks like but the kitchen suddenly scents like contended alpha, and he knows it’s not Steve’s scent because he knows Steve’s scent as well as he knows his own. He smiles again, nuzzles deeper into Steve’s chest and hums happily.

It’s not perfect yet, he thinks, but soon—soon it will be.

~

Tony was right that first day—it takes time, months really. Time for Bucky to backslide and Steve to backslide and Tony to back-shimmy because he doesn’t do anything as gauche as slide. It takes months of therapy, days of consultation with the world’s top experts on how to remove the brainwashing and programming from Bucky’s brain, hours of working together in the workshop on Bucky’s arm as Tony comes up with improvement after improvement.

It’s countless bad nights where Bucky wakes up in a nightmare and reaches to strangle Steve—never Tony, never his omega, but always his best friend—and countless bad days afterward trying to convince him to come back to their bed. It’s figuring out how to work around the myriad of triggers all three of them have and sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes Bucky doesn’t realize that Tony can’t handle baths anymore. Sometimes Steve doesn’t notice that Bucky’s afraid of heights. Sometimes Tony misses that it’s the anniversary of Bucky falling from the train.

It’s bad sometimes.

But it’s good sometimes too.

It’s figuring out how they curl around each other in bed and waking up warm and rested. It’s feeding each other by hand in the morning when they’re too tired to bother with silverware. It’s cups of coffee and donuts with sprinkles and warm hugs. It’s Bucky resting his head on Tony’s lap and tucking his feet under Steve’s legs during movie nights.

It’s Tony and Steve dancing together around the kitchen island as Bucky cooks, watching them fondly. It’s Bucky crooning old songs from the 40s when Steve’s on a mission and Tony can’t sleep without his alpha. It’s Steve and Bucky spending hours walking the streets of Brooklyn, reminiscing about growing up together.

It’s love, blooming slowly but surely for everyone to see.

And when one night as Tony is changing out of the charcoal suit he’d worn for the board meeting that day and into his pajamas and Bucky stops him with a hoarsely whispered, “Doll,” he smiles and guides Bucky’s hand to his waist.

“It’s okay, darling” he murmurs. “You can.”

Bucky’s kiss, when it comes, feels like coming home.

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Tobin in 1x08 appreciation post (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

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Hi. I'm deeply in love with Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist. Ok Bye.

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# a mood

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Zoey if you don't marry max I fuckin will

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This is a whirlwind! I really thought Trump had did these things. It took me too long to realize it was Harry Potter.

So imagine you get told that you’re going to attend middle school (in the US). And it’s like a really prestigious school. So prestigious in fact that the gardener, who’s taking you to get your school supplies, which is perfectly normal, offhandedly mentions that the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, constantly contacts your middle school principal for political advice. Like, he does this on a daily basis. And you’re like, “Well, that’s a little weird, but definitely not the weirdest thing I heard today.”

But then it does get weird because now you’re in the seventh grade, a cute little twelve-year-old, and things are happening around the school and you’re worried that the gardener is somehow involved. So you and your friend go visit his house and then the principal of the school shoes up with the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, and the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump is just like, “You, Gardener, you’re under arrest for attempted murder.” because even though the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, has…you know…an entire branch of the government that’s in charge of arresting people, he personally came to this man’s house to do it, and it’s like…yep that’s definitely weird, but, I don’t know, maybe it’s just because it’s such a prestigious school but…like…yeah no the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, personally showed up to arrest a gardener, that’s weird.

So it’s a few months later, you’ve just turned thirteen, you’re about to start the eighth grade, and you get into a huge fight with your relatives and run away. So you stay at a hotel and granted, it’s a pretty well-known hotel, but still, what are the coincidences that the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump shows up to be like, “You’re not under arrest” and so you’re thinking to yourself, “Well, that’s a relief and also not really your division???” and then the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, adds, “Just wanted to let you know about the FBI’s Most Wanted” and you’re like, “Okay, thank you for the vague info” and then the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, pays for you to stay in the hotel for a few weeks and then up and leaves and literally none of those things are in his job description.

Remember that middle school you attend? You go back to it and things seem mostly normal, except for the fact that the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, is so worried about the FBI’s Most Wanted list that he sends bodyguards to your middle school with licenses to kill and torture, and you’re like, “Does he actually have the authority to do that?” and then the principal is like, “Okay but they can only stay outside, I will not allow these government sanctioned bodyguards into the actual school” and you’re like, “Does he actually have the authority to do that?” but apparently they both do because that’s exactly what happens.  

It’s a few months after that, you’re still in the eighth grade, Christmas is coming, and you sneak into the nearby town and you see the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump casually meeting up with two of your teachers, the gardener he recently arrested, and a bartender and they all walk into a bar like this is some kind of joke and as he gets drunk with the teachers/ gardener/ bartender, the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, loudly talks about how one of the guys on FBI’s Most Wanted is out to get you, you, specifically…and it’s like…thank you for that exposition, President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, what the fuck are you even doing here???

And THEN it’s the end of the eighth grade and the President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, shows up to kill your gardener’s horse.

The point is that the first half a dozen introductions of Cornelius Fudge were really, really, weird, all things considered…

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Keeping in touch with people is so hard when your brain tells you no one wants to talk with you

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get to know me: [3/20 female characters] • peggy carter (marvel universe) “I know my value. Anyone else’s opinion doesn’t really matter.”

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So Disney+ here’s what I love

• Agent Carter!! (I have so missed this show and wished it had more seasons)

• Out of the Box (this was a fantastic kids show)

• so much of the Marvel collection is on here(I can’t wait to watch these)

And what I hate

• there’s no way to really keep track of what your watching(Netflix keeps a section close to the top of what you’re currently watching)

• they’re releasing episodes weekly instead of all at once(slightly irritating)