#srsly yall drop aus in my inbox ill smash em

[dammit-stark]

any stevetony regency fic: *chefs kiss*

okay this drabble was inspired by that scene in pride and prejudice where elizabeth walked three miles through the mud to get to her sick sister at netherfield and when she gets there they all just stare at her and make fun of her manners you know the one if you know you know - anyway this turned out way longer than I anticipated pls enjoy I absolutely adored writing this

DROP YOUR FAVORITE AU IN MY ASKBOX, OR ANY IDEA YOU LIKE :) ...

“I- I don’t have the money to repay you for this,” Steve pants, “But I promise, I’ll get it to you.”

The doctor keeps walking at his fervent, clipped pace through the long-haired English countryside. He shakes his head, but otherwise doesn’t say anything.

Steve had burst in on his breakfast at the Stark manor, man servants racing to get ahead of him as he threw open the doors of the breakfast parkour with his own two outstretched hands, out of breath. Everyone in attendance stood at the sight of him, priceless chair legs scraping against beautiful wood floors.

“Please,” Steve had begged, not an ounce of pridefulness, just hope and desperation, “It’s my mother. Can you help?”

Doctor Banner was moving instantly, nodding, “Let me get my bag.”

So Steve waited there as Doctor Banner hurried out of the room, brushing past the harried servants and muttering incessantly about his gear. Mr Stark and Miss Potts were still standing as if waiting for Steve’s manners to suddenly grow out of his ass. But Steve wasn’t very concerned about manners, couldn’t think if he was supposed to bow or if smiling was ill-mannered when his mom was sick again. She’d woken up coughing, moaning about a whole body ache, and Steve had immediately run down to the Stark manner to find Doctor Banner, knowing he dined late with the elusive bachelor most morning. Steve wrings his hands together anxiously and avoids Stark’s itchy, watchful gaze.

When Doctor Banner returns, he’s lugging a heavy-looking leather bag and his eyes are wide, “Take me to her,” He says, and Steve sweeps out of the room without another word.

Steve doesn’t see it, having already rushed out of the room with the thought of his mother at the front of his mind, but Pepper gives Tony a meaningfully smug look before they sit back down again, the hem of her midnight blue skirts pooling daintily against the rug as they return to their midmorning meal.

Steve says the same thing again later as he’s profusely thanking Doctor Banner, wringing out the other man’s big hands with his gratitude, “I promise I’ll gather the funds somehow, doctor. I’ll repay you, but… I might have to repay you gradually, if that’s alright.”

Doctor Banner shakes his head, just as he had before, “No, no. You should know, Mr Stark offered to cover any fees required of you.”

Steve’s so shocked that he drops Doctor Banner’s hands from his, “No, I can’t let him do that.”

The doctor cuts him off with a kind hand, “Please, Mr Rogers. Let him.”

And Steve, well- he looks over at his mother, laying sickly in her bed, and- they need the money, they really do. The crops have been declining steadily with every passing year, and Steve’s sure that if his mother were to have another episode, he wouldn’t be able to afford the medical fees. Slowly, he nods. “Okay,” He agrees, voice quiet, “That’s very generous of him.” Steve doesn’t miss the shy, maybe even sly, smile that appears on Doctor Banner’s lips, “Yes,” He agrees, tone serious as he holds onto the strap of his bag with two hands, “It was very generous of him.”

Doctor Banner presses a bottle of pills into Steve’s hand and nods one last time, “Make sure she takes one of these twice a day with meals. Have a good day, Mr Rogers.”

And Steve is left in his family home, wondering what he ever did to deserve this sort of generosity, and already mentally planning how to pay Mr Stark back for such magnanimity.

Steve returns to Stark Manor the next day, armed with the freshest eggs his estate had to offer. When he knocks on the door, he reacts to the servant gentlemen with a much kinder smiler and much slower attitude than he had the day before. The leader among them looks down at Steve at the bottom of the stoop from the top of his long nose.

“Your business?” The dutiful servant, choked off at the neck by his strict cravate.

Steve indicates his basket, “I’ve come to thank Mr Stark for his generosity.”

The servant appears dubious of Steve’s attentions, watching him for a moment longer than he would ever dare if Steve was closer to Mr Stark’s sect, or even if he had the education of Doctor Banner, but after a moment he nods and steps aside, “Very well. I shall bring you to him.”

Steve is as courteous as possible- to the doormen, the lined-up butlers, the milk maids scurrying in the background. He tries to effuse his gratitude in every way possible.

“JARVIS? I thought I told you not to-“

“Sir, you have a visitor. Mr Rogers.”

“Oh.”

Steve hears a quill being set down, a faint fluttering of parchment, some sort of frantic movement, then- “Very well. Send him in.”

When JARVIS steps back into the hallway, his expression has changed into something more fond and knowing, and he nods at Steve and opens the opulent door the rest of the way so Steve can enter Mr Stark’s office.

“Mr Rogers,” Mr Stark says. He’s leaning against the edge of his desk, “Welcome. What can I do for you?”

Steve carefully sets down the basket, “I wanted to thank you. Doctor Banner told me you offered to cover the charges for my mother’s medical bills. With her ill health- your generous aid helped tremendously. Thank you, sir.”

Mr Stark’s smile appears strained, like he’s holding something back or in or barring unwanton thoughts from entry. He taps idly at the wooden desktop with the tip of his quill.

Steve himself is struck within the silence by the opulence of the room, but also by Mr Stark’s expression, the careful lilt of his eyes, the soft, pink curves of his lips. Tony Stark exudes wealth and grace, and Steve can’t seem to look away. He knows Mr Stark sees it when he gulps.

“There’s not much I can offer in return,” Steve admits sheepishly, “But if there’s anything I can ever do to thank you, Mr Stark, I’ll be happy to do it.”

Steve can physically feel Stark’s appraising gaze, the wellbred man leaning back wolfishly in his chair, a knowing grin meeting his lips. He passed the feathered quill from one hand to the other.

“Dine with me,” He says eventually, his voice flooded with the command of a man used to getting his way, “That’s all I want in return.”

Steve’s shock is no doubt evident on his face, especially if the laugh that sprouts from Mr Stark’s lips is any indication.

“Is that really all you ask for?”

Mr Stark looks like he wants to ask for a million things more, a man accustomed to opulence and luxury. He has the whole wide world at his fingertips, and all he wants is for Steve to dine with him one evening. He nods affirmatively.

“Just one evening, that’s all I ask.”

Slowly, Steve nods, “Very well. I am at your discretion. Whenever you ask in the future, I’ll dine with you, sir.”

Mr Stark smiles, and Steve is struck by how elegant it is, the manner of it different from any other smile he’s ever seen. Steve finds himself eager to dine with this man.

“I look forward to it, Mr Rogers,” Stark returns, placing a pair of bifocals over the bridge of his nose, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

If an evening dining with Mr Stark is all Steve is owed, he is happy to pay it. He’d be happy to dine with Mr Stark every night for a year, two years, if that was what was asked of him. But one night? Steve eagerly awaits it and hopes it stretches on forever.