featuring the HAWKEYE STRETCH in which he inadvertently steps on nat’s dress, PEPPER’S GAME FACE, BUCKY DOING HIS THING, INCOMING BABYTHOR, and PETER WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THE CEILING.
and a certain couple getting hitched i guess
”The size of your clenched fist is approximately the same size as your heart.”
So remember kids. Semes don’t just have yaoi hands; They’ve got yaoi hearts as well.
[image: Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers pressing their foreheads together tenderly.]
Another fluffy l’il Sam/Steve piece
i was inspired by my dash presenting me with tony and flowers, and then tony and steve’s jacket a few days ago
Steve’s too old to even be familiar with the concept of “dinner and a movie”. Which is probably a good thing, Tony isn’t very good at sitting through them anyway. He needs to be doing something with his hands and most people get pissy about tablets and phones in movie theaters.
Anyway, it doesn’t seem to matter much to Steve that he’s not familiar with modern dating rituals.
He does bring Tony flowers.
Tony stares at them.
Tony can’t sleep so he wakes Steve up and forces him to stroke his ego/ tell him the reasons why he loves him. Except when Steve gets no sleep he’s a snarky little thing.
Omg i’m crying because I only got the part up to the slash as a preview and I was like roflmao this is the crackiest prompt
warning for anxiety ya’ll!
Tony sits on the edge of the bed, staring out at the twinkling skyline for what feels like hours. He’s tired, but he’s also wired and his brain is running a thousand miles an hour, spitting out things like, you didn’t even accomplish anything today, you’re worthless, Dad would be disgusted if he saw how little progress you made, god, why do the Avengers even keep you around, if being screwed up was an Olympic sport you’d have a gold medal in every event and on and on.
His heart is thudding too hard against the casing of the arc reactor and he can’t even look at Steve sleeping in the bed behind him because every time he does, despair wells up and threatens to choke him.
Except Steve’s told him a thousand times to wake him if he’s struggling and he’s definitely struggling.
He stares hard at the lights until they blur into a wash of color, anxiety creeping up until he can hardly breathe. It’s so intense it makes the anxiety of waking Steve for something so stupid seem inconsequential and he twists around, lays a hand on Steve’s shoulder and gently shakes him.
“Steve,” he whispers and his voice catches. He clears his throat and tries again: “Steve.”
“Mmnh,” Steve mumbles, and lifts his arm, squinting at Tony from under it. “T’ny? Y’okay?”
Tony lets out a brittle whisper of a laugh and lays his hand on Steve’s hip, right over the band of his sleep pants. “Um. No? I mean I’m not bleeding to death or anything. I feel sort of like the universe is going to collapse and take me out and everything I’ve ever done was in vain, so kind of like a black hole of issues—or I guess maybe a supernova? We’d have to talk to Foster about the appropriate—”
Steve covers Tony’s mouth with the heavy weight of one broad palm.
Tony swallows and then mumbles into it, “Thank you.”
“It’s—” Steve glances at the bedside clock, winces, and then sighs. “It’s four o’clock in the morning, Tony, and you just woke me up an hour after I fell asleep.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Tony says, still speaking into his hand. He feels like shit. Steve mashes his hand down a little harder.
“You’re going to have to go a little slower if you want me to follow along,” he finishes, glaring. Then he draws his hand back and waits.
“Oh,” Tony says, blinking. “You— You’re not mad?”
Steve rolls his eyes. “I am the one who told you to wake me up if something was bothering you.”
“Well, sure, but lots of people say stuff like that and they don’t really mean it. And you just fell asleep and you’ve got that thing in Washington tomorrow and your flight leaves at seven, so you have to be up, in like, two and half hours.”
Covering his own eyes, Steve groans. “Can we not talk about what I have to do in two hours? What’s going on with you?”
Tony squirms and reaches for Steve’s waistband again, fiddling with the drawstring through the fabric. “You know how I get. My head just fills up and…” He mimics an explosion with his mouth. “I just— Would you— I mean, it’s stupid, god, but—”
“Spit it out, Tony,” Steve says, but he sounds fond and his hand is on Tony’s knee, rubbing little circles with his thumb.
“Could you just—maybe tell me I don’t suck?” Tony makes himself blurt and then stares at the sheets, the back of his neck burning. God, if anyone knew Tony-fucking-Stark woke up his boyfriend in the middle of the goddamned night to stroke his ego that’d be the end.
Steve rolls over, easily pushing Tony down into the mattress, and covers him with his body. “Well, you could suck more,” he murmurs, nose skimming along the shell of Tony’s ear.
Tony stares up at the ceiling, mouth dropped open around a smile. “I wake you up to tell you how inadequate I feel and you comfort me by telling me I don’t blow you enough?”
He feels Steve’s lips pull back around a smile. “You have a talented mouth.”
“I guess I can’t argue with that.”
The lightest of kisses is laid at the hook of his collarbone and Tony brings his hand up to curl around the back of Steve’s neck. Steve’s heavy and solid on top of him and it should freak him out, should make the anxiety worse, because he’s pinned, helpless; it doesn’t make it worse though—it’s reassuring. Steve holds him in place and he feels safe, stable.
“You care,” Steve says quietly, the words a low hum from his chest to Tony’s. “You don’t just envision the world better, you’re doing everything in your power to make it that way. You brought clean energy to the world and then fought tooth and nail against greedy corporations to make it available and affordable to everyone. You make the world a better place, Tony.”
The honesty and the sheer conviction in Steve’s voice makes Tony feel splayed open, and he desperately wants to pull his arm and leg under Steve’s body with the rest of him where he can hide from it. But he can’t move.
“Yeah?” he rasps instead, hands too tight around Steve’s neck, Steve’s shoulder.
“Yeah, you dummy,” Steve says. “You inspire me.”
Tony’s throat closes up, tears pricking at his eyes.
He clings tighter to Steve, wondering how he got so goddamned lucky.
“Go to sleep, Tony,” Steve orders gently. “You’re not a failure, not even close. And you can always wake me. For anything. For nothing.”
When he laughs, it’s a little wet, and he presses his face into Steve’s throat. “Yeah, I think I might just do that.”
"Do you want me to kiss you or not, jerk?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" [x]
well, Stucky was bound to happen in my art, rIGHT?
god i need a therapy(also, if you look closely, in the background photo Steve is grabbing his left boob. I regret nothing)
Some fluff and cuddles. starting to get on the flow of course Steve and Tony <3
It took a long time for Sam to get his head around the idea that when James is speaking Russian, he’s not doing it because of trauma or PTSD or whatever. Seventy-five lifetimes ago, back in whatever beat-up junkyard of Brooklyn Steve and James grew up in, James had been the grandkid of three Russians and a bemused Irishman who’d learned the endearments. Russian’s the language of James’s own personal horror show, but it’s the language that taught him affection, too.
"Beautiful" in Russian sounds like some sort of dessert; James murmurs it whenever he finds him and Steve sacked out on the couch, watching some documentary or other about whales or Mogadishu or, last weekend, that 48 hour marathon of How It’s Made. It’s a little weird, but Sam can roll with beautiful. He’s looked in the mirror, and he’s looked at Steve.
But James’ll say weirder things, too, things that mean “tiny sun” or “my gold.” They’re endearments, he says, shy and in English this time, but he keeps his head ducked and he never says those things in the languages that Sam and Steve can translate. James will mutter things that Sam only has James’s translation for. Maybe the noises “yah loobloo tebyah” mean “your mom’s a hooker,” but the way James whispers it into the back of his spine, into the curve of Steve’s neck, makes Sam believe it.
<3 <3 <3
He had asked his Ma once, before her hair had started falling out, why it was considered a bad thing, and she had hesitated, her gaze falling on the ever-covered name on his arm.
"The thing about soulmates is it can either go very, very well or very, very badly," she had said eventually, her hands on his shoulders. "It can- Steve, big things happen, with soulmates. World-changing things, always. Together, soulmates can- they either break the world, or build it better than it ever was. But people are so used to the first that they daren’t hope for the latter, we’ve had too many-"
"But it could be a good thing," Steve had said, and his mother had smiled, rubbed his thin shoulders.
"Yes, Steve. It could be. You and your soulmate- you could do some very good things. You could be amazing."
Steve asks Howard if he has a brother, a cousin, maybe, and Howard says nope, just me, and Steve nods and pulls his sleeve down further over the name inked on his arm.
Things start gaining momentum, Steve becomes Captain America and suddenly the whole world knows him, and Steve finds himself changing the world without his soulmate at his side and tells himself he isn’t disappointed.
Steve drives a plane into the Atlantic.
Peggy talks him through it, and Steve promises a dance and at the very last second his gaze catches on the name on his arm, showing through a rip in his sleeve.
I can’t die, Steve thinks. I can’t, I haven’t met you yet, we haven’t done anything together, we were going to change the world, we were going to be spectacular, I wanted to know you, Anthony-
The plane hits the ice, and Steve’s world explodes inwards.
He wakes up with long sleeves, and Fury gives him the files with an indecipherable expression.
Anthony Stark, born 1970, Steve reads, his arm tingling with it.
"Why show me this," Steve asks. "Might as well hide it from me for a little while longer, besides, you don’t know-"
"Mr. Stark is already doing some pretty world-changing things, Cap," Fury cuts him off. "And no, I don’t know what is going to be the result of you two meeting, but god help me, I’m banking on it being a good thing."
Steve looks down at the pictures of his soulmate, drunk at a party, his soulmate, on his knees in a cave, his soulmate in front of a crowd and grinning, his soulmate wrapped in a metal suit and streaking across the sky.
"And if it isn’t?"
"Well, then." Fury starts to walk out. "We’ll take the appropriate measures."
Steve nods down at the desk. He never expected anything less.
It doesn’t- it doesn’t start off well, not by a long shot, and Steve thinks that this is all a terrible mistake, that they’re going to be the kind of soulmates who hate each other, who destroy each other, who leave the world a goddamn wreck behind them.
But then Tony vanishes into the portal, and only just makes it out, and Steve’s arm burns where Tony’s name is inked onto it.
He runs for Tony, and Tony’s gasping breath is the sweetest sound Steve’s ever heard in his life, and he feels himself smile before he realizes he’s doing it.
Tony shows him the soulmate mark when Steve asks- Steve’s name is inked around the arc reactor, and Tony only shows him for a second before he’s pulling his shirt back down.
"Don’t expect anything, Cap," Tony tells him, and Steve has waited so damn long-
He catches Tony by the shoulder, lightly. “I’d like to get to know you, if you want,” he blurts, and Tony looks back at him.
For several long seconds he thinks Tony’s going to say no, but then he’s sighing and saying, “Sure, I guess,” and Steve squeezes his shoulder before letting go.
One thing everyone knows about soulmates is that they have the power to turn each other into both their worst and best selves, that they don’t bring out the best but the most.
Having a soulmate can either be the best thing or the worst thing to happen to someone, and for a while Steve doesn’t know which one it is. It varies from day to day, until Tony starts smiling more and there are noticeably more good days than bad days.
After a year, almost every day is one where Steve is convinced they’re going to be amazing, that they’re going to blaze through the world and leave it better in its wake, that he wouldn’t trade this for anything.
After a year and a half, they slip into being in love without even noticing.
After three years, there’s a moment they’re yelling and Steve mindlessly kisses Tony’s cheek when he goes to leave, which leads to them spending the next three days in Tony’s bed, only leaving when Dr. Doom attacks New York and the Fantastic Four are unavailable.
After four years, Steve has moved into Tony’s room, and he goes to sleep every night after kissing his own name on Tony’s chest.
"We’re going to be amazing," Tony tells him a lot nowadays, and Steve always grins and kisses him, replies, "You bet."