#aesig

He wasn’t the marrying kind.

Well, it was something that he fully believed for years. During his playboy days in the Metro General Hospital, asking anyone to marry him was unlikely. VERY unlikely after his break up with Christine Palmer and his eventual entry into the Ancient One’s mystical ‘cult’. But he was five years older now. He’d seen things that most people believed were myths. He’d fought some of those things too.

And if anyone told him that he was going to marry Dormammu’s snarky niece, he would have driven them to the nearest asylum himself. But there he was, adjusting his tie for the sixth time in the mirror. His lungs seemed to forget how to function, as he was having a bit of trouble breathing. Wedding jitters, some people said. Stephen pulled his jacket down, checked the cuffs, and tapped his foot.

There was something nagging at him, like he’d forgotten to do something important. But he couldn’t just pop in Clea’s room and ask her what it was. Superstition aside, she was probably still getting ready and would throw a can of hairspray at him if he tried stepping an inch inside her dressing room. Outside, Tony Stark was talking loudly about some new prototype, and Wong was humming the latest Beyonce single.

He took another deep breath to help calm his nerves.

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