"things you said that i wasn't meant to hear" with ironhusbands?
omg, this actually had three parts where the last part was gonna be angst, but then i just couldn't do that to them so, here's two parts of lovey dovey boys 😌💖
---
It was the night before graduation, the last night they were spending in the tiny dorm room that had become their haven, and Tony was snuggled into the chest of a boy who felt so much like home.
“Stop thinking so much,” Rhodey whispered from above him, his throat thrumming softly against Tony’s forehead.
“Not thinkin’,” Tony mumbled against Rhodey’s t-shirt, hugging him tighter. “G’nna miss you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Rhodey promised – lied, actually, because he was. Tony decided not to refute him, letting the promise settle in the air between them. Just another addition to the many things Tony could hold onto once Rhodey shipped out.
Minutes passed where Tony silently cherished the feeling of being able to hold Rhodey so close to him, the warmth of his skin, the musky scent that never seemed to fade, and it was just as he was about to give in to sleep when he heard the confession, soft as a feather.
“I love you, Tones,” Rhodey whispered into his hair, muffled. It was the last thing on his mind before sleep overwhelmed him.
///
The bed was empty when he woke up, sheets messy on the side that Rhodey slept, and Tony had no doubt that Rhodey had slipped downstairs at the crack of dawn to help with making breakfast. He had barely begun making his way down the stairs, and to the kitchen, when he caught a whiff of the scent that filtered out the kitchen, and Christ, twelve years of spending Christmas at the Rhodes’ and Tony was yet to get used to the intoxicating scent of Mama Rhodes’ cooking.
He’d been at the last step, just on the other side of the wall of the kitchen, when the conversation between Rhodey and Mama Rhodes drifted through.
“–take good care of him, you hear?”
“Of course I will, Ma.” The smile could be heard in Rhodey’s voice. “And thank you, I– I know how much this ring means to you.”
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I wish you would write a fic where tony has accidentally turned into a child and Rhodey has to babysit him Thanks !!
thank you for the prompt! 💞💞
(i may have had too much fun with this)
The thing is, Rhodey's used to being greeted by an empty penthouse every time he decides to check up on Tony. It's precisely the reason why the rest of the penthouse blend into the background while he makes his way to the private elevator that leads to Tony's workshop – the sectional sofa, the mezzanine, the staircase leading to the mezzanine, the kid, the–
Rhodey does a double take.
There's a child in the penthouse - staring back at him like a baby deer caught in the headlights. The child blinks, just once, before brown eyes are back to being impossibly wide over the tiny hand perched upon the glass handrail. He's wearing a black t-shirt that's ten sizes too big for him, the edges of it ending at his knees. His feet are on two different stairs, almost like he'd been in the middle of making his way down before Rhodey conveniently barged in. The child doesn't even move a muscle.
"Uh," is all Rhodey says, eyes flicking around the penthouse in sudden uncertainty before he turns to the boy. "Hey."
The boy continues to stare at Rhodey for five odd seconds, making the older man feel oddly conscious. And then, finally, a careful: "Hi."
"Hey," Rhodey says again, softer now. "Are you alone here?" He scans the empty penthouse once more. "Where are your parents?"
"Why?" The boy is quick to ask, tone changing as his eyes narrow, and Rhodey's never seen a five-six-whatever-year old sound so defensive. "Where are yours?"
Rhodey's taken aback, if only for a brief second, at the sudden shift in tone. Brown eyes are no longer wide, but slitted with something close to suspicion. "They're not–" Rhodey starts. Stops. "I'm sorry. Just–" He turns his head away, still maintaining wary eye contact with the boy, and calls out in the general direction of Tony's bedroom. "Tony?"
"Yeah?" The boy asks.
"No, not– that's my friend," Rhodey elaborates, making a vague motion with his hands to the space around them. "Have you seen anyone else around here?"
"Is your friend's name Tony, too?" The boy asks, slowly continuing to make his way down the stairs, sharp eyes still fixated on Rhodey.
"Yeah. He's–" Rhodey starts, and then something the boy had said registers. "Wait. Too? What's your name?"
The boy finally takes the last step, and it's right then that Rhodey sees the familiar design of Black Sabbath printed across the oversized t-shirt. The sleeves were pulled up and knotted at awkward angles to prevent it from dangling down tiny arms. "Tony," the boy says.
Rhodey's lips part in growing surprise as he takes in the messy waves of dark hair, matched with a pair of brown eyes that shine too bright, the layer of chub across a familiar bone structure, and the all too familiar expression of suspicion that Rhodey was once subjected to in MIT – one that, over the years, had eventually been hidden behind a perfected mask of cool. "Tony."
"Yeah," the boy says, making a face like Rhodey's being stupid. "S'what I just said."
---
"I mean," Rhodey clarifies, pinching the bridge of his nose after Pepper had calmly pointed out through the call that Tony's always been a child. "He's an actual kid. Physically. He's–" he cuts off as he shifts his attention to Tony, who's scowling from the other end of the sectional with tiny arms crossed over his chest. "Do you know how old you are?"
"Course I do," Tony huffs out, eyes narrowing in offense. "I'm eight."
"Eight? Kinda short for an eight year old, aren't you?" Rhodey teases, and Tony's eyes narrow even further. The boy looks away just as his cheeks flush pink at the jab aimed at his stature.
"Wait. Is that Tony?" Pepper's voice filters through the phone. "It doesn't sound like him."
"Gee, I wonder why eight year old Tony doesn't sound like fifty year old Tony."
"How are you even sure it's him? Did you ask Jarvis?"
"Trust me, I'm sure," Rhodey says, deciding against bringing up when eight year old Tony had unashamedly called out 'who's the broad?' the second Pepper answered the phone, which ended with Rhodey fumbling to put the phone off of speaker.
"And Jarvis isn't responding. He must have gone down when Tony did– well, whatever he did." Rhodey sneaks a quick glance at his watch. It's been almost an hour since he walked into this debacle. "He should be back up soon."
"Okay," Pepper says after a heavy sigh. Her calm demeanor doesn't even surprise Rhodey – god knows the pair of them have been through enough and more of Tony's eccentricity. When it comes to Tony, this is just another day for them. "Jim, listen. I'm still in DC, but I'll be there in a few hours." There's distinct shuffling from her side. "Just– stay put. Read him a book. Put him to sleep."
"Put him to–" Rhodey cuts himself off before he can even consider the ridiculousness of the suggestion. "This is Tony."
"And you're his best friend. Which is why I'm sure you'll figure something out." And by thrusting her sheer level of confidence upon Rhodey, Pepper ends the call, leaving him staring helplessly at the phone in his hand. He looks over at Tony, who immediately looks away, defensive hands still folded across his chest in an act of petulance.
Pepper had a point, Rhodey figures. Smaller Tony can't differ much from the real deal. He just has to make Tony talk; keep him occupied. Maybe play an R-rated movie–
"Keep staring at me like that, 'm gonna think you're a pedophile."
"Jesus Christ."
---
They're not even ten minutes into watching Eraserhead before Tony decides it's too unrealistic, and therefore not worth his time.
"What?" Rhodey asks, barely able to suppress the disbelief in his voice. Tony loved this movie – even watched it twice a month, every month, while they were in MIT. Sure, it had Rhodey worried for Tony's sanity at first, but he got around to movie nights soon enough. "You love this movie."
"Nope," Tony says, and that's that.
---
"Aren't you too old to be a babysitter?" Tony asks after spending a whole of five minutes scrutinizing Rhodey with a fairly impressive stink eye.
Rhodey huffs out a breathy laugh. "Tell that to the guy who put me here."
"Maybe I will," Tony says pointedly – sounding like he fully intended to file a formal complaint. "Where is he?"
"You're talking to him," Rhodey says, which shuts Tony up.
---
Rhodey's making a mental checklist of how else he can entertain eight year old Tony who hates Eraserhead – when Jarvis comes online.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Rhodes," Jarvis greets, and Rhodey immediately shoots a silent prayer of gratitude to the AI. On the other side of the sectional, Tony's head jerks up in surprise from where he was fiddling with the StarkTab – eyes darting around for the voice.
"I apologize for my inactivity. My servers may have been affected while Sir was testing the functions of…" Jarvis trails off, and there's a very telling silence that follows – Jarvis apparently having noticed Tony's absence and the kid's presence. Tony's still looking around for the source, and when his attempt turns futile, decides to zero in on Rhodey.
"Mr. Rhodes," Jarvis starts, his words edging on hesitation. "Is that–"
"Yep."
---
Tony takes it upon himself to find out the source of the voice. There's ten minutes of Tony opening and closing doors, crouching under tables, checking behind furniture five times his size, and because Tony - no matter the age – is still Tony, returns to where Rhodey's seated, newfound determination plastered across his face. "Who was that?"
"Who was who?" Rhodey asks, raising an innocent brow.
"The guy who was just talking to you."
"Don't see any guy here."
"I heard him."
"Heard who?"
"The guy!" Tony blurts out hotly, throwing his arms out in frustration as his cheeks flush a shade of red. The movement makes the full sleeves of Tony's undershirt break from the knot Tony had made, resulting in them splaying out like loose wires before they end up dangling flimsily at his sides. Tony pays no mind, and Rhodey tries to pay no mind.
"Which guy?" Rhodey asks, and he can barely contain his grin watching the way Tony puffs his chest, lips parting to make way for whatever childish blabber before they snap shut in annoyance.
His face turns into a scowl as he brings his arms back across his chest, dangling sleeves and all. "Stop pulling my leg."
"Whatever you say, kid."
"Not a kid."
"You're, like, five."
Tony looks like he's about to explode from frustration. "Eight!"
"Full fledged adult, then."
---
"You have a lot of grey hair," Tony speaks up all of a sudden, working on the offense this time.
"You're short," Rhodey answers without missing a beat.
"But I'll grow," Tony says, grinning now, like he'd struck gold. "I'll be taller than you."
"Oh, yeah," Rhodey agrees for the sake of entertaining the kid, deciding against breaking his bubble as much as he'd like to. He adds an enthusiastic "definitely."
Tony, self-proclaimed genius that he is, catches on to the intent. He looks almost giddy with excitement as he crawls over from his place on the sectional to where Rhodey's sitting. "You're jealous!" Tony exclaims, eyes shining in delight. "Aren't you? You're jealous that I'm gonna be taller than you!"
"You got me, kid," Rhodey shrugs, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. "What can I say? Life can be a– biscuit, sometimes."
"A bitch, you mean."
---
They go through the StarkPad together, not that Tony needed much help anyway, seeing as he already figured out most of how it works by himself. Rhodey gets his fair share of questions anyway, from why do people need such a big screen? to I can watch an entire movie in this?
"Ha, this makes you look even older!" is the first thing points out when Rhodey switches it to the front camera.
"Yeah, yeah," Rhodey says smiling, and in a split second, contorts his face just as a grinning Tony holds up the tablet and takes a selfie of them.
"This is so cool," Tony exclaims in barely contained excitement as he proceeds to take a dozen more pictures of himself, some of which Rhodey accidentally ends up in the background of.
"Yeah, remember my friend Tony? He made it."
Tony perks up, suddenly more interested, and Rhodey thinks he's going to ask more about the StarkPad until– "Is he taller than you?"
Rhodey snorts. "He wishes. Tony used to stuff paper balls into his shoes when we were in MIT. He wears heels now."
"I know MIT! My dad studied there," Tony says, and Rhodey makes a surprised sound, like that wasn't news to him at all. Tony cocks his head, eyebrows knitting as if something just occurred to him. "Wait, how does he wear heels?"
"He gets them custom made into his shoes."
A pause. Then: "And he's still shorter than you?"
"Yep."
"That must suck balls."
"Yep."
---
"You never told me your name," Tony says out of the blue after spending a good few minutes drooling into Rhodey's shoulder while he was dead to the world.
"It's Jim."
Tony shifts, drawing his feet towards himself so he can curl into Rhodey's chest. "That's an old man's name," Tony points out softly.
"Rhodey, then."
"How many names do you have?"
Honeybear, Platypus, Sourpatch– "A few."
"My name is Anthony," Tony says, voice softening even more, as if he'd pass out any moment now. "But nobody calls me that anymore."
"Thought you didn't like-"
"Because when they do, I kick 'em in the dick," Tony finishes, words coming out in soft mumble before he drifts back to sleep.
---
When Pepper walks into the penthouse an hour later and spots Tony snuggled against Rhodey's side, soaking his polo shirt wet with drool, she flashes him a triumphant smile. I told you so.
rhodeytony + 'things you said with too many miles between us'
you know, dome, i really tried to make this cute with like "i miss you's" and "i love you's" buuuut....
no regrets (okay maybe some regrets)
~
“There were flowers on his grave,” Tony cut in abruptly, and then paused, almost like he regretted speaking up. Jim figured there was only so long they could pretend this was routine conversation, pretend like Tony wasn’t hurting and Jim wasn’t distracting him with stories from his base. “But not on– not on hers. She's– even in death she’s in his... shadow.”
There was nothing Jim could say. Tony knew that.
“Wish you were here,” Tony said then, softer. There was nothing Jim could do about that either, maybe Tony knew that too.
///
“You’re supposed to be here,” Tony accused for what felt like the fifth time during their conversation. “I can– who should I talk to? I can pull some strings. Get you on the next plane back.”
“Tony, they need me here,” Jim explained for what also felt like the fifth time. “What I’m doing– what I do, it’s because I want to. I can’t just drop everything and come running to you.”
“You want to,” Tony repeated, voice distant, and in that split-second Jim realized he could’ve phrased that better. “Yeah, okay.”
///
Jim’s birthday came and went, a small celebration with his fellow airmen. His mother called late into the day, what with the time difference. Tony never did.
///
“Tony?” Jim asked, wary, because it’d been five months since they last talked and all Jim could hear was stuttered breathing on the other side.
“I’m sorry. I should have…” Tony trailed off, and Jim tightened his grip on the receiver. “...called. Before. I was– sorry– I, uh, just wanted to hear your–” A sniff. “It’s Jarvis.”
Jim felt his stomach plummet when the realization sunk in. “What–”
“Heart failure. In his sleep. I didn’t– He was alone. I should’ve–”
“Tony.”
“–should’ve been with him.” There’s a telling pause, and Jim could tell what was coming before Tony even spoke. “Can you–”
“Yeah,” Jim answered, not sparing a moment to think. “Of course. I can– I’ll apply for emergency leave. Jarvis, he’s– he’s family.”
“He is,” Tony agreed, sounding so so fragile, and then: “You are.”
Hai, idk if you’re still doing the prompts from the list but if so can you pls do “Is that my book?” For Rhodey and Tony in MIT (or just normal RhodeyTony doesn’t really matter) thx!
thank you for the prompt!! this definitely takes the cake for the most fun i ever had while writing a prompt (especially because i somehow inspired myself with the tags on this post) and i ended up writing this within an hour. i hope you like this! 💖
--
Jim hadn’t been out of his dorm long – an hour, at the most – and as much as he’d have liked to spend more time with the other boys on the floor, he still had a lot to unpack. Except, when he neared his room, he realized the once-shut door was ajar, with just a sliver of sunlight peeking through from when he’d opened the windows to get the air in.
The room is untouched, thankfully, everything in place as they were before he left, but there’s also an unexpected addition of a boy occupying the second bed – lying flat on his stomach and reading through a familiar book. Jim spotted a ridiculous pageboy haircut peeking above the book, dark and messy.
“Is that my book?”
“Unless you’re Stephen King, no.” Voice slightly high pitched compared to where Jim’s was deeper, the boy hadn’t even looked up when he spoke, face still hidden behind Jim’s book.
“It was on my desk.” Jim said, and made a show of pointing towards his desk.
The boy dropped the book lower, revealing wide brown eyes and very prepubescent face. “Your name wasn’t on it.”
“How old are you?”
“18,” the boy answered quickly. Way too quickly. At Jim’s flat stare, the boy relented, sniffing his nose in annoyance. “14.”
“Seriously?”
“Can we switch sides?” The boy said instead, suddenly eager to drop the conversation. He dropped the book on the bed, sat up, and vaguely motioned between his bed and Jim’s– “There’s like– I don’t know, my side feels weird. Sad.” – and scrunched up his face, as if to emphasise.
“Then maybe you should have come in three hours ago.”
“Well, I could go back in time?”
Jim gave a short nod. “You do that.”
Ten minutes later, Jim watched the fancy man with the posh accent slip a $100 note to the porter who brought up an entire apartment’s worth of luggage up to their dorm. The kid – or rather, his roommate as he’d been forced to remind myself – was perched at the edge of his bed, watching the exchange, and as soon as the porter left, grinned at the fancy man, now eyeing the paper cup in his hand.
“Coffee for the young Stark?” Fancy Man asked, and wait–
“Two shots of espresso?” The kid asked, practically vibrating as he reached for the cup. Kid? Young Stark?
“One,” Fancy Man corrected kindly when the cup left his possession. “I’d prefer you don’t drink it all at once, sir.”
“Got it,” Young Stark chirped, sounding like he absolutely had no intention of doing so. The man conversed with the kid for a few more minutes, all while Jim pretended to be reading his Stephen King novel, and the minute Fancy Man left – Jim watched over his book as the boy all but chugged down his coffee in a single move.
“You’re the Stark kid?” Jim asked, watching the kid toss his cup to the garbage can and failing spectacularly.
The boy’s disappointed frown smoothened when he turned to Jim – not that Jim could see much of his eyebrows with that repulsive haircut and bangs, God. – looking only slightly startled before his eyes narrowed towards something of suspicion and a hint of worry. “Maybe. What’s it to ya?”
The book covered the lower half of his face where Jim's lips twitched for a smirk. “I thought your family had a hairstylist.”
The boy's eyes grew wide, lips parting in barely concealed shock, before giving Jim the nastiest stink-eye of all time.
Stark left the room around an hour later – an hour of absolutely no words being exchanged – and okay, maybe Jim felt slightly guilty at the hairstyle jab.
He kept himself busy for the first ten minutes after Stark left by unpacking, and then the remaining twenty minutes silently panicking because the kid was still a kid and– and god– what if he ended up in a gutter somewhere because he was walking around in a campus he barely knew because Jim was being Jim and–
A scuffle of feet outside his door caught his attention, and Jim could just about make out the shadow of a pair of feet from under the door. He stared at the feet for a good fifteen seconds, until finally, finally, the door clicked open and the kid walked in. And–
Whatever apology Jim had died on its way to his mouth when he caught sight of the kids new haircut. Stark met his eyes briefly, almost as if gauging for a reaction, before quickly averting them and making his way to the bed.
heyo, i wrote an ironhusbands angst thing!! it's almost an 11 on a scale of 10, so you have been warned 😌
----
These days, Tony realized in a sudden wave of despair, they yelled at each other more than they actually conversed.
He forced himself to ignore Rhodey’s frantic gesticulations towards the dark lines creeping up his chest; the empty liquor bottles scattered around his workshop, and flicked his gaze down to the now-empty glass – moving his fingers to tap rhythmically at its sides. His ears had blanked out sometime during Rhodey’s onslaught of accusations, from ‘you’re killing yourself’ (he wasn’t; he was only speeding up the process) to ‘stop lying to me!’ (he wasn’t; he was omitting) and the classic, ‘you’re not even listening to me, goddamnit!’ (he did hear that; so that’s another strike)
Minutes pass of Rhodey’s words blending into each other until it feels like static; of Tony sitting quiet and frozen save for the movement of his fingers. Finally–
“Tony,” he heard Rhodey say. It wasn’t static, because it was just the one word and it was the way he said it – careful, because he realized Tony had gone silent, too silent. The kind of silent that’s heavy, worrisome, like the seconds before a bomb goes off, except Tony was the only one who heard the ticking.
“Whatever it is, you don’t have to do it alone.”
Tong couldn't resist the urge to snort, couldn't resist because Rhodey always left him feeling exposed. Like an open book. He liked that, once upon a time. “Yeah, you’d know about leaving me alone.”
Rhodey stared at him for a long moment. Finally, “You are ridiculous, you know that?”
"I think you should leave," Tony said instead, eyes fixated on a point above Rhodey's shoulder, because it hurt to look just as much as it hurt to look away.
"No," Rhodey snapped, voice firm. "No. You don't get to do this. You don't just get to dismiss your inconveniences away." His voice got sharper with each word, laced with increasing amounts of anger and annoyance. MIT Tony would have succumbed to it, would have apologized, teared up, but right now, he's never felt more immune to it. "You don't get to dismiss me away, Tony. I don't work for you."
"Then what are you still doing here?" Tony grit out, this time meeting Rhodey's gaze head on. Immune; he's become so immune. He wasn't Rhodey's Tony anymore. Hadn't been for a long time.
Rhodey inhaled sharply through his nose, lips pursed – as if Tony didn't know Rhodey did that to prevent his lips from quivering. “I loved you once, you know."
“You stopped," Tony answered evenly.
"There was nothing left for me to fight for, Tones," Rhodey said, and Tony thought he sounded almost resigned. Except for the bittersweet smile pulling at a corner of his lips, Rhodey's face revealed nothing – expressive eyes suddenly empty and hollow. "You let her get in between us."
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hello!! wrote something after literal ages rip writers block but,,, here’s an mit era fic for your rhodeytony needs 😌💖
read the whole chapter on ao3 here :D
---
There were two sharp knocks on the door, and James knows in that instant it’s not Tony, because for one, Tony never knocked, and two, even if he did, it was after he already tried the handle.
James threw a quick glance at the table clock – 2:23AM – before heading towards the door and throwing it open, and well–
He wasn’t wrong.
Tony was definitely not the one who knocked, considering William ‘Willy’ Davis from the next room over was the only thing keeping a semi-conscious Tony upright, eyes glazed over with a stupid smile on his face. Davis had an arm around Tony’s waist, palm flat against Tony’s abdomen, and had pulled Tony’s arm over and around his shoulders to support Tony’s upper body against him.
“You should probably tell ‘im to put a lid on it,” Davis said, and James realized he’d been glaring at Davis’ palm for too damn long.
“He doesn’t listen,” James grumbled in response, already making a move to pry Tony away from the guy. He hooked an arm underneath Tony’s armpit, drawing the drunken teenager closer to him until Tony quite literally jammed his head against James’ neck.
“Listens to you,” Davis pointed out sourly, taking a step back and tucking his hands into his jean pockets. James snorted, shooting him a yeah right look before Davis spoke again, this time eyeing the way Tony was incoherently mumbling into James’ neck. “You got ‘im?”
“Yeah, I got him.” He gave a short, appreciative nod. “Thanks.”
“No sweat,” Davis shrugged, just a bit too strained, before heading down the corridor and to his own room.
Can you do “Is that my book?” From the prompt list for Frostiron plsss 💙
thank you for the prompt, anon! 💖 this was a bit challenging because i kept debating whose book it should be, until i decided that tony owning a self-help book would be undeniably hilarious, so..... this happened. hope you like it!
--
Tony had barely stepped through the threshold of their bedroom when the long lump under the blanket stirred– and Tony froze. He doesn’t really know why, it’s not like he was doing anything wrong, except the fact that he was a good five hours late on his promise to be back by dinner.
The nightlight on Tony’s side of the bed was lit with a soft glow. It illuminated the right side of Loki’s face, making him look almost ethereal when he sat up to meet Tony’s eyes. Loki lips part and–
“Sorry,” Tony cut in before Loki could even get a word in. “I am so sorry. I lost track of time, and Jarvis didn’t tell me about–”
“That would be because you muted–” Jarvis started to defend himself and Tony interrupts with an embarrassed “mute!” before the AI goes silent again.
Loki stared for a long moment. When he finally spoke, the gods face revealed absolutely nothing. “An excuse is simply a challenge that you've decided has power over you.”
Thing is, they’ve been dating for a few months, which meant Tony was used to the occasional spurt of obscure phrases that have nothing to with the situation, and if it were any other string of words, Tony probably would have responded with a short quip except–
There was something very familiar about that particular choice of words. Tony squinted. And then squinted a little more, for the sake of being dramatic, just in time to spot the flash of a smirk that crossed Loki’s face.
“I may have found something to keep me occupied,” Loki added airily, and it’s because he said it that way that Tony has reason to be suspicious.
Cool as ice, Loki’s hand reached for the night stand on his side, and Tony only needed to catch the glimpse of blue to realize what it was.
Son of a–
“Is that my book?” Tony blurted, voice going a little disbelieving at the end. Loki blinked at him, looking so damned innocent, and brought up the book in between them – the cover facing Tony.
You Are A Badass Everyday, the title of the book revealed.
“That is not mine,” Tony defended as if he hadn’t just claimed ownership of it three seconds ago. Loki quirked an eyebrow, and proceeded to make a show of opening the first page of the book. Goddamn diva.
“To Tony,” Loki read out, and then looked up with expectant lift of his brows. The corners of Loki’s lips pulled into a teasing smile as he assessed Tony’s reaction.
“From Road Runner,” Tony finished pointedly when he realized Loki wasn’t going to. “Rhodey gifted it to me.” Loki’s face shifted into something of delight, and Tony scrambled to emphasize. “As a joke. It was a joke. I don’t read self-help books.”
Loki hummed non-committedly at Tony response, nimble fingers flipping through the pages of the book and having the audacity to look like he didn’t believe Tony. Knowing Loki also meant knowing that the god won’t drop something like this anytime soon, so, as Loki continued to read – and by reading, flipping the pages obnoxiously loud every alternate second – Tony got ready for bed. He took off his t-shirt, kept his pants on, and slid into the bed beside Loki.
The obnoxious page flipping had slowed down, so he figured that Loki had started to take the book seriously and– honestly, Tony doesn’t know if he should be worried. But he doesn’t say anything – perfectly aware that anything he’d say would likely be answered with a direct quote from You Are A Badass Everyday – so neither does Loki.
Loki was leaning against the headboard, so when Tony throws a hand over, his arm curled around the warmth of Loki’s waist. He wiggled a bit, enough to close the space between them, and pulled himself close enough that his nose was pressed against the soft cotton of Loki’s clothes, and his eyes were just about to flutter shut when–
“Shut your beautiful eyes, breathe into your beautiful body, clear your beautiful mind, feel the life force that–”
from the fluff list “Could you say that again?” “Were you not listening?” “No I was, I just like hearing your voice.” for buckytony pls (:
+or whatever ship you prefer i’m not sure if you ship buckytony
oooo, i do ship them! this is my first time writing them though, (because i am a gold tier procrastinator) so thank you for the prompt! i hope you like this, belle 💖💖
---
He’s not annoyed. He’s not. And he makes sure he emphasizes on that tiny fact while he monologues, because he gets it. Gets that Steve’s worried about him; that Steve went through the whole awkward process of familiarizing with the 21st century; and that Steve’s just trying to help. Except, Steve also forgets that Bucky’s spent a good seventy years as an assassin – a ghost – and adapting to a situation had been ingrained into his very being – much like the way a chameleon would find itself camouflaging – and sometimes, sometimes, Steve skims over that little detail and–
–okay; so maybe he’s a little annoyed.
He’s still pacing after his well articulated monologue – booted feet thudding against the carpeted flooring of their hotel room and trying to regulate his breathing between clenched teeth – when Tony speaks up from where he's sat on the bed.
“Could you say that again?”
Bucky stops short at the request, turning with a small frown pulling at his brows. The annoyance sizzles into something of hurt when he catches sight of the StarkPad in Tony’s possession – its screen lit. “Were you not listening?”
“No– I was,” Tony answers quickly, almost as if refusing the unpleasant thought from settling in Bucky’s mind. And then, sheepishly: “I just like hearing your voice.”
Bucky blinks, just the once, because that– okay, what, he hadn’t expected... that. Tony shifts, visibly awkward, but somehow managing to maintain eye-contact anyway.
Bucky’s eyes narrow, keeping them fixated on Tony with equal amounts of confusion and amusement. His lips twitch oddly to contain the smile currently threatening to break out - but years of, well, experience, allows him to keep his face mostly composed, not wanting to look like he was having a seizure because Tony wasn’t paying attention to him. Or something.
Tony continues to look like a deer caught in headlights, brown eyes wide and bright from the white glare of his StarkPad. When he sees Bucky’s eyes flick to it briefly, Tony holds it up, screen facing Bucky, and hesitates for a moment before he elaborates.
“It’s the, uh, voice recorder. I listen to your voice when you’re–” Tony cuts himself off with a quick purse of his lips. Clears his throat. “Jarvis records in the tower. Everything. Not just you, uh, obviously. But since we’re here...” Tony trails off, eyes motioning to the room around them, and Bucky wasn’t sure if Tony was making a point or if he’d made a point, but either way, Tony looked like he was done talking.
There’s a minimalist painting on the wall beside the bed that suddenly grabs all of Tony’s attention, like it’s the first time he’s seeing a black sphere in a white background.
Bucky grins - the math adding up.
“So, what, you listen to my voice when I’m not around?” Bucky prods, moving towards Tony, all of his annoyance washing away to expose newfound amusement at the way Tony was clearly racking his brain for a witty response.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Barnes,” Tony grouses. His words are immediately betrayed by the rising flush in his cheeks.
“Oh, it’s Barnes now, is it?” Bucky asks, still grinning, still nearing closer. Tony’s staring at him with his chin lifted in defiance, and once Bucky reaches the bed, he crouches so he’s at eye level with the smaller man.
They’re close enough that their noses bump, and when Bucky - the shit that he is - doesn’t lean forward, Tony takes the initiative. The genius doesn’t move in all the way, stopping just a hair's breadth away and meets Bucky’s gaze, something deliberately mischievous swirling within brown eyes.
“I did tell you Jarvis records everything in the tower, right?” Tony whispers into Bucky’s mouth, and when Bucky’s eyebrows twitch in confusion, Tony raises his eyebrows pointedly. “Everything.”
Bucky frowns briefly before his brain catches up and his eyes grow wide, and now it was his turn to flush red, because if Tony was talking about what Bucky thinks he’s talking about then– Oh.
Bucky catches the Cheshire-like grin on Tony’s face, all but confirming the theory.
