#damn did this fucking teenager just casually offer to carry a full grown man on his back while jumping at full speed over ledges???

[mercutiotakethewheel]

ok so realistically i know theres important character reasons Kendra (and Seth and Warren by extension) never suspect Gavarog. It’s the old society trick to set up threats as team bonding exercises, etc, etc. plus this is a new and unfamiliar world thats rapidly overtaking her real world and replacing all her existing relationships, and right now Gavarog’s like the only member of her magical-worl peer group, so she doesnt want him to be a traitor, just like she didnt want Vanessa, her only female mentor to be a traitor, etc , etc.

but also i wholeheartedly 100% believe that every time Gavin did some truly bizarre, weird ass shit Kendra was just like. damnnnn…. average home school kid behavior.

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Love and Cat Pee - Leonard McCoy x Reader

Words: 1952 Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader Warnings: None, just a lot of fluff.

A/N: My Tag list is old. Please tell me, if you want to be removed! Some of you seem to have changed their usernames so I’m sorry if I didn’t tag you in this story. Tell me if you want to be added <3

Some days, being able to work on the Enterprise was the best thing that ever happened to you. You got to travel, see new planets, and meet people from all over the universe.

On other days, being able to work on the Enterprise made you wish you had stayed back on Earth in your hometown, working in your family’s little shop, instead of almost dying 200 light years away because you accidentally drank from a wrong glass.

Today was one of those days.

“Sit her down over there,” Captain Kirk ordered and two Security officers grabbed you under your arms, helping you sit down on a bench. “Kirk to Enterprise. Enterprise, please come in.”

“Enterprise. Scott here.” You heard a faint voice coming from Kirk’s communicator.

“Scotty, be prepared to beam Lieutenant Y/L/N up. And tell Doctor McCoy to get ready to treat a patient with Ladocsris poisoning.” After Mr. Scott acknowledged, he closed the communicator and looked down at you, frowning. “How are you feeling, Lieutenant?”

“Horrible, Captain” you managed to get out. You writhed in pain, arms tightly clutching to your side. It felt like someone had stabbed you with a burning hot knife right in your stomach and now continued to twist it around. “Am I dying?” you asked with gritted teeth.

Kirk shook his head. “You’re not going to die from this.” He suppressed a chuckle and shook his head. “Why the hell would you drink that, Lieutenant?”

“Certainly not because I wanted to spend my day in sickbay!” You wiped away sweat that had formed on your forehead. “Excuse me, Captain, but – fuck!” Another wave of pain washed over you.

The Enterprise had delivered some medical supplies to this planet and as a thank you, the crew was invited to join their Spring Festival. Because the ship was on a tight schedule, a landing party consisting of only six people beamed down to avoid coming across as disrespectful. At one point, you were all offered drinks. There were two different glasses on the table. You didn’t correctly understand which one you should take and since everyone was involved in conversations, you didn’t want to interrupt and ask. So you just took one.

Kirk looked at you sympathetically when you closed your eyes in pain. “Do you know what it was?”

“What?”

“The drink.”

“No, why?” You opened your eyes in suspicion.

“Well,” he looked down to hide the obvious amusement in his eyes. “They have this giant cat-like animal on the planet. It’s a sign of fertility because …. because its urine is basically the best fertilizer you can get.”

You stared at him, words slowly starting to make sense in your head.

After a few seconds, he continued. “Even though it’s not meant for drinking, they still collect it for their Spring Festival. It’s like a … religious thing.”

“You mean … You mean, I just drank …”

Kirk nodded.

What happened next was probably the worst thing you had experienced since the day you started working for Starfleet. You felt it coming up in your throat but it was too late - with a groan you leaned forward and vomited. All over your Captain.

***

When you woke up again, the pain was gone. It was replaced with a slight dizziness and a faint headache.

You tried to sit up, realizing you were in sickbay. Oh, you hated it here. That’s why you had become an expert of skipping annual exams and basically coming here at all. Not because you were afraid of them, no, that wasn’t it. Simply, because since day one you had the biggest crush possible on one particular Doctor – and you didn’t know how to deal with it. At all.

“Don’t get up just yet.”

Speaking of the devil.

Doctor McCoy appeared from behind a curtain. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. Of all the professionals working here, he had to treat you? “Just a headache.”

He nodded. “That’s normal. The heada-“

“Oh, she’s awake!” Christine Chapel interrupted. Apparently she was on the way somewhere, carrying various blood samples in her hands, on her face a big grin. “You’re feeling better?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, slightly confused.

“That’s good to hear!” The grin didn’t fade when she walked away.

Furrowing your eyebrow, you looked over to McCoy. He kept his eyes locked on a hypo in his hands but you didn’t miss the amused sparkle in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Mh?” The doctor cleared his throat, injecting you with the hypo. “The headache should disappear within a few hours. I will keep you here for a bit longer and run another test but I believe you should be fine.”

Another nurse kept passing by, nodding at you with a big wide smile. Ignoring what McCoy had just said, you answered: “I’d like to think everyone is just really happy to see me here but I’m sensing it’s something different.”

“I don’t know, maybe it has to do with you vomiting all over our Captain,” McCoy said casually and shrugged. “Just an idea.”

Oh fuck, was the only thought running through your mind when you suddenly remembered.

“Ugh,” you let out a loud groan and dramatically placed your hand over your eyes. Why did those things always happen to you?

On the last mission, you had accidentally pushed Chekov into a lake with a reddish color which resulted in him having a weird rash all over his body for two weeks and red hair. Now you not only drank something you wasn’t supposed to and probably sabotaged the whole shore leave, you decided to throw up on Kirk afterwards.

“I sabotaged the whole mission,” you scolded. “Fuck!”

“Watch your language in my sickbay. I’m the only one allowed to curse here.” The doctor was still standing in front of you when you removed your hand from your eyes. “Now stop being so dramatic, that corn-fed goblin –“

“Corn-fed goblin?” You interrupted.

“Yes.”

“I thought it was green-blooded goblin and corn-fed idiot.”

“Sometimes I like to vary a little with my insults.” He gave you a half smile before continuing. “The Captain will be fine. Jim had worse things on his body than vomit. Believe me.”

You frowned. “Do I wanna know?”

“No.”

A sigh escaped your lips. “I still have to apologize though.”

“Probably.” He turned to his instruments, shuffling things a little while you stared at the ceiling. “The crew won’t let you live that down, be prepared for that.”

You made an indefinable sound.

“I won’t either.”

Great. As if the embarrassment hadn’t already reached its highest point for this month.

“One of the security guards has also the opinion that you could’ve turned away if you wanted to. Now people are wondering why you didn’t do it.”

“How do you even know so much gossip?”

He shrugged. “My nurses talk a lot.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Why I did it?” You scoffed. “Oh I don’t fucking know – excuse my language – maybe because I felt like it. Or maybe it was just me trying to get here so I can confess my love to you!”

Doctor McCoy put down the instruments and turned around again. “Well, was it?”

Realizing what you had just said, you kept your eyes locked on the ceiling. “No!” You denied, with probably a bit too much force in your voice. “Of course not. I mean. No.” You felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“Right,” the man replied. You didn’t see the smile on his lips. “Maybe I’ll just let you rest for a while, alright?”

“Maybe my headache will actually disappear then, Doctor.”

He left with a chuckle.

***

You weren’t able to sleep after he had left, so for another hour you were just staring at the wall, listening to regular beeping noise coming from the instruments.

You weren’t sure which event of the day was the worst but the more time you were thinking about it, probably the latter. He knew. He wasn’t supposed to know but now he did and you a part of you was – aside from being embarrassed – terrified. Yes, you had a crush on him but it was the kind of crush where you just admired him from afar. Nothing would happen between the two of you. But now that it had slipped from your mouth, it was real.

“I brought you something.” The curtain got pulled away and McCoy came in.

Oh no.

You lifted your head from the pillow. He was holding a small cup, which he placed on the small table next to the bed. A delicious smell ascended from it.

“My favorite tea?” You asked him a bit puzzled.

“Yes,” he smiled at you.

“How do you know?”

“You always drink it.” He simply said.

“You noticed?” A warm feeling began to spread in your stomach.

The doctor nodded.

“Well, thank you.” You took a sip of the tea. It was still hot, but not hot enough to burn your tongue. Just perfect.

“So about earlier –“

You almost choked on the liquid. “Please, don’t. I’ve been humiliated enough for one day.”

“I know,” McCoy chuckled. “That’s why I wanted to ask –“

“What?”

“Damn, you really need to stop interrupting people.” He shook his head.

“Sorry, please finish,” you mumbled and lifted the cup to your lips again.

“I wanted to ask if you’d like to have dinner with me tomorrow. Dinner as in … a date.”

This time you choked for real. You started coughing and Leonard was luckily fast enough to get the cup from your hands before you spilled hot tea all over yourself.

“So is that a yes?” He asked when you calmed down and were able to breath normally again.

You stared at him with mixed emotions, not quite believing that Leonard McCoy actually asked you out. Goddamnit, you were acting like a lovestruck teenage girl not like a full grown human and Starfleet member. “Yes.”

“Fantastic!” There it was again – the smile that Leonard McCoy almost never showed. It lit up the whole room, you thought. “Normally I’d take it slow and wait for a few more days before doing what I’m about to do next but you have already confessed your love for me so –“

“Oh, please stop it!”

“– so there’s no real reason to wait,” he finished his sentence with a smile. McCoy took a step forward so that he was now standing directly next to your sickbed.

“Wait for what?” You asked furrowing your brows. He already asked you out on a date. There was really nothing more he could do to make this day any better.

Slowly Leonard leaned down towards you and before you realized what was happening, you felt his lips on yours. The kiss was slow and tender and made you feel dizzy. His lips were soft, much softer than expected, and you wanted to melt when you felt his hand cupping your cheek. Apparently there was something he could to make this day any better. Two seconds later, the kiss was over. Leonard pulled away and looked at you lovingly. You were out of breath.

Suddenly his smile vanished and he grimaced.

You felt your stomach plummet. What happened? Were you that bad? Did he already regret asking you out and kissing you? “Did I do something wrong?” You asked, your voice barely audible.

“No, no, darlin’,” he reassured her quickly and lifted his hand to his mouth. “The kiss was … something else.”

“But?”

“But I think I can still taste a hint of that cat pee drink on your lips.”

***

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[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 19 - 20

The last few chapters utterly spoiled me with good content in form of the witches.But everything good, sadly, cannot last forever.

Elide Lochan kept quiet during the two days she and Lorcan trekked through the eastern edges of Oakwald, heading for the plains beyond.

*groans* Elide, I love you, but your POVs are just not fun to read, I’m sorry. Maybe because my instincts are telling me we might get a Lorcan POV too, and I’m starting to be irked by this guy.

But [Elide] still slept soundly these last two nights—thanks to the belly full of meat courtesy of Lorcan’s hunting. He’d scrounged up two rabbits, and when she’d devoured all of hers in minutes, he’d given her half of what was left of his. She hadn’t bothered being polite by refusing.

Girl, you were kept prisoner for how long? Don’t feel sorry for eating. Besides, Lorcan is an immortal warrior, yeah? So he probably doesn’t need to eat as much as you do during a day.

So they make it to a city, and Elide, being one of the few smart characters in this book, realizes Lorcan needs a disguise.

Elide surveyed herself, and set down her pack. First, she removed the leather jacket, even though it left her feeling like a layer of skin had peeled off, then she rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt. But without the tight leather, the full size of her breasts could be seen—marking her as a woman and not a slip of a girl that people assumed she was.

I say once again; full grown women are not the only ones with huge breasts. You  can be a teenager with big breasts. Hell, I’m a young adult woman and I don’t have large boobs at all! Your breasts size have very little to do with your age once you hit puberty.

[Lorcan’s] eyes traveled from [Elide’s] feet to her head, and he frowned again. “Bigger tits won’t prove or hide anything.”

See, even Lorcan understands this. Also really, Lorcan says ‘tits’? 

They roll up to town and there are soldiers checking wagons and inspecting people, searching for her. Since Elide’s limp gives herself away, Lorcan fixes it temporarily with magic.

[Lorcan] opened the door, and by the time [Elide’s] eyes adjusted to the glow of the wrought-iron chandeliers, Lorcan’s face had changed. His eyes might never be warm, but a bland smile was on his face, his shoulders relaxed—as if he were slightly inconvenienced by the wait but eager for a good meal. He almost looked human.

I know I said I despised Lorcan, but at least he’s willing to listen to Elide and make an effort to disguise himself. Maybe these chapters won’t be too painful to read.

“Brother,” Lorcan murmured so no one else could hear. “I am your brother.” “You are my husband,”  [Elide] said with equal quiet. “We have been married three months. Follow my lead.”

I see your “pretending to date/be married’ fanfic trope, SJM. I see you.

[Elide] said simply, “Men will not fear the threat of a brother. I would still be unclaimed—still be open for … invitations. I have seen how little respect men have for anything they think they are entitled to. So you are my husband,” she hissed, “until I say otherwise.”

Jesus, way to throw men under the bus. Why is it that all unnamed and minor male characters in SJM’s books are addicted to rape and sexual harassing women? Like I know it happens in this time period ( and today) but Christ, all of these men are just frothing at the mouth to claim a woman or some shit.

Elide listens to the next table, which turns out to be a traveling carnival group.

Elide lifted her eyes to Lorcan’s—he gave a nod. She took a sip of her stew, steeling herself, thinking of Asterin Blackbeak. Charming, confident, fearless. She’d always had her head at a jaunty angle, a looseness to her limbs, a hint of a smile on her lips. Elide took a breath, letting those memories sink into muscle and flesh and bone.

Awww, I love little tidbits like this, showing how much of an impact Manon and her Thirteen had on Elide. Girls supporting girls is so important and precious.

Elide manages to convince the carnival group that she and Lorcan are traveling performers, and they are allowed in. I’m starting to warm up to Elide again - she uses her intelligence, he speaking skills, and her wits to solve her problems. It’s refreshing compared to the other characters always using magic and strength.

His wife. Gods above.

Unghhh, Lorcan’s POV.

Lorcan ignored the hand the bearded man offered and jumped into the back of the wagon, reminding himself to sit close to Marion, to put an arm around her bony shoulders and look relieved and happy to have a troupe again.

But again, he’s making an effort at least. That’s more than Aelin would do; she’d just threaten to burn everyone in her path until she gets her way.

Marion rolled her eyes, patting Lorcan’s knee. He nearly cringed at every touch. Even with his lovers, outside the bed itself, he didn’t like casual, careless contact. Some found that intolerable. Some thought they could break him into a decent male who just wanted a home and a good female to work beside him. Not one of them had succeeded.

Christ Lorcan, she’s just patting your knee. Right after I gave your kudos for putting effort into your disguise and everything.

“I want to see life—see the world,” Marion said, her voice softening. “I want to see everything.” Lorcan wondered if Marion would even get to do that if he failed in his task, if the Wyrdkey he carried wound up in the wrong hands.

Like I said, gonna be a doozy when Lorcan finds out his Wyrdkey is a fake.

Does it sound like I’m stretching for things to say? Because I am. Honestly this subplot is just.... really really boring. It’s just Lorcan being grumpy and brooding and while Elide is a nice and interesting character, SJM just isn’t doing anything cool with her aside from the occasional little moment here and there.

“But Aelin Galathynius,” Nik mused. Marion’s hand went limp on Lorcan’s knee. “Who knows what she will do. She has not called for aid, has not asked soldiers to come to her. Yet she held Rifthold in her grip—killed the king, destroyed his castle. But gave the city back.” The bench beneath them groaned as Marion leaned forward. “What do you know of Aelin?”

NO NO I’M SORRY I TAKE IT BACK THIS SUBPLOT IS INTERESTING PLEASE NO AELIN GUSHING PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

“Rumors, here and there,” Nik said, shrugging. “They say she’s beautiful as sin—and colder than ice. They say she’s a tyrant, a coward, a whore. They say she’s gods-blessed—or gods-damned. Who knows? Nineteen seems awfully young to have such burdens … Rumor claims her court is strong, though. A shape-shifter guards her back—and two warrior-princes flank her on either side.”

Aedion is the one who came up with the guarding her sides/back thing. How the fuck do other people know about it? Also unghhh everyone in this book just has to be royalty don’t they.

Some soldiers stop them and order them all out, presumable looking for Elide. Then they fuck off and Lorcan angsts about happy endings and how Elide’s goal is foolish.

There was no such thing as a better world—no such thing as a happy end. Because there were no endings.

Don’t be like that Lorcan, you’re a hot attractive magic dude in a shitty YA book. Of course you’re gonna get a happy ending. Next chapter!

Rowan Whitethorn just needed a place to rest. He didn’t give a shit if it was a bed or a pile of hay or even beneath a horse in a stable. As long as it was quiet and there was a roof to keep out the driving veils of rain, he didn’t care.

Dorian and Rowan have made it to Skull’s Bay.

But [Rowan] and the young king had chosen another route, during the many hours he’d made good on his promise to teach Dorian about magic. They’d worked for only minutes at a time—since it’d be no use if the king wrecked their little boat should his power slip its leash. So it had been exercises with ice: summoning a ball of frost to his palm, letting it melt. Over and over.

Aww, this is nice. I kinda wish we could’ve actually seen this, but it’s a nice mental image nonetheless.

But as if the gods themselves wanted to test him, a gust of rain-cooled wind sprayed into their faces, and some sense pricked in its wake. A shift in the air. Like a great pocket of power gathered close, beckoning. The knife at his side was instantly in his soaked hand as he searched the rooftops, revealing only plumes of rain. Rowan quieted his mind, listening to the city and storm around them.

So Rowan’s magic picks up some shady shit. What, pray tell, could be after them in Skull’s Bay?

Rowan sheathed his knife. “Then stay close and keep alert.”

Oh. Never mind, then. We transition then into Dorian’s POV.

Aelin had once confirmed that Rolfe was indeed soulless and indeed tattooed. As for the map … She’d shrugged, saying Rolfe claimed it stopped moving when magic fell. Dorian wondered if that map now indicated that he and Rowan walked through his city—if it marked them as enemies.

Seriously, Rolfe is so cool. A pirate damned without a soul with a magic map on his hands? Gimmie that novel! I wish SJM actually did something with the cool concepts she makes.

Two guards stood halfway down the block—guards not for any uniform, but for the fact that they were standing in this storm, hands on their swords. Rowan angled his head in a way that told Dorian the prince was likely contemplating whether it was worth it to chuck the men into the roiling harbor.

Rowan: How dare Darrow imply that my gf and I can’t be proper leaders? We are extremely talented in diplomacy!

Also Rowan: Hmm I’m gonna toss the guards of the guy I arranged a meeting with into the ocean lol.

Storm-Chaser. Lady Ann. Tiger-Star. The sterns of ships. Every table was made from them. They hadn’t been taken from wrecks. No, this was a trophy room—a reminder to those who met with the Pirate Lord of how, exactly, he had gained his crown.

Seriously why are SJM’s side characters so awesome and bad ass and intriguing but her main cast is so boring and lacks any development? Cut out Aelin and her court and give me a novel about Darrow, the witches, and Rolfe’s pirate army. I’d pay good money for that fic.

A door behind the bar opened, and a slim, brown-haired young woman stepped out. Her apron marked her as the barmaid, but her shoulders were back, head high—gray eyes sharp and clear as she scanned them and remained unimpressed. “He was wondering when you two would come snooping,” she said, her accent rich and thick—like Aedion’s.

Aye lmaooo you call them out girl.

Dorian nodded, something in his chest easing. “And you—your magic is … better?” That hard face yielded nothing. “I’ll manage.” Not an answer.

Lmao don’t worry Dorian, as soon as Rowan needs his magic he’ll be able to shoot frost balls out of his ass. Because what is a magic system?

Dorian didn’t know what he expected from the Lord of Pirates. But a dark-haired man, a day past thirty if that, lounging on a red velvet chaise before the rain-splattered curve of windows was not it.

Damn, SJM, you gonna leave me hanging just as soon as we get to an awesomely built up character? Apparently so.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Helping Hands

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five| Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen: Near At Hand

With Lewis’s advice in mind (“Don’t overwhelm the man with big gestures”) Tony had asked, impulsively, what Bucky wanted to do for a date. After they’d stopped making out on his workstation like horny teenagers. Which had involved Tony having to adjust his slacks a few times, because… yeah. 

Despite not liking the phrase, Tony had to admit, Lewis was right. Tony was slumming it. He’d never dated so far outside of his own social circles. Not that most of his best people didn’t come from less than extravagant backgrounds. Lewis herself had worked at a pet shelter, and Pepper had been the executive assistant for a CEO cretin who’d been sexually harassing her. Of course, Ty Stone was a paparazzi and gossip-monger, with a side-order of high-end blackmailer, so obviously people from all walks of life had an equal opportunity to be assholes. 

But mostly, Tony had dated in his social circle, or close to it. Business moguls and the daughters of industry barons, actors and politicians’ sons. A few models. The lead singer of a Top 40 band. And the people, like Ty, who hung on the edge of that crowd. People whose idea of a spectacular date included jetting to Paris or walking the red carpet or blowing a hundred grand in a casino, chasing Lady Luck. 

Bucky had turned adorably shy and asked if they might go to dinner and catch a show on Broadway and had apologized as if the idea was too extravagant, too expensive. 

Tony sent off a quick text to Pepper, asking what shows SI currently had tickets for -- they kept a small bank of seats on reserve at most of the major theaters for the purposes of wining and dining important vendors and partners, or as rewards for enterprising employees -- and discovered that Bucky had never actually been to a live Broadway performance in his life, which just seemed a shame. Concerts, yeah -- and Tony teased him into admitting that he’d been in a band himself, back in high school, though obviously losing an arm made playing guitar a little difficult -- and a few grade-school plays where Steve had played second Octopus, but not one of the full-overboard high theatrics spectacles, like Cats or Hamilton.   

“Wicked, Cirque du Soleil, or Hamilton?” Tony asked, as Pepper returned his text. “Oh, and seats at Balthazar’s for dinner, excellent.”

[Read more here, mobile users be aware]

 Bucky blinked. “How did you do that?” 

Tony waggled his phone. “I have a personal assistant for a reason. And that reason is to make my life easier and save more time for sciencing. Or, you know, partying. Same thing, really. Just I try to science with less booze. It’s safer.” 

“Hmm,” Bucky answered, then leaned over and kissed Tony’s cheek. “Thanks. What time should I be ready?” 

Tony checked the itinerary Pepper had updated for him as soon as they were done texting. “Dinner’s at 6, so, 5:30?” 

“Sounds great,” Bucky said. 

“I don’t get another kiss?” Tony asked, plaintive. 

“After the date, Tony,” Bucky teased. “Wouldn’t want you to think I’m easy, would I?” 

While Tony tried to pick his way through that minefield, Bucky left the lab, the traces of his laughter hanging in the air. 

Tony walked into the living room and Bucky stood up from where he was lounged against the couch. For someone who’d never owned a suit before -- his dress uniform did not count, Bucky had protested -- he wore it well. James Bond in training. 

Bucky also apparently had two entirely different personalities. There was the angry-sullen Bucky that he’d given to Christine for the photo shoot, expressions that made it look like he was considering the shortest route to cutting your heart out, and then there was this one. The date-Bucky, which Tony had nearly forgotten in the last, heart-rending, weeks. The one with the wide, delighted, set-the-room-on-fire smile and dancing blue eyes and quick, loose-limbed gestures. The one who’d kissed Tony stupid and then admitted to being completely overwhelmed. 

And damn, he looked fine in that suit. Tony wanted nothing more than to take Bucky out and show him off, then bring him home and peel him out of that suit. Slowly. With great attention to detail. 

Pump the brakes, Stark, he told himself. 

“Looking good, Mr. Stark,” Wanda said. She and Steve were playing a cut-throat game of Uno at the coffee table, both of them playing two separate hands like they were professional card-sharks. She was wearing pyjama pants with kittens on them and the new Vision tee, a gold diamond with a pair of cybernetic blue eyes just underneath; the album name they were going with was for the title track, “Didn’t See That Coming.” J and Pietro had started cutting some of the initial tracks yesterday. 

Tony had, of course, grown up wearing suits and therefore carried himself much like he did any other day, with calm assurance. He gave Wanda a quick grin. “You’re the absolute height of fashion, yourself, there, kid.” 

Wanda held up one hand, palm out, to shield Steve from the middle finger she flicked at Tony. Tony cackled, delighted. Wanda, he liked. She was unflappable, affectionate, and absolutely and brutally honest. Bucky had called her his Jiminy Cricket once. Even if Tony hadn’t liked her on his own, getting on Wanda’s good side was absolutely essential to keeping Bucky happy. Wanda made it easy to like her, though. 

Wanda played a Skip, Reverse, Skip, Skip, and called Uno, then said, “Hey, the band wants to know if they can come over after rehearsal and chill. Is that okay?” 

“Yes,” Tony said, “but no drinking if you’re going in the hot-tub or the pool, okay?” 

Wanda rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not an idiot.” 

Tony laughed. “Yeah, well, sometimes I am, so…” 

“Steve,” Bucky said, waiting until his son turned all the way around, “you be good for your cousin, yeah? And pretend to eat a vegetable with dinner. Just humor me, okay?” 

Steve pouted as if the idea of eating something that wasn’t chicken nuggets or hot dogs was the worst punishment ever. “Okay.” He got up and hugged his father, rumpling Bucky’s blue shirt. “Are you and Mr. Tony going on a date?” 

“That’s the plan,” Bucky said. He scooped the kid up and kissed his cheek noisily. Steve made a disgusted face and wiped his face off with his sleeve. “God, you weigh a ton, kid. You’re gonna be all grown up before I know it.” 

“Yeah?” Steve perked up. “When that happens, can I have your bike?” 

“No, you may not,” Bucky said. “If you’re really good, though, I might let you tie your shoes all by yourself.” 

“Goodie.” The seven-year-old’s sarcasm was point-on. “Can I brush my own teeth, too?” 

“Don’t get too wild and crazy,” Bucky cautioned. He put Steve back on the floor and the boy ran off to finish the card game, crowing with triumph as he played two back-to-back Draw Fours. Wanda groaned and filled her hand with cards. 

Tony offered his arm, a strange pain in his chest as he watched Bucky interact with his son. “Shall we go? Pepper will murder me if we miss our reservations.” 

“Has she, ever, actually murdered anyone?” Bucky wondered aloud. 

“That’s classified,” Tony said, deadpan. Bucky laughed, throwing his head back and his bangs fell into his face. Tony allowed himself the tiniest bit of hope that maybe, this time, the date wouldn’t end in complete disaster. 

Tony had literally seen life and death decisions made with less deliberation than Bucky was exhibiting, choosing between the lamb rack and the coq au vin. Tony put his own menu aside to watch Bucky agonize, not being able to keep from smiling. He was reminding himself not to overwhelm the poor guy; he pinched off his first suggestion, which was to just get both. His second suggestion was that he get one, let Tony get the other, and they could share. 

His next several impulses were worse, and continued to nag at him; Bucky made him want to spend money, not to impress, but because Bucky was so delighted and amazed by stuff Tony was so used to that it was both painful and intensely fun. For just a moment, Tony held the patronizing thought that this was why people had children -- to watch someone else experience a thing for the first time in some way that brought the joy back. 

Tony started his little mental file; he always had one these days, ever since he’d totally fucked up with Pepper, forgetting her birthday and then bringing her strawberries (which she was allergic to, because damn it, he was a genius, but he could only remember strawberries, and not why they were connected). He’d learned his lesson, finally. If he paid attention, made the little details as important as math and science and engineering… that made a difference. 

Or, so the theory went. Since he and Pepper had split, he hadn’t actually put the theory into practice. Consider this a field test, he told himself. From just dinner, he’d learned Bucky preferred beer to wine, and beach-drinks to beer, preferably with frozen fruit and a rim of sugar. (Note to self: dig out the blender) Also, that he thought calling french fries “pomme frites” was pretentious as hell, and that he would absolutely not eat the last piece of bread in the basket. 

And that he was pretty. Tony had known that already, of course, but he couldn’t quite get over it, kept trying to be casual and failing miserably. So very pretty. 

Bucky had noticed, of course, that Tony was watching him. He looked up at Tony from under those long lashes with eyes that were the color of stormclouds. Bucky worried at his lip with his teeth whenever he was thinking and sometimes when he was talking, he’d rest his pinkie against the corner of his lip, which was damn distracting. 

Bucky also sat with his back to a wall and had the higher situational awareness that put Tony in mind of some of his more fervent bodyguards, especially the ones who’d been around when Tony was younger and went through what seemed like an absolute epidemic of being kidnapped and held for ransom. Apparently, a bunch of really third-rate bad guys had thought that Howard might be willing to part with some cash for his son back. Hadn’t worked out for them, very well. Tony’d gotten pretty good about escaping from restraints and picking locks and building bombs out of kitchen supplies. At least tonight, Tony hoped that high-alert wouldn’t be necessary for anything more than not having a mouthful of food when the waiter came over to ask if everything was to their satisfaction. 

The other thing Tony learned was that Bucky had impossibly long legs and that he sprawled when he sat down, legs carelessly extended under the table. When Tony had kicked him under the table the first time, Tony had apologized and drawn his feet back. Usually playing footsie under the table wasn’t a thing for Tony; at his very tallest (with the inserts in his shoes) was about 5’7”, so there was ample space for Tony’s legs and just about anyone else’s. Bucky, however, had stretched out just a little further, hooked the toe of his shoe around the back of Tony’s ankle and dragged his foot forward a few inches, then pressed his calf against Tony’s. 

That little point of contact, unseen and secret and affectionate, was doing things to Tony. 

The only word that Tony could find to describe his mental situation was captivated. Or maybe smitten. 

Balthazar’s was a popular place, and Tony was unsurprised when his attendance got some attention. A few tech-fans had come over to ask -- very nicely -- if they could get selfies with the man who’d invented their phones, and Tony was happy enough to oblige them. 

And Bucky spotted Scarlett Johansson with her current husband, the advertising mogul, Romain Dauriac. He stared for a long time, almost bordering on rude, but not for the reasons Tony thought. “You know, Clint said so, but I didn’t quite believe him.” Bucky scrolled through his phone pictures and eventually came up with one of Clint with his wife, who did bear a startling resemblance to the actress, except Nat had red hair and ScarJo was usually blonde. 

Dinner was good, and dessert was better. Bucky insisted on feeding Tony a few spoonfuls of his creme brulee, which was actually quite good, but the sharing was better. In the manner of social media and hashtags, Tony and Bucky were a trending topic on Twitter before they left the restaurant. Not shocking, but Tony texted Happy to come pick them up at the door. Even so, one of the rag-journalists grabbed Bucky’s arm before they could make a clean getaway. 

Those stormcloud eyes went flat and angry at the touch, and Bucky shook the man’s hand off forcefully. No, bad, Tony thought. Do not assault the paparazzi. Not that Tony had room to talk, really, but still. Darcy would kill them both. 

“Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark,” one of the gathered reporters yelled, “is it true that --” 

“Oh, come on, now Matthew,” Tony said, giving the man his best press-grin, “you know that nothing anyone says about me is true.” 

“Or everything is,” one of the other reporters shot back. 

“Well, I’ll just leave that to you to figure out,” Tony responded, and shoved Bucky toward the car, hard, with the hand at the small of his back so it looked like an affectionate gesture. Once they were safely inside the back of Tony’s car, Happy at the wheel and on their way to the theater, Tony was able to take a breath and notice how badly Bucky was shaking. 

“Hey, hey,” Tony said. “You all right?” 

“I don’t…” Bucky took a few deep, shuddering breaths and raked his hands through his hair, messing it all up. “I don’t like to be touched when I’m not… when I don’t know the person.” 

“Yeah,” Tony said. “They do that, sometimes. I expect we’ll end up going through another gauntlet on the way into the theater. Unless you want to skip that --” 

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky said. He scraped his hair back again and returned it to the bun, somewhat less smooth and suave than it had been before, which just added to the appeal. “Just…” 

“Did Darcy give you a prepped statement, in case anyone asks you questions?” Tony asked. He had a few fall-back lines of his own, although they’d been in place since long before Darcy had become his social-media maven. 

Bucky actually chuckled and Tony relaxed against the back of the seat. “She tried,” he said, “but apparently, I am useless at delivering a prepared speech. I’ve been relegated to ‘no comment’ until she can get me lined up with an acting coach.” 

They did manage to get into the theater without further incident, although someone with a telephoto lens and too much time on their hands had taken note of the messed up nature of Bucky’s hair after getting out of the car, and the angle of the shot prompted the glibly less-than-140-character post, “Where is Stark’s hand and why is Mr. Barnes smiling?” 

When Tony leaned over before the curtain went up to show the tweet to Bucky, the poor guy went so red in the face that Tony had a hard time not laughing. And since they were right next to each other, when the lights went dim, Tony gave up on resisting his other impulse, and let his fingers rest on Bucky’s thigh for the entirety of the first act. 

Author Note

brace yourself for three weeks worth of fluff (and smut) as their date takes three chapters. wow, I must have been in a really good mood when I wrote it! Enjoy!

as always, @tisfan