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Contrary to popular belief, Howard Stark had never been disappointed with having a daughter. (Granted, there had to be something wrong with her to make Toni the complete and utter disappointment that she must have been, but it had nothing to do with her gender. She was certain of that much.). For all his occasionally cold and calculating silence when it came to their personal relationship, Howard had never faulted Toni for being a girl. In fact, she had always thought that she garnered a touch more protectiveness from him because she was a girl. Don’t get it twisted – there were still unrealistic expectations, continued disappointment because she just wasn’t whatever the hell he thought she was supposed to be, drunken verbal lashings when she just so happened to be in the same room as him, days of feeling like a stranger in her own childhood home, etc. But there were days – her most cherished days – where Toni felt a semblance of her father’s love. Like, when she was thirteen and her curves really began to come in – more so than a few of the other little rich girls Toni had to entertain during black tie events and Tiberius Stone started making passes at her. Never mind the fact that even in interviews, Toni had declared a disinterest in boys or…or really anything that wasn’t her doing whatever it took to make her Dad proud. People had still run with it, calling it so darling that their golden boy could deign to think this enigmatic, far too cocky for her own good brat was cute – let alone worthy of his time. That she was ungrateful and she should accept his requests for more and closer despite notably knowing that Howard was uncomfortable every time they met up with the Stone family at a gala or dinner, that Toni was notably uncomfortable every time Tiberius weaseled his way into a seat at her side at the dinner table to leer at the side of her face. Well, it was more of him staring at her – and Toni has to acknowledge them now because arc reactor or no arc reactor, she’s a goddamn goddess and her breasts were crafted by God himself – chest, the proverbial tongue waggling and all that jazz. To this day, Toni didn’t know what the hell Howard had said, but Ty had left her alone for a long time after that. (In retrospect, she recognizes that Howard would have had a lot to say about what happened on the night of his funeral with Ty. Toni blames it on the alcohol – so much alcohol.). (In retrospect in regards to the aforementioned retrospect, she’s also pretty damn sure Maria would have had a lot to say about what happened after the funeral, but probably had even more to say back then when Toni was younger and far from interested in sex, period. There had to be a reason why Ty would stutter in her father’s presence, but absolutely cower in Maria’s. Then again, Maria Stark was a badass bitch, so maybe that was just natural or something. Black moms could do that to you.). Nevertheless, despite the countless interviews that suggested otherwise, Toni Stark was ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent sure that whatever issues her father had had with her had had nothing to do with her gender. And so, because of that belief, she herself had never allowed the world to make her feel guilty about it. She flaunted it, even. The heir to a multi-billion dollar company was a woman and a woman of color at that. A woman who, because she just doesn’t give a fuck and because she’s stunning with them swinging past her round ass, gets long goddess locs installed in her hair every time there’s a red carpet event or really anything fancy just so she could see the pale faces of her Dad’s former colleagues and associates go even paler under their rouge. The disdain they’d hurl her way behind champagne flutes is all the moisture her caramel-brown skin needs in order for Toni to pettily glow under the twinkling chandeliers and flashing cameras. (And the goddess locs were one of the best moves Toni could’ve made, to be quite honest. Not only did she regularly wear them shoulder length just to protect her own hair, she looked like a babe and felt like one. And like a goddamn hero. Especially after she had taken a selfie with a little girl with golden skin, bright eyes, and wavy dark locs. It was after Afghanistan and the first time that Toni felt like she had really smiled in public. It almost made her cry – almost). And when she eventually had all of the Avengers move in – and Thor never moved in, he just liked coming unannounced on a wave of thunder and booming laughter, but Toni missed him, so she wasn’t complaining – it didn’t matter that she was a woman. There was Natasha, sure, but Toni was ninety-five percent sure the redhead was going to kill her. Or, at least, wanted to kill her. Toni could never tell with her and she honestly never wanted to know. She’d take having someone she could pig out with over ptichye moloko during that time of the month, and bitch about Clint leaving his dirty socks all over the place with over having Tasha stab her in the throat any day. (She never actually called Tasha, Tasha to her face. Something about feeling like she’d get choked with chopsticks over Thai food, or something. Didn’t mean she couldn’t call her Tasha in her head. Tasha can’t control what Toni thinks, thank you very much). The point was that despite being a multi-billionaire who happened to be head of R&D of a multi-billion dollar company, while being in a superhero rock band as the infamous Iron Man, Toni didn’t feel like her gender was this invisible weight. The Avengers respected her for it, even, which was weird as shit because that was the last thing she expected. They made her feel comfortable and accepted at times, which was a lot more than she could say for the schools she had attended and the many charity events she had to fake her way through. And Toni – Toni was weak. She actually liked these people – err, people, a god, and a person who happened to turn into a giant, green angry creature thing who was honestly a cuddle monster. Dangerous cuddles, perhaps, but cuddles nonetheless. Cuddles that could kill you – or Toni, really – if Hulk squeezed too hard. The point is that Toni would love to say that she could care less about if any of them had chosen to stay at the tower or not, but she can’t. And that was probably a mistake. Because now Toni can’t get rid of these people, even if she wanted to. The worst part was that she was pretty sure she didn’t want to and wasn’t that some shit? It was also frustrating, ridiculous, and downright intimidatingly (it’s a word, don’t fight her on this) right. And they were absolutely domesticating, complete with family dinners that Steve and Bruce had started to drag her from her lab to, the occasional video game session that turned into a day long war with copious amounts of M&Ms and popcorn, and late night coffee/hot chocolate/hot-leafy-liquid-that-Bruce-swears-by-but-yuck because there were way too many minds in one place plagued by one too many nightmares but maybe that was okay because no one was going through that alone. It was all very disgusting. Which was the exact thing she had called Rhodey over at three in the morning on a Tuesday. Briefly, she had felt bad and promised to treat him to a nice dinner and a really good Christmas present or something when he got home. “But Rhodey-bear, it’s like…like –” As always, Rhodes had known exactly what to say. “Like one big happy family,” he had said and at Toni’s hissed, “Yessssssssss,” he sighed. Toni thought that the sound was tired since again, it was three in the damn morning and normal people who were not at all Toni Stark liked to sleep at this time. Re-prompt the feeling bad and needing to buy Rhodey a really nice gift. At the time, she wouldn’t have ever been able to piece together in her head that the sound in Rhodey’s sigh was a mix of both happiness for her and sadness that it took so long for her to feel like this because…ummm…what are you talking about, Sugar Plum? “Just enjoy it, Toni. You deserve it.” “But…it’s weird,” she had replied in a stage-whisper, pointedly ignoring the what-she-deserved shtick. He always liked inserting things like that, which was another something she found weird. It made this thing in her belly flutter and her insides went all warm, and she wanted to smile because Rhodey was all protective and cute with it. The thing of it was – Toni didn’t like that feeling. And she could regale her Sugar Muffin with how cute he was any day of the week without him giving her that feeling. “Well, can we wait until a more reasonable time to discuss what makes you feel weird cuz some of us just went to sleep an hour ago and have only two more hours ‘til they’re supposed to be up?” Rhodey had asked. Toni grumbled out a petulant “fine” and had pouted, but conceded to ending the call. She’d complain to Rhodey later. She had briefly considered calling Pepper but that warranted thirty new pairs of heels and an ass whooping Toni just wasn’t down for, so she noped right out of that head space, chugged down the last of her coffee, and got right back to work. It didn’t make the weird feeling of this go away. The this being the Avengers all occupying the communal kitchen to conduct their own episode of Food Network’s Chopped, the television in the nearby living room a background noise to the hum of energy shared between them. Toni is perched on a stool beside Natasha, whose hair is tied up in a loose bun with wispy red tendrils of curls framing her face, which is a really good and soft look on her face. If Toni says that, she knows she would get punched in the throat, so she shuts up and keeps the thought to herself. She’d take a punch-free throat for three-hundred, Alex, please and thank you. This is also one of the days that Thor is off elsewhere gallivanting with Jane on a “mortal’s date,” having enthusiastically embarked to once more “woo” Jane with Happy as a very gracious driver for the evening. Knowing them – and come on, who wouldn’t be pouncing over those glorious miles of golden muscles if they had a chance? – Toni has already deigned to have her limousine scrubbed thoroughly upon its return. Bruce sips at his green leaf monstrosity on Natasha’s left. Steve and Clint are in front of individual stovetops, both busy at the task at hand. Or at least, Steve is busy, shaking up the basket that keeps the food he’s frying from falling to the bottom and being difficult to retrieve. Clint, per usual, is running his mouth. “I still think this is unfair,” he complains for what feels like the umpteenth time. Toni rolls her eyes behind her mug of French-press kona coffee. “Stark can’t judge cuz she’s biased.” Bruce snickers. “Following that logic, Legolas, and Nat can’t judge either.” Toni sings and the assassin scowls at her. The unspoken rule is that neither Bruce nor Thor can judge. It was bad enough that Thor, although his palate was probably more experienced considering the wide ranges of culture on Asgard and all the other places he had traveled, happens to like anything that any of them cook for him. He prefers simpler dishes that consists of meat and potatoes, and really anything hearty, but Thor also isn’t a picky eater. He likes food and he likes large quantities of it. And boy, does Toni’s wallet know that. (Note to self: always – always – buy in bulk when a god and a super-solider are involved. Don’t ask, just do). Bruce has an unmistakable preference for Asian foods, but he’s actually a fair judge with carefully constructed criticism and kind words. It’s just that he is a fair judge when he just so happens to be Bruce. Hulk, the lovable, jolly green giant that he is, is a completely different story. So, pair Thor’s enthusiasm with the Hulk managing to agree with not liking something that Bruce didn’t like (and in his very Hulk manner when it came to disliking anything), and you have Toni having to do some serious renovations, Toni, again, throwing a couple dollar bills at some incensed New Yorkers, and Pepper Potts on a murder rampage because of all the damage control she has to participate in. The Avengers’ Chopped sessions had been cancelled for at least three weeks before they had unanimously agreed upon the boys not being allowed to judge. They still ate because everyone always cooked enough for there to be leftovers. This time, it is Steve versus Clint. (On a side note, Thor could not cook and was never allowed to be in the kitchen without supervision. Toni still mourns the loss of her original coffee maker.). “Still think you’re cheating,” Clint grumbles. Both guys are clearly making fried appetizers, what with Clint pan-frying and Steve using the deep fryer. The spices in the air make Toni’s stomach grumble – and to be fair, she’d be surprised if it didn’t considering she’s only eaten an Eggo waffle smothered in strawberry cream cheese and the sandwich Bruce plopped on her worktable earlier today - and Steve’s eyes, glittering and blue, flick up to her knowingly. His stare makes her skin prickle with awareness that she is going to blame on the heat, and her stomach – because it couldn’t help but let itself be known once more - flips. She pointedly fixes her gaze on Clint. “She’s already showing favoritism.” Natasha chuckles. “How is that, Clint?” “Cap, what are you making?” The archer asks pointedly. Steve is distracted momentarily with removing a bunch of his fried fritters from the deep fryer so that he could drop in another batch, but as they dropped – the crackling and popping of the oil almost drowning out the sound of his baritone – he speaks: “Split pea pholourie on the side of small mango chow with cucumber.” Bruce hums in interest, Clint makes a face, and Natasha nods, impressed. Tony beams. To this day, most people didn’t know that Maria hadn’t just been a random brown face that Howard had been charmed by one fateful, cold evening at an art gallery in Manhattan. She had been a West Indian girl with a deceptively American accent and a mother who had passed away back in Trinidad before she moved with just an older half-brother and maternal aunt to the States. It’s not Toni’s fault that her mom had passed down recipes to her during their biweekly mother-daughter moments, nor was it her fault she had just so happened to impart some wisdom Steve’s way, and he had been enthusiastic about receiving said wisdom. “See!” Clint exclaims. “And what are you making, Clint?” Bruce asks and Toni could kiss him for it. “Pan-fried split pea pelmeni with a spicy smetana,” he answers much slower than he probably wanted to, answering like a person who also benefits from favoritism since they’re clearly tailoring their cuisine for the night to Natasha’s heartstrings. Toni nearly jumps out of her seat. “And I’m the one who’s cheating?” “Okay, but Nat made this for us twice,” Clint reminds her. “You’ve never made Pool Larry for the rest of us.” Okay, so fair point. That didn’t stop Toni from replying, very swiftly, with, “Poo-loo-ree, Birdbrain.” “Fuck you.” “Language.” Steve, the little shit who honestly has the greatest propensity for cursing in the entire fucking room, exclaims. Natasha, surreptitiously, records it all for Snapchat. Oh, yeah, the Avengers are social media personalities. Also, to be fair, Toni had not intentionally chosen to only share her mother’s recipe with Steve. The group had this schedule set up where each person – except for Thor, God…just…never Thor – traded off on cooking. On most days, because something always came up, Steve and Bruce alternated with cooking, but the best days were when one of the others could. Natasha and Clint, when they were not on missions, alternated between cooking on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and most of the time they did it together. Fridays were reserved specifically for take-out and educational (read: entertaining yet occasionally shitty) movies to acclimate Steve and Thor to current Earth times. Thursdays were Toni’s days and it was always a surprise, mostly because she could never guarantee that she could. Work binges were a bitch. The others never counted on her brain to remember in between projects, so someone would prepare ahead of time to either warm something they had frozen or start cooking at around six. Toni liked to keep them all on their toes, as she told them. In truth, since she wasn’t the best at regulating her own caloric intake healthily – and honestly, that assessment is not fair because Toni is a grown ass moderately-healthy woman who compensates reasonably well for her habit of losing herself in the lab with snacks, even if certain bossy ass leaders disagree with her methods - she usually just forgot until it was super late and Steve was bringing her a bowl of re-heated soup over rice with a dinner roll. She also rarely cooks in front of the others, always surprising them at the last minute with the appearance of a nearly finished meal and her in the “Every butt deserves a rub” apron – a gift set in deep blue with a cartoonish depiction of Captain America, his back to the outside world to show off that gloriously patriotic ass of freedom clad in red spandex, in the middle of a shield just below the words. Clint dared her to wear it once and after the way Steve’s face went red the very first time, Toni had grown attached. (Though, to be honest, Steve stopped blushing about that a long time ago and worst of all, he looks way too pleased whenever he sees her in it, his eyes suspiciously dark even under the bright kitchen lights, which makes Toni feel things. A great way to ruin a good thing, thanks a lot, Cap.). Anyways, Bruce had abandoned her for a convention with Jane that had Thor trailing behind her like the love-struck oaf that he was (it was adorable, really – sickening, but adorable in that totally nauseating way that Toni makes sure to gag at Jane for whenever she gets the chance), Clint and Natasha were on separate week-long missions, and Steve just so happened to be there. Okay – so maybe that was leaving a few things out. Things were happening – very not-things-she-wanted-to-talk-or-think-about-when-they-were-supposed-to-be-around-their-teammates-and-being-normal-things – and food had seemed like the smartest distraction. Steve liked learning. Toni liked not getting mauled – win win situation, if you asked her. (And okay, there is a part of Toni that actually loves getting mauled – if you Steve Rogers’ single-minded fervor on the battlefield, you wouldn’t mind having all of that attention on yourself. But getting fucked silly and having him pin you to the bed, legs tangled with yours to keep you in place – hands and fingers catching on your curves, exploring, trying to commit the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips and what makes your breath hitch to memory with blue eyes burning you to the core and smile too soft to be a simple fuck – those are two very different things.) Plus, whenever he could catch her in the middle of cooking, which is a lot of the time now that Toni thinks about it – the sneaky little shit – Steve likes to watch. Captain America is a bit of a creep, even though the masses would never believe it. Toni is pretty sure JARVIS helps with that, but she can’t be sure. She had a random craving for pholourie, he started asking questions, and one look into those too-blue-to-be-true eyes that made her insides quiver and Toni had him in the kitchen with her, making the breading while she verbalized all of the steps she was taking and answering his questions. (She also just barely avoided gaping at the way he wrapped his lips around her finger when she was giving him a taste of the split-pea mixture, dark blue eyes trained on her as his tongue had flicked out to scoop up every bit of the morsel, wet and warm and purposeful as he seared her through her skin to her veins and to her very bones). Okay, so she probably had a bit of a favoritism thing going here. Sue her. Clint and Natasha totally had theirs, too. “Cry me a river, Katniss,” she replies with an indifferent shrug, taking another drink of her coffee. “Time’s almost up,” Bruce announces and the two competitors are back in action. Well, Clint is back in action. Steve never stopped, but he lowers the fryer because he’s responsible like that and turns to get his chow out of the fridge. They are a lot better during these nights about dishes, too. Most days, unless Steve decided he wanted to be his (read: endearingly) jolly, old-fashioned self and washes the dishes with his hands, the dishwasher remains in constant use. Toni can’t empathize, not when her hands could be doing better things than getting wet and wrinkly. Instead of regular porcelain dishes, they used disposable heavyweight dinnerware – compostable square sugarcane plates because Steve cares about the environment and shit – on Chopped night. They realized very early on, when Clint had overcooked his steak, that the utensils made from those very same materials weren’t going to make the cut, but at least they could all agree that the flavor was there. (The fact that they all could agree on that little tidbit reminded Toni that she was legitimately in a tower filled with nothing but dorks – very, very dangerous dorks, but dorks nonetheless – and the how remained a question she has yet to get an answer to.). Soon enough, after Bruce obligingly counts them down in the last ten seconds, the two judges, “guest” (they have to give Bruce and Thor some kind of title even if they aren’t participating), and two chefs each get a small plate. Toni, after sticking her tongue out at Clint’s sneer, warns that it would be best to eat Steve’s dish first because – although pholourie was delicious at any time and place – pholourie was best fresh out of the fryer. Truth be told, Toni wants to see how much Steve had improved from last time. (The first time, he had not fried the pholourie enough and though the taste had been there, the dough had been undercooked on the inside. The puppy dog eyes had been worse when he tried again only to fry them too hard. To make him feel better, and because they still tasted pretty damn good, Toni ate a few handfuls of the last batch). To not “seem biased,” Toni spears two pieces of cilantro-studded mango with her fork first and popped them into her mouth, meeting Steve’s guarded gaze as she begins to chew. Teasing, she raises a challenging eyebrow as her jaw works, the bright acidity of the lemon juice bursting in time with the homemade hot sauce she had stored away last week on her tongue. Steve’s eyes lower for just a moment, wandering to somewhere past her nose as he waits for her judgment, and without thinking, Toni licks her lower lip to catch the little grain of course-ground salt her mom had preferred for added texture. Steve’s eyes shoot back up to hers and his nostrils flare like there’s a challenge in the air – and there totally isn’t, so calm down Captain Eager - and Toni is going to blame the appliances on the heat she feels lick up her spine, blame them for the way the air seems to thicken with…something. For some reason, she has to work really hard to swallow the mouthful, all the while unable to tear her gaze from his. “Gross, find a room,” Clint gripes good-naturedly and whatever piece of not-fully-chewed mango her throat has been working to take down – unhelpfully – decides to clog her throat instead, and Natasha slaps at her back when Toni immediately chokes. Shooting the archer a quick glare because saying “fuck you” right now is not possible, Toni grabs her mug and quaffs the last of her warm beverage. Cheeks still aflame, Toni makes it a point to not look at Steve…and better yet, not at Natasha either even though she can feel the redhead staring at her. “No need to be jealous, Hawkass.” She manages after a steadying breath. “You know your wings are the only ones I need at night.” Bruce snorts just as he brings another forkful of chow to his mouth. From the corner of her eye because Toni refuses to full-on look at him, Toni can see Steve’s shoulders shaking more than she can hear his actual chuckle. “Bite me.” Her only retort is to stab two of fried dough balls at once and shove them into her mouth, grinning cheekily when Hawkeye – pun always intended – flips her the bird. “I, for one,” Bruce begins, mid-chew, “really like it. I, uh, wasn’t expecting it to be so spicy, but the chow really pairs well with it.” Steve’s smile is effervescent. Natasha sets her fork down and still chewing, Toni watches the redhead eye Steve with a blank face for a few breaths. After a minute, a small smile tugs at the corners of the assassin’s heart-shaped mouth. “The spice wasn’t that bad. Could’ve been spicier, actually –” “Agreed,” Toni cuts in. “– but overall, really good. And like Bruce said, the chow is very tasty, Steve.” Clint immediately begins pouting at the praise Steve is showered with like the three-year-old he is. “Whatever, lemme try!” He exclaims and grabs a hold of the small plate Steve had set aside for him because of course, the cooks deserved to eat what they made too. What kind of place did people think Toni was running, a place for savages? Clint winds up grumbling something under his breath after a few bites and then all eyes are on Toni. Just to be a bitch, she pops another piece of pholourie into her mouth, savoring the crackle and crunch that gives way to the soft dough inside. She hums thoughtfully, resting her elbows on the countertop as she chews. She hears Clint call her a dramatic ass, but Toni doesn’t focus on that. She fixes Steve with narrowed eyes and swallows. “You added sugar,” she accuses and Steve only curves his lips into a smug smile, eyes bright with amusement, with a challenge. “I don’t recall teaching you to add sugar.” Steve huffs out a laugh. “You didn’t, but I like the balance that it provides.” “Don’t remember the right way needing any more balance.” “It’s only the right way,” Steve says, “when you’re being a purist.” Toni places a hand over her chest, just above the arc reactor, feigning offense. “Traditionalist,” she corrects and sees Bruce shaking his head on a short laugh. Natasha is back to recording and not at all being sneaky about it. “And here I thought you were supposed to be a futurist,” Steve teases and Toni can’t fake the gasp – no, that is real and she stares at him, only slightly but genuinely offended now. The corners of her mouth twitch upwards though, her full lips traitorous things ready to smile despite her open-mouthed shock at having her beloved title used against her in this manner. “How dare you!” She cries. Without preamble, she turns her attention to the ceiling – a horrible habit she’s picked up from Steve – to say, “J.A.R.V.I.S, send a memo to Rhodey. He needs to be here to defend my honor.” Steve doesn’t try to stifle his laughter now and Toni hates how rich it is – how the corners of his eyes crinkle in that Steve way that makes Toni feel far too pleased with herself, body all warm again and head swimming with fuzzy feels she’d prefer not to have. “Of course, ma’am.” “Is that sass?” Toni inquires on a hum. “Are you sassing me?” “What’s your vote, Stark?” Clint asks, impatient. Toni turns very slowly to sneer him and sticks her tongue out for good measure because that is the only response that his interruption deserves. She’ll have words for her AI later and remind him that she can always give him to MIT’s freshman class to play with since he wants to clearly side with Steve, and after all the upgrades Toni was thinking of doing for him tomorrow - Her brown eyes then flit back over to Steve who is still grinning, still eyeing her with bright eyes and open-faced teasing and folded arms over his chest that showcases the muscles bulging in his biceps, pecs flexing rather boldly underneath one of his many too tight shirts that Toni really is going to gift someone for the second she finds who is responsible for that – she is, just after she’s managed to peel the white cotton off abs she’s still pretty sure she can bounce a quarter off of and – “They a’ight,” she says flippantly and absolutely preens at the way Steve’s mouth drops into a frown. His eyes are like ocean blue slits and Toni only bats her eyes at him in the most innocent way that she can, moving the plate with the rest of her chow aside to pull Clint’s in front of her. She’s definitely getting more of those babies while they wait for the next round. She just also knows she’s gonna get it when they’re alone. Clint’s jabbering cost him in terms of texture; the pelmeni is fried too hard along the edges and Toni calls him out on having to work so hard just to eat it, to which he responds with an insult – very classy. The smetana more than made up for it, though. The next round is salt fish, and both dishes are tasty – and Toni totally proves Clint wrong because she’s not biased enough to not think that Clint’s ukha could have used a pinch more salt when Steve also could have tried to lower the salt content in the first step of his saltfish buljol. What she can say is that everyone’s going to be munching on Steve’s entrée between tonight and tomorrow (and she’s going to try to find a way to save it without compromising on flavor), and they’ll freeze Clint’s soup until they can get a fresher loaf of the black bread Natasha tries to keep to herself. The dessert round only makes it harder to decide the winner because…because Toni Stark is a goddamn foodie and nothing screws with her head more than lemony desserts. Okay, so maybe blueberries would come first – blueberries are definitely high up on the list – and maybe chocolate falls just barely in third place, but Toni has a weakness for lemons, and that becomes especially clear when Steve presents them with lemon creams and Toni’s longing for her mother is sharp, causing her to bite the inside of her cheek. Maria Stark did not cook often; she was the wife of one of the richest men in America, she had no reason to once they tied the knot, not when there was Jarvis and Anna and several different cooks on standby. But it never failed, when Toni was younger and Howard had picked apart her most recent little invention without so much a lick of encouragement and Toni would be outside the closed door of his office, all big glassy brown eyes and lower lip poked out, chest shuddering as she holds back the sobs she feels threatening to rise up her throat – Maria would lead her into the kitchen, sit her atop the kitchen island, and start making something, anything, and Toni would dance along to Elsworth James’ Afeisha as her mother sings, a swivel of her hips going along with a spin that had Toni giggling, wanting to emulate her despite being too short to jump down from the island without assistance. Toni does not think about her mother as often as she had when she was younger, and the loss was fresher and poignant, and is wholly unprepared for the visceral reaction seeing a tiny glass bowl of lemon creams evokes. And Steve knows this – or maybe Toni just thinks that he does because the way she must blink rapidly before anyone else looks at her makes her feel exposed – and so she scoops up more of the deliciousness and shoves it into her mouth, swallowing past the lump of emotion that threatens to keep the dessert from going down. Clint’s lymonnyk is just as good. “I’d honestly say this was a tie, which is probably why it is a very good thing that my judgement doesn’t count,” Bruce admits after Clint takes the last bite of his lemon creams – Toni splits her third lymonnyk with Natasha and only because they apparently have to save some for Thor, who honestly needs to appreciate how nice Toni is being right now, even though can’t nobody tell her nothing about getting more of that creamy goodness once all the food is put away – and Toni breaks off a tiny piece of her half of the lymonnyk. This piece isn’t as long as the original slice and so Toni is going to savor this. “It’d probably be more fair,” Clint opines and Toni snorts gracelessly. “Already got your sore loser face on, Barton?” He throws a dish towel at her and it lands – harmlessly – on her face, smelling heavily of dish soap and pomegranates, nowhere close to muffling the sound of her laughter. Toni does not see Natasha shake her head in amusement, but she does appreciate the redhead removing the dish towel for her, the look on her face damn near fond, if you asked Toni but Toni’s not dumb enough to voice that aloud. “Behave,” the assassin admonishes, so Toni decides to play fair. Bruce chuckles before sobering up again, channeling so much of Ted Allen that Toni can be nothing short of proud. “Whose dish is on the chopping block?” Now, all eyes are on Natasha and Toni, and Toni can’t help but poke out her lips dramatically, a thoughtfully expression on her face she knows makes Clint want to throw something else at her. “Clint’s,” Natasha answers simply. Clint gasps. “Nat!” He cries, aghast, and she only fixes him with a smile that takes a long time to form. “I’m not forgiving you for butchering my pelmeni, Barton, and I can let the soup go given the timeframe, but the lymonnyk was sweeter than it should have been and you didn’t add enough lemons,” she informs him and Clint splutters in the face of Tasha’s criticism. The thing of it is, Toni completely understands Natasha’s stance. Everyone knows that if Tasha could, she’d be eating pelmeni every single day and for Clint – of all people – to mess that up…Toni does not envy him his best friend’s scorn, light and not at all serious, as it may be. Then again, every sparring practice between them is literally Natasha trying to kill Clint, so Toni can’t honestly deem what is serious and what is harmless when it comes to their interactions. “Plus, Steve and Bruce’s slices weren’t nearly as small as mine and Toni’s,” Natasha continues, “and I feel personally attacked, even if I wasn’t your target.” The laugh that bursts forth past Toni’s lips feels punched out of her gut, and she’s wheezing – she can’t breathe! And clearly Bruce is having a similar reaction because he has to lean away from them, one hand on the counter as the rest of his body faces the side, hand cradling his mouth as he fails to keep the sound of his own laughter from being as loud as Toni’s. Clint just gapes; Steve is clearly biting the inside of his cheek, probably trying to make Clint feel better. It doesn’t work. “Assholes,” he calls them, scowling, “every last one of you! I’m outta here!” And because he’s just as much a dramatic ass as Toni, Clint storms out of the kitchen, stomping his feet for good measure because being an adult about it is out of the question. He grumbles something about traitors and Natasha giggles – actually fucking giggles and Toni is going to allow herself to be dumbfounded by that sound at some point – and Toni calls after him amidst her chuckling. “Barton, wait,” she exclaims amidst another peal of laughter. “I didn’t even vote yet.” Clint doesn’t even bother coming back down the hall; he just yells: “Cap wins!” Hey, at least he can’t say Toni said it. It starts on a Tuesday. No, not the Steve thing – that’s an entirely different conversation on an entirely different day, on an entirely different planet – an entirely different universe, in fact. A universe where Toni can safely drink herself into stupidity without Rhodey or Pepper – or good God, Steve – ready to eye her, all deep frowns and pitying stares that make her want to hurl her 1942 Dalmore 62, the empty bottle by the way because we don’t waste whiskey that expensive in this house, at their faces to make them stop. Only then does Toni think she’ll be physically capable of talking about that thing. The social media thing starts on a Thursday, specifically the Twitter thing. They’re all wrapping up for the day on construction work to fix the last of the damage in New York; it’s more of a press thing this time than an actual work day. They’ve all, particularly Steve, helped sans the uniform, but Fury and Hill decide that more people need to see them – the Avengers – assisting in the cleanup duty. Everyone was still adjusting to living with one another, getting used to traded barbs that weren’t as loaded with vitriol as the first few days of knowing each other. So, they all arrive suited up and its pretty chill, heavy lifting and directing people on where to go, and whatnot. And then one of the buildings – and this was bound to happen, now that Toni thinks about it – collapses. Everyone falls in line much easier than they did the first time they all had to work together, a marvel really. Cap is barking out orders, Nat, Clint and Bruce – Hulk wasn’t needed as there was no saving that building – aid in getting citizens and workers on the ground out of the way, and Thor and Toni take to the sky. A steel beam had been bent back to allow access for a skip lorry and steel wall ties had been removed, and had Toni known about that, she would have told the dumb ass workers and their bosses all about how there are consequences to altering or removing key parts of a structure, especially when that is not communicated to every single person who has to work in or around it. Luckily, everyone sent airborne are caught and rescued, and other than some unwanted dust getting caught in unsuspecting lungs, there aren’t any serious injuries nor casualties. It was all pretty tame, good even, and Toni was just about to let the team know that she was having pizza delivered to the tower when an eager fourteen-year-old and her friend scurries to her side, Starkphones out and hope shining bright in blue-grey eyes behind red-rimmed glasses. “OMG, Miss Stark,” the girl squeals and Toni’s lips spread out into a slow, easy grin she’s been told can be quite devastating. And considering the brunette before her positively vibrates in response while her friend lets out another shrill-happy scream, it still has the same effects. “Call me Toni, baby girl,” she instructs. The girl stutters out her consent and Toni tells herself she’s going to dial back on the charm before she sends the little thing into cardiac arrest or something. “Can I get a picture with you?” “Of course,” Toni purrs because she’s a narcissistic, masochistic bitch who absolutely loves the effect she has on people, and the girl – Haley? Bailey? Britney? Toni can’t remember – fits herself under one of Toni’s armored arms, and her friend does the same, and then they’re posing for selfies – one or two duck-faced, another with simple smiles, another with Thor slipping in in the background, a goofy expression on his face. And then more people are coming up and they aren’t asking for just Toni – no, they want all the Avengers. Bruce thought he was ducking out of that one, but then a twelve-year-old boy with his phone and a Hulk on his purple shirt comes up, and even Bruce can’t deny the little people and their impressed parents. It doesn’t come up until they’re in the common room, everyone dressed down to looser pants or shorts with comfortable shirts, slices of pizza piled high on their plates, The Godfather: Part II playing on the screen. “This is some bullshit,” Clint complains. Toni gets used to this aspect of his personality fairly quickly, especially now that she knows he does it mostly to get a reaction of people. He actually is a three-year-old, so Toni can’t exactly say that he doesn’t always mean it, but she has learned that he’s a shit-stirrer. It’s probably why she still lets him think he’s her favorite. “Every other post on here is nothing but Stark – what about the rest of us? Hawkeye helped save the day.” “Yes, he did,” Romanoff – and yes, Toni didn’t see Natasha as anything more than Romanoff at the time, still not over being assaulted by a needle to the neck, thank you very much – obliges him. Toni smirks on a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese and the perfect amount of crunch-and-give crust. “Also, I’m a celebrity, Barton. It kinda comes with the territory.” Toni catches Steve giving her a look very similar to when they were on the Helicarrier – all disbelief at her audacity and unimpressed with her arrogance. She doesn’t see it often and only preens under his attention. Clint scowls at her. “Doesn’t make it fair. I looked hot as fuck today too,” he swears and splutters when everyone in the room has a laugh at his expense. It’s one of those few moments where this whole roomie shtick doesn’t seem like too bad of an idea, even if Toni is the only one footing the bill. “Yes, you make a mighty fine brother in arms.” Thor’s compliment earns him a pounded fist and an enthusiastic: “And that’s why you’re my favorite!” Words to the wise: Thor is everybody’s favorite. “JARVIS, please pull up whatever feed Barton is yammering on about,” Tony instructs and Al Pacino is cut off only for the screen to go bright, a barrage of Twitter posts and pictures taking the actor’s place. Toni sees a handful of pictures of them all posed together, looking less like a random group of people snatched up from all walks of life and more like a team: there’s a subtle smile on Captain America’s face made dusty by the collapse, and Toni is beaming with the head plate off with an arm around Bruce’s shoulders whose lips are curled sheepishly, Clint is grinning but clutching his head after Natasha has smacked him upside it, and Thor looks to amidst booming laughter and he’s probably laughing at the children who were mimicking him, but he’s also a little shit on the low so he could have been laughing at Barton’s expense. “See! Every third post is about how hot Stark is and how amazing she looks!” Clint prattles on, dramatically emphasizing the adjectives with a face Toni is totally going to get JARVIS to record for a meme just to fuck with him, and Toni settles a plaintive stare on the archer. He pouts and adds, “My biceps looked stupendous in that one!” The snort surprises the hell out of Toni and almost ruins the look she is still giving him. “Again, nothing new, Barton,” she says with a flourish. “Tis the story of my life.” “Can you try to sound less proud of that?” Toni turns to Bruce a flirtatious grin. “Let’s be real, Brucie-bear,” she drawls. “You and I both know humility isn’t in my vocabulary.” That earns her a snort and not from him – no, that was Rogers and Toni’s going to take that. That is a win if she’s ever seen one and she’ll take it because they’re just getting past the point where everything the other says seems like a personal slight against them, and it’s weird to interact with a guy your father was once friends with. Even if you’ve probably shoved your hands down your panties more than once since you were thirteen thinking of them. Not that Toni knows anything about that. “Besides, since when have you had a social media account?” Toni asks. “Aren’t y’all supposed to be covert and all that?” Clint grins. “My people needed me,” he answers simply only to have to throw a pillow at Toni’s guffaw. It makes her pizza slice slide out of her hand and honestly – honestly – how do you not dignify such a disrespectful action with nothing short of equal retaliation? And by equal retaliation, Toni definitely means throwing two pillows of her own at the archer, one of which misses but Toni doesn’t take the time to notice as she hurriedly ducks behind the couch as Clint declares war. To be fair, he had wound up knocking the half-eaten, scrumptious slice of pizza heaven Toni had had her heart set on finishing and even Rhodey knows this one fact: nobody fucks with Antonia Natalia Stark’s Pepperoni NY pizza – no one. Their fight lasted until Steve stood in between them and Toni was safely on Thor’s back so that he can receive the onslaught of Clint’s assault – sorry, big guy – and she can have a decent enough vantage point to strike critical damage, and with Clint crouched behind one of the long semi-circle couches that made up the common room since he was not allowed to attempt to find a vent to crawl into, even though that’s how cheating cheaters like him prospered, as Toni had argued. It was the first time Natasha had ever recorded anything of them for Snapchat. It went viral and so did they. Which is why Toni is not surprised that Clint has taken to Twitter to reveal to the world his mistreatment in the tower and how Toni singlehandedly – as if it wasn’t his better half who legit just broke his fragile fucking heart – has turned all of their friends against him. Toni barks out a laugh when she sees how many sympathetic platitudes and loving gifs his litany of posts – since he’s exceeding his character limit and isn’t smart enough to know that he can type his rant separately and then put it on Twitter, but he’s a newbie and such actions are for legends only, a group Toni is obviously president of – receives. (Clint did surprise her by garnering 9 million followers on both Instagram and Twitter. Apparently, he caught on to the trends: random posts of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos even though Toni is a staunch believer that Flamin’ Hot Fries are hotter and better, an assortment of other junk foods like the Krispy Kreme doughnut box he only posted because he’s a loser who really thinks Dunkin Donuts is better, relatable memes, and aerial views that are surprisingly flattering given their contrast to the much louder aspects of his pages. Of course, that clearly has nothing on Toni’s staggering 40 million and Steve’s 15.7 million – and Steve is also a surprise for a guy who swears up and down that he hates social media, but even he can’t hate it too much when he has a new abstract artwork from whatever museum or exhibit he’s happened upon posted twice a week in between scant posts of the team and sights he wants to share with the world. Thor has taken to social media quite easily with Darcy’s help, Toni’s sure, and he’s humorous in his attempts to convince the masses that he’s obtuse, tweets out the ass asking if he’s doing it right even though those selfies look far too perfect and panty-dropping to not have been carefully chosen. Neither Bruce nor Natasha care much about how many followers they have, but they definitely have over 7 million). (Also, Steve has a lot of pictures of Toni and a lot of them aren’t even her posing, and she doesn’t know how she feels about how that makes her feel just yet). “Toni…” Toni drags her eyes away from her phone, grin freezing on her face as Steve stands before her flat screen, a DVD held precariously between his fingers so that the thin edges are what he’s touching, not the flat of the disk. “Hmmm…oh yeah, let’s finish this bad boy up so we can get to Aragorn making some uruks his bitch,” she exclaims and Steve shoots her a grimace that does not at all look chastising. Steve likes to pretend he’s all against crass language and shit, but in all honesty, Toni has paid attention to Steve. He’s not all that innocent, even if she’s still reconciling the parts that make up Captain America and the parts that are very much Steve. Toni likes Steve. “Really?” “You know you love it, babe.” The endearment slips past her lips before she can stop it and Toni is lucky that her phone chimes upon another tweet by Clint, so she can miss the strange look Steve shoots her way. She’s really got to learn to watch what the hell she says around him sometimes. “Are you still arguing with Clint?” Steve asks after a beat and a few minutes later, he also says, “Can you please skip to where we stopped and turn the lights down, JARVIS?” “Certainly, Captain.” “I was never arguing,” Toni insists over JARVIS’ polite response, and her eyes have to adjust to the darkness that blankets the room, the current light sources being the television screen, her Starkphone’s screen which she knows she’s going to have to dim soon if she wants to continue to tell her doctor she doesn’t need to wear her glasses more, and the arc reactor, which casts a blue glow on the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the entirety of one side of her bedroom. Her king-sized bed sits in a corner diagonally across the room from the corner the flat screen is mounted on. She continues as Clint posts a rather pathetic selfie of himself eating more of the lemon creams – and if he eats them all, Toni is going to show him mistreatment, “I was just defending myself against unwarranted accusations, Steve.” “You were gloating.” “No, I was uplifting you by posting a pic of you for my Instagram to celebrate your well-deserved win,” Toni corrects him and she knows Steve is judging her without looking at him as she comments a gif of Justin Timberlake singing Cry Me A River underneath Clint’s post. “You tagged him in it.” “I was tagging everybody.” "For the first two, yes. The last one was you rubbing it in his face." "I was showcasing your humility when you deigned to even hand wash the dishes despite not being the one responsible for them," Toni replies. "Which technically, because he lost, Barton owes you for. It's not my fault he's a sore loser." Steve sighs and Toni glances up at him to see him shaking his head, face unreadable with the shadows dancing around them. He’s clearly waiting for her to put her phone away; Steve should know by now that Toni is the queen of multitasking and can easily be an involved movie watcher while doing something as mundane as antagonizing people on social media. “You know he’s only doing this for attention,” Steve reminds her and Toni hums, distantly aware that the bed is dipping near the foot of it, signaling Steve crossing the room. “And I’d be remiss if I didn’t give it to him.” “Well,” Toni gasps when her bare ankle is grabbed and the ceiling is the only thing she sees for a second before Steve’s face obstructs the view. She feels the dip in the bed more as he moves on his knees while dragging Toni to the center of the bed with him, situating himself between her thighs and bracketing one side of her body with a thick, muscled arm, hand atop the blanket beside her head, “now I want you your attention.” The coil in Toni’s belly is suddenly tight, her pussy’s sudden clenching earning another gasp of surprise from her. She doesn’t know when she’s dropped her phone and she would probably be concerned about the clattering she hears on her left if her tech was anything as basic as Hammer Tech’s, but that’s not important right now. The arc reactor’s glow turns Steve’s eyes into an eerily arousing azure and Toni feels her heart thud sharply, the device in her chest’s hum rattling her ribcage and pebbling her nipples beneath her oversized Iron Maiden shirt. (And if you think Toni didn’t consider that being her superhero moniker, then you don’t know her at all). Apparently, thirteen-year-old Toni’s idea of what it feels like to kiss Captain America is not at all too far off the mark from kissing Steve because just like she had imagined, Steve’s kisses are relentless and unyielding, and Toni arches into it, moaning into Steve’s mouth when he pries her lips open to slip his tongue past her own. Toni doesn’t know when her hands move, but she registers them when she feels Steve’s weight bearing down on her – she’s fisting his white t-shirt in an iron grip, needing something to hold onto as she gives as good as she’s getting. Steve draws back only to stroke his teeth along her bottom lip before sinking them into the appendage hard, earning a hiss that turns into a moan from her and Toni retaliates by pulling him down firmer onto her body, parting her thighs further so that she can hold his trim hips in place with her thighs, so that she can feel the firm line of his hardening cock against her through her thin panties. At some point, Toni had removed the shorts from earlier; she likes to strip once her bedroom door closes, and her move garners a low moan Toni can feel against her teeth. The hand that had been beside her head is now cradling her, fingertips bruising at the base of Toni’s skull and keeping her mouth fused to his as if she had any intention of pulling away and Steve only relents at her lower lip to suck it into his mouth, causing her to moan and shudder as his other hand rises to stroke up along Toni’s left flank, thumb drawing a firm line down Toni’s ribs, large hand hot even through the cotton covering her skin. Steve slots his lips over hers anew and Toni sucks on his tongue, hands in his hair and angling his head this way and that so that she can get a better vantage point, kissing back just as hard because assault or no, Toni Stark does not bow out for anyone. Her shirt had been rucked up from being dragged across the bed, not that Toni noticed, but she does notice when Steve’s thumb slips beneath it and slides upwards, dragging the fabric with him as he drags his thumb back up the line he’d traced only seconds ago, heat following up the trail until Steve’s hand is cupping a heavy breast and the high little moaning thing that erupts from her throat, causing Toni to draw back, makes her cheeks go hot. “Didn’t…” Toni sucks in a breath and Steve’s mouth moves to her throat, pressing firm kisses to her skin that Toni knows she’s going to feel tomorrow. His teeth scrapes along the column of her throat and Toni exhales shakily, fingers clenching harder into his hair, tugging at it, as Steve finds the spot just below her ear and sucks, “…didn’t know you were the jealous type, Cap.” Steve bites at that same spot and Toni moans a little louder, arching into the hand that squeezes her breast and he takes her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching down hard at her teasing. “When it comes to you,” he pants into her neck and Toni didn’t even know she had shut her eyes until she’s opening them, heat pooling in her core as she stares into Steve’s burning blues, “always.” Lust licks up her spine in waves at Steve’s shameless confession and Toni chooses to focus on her steadily dampening panties and the way her clit catches on the underside of his cock through his sweats when she rocks her hips upwards, and not on the honesty that had shone in his eyes, the blatant hunger, the possessiveness that rumbled from deep in his chest. That had made something drop in her belly, made her hands go clammy even in their position, so Toni ignores Steve’s stare in favor of dragging his face back to hers and fusing their mouths together. Her body shakes and thrums with pleasure as Steve twists and pinches at her nipple. Heat courses through her veins and pools even more in her belly, and she can feel that her entire body is flushed as she arches into his hand further, panting out little mewls into his mouth between kisses. Steve has a thing about having his hair pulled and Toni absolutely takes advantage of it, tugging at the short strands sharply and scratching at his scalp lightly with her short, manicured nails. Steve’s breath hitches in his throat and Toni can’t even take the time to grin in triumph because the breath is knocked out of her in a whoosh as Steve really drops down on her, his hips grinding down hard on hers in a roll that makes her toes curl and her pussy clench around nothing. Apparently displeased with not seeing more of her, Steve pulls his mouth back and the wet sound that makes, makes the coil in her belly tighten further, and Toni whines when Steve removes his hands from her breast only to gasp when he tugs at the hem of her shirt, dragging it up her body until he’s just about to pull it over her head when Steve…Steve stops. And then he’s dragging it back until the shirt is rolled up and only closing her eyes. “Kinky,” she comments mildly, even as her chest begins to tighten without consent, a sort of panic rising in her. “You like it,” Steve comments mildly and he’s right, because Toni’s nipples harden even more into sharper points that positively ache, yes, but she can feel her breath quickening at the loss of vision, too. Which fucking sucks because she absolutely loves when Steve explores a kinkier side – she really does – but her chest is tight and her breaths are coming short and…and the air is dusty and hot and oppressing and Toni can’t see anything, and she’s on her back and her chest hurts and – “Just me, sweetheart,” Steve rumbles against her mouth and the taste of him – cinnamon from his toothpaste and Steve – brings her back to the present, and Toni hums into the slow, sweet kisses he peppers her face with, calm melting into her bones until she’s sinking back into the mattress, body losing its tension. Steve waits a few seconds and Toni blinks beneath the mock blindfold, grateful that the cotton of her shirt catches the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes. “I can take it off.” “Nope,” Toni finds herself whispering and hates how small her voice sounds, so she really lets her lips pop out the “p.” She clears her throat before nodding, hating what she’s turned this into, “I’m good.” Toni can’t see the look Steve gives her, but she can feel it when he sits up on his knees, drawing a whine from her because the room is much colder when she’s only in panties and his weight’s not baring down on her in a long line of heated deliciousness. “You sure?” “I’m sure that if I’m not getting fucked stupid in the next few minutes, Rogers, we’re gonna have a serious problem,” she replies testily and Steve laughs, a rich sound that comes from deep in his belly and she finds that her grin comes easily. “That’s my girl.” The praise should not manage to set her body aflame all over again but that's exactly what it does, and Toni digs her teeth into her lower lip, reaching for Steve blindly. It takes him a second longer than she thinks it should, but Steve is back, hooking her legs over the crooks of his elbows and yanking – and Toni gasps as she feels his dick slide filthily over still her clothed cunt, the moisture making the fabric thin enough that feels him just a bit more. Steve practically folds Toni's body in half this time when he settles his weight on her, and his breath ghosts over the skin just above the arc reactor. "Beautiful," he murmurs and Toni shudders, both at the continued praise and his voice: guttural and deep, Toni feels his honesty like a hot brand, spreading from the very center of the arc reactor to the tips of her fingers, cheeks burning and head fuzzy with breathlessness. Again, as she is wont to do in the face of her past trauma, Toni curses herself – and Stane and those assholes in Afghanistan and honestly every person who had anything to do with her capture – for ruining what was going to be a really hot, none-of-those-silly-things-like-feelings-included fuck...until she feels Steve press an open-mouthed kiss onto her chest, firm lips fixed to a spot where warm metal meets jagged, slightly raised skin. Toni's gasp is loud and sharp in the otherwise silent room, and distantly Toni remembers that they were supposed to be finishing The Lord of the Ring's second installation tonight so that Steve can be on the same page as Thor when the group watches the third one. But then a tongue is tracing over a jagged line and well, fuck that. Steve has a weird fascination with the arc reactor that makes Toni's heart tap-dance in her chest, eyes lighting up whenever they happen to fall upon it. Toni brags about having curves for days and she's proud of them – she grew too fast both physically and mentally for her own good, and at some point, she had to learn to love what everyone else either coveted or abhored lest she drown in their hatred – but she knows it's not exactly a pretty sight. Toni doesn't wear bikinis anymore nor grace magazine covers in lingerie that doesn't cover her chest while still emphasizing her bust - too leery to have her scars on display, uncomfortable with the reminder of her weakness to let just anyone see it, which is why Pepper and Steve are the only two people she's been this bare before since Afghanistan, no matter what the tabloids say. Steve, though...Steve stares down at her body like it's a goddamn work of art. He doesn't ask questions and he doesn't look at her like the first time he'd seen her in just a sports bra, though she's pretty sure the way her ample bosom swayed with her hammering made his eyes widen just as much as her scars did. Either way, Steve is reverent every time he glimpses her chest and the attention is flattering, it is, but not being able to see makes his appreciation feel heavier, makes goosebumps rise along her flesh in waves that make her shiver. So, Toni's hands leave his hair only to catch onto the hem of his shirt and she drags it upwards until he's forced to comply, detaching himself from Toni long enough to help her pull the offending item over his head. What's offending now is that Toni can now not see all that magnificence – all fair skin flushed with lust, muscles rippling with every move, hair like spun gold made wild by her fingers – and that fact makes her whine in annoyance even as her body burns just a little hotter. And then Steve's back and he's mouthing along her chest until his lips find a puckered nipple and he flicks his tongue over it a few times. Little frissons of heat spike in her bloodstream and Toni hums out her pleasure, fingertips feeling at the smooth planes of his back. Her nails dig in when Steve's lips seem to tighten around the sharp point of her breast, sucking hard with a tug that makes Toni's back arch. A hand moves to the other neglected nipple and tweaks at it, and Toni's body is a taut string Steve plays at his own leisure. "You're such a boob guy," she teases and Steve releases her nipple with an obscene pop that makes Toni shiver. "I dunno," Steve drawls, both of his hands trailing down her sides, spanning her waist, cupping her wide hips, before sliding down and around even them until they land on her ass, squeezing. "Kinda think I've developed an appreciation for all of you." "All?" She has to ask and it's a testament to Steve's strength – that he's capable of holding her body the way that he wants, bears her weight while maneuvering her and holding her up as if she weighs nothing more than a feather. It's thrilling. "Every," Steve presses a kiss into her sternum, "last," a kiss right above her belly button, and his tongue even dips into the crevice, circling over the hidden button that makes Toni wriggle, "bit," another directly beneath her belly button and Toni's belly clenches, "of you." This time, when Steve's lips touch her skin – and they barely hover far from her to begin with – she can feel him scraping his teeth down her lower abdomen until they catch on the lacy trimmed edge of her panties, tugging at it and then letting the elastic snap back into place. Toni jolts at the action, and so does her clit, and she's almost embarrassed at the dribble of slick her body drools out for him. There's an ache in her pussy that needs tending to, an emptiness she wants filled with something substantiating like Steve's dick, which he's clearly not thinking about as he moves down her body at his own pace, nosing at her folds through her thin panties before he runs his tongue up the length of her. Toni's spine bows and she tips her head back on a soundless moan, fingers back in his hair, tugging at him incessantly as her hips buck upwards. "More appreciating and less teasing," she slurs. She can feel Steve's grin against her – regretfully, still – clothed cunt. His hands, which had been steadily massaging the globes of her ass, grasp the edges of her panties and begins to pull them down. "Like you weren't teasing me in the kitchen," he growls and the sound of it – the implied threat laced in it – sends tiny sparks of electricity through her body. Toni doesn't even need to lift her hips for Steve gets the undergarment off her, setting her lower back atop the plush, fluffy faux-fur duvet she adores. He's sliding it down her legs as he speaks, "Licking your lip and looking at me like that when I could do nothing about it." "I wasn't trying to – " "I almost fucked you then," Steve admits, voice low and scalding her to her core, which clenches at his words. Steve cursing should not rev up Toni's engine, so to speak, but it does and Toni's a goddamn mess because of it. "Our friends were in the room and all I wanted was to round the corner and spread you out on the countertop and fuck you senseless." "Like this?" Toni can't help but preen. "Just," Steve spreads her legs again and is bending Toni's body in half once more, making her knees touch her chest, "like," his breath fans over pussy, coming out cool against heated wetness when she's burning this hot with want for him, "this." And then Steve's kissing her cunt likes it's her mouth, slurping greedily and lapping at her and there's literally nothing else Toni can do when all she has the energy to do is moan long and loud. Now, this is something Toni truly had not seen coming – Steve Rogers eating pussy, let alone, liking to eat pussy (see: paragon of virtue). Howard's account of America's son – and it's so like Toni to disturb herself during sex with the reminder that her current partner was friends with her goddamn father – did not include much experience with the opposite sex or, well, any sex. But once again, that was just Toni conflating Steve Rogers and Captain Hardass because Steve...Steve is about this life and there's no coaxing or gentle instructing needed – there never has been – because all he does is takes her body's cues and just goes for it. Steve makes out with her cunt like he has all the time in the world, giving her lower lips another broad, slow swipe of his tongue and the hot shock of pleasure he invokes makes Toni's hips roll. Every deep, warm kiss is punctuated by the barest hint of teeth, right along her folds, along the slope over her vulva, her clit – and Toni's grinding her pussy in time to each hungry stroke, encouraged by the low, eager little growls that vibrate up her cunt, by the hands that hold her legs firmly over his shoulders, by the fingertips that gently dig into the creases of her thighs, that massages the smooth skin there and beckons the rocking she's taken up and the way she presses his head closer to his feast. Toni's legs feel like they've melted into goo and the heat currently suffusing her body is stifling, climbing higher and higher – Toni is climbing, no flying, tremors racing up and around her belly each time Steve laves her clit with kitten licks that have her mewling. He takes a moment to suckle at it, flicking his tongue over her clit fastidiously and Toni's so distracted by the pleasure that spikes up her veins that she doesn't realize that he's moved one of his hands until she feels thick, warm fingers spreading her lips open. "Oh," she breathes, eyes fluttering closed as Steve's lips move to where his fingers are, where his tongue laps at her entrance once, then twice, and her hips buck upwards. Toni should be used to this – Toni is used to do this, Steve opening her up, coaxing her muscles to relax enough to accept a finger, his dick – but her body never fails to jerk in surprise once he manages to slide one of those thick, long digits inside of her until he's knuckle-deep like he belongs there. Steve's tongue laps around his own finger where she is gripping him wetly, tightly, and Toni's hips jerk again, her breath stuttering out. Her minor breakdown earlier forgotten, Toni's loss of sight makes her feel everything: the air-conditioning's slight cooling of the room, making her nipples tighten even more, the light sheen of sweat on her skin cooling and making her shiver against the heat she feels deep inside, Steve's hair brushing along the soft insides of her thighs, her pussy clenching around his finger, adjusting to an intrusion she knows is not going to be enough to completely fan the flames of her arousal, that's never going to be enough. Steve slow fucks her with his finger and his tongue swipes over her folds again, nibbles at them and then his lips are closing over her clit again and he sucks hard. Breath is snatched from Toni's lungs and her hands fist at his hair, giving a swift yank she soothes later with the pads of her fingers, a choked off moan on her tongue and Toni can taste her orgasm. It builds on her tongue, behind her eyelids, in the coil of her body stretched tight like a cord ready to snap as Steve presses another finger in and laps at her clit in time with his thrusts. The coil seems to tighten and tighten, and Steve knows it because he doubles his efforts, fingers crooking, scissoring and then the pads of his fingers brush along the rough patch of skin deep inside Toni that makes the breath still in her throat and she can taste release on the backs of her teeth. It builds and builds, and she chases it with each roll of her hips, grinding her cunt up into Steve's face the way that he likes it. And Steve – Toni knows Steve. She cannot see him, but she knows he's watching her - piercing blues taking in her tossed back hair with, black hair fanned out on the bed in faux locs, some enhanced by traces of gold clasps and strings, the full sensual mouth that falls open in a steady stream of moans that strings together until it's all one long one she knows is bouncing off her walls, heaving chest and heavy swaying round breasts, slick skin – and he's taking it in as he brings her closer and closer to the edge with every torturous swipe of his tongue and every toe-curling thrust of his deliciously thick fingers. And then...then... ...then Toni is opening her eyes and raising her head to glare at him even though they both know she sees nothing, her imminent release falling away, leaving her pussy positively aching and Steve chuckling darkly into her mound. "You're an ass," she bites out, licking at her lower lip dryly. She's not pouting, she's not, but she definitely knows that she starts to when Steve laughs again, short and bright. "Consider it payback for trying to be cute about the pholourie," he says casually and he's clearly getting up – he must've fully slid to his stomach – and Toni's mouth drops open. "You sonuva – " The insult is stopped short by Steve's fully body sliding back over hers because his mouth claims her own and Toni tastes herself on his tongue, feels the obscenely wet evidence of how much slick her body has produced for him along the edges of his mouth, on the tip of his nose. Her tongue snakes out to swipe at the seams of his mouth and Steve lets out an aborted, high noise from the back of his throat because Toni doesn't like being teased – okay, she absolutely does and they both know it – and karma is a bitch. She had felt his cock between their bellies, felt the wet brush of its tip just above her belly button and while parting her legs more to better accommodate him, she's grasped the now bare – she does not know when Steve stripped himself of the sweats, but she knows him well enough to know that nothing had been under them in the first place – cock, giving it a firm and slow stroke, hand catching just below the head and giving a light squeeze that coaxes that sound out of him a second time. "How's that for payback?" Toni asks breathily and Steve pants out a curse that fans across her cheeks and Toni giggles, giving her wrist a sharp twist that makes his breath hitch. She knows there are calluses on her hands that her manicurist still bitches about from years of hard work; she knows what they feel like when Steve is sensitive and wanting, and she revels in that reclamation of power after he's played her body so well. Steve's fever-hot forehead rests on the duvet beside her head, nuzzling her and Toni can see the indecency of it all as if the mock-blindfold wasn't in place: her fingertips just barely meeting around the sizable girth of him, the thick, bulbous head glistening and almost purple in shade after being so neglected. The imagery her mind has conjured up makes her mouth go dry and though Toni is still salty about having her orgasm denied, her body is still alight with arousal and it is intensified at the feel of Steve's own in her hand, scalding her from the inside out with a fierce ache she wants satiated now. And Steve must feel that urgency as well because not a second later, he has her hands in his and he slams them above her head, capturing her mouth in a kiss she returns just as ardently. He releases one of her hands to slide one of his up to her pillows, fumbling underneath them for the condom or two she now keeps there so they don't have to leave the bed. Mischievous, Toni slips the released hand – her left – to return to his dick, giving it two firm strokes that make him falter and choke out a desperate, chastising moan of her name – Toni – before he's grabbing her hand again and slamming it down above her head. "Behave," he growls into her face and the laugh bubbles up in her, a musical note with just enough of a hint of wicked she knows makes Steve glare at her. "Or what?" She taunts. Steve does not answer. She just feels his distrust in the way that he grasps both of her wrists – and they always feel so tiny when he does that – in one hand while she hears the tearing of the foil from his teeth. Steve nudges her left leg up and hoists it over his shoulder. He shifts to straddle her prone right leg, there's a gasp as he rolls the condom over his rock-hard cock, and then he's there – Steve is pressing the head against her, rubbing against her folds and her body is back to being his plaything, drooling more slick like he's asked, going pliant as he presses and rubs against her entrance. Then he's sliding inside of her in one long, deep thrust that is too much and not enough all at once, and Toni cries out, blinking wetly beneath the cotton covering her eyes. Steve releases an almost pained groan, shifts a little, grasps the leg over his shoulder just below the knee with fingertips that press in deep, slides out, and then snaps his hips forward in a hard, slow thrust that makes constellations dance behind Toni's eyelids and galaxies graze her taste buds. At this angle, she can do nothing but take it as Steve rides her hard, driving into her with slow rolls of his hips that make her drool, one hand grasping her wrists and holding them down with little strength needed, the other on her leg as he keeps her the way he wants her. All Toni can do is moan and cry out and whine and making other pathetic little noises she'd deny if asked, each thrust chasing away the emptiness and leaving behind nothing but fullness. But it's not enough and she knows that he knows that it's enough, and that it has very little to do with Steve having been close to coming earlier. No, Steve can go again – he will go again, there's no doubt about that and she won't be complaining when he does – but he's not doing what she wants. He's fucking her, what she's been desperate for, but he's taking his time, and making her feel. Steve's stare is unwavering, she knows, and he peers down at her lust-consumed body with bright, possessive eyes as they rake over her form like they have the right to – as if it's not enough to drive deep into the hot, tight depths of her body. No, he has to admire and take it in like it's something he wants to have ingrained to his memory. She feels him staring and Toni feels full – not just in her pussy where she is wanting yet sated, but in her chest – and Steve is overwhelming. His thrusts are overwhelming, even if she wants more and dirtier, Steve's stare is overwhelming...and it's too much. And not enough at the same time. "Steve," she whimpers out, wriggling beneath his grip. He hums in question, mouthing at the side of the knee of the leg over his shoulder, pressing a kiss into the skin that feels far more intimate than all the sex they've ever had, adds a nip of teeth that makes pleasure spark behind her eyelids. His hips swivel and his cockhead catches on her g-spot, and she stutters out, "...pl-please...I need it..." Toni feels his gaze like a blast of untamable heat, scorching hot as he places another kiss on her skin. Then he's shifting, releases her wrists, and lowers himself until they're chest to chest and Toni really feels the stretch of her legs now – feels it in her pussy, with him bearing down on her again and his face buried into the crook of her neck, licking up the salty droplets from her sweat, tasting the cocoa butter from the lotion she applies everyday. And then Steve's really giving it to her. He breathes out hard, sharp bursts of air that would tickle more if Toni wasn't focused on the streaming pleasure coursing between her legs at the steady pounding she's receiving. The sticky wet sounds of their fucking reverberates off her eardrums in time with the yes yes yes in her head, stoking the flames of her arousal. Her heart bangs in her chest and her body thrums, and the duvet is clinging to her backside, adding a delicious friction Toni didn't know she needed. She knows, though, that she needed this – not that thing Steve was doing before that had her chest heavy and her heart in her throat – just this and – "Stop thinking," he pants into her ear, presses a kiss there and then brushes his lips over her cheek and nose before breathing wetly into her mouth, catching her near scream when a quick, sharp thrust slams him onto that wonderful spot deep inside of her. "Just me," he breathes into her mouth and then slots his lips over hers again, kissing her soundly. And then Toni is back to climbing, back to flying and she's going up and up and up, past the skyscrapers that make up her beloved city, past the clouds, past the wormhole that haunts her dreams – no, she is past that, all the way to the great, wide expanse of darkness and stars and weightlessness mixed with breathlessness – And then Toni is falling on a silent screaming, plummeting back to Earth and New York and this bed in a heap of mind-blowing ecstasy that leaves her gasping and shaking, nails digging crescent moons into Steve's back that won't be there come morning. Steve drives into her faster when her pussy clutches at him in a vice grip, coaxed to orgasm when Toni – a despite her limbs feeling like jelly – a concentrates and squeezes her vaginal muscles a little tighter. He freezes on a long moan into her mouth, teeth bruising at her lower lip as he grinds down hard, emptying himself into the condom. The move makes her jerk, his pelvis digging into her overly sensitive clit and she hisses. Steve, the ass, pays her no mind. A minute passes and Toni taps at his shoulder, Steve having released her officially swollen lips to rest his head beside hers. "Up," she tells them and he groans, clearly not wanting to, but then he's lowering her leg and sliding out of her, earning a sigh from Toni. She almost wishes he'd been desperate enough to take her without it just so she can feel the rush of him filling her, of his come oozing out of her once he leaves. Steve clamors off the bed and she hears him toss the condom into the trash – and he's tied it tightly and securely like the Boy Scout that he is, she’s sure – and then she hears her bedside drawer open and close. Toni is too lazy to move, too lazy to lift a hand to remove the shirt. But she doesn't need to because Steve is back on top of her, landing with an oof that is wrenched from her gut. One of his legs slots between hers comfortably like the goddamn giant octopus he is. "You're heavy," she whines. "You'll deal," he replies cheekily and Toni makes sure even her eyes are pouting when he finally slides her shirt over her head and flings it to the side somewhere. He beams down at her and she snorts at the soft look forming in his eyes, even as her heart backflips. "Stop it," she demands – not at the heart thing he seems to easily get her to do, though she wonders if sex drops her guard too easily – but because Steve is petting her hair, taking a shoulder length faux loc between two fingers, feeling the contrast of the silky curly hair that was used to wrap it and the courser hair beneath it that makes up its width. Toni sees the gold string twined through it and a few of its sisters. "You know what I say about touching my hair." Her tone is not chastising enough, too fucked out. "You like it," Steve affirms, grin wide but he concedes and hands her the satin bonnet he had fetched. Grateful, Toni scrounges up enough energy to slip it on, shoving fitfully at the locs that refused to obey. Chuckling again at her put out look, Steve gently coaxes the rest up and in the bonnet and sleep drags at Toni's eyelids. "Moooooove," she complains and smacks at his shoulder. Steve's response is to become dead weight, sinking his head back to his favorite hiding spot in her shoulder. "Steeeeeeve, you're heavy." "Deal with it." He curves a thick arm around her waist and Toni hates how warm it is, how it adds to cathartic state of her body. "You're such a cuddler." "You like it," seems to be his favorite phrase and Toni wants to kiss it out of his vocabulary, but pouting seems to be the easier (read: lazier) option. "Bite me." "Give me thirty minutes," he tells her, a cocksure grin she feels he's stolen from her on his lips, eyes twinkling. "Then I will." Toni hates that, by then, she’ll be all for it.