This is a commission for andiyangi, who wanted an opposing restaurant stony AU. This rolls in at 2K :)
Carbonell's was a classy, established place. Tony had worked his ass off for the past ten years, building his brand from the ground up, giving the people a little slice of five star dining for a reasonable price, and now... well, now he was losing customers to the dive bar that had opened up across the street.
“It's not a dive bar, Tony,” Pepper rolled her eyes as she looked over the receipts that evening after closing. “Irish Rogers' Tavern and Eatery is exactly what it says on the sign. Rhodey says that their burgers are pretty good, apparently.”
“Rhodey has been eating over there?” Tony all but yelled, angry and betrayed for what he knew were childish reasons. “That's it. I'm sending out a staff memo tomorrow morning banning anyone from fraternising with the enemy -”
“You're being ridiculous,” Pepper replied, not even really paying him that much attention as she tapped away at her calculator. “We've got completely different niches, okay? And our customers are loyal – I don't really think we're going to lose any to Rogers' place.”
“If I lose a single cent,” Tony huffed, “you better tell me, okay? This is a battle, Pepper, and you need to get your war paint on.”
“Why did I take this job?” he heard her sigh as he marched from her office.
---
“You're a traitor,” Tony announced as he walked into the staff room that morning. “My mother's probably turning in her grave.”
Sat at at table, halfway through his breakfast, Rhodey just rolled his eyes. “She would not. Your Mom had more of a sense of humour than you do.”
“Twenty years,” Tony went on. “Twenty years we've been friends, and not once have you betrayed me. And then that dive bar -”
“It's not a dive bar.”
“- came along and suddenly you throw our friendship away? What's so special about that damn place?”
Rhodey sighed and placed his spoon down in his bowl. “It's a nice place, okay? Good, family atmosphere, hearty food, and great booze. Believe it or not, after spending a full day with our shitty customers, sometimes it's nice to actually leave this place.
“I'm not saying this place is bad, because I love it here,” he went on, holding his hands up defensively when Tony opened his mouth to ream him out. “You trusted me to manage your baby all those years ago, and I think I've done a good job, but I can't eat your Mom's meatballs every meal for the rest of my life, okay?”
“Well... I've been thinking about putting some new calzones one the menu,” Tony tried, and Rhodey just rolled his eyes again. Sighing heavily, he sat down at the table opposite him. “It's really a nice place?”
“Not nice like our nice,” Rhodey replied. “It's not fancy nice, but it's got its charm. Seems like a personal, family place.”
“Fuck,” Tony sighed, running both hands through his hair. “Do you think we're in trouble?”
Rhodey shrugged. “I dunno. I think we gotta wait until the opening rush calms down, see how many people actually go back for a second go.”
“Okay,” Tony nodded, because he could do that. He could probably do that. “Okay, we'll wait a couple of weeks. So you don't think I should go over there and talk to their owner?”
Rhodey just gave him a flat look.
---
He spent the rest of the day locked in his office, trying desperately to fight his urge to go over to Rogers' place anyway and give the owner a piece of his mind. Who in their right mind set up a dive bar opposite a well established, profitable restaurant and expected to make any money?
A madman, that was who.
Unless... he was a madman with a secret weapon. Rhodey had seemed impressed by the place; maybe they were an expanding franchise, or had speciality food or ale in stock. Fuck, maybe they had a PR team that was driving people in, or -
He was going over to the bar. Fuck it – what harm could it do? He wouldn't bitch at the owner, so he'd keep his promise to Rhodey; he'd just go in and act like a customer, scope the place out. There was no harm in that, right? Right.
Grabbing his coat, he slipped out through the delivery entrance at the back and headed up through the alley beside his restaurant to the main street they were both situated on. Glancing both ways to make sure he wasn't about to get run over (because Pepper would never let him hear the end of it), he crossed the street and braced himself outside the door of Rogers' place. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
He was immediately hit by a wall of noise, of people laughing, children yelling, glasses clinking and cutlery scraping against plates. Momentarily overwhelmed, he stood stock still, staring around. There were hundreds of photos on the wall, family looking photos, as well as other tacky shit: there were hockey sticks and sports jerseys, car number plates and old records.
A huge bar spread down the left side of the room, deep mahogany in colour and with a black marble finished surface on top. They were stocked with booze up to the eyeballs, it all on show in racks behind the bar. At the other side of the room tables were set out with chairs tucked neatly under them. The empty ones, anyway, which there weren't a whole lot of – the place was pretty much packed solid.
“Hey, buddy,” came a friendly voice from his left, and he turned in time to see a smiling man with an armful of menus coming towards him. “Can I find you a table, or is this just a flying visit to the bar?”
“Oh, I... sure. Table, yeah, uh – yeah, table,” Tony replied smoothly, smacking a palm against his forehead as soon at the guy turned away to lead him to a table.
“Okay, my name's Sam, I'll be your waiter today,” the guy told him as he sat down, handing him a menu. “Can I get you a drink to start you off?”
“I, um – can I get a beer?” Tony asked, because he was already here – he might as well get a little drunk before he faced Pepper and Rhodey again.
“Sure thing,” Sam nodded. “Now would that be what we have on tap, or do you wanna try one of our cask ales -?”
“Whatever's on tap is fine, thank you,” Tony replied quickly, and Sam nodded, moving as if to disappear to get that for him. “And, actually, can you just bring me your special of the day, thanks.”
“Oh, sure, man,” Sam nodded, noting that down on a notebook he had in his apron. “We'll get right on that for you.”
“Thank you,” Tony replied briskly, watching as Sam walked away. He placed his order on a window ledge behind the bar, through which Tony could see the chef hard at work. It... looked like he had a prosthetic arm.
Interesting.
“Mr. Stark.”
Tony whipped his head around, startled, and came face to, well, stomach with the guy standing next to him. He glanced up and was momentarily taken aback, firstly by how well built the guy was, and secondly how handsome he was. Hell, Tony almost swallowed his damn tongue when he got a look at the guy's face.
“You... know my name,” he managed to get out, watching as the guy laid a glass of beer down on a coaster for him. “How do you know my name?”
“It's my business to know the names of my competition,” the guy replied, and actually sat down in the chair opposite Tony. “I am the owner and manager of this place, after all.”
“You're the owner?” Tony asked, and had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from adding, and not a model?
“I am,” the guy nodded, and then held his hand out with a kind smile. “Steve Rogers, nice to meet you.”
“Rogers, makes sense,” Tony nodded, and shook Steve's hand. Then, rather tactlessly, he dived right in. “So, you opened a dive bar opposite my fancy restaurant and somehow you're stealing my customers.”
Steve, to his credit, just huffed out a startled laugh. “Well, I'd like to think we're a little more than a dive bar, but thanks for the review all the same.”
“Sorry,” Tony grimaced. “Sometimes my mouth works a little faster than my brain – my friend Pepper tells me constantly I have to work on my filter. It's a problem, really -”
“I see,” Steve grinned, and Tony found himself charmed by the sight. “So, let me ask you a question. Are you just here for dinner, or do you have an ulterior motive?”
Tony thought about lying for a moment. It really wasn't any of Steve's business why he was there, after all. But then again... Steve seemed like a nice guy. Maybe they could work something out?
“My in house manager ate here the other day, gave it a rave review,” he explained, taking a sip of his beer in the process. It... was delicious. “He's a traitor, of course, and I've since flayed him alive and served him as an entrée, but... I was curious, I guess.”
Steve nodded serenely, completely unphased by Tony's dry wit. “And what do you think, Mr. Stark?”
“Tony's fine,” he replied before he could stop himself. “And... I mean, the hockey sticks are a little tacky -”
“Hey, those are the sticks me and my buddy Bucky used in our sixth grade hockey final,” Steve replied. “We won that game.”
“- and it's a little dark in here,” Tony continued. “I dunno, Rogers. I think you could do better.”
He half expected Steve to be a little offended, but instead he was flashed a daring smile. “There's nothing wrong with a little competition, Tony. How about this – try the food. If you like it, we'll call a truce, leave each other to our own business -”
“And if it's not up to my standards?” Tony asked, leaning forwards a little in his seat, finding himself smiling.
“Then expect a flaming bag of dog shit on your doorstep tomorrow,” Steve replied with a grin of his own, gesturing for Sam to bring Tony's food over. It was a burger. “I'm throwing the gauntlet down.”
Tony looked down at his food. He had to admit that it did look good – thick, chunky cut fries with the skin still on were sat in a decorative little bucket, and the burger was packed full with what looked like three different kinds of meat, as well as salad and sauce.
Damn.
“Marks for presentation?” Steve asked, and then smirked when Tony just shot him a dirty look. “Fair enough.”
Tony reached out and grabbed a couple of fries. Staring Steve down the whole time, he crammed them into his mouth and – shit. Shit, they were really good. He tried not to let it show on his face, but the look on Steve's face told him he'd failed.
“The burger's even better,” Steve told him, laying his hands down on the table as he pushed himself to his feet. “A truce it is, then. And your meal is on the house, of course.”
“You -” Tony caught his arm as he made to sweep past him, “- could drop by my restaurant sometime, if you wanted. I – we could return the favour. Only if you wanted, of course -”
Steve came to a stop and seemed to consider him for a moment. Then, reaching down to tug Tony's napkin towards him, he pulled a pen out of his apron and wrote down... a phone number on it.
“I might just take you up on that offer,” he hummed, and then, with a final smirk, patted the napkin and then walked away without another word.
Steve/Darcy 6. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that"
Wow I am bad at the whole drabble part of this thing (which you can also prompt me with because I am finding every avenue possible to procrastinate both my rl and my RBB).
Despite the first paragraph, I can promise you this is not angst.
–
Steve Rogers has been punched, kicked, shot, stabbed, strangled, and even frozen. Despite surviving all of the above, he knew he was by no means invincible. But, as he plummeted from the roof tower to the streets a long way off down below, he found himself thinking wryly that somehow, he never thought this would be what killed him.
One hour earlier
Steve let the door behind him fall shut as his eyes scanned the rooftop for the man he was supposed to be meeting. Instead he found—
“Darcy?”
“Hey, Steve!” Darcy greeted, bouncing forward. She was bundled up in a thick blue sweater and a pair of very tight-fitting jeans that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, though he could see why she wore them. He cleared his throat and pulled his gaze up off her ass and onto her face before she could notice.
“You’re not Sam,” he said dumbly.
“No, but I can see how you’d make that mistake.”
Steve just continued to stare at her and she sighed. “No, I’m not Sam and no we will not be doing trust falls. Mostly because I can’t really fly because Tony still refuses to give me that jetpack I asked for. Jeez, you’d think the guy doesn’t trust me to be safe with it or something—”
“Darcy,” Steve interjected, knowing she could go off down that tangent for awhile.
“Oh, right, sorry.” She shook her head, as if trying to rid it of all thoughts of jetpacks and untrusting Tony Starks and Steve smiled a little to himself.
“Anyway, yes, well so Sam never actually called you up here. It was all part of my clever ruse.” She twined her hands together, twisting and turning her entangled fingers. “My clever ruse to seduce you, Mr. Rogers,” she murmured throatily. “Oh, ew,” she said, dropping the voice and wrinkling her nose. “I just realized what that sounds like. Ugh, I definitely do not have a Mr. Rogers kindly neighbor kink. And that does not help,” she said, picking at his sleeve. “Why are you wearing a cardigan anyway?”
“Jumping off rooftops can get cold!” he said defensively.
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “And you thought a cardigan would help?”
Truthfully, Steve had come straight up here from the middle of a TV marathon with Nat and he’d sort of been hoping he could talk Sam out of practicing falling into each other’s arms. But he wasn’t about to tell Darcy that.
“You were going to play hooky, weren’t you?” Darcy asked shrewdly.
Dammit. “I would never!” he shot back. “Captain America doesn’t play hooky. Why, back in the 40s, we never even had a term for it, we were all that good. We showed up to all our lessons and we—what are you doing?”
“’The term ‘play hooky’ was first recorded around 1848’,” Darcy recited. She held her phone out to him and Steve briefly glanced at it before he puffed out his chest and planted his hand square on the middle of it.
“Well I don’t know about those kids but us Brooklyn boys, we never did none of that.” He took his hand from his chest and wagged a finger at Darcy instead. “You kids nowadays with your smartphones and your smart answers – having all that information at the tip of your finger is why the youth of America are as insolent and ungrateful as they are.”
“Uh huh.” Darcy slid her phone back into her pocket. She hooked an arm through his and tugged him forward. “Well, come on you paragon of virtue. I made lunch.”
Steve went willingly to the blanket she’d set out, grinning widely. But when Darcy turned back to him, he schooled his features into something stern and said, “Back in my day, we never had lunch,” and this time when Darcy burst out laughing, he let the smile stay.
It was all going great until Darcy, in the infinite wisdom of someone who’d had about three-quarters of a bottle of wine, decided it would be fun to walk to the side of the roof and peer over the edge. Steve followed along because the city beneath them really was a sight to behold and also Darcy smelled good.
“Did you give me some of Thor’s mead?” he asked suddenly. He really didn’t remember his head feeling this fuzzy earlier today.
“Mead,” Darcy replied, flapping her hand, “craft beer. Same thing.”
Steve resisted the urge to clap a hand over his eyes. Instead he heaved a great sigh and leaned his side against the balcony railing. He had to admit, the feeling the mead had left him with was rather pleasant – a warm buzzing beneath his skin and a weird floatiness in his chest.
Or maybe, he thought, as Darcy leaned forward, glancing up at him through her eyelashes, that was just the company.
“Friend Steven,” Thor shouted over the roaring wind, “are you alright?”
Steve had to swallow hard before he could speak. “Just swell,” he replied at the same volume. “I appreciate the catch, though.”
“It is of no concern.” Thor touched them down gently on the roof. “I am just glad my fair Jane had requested I watch over you.”
“She what?”
“Oh my god!” Steve got barely a second’s warning before Darcy landed on him. “You’re alive!”
Steve patted her back reassuringly, then let her run her hands over him when she released him from the hug. Finally satisfied that he was, indeed, alive, she threw her hands into the air.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that!” she wailed.
“Oh?” Steve said, arching an eyebrow. “You mean you weren’t supposed to knock me off the roof with your boobs when you tried to kiss me?”
“Hey,” Darcy shot back. “That wouldn’t have been a problem if you didn’t have sizable boobs of your own.” She poked his pecs. “Normally there’s more than enough room for my girls!”
“Uhh,” Thor started, backing away. “I think I shall be going now.” And with a quick twirl of his hammer, he was airborne.
“Thanks, Thor!” Darcy called after him.
They watched him shrink into the distance. Steve was going to have to hunt him down later and find out just what Jane was playing at.
“Ugh,” Darcy said and Steve turned back to her to find she’d collapsed onto her butt. She folded her legs under her, looking utterly mournful.
Steve peered down at her. “So how was it supposed to happen?” he asked, cocking his head.
She looked up at him. “What?”
“Whatever you planned.” He kneeled down in front of her, holding her gaze. “How was it supposed to happen?”
“I dunno!” She flapped her hand. “We were gonna eat and chat and maybe get a little drunk and okay I’m sorry about that but I was really nervous and I thought it might help and well, I didn’t want to drink alone. And then we were gonna look into each other’s eyes and you were going to put your weird disproportionately small hands on my face and you were…” She trailed off as Steve’s (perfectly-sized) hand gently caught her chin. “You were…”
“I was what?” Steve whispered, leaning forward until he was a hairs-breadth away.
“You were going to kiss me,” she breathed.
And so he did soft and slow, just a gentle touch of his lips against hers that still somehow managed to make his head spin.
“Like that?” he murmured, pulling away just enough to run his gaze over her whole face.
“Yeah,” Darcy replied, her eyes still shut. And when they fluttered open, and Steve saw them snap into focus right before Darcy pounced on him.
Thor was not quite as pleased at having to catch them both not to many minutes later, especially in their varying states of undress.
“Stark should really have more than a thin rail up here,” he grumbled, dropping them both with a lot less care than before. “And until that happens, I would suggest the two of you take your activities downstairs.”
“Great suggestion, Thor,” Darcy chirped, her eyes flicking not-too-subtly to Steve’s crotch. “We’ll just go do that.” And with Thor’s laughter ringing in their ears, she grabbed Steve’s arm and led him off the roof.
Gender: Cis-female
Favourite Color: green
Current Time and Date: April 5, 10:21am
Average Amount of Sleep: around 8 hours. sleep is very important to me
Lucky Number: 26
Last Thing I Google’d: i was looking up satchels because clothing website claim that wayyyyy too many purses are “satchels” when THEY ARE JUST PURSES
First Word that Comes to Mind: that word that channing tatum says in 22 jump street when the professor tells him that he can say anything he wants
One Place that Makes Me Happy: disneyland or home
Favourite Character(s): tony stark, clint barton, james potter, oliver queen, astrid from httyd, peggy carter, merlin, elizabeth keen
Favourite Food: reese’s oreos (literally heaven on earth)
Favourite Drink: i mostly drink water but if i could drink strawberry lemonade for the rest of my life...
Favourite Book: harry potter series!! the kite runner.
Last Film Seen in Theaters: insurgent (3/10 do not recommend)
Last Holiday: i actually have no idea the last time i went on a proper vacation. i went home for christmas, so…?
Dream Wedding: i haven’t really thought about this tbh
Nicknames: nicoli, nicoleo, nicolette (my real name is nicole so idk why this is a thing)
Dream Job: working on movies (which will never happen) or working for nasa. i really wanna work in the bioengineering department at nasa and help build space suits
What are you wearing?: sweatpants and an avengers shirt. i just woke up.
Rules: Repost and tag 10 people you’d like to get to know better.
i’m tagging: skysalla, sharpewit, theussenterprise, andiyangi, amisometimes, and anyone else who wants to do this
