Summary: Steve Rogers, infamous cat burglar, is hired by Tony’s business rival and ex-girlfriend, Sunset Bain, to carry out a little corporate espionage, namely to steal the original arc reactor prototype Stark had surgically removed from his chest.
Steve does steal his heart, but perhaps not in the way his employer had envisioned.
Or:
Tony interrupts Steve mid-heist in his penthouse and assumes he is the escort he hired for the night; Steve doesn’t correct him.
Why I'm Reccing: This is the first AU I'm reccing and it's a good one. Tony is still Tony as we know him, for the most part, if Tony hadn't become Iron Man after Afghanistan. Steve is a completely non-powered AU version of himself here, but his characterization still stays really true to the Steve we all know and love.
There's a really great relationship between Steve and Natasha here, that I am all for. It's obviously inspired by CA:TWS, so it feels very much like them, and I absolutely adore it.
Tony is... well, Tony. It's a great characterization of Tony that is, maybe a couple of shades lighter than Iron Man 2 Tony. So, you know, he's sad in this, and lonely, and looking for comfort, despite maintaining the playboy persona of Tony in public.
And you can clearly see how Steve would fall for Tony here, and how Tony would fall for him in return. That is, it's a very believable transition from two people who are complete strangers at the beginning of the night, and almost adversaries, to two people who have really come to care for one another at the end of the night. And that's not an easy feat to achieve.
There's an excellent scene where Steve and Tony are talking about two different things (but also the same thing, kinda) and it works really well.
JARVIS is also written really well here. I love JARVIS and this is such a great depiction of him.
And there's also a hilarious follow-up in the end of work author's note that is the perfect cap to what is a truly great fic.
Heyo this is my first time writing on the blog so be kind. I just got obsessed with the idea of Aizawa being an elementary school teacher
>> Admin B̷r̷a̷n̷d̷o̷
. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .
Ok, maybe this won’t be so bad?
He put on a fake smile and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. The bags under his eyes were somehow more apparent then usual. His face quickly faded into his trademark apathetic scowl.
Who am I kidding? This is the worst possible situation.
Aizawa sneered at the thought of his current situation. Of how his pristine English classroom was being taken from him because they needed “fresh blood”. Of how he was not only being forced into a new school, but also a new grade. He sighed (heavier than usual), leaving his dim apartment early, to beat traffic and give him time to dwell further on his current situation.
As he drove, his brain on went on auto pilot and all his worries and thoughts crossed his mind once again. Aizawa had never taught anything lower than 6th grade, and he never wanted to. It’s not that he didn’t like kids, it’s that he didn’t love kids. High schoolers were almost adults, so he didn’t have to sugar coat anything. No snack time, no name calling, no bullshit. The sudden unemployment was truly a wake-up call (not just because he would fall asleep in class), telling him that he needed to get his shit together. He was thankful that his good friend Nezu happened to have a job opening, he just wished it were at any other school.
Arriving at the school made him sick. The bright colors. The intricately hand painted signs reading “Welcome To The New Year!” and “Start the school year with a smile.” The line of staff waiting outside the school to welcome him. The line of staff? Jesus.
His wish to quietly slip into his new classroom vanished before his eyes. There was no way he could avoid meeting his new colleagues now. Hopefully, he thought, I can get through this without too much headache.
“SHOUTAAAAAAAAA!!!!”
And the headache began.
“Oh my god, Shouta! It’s been so long! And you never returned my texts?? I can’t believe we’re working together again! I thought you didn’t like elementary school?? Anyway, c’mon we need to get you all settled!! I heard you got fired?? What’s up with that? Did you- “
Before he could even fully get out of his car, Hizashi was pulling him toward the crowd of faculty almost against his will. The crowd was full of smiling faces, kind waves, and judging glances.
Ugh
“Welcome Mr. Aizawa! I am glad that Mr. Yamada was telling the truth that he was a close friend. Well I know that our little pocket of perfect isn’t quite the high school setting you’re used to but believe me that you’ll love it soon enough.” Principal Nezu smiled happily and gestured to the quaint little school.
“Starting in the middle of the school year isn’t easy, but I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it,” he added with a wink.
Aizawa glanced briefly at the bright marquee reading “U. A. Elementary School”, then back to the group of hopeful faces. He put on his best “I’m totally not wishing I was somewhere else right now” face, and /reluctantly/ expressed his joy to be there.
With his seemingly pleasant response, the evaluative air cleared somewhat, and the gossipier teachers left the gathering, no longer interested.
Taking Aizawa’s arm, Nemuri pressed her chest against him, “Hate to interrupt but Shouta- Mr. Aizawa, really needs to get to his classroom.” With that, the tall woman, along with Hizashi, practically dragged the poor man away, though he was internally grateful to be away from the crowd.
They arrived at Aizawa’s new classroom, still full of the previous teachers’ belongings. He pulled himself away from the others, brushing himself off.
“Thanks Midnight.”
“Oh, stop with that,” Nemuri responded, fixing her immaculate hair in the reflection from the window, “I haven’t gone by that since college. No one here needs to know the escapades of Ms. Midnight.”
Aizawa chuckled lightly, “At least I have some familiar faces here, aside from Nezu.” He peered over to the other two, seeing their “trying to be respectful but insanely curious” faces. “Fine, I’ll address the elephant in the room. Yes, I was fired. No, it was not for selling drugs to the kids, Hizashi. I just… had trouble staying awake, apparently a few times too many.”
Hizashi sighed in defeat and pulled a twenty out of his pocket, handing it sadly to Nemuri.
“Good thing there was an opening here for you,” Hizashi replied, almost like a whine as he mourned his loss, “Too bad it came at the loss of Yagi. Poor guy having to be stuck at home after that dumb injury.”
Nemuri chuckled, “It’s his own fault for jumping out of the second story window to give one of his students the lunchbox they forgot.”
“He’ll be back next year, and I’ll be long gone. hopefully.” Aizawa interrupted, tying his long hair back. “Now can you two leave? I have kids coming in less than an hour to a teacher that could care less about them right now.”
Nemuri exhaled sharply through her nose, a smirk crossing her face, “You need a better attitude, my friend, or they will eat you alive.” She pushed herself off the desk, pulling Hizashi along.
“Good luck!” He called out, “let me know if I can help! The music room is always open for you!”
As the door slowly closed, Aizawa turned back to his new classroom. The desks were arranged in neat rows and columns, small pieces of tape on the carpeted floor to ensure that they remained in their neat arrangement. He was appalled by the disorganized mess that was Yagi’s previous desk arrangement.
Aizawa sat at his new desk, dropping his head into his hands. He had never taught 2nd grade before. Sure, he was certified to teach it, but that was more of a trophy to him than an actual career choice. Like when someone minors in art history. What made it especially difficult was that he was taking over a class run by the one and only Yagi Toshinori, legendary his teaching. He was the “symbol of peace” for teachers, doing interviews for local news stations and giving presentations for the school district.
The four of them (Yagi, Hizashi, Nemuri, and himself) had gone through college together, but lost touch as they all chose their path. Yagi with younger kids, Aizawa with teens, Hizashi with music, and Nemuri with administration. Aizawa knew that Yagi was a better teacher than him, and that he had big shoes to fill, literally.
Aizawa broke from his lamentation as the morning bell rang. He opened his door to be greeted with the cacophonous sound of 20 children itching the get into their classroom. He was nearly knocked over by the force of almost two dozen children running into inspect what the new teacher had done. Surprisingly, the new layout did not stop the wave of children, they all quickly found their name tags and sat down, most of them loudly complaining.
Aizawa moved to the front of the room and cleared his throat. Twenty small faces focused on him. “Good morning students. As you may know, Mr. Toshinori is injured and will not be able to continue teaching this year. My name is Mr. Aizawa and I’m going to be your teacher for the remainder of the school year-” A series of small hands shot up in front of him. He sighed, “Yes, you,” pointing to the small girl sitting politely in the front row.
“Excuse me, but why can’t Mr. Toshinori come back?” she asked, cocking her head.
Before he could answer, another young girl, this one with pink hair, jumped up, “Momo, he broke his butt, that’s why he can’t come back!”
“He didn’t break his butt! He broke his feet, stupid.” A blonde boy in the back stood up and pointed at her.
“Who are you calling stupid? I saw it, you buttface.” She stuck her tongue out at him. Seeing her mocking face, the boy began throwing his pencils at her, to which she started throwing her pencils. Momo began crying at the violence, while the other students began cheering for one of the other two students.
This was going to be a long day.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
As Nemuri entered the teacher’s lounge, she was greeted with the sight of Aizawa looking… well, dead. “Well, I was expecting this.” She commented, setting her stack of papers down and sitting on the table in front of him. “Rough day?” Aizawa merely groaned in response. She patted his head lightly, “You know what they say about kids, it’s like wrangling kittens.”
“I’ve never heard that.” He replied, lifting his head up to a more alive position. “I don’t know how he did it. Those kids just don’t listen.”
“How did you deal with your high schoolers?”
“None of us wanted to be there so we respected each other’s time and got shit done.”
Nemuri clicked her tongue, “It’s a wonder why you’re a teacher at all. You used to have passion for teaching, Shouta. Try to tap into some of that.” With that, Nemuri hopped off the desk, scooping up her papers, “If you need advice on how to deal with them, we’re here for you, all three of us.”
The door to the lounge closed softly behind, and he was once again alone. Aizawa hesitated at the thought of asking any of them for help. He had not spoken to any of them for years. While he enjoyed their company, Aizawa knew he did not belong. Nemuri, Hizashi, and of course Yagi, all had this passion and fire for education that Aizawa himself had lost years ago. It felt wrong to him to be there.
The soft chime of the lunch bell reminded Aizawa that he had to return to his classroom. Which he really did not want to do. The kids barely got along with each other, who they have known for months, how were they supposed to cooperate with him, a total stranger? He trudged back to his classroom, just as the students began pouring in. As they took their seats, he stood, and began writing their next lesson on the board. Once all were seated, he turned around to address them.
“I am very disappointed with how the morning went.” At this remark, half the students rolled their eyes, while the other half looked like they were going to burst into tears. Aizawa stopped and began thinking. What would Yagi do in this situation? He would be cheery and upbeat and overly personal with the students. Well, he thought, nothing would hurt to try at this point.
He sighed, sitting down on his desk, “Listen guys, I know this is hard for you, its hard for me two. The only way we can make this work is if we give each other a chance and get to know each other. So..” he looked at the confused faces of the kids, “Let’s go outside.”
The students all filed outside behind Aizawa, confused yet intrigued. He turned to face them, “Now I have a task for you, we’re going to go on a hike around the school, and you’re going to tell me about everything interesting you see.” The students collectively gasped and nodded excitedly.
As the class walked around the school, Aizawa learned many things about the kids. Like how Tenya liked to walk this path with his brother, or how Shoto would take trips through the woods when he wanted to get away from his family, or how Yuga collect only “the prettiest and shiniest” rocks. Although this was far more effort than he usually put into teaching, Aizawa was having fun.
The week from that point on went… surprisingly well. The students slowly warmed up to Aizawa, and even began enjoying his teaching. They continued setting time aside for a class hike and decided that they would start a nature journal to write about what they saw on their hikes. Aizawa, even though he would never admit it, even started smiling more in class. Before he knew it, the end of the week had already come.
As the students filed out of the room, several waved goodbyes to Aizawa. He smiled and waved back, eyes wandering to the small boy standing shyly next to him. “Hey Midoriya, do you need something? You should be heading home.”
“I am going home! But I made you something to celebrate how much fun we are having! I still like Mr. Toshinori more, but you’re really fun!” The boy shoved a piece of paper into Aizawa’s hands. “Ok my mom is waiting, bye Mr. Aizawa! See you next week!” Before Aizawa could respond, the boy ran out of the room. He looked at the paper. On it was a crudely drawn picture of him and the class on one of their hikes. He chuckled lightly, pinning the picture to the wall.
He was pulled away from his thoughts by the sudden vibrations of his phone. Without checking, he answered, “Aizawa speaking.”
“Um, hey! It’s been a while.”
“…Yagi?”
“Yeah! Hizashi told me you were taking over for me, and I, uh, wanted to say thanks!”
“I should be thanking you,” Aizawa commented, amusement crossing his face upon hearing the familiar voice again, “I needed a job and you had some broken bones.” They both chuckled awkwardly.
After a moment of thick silence, Aizawa sighed, “Its good time hear from you, Yagi. I’m sorry it’s been so long.”
Yagi chuckled, “We should catch up soon. You know, when I can walk again that is.” he paused, “So I, uh actually called to... uh, How are the kids?”
Aizawa laughed at how the blonde could barely hide his intentions. “They’re doing fine, no need to worry.”
“Are you handling them alright? I know they can be a handful.”
Aizawa looked fondly at the drawing Midoriya had handed him, “It’s an adjustment, but I think we’ll be able to get through the year.
Starker AU where Peter begins as a slave sold into Tony’s Mafia group as collateral for his father’s debts, but rather than a useless sniveling menace, Peter proves his worth. He works hard, talks back, and doesn’t let anyone mess with him. He shows everyone that he’s not just a pretty face and eventually makes his way into Tony’s inner circle, and his heart.
Everyone learns quickly not to mess with Peter. Not because Tony would kill them, because Tony would. But because Peter would gouge their eyes out if they leered, chop their hands off if they touched, and cut out their tongue if they sneered. Peter could take care of himself, he was ruthless, and would do anything for Tony. Peter, was the perfect Mob Wife.
I loved your steve/tony nonpowered fic rec list - do you have any more nonpowered fic recs? :D
Sure thing! I’ve definitely found a couple more since I made that list. They’re all kinda multi-chapter or just longer because I live for the long fics.
Engineering prodigy, billionaire, and heir to the Stark Industries empire, Tony Stark turned the business world on its head by opening a restaurant and burying himself in the kitchen. Years later, he covers an informal evening cooking class for his friend and fellow molecular gastronomist, Bruce Banner, where he meets famously camera-shy comic artist Steve Rogers.
Place Your Bets by RurouniHime- 36K - Tony pretends to be a prostitute
Steve Rogers may or may not have just picked up a prostitute. This may or may not be Tony Stark’s fault.
Happy Ending by Robin_tCJ - 28K - Seeeeeeeex
Steve is a mobile massage therapist, and Tony is a stressed billionaire. What could go wrong?
Let the More Loving One be Me (Or: Aw, Crap) by willowswhiten - 53K - wow this one is feelsy but the ending is so cute
Captain Steven Rogers-Carter has just come back from Afghanistan, struggling with PTSD and memories that haunt him. When he’s introduced to his adoptive mother’s godson, engineer, mechanic and billionaire Tony Stark, there’s a lot of yelling. Things are never entirely simple when two broken warriors realise exactly what they need to put themselves back together.
It was the Fourth of July by seratonation - 12K - Angst and Fluff, The Proposal AU
Based on The Proposal. Steve has been Tony’s assistant for 3 years when he finds out that Tony is actually not American and is going to be deported. Tony talks Steve into getting married but Steve insists on seeing his family first. Tony invites himself along to make sure his plan doesn’t go awry, but unfortunately Steve’s family is actually pretty amazing.
The Weight of Water by citsiurtlanu - 32K - The Titanic AU that ends exactly how you don’t want it do.
Tony Stark is a rich socialite who’s reached a dead end in his life. Steve Rogers is a poor artist who works from job to job. Both of them are passengers on the biggest ship in the world. Yup, it’s a Titanic AU.
Also because I know ^that one will break your soul have this one to feel better:
and he looks up by theapplepielifestyle - 25K - Titanic AU with a happy ending (for Steve and Tony)
Tony says, “You jump, I jump, right,” with barely any breath left, and Steve can’t do anything but stare.
Tony touches his face, cups his cheek, runs his fingers over the back of his neck like he’s not going to get another chance, and Steve says, “Right,” and kisses him before burying his head in his neck, kissing whatever he can reach.
(Or, the steve/tony Titanic!AU with a happy ending for the Avengers.)
Nonpowered!AU - Tony's cat often sneaks using the emergency stairs to the apartment below and Tony's been feeling kinda jealous here, so he attaches a message on her collar to whoever's been bribing his cat with expensive cat treat. To his surprise, he got a reply and he began corresponding with the guy who turned out to be interesting and smart. One day there's a knock on his door and it's the mystery guy with his cat and an invitation to dinner. (and maybe there's kittens?)
A/N: Didn’t get the kittens, but I hope you still enjoy! - Taylor
You can also read this on Ao3!
“Jarvis!” Tony rattles the cat bell again and strides into the kitchen. “Here, kitty, kitty!” The expected jingle of Jarvis’s collar and the light click of his nails over the tile floor doesn’t come, and Tony’s frown deepens. It seems his cat’s snuck off yet again.
Resigned, Tony crosses to the east wall of his condo and heaves one of the windows open to reveal the fire escape. “Jarvis!” He calls again. For another moment, there’s no reply.
Then the metal stairs creak lightly and Tony grins at the sight of his cat trotting up them. “Hey bud,” he says as Jarvis jumps gracefully back into the apartment. “You’re giving me a complex here. I spend tens of dollars on cat toys and it’s still not good enough for you? What does that dude have that I don’t?”
Jarvis sniffs gracefully and proceeds to ignore Tony in favor of curling up in a patch of carpet warmed by the sun. Tony rolls his eyes and sits down at his drafting table. Rent’s not going to pay itself, after all.
One morning, before Tony leaves for work, on an impulse, he attaches a note to Jarvis’s collar. It reads, in a hasty scribble, the following:
“To whom it concerns,
Kindly stop bribing my cat to leave me. There’s enough of that going on in my life already. Why do you think I have a cat in the first place? Besides the fact that cats are awesome.
Anyways. Please stop.
- T.S.”
He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Well, he knows what he’s hoping for: that the asshole in the apartment below him will stop luring Jarvis away. What he’s not expecting is a reply. The note, written on thick paper in perfect permission, says this:
“Dear T.S.,
I apologize for stealing your cat, though I assure you I had no attention to keep him forever, despite how ‘awesome’ he is. He seemed attracted by the food I set out for my own cats. I could give you the brand name, if you’d like. I could also give you the name of a good locksmith for your window, if it truly bothers you so much. In the meantime, I’d be heartless to resist your cat’s pleading for treats when he does show up at my window.
Sincerely,
T’Challa”
Tony’s torn between anger and amusement at first. “‘The name of a good locksmith,’ huh?” he snorts. Jarvis just tilts his head into Tony’s hand for scratches behind the ears, and Tony settles into amusement.
Despite his better judgement, the next morning he clips another note to Jarvis’s collar.
“T’Challa,
I suppose I can’t ask you to resist Jarvis’s begging. I know how brutal those eyes of his can be. What’s the name of the cat food, though? I don’t need a locksmith, thank you very much, but I can try to beat you at your own game. We’ll see where Jarvis’s loyalties really lie.
May the best cat owner win.
- T.S.”
And that’s how it begins.
“Judging by the fact that I’m able to respond to your message, I do believe I’m still managing to ‘seduce your cat with fancy-schmancy cat treats,’ as you so eloquently put it.
Sincerely,
T’Challa”
“Oh yeah, laugh it up. I’m still hoping you won’t read this note. If you do, though, what’s the name of your cats? I’m curious.
-T.S.”
“I do believe you Americans have a saying regarding curiosity in regards to cats. If you must know, though, their names are Okoye and Newton.
Sincerely,
T’Challa”
“‘You Americans?’ Where are you from? And don’t start, I get enough lectures for my reckless dashing off in the names of science and curiosity from my friends. Okoye, though, that’s cool. Sounds African? I assume Newton’s namesake is Sir Isaac Newton. Nerdy. Which is totally cool, by the way, it’d be pretty hypocritical of me to mock nerdiness.
- T.S.”
“I’’m staying in New York for a few months while I lecture at NYU, but my homeland is a small country in Africa. I doubt you’ve heard of it. It seemed apt to name one my cats after one of the men who helped found the field of study to which I’ve devoted my life. Okoye is a tribute to one of my dearest childhood friends.
Do you do that often, then? Dash recklessly off into danger and message strangers via cat?
Sincerely,
T’Challa”
“Oh, so you’re a physics professor? That’s awesome! I’m an engineer, of sorts, so practical physics keep me in business. And yeah, I tend to forfeit safety procedures in the favor of creating scientific marvels.
- T. Stark
(PS I think Jarvis is gaining weight. I blame you.)”
And so it goes.
“I’m presenting my idea for new prosthetic development to the board of directors today. Wish me luck!”
“I do wish you luck, though I know you won’t need it. You’ve worked hard on this project. Please do tell me how it goes, though!”
“Well, it was a struggle, and I had to make more concessions than I really wanted to, but you’ll see the first line of SI prosthetics hit the markets next spring!”
“I’m happy for you, Tony. Well done.”
“I know it’s rather unfair of me to say, but I must admit that I am in constant awe of how absurdly idiotic students can be sometimes. Grading papers is always an exercise in frustration.”
“Aw, hang in there. I bet you’re a great teacher, though. It’s only September still, you’ll whip them into shape.”
“I do hope so.”
“Should I try to dig up some of my mom’s Italian recipes for dinner tonight or just resign myself to Chinese takeout?”
“From what you’ve told me of your cooking skills, I’m not certain Italian is the best idea. I’d hate for you to burn the apartment building down.”
Tony laughs at the latest note as he kicks off his shoes. He’ll put it in his nightstand drawer later, where he keeps all of T’Challa’s notes (which isn’t creepy, no matter what Rhodey says), but for now he sets it on his drafting table as he takes a shower.
He realizes only a few moments after he’s finally scrubbed a truly stupendous amount of oil from his hair and changed into more comfortable clothes that Jarvis has disappeared again. It’s unusual, as his cat’s usually content to sprawl with Tony on the couch and shamelessly beg for his sweet and sour chicken, but Tony’s not too concerned about it. T’Challa must have set some more treats out, but Jarvis will come back. He always does.
Tony starts up a fresh pot of coffee as he rifles through the takeout menus he keeps in the kitchen. Tonight’s shaping up to be another all-nighter, with the blueprints for his new water filtration system only half-finished. He finally locates the menu from his favorite Chinese place just as there’s a knock on the door.
It’s nearly seven, Tony’s not expecting anyone, but he pulls the door open with the kind of reckless abandon befitting the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He can imagine Happy’s irritation.
Tony’s confronted with the sight of his cat, cradled in a stranger’s arms. He raises an eyebrow at Jarvis’s smug expression before looking up at the man who’s apparently kidnapped his cat. The man smiles at him and, oh, wow, weren’t physics professors supposed to all be old and ugly, not breathtakingly gorgeous with laughing brown eyes and a perfect smile?
“Hello, Tony,” the man says, and for once in his life, Tony can’t actually summon any words, to shocked by the absolute masterpiece standing in front of him. The man’s smile starts to fade - a tragedy - and says, hesitantly, “I’m T’Challa, your neighbor? I thought you might be concerned with Jarvis sneaking out this late at night, so I-”
“Yeah, yeah, I-” Tony interrupts, like an absolute idiot. “No, I guessed who you were. Sorry, you just never mentioned that you’re fucking hot.” Whoops, did he actually say that out loud? “See, there I go again, I have no brain to mouth filter and I’m reckless, sorry.”
T’Challa shakes his head, his smile returning. “No, it’s okay. I must admit, I almost said the same about you.” Tony stares at T’Challa, a wide smile of his own slowly spreading across his face. They’re caught for a moment, staring at eachother with matching smiles, and then Jarvis growls lowly and paws at T’Challa’s arm, apparently fed up with being carried. T’Challa chuckles and gently drops the cat to the ground, where Jarvis makes a bee-line for the kitchen.
“You, uh, you want to come in?” Tony jerks a thumb into the room behind him. “I’m about to order Chinese. As you know.”
T’Challa chuckles. “Ah yes, I remember your description of the omelette. Quite literally a hot mess.” He steps into the apartment, and in the brighter lighting wow, that long-sleeve black t-shirt is really working for him.
Tony swallows thickly and retreats to the kitchen. “If I might be so bold,” T’Challa’s words follow him, and Tony glances back to see the man looking almost shy. “I’m a bit more adept in the kitchen. I’d be honored to attempt to do your mother’s recipes justice.”
Tony blinks. “Why, T’Challa, are you offering me dinner?”
“That depends on whether or not you say yes,” the man says wryly, and Tony laughs.
“Good thing I’m saying yes, then.”
Jarvis meows loudly, impatient for dinner, and T’Challa grins widely at him and clatters around in the kitchen and sneaks Jarvis bits of sausage and asks about Tony’s latest designs and an hour later they sit down to relatively simple but delicious spaghetti and meatballs and, yeah, Tony could get used to this.
Imagine nonpowered!AU Tony as a major cat person who can't keep cats because of one way or another (maybe he's too busy, maybe he's afraid he can't take care of them when he can't take care of himself, etc etc) so he visits this cat cafe T'challa works at almost daily to play with the cats.
You can also read this on Ao3!
The bell over the door jingles, and T’Challa looks up from the espresso machine. “Hello, Tony,” he says, smiling when he realizes who’s walked in. The man grins and slips off his sunglasses.
“What’s up, your highness?”
T’Challa huffs out a laugh at the nickname. “If you keep calling me that I’m going to get a complex.”
Tony shrugs, unrepentant. “Hey, it fits. With how these cats treat you, you might as well be the cat king.” T’Challa rolls his eyes as Tony’s attention is drawn down to the cat twining herself around Tony’s legs.
“Hi, Okoye,” Tony coos, crouching down to pet the smug creature. “How are you doing, huh, babe? T’Challa been giving you plenty of treats?”
T’Challa slides a bemused woman her espresso before turning back to Tony. “I hardly need to, with how much you pamper her.” Tony looks up at him, a guilty expression crossing his face as Okoye happily nibbles at the treats he’s holding in his cupped hand. “Caught red-handed.” T’Challa raises an eyebrow. “She’s going to get fat at this rate.”
Tony scoffs as he straightens. “And that would be a bad thing?” He crosses the cafe, carefully avoiding the cats dozing on various cushions, to settle on a bar stool at the counter. T’Challa sets down his regular, a cappuccino that’s more sugar than coffee, with a mound of whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon. “I’m going to get fat if you keep feeding my sugar addiction,” Tony says, but he eagerly grabs the mug. T’Challa watches in amusement as he gulps at it, undeterred by the cat that leaps up into his lap.
The cup’s half empty when Tony finally sets it down in favor of stroking Hunter. There’s a a dash of whipped cream left on his nose, and T’Challa resists the urge to reach out and wipe it off. They’ve been friends for months now, ever since T’Challa opened Wakanda, but T’Challa hasn’t earned that right, hasn’t earned that intimacy. No matter how much he longs for it.
“You’ve got something on your nose,” he says instead, and Tony swipes at it absentmindedly.
“Hey, bud,” he coos, his attention focused on Hunter in that single-minded way he has. T’Challa wonders, briefly, what it would be like to have all that kindness and attention directed towards him. “How’re you doing? Getting enough pets?” The cat purrs and pushes his head into Tony’s hand.
“You come in here every day, Tony,” T’Challa says. “He’s had an entire life’s supply of petting from you alone.”
Tony grins up at T’Challa, almost blinding with how bright it is, and T’Challa’s breath catches in his throat. “Oh, don’t be like that. I know you spoil them just as much as soon as the cafe closes for the day.” T’Challa swallows hard and doesn’t try to deny it.
“I’m fostering them, though,” he points out mildly. “I have an excuse.”
It’s not meant to be a jab at Tony, but the man grimaces anyways. “You know that if I could I’d adopt them all. Pepper says I’ve got to learn how to take care of myself before I take on any other living creatures.”
T’Challa chuckles. He likes Pepper, or at least everything he’s heard about her after he learned that she wasn’t, as he’d originally assumed, Tony’s girlfriend.
“I’d take them home if I could,” Tony says, with odd weight to the words as he watches his own hand brush through Hunter’s fur. T’Challa watches with growing confusion as Tony swallows thickly and looks up at T’Challa. “I’d take you home if I could, too.”
T’Challa feels his eyes widen, his mouth part as he sucks in a sharp breath. Tony looks nervous, staring at him and fidgeting slightly in his seat, and T’Challa can’t summon any words. As the silence stretches longer, Tony’s face falls and he gently drops Hunter to the ground. “Uh, sorry, I guess I misread the, uh, the situation.” He stands, the bar stool skittering across the floor, and jerks a thumb towards the door. “I’ll just go. Sorry.”
Tony steps back, and T’Challa finally overcomes his shock. He jolts forward, reaching across the counter to grab Tony’s wrist. “No, wait.”
Something like home crosses Tony’s face as he looks from T’Challa’s hand around his wrist up to meet T’Challa’s gaze. T’Challa smiles. “I don’t know about going home with you, but how about we start with dinner? I think we can skip the coffee date, considering.” He nods down at the remnants of Tony’s diabetes-inducing coffee, and Tony chuckles, shocked and incredulous but genuine.
“Dinner it is, then.” He twists his wrist, maneuvers their hands until T’Challa’s fingers are tangled with his. He’s beaming, and T’Challa knows he’s grinning just as widely. “It’s a date.”
They’re caught for a moment, lost in each other’s eyes. Then Okoye meows impatiently and Tony laughs and bends down to feed her a few more treats from his pocket.
“You’ve got to stop doing that,” T’Challa says, impossibly fond.
Tony grins up at him, brown eyes dancing. “You’re not going to stop me.”
There had been that- okay, no. It was the worst date ever.
The guy couldn't keep his hands to himself and the moment they sat down, he immediately started playing footsie with Clint. The blond couldn't even get a word out of the guy without him making an innuendo and winking - Clint actually thought at one point that he needed to be brought to the Hospital. Then, after dinner, Clint got stuck with the bill because his date 'forgot' his wallet at home.
Even after all that, Clint still wanted to give him a chance so they went to a bar but all that got Clint was unwanted grinding, necking, a huge wine stain on his favorite button up and a drunk date trying to pick up a girl on the other side of the bar.
Needless to say, Clint left without another word to go find Natasha.
---
Natasha is a bartender at this one place in downtown called The Initiative. Natasha also happens to be Clint's best friend. But that didn't mean Clint gets free drinks because Natasha is also a stingy she-devil disguised as a gorgeous redhead with cocktail mixing skills.
Clint sat at the bar and Natasha gave him a raise of an eyebrow. Clint groaned and dropped his head on the smooth wooden surface.
"That bad, huh?" She asked him even as she gave him a glass of whiskey.
Clint glanced up at the sound of the glass offered to him. "You wouldn't even know." He gratefully took the glass and drank it one go, enjoying the burn of it in the back of his throat.
Natasha gave him a refill, "Don't think I'll drag your sorry ass out of here if you pass out drunk."
"Whoa there, Tasha. I can feel the love overflowing." Clint said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes at him.
"Look. Either find someone to hook up with, or go home and sleep it off. We'll go to the gym tomorrow and maybe spar a bit before we go to the range. That sound good?"
Clint pretended to think about it but they both knew what his answer was.
---
Clint can't recall how long he was sitting there but he knows its been more than an hour. It wasn't that nobody approached him, it's just he just didn't feel up to it. He's just so tired.
Clint debated the merits of going home early when a man sat next to him. When the man called for Natasha's attention to order a martini, Clint gave him a casual glance.
And Holy Hell, the man is hot. Black framed glasses, crow's feet, warm blue eyes, impeccable suit. He even looks like he'd smile gorgeously.
Natasha set the man's drink down and gives Clint a look that simply said: Talk to him.
Clint gave her one of his own: What? No.
Why not? You need to get laid.
Doesn't mean he does.
You won't know 'til you try.
Clint rolled his eyes and took another sip from his beer. "Rough night?" Clint asked, not really taking his eyes off of the display shelf until a second after the question. He gave the stranger a smirk.
"You could say that." The stranger shook his head, clearly affronted at the night's events. "What about you? You look like that's not your first bottle."
"Yeah, well. I had the world's worst date so I think I can be excused."
The stranger groaned. "Tell me about it." He drank from his glass and scowled at the wooden surface of the bar. "I am never going on a date set up online ever again."
Clint chuckled. "Was she a crazy cat lady?"
"He actually. And no. More like a 12 year old.The whole night, it felt like I was babysitting instead of on a date." The stranger complained.
Clint doesn't know why, but he felt like talking -and really talk, the kind where you listen to the other person and exchange ideas - to this guy more.
"Oh god. Yes!" Clint practically moaned. "The guy I saw tonight, was hornier than a dog in heat. Can't even get a proper conversation out of him. It was terrible." Clint told him with an exaggerated shiver. "And if that wasn't enough, he spilled wine all over my favorite shirt!"
The stranger laughed. "I gotta say. that stain raised a couple of red flags for me. I thought it was blood from afar. but then I realized blood would be a richer red than this. It'll probably stain permanently if you don't put it in the wash soon."
"Nah. It's a lost cause. It's been sitting there for more than 3 hours now. I'll just use this as pyjamas next time." Clint smiled at him.
"Nice. I would've probably sent it to a dry cleaners or something. Try and salvage it."
"I guess, but think about it. It'll be a good ice breaker or a conversation starter. Plus it'll be a funny story." Clint told the stranger. "Plus, it's part of the reason I'm talking to you, so it can't be that bad right?"
The stranger's lips quirked upward. Clint thought he looked amused.
"I'm Clint, by the way." Clint extended his hand and the stranger took it with a warm smile - Clint totally called it.
"Phil."
"Nice to meet you, Phil."
---
Years later, Clint gets bombarded by questions regarding the shirt he chose to wore under the tux he was wearing - and on his wedding day no less. It was stained for fuck's sake. Phil snickered beside him as Clint sighed and explains the stain on the shirt for the 240950982th time.
Phil guessed it was funny conversation starter, but not for the reasons Clint thought it would.
