《The Man of Iron's POV》
"Hey Mom, when did you say the tattoo will appear?"
She calls from the kitchen, "On your sixteenth birthday, so obviously tonight, at midnight."
"Okay. Thanks."
"No problem."
I get to learn the age of my soulmate tonight.
Everyone makes such a huge deal about it and I don't understand. The age doesn't matter. Unless it's like two. Now, that's fucking weird.
I'm just going to bed. The tattoo will be there in the morning just as much as it will be at midnight. There's no way I'm staying up until midnight to see a tattoo that will be on my body for the rest of my life. I need my beauty sleep.
~~~~The Next Morning~~~~
I sit up in bed and groan as the sunlight streams through the curtains into my eyes.
Stupid mornings.
I yawn and bring my hand up to cover it. As my hand moves, I notice something black on my wrist.
Oh. My soulmate's age when I meet them. Right.
I looked down at the number, hoping it wasn't below 15. When my sleep-hazed brain finally processes the number, I blanch.
It says 90. 90 fucking years old.
You've got to be shitting me right now.
Great. Just fucking great.
My soulmate is a grandma/grandpa. I'll probably break their hips trying to fuck them. Why couldn't they be young or at least in my generation?
Why does my life suck???
Speaking of which, if I want a blowjob, will I have to worry about their dentures falling out? Or maybe I'll be old too when I meet them...
Either way, it's not fucking fair and I want a refund.
~~~~
I stroll into the Avenger's room, without a care in the world. Literally. I couldn't care less that I was twenty minutes late. They should be honored that I bother to grace them with my presence at all.
I sit in a chair, right between Nat and Bruce as they have a conversation.
"So Clint says-"
"Caw caw muthafucka?" I interject.
Nat glares at me and I smile back innocently.
"No. If you'd listen-"
"Oh, pardon me. You must've mistaken me for someone who gives a damn."
She looks at me deadpanned.
"Stop trying to be a smartass. You're just an ass."
"Well, smartass is better than dumbass."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Clint questions.
"Well, I'd try to explain it to you, but I'm fresh out of crayons."
"What are you? 12?" Bruce asks with an unamused snort.
"Yeah, on a scale of 1-10."
Steve snorts at that and smiles. His smile is so pretty that I crack a smirk in victory. Bruce looks like he's about to reply when Thor interjects with, "My head hurts."
"Aww, my stomach hurts when it's empty too." I fake a sympathy pout.
Thor looks confused, Bruce looks unamused, Nat looks irritated, Clint is staring off into space, and Steve is definitely amused.
Tough crowd.
The door opens behind me. I spin my chair around to see Fury step through the door.
"Oh, it's just you. I was afraid it was someone important." I sigh.
He raises an eyebrow at me before stepping to the head of the table.
"We have a mission today. There's going to be two teams. Cap, you choose who's with you because you're oldest. Don't fuck up."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. That's not fair. He should not get special privileges because of age. He's not that much older than the rest of us." I complain.
Everyone laughs at me.
"What's so damn funny?" I ask, annoyed.
"I'm 90," Cap states.
"Wait, what?"
"I'm 90 years old. I'm the oldest." Steve says a bit slower.
Why does 90 sound so familiar?
90, 90, 90
Wait. A. Mother. Fucking. Minute.
I look down at the number tattooed on my wrist. A bold 90 is showing itself off.
No. It can't be...
"Hey Cap, show me your wrist." I demand.
"What? Why?"
"Just show me."
"Do you have some wrist fetish?" Clint says thinking he's funny.
I sigh, reaching across the table and grabbing his wrist. A bold 36 stands out on his wrist.
Godfuckingdamnit.
"What is it Tony?"
Mr Star Spangled Eagles is my soulmate.
I show him my wrist.
"I'm 36 years old."
He opens his mouth as if to say something, but shuts it again.
"So... when are you moving into Stark Towers?" I ask, a smirk on my face.
