#flashfiction drabblethon 2k18

[stonegirl77]

Central Perk

(yes, it’s a Friends reference. No, it has nothing to do with a coffee shop....)

So, at this point I feel like I should explain. 

I suck at writing endings. No. Really. The number of fics I've written only to not finish, or to have real problems writing the ending…. It's very annoying. Well, short fiction allows me to practice writing endings. Lots of endings. And so, last year, there was the prompt list running around, I saved it, because someone actually prompted me from it (thanks, @dresupi!), and now I'm writing a Drabble a day, or most days, until I'm done with the list. 

Thus the FlashFiction DrabbleThon 2k18 was born. 

So, for today’s offering: “We’re both sitting on this park bench, I’m reading and… oh my gosh are you sketching me?  Let me see!”  Steve/Darcy, because, of course.

Darcy didn't know when hanging out on park benches with national heroes had become something she did. However, every Sunday during the spring had found her on a park bench in Central Park, reading a book with Steve Rogers. Now it was late June, and spring had turned into summer, sweaters and jeans morphing into skirts and sundresses and sunscreen as the weather grew warm. 

Darcy glanced over at her companion as she finished a chapter and flipped the page. The glancing was easily done, as Steve had pulled her feet into his lap about five minutes into their trip, resting his sketchbook on top of her sandals. It wasn't that the action was too unusual - Darcy was usually leaning on Steve while they watched TV. Or Jane. Or Thor. She was a cuddly person, ok? And Steve didn't seem to mind. Not if the bashful smile he'd thrown her as he picked up her feet was anything to go by.

And of course, there lay the problem. The difference between Steve and Thor, even Steve and Clint or Steve and any of the other Avengers, was that Darcy had the oogly-booglies for everyone’s favourite American. Her heart skipped a beat every time he slung a massive arm around her shoulders, her breath caught in her throat when he smiled only at her - it was a problem. Because apart from anything else, Steve was a friend. One who dragged her to art museums as enthusiastically as she dragged him to comic stores. And Darcy knew Steve didn't have many friends. 

So you will not take that away by making things awkward, Darcy reminded herself. Besides. With people like Maria, Shannon, and Natasha around, why would Steve even look at me?

All of that, however, didn't mean she couldn't sneak a look at her favourite person every now and again. 

Darcy let her eyes wander, briefly, from his ridiculously blue eyes, transfixed by whatever he was drawing, down his nose, to the Patriotic Jaw of Freedom - and ok, maybe she spent too much time looking at Steve. Darcy returned her attention to her book, and made sure it stayed there until they were ready to leave.

“Coffee?” Steve asked as they were making their way back to the Tower. “And a donut?”

“You know the way to my heart,” Darcy replied glibly. “Caffeine and baked goods.”

She wanted to sneak a look at him, even as she kept here eyes fixed firmly forwards. 

They stood shoulder to shoulder in the line, Steve’s arm barely brushing hers.  

“You get some good drawing done?” Darcy asked.

Steve ducked his head. “Yeah,” he said. “Think so, anyway.”

“Well, as you've never let me see any of it,” Darcy said, “I'm going to continue thinking of you as Van Gogh with charcoals.” She frowned. “Not that I'm exactly sure what that looks like, but I'm sure it's amazing.”

“You have too much faith in me,” Steve said. 

Darcy just shoved him. Well, she tried. He outmassed her by too much for her to shift him anyway. She just ended up leaning into him. 

“You're ridiculous,” she said. 

“It's our turn,” Steve said, ignoring her with a small smile on his face. “Hi,” he said, stepping forward to the cart. “Two coffees, a croissant and a donut, please.”

Darcy let him order - any trying to pay on her part has long since been squashed, when Steve had shown her exactly how much he earned. And that it was something he genuinely wanted to do. Nothing she should feel beholden to do. 

That's why she noticed a scrap of paper fall out of Steve's sketchbook as he put his wallet away. She dipped, picking it up, and was opening her mouth to tell Steve he'd dropped something when she saw what was drawn on it. 

“Oh,” she said instead, staring at a drawing of her. She was on a couch, on the couch in the common room at the Tower, drawn from what must be Steve's perspective as she had her feet on his lap. Except that - her legs weren't that long, were they? And her face - that smile - she didn't recognise it. Was that really how Steve saw her?

“Your coffee,” Steve said, startling Darcy into dropping the slip of paper again. She dove for it, catching it before it hit the ground. 

“What's that?” Steve asked, moving behind her to look over her shoulder. She felt him still as he recognised his drawing. 

“It fell,” Darcy said, “I picked it up.” She turned, holding it out to Steve. 

He put her coffee in her hand, taking the drawing. 

“Let’s….” Steve began. 

“Let’s start walking back?” Darcy suggested, and Steve nodded. 

“Yeah. That.”

They walked in silence for a minute or two, leaving the cart behind and heading back into the woods of the park. 

“You know, you really are a good artist,” Darcy said finally, the silence getting to be too much. She was getting over her surprise, reasoning away her appearance in Steve's sketches. After all, if he liked to draw people, why wouldn't he draw her? She was around a lot. All the Avengers were probably in his sketchbook. It didn't mean anything. “Although I think you were a little generous.”

“What?” Steve sounded surprised. “I don't…” 

Darcy shrugged. “Perspective is one thing, but my legs aren't that long.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve swallow. “Um, Darce, they kinda are.”

Darcy turned her head to look at him, and found Steve's face growing red. 

“What?” she asked, copying him.

Steve looked at her, then to the ground, then at her. “You know you're beautiful, right?”

“Darcy’s jaw dropped. “I …. I don't?” She said. Steve Rogers thinks I'm beautiful?? The mind boggled. 

Steve shook his head, a soft smile appearing on his face. It reminded her of the smile she'd been wearing in Steve's drawing. 

"Darcy, if you'd been around when Bucky and I were growing up," he said, the Brooklyn coming back into his voice as he spoke about his past, "all the fellas would have been lining up at your door. You look like a pinup," he said. 

"Really?" Darcy didn't usually need this much reassurance. Her self-esteem could use work, sure, but she could take a compliment. Just not, apparently, with Steve Rogers looking at her like she was candy in a candy store.

"Look." Steve juggled coffee and his sketchbook for a second, opening the book so Darcy could see. 

There she was, laughing at the table with Jane.

Snuggled under Thor's arm.

Sleeping on a beanbag.

Smiling, dancing. She was there, with the others, on every page.

Darcy leafed through, speechless.

"That's why I didn't show you the book," Steve said, and she glanced up at him. He met her eyes squarely. "I know, I shouldn't have drawn you without permission. I'm sorry."

"Stop it," Darcy said, continuing to leaf through. "We don't mind." She looked up at Steve again, which was totally why her last sentence came out breathier than she meant it to. "Or at least, I don't mind."

How could I mind? 

"I just…" Steve started, and Darcy looked up from the book again. "It's not that looks are all-important - you're smart, you're funny, you're interested in everything, you make a mean Pop-Tart - I just… you're beautiful to me, and I thought you should know."

"Steve," Darcy breathed. She closed the sketchbook, pulled it towards her, and went up on her toes.

She meant to kiss him on the cheek, she really did. 

But when Steve realised what she was doing, he threaded a hand into her hair and dipped his head, connecting their lips. 

Darcy could only stand there, kissing Steve - kissing Steve - and wondering how the hell her lazy Sunday with her unattainable crush had turned into her kissing the man of her dreams.

Steve pulled away, just far enough to rest his forehead on hers.

"Darcy," he began.

"If you try and take that back," Darcy cut over him, and he began to laugh, using his free hand to bring her even closer. 

"Not going to," he promised, and kissed her again, briefly. "Been wanting to do that for months now."

He offered his elbow, and Darcy threaded her arm through it as they strolled through Central Park. 

"Well that was an interesting trip to the park," she said, resting her head briefly on Steve's shoulder. 

Steve chuckled. "We just gotta avoid Tasha on the way in - she's got the pool for this weekend."

"There was a pool?!"

[stonegirl77]

Bunburying at the Movies - FFDT2k18

So, this one was fun to write. And long! Wasn’t expecting it to be 800 words! 

Darcy likes her movies. And her peace and quiet when she’s at the movies. Darcy/Steve. (Bonus points to the people who can guess the source of the aunt and uncle’s names!) 

Darcy was a compulsive movie-goer. Even as ticket prices rose and her pay check didn't. She'd rather see another movie or two a week, especially if it was a matinee, than have Starbucks every morning. Even if their flavoured lattes were sugary deliciousness. 

But as much as Darcy loved the movies, the escapism of hiding in a darkened room for a few hours, letting herself be swept away by the story, there was one thing she hated. Sitting next to other people. 

They either crunched their popcorn louder than a jet engine taking off, or were constantly on their phones, or indiscriminately took the arm rest. It was almost always bad news. 

So, in preparation, Darcy always arrived early. Twenty minutes early, when the theatre opened, and was the first in, selecting the perfect row, then sitting at the very end before gently draping her coat, or scarf, or sweater - whatever she'd brought with her that day, over the chair next to her. 

If anyone asked if the seat was taken, which they usually didn't, Darcy would say her friend was late. Or her date was late. Or her cousin. Or her mother. She was currently on the third rotation of all of her friends and family. Even though Great Aunt Mamie would probably rather have done anything rather than to see John Wick 2.

-------------

Today, Darcy had arrived and settled in early, her water bottle in her cup holder and her attention focused on the phone in front of her. Stark had sent her another file to go over last minute, and Darcy was trying to at least read the damn thing before the screening started. 

An analyst’s job is never done, she thought, flipping past the first scanned pages of nonsense to the meat of the file. 

“Project Rebirth,” she muttered, finding the first page full of text and starting to read. 

“Excuse me,” a voice said, making Darcy’s head shoot up and keep looking upwards. 

Damn he was tall, the man who had interrupted her. And broad. And pretty, from what she could tell in the dimly lit theatre. 

“Um, yes?” she said finally. The theatre had filled up since she'd sat down and started working.

“Is that seat,” the man began, gesturing at the seat holding Darcy’s coat.

“Sorry,” Darcy said, cutting him off. “I’m waiting for my Aunt Edna - she's a little scatterbrained, so she might be a little late.”

The big man leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Are you really, though?” he asked. He hefted the overcoat he had in his arm. “Because I was here this time last week, and,” he shrugged, “I have an Uncle Ernest too.”

Darcy was speechless. Momentarily, that is, while she absorbed the fact that not only did this mammoth of a man seem to have the same dislike of people as she did, but had come up with the same ruse. 

“Well,” she said, feeling a grin begin to form on her face, “Do you think Aunt Edna and Uncle Ernest would care to share?”

Mammoth Man smiled, and Darcy’s brain stuttered once more. Upgrade that from ‘pretty’ to ‘gorgeous,’ she thought numbly. 

“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” he said, and Darcy stood out of her seat to let him pass.

----------------

Her partner in coated mischief was a perfect moviegoer, Darcy discovered. Didn't talk, or use his phone, or crunch whatever he was eating. If he was eating anything. 

And, Darcy discovered, glancing over at him to check his reaction to the latest twist and finding him looking back, his eyebrow likewise raised, that was the fun of going to see a movie with someone. The shared experience. 

As the lights went up as the credits finished, Mammoth Man stood up and gathered his coat from where it had sat on top of Darcy’s.

“Uncle Ernest thanks Aunt Edna,” he said, eyes twinkling at her. 

“Aunt Edna likewise expresses her appreciation,” Darcy replied. “Ernest was a perfect gentleman.” As were you, she added silently. 

“Uncle -” Mammoth Man began, then shook his head. “This is ridiculous.” He held out a hand. “I'm Steve.”

“Darcy,” she replied, taking his hand and shaking. 

“Darcy,” Steve repeated. “Crazy idea - since we both seem to be in here most weeks, want to, I dunno….”

“Set a standing coat date?” Darcy spoke before she thought, and barely had time to regret her words before Steve’s face lit with approval.

“Exactly.” 

Darcy smiled back as she stood, reclaiming her own coat. 

“You got it,” she said. “After all, what would Aunt Edna do without her new friend?” 

“No idea,” Steve shook his head as they headed out of the theatre. 

On the bus back to Stark Tower, Darcy pulled out her phone again and began to read. 

Project Rebirth. Head of Project: Dr. Paul Erskine Principal Subject: Captain Steven G. Rogers, Army

[stonegirl77]

Not so Happy Trails - FFDT 2k18

Hello folks!! Hope everyone’s having a good weekend so far.

Today, I wrote a slightly angsty Darcy/Bucky for the prompt: “You forgot your sleeping bag, but I have mine.  Surely we can figure this out.” Possibly not quite what the author of the prompt had in mind, but hey... Hope you like it!

Contrary to what most people would think, Darcy loved to hike. Not only that, she hiked a lot. One summer, she’d done most of the Appalachian Trail, and had designs on some of the hiking on the West Coast, if she ever got a full month off. Even now, working for Jane at SI, she drove upstate every chance she got, taking nothing more than what she could carry on her back out to the wilderness for a long weekend.

Contrary to what most people would think, Bucky knew nothing about modern hiking. To him, hiking was a short walk in the woods. A day trip. Or something to be endured, not enjoyed, with too few supplies and the understanding that there would be much alcohol involved, usually brought by DumDum Duggan. Which was why Bucky showed up to Darcy’s ‘Avengers Family Hiking Weekend’ with nothing more than boots, a few protein bars and a waterproof jacket. 

Darcy took one look at him, scowled, and Bucky started to turn away. It wasn’t like he’d wanted to be here anyway. He was here because Steve had conned him into it. As usual. 

“Stop.” Bucky stopped. He hated when people gave him orders. Especially when they weren’t on a mission. It was too much like being under HYDRA again. No control. 

And then Darcy was at his shoulder, looking up at him, and Bucky didn’t mind so much. “Sorry,” she said, a bit out of breath, “but you were going to leave before I could stop you.”

He shook his head. “Shouldn’t have come anyway, doll, s’okay.”

“It’s not,” Darcy protested, keeping her hand on his forearm, as if she were scared he was going to bolt. Never mind that the arm she was holding was his metal one, and he could break her hold as easily as a hot knife sliding through butter. 

Nevertheless, he stayed exactly where it was, letting her convince him to stay. 

“I wasn’t angry with you,” she said. “I should have told  you what to bring. Or asked Steve to bring you gear.” She shrugged. “Whatever. We can make it work.” She looked into the distance. “After all, I have a sleeping bag, and you don’t. We can work something out.”

Bucky’s brain juddered to a halt, imagining him and Darcy curled up in a sleeping bag. He came back online to see the blush colouring her cheeks. 

“Ok,” he said, changing the subject for both their sakes, “Well, tell me what to carry - if I don’t have anything, Steve’s gonna make fun of me for a year.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” Darcy asked, shooting him what he hoped was a grateful smile. “Come on, Buckeroo.”

 And with that, she towed him to the back of her pickup.

[stonegirl77]

Miraculous Baker - FFDT2k18

Not spending much time on here so I don’t get Black Panther spoiled before I get a chance to see it, but... here - I wrote a thing!

This is the saga of Vision’s bran muffins, and the hapless pair who stumble upon the last of a batch...

Vision was a crappy cook. 

Everyone knew that. Especially Wanda, who ended up tasting his ‘creations’, for lack of a better term. Darcy made a face. Not even for love would she have tried Vision’s salt and pepper chicken. 

The pepper had been fine. But Vision had messed with the salt balance. Apparently the Dead Sea had less salinity. 

However, he was getting better about gauging human spice tolerances, and, what’s more, had discovered an absolute knack for baking. 

“I still don’t know how that works,” Darcy mumbled, hitting send on the last email of the day. “But if it gets me bran muffins.”

Not that bran muffins were usually Darcy’s thing either. Dry, boring, and bland. But not Vision’s version. Vision’s bran muffins were light, fluffy, sweet and slightly complex, and he’d made a double batch the day before. 

If Darcy was lucky, there’d still be a few more left, even after the supersoldiers and Thor had stormed through after training. So, with a quick pat of her now-closed laptop, she hurried down the hallways of the Avengers training facility to the communal kitchen and the cookie cupboard. 

“Please, let there still be muffins,” Darcy said, opening the door to find the worst possible scenario.

One muffin.

One. 

Singular. 

Muffin.

Two muffins would have been fine. She’d have taken one and left the last for someone else. 

No muffins would have been a disappointment, sure, but she would have taken it with good grace. 

Ok, some pouting, but not the fountain of indecision and burgeoning bevy of moths in her stomach. 

She couldn’t take the last muffin!

What if someone stayed late at training and missed their muffin chance? What if Steve was having one of his bad days? What if Wanda was extra-specially missing Pietro that day? What if Jane was on a science bender, and Darcy taking the last muffin stopped her from eating anything for another 18 hours?

“Darcy?” Darcy’s head jerked around as she startled. 

“Dude,” she said, leaning her forehead briefly against the cupboard door she still held. “You startled me straight out of my skin.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky came closer, chagrin clear on his face. “I thought I was getting better about being louder.”

Darcy shook her head. “I’m sure you were fine.” The first few months Bucky had been with the Avengers, he’d scared the lab nerds countless times because he was so used to moving silently, he was in the lab and talking to them before they registered his presence. He was getting better about walking so people could actually hear him approach. “Just…” she gestured at the cupboard.

“No more muffins?” Bucky actually grinned, although it was a small one in comparison to the smiles Darcy had seen on the old war footage. Never mind. She liked these ones better anyway. They were warmer, more real. And directed at her.

Darcy shook her head. “One left. Want it?” 

Problem solved. Bucky would have the muffin, and Darcy would annoy Vision until he made another batch.

Bucky was shaking his head. “I couldn’t,” he said. “It’s the last one.”

“But…” Darcy said.

“You have it.” 

Darcy shook her head.

“I can’t - “ Bucky shook his own head. “My ma would have skinned me…”

“But-” Darcy repeated, opening the cupboard door once more to stare at the last muffin. “Hang on.” She pulled out the muffin and placed it on the counter. “I have an idea.”

Darcy pulled a knife out of the drawer and cut the muffin carefully, straight down the middle. 

“Split it?” She offered, holding one of the halves up to the former assassin. 

“Well, you’ve already chopped it in half,” Bucky said, taking the proffered muffin. He grinned. “Besides. Steve’s already had four.”

“Four?” Darcy shook her head, unwrapping her half-muffin. “Bottomless pits, the lot of you.”

If Natasha happened to pass by at that point, watching the two of them smiling at each other as they finished the muffins, she didn’t say anything to either of them. Or to anyone else, for that matter.

[stonegirl77]

Stuck Together - so I’ll hold on to you

the FlashFiction DrabbleThon 2k18 continues (yes, that’s its name, I came up with it, and I’m sticking to it. 

Today’s topic is ‘We comically slid into each other on a slick floor’, and our pairing is none other than the illustrious Darcy Lewis and the amiable Dr. Bruce Banner. Enjoy!

Darcy wasn’t usually clumsy.

She wasn’t swanlike, or anything, sure - she didn’t glide like Natasha did when she walked, or stalk like the other Avengers did - and how did they do that, anyway? It was like they had other bones in their feet and hips to give them that almost cat-like prowl.

But Darcy didn’t fall over walking along a normal corridor. Not like some people. cough Jane Foster cough

So why was she windmilling along the corridor of Lab 2?

And why was someone heading right for her?

Abort, abort!!

Darcy tried to stop her progress down the length of the lab, trying to grab hold of the lab benches, the wall, anything, but everything seemed to fly from her grip, like all friction had suddenly disappeared.

And then she looked into her fellow victim’s face, just as they collided, her partner in bowling ball crime landing them so he broke Darcy’s fall.

They landed, skidded some more, and ended up wedged between the massive centrifuge and the wall.

“You ok, Doc?” Darcy asked, her hands somehow having ended up welded to Doctor Banner’s lab coat.

“Fine,” Bruce replied. “You ok?”

“Sure,” Darcy said, trying to push up and off of the scientist - the rather more muscled than she expected scientist - but finding no leverage save for the scientist himself. “What happened to the laws of physics?”

“Loki,” Bruce sighed. “Someone said something about him being as slippery as an eel, and, well…”

Darcy snorted. “And we get normal friction restored when, exactly?”

“Jane’s talking with Thor now,” Bruce said. “I was just going to put a sign on the door, and I slipped -“

“And the rest is history.” Darcy supplied, nodding. “Well, I guess we’re stuck with each other, at least for now.”

Bruce avoided her gaze as he responded. “I could think of worse people to be stuck next to.” Or to be on his lap, Darcy’s brain supplied unhelpfully. 

“Me too,” she said, softly. “Me too.” Thor could take his time with the fix.

[stonegirl77]

Idle Hands - FFDK2k18

short and sweet today - thanks everyone who’s liked and reblogged the ones before, y’all are amazing and filled with glitter and rainbows! (you know, if that’s your thing)

Today’s offering: Natasha takes up knitting...

No one really knew Natasha could knit. 

No one even expected, until one day, when the spy pulled out some green wool and two needles from her go-bag and started to knit. 

Every now and again, she'd curse, pull the needle out of her work, tear the proto-whatever it was apart and start again. 

An hour later, when the cursing had shifted from English to French to Russian to some obscure dialect of Chechen that not even Clint could understand, Steve came and sat next to her. 

"What?" she said, pulling the thread clear of the needles and starting to wind it back onto the skein. 

"Do you want some help?"

Natasha glared at him, then passed the knitting over. 

An hour later, and there were three rows on the needles and Natasha was painstakingly working on a fourth. 

"How do you know how to do this anyway?" she asked, staring at the needles. 

"My ma," Steve said, and Natasha actually broke her concentration on the needles to look up at him. The supersoldier smiled at her, or tried to. "I was sick a lot. And…" he shrugged. "No video games, no Netflix. Only so many books in the house." Another shrug. "And it helped Ma out. So I learned." His smile grew more genuine. "It was great for a laugh when the USO girls got stuck on a project."

Natasha smiled, then returned to the needles. "And how long did it take you to knit a scarf?"

"Depends on the size of the scarf." She could feel him shrugging next to her.  

"Big," Natasha replied.

And so, for the next two months, during every free minute the Avengers had, Natasha had her needles out, the green wool seemingly never-ending as the scarf grew, slowly, then more quickly. 

Clint tried to tease her about it. Once. He ended up catching one of the needles as it hovered between his eyes. 

It was Steve, naturally, who gleaned some more information. 

“So, I know it's none of my business,” he began one day, sitting down beside Natasha and a veritable pile of green knitting. “But is that scarf for a giant, or for a costume?”

Natasha looked up at him, eyes considering, needles continuing to clack. 

“It's for a friend,” she said finally. “He gets cold.”

“Ok.” Steve, recognising the best answer he was going to get, retreated into the kitchen.

Three days later, everyone discovered who the scarf was for when the Hulk appeared wearing the scarf. 

Four days later, Dr. Banner practically set himself on fire because he was wearing the same scarf. 

Two days after that, Clint caught Natasha walking out of Bruce’s quarters early in the morning.

[stonegirl77]

Mistaken (Umbrella) Identity

FFDT2k18 continues with a drabble just over 500 words, featuring Jane Foster, Thor, and two umbrellas. 

Please assume an unpowered AU...

“Yes, Doctor, I understand,” Jane Foster said, trying not to jump up and begin her happy dance right in the aisle of the bus. “Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome,” Reed Richards chuckled. “So, we’ll see you at the lab on Monday?”

“Definitely!” Jane was grinning far too widely for public consumption, but she didn’t care - a job working with Reed Richards! And Susan Storm! One more brilliant than the other - she couldn’t wait. “See you on Monday.”

She put the phone away with the last of her grin still playing about her face. The man-mountain sitting opposite her caught her eye and smiled back. Jane faced the window, smile vanishing. 

Grinning. In a bus. At a stranger. 

Well, ok, maybe not a stranger. Jane had seen the blond giant getting on and off the bus route she took into the city for a few weeks now. Not that she noticed. Really. 

Except that when a man who looked like he could bench press an entire football team was also reading a well-thumbed copy of Einstein’s Relativity: The Special and General Theory, she got interested. 

Man-mountain moved, standing to get up at his stop, the one closest to the Public Library and the western half of downtown. He nodded at her in a strangerly way,  then left the bus, umbrella in hand. 

Umbrella - 

Jane froze, then darted off the bus after him. 

“Hey!” she shouted at his back. “Hey, you!”

Man-Mountain turned. “Yeah, you,” she said, marching right up to him. “You stole my umbrella! Who does that? You… you, you punk!” she spluttered, trying to find a word both appropriate for public and that demonstrated her contempt.  

Man-mountain hefted the umbrella in his hand, once, and Jane’s stomach suddenly dropped into the Earth’s crust. Because she remembered, clearly, as she rushed off the bus. 

Her umbrella, sitting on the seat next to her. 

“And we have the same umbrella, and I left mine on the bus,” the bus, as if to add insult to injury, started its engine behind her. “Which is now leaving.” She hung her head for a second or two, then squared her shoulders. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking up at Man-mountain’s face again. “That was completely uncalled for.”

Man-mountain shook his head. “It happens,” he said. “But unless you have somewhere to be, I have a way you could make it up to me?”

“What is it?” Jane asked, warily. 

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee,” Man-mountain said. “It sounded like you had some celebrating to do. Dr. Richards lab, right?”

Jane nodded. “I start Monday. But - shouldn’t I be buying you coffee?”

Man-mountain shook his head. “My ma taught me better than that.” He stuck out his hand. “Thor Odinson, by the way.”

“Jane Foster,” Jane replied, shaking his hand. 

“Shall we?” Thor - and of course, the man mountain had a name like Thor! - gestured at a coffee shop on the corner. 

Jane nodded. “Let’s.”

[stonegirl77]

Killer Goose

Yay for posting the day I write something!! 

So this ended up as my first-ever gender-neutral reader insert. (or at least I think it is! If you see something off, please let me know!) Our fabulous reader is feeding ducks in Central Park....

“You like that?” I murmured, tossing more seed next to my bench. The ducks scrambled for it, little butts wiggling as they dove for the new food. “It's like I'm the only one that feeds you,” I chuckled. “But I know that's not true.”

I continued chatting to the ducks as the sun rose above the trees of Central Park. It was a ritual, every day before my commute. When the weather was good. And not in winter. 

I reached for the last of my seed, looking into my bag so I made sure I grabbed as much of it as I could. 

“Ok, folks,” I said, throwing the seed even as I looked up. “That's - oh shit.” As much as I loved the ducks and pigeons and other birdies that found their way to my park bench every morning, I was far less fond of geese. And swans.  

But mostly geese. 

They were scary shits, geese. Aggressive as hell, with actual sharp things in their mouths - I wasn't sure whether or not they were teeth, but they hurt when they bit down. 

Which had only happened once, but when that time was when I was five, and I'd run off from my parents only for them to find me cowering amongst a herd of geese, well, that incident gets labelled the Great Goose Attack, and I gain a new phobia. 

And now two Canada geese were staring at me. 

“Hey, dudes,” I managed to say, although my voice had gone all wobbly. Most of the ducks scattered, and one of the geese bent its head to pick up some of the remaining seed. The other just kept looking at me, and I was petrified. 

Come on, it's just a goose, I told myself. You can move. 

Except that I couldn't. I was rooted to my seat, eyes locked with the goose, who didn't seem to be blinking. In that moment, I thought it conceivable that the creature was plotting my destruction. As well as that of the human race. 

“Come on, guys, you have better things to do,” a voice said, and I looked up quickly, not willing to look away from the goose for too long. 

There was a man standing there, a fairly tall one, from what I could tell, dressed in jeans and a purple hoodie, and was that a bow on his back? 

I glanced up again. 

Yep. That was a bow. What looked to be a quiver full of arrows too. And I recognised him. 

“Hey,” I said, aiming for casual, although my voice was about an octave too high. “So I know you're Hawkeye, but any chance you're also a goose whisperer?” 

Hawkeye chuckled. “Never tried to whisper to a goose before.” He stepped forward, towards the goose. “Get out of here,” he told them, waving his arms. And he kept stepping. 

And the geese moved. Begrudgingly, as if they knew they had easy prey and were loath to let me go, but they moved. And then I was sitting on a park bench with Hawkeye standing in front of me. 

“Dude, thank you,” I said, letting out a deep breath. “True heroics.”

“You know, I woulda thought saving the world would be more heroic than rescuing someone from angry geese,” Hawkeye said, sitting down next to me.  

“Nope.” I shook my head firmly. “This is better. Thank you.” I had an idea, so, before I could think better of it, I spoke again. “Any chance I can thank you with a cup of coffee? There's a cart just up that way,” I pointed. 

Hawkeye actually grinned at me, and I felt my heart flip. “Sounds good to me,” he jumped to his feet and extended a hand. “I'll even make sure we don't get attacked by geese on the way.” 

“My hero,” I said drily, only half-joking as Hawkeye tucked my arm into his as we walked. 

Maybe geese weren't all bad.

[stonegirl77]

The Demon Murphy (Bed)

Time for something a bit different - this prompt called for a relationship I haven’t written before, so I hope you like it!

Bucky/Sam for: “This hide-a-bed is the most uncomfortable thing in existence, and now I have to share it with you.”

Sam scowled at the studio apartment. 

It was tiny - the sort of thing he’d suffered through in college and never wanted to see he inside of again. 

“The hell?” San scowled as Barnes came up next to him. “Looks like SHIELD doesn't have enough funds to get us a room with two beds. Or even one.”

“Murphy bed, dumbass,” Sam said, not entirely meanly, and stepped forward, away from the ex-assassin to pull out the queen size Murphy bed. 

“Oh.” The self-loathing in that single syllable made Sam want to take his comment back, but it was too late now. And you think you're good with people. Who’s the dumbass now, dumbass? 

Sam put up the Murphy bed again - there wasn't any room to stand in the place anyway, and that went double for when the bed was down. The men set up the apartment in mostly silence, exchanging words only to set up comm equipment or when they were moving past the other. 

“Chinese?” Sam said finally. “I think there was a place two blocks east, pretty sure they do take out.”

“They call it take-away here,” Bucky said. Sam started to get annoyed by the correction, then took a deep breath. Bucky, either ignoring Sam’a flight into infancy or not having noticed it, continued. “Sounds good.”

“Ok.” Sam booted up his Starkphone and searched for the restaurant. “Your usual?” He asked, scanning through the menu. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and Sam was abruptly struck by how well he actually knew the supersoldier. He even knew the guy’a favourite Chinese food.  “Please.” Sam nodded. “Got it.”

-----

Twenty minutes later, Bucky returned, white plastic bags laden with food. “You know,” Bucky said, “Chinatown in London is amazing - we should get food from there before we leave.”

Sam bit off his automatic response, that they were here to do a job, not to sample Chinese food. For once, he went for the second snark. “You know those places don't serve crab Rangoon, right?”

Sam knew he'd made the right call when Bucky chuckled. “Punk.”

Sam grinned. 

“Get over here and eat your chow mien before I do,” Bucky said.

Three hours later, and they were arguing again, this time over the bed. 

“If we sleep in shifts, it won't be a problem,” Bucky argued. 

“If we sleep in shifts, which isn't necessary, and you know it,” Sam argued back, “you and I won't get enough sleep and we’ll both be grumpy.”

Bucky sighed. “Fine.” He bounced his metal arm off the bed. “Most uncomfortable hide-a-bed in existence, and I'm sharing it with you.”

Sam grinned. “At least you aren't sharing with Widow.”

Bucky shook his head. “Never again. I woke up with a knife to my throat.” He scratched were the blade had ostensibly been. “She started to cut before she woke up all the way.” Both men took a beat to imagine what nightmares could fuel that kind of threat response. Sam suppressed a shiver. 

“You're bigger,” Bucky continued, small smile hiding behind his hair, “but you aren't gonna try and kill me in my sleep.” 

“Nope,” Sam agreed.

Five hours later, and Sam awoke to find Bucky using him as a body pillow. He… wasn't exactly opposed to the notion. Sam Wilson, Falcon, Avenger and ostensible Bucky Barnes hater, adjusted his arm so it wouldn't go numb underneath Bucky, then fell back asleep.

[stonegirl77]

Undercover Pie

Good morning, folks! I totally meant to post this yesterday, but I forgot...

Welcome to the adventures of undercover Steve and Nat (I wrote it gen, but you could read it as a ship, I think).... There is pie involved.

Steve Rogers sat at the diner and felt like he was in a time capsule.  

The counter was the same linoleum he remembered from his childhood, the milkshake machines and the fry cook in the back could have been swapped for any in the forties. 

The waitress behind the counter pulled out her Starkphone.

Ok, so maybe not everything  was the same as when he grew up. Another waitress sidled over. 

“What can I get you, sugar,” she asked, barely looking up from her order pad. 

“A cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie, please,” Steve ordered. 

The waitress glanced up at him, then kept looking, eyes widening as she recognised him. Steve channeled Bucky of the 40s and gave his best winning smile. 

“Ma’am, I'm on vacation - any chance we could keep this between us?”

The waitress - Becky - according to her name tag - nodded wordlessly, eyes still wide as dinner plates. 

Two minutes later, Becky was sliding a cup of coffee across the counter. 

“Milk and sugar?” She asked, and Steve shook his head. 

“No, thank you.” His manners were still hard wired into him. Ma would never have forgiven him for being rude to a waitress. 

Steve sipped the coffee and waited, using the mirrored surface to keep an eye on his surroundings. Even so, he barely caught the flash of platinum blonde before someone was sliding onto the stool on his left. 

“So, it turns out we both ordered the last slice of apple pie,” Natasha Romanov said. “Care to share it?”

“I'm still not used to you with that hair,” Steve said. “And you hate apple pie.”

The former redhead shrugged. “It's supposed to be good here. And could you be any more cliche?”

“I like apple pie!” Steve protested.  

Natasha patted his arm, smiling the smile Steve still couldn't decipher. 

“How long do we have?” Steve asked, changing the subject.

“Another fifteen,” Natasha said, for all the world looking like she was flirting with him as she smiled and leaned closer, flipping a strand of hair behind her ear absentmindedly. All apart from her eyes. Her eyes were as constantly shifting as his were, cataloguing bystanders, entries, exits, and the street outside. 

“Here you go,” Becky said, sliding over a slice of apple pie that oozed filling. Her eyes tracked to Natasha and then back to Steve. “Any whipped cream with that?”

Steve shook his head. “No, thank you.”

Becky stared at the two Avengers a second, crossing her eyes. “Vacation, my ass,” she said finally. And then, to Natasha, “I like your hair. Y’all have a nice day now.”

Natasha's grin was real as Steve picked up his fork and dig into the pie. It was delicious, the pastry flaky and the filling full of fruit and not overly sweet. 

“Ten minutes,” Natasha said, having pulled out her phone as the pie vanished from Steve's plate.

Five minutes later, Becky returned to the counter to find an empty plate, enough cash to cover the bill twice over, and a note.  

“Thanks for the pie - it was delicious. And thank you very much for the discretion. - Steve Rogers.”

Becky picked up the napkin, turning it over to find a note written on the other side. 

“For a picture of Steve Rogers eating apple pie, text the number below. If I'm going to use it to tease him, you should get it for publicity. NR”

And then, scrawled at the bottom of the napkin, “I like your hair too.”