#oh goodness… SO much MCU stuff

[audiovisualrecall]

My primeval special interest has been reawoken. My thoughts are like at least 80% about primeval. And dinosaurs. Yay! I missed having a special interest, I was so burned out by work that I only had hyperfixations that left me frustrated! Now I can just think about my favorite thing 24/7 even while I'm doing and thinking about other things and my brain gets happy brain chemicals from it! I want to write and feel like I could! I have energy! I have my comfort show! The only thing I'm sad about is some older fics have been deleted/wiped/lost which is sad, or at least I can't find them anymore with how fucked Google is. But besides that!!! Yay special interest!!!

[dem-obscure-imagines]

The Lighthouse Vol. 1

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Note: Howdy. Finally finished it. I really love how this one turned out. Very domestic fluff, forced proximity type stuff. Bob is so very dear to me, so I hope you enjoy it. I will also be posting this to my Ao3 for easier navigation; right here.

Summary: After the battle with Thanos, getting dusted for five years followed directly by another battle with Thanos, you were more than content living in your small, small town on the coast of Maine, overlooked by a beautiful lighthouse. Your life was perfect, you thought. Quiet, sure, but perfect. Until Bucky Barnes showed up on your doorstep with Bob Reynolds in tow.

Warnings: canon-typical drug mention (Bob’s former drug use), mental health discussion (but nothing super super serious; Bob has depression and Bipolar), little bit of canon-typical violence as a treat, some swearing.

Word Count: 29k (Split into Two Volumes, Vol. 2 here)

Reader Is: Female (only mentioned a few times, I think, I tried to be vague-ish), late-twenties

An Unexpected Bucky

“Crashing against him like…like a wave on the…no. No, that’s so bad,” You murmured to yourself, finger repeatedly tapping the backspace key. Maybe writing a book was harder than you thought it would be. How had Scott Lang pulled it off, you wondered. Granted, Scott’s book was an autobiography and you were dabbling in fiction, which was harder, you were sure.

You took a long sip of your drink. Something warm and caffeinated to power you through the next chapter or so, you hoped.

Outside, there were actual waves crashing against the actual shore, not too far from the little east coast house you called home. It was a dreary kind of day, the sky full of clouds. It wasn’t supposed to rain, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it did. You didn’t mind. The rain helped you think sometimes, and god knew you could use it.

Your eyes scanned the last paragraph you had, fingers itching for the next words. Sometimes, it was just so hard to let it flow. And you weren’t exactly in the ideal position to be writing a kissing scene, let alone anything steamier than that, given how long it had been since you’d partaken in any of those activities. Maybe you’d have to read some and come back to it.

Before you had the chance to decide, your phone rang.

You didn’t get many calls these days. Not important ones, anyway. Mostly spam concerning your car’s extended warranty or robo-calls from those scam Avengers Insurance agencies. No one was going to cover your car if it got smashed by the Incredible Hulk. That was merely a risk people took living in New York, you were afraid. It was why you’d moved away. You’d seen something on the news the other day about some new incident out that way. A giant, looming shadow that had been, miraculously defeated. Once you knew you didn’t need to head out to help, you’d turned it off. You hadn’t done much hero work lately; you were probably rusty anyway.

Instead, you’d picked a quiet life in Seaberg, Maine. Left New York and hadn’t looked back.

You picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, kid. Your doorbell still broken?”

“Congressman Barnes, good to hear from you. And yeah, I think it is. Why, do you know a guy?”

“Nah, but could you come open the door?”

Oh. That changed things. You slipped off of your barstool and straightened your shirt out, glancing down at yourself. Yeah, your oversized tee and your Stitch pajama pants would have to do, you supposed. You unlatched the door, undoing the three locks holding it shut and pulled it open to find Bucky, looking different than he’d looked in the news circuit since he’d been elected. A little rougher around the edges.

Still, he smiled when he saw you, pulling you in for a hug. “Hey. How are you doing?”

“I’m good, Bucky. How are you?”

He hesitated. “Loaded question. Can we come in?”

We? Sure enough, when he stepped to the side, he revealed another guy, standing there in his shadow, a mop of curly brown hair hiding some of his face. He waved, hand swallowed up by the sleeve of the sweater he was wearing. From underneath the curls, a pair of kind, curious eyes peered out. Harmless, you ruled. Utterly harmless.

“Hi there. Yeah, uh, come on in.”

The aforementioned guy followed Bucky into the house, dragging a small orange suitcase behind him. You raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. You knew answers were coming.

Bucky made himself comfortable. Opened your fridge, grabbed a bottle of beer from the door of it. Used that fancy vibranium arm to crack it open with a hiss.

“How’s Congress?” You asked, sitting back at your island.

He huffed a laugh. “Done with that now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was a quick term! What happened?”

“You been watching the news?”

“Here and there.” You shrugged, stirring your straw in your drink. You glanced at the guy again. At his suitcase. He wandered a little further into your house, drawn to your shelf of DVDs. “What’s going on?”

“You hear about the, uh…incident in New York last week?”

“Some of it. Shadow guy or something. Seemed like it was handled and I didn’t get a call, so I figured…”

Bucky tilted his head towards the guy, eyes saying everything his words didn’t.

Your eyebrows furrowed, glancing over at him. He was crouched in front of the shelf, reading the names of the movies off of the spines. Utterly, utterly harmless. And yet…

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. We’re renovating the Tower. He needs a place to lay low for a few weeks. I figured I’d see if you had any objections. I know you have a guest room.”

“The Tower? The Tower? What the hell…?” You knew you’d been checked out for a few weeks, but that was news.

“Yeah, so that’s the other bit.” Bucky took a sip from his beer. “We’re starting the team back up. We could use a healer, if you’re up for it. I know you seem very…comfortable here, but…” He pointed to the decor you had up. “It’s nice, by the way. Looks really nice.”

“Thanks.” You looked at the guy again, and he was looking back this time, sitting criss-cross on the floor in your living room. He gave a pleasant smile.

“I’m Bob, by the way. You’re (Y/N)?”

“Yep, I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you, Bob.” You turned back to Bucky. “Is he…like you used to be?”

“In a sense, yeah.” Bucky nodded. “We don’t know the extent of it, but you’re the expert.”

“No, the Wakandans were the experts. I was the contingency plan. You do know that, right?” It was true. They were the ones that had broken through Bucky’s mental conditioning. You were just there to put him to sleep. You were a healer, among other things. One of your abilities lulled people unconscious, which came in handy when the Winter Soldier was on a rampage.

“Well, I called. They’re kind of dealing with something over there. So…”

“I’m next on the phone tree. Well, I’m honored you thought of me. I haven’t heard from anyone since…well, since Tony’s funeral, really. We’re all scattered to the winds now.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I’m serious, though. They’re all very green. We could use someone with a little experience.” He said.

You exhaled a long breath, looking around at your things. Just pack it all up? Just leave? Snip the roots you’d put down and go? And then you looked at Bob again, who had moved on to inspect your collection of Wii games, nodding to himself as his eyes skimmed over Mario Galaxy and your Just Dance collection.

“Oh wow…” He murmured, looking impressed.

“I have a job here. I’d need someone to help me pack all this shit up. I’m not leaving my records and my Legos in Maine.”

“I’m sure Bob would love to help you downsize. He likes organizing stuff. And I’ll bring some help to get it all moved in two weeks.” Bucky offered, giving that little expectant look that you were sure had all the dames in the forties swooning over him. Yes, Bucky, whatever you say, Bucky. It was unfair, really. No wonder he’d won the election, even though you were pretty sure he’d killed JFK.

You gave another sigh. A more resigned sigh. You shook your head, not as your answer, but just in spite of yourself. Chuckled, even. “Yeah, alright, fine. I’ll put in my two weeks. And I’ll have a list of groceries I want in that pantry the second I step over that Tower threshold.”

He grinned. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Greener Pastures

You swore every cart in this grocery store had at least one shitty wheel. It was a rule of the universe, you were sure. Still, you steered the cart up and down the aisles, letting Bob guide you. Everything the two of you would need for the next two weeks. So far, this included lots of mac and cheese, some chips and queso, a bag of baby carrots and dip, a few assorted snacks, some microwave popcorn, and a package of Oreos.

“What kind of pasta do you like?” You asked, eyes scanning the shelf.

“I’m not picky about that kind of thing. The spirals are fun, though.”

“Spirals it is.” You put a few boxes in the cart.

After the grocery store, you stopped at the rundown little theater at the end of the main drag of town, where you worked. Bob followed you into the lobby, looking around at the old marquis mounted to the front of the concession stand. You marched over to the managers’ desk, where one of your favorites was on duty. Leah.

“You seeing something today?” she asked.

You shook your head, grimacing as you handed over the slip of paper that sealed the deal.

She frowned. “You’re kidding. No. Noooooo. This feels like divorce papers.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You shrugged, giving a sad little smile. “Greener pastures, I hope.”

“The bookstore poached you, didn’t they? I know you’ve been wanting a job there forever, but they’re never hiring.”

“Actually…I’m moving. It’s kind of last minute, but…I figured I’d put my two weeks in in case it doesn’t work out.”

Leah scoffed. “Pfft. Like we wouldn’t just hire you back anyway. You’ve been here for years.”

You nodded, glancing back at Bob, who was looking at the posters of upcoming movies. “Yeah. Feels like home here. But…I’ve gotta go back. I’ve been avoiding it too long.”

“Thought you’d say that. Well, I’ll let the GM know. Good luck with the move. I’m sure I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“Thanks. Come on, Bob. We’re all set here.”

“Alright.” He nodded, hands in his pockets, following you out the front doors. He climbed into the passenger seat of your car. You buckled up, turning the radio back on, adjusting the AC. The groceries were piled in the back seat, but nothing was frozen, so it was probably fine.

Out of the parking lot and onto the main drag of town, you passed several storefronts, people milling about, waving at each other. It was a small town. Everyone really did know everyone. And though you’d been an outsider when you’d moved there, you weren’t anymore. Instead, you had some friends, you’d like to think. Members of the community who you depended on for certain things.

The guy you bought your chives from at the farmer’s market, the old lady that ran the used bookstore, the guy at the record place who held the really cool ones until you got a look.

“This place is really nice.” Bob said quietly, watching the windows go by. “A lot of flowers here. Cool lighthouse.”

“It is. It gets really touristy in the summer, but…you came at a nice, quiet time.” You said, putting your blinker on and making a turn. “Anything else you need while we’re out?”

He shook his head. “I brought most of it. Thank you, though. For the groceries and stuff.”

“I was getting low.” You shrugged. Your modesty didn’t seem to get rid of the smile on his face, though.

Once you were back home, he helped carry the groceries in. The guy was…well, stronger than he looked, frankly. Bucky hadn’t explained everything there was hiding beneath his surface, left a lot of that for you to figure out, but you could add super strength to that growing list. With everything brought inside, you showed him up to the guest room so he could get settled while you put everything away.

It was a small room, the walls painted blue. There was a framed painting of a lighthouse you’d gotten at an art fair the previous summer, a set of dark blue sheets and a plush comforter. There was a small TV perched on the edge of a mahogany dresser. It had been decently cheap secondhand due to the large scratch on one of the legs.

“There’s a bathroom through that door there. I’ll show you how to use the shower. Feel free to put stuff in the drawers, I don’t care. And if you get cold, there are blankets tucked in the hope chest at the end of the bed.” You said, pulling open the lid to show him.

He nodded, committing the information to memory. You showed him the shower, like you promised, which was relatively straightforward compared to other models you’d operated, and then left him to his unpacking, heading downstairs.

It didn’t take long to put everything away. In fact, by the time you were done, the water on the stove had just started to boil. You poured in a box of mac and cheese. The noodles cooked, you drained them after, and added them back to the pot with some butter, milk, the cheese powder, and a hearty spoonful of queso, stirring it all together.

“That smells really good.” Bob smiled, padding down the stairs, hair wet from a shower. He had changed into yet another oversized sweater. You were beginning to think that suitcase of his was just full of them.

“It’s just mac and cheese. Thought I’d keep it simple for night one.” You replied, sliding the pot off the hot burner, turning the dial down. You handed him a bowl and a spoon, serving yourself first and leaving him more than half of the pot.

You walked down the step and a half into your living room, flicking on the TV. There was a channel that just ran animated movies all day. You didn’t have the full rundown on Bob or whatever trauma was hidden behind those kind, sad eyes, but kids’ movies were usually a safe bet with most folks, so you let it run. You figured he’d let you know if Monsters Inc. was too intense for him.

For the most part, you ate in silence, the sounds of your forks on the ceramic bowls quietly percussing in the small room. You wanted to say something, but didn’t know where to start with…all that, so you didn’t.

When the bowls were empty, you took them back to the kitchen, slipping them in the dishwasher. You soaked the pot, returned to the couch. It occurred to you that you should put some time into finishing your projects. The crafts you had been putting off. Some of them probably wouldn’t survive the move to the big city. Well, that, and you’d lose all motivation once you set foot beyond the confines of Maine. Your giant crochet blanket was as good a place to start as any.

You pulled it out of the storage ottoman in front of your armchair, setting to work. It was a nice, thick blanket, made of giant, fluffy yarn. The hook you were using for it was a massive plastic one, rather than a smaller, traditional one. 

Bob glanced over at you every once in a while, curious. “Is that knitting or crochet?”

“This is crochet,” you explained, holding up the stitches as though it would help. “Knitting is two sticks, crochet is just one. I can do both, but…honestly, crochet is kind of easier. It works up faster, too. But knitting is better if you want something…more substantial. Like socks or something. Tighter, closer stitches.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen yarn that big,” he said with a chuckle, looking at it.

“They call this ‘blanket yarn.’ It’s the big guns.”

“I can see why. Does that take long?”

“If you keep at it? No. But I am a master procrastinator, so…you’re gonna see me do a lot of random hobbies these next couple weeks, get everything wrapped up.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

You worked for a while longer before you noticed him shaking a little. You glanced over, eyes scanning him for symptoms. You didn’t mean to; it was the healer in you. Finding a problem, fixing it.

“You okay?”

“’M fine.” He reassured, offering a soft but unconvincing smile. He considered for a moment before trying again. “I, uh…get the shakes at night. I’m okay. They’ve been better lately.”

You put the blanket aside, putting in a stitch marker. “Can I try something?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, uh, sure. Yeah. Try…what, exactly?”

“Did Bucky tell you what I do?”

He shook his head, curls waving in front of his face, making him look so soft and small.

“I used to be the healer on the team. It’s why he left you with me. Come sit here.” You pushed the ottoman further away from the armchair, patting the cushioned seat. He obliged, getting up and crossing the room, sitting there, gazing up at you with those curious eyes. You sat on the chair just behind him. “I’m gonna touch you a little, okay? Let me know if it’s too much and I’ll stop. People find it overwhelming sometimes.”

“O-okay.” He nodded, shoulders hunched.

You watched the way his muscles seized ever so slightly. Tensing and untensing. Withdrawal, for sure. He was probably a few weeks clean. From what, it wasn’t your place to ask. But you could help, at the very least.

Deep breath in. 

You focused, reaching in for the first time in a long time. A gentle white glow bloomed from your chest, your palms. Sometimes you forgot how bright you were. Other times, your inner light was stretched across the ceiling, dancing like an aquarium. 

You reached out, hands extended, smoothing across Bob’s shrouded shoulders, down his arms. The moment you made contact, he let out a long breath, head falling back as he looked up at the reflections of your light, blocked only by the imprint of his shadow. His tremors stopped, muscles relaxing.

“Ohhh.” He exhaled, melting beneath your touch as your hands worked, fingers digging into the knots on his back, the tension around his neck. The energy combined with your expert touch was enough to put even the Winter Soldier on his ass. Speaking from experience.

After a few minutes, you pulled back, letting your glow fade back to neutral.

“Better?”

“How’d you…do that?” He murmured. He wasn’t shaking anymore, eyes scanning down his arms, honed in on his fingers.

“Lots of practice. It’s not a permanent fix, but it’ll help you sleep, at least.” You promised, getting up from the armchair and walking around to get a look at his face. His eyes were half-lidded, that soft, sleepy smile cemented onto his features, it would seem.

He nodded, taking a long breath and letting it roll out of him. “Thank you. For that. For…everything, really. It was really nice of you to let me stay here. You definitely didn’t have to, having it just kind of sprung on you like that.”

You shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. If you need more, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll do this for you every night if you need it.”

He chuckled, tilting his head, catlike amusement on his face. “Don’t tempt me with a good time. That was…wow. I’ve never been to a massage place or anything, but I have to imagine that’s five-star service right there.”

You laughed at that. A genuine, honest-to-god laugh. Huh. That was new.

“Anyway, I think I’m gonna head up for the night while I’m still all drowsy and stuff. Don’t wanna blow it.” He stood, straighter than he had the whole time he’d been there. He was kinda tall, apparently.

“Have a good night, Bob. My room is just down the hall if you need anything.”

He smiled. “Alright.”

And as he walked up the stairs to the second floor, it occurred to you that…maybe having a roommate wouldn’t be so bad. Honestly…maybe you’d been kind of lonely? All this time? Odd how that happened.

Well, one way or the other, you had one now. With any luck, the two of you would make it through the next thirteen days unscathed.

I mean, one could hope, right?

Local Honey

You made a concerted effort to wake up a little earlier the next morning. You didn’t know what time Bob would, and you didn’t want him to be alone on his first morning there, so you got out of bed, got dressed for work, and sat at the island in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal, typing away on your laptop.

He didn’t come down until ten or so, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was wearing a pair of pajamas with fish on them. You couldn’t help but chuckle a little. This was supposed to be the most dangerous guy in the world? You didn’t buy it.

“Good morning.” You said, giving a welcoming smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a rock. Those waves outside are something, huh? Like a free noise machine.” He stretched, yawning. He opened the cupboards, looking for breakfast. He found it relatively quickly, picking a packet of oatmeal. He explored a little, looking in the other cabinets until he found a bowl and a spoon. “Can I use this honey?”

“Mmhmm, go for it.” You nodded. “I get it at the farmer’s market. The guy who does it is local. It’s supposed to be good for your allergies, eating local honey. Gets you used to the pollen or something.”

He brightened at that factoid. “I never knew that! Makes sense, though.” He stirred the oatmeal mix together with some water and popped it into the microwave to thicken. Once it came out, he drizzled some honey on top along with some banana slices. “Can I sit with you?”

“You don’t have to ask. Make yourself at home,” you said. “Sit where you want, eat what you want. If we run out of something, we can just go get more. That said, I have work at noon. I’ll be back sometime around six. Are you gonna be okay here alone?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He nodded, making a perfect scoop of his oatmeal. “Do you want me to do anything while you’re gone? Like…laundry or something?”

“No, that’s okay. Thank you, though. I should get my schedule today, too, so we can figure out how much I work these next few weeks. Shouldn’t be much. It’s been really slow.”

“Seems like a fun job. Movie theater.”

“It is. I get free posters. Free tickets. Half-off snacks. It’s a decent gig. Doesn’t pay much, but…”

“I get it. I was a sign-spinning chicken as a summer job.” He confessed, giving a self-depreciating chuckle. “So, you know…”

“Sounds warm.”

“It was. A very sweaty experience.” He shrugged, face morphing into that little earnest smile of his. “I’d much rather scoop popcorn, I think.”

***

And scoop popcorn you did. Work was rather uneventful. Slow as all hell, in other words. Nothing good was out, so your only customers were a handful of old ladies trying to haggle for a lower ticket price, which was not how that worked at all.

“Heard you put in your two weeks,” one of the managers said. “Why’s that?”

“Going back to New York. One of my friends,” Bucky Barnes, aka the former Winter Soldier, “is…looking for a new roommate,” healer for his new Avengers lineup “and…I’ve missed it, I guess.” You said with a shrug. 

You didn’t miss the city. You did miss…being part of something. Now that the seed had been planted in your head, and you’d slept on it, you were coming around on it. Living in the tower. Having a built-in…family, or something similar. A team, at the very least. And Bob was nice. You hoped the others would be the same, whoever they were. You still refused to read up on it, for fear of psyching yourself out of it.

After work, you hit a drive-thru and headed home, setting the bag and two drinks on the island. You almost did a double-take when you saw the shoes in front of the door until you remembered you had a house guest.

“Bob! I got dinner!”

He came around the corner, grinning. His sweater of the day was green. It suited him. He eyed up the bag on the counter. “I could have made us something.”

You ignored the flutter your heart did when he said that. You couldn’t remember the last time a man had offered to cook for you, in any sense of the word. “Oh, that’s okay. I never feel up to it after work, so I just figured…”

“Nuggets?”

“I got ranch and barbeque.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

“How was your day? Get up to anything fun in my absence?”

“Nah, not really. Just explored the house a little. Watched a movie. You have a lot of board games.”

“I collect Monopoly boards. I collect a lot of things, actually, which is going to be our main project…starting tomorrow. I need to sit down.”

“Long day?”

“Boring day. Thursdays are always slow as hell.” You replied, kicking your shoes off. You walked out into the living room, setting up a pair of TV trays, for once grateful that you had more than one. “What do you want to watch?”

“Oh, I don’t really care. You can put on whatever.” Bob sat down in front of one of the trays, pulling his feet under his legs as you distributed the food. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Yeah, of course. I should have texted, but then I realized when I clocked out that I don’t have your phone number.”

“I don’t have a phone. They said they’d get me one when I go back.” He said softly, as though he didn’t believe the words. You wondered why.

“Ah. Gotcha, okay.” You nodded. “I can set up my iPad here. Text it from my phone. And you can use it to message me back.”

At that, he gave a genuine smile. “Yeah, that works. Thank you.”

“Quit thanking me. I’m just trying to be a good host to my guest.”

He chuckled, shrugging. “Right. I’m just not used to it, is all.”

You could tell he meant it. And it broke your heart. You didn’t know what all he’d been through on his way to you, but you knew this boy was not used to kindness, even though he had all the kindness in the world tucked behind those sparkling eyes.

“Get used to it.”

“Okay, deal.”

***

That night, you were a little restless. One of those nights where you just toss and turn, and then readjust your blankets, flip your pillow, and toss and turn some more. But you swore, one of those times, when you sat up and opened your eyes just the tiniest bit, that there was a shadow, looming in the corner of your room.

Two glowing yellow eyes.

When you lit your hand—a common alternative to a flashlight, in your case—there was no one there. Just a hoodie hanging over your closet door.

So you laid down and went to sleep.

Knight of Cups

Rain pitter-pattered steadily on the roof the next morning. Dreary gray skies floated beyond your fluttering curtains. The perfect day to stay inside. Really, the perfect day to begin the impossible journey of weeding out the junk in your house.

You got dressed, pulling on a striped shirt and a pair of overalls with a bee embroidered into the denim. That, you’d done yourself. You let your anchor necklace settle between your collarbones, adjusting it with your fingers before heading downstairs.

It took a while for Bob to come down. He gave a sleepy little chuckle, hoping to distract from the bags beneath his eyes. It didn’t work. But you didn’t ask questions. You had to trust him to come to you if he needed help.

The two of you ate breakfast. He kept fixating on your honeybee and he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face, that soft, soft look in his eyes.

“I did it myself. The bee. Embroidered it.”

His smile widened. “Really? You embroider?”

“Not a lot, but yeah. Got a kit on clearance at the craft store.”

“It looks great. I couldn’t even tell.” He murmured, eyes sliding from the bee up to meet yours. “Looks super professional. What, uh…what’s the plan today?”

“I figured we’d tackle that bookshelf first. The big one.”

“Aye aye.” He took your empty plate and rinsed it off, setting it in the dishwasher.

You got your hair out of the way and walked over to said bookshelf, planting yourself in front of it, hands on your hips, eyes scanning the spines. It was a large shelf, had come with the house. It was made of an old rowboat. Wide and sturdy, absolutely filled with books, almost floor to ceiling. Not to mention the knickknacks scattered about. The stray Funko Pop or action figure.

A tiny plastic Winter Soldier stood guard in front of your leatherbound copy of the Hobbit. Bucky would get a kick out of that.

“Where do we start?” Bob asked, suddenly behind you.

You jolted a little, turning to look at him, hand slapped over your heart. You chuckled a little. “Jeez, you’re quiet.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You grinned, turning back to the shelf. “I’ll, uh…go grab some boxes. I think we’ll just stick to the classic keep, trash, donate. You can start taking stacks of them off the shelf and I’ll start sorting.”

“Got it.”

The two of you split. You rummaged around in a closet and found some empty tubs, dragging them back out to the living room, where Bob was stacking books on the coffee table for your consideration. He stopped in his tracks, wound up for a second, and then sneezed like a kitten.

Most dangerous man in the world my ass. “Sorry. It’s probably pretty dusty over there. I’m not great at staying on top of it.”

“’S fine.” He rubbed the end of his nose, scrunching it in an attempt to get his sinuses back in order. “You got a lot of, uh…vampire romance there.”

“I had a phase.” You chuckled, scooping most of them into the donation box. You saved a few of the good ones, though. It continued like that, Bob bringing you an armful of books at a time and you would split them up accordingly.

“Aww, man, Animorphs, I used to read these all the time!” He grinned, looking at the art on one of the covers, finger tracing over Rachel’s transformation into a starfish.

“You can have them if you want. I’ve only got a handful and they’re all out of order. I never did read them all.”

“You mean that?”

“Yeah, knock yourself out. I’ll get another box.” You said with a grin, walking out of the room with yet another box that you set in the corner of the room. You used a piece of tape and a Sharpie to label it BOB, which he grinned at, setting the small set of paperbacks inside.

“So uh…How do you know Bucky?”

“Old friend.” You replied, gathering your words as you flipped through a pile of murder mysteries, choosing to part with most of them. “He, uh…right, so…Sam found me, actually. Sam Wilson. Scouted me out back in…well, it was before the blip. Bucky was brainwashed by HYDRA and worked for them for a while. So I was there to…put him to sleep, basically. I can’t undo brainwashing, but I can mellow someone out.”

“Yeah, you’re good at that. Damn near knocked me out with it.” He said with a chuckle.

“I was hitting you with Level 2 waves. When I get up to like a 5 or so, it would indeed knock you out.” You replied, meeting his eyes. “So yeah, I went with Bucky to Wakanda while they untangled his mind, in case things got out of hand. Fought Thanos, got dusted, and then everyone split up and it’s been radio silence since then. I keep tabs, but…not enough, I guess.”

“And that’s why they sent me here, then, I’m guessing. So…you can knock me out if I…you know…if the other guy makes an appearance…?” Bob asked softly. You could tell it had been on his mind.

“Other guy?” You asked, genuinely baffled for a moment until you remembered his shadowy counterpart. The one you’d seen on the news. The floating black silhouette with the cape and the glowing eyes. The one who was supposedly standing right in front of you. “Right. I mean, I guess so. I also just like to think I’m good company.”

You shuffled through another few stacks of books, sorting through things. Books you were never going to read, books you had read and didn’t like very much, all went into the donation box. Maybe you were in the mood for it, or maybe you really were more of a pack rat than you’d previously thought, but it was…easy to part with a lot of it now, with either hindsight or the free time to finally go through it.

Every once a while, you’d walk over and set one in Bob’s box, stuff you thought he would like, but he spent some time in front of the donation box, too, picking things out for himself. It brought a smile to your face, him crouched there, searching for treasures.

“Tell me about yourself.” You said suddenly.

“What do you…want to know?” Bob asked, sitting himself down cross-legged on the carpet. “I don’t know much about my…powers or…”

“Oh, no no no. Tell me about…you. Like, um…what’s your favorite color? Favorite movie? That kinda stuff.”

“Oh. Uh, blue. And Finding Nemo. I…grew up in Florida. I hate rollercoasters. I threw up in a haunted house one time. I’m afraid of heights. I like sitcoms, but I have trouble remembering stuff that happened in the early seasons. I like to read. Hence the uh, stack I’m collecting here. I hope you’re not donating these anywhere important. I’m poaching all your good picks.”

“Nah, take whatever you want. The rest are going to the used bookstore in town. She gives store credit for them, so we can pick up one or two new ones while we’re there, if you see anything you like.” You reassured him.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Favorite color, movie, all that stuff.” Bob insisted, eyes glimmering.

“Yellow. Movie is tough. I love a lot of movies. Probably Howl’s Moving Castle right now.” You replied, grabbing the last of the books from the shelf. You tucked the Hobbit along with the tiny Bucky into the Keep box. You’d give them to him when he came back. “I’m from New York. Lived there most of my life. I like the quiet life, though. The waves on the shore, the familiar faces. In a big city, everyone blends. You’re the tiniest drop in the biggest bucket. But here…I could go down a whole row of shops and tell you the names of every shopkeep. I know all the old ladies in the farmers’ market.”

He nodded like you’d said something profound. “I…yeah. That drop in the bucket stuff. I get that. I like it here, too. Little town. It’s easier to…breathe.” He turned one of the books over, reading the back of it before tucking it into his box. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off of his face, looking at his haul. It made your chest warm. “Thanks for these. And don’t tell me not to thank you because these are a gift, not standard host stuff. I’m allowed to thank you for that.”

You laughed, nodding. “Alright, fair. And you’re welcome. We might need to get you a bigger box. I’ve got a lot of shit in this house. I have no doubt you’ll pick up some more trinkets by the time we leave.”

He grinned. “Promise?”

***

Once the books were sorted, Bob helped you load the boxes of outgoing copies into the back of your car. He was…stronger than he looked. You tried not to read too much into it. You didn’t want him to think you were sizing him up as a threat. You were sure those looks were the ones he was hoping to escape in your middle-of-nowhere little town.

It wasn’t a long drive. Just a few minutes down the road, further down the coast. You parallel parked with ease.

“Okay, now that is a superpower.” Bob said, impressed. “I’ve never seen anyone do it that easily before.”

“I’ll give you some pointers before we leave.” You chuckled, slipping out of your seat and checking both ways before stepping into the street, walking around to the trunk of the car and grabbing a box. Bob followed you through the front door, the little bell above the door jingling as you did.

Inside, was the coziest bookstore in the world, to be sure. Suncatchers in the windows reflected little rainbows on every surface. It was low-lit, but fairy lights and a handful of lanterns made up for it, illuminating the place with a glow that could only be explained as magic, you were sure.

The shopkeep was an eccentric old lady named Earlene, who had a beaded glasses strap hanging around her neck. She was wearing a loose tie-dye blouse and more rings than you could count, big giant hoop earrings attached to her ears.

She was who you wanted to be when you grew up.

“Well, if it isn’t our glowing girl herself. How the hell are you, (Y/N)?” Earlene asked, motioning you into the shop, arms open wide. You set your box on the counter, slipping around the side of it to hug her.

“Doing great, Earlene. Brought some new stock for you.”

“I see that. You cleaning house or what?”

“Something like that. Heading back to New York for a while, I think.” You confessed, putting it out in the open. Ripping it off like a Band-Aid.

She frowned at that, shaking her head. “Damn. It’s always the good ones. You’re gonna visit, though? My niece got me on that…Instagram.”

“Oh, I will add you for sure.” You promised. “And I’m sure I’ll visit.” There was some rustling behind you, Bob looking at the shelf of classics.

Earlene pointed with a manicured finger. “Is this one the boyfriend?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No. There is no boyfriend.”

“Well, there should be. You’re a beautiful young lady and you aren’t getting any younger.” She said, earning a laugh from your companion, who set the box of books he had on the floor in front of the counter.

“Earlene, this is Bob. Bob, this is Earlene.”

“Think of me as the town wine aunt. Well, great-aunt now, I suppose. I’m not getting any younger, either.”

“She hosts Tipsy Tarot nights once a month.”

“And I promise you, honey, that Knight of Cups is coming in any day now.”

You scoffed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I like your shop.” Bob said, pointing to the lights. “Really cool vibes in here.”

“Well, thank you, Bob. Take a look around. With all these books (Y/N) is unloading, you can take at least a few.” She said with a grin.

“I’ll go get the last box.” You volunteered, heading back outside to get the last one out of the trunk. When you returned, Bob was crouched in front of the classics shelf, looking at the cover of something. Frankenstein, you were pretty sure.

Earlene motioned you over towards the counter with a curled finger, beckoning, not unlike a witch in a children’s fairytale. You followed anyway, standing behind the counter with her. She took one of your hands in hers, reaching into her pocket to hand you a small, rectangular box. You knew from the cover art alone what it was. A tarot deck. A classic, vintage, Rider-Waite tarot deck.

“Earlene, I can’t, this is—”

“This has been sitting behind that glass counter for years, hon. Trust me. No one in this town wants it. Take it to the big city with you. Find your Knight. They say it’s good luck to have your first deck given to you.”

You held it carefully, turning it over to look at the other side. Warmth welled up in your chest, and a soft little sigh was all you could do to stop it from welling up in your eyes as well.

“Thank you. I’ll treasure them.” You promised.

Earlene squeezed your hands, getting a little misty herself. “I know you will. Now, you better be good in that city, glowing girl. I don’t want to see you on the news.”

Bob laughed at that and you shook your head, giving a sardonic little smile. “No promises.”

***

You sat on the living room floor that night, doing a facemask when Bob walked into the room, fiddling hands swallowed up by the soft cotton of his sweater. Rain pitter-pattered on the roof still. Light and delicate. He tilted his head, looking at you curiously.

“You’re green.”

You giggled, nodding. “I am. Clay mask. I’m not huge on the skincare stuff, but it helps sometimes, with all this salty sea air.”

He reached up and rubbed his face. “Huh. Should I be doing that too? Not important. Anyway, uh, I was just, uhhhhh…” He paused for a long time. You could practically see the dialogue options scrolling behind his eyes before he finally settled on one. “Heading up to bed.”

“Okay. Good night. Let me know if you need anything.” You told him, almost expectant for him to say more.

He didn’t though, just nodded, gave that soft sleepy smile, and said, “Goodnight.” He padded up the stairs back to his room. You listened to the rain in his absence, staring up the dark hallway, watching as the light clicked on and then off again. You smiled softly.

You hoped he was finding some peace and quiet in your little town, even if it was just for a little while.

The Beacon

The rain put you out like a light that night. You slept in the next morning for the first time in what felt like forever, woke up peacefully to the birds chirping, sunlight stretched across your pillowcase.

Something sizzled in the distance. Smelled like breakfast. You grinned, slipping out of bed and getting dressed before wandering down the stairs. Bob was indeed standing at the stove, cracking an egg into a sizzling hot pan. You watched as he scrambled them, stirring them around with a fork. He wasn’t super confident with the movements, but he was doing good.

He glanced up at you as you stepped down into the room, eyes almost glittering as he took you in. “Morning. Just making us some breakfast. I’m not much of a cook, but I can make eggs.” He hissed as he lost focus, hand grazing the edge of the hot pan. When he pulled it away to look, though, there was…nothing. No redness, no burn. Just his hand, as it was before. Odd, you thought.

“Does it hurt?” You asked, taking a step closer.

He shrugged. Lied. “A little.”

You reached out, letting your glowing palm smooth over the spot, giving him the tiniest bit of energy out of habit, clearing up the pain as easily as someone wiping a whiteboard.

He smiled a slow and earnest smile, those thick eyelashes fluttering down over his ocean eyes. “Thanks. Cool trick.”

“No problem. Thanks for breakfast.”

He chuckled and gave a shrug, stirring the eggs around again. Once they were cooked, he plated them up, bringing them over to the table and setting them on your thrifted placemats. You sprinkled some salt and pepper on yours, sipping some morning tea.

“Hey, um…I saw on the calendar you work tomorrow. I can cook dinner, if you want. So it’s nice and warm when you get back. I make a mean pasta.” He offered, poking his eggs with a fork. He bit his lip, eyes locked on the edge of the plate, flicking up to yours after a long moment.

You smiled, nodding. “We can go to the farmer’s market today, get some veggies.”

His face broke into a grin. “I’d love that.”

***

You led Bob up the rows of local vendors, pulling a little wagon behind you. He browsed thoroughly, hands playing with the ends of his sleeves. You picked out your favorites at the honey stand, a few more bottles than you usually did. The old man who ran it, Mr. McAllister, raised a bushy gray eyebrow.

“Stocking up there, (Y/N)?”

“I’m moving back to New York, actually.” You explained, giving a shrug. “So I’ll need some for the road.”

He frowned, but added another jar of honey to your bag with a wink. “On the house. Safe travels.”

You smiled softly. “Thank you.”

It was like that at every booth.

The guys you bought your chives and onions from with the awesome handlebar mustaches. The girl at the crochet booth. The longest stop was at the tea booth you so adored. The middle-aged woman that ran the booth motioned you closer, slipping a brown beaded bracelet off of her wrist and onto yours.

“Tiger’s Eye. For good luck in the big city.” She said.

You gave her hand a squeeze, thanking her for it. It was always the small town ladies that turned out to be witches, but the magic was appreciated nonetheless.

And as much as the locals loved you, they also loved Bob. He wandered the booths, asking questions, weighing tomatoes in his hands, feeling them to find the good ones. The Chive Brothers gave him a chive to chew on, which he did, munching it like a farmer with a piece of straw.

“Is this the boyfriend?” The old lady selling earrings with her granddaughter asked, motioning to Bob, who was asking the honey vendor about his bees.

You shook your head, watching him fondly. It wasn’t impossible to see why they’d think so. Especially when he turned around to catch your eyes from across the aisle. He pointed excitedly to some candles made from beeswax.

You grinned and followed him over, putting a hand on his arm to let him know you were standing there.

“They’re made of the beeswax they collect.” He said with a grin. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just thought it was cool.”

“You want one?”

His eyebrows shot up, looking like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “What? Oh, no. I’m fine. I…I don’t have…”

Bob had come into your home with that suitcase and only that suitcase. He didn’t have any money on him. Didn’t even have an ID. You still weren’t sure what to make of him, where he’d come from, what he’d been through to get to you. And of course, Bucky was never one for thorough explanations.

Without missing a beat, you looked at the candles on the table. “Well, what scent do you want?”

“You don’t have to…you’ve already done so much for me, it’s just a silly candle.”

You shrugged, handing Mr. McAllister a ten dollar bill. “Well, then tell him which one you want.”

Bob rolled his eyes, a reluctant grin tugging at the edge of his lip. “Alright, fine. I’ll take the eucalyptus one, please.”

***

The foghorn blared across the waves, the sound of it echoing for miles. In the distance, the lighthouse, spinning like a top, around and around and around. Its light stretched into the fog, arms reaching out towards the harbor. One big ship slugged through, crawling. A towering shadow. Two discernible lights roved. Like eyes.

You sat on the back deck, watching, knees curled up to your chest, chin resting there. You were glowing at a Level 3. White, dancing light, licking at your form like flames. Rainbows refracted on the beechwood railing. You took a long breath, letting it roll out of you, floating off into the fog.

The back door squeaked as it slid open and you turned, light dampening back to neutral.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You were…glowing.” Bob said, planted in his spot just inside the doorway.

“I do that sometimes, yeah.” You turned your head, ear tucked against your knees. “Wanna sit, or…just stand there?”

He chuckled, walking out onto the deck and sitting next to you on the back step. “Do you, uh…glow often?”

“Sometimes. I get headaches if I hold it in.”

Bob nodded. “Bucky called you Beacon. Kinda thought he said ‘bacon,’ actually. But…Beacon, like…lighthouse?”

You met his eyes, amusement flickering across your face. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

His curls rustled as he shook his head. “No, not really. I mean, I know the stuff you told me about like…helping Bucky and stuff, but…”

“The name didn’t really stick. Beacon. It was all we could come up with. I had a shirt with a lighthouse on it and…that was that.” You explained.

“So, you’re named after the shirt? Just like…”

“Well, I glow, too. Pretty bright, if I get all worked up. I, uh…live this close to one in case of that, actually. If I needed to get away. Glow super bright. Far enough away from people, hidden in plain sight. That, and the rent is super cheap because of the—” The foghorn blared, causing you to chuckle, pointing vaguely in that direction. “That. Because of that.”

He laughed, nodding. “Good trade-off, I’d say.”

You stared at the swivelling light. The other beacon. “I hope you never have to see me like that.”

He looked bewildered. “Why?”

“Well, it’s…kind of blinding, really. Like staring at the sun.” You breathed. “My lower glow is healing and gentle. When I’m all bright like that, it…hurts people.”

“Bad people, though.” Bob thought about it for a long moment. “I think it’d be kinda pretty. Like…well, like a lighthouse.” He shrugged. “We’ve gotta find you a better name than Beacon, though.”

A laugh bubbled from your lips. “We’ve got some time to workshop it.”

The Stray

There was nothing you enjoyed less than trying to explain ticket prices to old people. If your theater ran a promotion one time, they’d come around expecting that price forever because of an ad they saw on Facebook. And you’d had that conversation about twelve times that day. In addition to being yelled at because a boomer got confused over which theater he was supposed to be in. You were right. He was wrong. But that never seemed to matter in the end; not to them.

You ducked into the backroom and sent a text to your iPad, checking in on Bob. It was the longest day you’d left him alone for. A 9 to 6.

“Hey, buddy. Everything good at home?”

You didn’t see his reply until a few hours later, when it was slow enough to slip into the back again.

“I am good :) See u for dinner :P Bring your appetite, glowy lady.”

You laughed, unable to wipe the smile off your face as you typed your reply. “Is ‘glowy lady’ an official name pitch or…?”

And he sent back, “Do u not like it? :(”

Giggling, you typed another quick text. “I’ll add it to the list for consideration.”

One of your coworkers pushed through the swinging door between the counter and the backroom, looking you over. “You back on the apps again?”

“Huh? No. Why?” You replied, clicking the phone off and tucking it into your back pocket again.

“I haven’t seen you grin at your phone like that since you were dating. You got a hot date tonight or something?”

A warm flush spread across your cheeks, down your neck. “Nah, my, uh, houseguest is making dinner tonight. That’s all. He’s funny.”

“Funny, huh?”

“Yeah, funny. Sweet.” You shrugged, ignoring the swarm of butterflies that had kicked up in your stomach. Swirling and swirling.

“How’d you meet this guy again?”

“Friend of a friend.”

“Sounds like more than that now.”

A smile tugged at your lip, unable to defend yourself, really. “Getting there.”

***

You pulled into your driveway at a crisp 6:15, and for the first time in a long time, your house smelled like home. You opened the door, kicking your shoes onto the mat.

Bob was standing at the stove, using a wooden spatula to stir together a pasta dish in a casserole pan, chopping up chunks of softened cheese and stirring it in with the cooked tomatoes and herbs.

“Almost done over here.” He said over his shoulder. “How was work?”

“Long. And bad, also. Lots of cranky customers. I’m better now, though. That smells good as hell.”

“It’s not hard. I can teach you.” He poured the noodles into the dish and stirred them in the sauce, making sure everything was coated.

You watched him move, a fond smile crossing your face. He was wearing your apron, his hair tied back in a scrunchie you’d left in the living room, the ends sticking out all choppy because of the length.

And it was wrong. It was so wrong, but you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining walking up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, and burying your face in his shoulder. You tried to convince yourself it was because you’d been living alone for so long. You’d been single for so long, but the truth was, it was just something about him. Those soft eyes. He looked at you like you were glowing all the time. Like you were made of starlight.

But you doubted Bob was in the headspace for that kind of thing. Which is what made it feel so wrong.

He scooped out two bowls, motioning to the table he’d set with your leftover Halloween napkins and a few forks. You grabbed a drink from the fridge and slipped into the seat across from him.

“How was your day?”

Bob smiled, giving a shaky shrug. “Fine. It was good. Got some reading done. Kept hearing something by the back door, but I went to check, and I didn’t see anything.”

“Mmm, I’ll check it out later.”

“I know I keep saying it, but, uh, it’s really, uh…really nice here.” Bob said, poking around his pasta. He took a bite, smiling shyly.

“It is, isn’t it?” You ate some, too, the taste of the homemade sauce enveloping your tongue. “This is really good. Thank you for cooking for me.”

“Yeah, of course. You, uh…had a lot to work with. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a…fridge full of food.” He said it so easily, but you could tell he meant it. That made it sadder, you were sure.

You didn’t know what to say to that, eyebrows furrowing together.

He saved you the trouble. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine. I know how that…sounds. I…I’m doing a lot better now.” He took a long breath, holding it before letting it out. His eyes slid across the wall, over a cross-stitch tapestry of a pirate ship. “I like it here.”

“We can still visit. I’m planning on leaving some of the essentials here. We might need a safe house every now and again. I like it here, too.”

He seemed to make peace with that. That he could come back. “Cool. I’d like that.”

After dinner, you boxed up the leftovers, a little less than half the pan, and helped with the dishes. Bob wiped down the counters, stopping when he heard something outside the side door. He turned, peering out the window.

“I don’t see anything, but I swear I hear a—”

Bob was interrupted by a crisp Meow.

You smiled, turning away from the sink and walking over towards the cupboard, opening it to reveal a container of kibble. You scooped a heaping cup of it and opened the door, motioning Bob over. “You’re not allergic, right?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

You pulled the door open and there he was, Reginald the Lighthouse Keeper, the local stray. Immediately, he was against your ankles, rubbing his little cheeks against whatever skin he could find. You reached down, scratching behind his ears as he meowed insistently.

“I know, I know.” You walked out onto the step, pouring kibble into his little metal bowl, sheltered from the somewhat frequent rain by the awning above the door. “Here you go.”

“Whoooo is thisss???” Bob asked, face awash with affection as he looked down at the skinny orange cat with the big brown eyes, eagerly gobbling up the kibble.

You snatched up the second bowl, walking into the kitchen to get him fresh water from the sink and returned to find Bob crouched there, petting him, cooing babytalk. “That’s Reginald. He’s the local stray. Beloved pillar of the community.”

“Why doesn’t anyone take him in?”

“Oh, we’ve all tried. He doesn’t want it. Prefers to wander. But we all take care of him, make sure he’s not…eating too many birds, you know. And the local vet keeps him up to date on his shots.”

Bob pet him, hands confident for perhaps the first time since you’d met him, from his head, down to his tail, the end of it curling around his wrist. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “I love cats.”

“I think he loves you.” You grinned, leaning against the doorway. It was true. Reginald purred like a motor, leaning into Bob’s palms, nudging against his hand any time he dared to stop his motions.

“Animals are like that, you know. Just…bottomless, unconditional love. He just met me and already, he loves me.” Bob chuckled, petting his little head. “It’s hard not to love them right back.”

That was how you were starting to feel about Bob, really. You just met him. And yet…

Nothing Scary

It was another quiet day in Seaberg. After breakfast, you stood in the living room, stretching out your back and staring at the shelf where you kept all your records. Surely some of them could go, right?

“Records, huh? You have a lot of them.”

“Yeah, I’m a pack rat. We can do my CDs today, too. Maybe the DVDs.”

“Big day.” Bob nodded, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. “Let’s do it.”

You pulled out each milk crate, evaluating each album with care as you sorted them. These were a lot harder to part with, but you did find a few that you didn’t resonate with anymore. Some, you’d have to leave here at the house, you decided, but there were a good few you wanted to bring to New York with you.

Of the losers, Bob did snag a few for his box. One of them, he very carefully slipped out of its cardboard and set it on your little turntable, dropping the needle. It crackled for a moment before swelling to life. An 80s soft rock album.

You grinned, watching him sway. “Bruce Springsteen?”

“I just love this song.” He admitted as the sound filled the room with warmth. Or maybe that was just the smile on his face.

And that was how it continued. You discarded records and Bob would scan through them and take songs on a test drive, listening to how they sounded. Some of them, he scrunched his nose at and put in your donation box. Others, he slipped into his own with that fond little smile on his face.

After the tenth box, you stood and stretched, twisting the tension out of your back. Bob put another song on, the familiar sound floating from the speaker. Dancing in the Moonlight, from an album of assorted 70s hits.

“Love this song.” You murmured, shoulders shimmying almost beyond your control. Your feet followed suit.

Bob chuckled, unable to drag his eyes away. Like a train crash, you were sure. And though you expected him to stay planted there, watch you make a fool of yourself, instead he wandered further into the room, following your lead. You giggled, dancing beside him. You offered your hand and he took it, spinning you around, which caught you off-guard. He had moves, kind of. Awkward moves, but moves no less.

He took one of your hands in each of his, pushing and pulling your arms to the rhythm of the song, eyes sparkling. You may have been the glowing girl, but he was glowing. Happy and unashamed.

At the end of the song, he let go of your hands, sweeping into a bow, curls falling in his face. He straightened up, cheeks flushed. “I, uh, I’m gonna get a drink.”

You stood in the empty living room as the next song kicked on, your heart racing still from your little activity. Well, that and other things. You’d…never seen him look so free before. Like while the music played, all of Bob’s baggage was far, far away, and he was just…light.

He came back into the room with two glasses of ice water and handed one to you. You took a few generous sips before setting it on a coaster on the coffee table.

“We should do something tonight.” Bob resolved. “See a movie or…?”

“There’s a drive-in not far from here.” You chimed. “I’d take you to my workplace, but we don’t do late showtimes on weekdays and we won’t be done organizing all this crap until like seven minimum.”

“Nothing scary?”

“Let me check.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket, pulling up their website to see what they were showing that evening. “Nope, nothing scary. 80s movies double-feature. Back to the Future and Weird Science.”

“Oh, sweet. That sounds fun. Maybe pick up some food on the way?” He suggested.

You nodded, lips curling around the words before they spilled out. “It’s a date.”

***

It took hours, but eventually, you’d weeded through all the media in your house and Bob had a giant stack of DVDs in his box. The rest, you took to the thrift store on your way out of town. It was a little chilly tonight, so you packed a hoodie, and tucked the blanket you were still crocheting into the back of the car to work on during the movie.

You hit a drive-thru at the burger place at the edge of town and then drove the ten or twenty minutes out to the drive-in. It was further up the coast, in a big empty field on a hill. You were sure anyone who lived anywhere near there got a free show every night, even if they couldn’t hear it.

You paid admission at the gate and then backed into your favorite spot, in the middle of one of the middle rows. Not too close, not too far. Off to the right side, there was a concession stand and the bathrooms, which were housed inside a building. It was nice. You hated porta-potties.

Bob grinned, looking around. “I’ve never been to one of these before. Didn’t know they still did them, actually.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat! They show good stuff sometimes. And the popcorn is super cheap. Bathrooms are right over there.” You told him, opening the car door and walking around to the trunk. You pulled it open, making sure the car was off properly so the battery wouldn’t drain, and arranged a few blankets and pillows, making the ideal nest for a double feature.

Bob carried the bag of food around and set it in the middle, slotting the drinks into the cupholders on either side, up by the tiny back windows of your SUV. He pulled out his fries, eating the few that were left. He’d started on them on the drive over, while they were still hot.

You ate too, making quick work of your burger, taking intermittent sips of your soda, so that by the time the movie started, you had your hands free to work on your blanket.

Bob took his time, savoring every bite, sucking the salt from his fingertips before moving on to the next thing. He took a long sip of his milkshake and then sat back for a bit, hands folded on his stomach, leaning back against the pillows. He watched as you worked on the blanket, using a massive, plastic crochet hook to weave the fluffy stuff together.

He reached a tentative hand out, touching it. He gave one of the rows a squish, eyes lighting up at the feeling of it between his fingers. “Woah! I did not expect that to feel like this.”

“They’re nice as cushioning. I made one for one of my college chairs to sit on. Made it like, twice as comfortable.” You told him.

“You did college?”

“Mmhmm. Just barely finished before I got a call from Sam Wilson. Creative Writing, which does me a lot of good out here, you can imagine.”

“Creative Writing.” Bob repeated. He chuckled, shrugging. “I mean, this seems like as good a place for it as any. This town feels like it was plucked straight out of a romance novel. Must help with the writing. The…vibes of it.”

“You’re telling me. I keep emailing Hallmark, but they don’t seem to want to film anything here. Missed opportunity.”

He laughed at that. “I, uh…never did college. Kinda…dropped out of high school. Been thinking about getting my GED, but…” He gave that shy little shrug that was so common when he was opening up about something rough. The ‘hey, it’s fine’ shrug. But you could always tell it wasn’t fine.

“I’m sure that’s something that could be arranged. When we get to New York.” You said, tilting your head.

He nodded, giving a strained little smile that you couldn’t quite decipher. It was about either the GED or New York, but one of the two was stressing him out, so you decided not to press it further.

The trailers started up and you glanced at the convenience stand. There was a short little line formed there. “You want popcorn?”

“I could go for popcorn.” He agreed, grateful for the change in subject.

You reached into your wallet, handing him a ten dollar bill and telling him to get whatever he wanted. He returned a few minutes later with a big popcorn and a bigger smile, settling back into the car. It rocked a little as he settled his weight, getting comfortable again. He set the tub of corn between the two of you, snacking idly as the trailers gave way to the intro of Back to the Future. You couldn’t help but grin as Marty got blasted back by the massive speakers in Doc’s garage.

It went by pretty fast. The movie and the blanket. You finished it about halfway through, knotting the end and weaving it in with your hand, pulling it through loops until the little tail disappeared into the fluff.

Bob glanced over, impressed. “Wow, you finished it!”

“Only took me like four months of procrastination.” You chuckled, folding it in half and draping it over the seats behind you, so it would be softer to lean on.

“Hey, better late than never, though. I couldn’t do something like that.”

As the movie continued, you could feel Bob’s train of thought veering off course. He was getting lost in thought, that contemplative little frown on his face. You watched, clinical. Scanning for the same signs you used to look for in Bucky. That there was someone else sitting at the steering wheel. But that wasn’t the case. He was just thinking. Spiraling, even. About what, you weren’t sure.

When you reached into the popcorn bucket, your hand brushed his and—

You were somewhere else now. 

Shoes crunching through the snow as you approached the light streaming through the trees. Headlights. Screaming. They were screaming your name, the ones that were conscious.

“Hello?” You looked around, cold, cold air nipping at your cheeks, snowflakes catching in your tangled hair. “Hello?”

There was someone standing in the trees, watching. You searched, but couldn’t find them. You knew you were alone. Yet, the screaming persisted.

You picked up the pace, pushing past winter-soaked pines and unforgiving trunks, and then—

Sorry. I’m sorry. (Y/N)? A long sigh. Always making things worse…

Like being underwater. You pushed through the tunnel vision, resurfacing. You blinked a few times, taking a big breath.

Bob was leaning closer, staring at you, blue eyes blown wide with worry. The streetlights over by the concessions cast warm shadows on his face. But shadows no less. He peered out from behind his soft curls, waiting for you to say something.

“I’m okay. I…wow. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He breathed, sitting back a bit, tugging his sleeves down over his hands so it wouldn’t happen again. “Sorry. I-I don’t know how to control it. It’s just—”

“It’s okay.” You reassured, voice soft and even. “It’s okay. I…didn’t know you could do that.”

His fingers curled beneath the fabric of his sweater. He gave that sad little shrug again. “I…I’m…not really sure w-what all I can do, actually. ’S all kinda fuzzy, still. I thought it would come back to me, being out here, and some of it has, but…some of it, I’ve only seen footage of. I don’t…remember doing it.”

You nodded, listening. You reached out gently, touching his sleeve. He stared at your hand like he was afraid he’d burn you through his sweater, but he didn’t move. Sat frozen, letting it happen. 

“It’s okay.” You repeated again. “It’s okay.” Then, because he still had that look in his eyes, like he was bracing for impact, “No one is mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

That one took. He blinked. Breathed a little. Nodded, some of the tension rolling out of his shoulders. He managed the tiniest smile in the world, but it was still a smile, and you could tell it was a real one. “I needed to hear that.”

You gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I know you did.”

***

That night, as you laid awake in bed, you heard some rustling downstairs, shuffling around in the kitchen. You rolled over to look at your alarm clock. 2:22 in the morning.

The footfalls sounded up the stairs, extra loud on the creaky one. He stopped in front of your door for a long moment, hovering. You could almost feel his energy there through the door. 

And then it passed, retreating back into the guest room.

Relieved, you laid back down, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere deep in the back of your mind, you knew that hadn’t been Bob, precisely. Exhausted, you quieted the voice, closing your eyes and going back to sleep.

Tags: @eywas-heir, @honig-bienchen, @thek8archive

[homiesexuallaj]

Been thinking lately and I think a Supernatural! Reader x MCU would be so funny. And I mean, like Supernatural the tv show from 2005-2020. I'm also thinking of the Thunderbolts since y'know, the Avengers aren't coming and all that.

Like the reader is a hunter, born and raised in Kansas. From the same circle that Sam and Dean are in. They're friends with Sam and Dean too, but not always around. You have your own hunts to tend to anyway. You have your own car filled with gear, such as guns, knives, silver bullets, varying sizes of shovels, flasks filled with holly water, jars of salt, and a few dreamcatchers. You have an anti-possession tattoo as well, so don't worry about all that.

Anyway, a few odd police reports from New York catch your eye. Something about a few odd murders with no suspect, odd wounds and even odder internal injuries, and an unidentifiable weapon. Via the pictures you're able to come across, looks like an angry ghost. Nothing you haven't dealt with before. Should be a piece of chocolate cake.

So, you start driving up from Kansas and shack up in a little motel in a quieter part of town where you know you won't be disturbed. You get to work. Dressed in formalwear and armed with your definitely, one hundred percent, real and accurate FBI badge, and maybe a gun, some ammo, and varying blades, you hunt down the victim's families and find out as much information as you can. You also pay a few visits to the morgue to see the victim’s first hand.

Unbeknownst to you, there's a group of up-and-coming not-so superhero that have been assigned to figure these mysterious murders out too. Thanks to Valentina, these superhero aren't as hands on, yet. They've just done some reading on the victims' families, the police reports of the murder, and maybe some light scoping out of the areas where the victims were murdered. On one of these scope-out nights with Bucky, Yelena, and Alexi, they hear some odd noises coming from inside. So they check it out, albeit not so quietly cause Alexi won't keep his mouth shut, much to Bucky and Yelena's disappointment. They spot someone already snooping around. They're not sure how this person came in until they find a back bedroom’s windows open.

The trio decide to track you as silent as they can.

You’re trekking through the house a little too comfortably, considering that, even though the blood has been wiped up, there’s still signs of someone being murdered in this house. As if the yellow tape on the front porch didn’t tell you anything. You’re peering around corners and rummaging through any drawer you can get your hands on. There’s also a strange device in your hand that beeps erratically in the dining room, where the murder happened. The little lights on the top of the device light up the brightest when you stand just before the poorly mopped up blood. You only hum to yourself and continue on.

But when you hear a creak of a floorboard, a whisper of something, and you see a shadow that’s just a bit too dark for your liking, you’re off. You’ve disappeared too quickly to be tracked down.

Yelena scolds Alexi for talking to loudly, costing them an explanation to who this person might be. And by the time the trio make it outside, your car is long gone. The trio is left puzzled, completely confused on who you are and why you’re there.

Bucky, Yelena, and Alexi bring the news back to Valentina. She instantly assigns herself and the team to do some digging on this person to find out as much as possible. And oh do they find stuff on you.

They find your full name, that you were born in kansas, your childhood home, the house you’re ever rarely seen in, the fact you haven’t had a stable job since high school, the fact that you’ve been from foster home to foster home until you ran away when you were barely fourteen. They also find you attached to a couple murders, a couple escapes from jail, a warrant for you, and a good bounty on your head, which you’ve evaded since you first heard about it. And the fact you’re a nationally wanted criminal that just seems to slip right through any authorities’ hand when they so much as blink. You sound.. dangerous. And now a few of the Thunderbolts* have seen you first hand, and the rest know about you.

All of the Thunderbolts* think you’re a badass, but they’d be lying if they said you didn’t unnerve a couple of them.

Now, Valentina has made it her mission to hunt you down. Never mind the mysterious and very possible serial killer roaming the streets of new york, leaving behind a trail of bodies with odd fatal wounds. No, Valentina wants to hunt you down and capture you so she can use you for herself. She reasons that you’d be an excellent addition to the team. So now, the Thunderbolts* have a new mission. Hunt you down and bring you in alive.

Which is easier said than done.

Anytime they think they’re a step ahead of you, you show them that they’re actually ten steps back.

Anytime the Thunderbolts* spot you in a diner and they go to sit down, the little bell above the door signals your exit just as the hostess starts leading the group of semi-hero’s to their booth. Or if they spot you in a bar for the evening, Yelena or Ava might go to track you down. They’re led the way to the bathroom only to find the window up in the corner propped open. If they spot you out on the street, in your car, they try to follow you through the traffic. The thing is, you know how to take less-than-convenient routes so when you spot someone on your tail, you take them.

You’re a little too easy to loose, the Thunderbolts* realize. Until they finally pin you down, or they try to.

Bucky and Yelena may be trained, deadly assassins but they seemed to have found their equal in the little monster hunter who’s hidden in the rundown, abandoned house the assassins tracked her to. The duo think nothing can surprise them until they’re both met with a splash of water to the face. Or they hope it’s water. It tastes a little.. salty?

“What the fuck?” Is the first thing Yelena says, wiping the water from her face.

“Oh good,” Is all you say as you put the cap of the flask back on. “Just making sure.”

“Making sure?” Bucky’s brows are furrowed as he flicks the water from his hand. “Making sure of what?”

“That you’re not demons,” You say with a shrug as you start turning away.

Bucky and Yelena give each other a look like you’re crazy. They think you are. Cause demons? What? Like, from the bible? They look back towards you to see you stuffing a gun in the waistband of your pants. ..What? What do you need a gun for? Especially in this abandoned house??

“Demons?” They both ask, confusion evident in their voices.

“Yes, demons,” You sound a little exasperated when you answer, but wave it off. “Never mind. I’ll see you two later though.”

You make your way to a bedroom, maybe. You don’t bother to turn the light on when you enter, there’s enough moonlight outside. It’s not like the electricity works in this house anymore.

“Wait,” Bucky moves to follow you. “Later?”

Bucky and Yelena move to follow you, but you’re already gone. Not in the shadows of the room, but the window to outside is swung open. They rush to the window cause wait! The window is on the second story! There’s no way you escaped out of the second story window of this house.

Yes you did. You absolutely did.

Bucky and Yelena see your car drive off down the street. How you got there so fast is beyond them.

You flash your high beams in goodbye before you turn down the street to go.. somewhere.

God.. You’re exhausting to follow.

Bucky is gonna need like a whole pack of beers after dealing with you.

Yelena is gonna need some vodka. The good kind. From Russia. Maybe Alexi has some..

The next time Bucky and Yelena manage to track you down, their hypothesis that you’re crazy has just been confirmed. Because, what the hell are you doing?

The duo tracked you down to a.. a graveyard? An old graveyard. One filled to its maximum occupancy and overgrown with grass, weeds, and vines. The old gate squeaks on the way in, and Bucky and Yelena are way too uncomfortable to be here. They’re jumpy but not trigger happy enough to curl their fingers over the gun’s trigger. And it’s breezy outside, making the trees rustle around them. When they find you, the duo Thunderbolts* members are so confused and so concerned.

You’re stood in front of a dug-up grave. There’s a shovel to your side laying on the grass. Said grave, or the hole rather, is on fire and you’re holding your hands up to the flames like you’re cold. You either pay no mind to Bucky and Yelena approaching, or you don’t know they’re there. The second option is the one Bucky and Yelena decide on. Until you speak.

“You two make my job a lot harder than it needs to be,” You tell them, not turning to face them.

Bucky and Yelena join you on either side of you, standing in front of the burning grave. They’re able to take in your, slightly concerning, appearance up close.

You’ve got some dirt smudged on your face, your hands, your forearms, your jeans, and the flannel you wear. Your knuckles seemed bruised too. You have a split lip and there’s blood smudged across your forehead. Your white undershirt is torn a little at the collar too.

It’s obvious you were in some kind of fight. But how did that have anything to do with the grave burning?

“Your job?” Yelena asks, bolstering her gun.

“Saving people, hunting things,” You answer, shrugging as you look at Yelena. “It’s kind of a family business.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to ask, “Hunting things?”

“You know,” You turn your head to look at Bucky next. “Demons, werewolves, ghosts, maybe an angel or two.”

You’re met with confused looks.

“Wow,” You scratch at your jawline as you look down at the dwindling fire. “You guys need to do some reading. There’s not only the threat from space, y’know? There’s stuff down here too.”

“We know that,” Bucky says, maybe a little too gruffly.

“Maybe,” You shrug. “But you’re used to robots or vengeful ai, or even other superheros. You don’t even stop to think about the things that lurk in the night.”

“What? Like the boogie man?” Yelena jokes.

“Yes, actually,” You answer, serious.

“Like the loch ness monster?” Bucky asks, his own joking tone lacing his words as he looks down at you.

“No, they don’t usually eat people,” You answer, still serious. “Usually fish. Sometimes turtles.”

Bucky and Yelena look at each other again because, oh my god. This person is serious.

“Anyway,” You start, raising your arms to stretch your shoulders. They’re a little sore after digging up a grave all by yourself. “You can tell your boss I’m not interested.”

“Uh- What?” Yelena whips her head to you, eyebrows raised and surprise in her eyes. “How do you know about that?”

“You have your information and I have mine,” You look at Yelena with a smile. “You two may be assassins but, I’m very good at my job. Even if there are people around that make it hard sometimes. Plus,” you pause to pick up the shovel at your feet and look back at Yelena when you straighten up. “I don’t work well with other people.”

Bucky lets out a sound that sounds like something mixed with laughter and a scoff. He can relate to that statement, but look at him now. Leader of some rag-tag team of misfits.

“But while you’re here,” You glance down to the two other shovels that are behind you. “You could help me cover this grave back up.”

Bucky and Yelena blink once, twice, then shrug. They have nothing better to do since, technically, they did their job of tracking you down. But they don’t have to make you come in, not if you don’t want to. You’ll probably slip between their fingers if they tried.

So they help you cover up the smoldering grave, snuffing out the flames and covering up the smoke. It takes maybe a good hour or two to get the dirt back in place. A good hour or two until you’re putting the shovels back in the trunk of your car. The trunk that holds a goldmine of guns, blades, and ammo. And a confusing amount of shovels, sharp sticks, flasks of water, jars of salt, and dreamcatchers.

Bucky, who’s leaning over your shoulder, goes to grab a weird looking blade that looks three-dimensional and twists all the way up to the tip. You slap his hand away and he’s instantly offended. How dare you slap the former Winter Soldier’s hand away?!

Yelena has to stifle a laugh behind her hand as she makes eye contact with Bucky. She does good to keep her hands to herself as she leans over your other shoulder.

Bucky sends Yelena a glare over your head.

When you straighten up and close the trunk of your car, the glaring stops.

“Don’t forget to tell your boss I don’t work well with other people,” You remind the duo as you make your way to the driver’s seat of your car. You turn to look at the two assassins that trail behind you. “But, if anything weird happens then feel free to give me a call.”

“What kind of weird?” Bucky asks.

“You’ll know,” You smile and give Bucky’s shoulder a pat before opening your car door to get in.

You shut the car door, start your car, and lean out the window as music starts pouring from your speakers. It sounds like old 80s rock.

“I’ll see you two cuties later,” And with a wink, you’re off. Driving through the cemetery and turning out onto the empty roads to go.. somewhere. No one really knows where.

Bucky and Yelena stand there for a few moments, just watching you drive off. They’re so taken aback by your casual way of leaving that they don’t even register the petname until a few moments later.

“They called me cute,” Yelena says, her shock giving away to something cocky as she raised her chin just a tad.

“No, they called me cute,” Bucky counters, bumping shoulders with Yelena as he leads the way back to their own car.

“Umm no?” Yelena follows Bucky, walking side by side with him. “I’m pretty sure they called me cute. And they winked at me.”

Bucky hums, opening the driver side car door, “I don’t think so.”

“Да, I think so,” Yelena counters, settling into the front passenger seat.

And about the whole way back to base, Bucky and Yelena argue which one them you called a “cutie” and which on your winked at. Cause obviously it was Bucky. No, it was Yelena. No, it was definitely Bucky. No, it was one hundred percent Yelena.

Maybe it was both?

[urdreamydoodles]

Hiii!! Love your work sooo muchh!!! (I keep rereading your marvel x reader fics cause you write the characters SO WELLL) picture this, Smart!F!reader who one ups Tony Stark publicly after getting tired of being labeled as a dumb good for nothing gold digger wife by the public. She reveals that she's the owner of a tech companty that makes even more than Stark Industries and most the money she gets she uses to donate to good causes and doesn't spend too much on things she wants ('Cause she's financially responsible unlike her husband.) AND GIRL HID THAT SECRET SO WELL EVEN TONY DIDNT KNOW ABOUT IT AND JUST STARES AT HER LIKE SHE SAID SOMETHING OFFENSIVE AF cause she reveals it while giving a speech at a Stark Industries events and then fast forward months later these 2 keep hacking into their systems and messing up their own shit but reader keeps winning the prank wars, the other avengers are fed up afff then at the end those mfs propose at the same time through hacking their A.I. assistants or firewall or literally everything. (you decide)

Oh and if possible make them into a 2 part so I can have a very beautiful chaotic ass prank war fanfic. (It's okay if you just stuff it into one part or if you can't do this☺☺)

"CODE OF FIRE, CODE OF LOVE" — A Tony Stark (MCU) One Shot

SHIP: Tony Stark (MCU) x Fem!OC

WORDS: 2.280 words

There are whispers in the room, louder than the music. Soft champagne flutes clinking, camera flashes chasing diamonds, laughter strained through painted lips—all of it sounds like static to you now. You stand at the edge of the Stark Industries gala, poised in a dress that fits like it was sewn onto your very soul. Beautiful. Effortlessly so. But beauty, as you’ve learned, is a mask people love to talk to, and even more love to talk about.

Tonight, they’ve talked plenty. And not about the advancements Stark Industries made in clean energy. Not about the AI breakthroughs or the global humanitarian branches Tony fought tooth and nail to build.

No.

Tonight, the whispers are about you.

“She must be really good in bed.”

“A gold digger. You can see it in the way she moves—like she knows she’s lucky.”

“She hasn’t earned any of this. Look at her, just a trophy.”

You’ve heard these words since the moment you said “I do” to Tony Stark. The man you love. The man who sees stars in your eyes and not dollar signs. The man who never once questioned your worth. But that doesn’t mean the world hasn’t.

It’s funny. You built empires in silence. With elegance. With restraint. You could have bought this tower ten times over. But you didn’t. Because it was never about the spotlight. Never about ego.

You just wanted peace.

But peace has a price.

And tonight, the bill has come due.

You glance at Tony across the room. He’s radiant in his usual way—hands stuffed in his pockets, that crooked smirk playing on his lips as he listens to a board member, probably pretending to care. His suit is razor-sharp, just like his mind. You love the way his eyes search for you every few minutes like a compass needle always twitching toward North. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anything. He is chaos wrapped in genius, a hurricane who learned to anchor himself to your quiet gravity.

And he doesn’t know.

Not yet.

He doesn’t know that every night he thought you were working on charity audits or reading economic forecasts… you were engineering satellites, designing next-gen medical nanotech, running covert cybersecurity networks that governments begged for. He doesn’t know that while he bled in the spotlight, you bled in the dark—never for praise. Only for purpose.

You’d never planned to tell him. Not because you didn’t trust him, but because you wanted something that was yours. Untouched by legacy or expectation. Untouched by Stark.

But the whispers tonight? They’ve lit something inside you.

And fire does not go quietly.

Pepper’s on stage now, offering polite smiles and practiced words. You tune out most of it until she turns her head toward you and says brightly, “And now, we’d love to invite someone very special up here to say a few words—Y/N Stark.”

There it is.

You step forward as the spotlight finds you. The murmurs double. The cameras rise. You move like a ghost in heels—elegant, silent, unstoppable.

Tony’s watching you now, arms crossed, brow quirked. He’s curious. Maybe a little amused. He loves when you speak publicly—it surprises him every time. He still doesn’t know why you keep such a low profile. That’s just how you are, he tells himself. Shy genius. Private soul.

You reach the podium. The mic crackles.

You look out over the crowd. Old money. New vultures. Entitled smiles. Sneers disguised as curiosity. Your gaze slides past them all and lands on Tony. He raises his glass to you, winks. You don’t smile back.

You inhale.

Then you speak.

“I’ve been asked a lot of questions since marrying Tony Stark. Some polite. Most… not.” A ripple of laughter, awkward and thin.

You continue. “People want to know what I bring to the table. If I’m smart enough, good enough, worthy enough. They ask how a ‘nobody’ like me caught the eye of a genius like him.”

You pause.

“Let me answer.”

The silence now is full and deep. A vacuum. They’re listening.

“I am the founder and sole owner of Aurelius Technologies. You haven’t heard of it because I didn’t want you to. We operate under a portfolio of silent subsidiaries that have collectively out-earned Stark Industries for the last five years running.”

Gasps. Real ones. Sharp as glass.

Tony’s smile is frozen, faltering.

“I built it before I met Tony. While living in a shared apartment, eating instant noodles, working twenty-hour days. I coded my first AI at nineteen. I designed medical drones that saved lives in war zones. I developed green tech that corporations tried to bury because it was too efficient. And I gave it away. Because I could.”

Eyes. All on you. The women are shocked. The men are unsettled.

“I didn’t advertise any of it. Because my worth doesn’t live in headlines. Or stock prices. Or applause. I donated most of what I made. Quietly. Because power isn’t about what you keep. It’s about what you give.”

Your voice sharpens. Just enough.

“And I didn’t tell anyone—not even my husband—because I wanted a life that wasn’t measured by what I could build, but who I could be.”

Now you look at Tony.

Really look.

He is not blinking.

Not breathing.

“I never wanted to outshine him. But I won’t let people pretend I live in his shadow. I didn’t marry Tony for his money. I married him for the way he believes in things even when no one else does. I married him because his heart is louder than his genius.”

A beat.

“And, frankly, because he’s hot.”

Laughter breaks the tension. Some real. Some still stunned.

You smile now, but only at him.

“I don’t need your approval,” you finish, gaze sweeping the crowd again. “I just needed to say it out loud. For the women who’ve been underestimated. For the men who think brilliance wears only one face. And for myself.”

A pause. Breath. Silence.

Then, applause.

Not polite. Not obligatory. Thunderous.

You step down from the stage.

Tony is still standing there. Still staring. Glass forgotten in his hand. His jaw a fraction open like you just told him he was adopted.

You approach.

“I—” he starts, but stops.

“Surprise,” you say softly.

“You’re Aurelius?” he breathes, like it’s a curse and a prayer.

You nod.

He laughs. Then blinks. Then pulls you into him so fast your feet barely touch the ground.

“You incredible, devious, stunning son of a—” he whispers into your hair. “You really played me.”

You pull back just enough to look into his eyes. “I didn’t play you, Tony. I just didn’t want to be this for the world. I wanted to be me for you.”

His hands cup your face. “You are everything. Everything. Do you know what it’s like to fall in love with someone twice? Because I think I just did.”

You kiss him. Because no words will do now.

And somewhere behind you, the room watches the man who thought he knew everything… be utterly, beautifully, publicly humbled.

And love you even more for it.

It started with a line of code.

Tony should have known better.

You were the ghost in the machine long before you were the girl in his bed, the wife in his heart, the name inked beneath his ribs whether he liked it or not. He had underestimated you once. He would never do it again.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to beat you.

He thought he was clever, writing subroutines into your shared home AI. Thought you wouldn’t notice the nanosecond hiccup in F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice when she called you “Sweetheart” in his tone of voice. Thought you wouldn’t catch the thermal resync that cranked your morning coffee from pleasantly scalding to napalm.

You noticed.

And you retaliated.

The Stark Tower elevators began skipping his floor. His suits would snap shut an inch too tight. His toothbrush sang Bye Bye Bye in perfect sync every morning—until he learned to stop flinching.

You, however, didn’t stop.

You rewrote the sound files of his lab assistant bots. Dum-E began reciting Pride and Prejudice. Butterfingers played Oprah podcasts. U stopped obeying Tony entirely, instead pausing at inconvenient intervals to display curated Pinterest boards titled “Gift Ideas for Your Superior Wife.”

Tony called it cyberbullying.

You called it foreplay.

“War,” he declared one night, his bare chest glowing with the arc reactor’s quiet rhythm. “Total war. You understand this means we can never trust our devices again.”

You took the glass from his hand, sipped, and smirked. “You built them. I just reprogrammed them not to lie to us.”

Pepper caught wind of the chaos when her Friday meetings kept getting overrun by erotic text-to-speech haikus read in her own voice. Steve’s training programs glitched into pastel yoga flows. Natasha’s phone screen blinked with flirtatious offers from “Anonymous Admires You: Buy a Flamethrower on Etsy.” Bruce threatened to move back into the jungle. Sam nearly threw your shared AI out the window.

“STOP,” they all chorused at dinner one night, mid-explosion of Tony’s wine glass—sabotaged with a microscopic vibration hack you’d implanted via a birthday card.

“Stop what?” you and Tony said in sync, both utterly deadpan.

“YOU TWO,” Steve barked. “You’ve got a Cold War going on inside our entire system. My bank account’s been rerouting deposits to an alpaca rescue in Montana.”

“Yeah,” Clint muttered. “Thanks for that. I lost five grand.”

Tony sipped his wine from a coffee mug, smug. “Should’ve updated your firewall, Legolas.”

“It’s not funny,” Natasha said, exasperated, but her eyes flickered with reluctant amusement. “You two are weaponizing love. And Wi-Fi.”

“We’re not weaponizing love,” you replied coolly. “We’re just expressing it.”

“In code,” Tony added. “Beautiful, chaotic, bug-laced code.”

Sam pointed a fork at you both. “We are one hijacked satellite away from an international incident.”

You and Tony fist-bumped beneath the table.

But there was something deeper in it now.

Something that danced just beneath the teasing and the trickery.

Tony watched you across rooms like he was trying to map every galaxy in your gaze. He would touch your back like it anchored him. You’d catch his code open at 3AM—not for the arc reactor, not for the suits—but for you. New tech shaped like your laugh, new designs named after your heartbeat, new languages bent around the way you spoke truth.

You, too, found yourself checking your scripts not once but ten times—just to make sure they said enough. Said everything.

And then one night, it happened.

You walked into the lab, hair pulled up, eyes sharp, wearing his shirt. A normal evening, until everything went wrong.

Or right.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. flickered.

“Good evening, Mrs. Stark,” she said, a little too smoothly. “You have two hundred and seventy new system alerts. And one... emotional one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tony?”

No answer.

You moved to the console.

And that’s when everything began.

Every screen lit up—lab, kitchen, hallway, garage—every surface Tony had ever laid his hands on pulsed to life.

Your code. Your encryption. Overwritten.

But only for this.

On every screen:

"Marriage v1.0: Successful. Proposal v2.0: Pending Approval."

Your heart stuttered.

Then came the voices.

Not Tony’s.

Yours.

Clips from your past. From private logs you didn’t know he had access to. Voice memos you made to yourself, fragments of code-comment love letters.

“He looks at me like I’m the only thing worth breaking the universe for.”

“I never wanted a crown. I just wanted his chaos in my quiet.”

“If he asked again, I’d say yes every lifetime.”

You covered your mouth with your hand.

And then his voice cut in.

“Y/N.”

You turned.

He stood in the doorway.

No suit. No armor. Just Tony. Barefoot, beautiful, and terrified.

“I wanted to do it differently,” he said. “Bigger. Fancier. Less... hostile takeover of your AI. But this? This is us. Messy. Coded. Personal.”

You tried to speak. Couldn't.

“I didn’t know you when I married you,” he continued. “Not all the way. I loved what I saw. But I didn’t see the half of you. Now I do. And I’m not proposing to fix something. I’m proposing because I want to celebrate it.”

He stepped closer.

“Let’s do this again. This time knowing every part. The fire. The firewalls. The madness. The marriage.”

He held out a small device.

A nano-holo ring. Not tangible. Just light. Code. A symbol you could rewrite together, again and again.

The room shimmered.

Another screen lit behind him.

“RENEWAL REQUESTED: TONY STARK TO Y/N STARK. CONFIRM?”

You looked at him.

“You hacked my firewalls for this?”

He grinned. “Took me three months. I haven’t slept. I’m delirious. Marry me again before I pass out.”

You pressed your thumb to the console.

“CONFIRMED.”

Then your voice rang out from his AI.

Every Stark suit paused mid-hover. Every bot froze. Every file opened.

“Tony Stark, I hereby override your protocols and accept your second proposal. Effective immediately. You may now kiss your better half.”

His laughter was pure sunlight.

He crossed the space, kissed you like the first time all over again.

And maybe it was.

The others would scream when they saw what you two had done to the base code. Fury would probably explode. Rhodey would call you both lunatics. Pepper would sigh with a glass of wine and send the Avengers to dinner on another continent just to give you space.

But right now?

Right now you were two halves of the same encrypted flame.

Married again.

Code rewritten.

Love, rebooted.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

Could you do a Steve Rogers x reader where he constantly gets distracted by the reader bc he has a crush on her

A/N: It’s been so long since I’ve written anything for the MCU. Enjoy! I didn’t have much time today, so this is just a quick drabble that can be read before the actual story/one-shot. I haven’t decided on the ending yet, but there will definitely be some angst. I’m still unsure if it’ll have a happy ending or not.

Fictober Challenge

“So Cap, what’s the mission now?” Sam asked, lounging back in his chair.

“I don’t know. I didn't call the meeting” Steve replied, arms crossed.

“Then who did?” Clint chimed in, legs kicked up on the table.

“I did” Tony strolled into the room, a broad smile on his face.

“You seem…unusually happy” Nat remarked, raising an eyebrow.

“I am. We have a special guest today” Tony said, sipping his coffee.

“A guest?” Steve asked, not looking pleased. “When were you going to tell us?”  

“Right now. Surprise!” Tony shrugged nonchalantly.

“And when is this mysterious guest arriving?” Clint asked.

“Any minute now” Tony continued to drink.

Before anyone could react further, you appeared at the door “Hello?” you knocked lightly on the open glass, glancing inside curiously.

“Ah, Y/n! Finally!” Tony exclaimed, standing to greet you and pulling you into a bear hug, lifting you off the ground. 

Everyone else was caught off guard. This was a side of Tony they had never seen.

“Anthony, put me down!” you whispered, embarrassed, swatting him until he released you.

Steve cleared his throat, clearly waiting for an explanation.

“Right, everyone, this is Y/n, my cousin. Y/n, this is everyone” Tony gestured grandly.

“Cousin? You have a cousin?” Sam asked, disbelief in his tone.

Natasha smiled, stepping forward to give you a hug. “Good to see you again, Y/n.”

“Wait, you two know each other?” Clint asked, a hint of jealousy in his voice. 

You and Natasha nodded simultaneously.

“Hold on, how do you know each other?” Sam asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Nat asked “When I used to work for Tony, we once visited her.”

“You technically still work for me” Tony teased. “Y/n’s been in Asia for years, studying. She just got her PhD in biochemistry.”

“Congratulations” Bruce said, looking intrigued. “What was your dissertation on, if I may ask?

You opened your mouth to explain, but Tony cut in, “Let’s get lunch first. You’ll have plenty of time to interrogate her later. Pepper’s expecting us.”

—

“So, you’re Bruce. Scientist and Hulk. Sam, Falcon. Clint,Hawkeye. James- sorry Rhodey, War machine…” you trailed off, naming the Avengers.

Steve nodded as you finally turned to him “And you, Steve Rogers, Captain America” you offered him a smile, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Thor is the only one missing right?” you asked and Tony nodded.

“Actually there’s one more” Steve added, “Bucky Barnes. He’s a friend from back in the day.”

Sam huffed “Yeah, but he’s not an Avenger.”

Steve shot him a glance “He comes to training, doesn’t he? Besides, when we need his help, he’s always there for us.” 

“Always there for you, maybe” Sam replied.

Sensing the tension, Clint steered the conversation away “There’s also a kid that Tony brought for a couple of missions.”

“A kid?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at Tony..

Tony shifted uncomfortably “Oh, come on. Technically, he’s in his senior year.”

“Really? You made a high schooler an Avenger?” you rhetorically asked, crossing your arms.

“Well, yes. But-”

“And what’s his superpower?”

“Well, he’s… Spider-Man.”

You blinked “Spinder…what now?”

“Shoots webs. Does spider stuff.”

Sam chuckled as he lowered his voice “She’s gonna ask where the webs come from.”

You crossed your arms, eyeing​ Tony “Does he shoot webs out of his…?”

“Wrists” Tony interjected quickly “Just the wrists.”

Steve turned to you, his voice calm and soft “So, Y/n, are you staying here for a while or settling in for good?”

You hesitated, unsure “That’s a good question. I haven’t fully decided yet, but for now, Anthony said I could stay at the tower. I just don’t want to intrude.”

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but Steve was quicker “Nonsense. You wouldn’t be intruding. Besides, we have plenty of space, and technically, Tony owns the building.” His gentle smile put you at ease.

“Thank you for your generosity” you said with a smile, and Steve’s heart fluttered.

Taglist: @byepolarneko @littlebabycrab @projectxhapiness @ineedcoolshoe @eleshka-still @blindsunkiss04 @saraneville2015 @im-old-now-i-guess

@i-just-wanna-live-gc @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @shymagicsworld @mcubuckyandsteve @imdiegohargreeves @bucky-blogs @alwayshave-faith

@markusstraya @whattaweeb @natasha-danvers @iamwarrenspeace @bullet-babe3 @bonjouritsellaa @thisismysecrethappyplace @simonsbluee @marvel-addict-95 @capsheadquarters

[thefabelmans2022]

realised how close we are to the release date and felt a wave of nausea i'm really not ready for this

almost cried thinking about how much i want fantastic four to be good. you guys i really want it to be good.

[darsynia]

Forgiven: joYOUs | CEO Steve/f!Reader series Part III

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | Ro Roll | Prev Fic

Summary: You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a little over two months, and it's been wonderful. Through it all you've asked yourself if it could possibly be real--but when he finally invites you to stay over at his apartment, you realize that being 'real' has as much to do with his complicated issues at work as it does being a Hallmark movie protagonist brought to life.

WC/Warnings: 5,200 // explicit sex

As 6/7 of my Ro Roll badly-belated-birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, joYOUs is part III in my CEO Steve and f!Freader series. This story also (more lightly than intended) is written for the 'first fall of snow' prompt for @the-slumberparty's December Daze!

Can be read standalone!

Excerpt:

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs.

Joyous

You’ve tried not to read anything into the 36 hours of no-contact since Steve left on his business trip. He had warned you that he would be ‘can’t check the phone’ kind of busy, but you also know that his stress has ramped up considerably with the holidays coming up. You suspect that the café project hadn’t been enough of a respite--but you’d promised yourself not to push him too hard about his burnout, and that includes acting like it’s no big deal that you haven’t talked for a while. 

Just normal early relationship stuff, really.

That all drops away like an uncomfortable bra after a long day at work when you get a text at 10 PM Friday night.

🪴🪴🪴: We still on for tomorrow at 7? I’ve been thinking about you since the plane took off from LaGuardia.

🪴🪴🪴: Whoops i

🪴🪴🪴: was only supposed to send that first part.

🪴🪴🪴: Hit enter too e

🪴🪴🪴: Buck give me back the phone. Don’t send her anything, okay? You’re hopeless, man. You have to leave some mystery. If she had any idea how much you talked about her while we were gone, she’d probably quit her job and leave the state. What’s. Oh shit it’s recording. How do I make it. Give it back. Bucky I mean it just put it down before you screwdriver

Screwdriver?

The (thrilling) mess of words take a minute or two to detangle, and once you parse the dictated back-and-forth, you realize that Steve’s subsequent silence is probably mortification. Adorable mortification.

The phone rings on silent mode, buzzing wildly in your hand. Surprise makes you drop it on your lap like it’s alive-- which it might as well be, because the vibration sends it jittering across your indulgent silk pajamas and onto the floor.

“Shit!” you gasp out, knowing that any delay in answering will probably make everything much worse. You scramble off the bed in a move so inelegant your sister calls out asking if you’ve joined her in Broken Leg Land. “I’m fine, just an idiot!” you holler, finally grabbing the phone from your crumpled position on the bedroom floor.

“That’s not true at all!” Steve Rogers’ voice echoes from the speakers. You must have  brushed the ‘answer’ part when you picked it up, because of course that would happen.

“Oh my god, is there a deity of phones I’ve badly wronged today?” you gasp out, bringing the thing gingerly up to your ear. Thankfully, he’s chuckling, and damn, it’s sexy.

“Seems like it. Should we call this a draw?” he suggests, adding, “I evicted the phone thief, sorry about that. He just wants what’s best for me.”

“Which would be… screwdrivers?” you offer, grinning despite your rational brain screaming at you not to sound overeager. “You somehow don’t strike me as an orange juice and vodka kind of guy.”

“You’re right, and that was a nice deflect.” There’s gratitude as well as sheepishness in Steve’s voice. When paired with the ‘forbidden truths’ in the dictated texts, you may be sitting on the floor in twisted-up PJs, but your mind and heart are floating on a cloud somewhere high above Manhattan. “Should I send a car tomorrow?”

Surprise snarls the response in your throat into a twisted um-cough combo that is entirely indelicate. “Sorry, yes, that, yes,” you manage, kicking yourself. He runs a company, having a car service probably doesn’t seem impersonal to him, even though he’s always picked you up or met you somewhere before this. The Maiden Aunt in your brain tries to argue that the magic is over, but she’s drowned out by College TA, who thinks this is a step up in statistical importance.

Some girls get a devil on their shoulder, but you ended up with a pessimist and an overachiever.

“How about a do-over,” Steve says, interrupting your mental chaos. “Can I pick you up tomorrow?”

“Yes!” you say in a flood of relief. “I’m sorry, you said ‘send a car’ and all I could picture was one of those movies where someone in livery holds up a piece of paper with my name--”

He interrupts before you can gnaw past the foot in your mouth and up onto the ankle.

“I don’t mind driving, don’t worry. See you at seven, then.” With that, CEO Eye, Ear, and Heart Candy hangs up, leaving you in a flustered, anticipatory mess on the floor in your bedroom.

Jennie gives you relentless shit over that whole sequence of events, but she also gives you access to her closet. You’ve already run through your handful of fancy dresses on dates with Steve, and everything else gives you ‘someday I might go clubbing’ or ‘student on a budget’ vibes.

Your sister’s tastes run more expensive than yours, and she’s always been a fan of modular clothing-- skirts that wrap around, blouses with 3x as much fabric as necessary that end up folding and twisting into a masterpiece, etc. It’s worked out well for her while she’s laid up with a broken leg, but the unusual style might help you keep up appearances. You choose a black form-fitting pants topped with a silky wraparound blouse; hopefully they’ll look sophisticated enough for your first visit to Steve’s apartment.

True to form, Jennie makes three ‘wrapped present’ jokes about the two ribbon-tied sections of your shirt before you make it out the door.

Steve is waiting beside his car when you come outside. He’s clearly come from work, wearing tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt that looks so good you’re practically overheating in the brisk winter air. Then he smiles at you, and your body takes a detour from ‘visit to Arizona’ straight down to ‘the Brazilian Rainforest,’ all innuendo included.

Oblivious to your secretly disrespectful ogling, Steve moves to escort you to your car door, standing deliciously close by as he opens it. His aftershave smells heady and masculine, distracting enough that you turn your heel a little bit on the seam of the sidewalk. Your unbuttoned coat swings back and his hand moves to steady you, fingers tangling in the red ribbon holding your blouse together on that side.

“Oh!” you gasp, half because of his sheer strength and half because good god, if that bow comes undone on the street you’re not sure how much you’re even going to care right now. You gently grasp his hand (finding that, yep, the sizzling live wire connection on physical contact is still active), salvaging the knot for the sake of your sanity.

“Wow,” Steve breathes in a low voice that sends its resonance whizzing through your whole body. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur intelligently.

You’re never going to tell your sister how many mental seconds it’s taken you to go from 0 to head over heels for this man.

“Do you need me to adjust the buckle? You were making a face,” Steve explains.

“Oh, no, I was coming up with something suitably embarrassing to text my nagging sister so she doesn’t send me ‘romantic suggestions’ all night,” you admit. “She means well, but I think she’s been watching too many Hallmark Christmas movies. Nothing I do or say will measure up!”

He chuckles. “I won’t comment on what my own nag might have to say on the outcome of the evening.”

“You mean the professional phone thief? He owes you, not the other way around! Telling secrets on dictation while your friend’s planning to bring a girl home-- and then sending it? Hung, drawn, and quartered.”

“Well, the method of delivery may have been terrible,” Steve says, looking over at you while paused at a red light, “--but none of that was a secret.”

The light changes, and just like Jennie’s favorite movies, he holds your gaze instead of driving on. You’re suddenly very aware of everywhere your clothing touches you, especially at your chest, where the fabric of your blouse clings to your curves. When you pull in a breath, Steve’s attention dips down to appreciate them, too.

“Eyes on the road, CEO Eye Candy,” you tease (not for the first time), and his expression scrunches up into easy laughter.

There’s an older, well-dressed couple in the parking garage to his building when you arrive, and the four of you ride the elevator up together until you and Steve step out. Just before the doors close, you catch the woman looking up at her husband fondly, nodding toward the two of you. No pressure! you think to yourself again, but then Steve opens the door to his apartment and smiles with such honest happiness that you forget everything else but him.

Just like he is, the main room is a charming mix of vintage and modern, with warm wood accents and high-tech amenities. There’s something both open and intimate that hits you right away; the floor is dotted with comforting rugs, the walls with bookcases, creating cozy little nooks, but the lamplight is warm and inviting throughout.

“I need to start the oven,” Steve says with a light touch to your arm, gesturing to take your coat. You nod and hand it over before you step farther in, finally letting yourself glance beyond the bookshelves of classics and the homey crochet afghan to the view. 

It’s completely captivating. The wall of windows face east, showing the lively cityscape to glorious effect (and you can’t help but picture what the sunrise would look like!). It suddenly hits you that you’re in Steve’s space. There are no phones to ring and save you from a misstep, no waitress to break the tension, no dog running past chasing its ball in the grass.

If he sees just how far gone you are on him already, will Steve think you’re a gold-digger, or will he understand that you can’t help but be dazzled and drawn in by the kind of man he is, not the things he surrounds himself with?

“Are you all right?” Steve asks. You startle, making eye contact with his reflection in the window, and something about the intimacy of that makes you tell the absolute truth.

“I’m realizing there are no flowerpots to hide behind.”

He smiles and moves closer, one hand casually in his pocket. When he’s just near enough that you can feel his warmth through the back of your blouse, Steve tips his head in a move that bleeds sincerity, still holding your gaze.

“What if you didn’t have to hide?”

You can’t look away. “What if that doesn’t make me any less shy?”

“Makes it all the more rewarding to earn that smile of yours,” Steve says, moving to face you instead of the view.

The weight of where you are, who you’re with, and how much it means to you keeps your gaze glued to the view outside the window, but the city lights blur a little with the frequency of your blinking. You want to reassure him that the shyness is good actually, that it means you really like him, that what he thinks about you is important--

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs. You can’t help but toss him the Skeptical Eyebrow, despite your heart voting on the ‘melt’ option. “I’m being serious,” he goes on. “Honesty is in rare supply for much of my day-to-day. Suppliers expect us to push for cheaper materials, manufacturers are uncomfortable with flexible deadlines, and we’ve fired multiple product designers who get upset by how much we rely on end-user feedback.” He lets out a long sigh, punctuating it with a rueful laugh. “I felt more relaxed with the construction crew than I do with my so-called ‘peers.’”

The frustrated defeat in his tone makes you step close to tuck yourself up against his side, hugging him with an arm around his back. Steve’s arm comes around you right away, and god, you wish you could bottle that feeling. The two of you have shared quite a few toe-curling kisses, but physical affection like this is exciting, despite being prompted by Steve’s ongoing business concerns.

It’s easy to believe that this part of your life isn’t real when you’re at work answering phones and giving directions. You’re never prepared for the way Steve tips your life upside down, and in a way that makes moments like this more magical. Late at night, you do sometimes worry your job at his company makes it harder for him to disconnect.

With his heartbeat thrumming under your cheek and his arm tucked around you, that concern feels as far away as the streetlights visible across the city. There’s still a thread of tenseness in his embrace that tells you he’s not as relaxed as you are. You might not have the money to take him out for a fancy dinner or attend an exclusive event, but you can show him he’s wanted.

“So what you’re saying is that we should brainstorm another building project for the lobby? Preferably within sightlines of the front desk?”

You get to feel his laugh before you hear it.

“Oh, I wish. I’ve actually started looking into Habitat For Humanity, a couple of other hands-on charities,” Steve tells you, squeezing you tighter against him for a second or two. “They’ve got experience with higher profile contributors, safety concerns, that sort of thing.”

The moment hangs. Humor isn’t enough.

“That doesn’t solve the underlying problem though, because the problem isn’t you,” you realize aloud.

“You’re right.” Steve kisses your hairline, but you can sense that his metaphorically held breath isn’t going to release like this. You’re struck by the rightness of your reflection; the two of you fit together so well visually that it’s easy to miss his job insecurities and your uncertain future. Movement beyond the surface catches your eye, and you realize it’s the perfect way to break the tension.

“Oh! It’s snowing!”

“Those are some giant snowflakes.” He hugs you to him briefly before stepping over to a small panel on the wall. “May I?”

The more time you spend with him, the braver you feel. “I’m going to say yes, even though I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Steve’s answering smile is blindingly handsome. “Watch,” he says, nodding to the view. A second later the lights in the room dim or shut off, heightening the glowing cityscape outside. There’s a beauty to the familiar hodgepodge of buildings, more so with the fairy dust of snow drifting down from above.

“It’s like a snowglobe,” you say, tearing your eyes away from the scene to look at Steve. To your surprise, he’s not looking outside, he’s looking at you.

“May I?” he asks again. Heart pounding, you nod, and he walks toward you, his features thrown into sharp relief by the dim light. When Steve finally reaches you, the anticipation has doused you with fuel set alight by the touch of his hand at your cheek. 

This kiss is nothing like the gentle exploration that was your first with Steve. Where then you were still learning each other, this is knowledge. He lifts you up against him effortlessly, his thumb tangling with the ties of your blouse in a way that pulls it taut against your breasts. You let out a gasp as he kisses his way down from your neck over to the neckline of your blouse, making a begging sound of his own.

It sounds like enough of a ‘May I?’ that you whisper, “Yes.”

In three large strides he’s at the couch, setting you onto your feet as he sweeps the afghan and pillows out of the way. When he turns to face you again, you offer him the end of the ribbon tie holding your blouse together.

The reverence with which Steve pulls it loose is sexy as hell, but you absolutely adore the way he locks eyes with you and keeps your gaze when the fabric falls away. You pull in a ragged breath, and his gaze sharpens.

“What do you want?” he asks, his own answer ringing in the undertones.

You want everything, as far into the future as fate allows, but you force yourself to focus on the here and now. “I-- God, I just want you. I want-- oh!” You press your lips together to stop yourself, shy again. There’s honesty, and then there’s honesty. In that confident but gentle way he has, Steve knows exactly what to say.

“Whatever it is, yes.”

He takes your hand and backs the few inches to the couch, sitting down and tugging gently, a clear but respectful invitation. Steve takes a few seconds to just look at you, his eyes tracing across your features and down to the structure of your blouse. He’d mentioned his sketchbook at one of your early-on dates but never elaborated; now the way he unerringly follows each ribbon with his eyes, fingertips, and then lips make you feel like a work of art.

By the time your shirt drops to the floor, you’re practically drunk on the honest arousal you can taste on his lips--and you’re still mostly dressed! One thing you’re certain of: no one will ever make you feel as much like a medieval harlot and an object of worship at the same time like Steve Rogers.

Reluctantly, you draw back from his addictive kisses, pulling his hand from your cheek to briefly kiss his palm. “I’m going to ask you something, and you’re going to answer me without trying to smooth anything over, got it?”

Steve’s gaze darkens with an amused sort of interest. “I’ll see where you’re going with this, but you should know that there are two places I like to be in charge: the boardroom and the bedroom.”

His tone is gentle, but with an undercurrent of steel. You’re completely unable to stop the way your breath catches and your thighs clench. Sweet fires of hell, this man is perfect.

“It’s a deal,” you manage to squeak out.

“Go on, then.” Steve lifts a hand to brush his thumb along your hairline, down your cheek to press against your lips, dragging them open. From there, he continues to where the swell of your breast meets the lace of your bra, skirting your nipple by lifting his hand up to clasp with the other hand behind his head. Throughout, his gaze holds yours, intense and commanding.

“Sure, show me up, like I’m going to remember anything more than my own name, at this point,” you whisper-whine.

“I used it a few times on my recent trip.” His soft admission is in direct contrast to his casual, confident body language. You’re starting to realize there’s a stronger dichotomy to Steve than you thought. Will you get to have the kind, thoughtful boyfriend who saves you from an evening of elitist tedium and a fierce, possessive lover?

Will you survive, if so?

“Tell me. I’m getting a little jealous of whatever it is you’re thinking about,” Steve intones.

You stop biting your lip and grin. “I’m filing away these new pieces of information about you. Just… don’t ask me where I’m filing them.”

“Oh, I will.”

His voice is like a caress that cascades over you, pausing at your most sensitive places. You shiver, both for your own acknowledgment of the sexual tension and for him to appreciate his effect on you. After letting out a breath that’s more like a yearning sigh, you set your hands on the top button of his dress shirt. With Steve’s steady gaze on you, though, you’re questioning yourself.

“My plan sounds stupid in my head now, with you oozing all of this confidence.”

Immediately, his hand covers yours, setting off sparks with every swipe of his thumb on your skin. “At work it’s a facade, a persona, even--and not a flattering one. I didn’t think I could shake it off, the night of the gala. It’s more natural when--” He interrupts himself by pulling you in for a deep, passionate kiss.

“You’re not faking it here,” you observe minutes later. The whole concept is knocking you sideways, but-- “Okay, I need to tell you I’m picturing you in one of those tailored suits commanding a room of powerful people and that is just sexy as hell.”

He rocks his hips up into you. “I’ll let them know--but, roll back a minute. What was your plan? Better yet,” Steve interrupts himself, setting a heavy hand on your hip to hold you still as he grinds up against you again. “Show me.”

His confidence is literally rubbing off on you. “All right, but fair warning: it’s very ‘over-eager receptionist peeks at you between decorative plants.’” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his warm hand travels from your hip around and down, fingertips pushing aside your waistbands to firmly grip your ass.

“I know exactly who I’m here with.”

There’s enough of the altruistic, spend-a-week-building-with-the-bros tone in his voice to be reassuring, and you nod.

“Right, then.” Briskly, with the heat of arousal singing through you from every point of contact, you unbutton the top button of his dress shirt. “You’re kind.” Button two: “You’re moral and fair.” Your eyes are focused on your ‘work,’ but you can see Steve break into a smile. At button three, you’re almost halfway down. “You’re a hard worker.”

Steve lets out a deep ‘Mmmm’ sound. Thanks to his ass-grab leverage, he blatantly moves your hips in time with his for a cycle of thrusts that leave you breathless. You can’t look at him, so you clear your throat like a prudish schoolmarm and meticulously unbutton #4.

“You’re good at your… job.” It takes a little while to free this button, so you end up worrying your lower lip with your teeth as you try. Once you’re finished, with anticipation lifting every single hair follicle on your body, only then do you make eye contact.

He mutters ‘fuck’ and reaches between the two of you to unbuckle his belt, popping his trouser snap with an expression that challenges you to object.

There are two shirt buttons left.

You’re completely out of your depth, as desperate to come as you may have ever been in your entire existence, and you have zero idea what else to say--but you reach for button number five.

You wet your lips. Slowly.

Steve grips the couch with his free hand-- but the one he’s holding onto you with is still firm and not at all bruising (not that you’d mind. You’ll paint yourself with this man’s passion if he lets you). 

“You’re passionate.”

He makes a cut-off sort of growl in the back of his throat when you move to the last button. You can see the heavy bulge of his cock in his boxer briefs just an inch away from your palms. In a perfect world, you’d say ‘fuck it’ to coming up with another word. In a perfect world, you’d reward both of you by giving up and sliding to your knees, demonstrating exactly how much you appreciate this tall, sexy, beast of an honorable man--and then you have an idea.

Your borrowed pants have a simple clasp, and you move your hands slowly from Steve’s last remaining shirt button to release it, incidentally dragging across his straining cock as you do so. The blatant teasing gets ‘worse’ when you draw down your zipper, nudging, rubbing, and pressing until it’s fully unzipped.

Throughout, Steve’s hand on your ass remains steady, but his breathing grows more and more ragged.

Finally, you lift your hands up and away, denying him any more contact before dropping down to reach for the last button.

“You--” he rumbles, but you interrupt him with two words.

“You’re patient.”

With a practically incomprehensible oath that thoroughly refutes your last impudent compliment, Steve shoves down your loosened clothing and angles the two of you to the side on the couch, all in a single action. Then he sinks two fingers inside you roughly, both of you groaning at the desperate, glorious pleasure of it.

You cram a fist in your mouth, but he stops in the middle of his one-handed shucking of his pants and boxers to yank your fist free.

“All through that shitty conference I imagined the noises you’d make tonight,” Steve grits out, looking down at you with naked desire in his eyes. He twists his fingers mid thrust, and you can’t help but cry out, your hips chasing every movement his talented, devastating fingers perform on you.

You’re already so close. The white-hot, catastrophic release starts to cloud your vision, stayed only by your delayed understanding of what he just said.

“Wait, you’re saying during the--”

Steve kicks the last inches of his lower clothing free and swaps hands deftly, spreading your arousal on his cock with an ‘Mmmm’ of pleasure so filthy you flutter around his fingers in pre-orgasmic shock.

“Thinking about you genuinely kept me sane, and I'm going to turn those daydreams into reality,” he rasps, a modern Greek god with the morals of a saint and the body of a satyr, as if you could ever do anything but gratefully worship him.

You mouth something like the word “Yes,” too desperate for anything more coherent.

The pleasure that follows his first deep thrust is ruinous. You forget everything but Steve, the taste of praise on his lips, the delight his touch chases across your skin, and most of all, the power he arches into you, music and mayhem and meaning, all at once. By the time you’re shuddering around each other you’ve ended up on the floor in front of his couch--and you only notice because Steve’s got a hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’m out of adjectives,” you whisper weakly. “All of the good ones. Most of the naughty ones. Fuck, other languages, too. Even extinct ones. You’re fluent in everything.”

Steve pulls you to his chest and does something athletic that ends with you on the couch beside him, his soft homemade afghan covering the most pertinent parts of your nakedness.

“You make me want to be fluent in everything,” he murmurs. “And, thank you.” Steve grabs his shirt and holds it in front of his crotch. “I’ll get a washcloth.”

He’s jogging farther into the apartment before you can respond, but something about his protective actions trigger a flurry of realization, something you should be--

Oh.

The fall of snow past the giant picture windows brings reality crashing into you. You just had glorious, intense, messy sex in a room that is visible from other nearby buildings!

Steve reappears with a soft-looking washcloth. He’s wearing pajama pants, with what looks like a matching long-sleeved top slung over his shoulder.

“I forgot about the windows,” you say in a small voice, taking the washcloth and using it under the afghan.

“Oh, right,” he says in a completely un-worried voice. Steve looks over at you, sees the half-scared expression on your face, and his demeanor sort of… softens. It’s both obvious and hard to quantify, and it hits you that he’s almost certainly done that before, even if you hadn’t noticed. You imagine there’s a lot of things his clothes and a carefully-crafted facial expression would cover for. He sits down beside you on the couch and offers you the shirt as he says, “The couch is recessed enough into the room that it’s not very visible, I think, but I wasn’t thinking, and I should have asked you about that. I’m sorry.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, and you ask him about that while pulling on his proffered pajama top, juggling the blanket in the process.

“Would it be strange to say I get very… goals-oriented?” he asks, rueful and amused in equal measure.

“How much different a ‘persona’ are we talking, here?”

The question is meant playfully, but Steve takes long enough to answer that you can feel the warmth of the washcloth start to fade in your hand.

“Too different for comfort, I’m coming to realize.” 

He reaches for the washcloth, but you pull it close and get up, gesturing for him to lead you to wherever you can rinse it out. On the way, you can’t help but eye the windows in a new way, perhaps as unintentional adversaries.

“I haven’t let myself be truly seen in a long time,” Steve says as you drape the rinsed washcloth on a drying rack in the dimly-lit kitchen area. “The reason is--well, it might be insulting, but it’s honest.”

You resist the urge to hug your arms around yourself. He’s given you a shirt to wear that matches his, and you were serious with those compliments earlier, despite the pleasure-wrought desperation you felt as you spoke them. “Go on?”

“You’re yourself with me. Not fawning. There’s no facade, no attempt to pretend you have more money or influence. That’s rare. Precious even.”

His statement stings, despite everything that’s happened tonight, despite the way his compliment hews off the rough edges. There’s no derision or judgment in his tone, so you smile at him, albeit stiffly. 

“I don’t really have a way to hide those things. I’m me. I figured if you were bothered by--” you wince, feeling a sense of inferiority rise up inside you (dropped out of college, pulled out of your internship, entry-level job, depleted nest-egg, caregiver for your sister, baggage, baggage, baggage) before you wrestle it all back down. “--any of that, you’d move on, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

“I don’t want to move on,” Steve says firmly, brushing his hand over your hair as if to adjust the disarray that came from putting on his shirt. “I want to move forward, even if that means you can see through some of the windows I usually cover with curtains. Will you be exclusive with me?”

“I’d really like that,” you whisper, overcome. “And not just because you fuck like a complete god.”

The words slip out before you can fucking stop them, and you gasp, the tidal wave of your social inferiority to a man like Steve coming blasting through all the tentative bridges you’ve just built. You hear buzzing in your ears, your vision is misted over with regret--but seconds later, you realize he’s laughing.

“Okay I swear on every single deity that exists, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud! I’m so sorry,” you groan, your relief over his amusement barely tempering the metallic tang of adrenaline on your tongue.

Your… your boyfriend Steve Rogers takes your hand in his and lifts it up, bowing over it before kissing it with more chivalry than a whole season of Game of Thrones. Even one of the early ones.

“Sweetheart, you’re forgiven.”

<- Previous story...

[son-justdont]

okay so here's the update regarding my mom's opinions on catws

she fuckin gets it, dude

i talked about how despite everything hydra does to make him look intimidating, you can see that he's very neutral, sometimes even scared. i showed her this gif:

and she said "it's like he's lost"

we talked about how he's extremely calculating and doesn't react emotionally even in high stress or when he's being bested, like when Natasha fucked up his arm, or even during the face reveal. and she said "because they didn't understand the science of it... the serum enhances everything about the person, and he wasn't bad. that's why they had to work so hard and wipe him so much, because he wouldn't ever actually want to do those things." i couldn't help but smile while she was saying this lmao

she also said: "to me, Steve always seemed... independent. it's almost like Bucky relied on him more than the other way around" which is the most stucky thing she could've ever said. she's so fucking right

she was like "wait, so he pulled him out of the water... and then he just walked away?? so now he's just wandering around... and the longer he stays unfrozen, the more he's going to remember everything"

we can't quite yet watch civil war but we are very excited for it lol

oh, and she loved nick fury and she didn't even know who the fuck he was. i forgot to explain beforehand but she understood pretty quick. and then she was very upset when he "died" as well LOL she said "THEY NEED TO STOP DOING THAT." she hated rumlow immediately as well and i was like yeah that's the correct opinion

now i wanna respond to some of the comments under the cut cuz ive been having such a good time lmao

@bucky-boychik-barnes @impetusofadream HERE U GO (one of them is from a different post where i talked about the same thing lmao)

@ilovemosss i read this post out to my mom including the replies and when i read this one she went "YOU ARE!!!!!!!!!"

@sentowritesstuff @stuckydrewx @partofthefandom @musette22 @rillils @skullfragments

she really thought all these responses were so funny and sweet! i however will not be introducing her to ao3 lmfao. she's no prude but she's pretty shy. i'll have to just relay ideas i find myself, i think. if anyone has any non-M rated recs you think she might like based on what she's said, feel free to send them my way haha

honestly she'd probably enjoy herself but i am probably only be showing her Cap and Bucky related stuff LSKDJF we didn't even watch avengers and i sure as hell am not showing her AoU. i'm basically explaining the relevant information as to what went on in between movies. i was like "natasha is an ex russian spy that was groomed to be as a child. that's basically all you need to know" like i didn't even explain nick fury and she was SO UPSET WHEN HE DIED LMAO

and, i gotta spill the beans, but i haven't seen a marvel movie since the first black panther. yeah that includes IF and EG. i know what happens but my interest in marvel PLUMMETED back then and i never caught up. honestly i'm only back into this stuff because i rewatched jessica jones and then wanted to go through the whole MCU from the beginning, saw CA:TFA, went "oh yeah this was all that i liked," and went all in for them.

i have watched TFatWS and i loved it (it seems like the fandom doesn't though LOL) for what it was, so i'll probably show her that. she is gonna be so so so so so upset regarding steve's choice, just like the rest of us. and i'm not looking forward to it lol. but i'll update when that happens too

i'll have to make a post civil war mom thoughts once that happens haha

[vivalas-vega]

fine line / part one

look at me trying new things !!! dipping my toe into a new fandom - long time lurker, first time contributor. first four parts are written, I just wanted to get this out and get some feelers and feedback. this is gonna be a big one, i'm working very hard !! please please please, let me know what you think (gonna update the header - just wanted to put something for now lol)

fine line / mcu x reader / part one

summary: Three kids from Brooklyn. A war that asks too much. And a woman with secrets stitched into every seam.

also - seems obvious bc of the title but fine line by harry styles is the song for this fic, if you like listening while reading that should def be on your playlist (maybe I’ll make a playlist, I’m undecided)

to be tagged in future works, please turn on post notifications for @vegaslibrary

word count: 2.5k

warnings: (not specific to this part, but for the series as a whole. this fic is 18+, you are responsible for your own media consumption). language, angst, drinking, smut, violence, references (and descriptions) of bucky's abuse within hydra, canon-typical situations - this is the mcu y'all, shit will get a little crazy, and a little devastating

Summer, 1943

“Come on, doll,” Bucky sighed, hand on your waist gripping firm to try and stop you but you just gave him one of those looks that was so classically you. A little annoyance, a little mischief. “A double date with Steve and Bonnie isn’t really what I had in mind for our last night.” 

His hand shifted just slightly, not enough to be considered indecent for how publicly you were situated, but enough towards your hip that you knew what he meant, what he wanted. “There’ll be plenty of time for what you’re suggesting later, Sergeant Barnes,” you replied, the smirk on your lips completely undercutting how innocent you sounded. You pushed him closer to Steve, forcing them to soak up as much conversation as they could before Bucky left at first light tomorrow morning. 

“I don’t see what the problem is. You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York.” Bucky said. “You know there’s three and a half million women here?” He was trying to make him feel hopeful and optimistic about his departure but you and Steve both knew it was fruitless. Bucky was leaving, leaving the two of you behind to go fight the war. It had been just you three since you were children, against the world, and your trio was about to fracture… in ways the boys didn’t even know. 

“I’d settle for just one,” Steve sighed and you flashed him a bright smile, trading places with Bucky and looping your arm through his. 

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’ve taken care of that, isn’t it?” you asked, waving to Bonnie in the distance, waiting for you all just at the entrance.

“What did you tell her about me?” he asked apprehensively.

“Oh, only the good stuff, Steve,” you replied, leaning closer, “and there was a lot to tell.” You made introductions and nudged him forward, trying to push him out of his shell but Steve didn’t do well with letting the rest of the world see who he was. You and Bucky were larger than life, and so was he according to you, but you two seemed to be the only people who knew that.

Howard Stark took the stage—a technology man so ahead of his time you half-believed he was a time traveler. You considered yourself a fairly practical woman, but even you couldn’t help feeling giddy as he spoke of a flying car. You watched in awe as he made it hover above the ground and you turned to face Bucky when you heard him mutter holy cow, with an awe struck smile on your face and delight in your eyes.

He leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek before turning to say something to Steve, who had disappeared at some point in the last five minutes, causing him to look around confused. You gave a sad smile, pointing toward the recruitment center. Bonnie didn’t notice, still marveling at Stark’s other inventions.

“I’m not sure why he wants to face the rejection time and time again,” Bucky said, a mix of disappointment and sympathy in his tone.

“He’s a dedicated man,” you said. “It’s a fine trait in what would make a fine soldier… I just wish they could see that.”

“Well, not everyone can see the world as you do, doll,” he said, pulling the door open for you. “But it’d sure be a good thing if they did.” You frowned slightly when you found Steve, standing in front of a mirror meant to show the person in front of it in a full military uniform… and Steve’s eyes rested where the neck was supposed to be. You thought the world of him, as did Bucky, and you hated how much him and everyone else fixated on his size. You always said a man was measured not by his stature, but by what his heart contained, though Steve could only hear you say it so many times before he stopped believing it.

“Come on,” Bucky said, clapping him on the shoulder and Steve turned, almost a little embarrassed at being caught in front of the display. “You’re kind of missing the point of a double date, we’re taking the girls dancing.”

“You go ahead,” he replied, stepping away from the mirror with his hands in his pockets. “I’ll catch up with you.”

“You’re really going to do this again?” Bucky asked with a disapproving look and you shot him one of your own.

“Well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.”

“As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you… or worse, they’ll actually take you.” You gave Steve a sympathetic look, you’d watched him torture himself with this since the war began, and it broke your heart.

“Look, I know you don’t think I can do this-”

“This isn’t some back alley, Steve. It’s a war,” Bucky shot back and you sighed, realizing Bucky’s little side mission before he met up with you was pulling Steve out of another fight.

“I know it’s a war.”

“Why are you so keen to fight? There’s lots of other important jobs-”

“What do you want me to do? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?”

“Yes! Why not?” Bucky was exasperated and you let out another sigh. This is how it always was, it was you in the middle of them constantly… because you could so clearly see both sides. Bucky had points, but so did Steve. 

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky. Even Button is doing more than me,” he protested and your eyes darted around… of all the places you didn’t want your laundry aired, a recruitment center was pretty high on that list.

“Steve,” you nearly whispered, a warning. You didn’t need any attention on you or what you did for the war, the less people knew the safer you’d be and the better you could carry out your tasks.

“Sorry,” he muttered, giving you an apologetic look. “Men are laying down their lives, Bucky. I’ve got no right to do any less. It’s not just about me.”

“Right, cause you’ve got nothing to prove,” Bucky shot back and the air grew more tense around you. You wished they wouldn’t fight, not when you had a gut feeling things would never be like this again. Tomorrow Bucky would ship off to war, you’d disappear into your work, and Steve… you didn’t know what Steve would do. This moment could have been the last where you were all still just kids from Brooklyn.

“Come on, aren’t we goin’ dancing?” Bonnie called out, lingering near the entrance.

“Yeah, we are,” Bucky answered, a slight edge to his tone as he tried to pull you away but you planted your feet.

“James,” you said, voice firm. “Not like this.” You gave him a look and he glanced back to Steve, letting out a sigh as he conceded. You were right, as always.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid until I get back,” he said, a teasing lilt to his tone as he fixed the distance he’d created just a minute ago.

“How can I?” Steve asked. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.” You cracked a smile, watching Bucky pull him in for a hug, both of them muttering something like punk and jerk. “Be careful,” he added when Bucky pulled away and you could see the longing in his eyes. Longing for his best friend’s safety, longing to go with him.

“Stop by the shop this week, okay?” you asked, leaning down to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek and he nodded half-heartedly. “Don’t disappear on me too, Rogers,” you prodded, keeping your tone light and he gave you his full attention, promising he would come by before you ran to catch up with Bucky. Perhaps it was a low blow pulling on his heartstrings like that, but you felt you had to. You didn’t have much time to make sure he’d be alright without Bucky… without you. You all had jobs to do, and as soon as Bucky shipped out yours would be your focus, you just didn’t know what Steve’s focus would be.

You and Bucky burst through the door like you were outrunning the end of the world, clumsily making your way inside your small apartment without letting your lips stray from his. Your back hit the wall with a soft thud and he took the opportunity to trail kisses down your neck as his hands roamed everywhere, trying to memorize the feel of you as best he could and you were doing the same. You wanted his touch burned into your skin, the memory lodged in every fiber of your being.

He groaned when you grabbed him by the lapel of his coat, one you’d made for him, and pulled him back to your lips, kissing him with such an intensity that his grip on your waist became bruising. Good, you thought. Give me something to hold onto when you’re gone. The sound that tumbled from your mouth when he hoisted you off the ground to set you on the table shot straight through him and he couldn’t get his hands to move fast enough as they pulled your coat down your arms and began working on the buttons of your dress.

Each inch of skin he exposed made him crumble for you, and his hands landed on either side of your neck to pull you back into a kiss, demanding and hungry… possessive. The slide of his tongue against yours melted you into him, sent tingles to the tips of your toes…. Your fingers were more controlled as they undid his belt, more graceful than his movements had been but the way you tugged it off and threw it on the floor was anything but. You slid your fingers through the loops and pulled him flush against your core, softly biting his bottom lip as he groaned into your mouth.

“God, Button,” he whispered, pushing the hair from your face. “You tryin’ to kill me before I ship out?” 

“Maybe just incapacitate you,” you replied and he shook his head before his lips traced a path along your chest. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he lingered just above your heart and when he lifted his eyes to meet yours they were dark, unreadable.

“You’re gonna vanish, aren’t you?” It was barely above a whisper but it felt loud as it rattled through your ears, heart still thudding rapidly and his hands still holding you like you might vanish right now. You’d grown so still you felt a little like glass beneath his fingers but he pressed on anyway. “I know what you’re planning, you might be able to fool Steve, but not me.”

You didn’t answer, just let your hands slide up to rest on his chest… not quite pushing him away, but not pulling him closer either. “You think I’m stupid?” he asked, catching your chin and pulling your gaze to him… not forceful, but insistent. “You’ve been wrapping things up for weeks, meeting people you won’t name. Soon as I got my papers, you started pulling away. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Bucky-”

“I get it. You want to do more. You’ve always wanted to do more.”

“So please don’t fight me on it,” you replied, soft and sure. “Not tonight.”

He swallowed hard, jaw flexing as he considered his next words. “I’m not trying to stop you, I just-” he exhaled sharply. “I don’t know how to walk out of here tomorrow and feel like it’s really you that’s leaving me.”

“Because it’d be so easy if it were you leaving me?” you asked as you ran your fingers through his hair and he didn’t have an answer, because it wasn’t easy either way. “Forget tomorrow. Just be here. Just… be here.” 

There was nothing else to say, and he didn’t know how to deny you anything, especially not when you pleaded. His eyes scanned your face for a moment and his grip on your face squeezed, just slightly, before he pulled you back into him, kissing you with a new purpose. Now, it wasn’t just him that had to make it back home to you, you had to make it back home to him, too. He didn’t like those odds, both of you being out there.

He pulled you up and helped you pull off the rest of your clothing before pushing you back onto the bed and settling above you, hands taking in every inch of flesh they could. Each movement felt loaded, a whisper of I love you, of I miss you, of please don’t break my heart. Each push of his body into yours filled you like fire and you wished you could stay here like this with him forever… that there wasn’t a war you were both so determined to fight, that you didn’t have to worry about the world outside your apartment door. You wished you lived in a world where the only thing that mattered was you and Bucky in this bed, giving and taking everything you had to offer.

You laid curled against his side, head resting on his chest and listening to the steady thump of a heart that you knew belonged to you. Your fingers moved idly along his skin, as if you were trying to stitch something into him. “I keep thinking about everything we’re never gonna get.”

Bucky was quiet for a long moment. His hand moved slowly along your back, like he could calm the ache out of you one inch at a time. “Like what?”

“Sunday mornings,” you said. “Stupid arguments over curtains. You kissing me in a grocery store, and it not meaning goodbye.”

He smiled, a little sad, “I would kiss you in a grocery store.”

“You’d kiss me anywhere, Sergeant.” you teased, voice thick with affection.

“True,” he chuckled before you fell back into silence. You could feel sleep trying to pull you under, your body exhausted from the weight of his touch, the weight of what it had meant, but you fought it… wanting another minute. Another ten. Another twenty.

“Promise me something,” you said, your voice smaller than you meant it to be.

He looked down at you. “Anything.”

“Leave before I wake up.”

“Button,” he started, already knowing he’d barely be able to stand leaving you as it was.

“Don’t make me watch you walk away,” you murmured. The pain of it lived in every word. “I won’t be able to take it.” He stared up at the ceiling like it might hold a better answer, jaw tense. “Promise me,” you prompted and you saw it break in his eyes. That familiar crack, the one that always came right before he gave in… because it was you. It would always be you. There wasn’t a single thing you could ask of him that he wouldn’t do, even if it broke his own heart.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”  You stared at him for a long moment, memorizing every sharp line, every soft crease, like your eyes could hold onto him when your arms couldn’t.

You pulled him back into you, losing yourself in him again. There would never be enough kisses. Never enough I love you’s. Never enough of this.

But it had to be.

This one night had to hold all the ones you’d never get.

Time was already moving on without you. But for now, it was just him. Just you. Just this.

And that would have to be enough.

next part

[sixth-light]

WoT 3x01-3x03 thoughts

Book spoilers aplenty! Cut for those and length because I had more to say than I thought.

These are basically random things that stood out to me, assume I really enjoyed all 3 episodes and think the show has really hit its stride as of this season, as someone who has enjoyed it from the start and is a book fan from way back.

I continue to just be deeply, deeply grateful that my very first early-teens fandom is giving me a big-budget adaptation which is almost perfectly tailored to my interests and tastes as a middle-aged queer woman - like, that certainly hasn't happened with other adaptations of stuff I've loved, I know this adaptation doesn't hit that way for everybody who loved WoT as a teen, but it is more or less perfect for me and what a profound gift that is.

On to random thoughts:

These people like each other!!! Possibly the key reason this show works so well for me is the script and cast sell 100% that these are people who like and care about each other, not just in the big moments but the little stuff. The platonic chemistry is so bonkers good across the whole main cast. There was a bit of tonal whiplash in 3x01 from big setpiece battle to People Just Chillin' but I am willing to forgive it because I love the Just Chillin' bits so much. Mat making a dick joke about the White Tower and Egwene/Rand/Nynaeve reacting perfectly in character? No notes.

Much has been said about that big setpiece battle because it's been out a while but I genuinely do appreciate a show that lets a bunch of middle-aged women go to town in mortal magical combat - it makes me think of that infamous anecdote about the MCU female actors being told to not move their faces in big fight scenes because it looked bad - this is like the polar opposite of that. Love it.

Controversial take but I do think the choice to only show one key part of Egwene's Accepted test was the right call. Doing a whole episode focused on Nynaeve's means we know how it works, and they did one very effective scene to ram home the key conflict for Egwene right now. They get eight hours a season, it's fine.

The bubble of evil (with the twist of Lanfear doing it with Moiraine's contrivance!!!) was so well done. I was a bit confused by Mat and Nynaeve's scene because as a book reader I fully expected the cards to attack him but on a second watch I don't think I would be. The axe cutting off Perrin's wedding ring???? goddamn.

I was spoiled (happily) for the Avilayne hook-up scene (!!!) and it is early for that, but I like that it was played very much as a hook-up where both parties would like to take it further if they get a chance but can't be in the same place right now, I think that's going to lead both to some sweet future romance and some very funny Elayne-Aviendha-Rand dynamics. If we ever get Aviendha extolling Elayne's skill in bed to Rand in an attempt to get them to hook up, or vice-versa, I will die (complimentary). MAKE IT HAPPEN R2J2.

They're really letting the weight of compounding trauma hang on all the main characters, not just Rand, and it's making the big fantasy arcs feel grounded. But also...oh, babies, you've got so much more to come.

I'm glad Moghedien is very effectively creepy (it is so easy to forget HOW creepy she is at the start) but I hate and am bored by torture scenes so like...less of that in future I hope, except we're getting Semirhage, so probably not less. Sigh.

The show continues to use book canon in such fun ways to create show-specific plots - in the books Morgase does come to Tar Valon to demand Elayne back and leaves Elaida behind, it creates a rift between Andor and the Tower, it just happens off-page and before Elayne returns. This is such smart re-writing!

Tsutama survived!!! I am obsessed with all the Red Ajah stuff, yes it's setting up for the Coup but it is also setting up for a Black Ajah Hunters/Asha'man Warders plotline and they've established Tsutama really clearly as a level-headed and reasonable Red sister. Whether she ends up standing in for all the 'good Reds' (mostly Teslyn and Pevara, maybe Silviana as well?) I don't know but I like that we've got an early start on that. Yes, I love all the minor Aes Sedai plotlines, no apologies.

Fascinated by how show!Elaida seems to have a very similar backstory to book Lelaine and Romanda - an older sister who had semi-retired but used to hold significant power, was an almost-but-not-quite Amyrlin Seat, and sees opportunity in a time of crisis. It will I think make either Lelaine or Romanda seem obvious foils for her and Egwene's position more obviously precarious.

The way the Waygate opens when not channelled open is fucking cool, the VFX have stepped up a level even on last season.

Also obsessed with the way they've done Rahvin's plot - the long pauses before Leane and Elayne are caught were perfect - and the way he's been positioned, in an extremely Hugh Jackman Magazine Cover way, as a powerful woman's dream later-life partner instead of the somewhat generic rapist of the books (who is nevertheless an accurate portrayal of a kind of man who specifically enjoys abusing powerful women). Book!Rahvin would have been way creepier with Elayne, show!Rahvin is cosplaying Best Stepdad with her even when he has all the cards. And this too is an accurate take on how abusers are good at showing a caring face to people they need on side. It's going to make the reveal much more insidious. Now regretting my former takes that show!Morgase needs to die. I think she probably will but it's going to be so awful.

RYMA ISN'T A DAMANE FUCK YEAH. NGL this was also necessary (along with Tsutama) to balance out the show's very real S1 colourism issue which casting Alviarin as another dark-skinned Black woman would otherwise have, uh, not helped with. I mean maybe she still dies in the Coup or something but at least she's alive and free now.

Elayne with that line about the novice rooms being small - lmao ok I know this is an exigency of TV sets where they can't be that small but that room is HUGE compared to the book descriptions, like twice the size of the Accepted rooms. I guess she's a princess but still.

Galad literally white knighting his way around the Tower - there is a Character Arc coming here, I think it will also be very significant that the cold open for 3x02 set up the precedent of the male relatives of the High Seats murdering them to make peace with Morgase and Trakand and we'll see an explicit plotline about the Whitecloaks intervening in the Succession. Anyway he's not pretty enough but he's exactly annoying enough and I'm ready for his full fall and rise arc. Gawyn...was also there? Sorry Gawyn fans I'm sure he'll get more of a glow-up once his love interest status comes into play.

Everything in Liandrin's plotline is building towards her getting murdered by Moghedien so Moggy can win that promotion to Nynaeve's #1 Enemy status. Given that she's already sent Grey Men after her twice I am currently betting on Liandrin dying to try and save Nynaeve and Nynaeve having to live with that (and being mad about it forever, like HOW DARE LIANDRIN DO THAT).

Shout-out to the Evil Glow-ups Nyomi and the other Black sisters got in Tanchico. Is it a bit silly? Yes. Is it also fun? Yes. The costuming is so good this season, it's always been good but it continues to be spectacular and a real and heartfelt thanks to the costume team for deciding that in this turning of the Wheel, even though it's a fantasy show, women can wear trousers. (Butch Tower servant disguise Min? Impeccable).

Lots of scenes straight from TDR/TSR, all very well-executed (Siuan and Mat a stand-out) but I have fewer notes on those simply because they're doing what already exists well, it's the new or changed things which excite me. If I want to read the books I can read the books. Which doesn't mean I don't want those key scenes done well but there's just less to say about them.

Final note: I can't believe Nyomi had a non-book-character name so they could hide she was Black Ajah, I fully thought it was so she could die in the Coup. Good job writers there. I hope she adopts some cats, though, Marillin and her cats constantly outing them is one of the funniest subplots of the whole Liandrin crew storyline because it's so deeply exactly what some real person would do.

[bennie-jerry]

My Beef with Wanda Maximoff - An MCU Rant

Sorry not sorry, I will ride the Wanda-ain't-shiitake train till the wheels are worn out. I do not care what her fangirls say. And if you're legitimately going to be so overly offended just from me disliking a FICTIONAL character, I highly suggest you click off, make some tea, and watch a Ghibli movie.

How many times does it need to be said? Just because someone suffers from some form of (small or big) trauma, IT DOESN’T GIVE THEM A PASS TO DO EVIL SH—

I really REALLY sincerely hope there's lore or bits I'm missing here (and if so, PLEASE tell me because I WANT to be wrong so BAD). But from what I know and remember, I feel as though I have every right to be disgusted with who Wanda is as a person.

It frustrates me so much how this carmine-colored narcissist will whine about people being scared of her, but she does stuff only a scary person WOULD do.

Purposefully setting the Hulk off so you could use him as a wrecking ball on innocent civilians in Johannesburg during Age of Ultron? Seems scary as heck.

Literally warping the universe itself to hunt and kill a teenager who did nothing to you during Multiverse of Madness? Seems scary as heck.

Brainwashing an ENTIRE town JUST so you can live in delusion about your man not being dead during Wandavision? Seems DOUBLE scary as heck.

Don't even try to defend what she did in Age of Ultron. Even if she supposedly didn't INTEND to have civilians killed, she sure as HECK didn't seem all too sorry that it happened. She wasn't ‘regretful’ that she did it. She was only ‘regretful' when Bruce confronted her on it. She has the nerve (the utter AUDACITY) to hate Tony Stark for the same CRAP that she does (if not worse, which let's be honest—it’s worse).

At least Tony Stark DIED out of an effort to save everyone, whereas Wanda usually tends to only help others when it benefits HER.

Wanda is nothing more than a Multiversal brat with a god-complex and no one can tell me otherwise. If something does not go 100% her way, she completely acts out and throws a reality-warping tantrum.

“Oh, but she tried to fix everything in Wandavision!”

Yeah, only after finding out she was BRAINWASHING people!

How the FREAK do you reality warp an ENTIRE town (especially at the large radius she used her magic) and expect NO one to be under mind control? Would you NOT try to fly around the premises to see if ANYONE else was there?

Once again, even if this was an example where she didn't INTEND for it to happen, then that proves another great flaw that she has.

Wanda hardly (if ever) thinks through her actions. And then when her actions bite her in the butt, she has the nerve to be surprised. Wanda almost never (and I'm being generous here) considers how her actions harm or affect others until it turns around and affects HER.

She did not deserve Vision, he was too good of a man for her, sorry not sorry.

Just the stuff she did BEFORE Multiverse of Madness ALONE is enough to not like her.

Let's not even get into the fact she never ACTUALLY apologized to Bruce Banner for everything she put him through. All she said at most when he confronted her is, “I know you're angry…”

Oh wow, REALLY? I couldn't POSSIBLY understand why Banner would EVER be angry at you for essentially brain-raping him (going into his mind and memories without his CONSENT) and using his worst fears against him to trigger Hulk so you could use him like a personal killing machine, further lessening the very few support systems he already HAD. She should feel grateful Banner didn't immediately throw her through a wall upon seeing her.

“But she became an avenger and helped them in Endgame!”

I could not give less of a DOOKIE about the fact she did that. Wanda fighting Thanos was literally the ONLY option she possibly had if she didn't wanna turn into dust along with the other half of the population. Sure, she also did it because she was forced to kill her boo BECAUSE of Thanos, but let's be honest—she would've had to fight him regardless. Her handing Thanos’ butt to him (while a very cool scene) doesn't prove JACK about her character.

The fact she ever BECAME an avenger after effectively traumatizing the MAJORITY of them is mind-boggling to me.

“Oh, I'm sorry I weaponized all of your traumas against you for my own personal gain because I wanted to work with a genocidal robot, can I join you guys?”

“Sure, Wanda! Come into the team and we'll pretend like you didn't do a darn thing!”

(The fact this isn't even ALL that she's done is absurd, I can still keep going—)

Don't even get me STARTED on Multiverse of Madness. And before anyone tries to say, “She did it so she could have a reality with her children!”

BRO, HER KIDS WEREN'T EVEN FREAKING REAL—

Wanda Freaking Maximoff wanted to murder a TEENAGER all for some children that were not even ACTUAL people. And when she did have them, didn't she make them FIGHT against the military in Wandavision or am I mistaken (which I VERY MUCH hope I am because what the he---)?

I do not care whatsoever what her reason is or what trauma she went through. Attempted murder of a minor (ESPECIALLY in this case, a minor who didn't even do anything) is inexcusable to me.

There is no way in frog fingers you guys are ACTUALLY trying to justify and/or downplay a grown ADULT trying to murder a CHILD (because that's what America was—a CHILD).

(Her and Miguel O'Hara would get along GREAT, when's the collab--)

And by then, she had ALREADY brutally murdered a whole bunch of people and probably corrupted the multiverse even FURTHER than she already had.

It wasn't until an ALTERNATE version of her (who ACTUALLY had her kids) told her to sit the [BLEEP] down (I'm paraphrasing here, but you get my drift).

Wanda is NOT a victim. Is she a good villain? Yes. But this witch isn't a victim. Not anymore at least. She doesn't apologize for her actions. She doesn't take responsibility. She doesn't reflect on what she does.

And even when she DOES finally do ANY of those things in ANY capacity, the damage is already done. In fact, it's not JUST done, it's also BURNT inside the oven causing smoke to go everywhere.

There is no rhyme or reason you could pull out that will convince me to be anything short of angry with this character and I'm so tired of her fans trying to defend her just because she was a lab rat and lost her man.

Once again, it's not bad to like a character that does awful stuff. But please, for sanity sake, STOP acting like they're a lost little angel BECAUSE you like them. I know they say "hurt people hurt people" but that still doesn't justify doing bad stuff just because bad things happened to YOU.

[televisionenjoyer]

Is it that all good sci fi has already been made or....

There's no way in hell that all good science fiction has been made get real. I do think science fiction is going through a crisis mainly because they're trying to make everything palatable and marketable to the mainstream and like. I'm gonna do some introspection and say that star trek has been a perpetuator of this since the late 80s in a way HOWEVER. there's like a marked pre and post MCU heyday and that the MCU actually is a great example of what I'm getting at.

The MCU in my opinion started off fun and enjoyable even if a bit shitty. I'm a trekkie I can handle shitty. However the problem arose when they started hiring every popular actor ever and roping their fans into this universe where you kind of have to watch a bit chunk of it to understand it and so they sell you their shitty streaming service and they make spin off series of the spin off series and no you don't understand you GOTTA watch it because otherwise you won't get the newest zionist movie and whatnot. Oh but also they expand on this in the comics and the marvel rivals game and so on. So they sell you a bunch of stuff. And since it works, they buy the star wars ip and start doing the same. I don't give a fuck about cassian andor SORRY I don't.

All the while they're roping in people from all demographics and trying to satisfy these new audiences, like idk, Pedro Pascal fans or Brett Goldstein fans or whatever, who come from different genres, and like ok let's face it:

Science Fiction is in it's conception very camp. Cringy even, to the joyless outsider.

So, in order to retain this audience they try to un-cringe science fiction. To make it, idk, deep, more action-y, taking itself more seriously. IMO this just makes it more cringe. I personally as a self identifying geek would much rather watch a show like the later seasons of legends of tomorrow, where they embrace the goofy nonsense of the genre, than yet another MCU show on Matt Murdock SORRY. They killed foggy even so I don't give a crap.

Then sometimes they go "oh man I don't think star trek fans like all this new grittier and grimer star trek I mean they hated our CIA propaganda how can we appease them" and so they try to bring back camp by... doing a SpongeBob crossover I guess??? Cause like. You know. They too have to sell their own shitty streaming service. That's how the world works these days. It's all about awareness, consideration, acquisition, retention and advocacy of viewers. The fucking customer journey. They're customer journeying us. Which like. Fair. It is a product. We live under capitalism.

But in essence what I'm trying to say is: Where's the passion? Nothing feels organic anymore. Nothing honors the quirky roots that science fiction had because they're marketing science fiction to people who don't like science fiction!!!

And no, all good science fiction hasn't been made, but in order for more good science fiction to happen this new paradigm of bringing science fiction into the mainstream needs to change.

[super-who-locked-me-in-here]

Pieces of media my mom has seen and the popular MLM ships in them that she doesn't think are gay:

MCU - Stucky (note that she does get a kick out of Stony stuff and she believes wholeheartedly that those two hate fucked in a not-filmed scene of Avengers 2012 so this is not about her thinking "oh Captain America is so straight-laced because he's the ideal American man" or anything)

MCU - Poolverine (she's fully aware and accepting of the fact that both Logan and Wade are canonically queer characters but she thinks all the flirting Wade did with Logan in the newest movie didn't necessarily mean anything because "he talks like that to everyone". Side note though: while she believes Wade should be with Vanessa, she does think that Logan can and should shoot his shot with Wade after Vanessa inevitably dies since he and Wade are both immortal. It's just that she thinks Wade should get his happy ending with Vanessa first.)

MCU - Lokius ("Mama have you ever seen a man fix another man's tie like that" "No but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen! I wouldn't know though; it's been like 15 years since I worked a corporate job.")

Sonyverse/Marvel - Symbrock ("They literally have a symbiotic relationship. That doesn't make them gay." So I showed her the comics where Eddie calls Venom "love" and gives birth to Venom's babies and she said "Fine you win but please never show me alien man birth ever again."

Supernatural - Destiel ("They're like Steve and Bucky! They're brothers in arms! They've been through hell and back together!" Note that she only watched through season 5 but she does know about a lot of their later interactions because I told her about them)

House M.D. - Hilson ("Dot I watched that whole show and they were never anything more than good friends" "What about when House admitted to thinking about Wilson during sex? What about that whole episode where they pretended to be gay for each other to prove a point to a neighbor and Wilson proposed? What about that whole episode where Wilson had to furnish the apartment and House told him not to let a woman tell him what to do but Wilson let House tell him what to do? What about the whole ending?" "Why can't two men just be close enough friends to joke about that stuff with each other?"

Real life - Me and my best friend of the same gender orientation who I've kissed multiple times and have had a requited crush on for years that neither of us have ever persued for logistical reasons (I literally used me and this friend to try and prove my mom wrong about Stucky and Destiel. I asked her if she thought me and this friend were like brothers and she said yes with a straight face)

Sherlock - Johnlock (to be fair this is the BBC ship name, but she doesn't think any iteration of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are the slightest bit gay. "They're business partners and roommates.")

Our Flag Means Death - BlackHands (Should go ahead and say that I'm not really a BlackHands shipper myself; we both really enjoyed Stede and Ed's romance in the show. BUT it takes so much away from Izzy's character and his development if you don't acknowledge that he was jealous of Stede and in love with Ed, at least a little. My mom thought Izzy was just an extremely loyal first mate.)

Also, for the record, I'm not trying to call my mom out as homophobic. I'm queer and so are two of my siblings and she's very supportive of us. There are gay romcoms she enjoys like Our Flag Means Death and Red, White, and Royal Blue. The reason I'm making this list is because I think it's really funny how she doesn't understand the concept of queerbaiting (not that all of the above listed ships are queerbaiting). She thinks things are either explicitly straight or explicitly queer (whether it's gay, lesbian, bisexual, etc) and cannot comprehend the idea that some character relationships are deliberately pushing the boundaries of straight friendships into queer relationships to get more minority viewers and I think her explanations are funny.

[amarriageoftrueminds]

Hi. I'm somewhat confused about how the Winter Soldier's past is handled for Bucky in Thunderbolts. I mean, as part of his political campaign for Congress, his past had to be touched upon, and I think that's where Bucky's comment to Mel about if she claims to know him, she must know his history too comes from. And while I'm very glad that no one has rubbed Bucky's past in his face and openly criticized him for it (not even Val! that's saying a lot), I can't help but feel that Mel's “I know who you are” comments, and the other about whether "she's talking to Congressman Barnes or the Winter Soldier" feel like some sort of criticism. Because precisely, if like many others, Mel knows Bucky's past (besides the information that was given publicly by Bucky now being a public figure but also by the information OXE has on him) she should know that the Winter Soldier's name is not accompanied by positive connotations because of course it's tied to Hydra as their tool that was used to accomplish their purposes.

I've heard some people consider the fact that Bucky said that, unlike Mel, he didn't choose who he worked for, as groundbreaking, when in reality I think it's not much different than the way he has always acknowledged that he had no choice (the same thing he acknowledged as Steve in CW, and the same thing he said to Yori in TFATWS) but it's a line that is always accompanied by the unspoken words “but I did it”. Although I think compared to “Hydra was my people” from TFATWS that's a big improvement.

So while I think that, thankfully Bucky didn't face criticism and backlash for trying to make the Winter Soldier look like an innately bad/corrupt part of him, I think it's still handled with a certain wariness so to speak...

I would love to know your opinion. And sorry for the long ask xd

@buckydeservesthebest

Yh, I can't really speak on this much as I haven't seen the film, but characters continuing to refer to Bucky as the Winter Soldier is fucking annoying and inaccurate, and calling what he did 'working for' Hydra is still mischaracterizing it. (If that is a direct quote; but even if they used the phrase 'did for' or whatever, that's still missing the most crucial point.)

He didn't work for them, he was enslaved by them. They may as well be paraphrasing that Thor: Ragnarok line. 'Oh, he wasn't a slave, he was a 'prisoner with a 'job.'

Not much better than calling Hydra 'his people,' IMO!

And the Winter Soldier being framed as a part of Bucky, a corrupt part, is a stupid retcon from TFATWS' writers who want to victim-blame/villainize him and were too lazy to watch the movies. Absolute bollocks.

(That line should be 'Congressman Barnes or Bucky Barnes', because those are the only two fuckn options. Although CACW also has Steve saying similar stupid shit; you could already see them beginning to turn on Bucky, even then!)

I've said it elsewhere, but the Soldier is not a part of Bucky; it's the absence of Bucky. No personality, no memories, no capacity to have morals because of said lack. It's a blank void that can be ordered to act in anyway you want. (Which you'd think they'd pick up on in a film that has Bob in it, but oh well!)

The Soldier was an automaton with a good man trapped inside; the source of that metallic scream which made CATWS's soundtrack (why else would he be screaming, if this was always a part of him? wouldn't it be a metallic laugh, instead? if this was a part of him, why wouldn't he retain his personality? It's important not to mix comics and MCU here!)

It was not some Evil sub-personality that was always alive inside Bucky and just waiting to come out under the right stressors.

To use a fantasy analogy...

You could say that Bucky is not a werewolf; but the Winter Soldier is a zombie.

That's it. The Winter Soldier is the zombie of Bucky Barnes.

Imagine Hydra had Steve bitten by a zombie and turned into a zombie, Hydra made him do some zombie stuff, but then he got cured and turned back to normal.

Now, you might look at Zombie!Steve and say 'that's Steve,' but you wouldn't look at completely sane and normal Cured!Steve and say 'he's a Zombie.'

But we've got this situation where Bucky has been cured of his zombiedom and got his mind back and everything, to the point where he can even become an elected official (!)

And yet characters are still coming up to him like 'omg am am I talking to Bucky Barnes or ...The Zombie??' 👀

Bitch do you see him eating brains? Is he stumbling around and visibly rotting? No?? Then stfu then! 🤬

[aj-lenoire]

i’m rewatching avengers assemble for the first time in years and y’know what it holds up much much better than i thought it would!! it’s given me a wistful nostalgia for the early MCU.

this is probably natasha’s second-best film (after winter soldier, obviously; maybe third after the solo film, but definitely up there) because she is minimally ‘exasperated mom to her all-male teammates’ and has several really cool scenes.

i’d also say this is the best thor we ever got, nicely expanding and reinforcing the characterisation of his solo film. plus it’s the best thor ever looked. i really like the slightly longer and messier hair, and the physicality of his costume—before it was all CGI and hemsworth was ludicrously, dehydratedly muscular. and sue me, i love the style of his and loki’s dialogue! i love how they sound so grand and fantastical, you can always tell they’re from a very different world to the rest of the cast.

and banner. the later MCU films just didn’t seem to bother with the inner conflict of the hulk, but this one you can feel the weight and desperation of it, ruffalo does a great job.

that being said, this film is not perfect. and my main gripe is how tony and especially steve are (mis)characterised.

almost all of tony’s actions/dialogue, and almost every line of steve’s after he and tony first meet, feel really wonky and out of character. especially towards each other. you can really see joss whedon didn’t care for steve, thought tony was the Coolest Guy Ever and didn’t really care to actually understand either character

case in point, i refuse to believe tony stark could plant a bug in front of dozens of spies, including natasha and hill, and no one noticed. if he wanted to plant the bug maybe put it in his lab once he’s away from everyone? or even manually access stuff once in the lab so banner or steve can ask what he’s doing, rather than him just telling them, ready-player-one-style, because oh he’s already done it because he’s just that clever!

tony’s interactions with banner are great until he just ruins them with a stupid joke about how banner goes green. the whole bit where tony pokes banner with a needle and steve chews him out about it is particularly weird—especially since it gets off to a really good start with tony inviting banner to the tower to do science-y stuff! it comes off as so mean spirited? especially given how they later have a heart to heart about the hulk being like tony’s chest arc reactor.

still, the tony stuff i can kinda forgive because A) he’s meeting the guy his dad was obsessed with, and that’s a sore issue for various reasons, and B) while the smug genius persona is not the real tony, these are all people he doesn’t know very well, so it makes sense for him to be playing that role in front of them—but what’s steve’s excuse??

steve says several astute, accurate things, like loki’s spear being like a HYDRA weapon and his plan to fracture the team. but then he pointlessly butts heads with tony. he just met the guy?? it’s like he completely forgot his own dynamic with howard stark. he learned howard would put himself in danger to help others, and further “the footage” steve has allegedly seen of tony as iron man would surely only prove that tony is even more selfless.

that “take off the suit, what are you?” line is just. so out of character. like even pepper wasn’t done that dirty (she was pretty normal when speaking with coulson, booty shorts aside 🙄) and she spends her only major scene making sexual jokes/promises(?) to tony!!

i was literally going “good line!”/“bad line.” because it was they obvious which were whedon’s version of the character and which were the guy we saw in first avenger. case in point, steve follows banner and tony’s suspicions up with “we have orders, we should follow them” which is the #1 Steve Rogers Would Not Say This line.

but then we have the narrative redundancy of him searching anyway. why not just have steve agree with tony that fury is being cagey?? i think it would’ve been more interesting and a more economical use of time to just have them agree. they can still disagree on methods; steve is always more tactile and brute force than tony, and that itself serves to contrast them without a weird OOC rivalry.

like you can pinpoint the exact line where they’re all arguing with fury about SHIELD building weapons, and it turns from steve, tony and thor being more or less themselves into three flanderised, bickering caricatures.

fury remarks “remind me how you made your fortune, stark?” (as if that fortune was entirely tony’s doing, and as if tony didn’t shut down stark industries’ weapons’ program two whole films ago) and steve gets halfway through a line that might be a defence of tony, might be a dig, but we don’t find out because tony interrupts “how is this about me?” and steve decides to snipe back “i’m sorry, isn’t everything?”

and sure okay i know loki’s using the spear to raise tensions but that scene would’ve been way more effective if tony and steve hadn’t been weirdly sniping at one another already for twenty minutes!! (not least because they were the only ones behaving out of character, suggesting it wasn’t loki yet!)

i will say this though—i do really like how “put on the suit” turns from steve and tony butting heads to teaming up for the first time. i like that they are still shown to put petty stuff aside when it really matters. i wish it was more consistent!

(also—and this is 100% me just being petty—what the hell was steve on about, asking natasha “can you fly one of those jets?” like he hadn’t been in a jet flown by natasha twice in the past twenty-four hours??)

(other than that though i think i’d say their dynamic is one of my favourites in the film. maybe it comes from johansson and evans being irl friends for years already, but they have a really fun rapport basically from the get-go)

rewatching has also given me new appreciation for the natasha/banner “romance” attempted in age of ultron. like setting aside how atrociously it was actually executed, i see the appeal of exploring a dynamic between “genius manipulator who you can never be sure of her thoughts/feelings” and “guy who you can literally always be sure of his thoughts feelings” especially given how scarlett johansson is playing natasha as being quite obviously terrified of the hulk—a creature of pure rage, self-defence made manifest, that no amount of manipulation can calm down. hulk requires, at minimum, sincerity, and that’s an interesting dynamic to completely goddamn waste.

this film is definitely still a product of its time (and cough cough of joss whedon). there’s like, three whole women (five if you count the shadowy council member and ashley johnson?) and i don’t think they ever directly speak to one another?? natasha seems to be having romantic teases with banner, clint and steve, and pepper is reduced down to a hot girlfriend.

and if you ever needed more proof that whedon lowkey hates captain america, you needn’t look any further than the godawful halloween-pyjamas suit steve wore in this film. easily the most atrocious cap suit, aside from the one he wore on the uso tour. i honestly don’t know why the costume dept didn’t just keep/remake the one he was wearing in the ice—it had a great tactical vibe and actually looked like body armour.

but still, i’d give this film a solid 7/10. It’s still a hell of a fun time.

closing out with a list of things that actually do hold up as genuinely funny and/or awesome:

when the scientist tells fury it’s gamma radiation and he’s like “ಠ_ಠ that can be harmful”

natasha easily breaking out of her restraints while coulson just sits in the phone listening to her beat the shit out of those guys

thor: now listen, brother! [gets slammed out of frame by tony] loki: …i’m listening?

the bit where thor strikes his hammer into steve’s shield and it levels the trees

thor: take care how you speak, loki is still my brother. natasha: he killed eighty people in two days. thor: he’s adopted.

tony pointing out one of the SHIELD techs is playing galaga

natasha tricking the literal god of trickery into revealing his plan

tony and steve working together to fix the helicarrier engine (minus the “speak english!” line 🙄)

coulson blasting loki with the prototype gun

loki trying to mind-control tony but it doesn’t work because of his arc reactor

clint’s delivery of you and i remember budapest very differently 😐

steve stepping up as leader after the cool panning roto-shot of them as a team for the first time

hulk body-slamming loki on the middle of his “i’m a god” monologue, followed by loki’s high-pitched groan

the schwarma post-credit scene. no petty rivalries. no stupid jokes. just the six of them hanging out.

[the-faceless-bride]

Peter Parker x Reader

Break-ups and new found Love.

Warnings: mentions of edibles and smoking, also a kinda?? Angsty open ending? But that’s pretty much it.

A/N: This was not asked for, nor is this a good short fanfic. I just got fixated on Mcu Peter and thought this up while at work lol. It’s a mix of Hc and a Blurb cuz this is a big idea of mine that I don’t have the time to fully write out but I might later if people like it.

Poor Peter. The Avengers felt bad for the kid, even Sam. Sam wanted to poke fun at Pete at first but seeing how sad he was he just couldn’t.

Mj had broken up with Peter, she liked Peter but with his Spider work and they’ve been friends for so long that to be romantic with each other felt a bit too off for her. It wasn’t anything wrong with him. But he definitely took it personally.

And so for the past 5 months he had been mopey and sad-eyed; the spark in his eyes had dulled and he even stopped Geeking out over cool tech stuff. It was so unsettling to see their geeky, smiley, dorky Peter had been taken from them and replaced but a shell. Only talking about training and what ever the next mission they are working on.

They were all pretty worried about him. Steve was the most sympathetic of the group, Tony was the most confused; why would Peter be so hung up about it? He’s only 18 and graduated. “He’s got all of collage to talk to girls.” He would say as he finished making the popcorn for tonight’s movie.

“Well, Spider-boy doesn’t exactly have the same playboy attitude you had his age Tony.” Sam reminded the group, “yeah, he’s still a young boy” Steve started before Natasha added “the world might as well’v ended for him.”

But in the past few weeks though it was small they’d seen improvement and so that’s why they were all having a movie night. And for the first time in 7 months when Peter walked down the steps he’d smiled at them; and not the tight short smile he gave them when they asked if he was ok. It was a real smile, with a newly kindled twinkle to his chocolate eyes.

“Hey guys!”

Even his voice sounded different, it was lighter and less grim. Their Peter was back, but now they were curious on what so heavily changed his mood.

They noticed that Peter could barley focus on the movie as he was too busy texting someone, they thought it was his friend Ned at first but then they caught a glimpse of a shy smile, his eyes shifting around the screen as he thought of a reply before chewing on his bottom lip and typing.

That made the team suddenly very interested in Peter’s phone also, and a few moments later Peter felt the eyes of his teammates on him.

His eyes shifted between them all sat around him, before he pulled his phone to his chest to subconsciously hide the screen, “what?” He asked “nothing, just interested who’s got you smiling like a dork.” Sam joked, “oh- uh- it’s nobody- well, not nobody but-“ Peter stammering over his sentence attempting to pick better works trying to not offend someone who wasn’t even in the room.

Peter eventually gets too embarrassed to continue and excuses himself to the bathroom, immediately looking down at his phone as soon as he stands.

…

“No playboy Mindset my ass” Tony Joked.

You and Peter had met on accident. You’d gone to the same school but weren’t in the same friend group.

You had been laying on top of an abandoned building when you’d seen a very fast figure move across the buildings in the area before landing and taking off his mask before trying to change into normal clothes, “Holy Shit. Peter Parker?”

Peter froze, why were you up here?!? This late?!? In this part of town?!???! “What are you?- Why?- Who?-“ Peter stumbled as you stood up flicking the joint you’d just finished away before walking up to him, “don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” you give the brunette a lazy smirk and he eyes you suspiciously “and how do I know that?” He questioned, “you’ll just have to keep checkin’ up on me to find out.”

And the rest is history, what started as a few meet ups on rooftops, turned into exchanging numbers texting back and forth all the time to meeting at the each other’s houses to build legos or do homework, and eventually sleepovers.

Over the past two weeks you and Peter had become close fast friends, and the night that took a more romantic turn when Peter had accidentally eaten three of your strong edibles and seeing as he’s never been high before and so had a very low tolerance to say he was a bit freaked out would be an understatement. And after a long 5 minutes of Panicking you were able to calm him down and offer to go through it together so he wasn’t alone, you took one of your gummies and pulled Peter on to the mattress you had on the floor and by his request started watching the Star Wars movies; Peter interjecting the movie ever other minute to add more context or dialogue to the movie, which made it all the more interesting for you to watch.

You’d spent majority of the time watching his Geeky movies and using your phone to Dash a few small Lego sets to your place for him to do when he started to get antsy, he’d even gotten comfortable enough to cuddle up to you a bit while he was watching the movie simultaneously building Lego… until a big wave of nausea hit him and he raced to your bathroom to throw up, which he was very red faced about; but you assured him that it was perfectly normal and nothing to be embarrassed about before telling him more embarrassing sick stories about you and your friends high.

And so the night ended with Peter laughing while Brushing his teeth as you told him about the time you’d thrown up on your friends shoes while on a high walk in the middle of the night, and him laying his head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his curly brown hair as you finished your last Star Wars movie.

Your relationship with Peter had taken a romantic turn that night and since then you’ve both been touchy and snuggly with one another. And you’ve helped his sadness turn to happiness and hope that you two, though you hadn’t even properly kissed yet, would end up together and last.

He’s still a bit shy to talk about you with Mr.Stark and his other team members, but he’s even more worried about them finding out you know he’s spider-man, Sam will never let him hear the end of it.

As for you, you really like Peter. He had captivated you in the same way you had him, you knew he probably was seeing you through rose tinted glasses after his hard break up and you know deep down you’re probably just a rebound. But you’re ok with that. As long as you get to keep Peter for a while longer, you would be ok.