#Steve works at the SSR

[meggtheegg]

the way that this episode had a better grasp on bucky's innocence than the entirety of tfatws

[bedlamsbard]

there’s always a lot of characterization/backstory/worldbuilding that’s in the back of my head while writing that never explicitly makes it onto the page.  a lot does, of course, because I don’t know how to shut up, but there’s always stuff that has a big influence on worldbuilding/characterization/etc. that just does not have a place on the page for whatever reason.  thinking specifically about a lot of my Peggy backstory for Home right now, but it’s true for every character and every story, not to mention worldbuilding.  a lot of what doesn’t make it explicitly onto the page is because it’s not very flattering to the character, but it’s still fundamental to my backstory.  some of it’s because the character themselves will never think of it except in very specific ways that mean it doesn’t come out explicitly on the page, but like. it’s still THERE.

[elixirfromthestars]

Boulevard Confessions

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Reader 

Summary: Being a third wheel to Peggy and Steve wasn't your ideal Thursday night fun. However, when they tell you Bucky is tagging along you eagerly decide to join them. That is until a third party makes its presence known.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warning(s): drinking / fluff / jealousy / divergent from canon timeline / suggestive language / tipsy symptoms / mentions of war + the hardships that came with it

a/n:  Here’s a little piece that’s been sitting unfinished in my drafts for ages. For context, this timeline is one where Steve and Bucky both made it back from the war safe and sound and are enjoying their lives now that the war is over. Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ As a little psa my writing challenge is still ongoing!! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!! ♡

for ambiance 🎶

“ I am about to spew my dinner all over this table,” you grimace, downing the rest of your martini. The bitterness of the spirits was lost on you as your consumption grew in time with your sour mood.

Peggy eyed you from across the table, holding back her amusement, “ If you keep stuffing your face with martinis you will.” You reach out to grab another unclaimed drink, but before you could, Peggy slid the rest of them away from you. You crossed your arms, blowing out a resigned sigh. Even in your inhibited state, you knew better than to argue with an SSR agent. 

Peggy shook her head at you, “ As your best friend I have an obligation to put a stop to this. Don’t you have a shift tomorrow at the clinic?” Your eyes went wide at the reminder. 

You slump in the booth, dreading the bad hangover awaiting you in the morning. “ I do, but thankfully it's in the afternoon. I won’t feel it by then. . .” You trailed off, failing to convince Peggy, or yourself, you wouldn’t be miserable at work tomorrow. Peggy turned to look at the dance floor before returning her attention to you, “ You know, maybe you should dance the dizzy away. It might help you sober up.” Your lips purse at her suggestion, noticing a certain blonde-haired blue-eyed super soldier returning from the bathroom.

 “ It's easy for you to say. You have a dance partner,” you motioned over to Steve. 

“ You would too if you would only go up and ask him,” she pointed out. 

You glanced at the dancing couples, “ No way. With the way that leech is clinging on to him—I’d never get one word in.”

She shrugged, “ You’ll never know until you try.” These were her parting words before Steve arrived at the table and escorted her onto the dance floor. You watched them, your head bopping along tiredly to the swing music. 

Maybe you should have stayed home. 

You almost didn’t come to the outing—being the third wheel to Peggy and Steve wasn’t exactly your ideal Thursday night fun. However, Peggy had mentioned Bucky would come along, and seeing as you hadn’t seen him in a few weeks due to conflicting schedules, you thought this would be the perfect opportunity to catch up. 

That was until the leech—a woman named Darla—decided to hog Bucky all night. Darla had been trying to get with Bucky for over a month now. You found this out tonight when Steve made a comment about it. Bucky hadn’t paid it much importance, so you thought it must have not been anything serious. However, right about the time you and Bucky were starting to catch up, Darla came over and dragged him away. 

Since then you’ve been inhaling martinis like your lungs preferred them over air. 

You couldn’t help the way your eyes drifted over to Bucky’s figure. Handsome as ever in his navy suit—your favorite color on him—and hair neatly combed. Watching as Darla threw herself at him with the courage that you lacked. Pulling him every which way on the dance floor, holding his hands to her hips in a tight grip. 

Your stomach contents were threatening to come up again. 

When did things get so complicated? You scratched at your brain for an answer. Spending time with Bucky had been so easy back at the military base where you met. You were stationed there in the medical unit caring for wounded and ill soldiers. During that time, you became great friends with Peggy and everyone on the Howling Commandos team. Bucky would frequently visit the medical unit even when he wasn’t sick or wounded. Sometimes you swore he would fake injuries or aches just to come and see you. Anytime he came in with something new he would refuse to see any other nurse but you.

It made you feel special. While other women were smitten with his charms and stumbled over seizing his attention—you had it without effort. You had so much more than just his attention without even trying. On hopeless nights he shared his fears, on days where the war seemed endless you eased his worries, and when he felt like the world was crashing down on him his heart spilled all vulnerabilities to you. 

You found refuge from the horrors of war in each other—a balm to each other’s wounds that went beyond the physical. In no time, something deeper for him bloomed within your heart. 

Ever since the war was over, however, things have been different. It’s been a couple of years and Steve and Bucky work alongside Peggy for the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Going on missions has become their norm, so seeing your friends is a rarity nowadays. 

You on the other hand were given a job at a children’s clinic in Brooklyn. You were grateful for this small piece of normality coming back to you. Treating smaller wounds on smaller bodies instead of lethal wounds during a relentless battle. Your senses are permanently burned with sights, sounds, and smells horrific enough to induce nightmares—and they do—managing to steal precious hours of sleep from you almost every night.

It was something you and Bucky especially bonded over.

“ May I have the honor of a dance, gorgeous?” A voice interrupted your thoughts. You looked up to meet a pair of unrecognizable hazel eyes. A handsome stranger stood in front of you, his hand outstretched for you to take. If you had but only one percentage less of alcohol in your system you would have declined his offer. This of course wasn’t the case, and not wanting to reminisce on more melancholy thoughts, you decided to listen to Peggy’s advice and dance the dizzy away.

Even if it wasn’t with the man you wanted to dance with.

“ You may,” you smiled at him, taking hold of his hand. Swiftly you were swept into the sea of couples on the dance floor. The handsome stranger—who you soon learn was named Thomas—was an impeccable dancer. With one hand holding yours, and the other holding you gently at your lower back, he spun you around the dance floor in rhythmic kicks and slides. Thomas’ energy was infectious and you couldn’t help but match his enthusiasm. 

After two dances your footwork and Thomas’ were practically synchronized. Thomas twirled you, causing a giggle to escape your lips. It seemed the alcohol was stubborn about staying in your system as the twirl caused the dizziness to come back—for a split second—making you trip over your own foot. Thomas caught you and steadied you, both of you laughing at your clumsiness. The carefreeness of it all lulled the ache in your heart.

Behind Thomas, you caught a glimpse of Peggy who was dancing as joyfully with Steve. Her eyes met yours and she sent you an encouraging smile. Soon after, her eyes drifted to something behind you, turning her smile into a smirk. You went back to dancing with Thomas, but manoeuvered around to get a look at what caused Peggy to smirk. Your heart did a little jump when you discovered she had been looking at Bucky and Darla, dancing a few feet from where you were. 

Correction. She had been staring at a Bucky you barely recognized. His jaw clenched and body rigid as he glared daggers at the back of Thomas’ head. Darla beside him looked snubbed, tugging on Bucky’s arm to get his attention. His tense demeanor didn’t move an inch no matter how much she protested. The pair were no longer dancing, merely standing in the sea of all the couples. This piqued your curiosity. 

Why had he stopped dancing? And to glare at Thomas of all things?

You didn’t have much time to think about it as Darla, clearly fed up by Bucky’s lack of attention, grabbed him by his arm and pulled him away from the dance floor. You swayed to and fro with Thomas, controlling the direction you were swinging in to try and not lose Bucky from your line of sight. 

Where was Darla taking him?

Your heart stopped when you realized where they were going. Darla was making a beeline for the back of the bar where the honey hallway was. The spot where all the couples went to have a little more privacy and fool around without having to leave the bar. If he was going there with Darla, then maybe things were more serious between them than you previously believed.

Your heart dropped to your stomach when reality sank in. 

You excused yourself from Thomas, scurrying away in need of some fresh air. He offered to follow along, but you declined wanting to be alone. You threw the entrance door open into the Brooklyn night as a sickly feeling spread throughout your body. 

You stepped into the street, the swing music fading into the background as the door closed behind you. You took in a deep breath, once again regretting the amount of alcohol you had consumed.

If you weren’t drunk seeing Bucky with someone else wouldn’t have hurt so much. It wouldn’t have knocked the air out of your lungs like it's doing now.

You know that’s a lie. That’s a damn lie you’re telling yourself to get you through the night. To give you the strength to focus on your surroundings and trudge home. 

You’d eventually do that. First, however, your body seemed to want to cling to a street lamp to bring the world back to you. The cold metal underneath your palms grounding you for a moment. The breeze blowing past you threading through your hair as if to comfort you.

“ Doll, everything alright?” Your heart stuttered when you heard his voice, the thud of the bar door closing following it. You shut your eyes and bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying or doing anything the liquid courage in your system was trying to wrestle out of you. 

You knew you needed to make a quick getaway. 

“ I’m fine. Just heading home,” you were straight to the point before turning to walk away. Not looking at him as you put one foot in front of the other—and then stumbled. 

Bucky caught you, his arms offering a strong support,“ Woah, Y/n, how much did you drink?” There was a slight annoyance in his tone. As if the mere thought of you having fun was preposterous. 

Or at least that’s how your tipsy state interpreted it.

“ Doesn’t matter. I can have a drink or two if I want to. I get to have fun too,” you retort, trying to push his arms away from your body. Your arms are no match for his, as he doesn’t budge an inch—on the contrary, his hold gets more firm. The world started to spin more, but at this point, whether it was because of the martinis or his proximity—you wouldn’t know. 

Bucky huffed and rolled his eyes,“ This isn’t having fun. This is going overboard,” he counters. His constant need to hold you steady and scold you for drinking irked the part of you that was already upset with him—fueling it more. Especially when you had the image of him heading to the honey hallway with Darla ingrained in your brain. And his arms, the ones around you now, swinging her around on the dancefloor. 

There was something dark bubbling an envious brew within you. 

“ Why do you give a damn?” you snap out harshly. He stills at your tone and it's enough to shake his hold off of you. You force yourself to look at him. Intending to shoot him an annoyed glare. Something to convey what your heart felt when your words failed to—but when your eyes met his you froze. 

They were dark—virtually stormy—and yet, there was a hint of pain in them. Almost as if you had kicked him, but he was toughing it out.

“ What was that about?” He finally spoke after what seemed like too long. 

“ What was what about?” You feigned innocence. 

His eyes got darker, a disapproving half smile on his face,“ Don’t play coy. I come out here to check on you. You’re stumbling like a drunk fool. I try to help and you snap at me?” 

“ I didn’t ask you to,” you’re quick with your dismissal.

“ You…unbelievable…” Bucky lets out a scoff, not knowing how to respond. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you. In his mind, you’re simply too drunk to regulate yourself. He doesn’t know the vile jealousy that bubbles in the pit of your stomach and gnaws at your heart. He doesn’t know the intense battle your emotions are having with your brain—right in front of him—to stay silent before you truly say something you cannot take back. 

“ Go back inside. I’m heading home,” you say simply, not wanting to dwell on this conversation any longer. You feared what might come of it if you didn’t.

“ No. I'm walking you home,” he shakes his head firmly, his tone matching in conviction. 

“ No, you're not,” you reply, turning to make your way down the boulevard. Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, “ Like hell I'm not, doll. I'm not letting you walk home alone.” 

“I'm not letting you walk me home. I don't want you to,” you say adamantly as your feet start moving. Bucky is right beside you as they do, not letting you get away,“ I don't care what you want or don't want. I'm walking you home and that's final.” His voice leaves no room for argument. 

The martinis in your system don’t particularly give a damn, but it is enough to quiet you for the time being. Your speed increases slightly, but Bucky can match it easily. For a moment you consider running—as ridiculous as an idea that may be. 

The sharp patter of your footsteps against the pavement synchronizes with the thudding of his as they mingle down the boulevard. The city sounds around you are an otherwise low hum of the occasional car and distant conversation. The city still whispering its signs of life at this time of night.

The walk to your place isn’t too far. And you know if you don’t shake him off soon there would be an unpleasant conversation awaiting you when you arrive.  

“ Don’t you have someone waiting on you at the bar?” You remind him with a little sting to your heart. Secretly hoping this wasn’t the reason he’d walk away from you.

Bucky frowns, thinking for a moment before speaking,“ What? You mean Darla?” The sound of her name on his lips bristles you. 

“ Yeah, her,” the word her spills from your lips as if it was venomous. Bucky catches that and is taken aback for a second. His footsteps coming to a stop. You push yourself to keep walking. Taking this as a sign to ignore the tiny part of your brain that begs you to stop moving.

Not a minute later Bucky strides to your side,“ Doll…are you jealous?” He asks with the tiniest bit of doubt, his small smile overshadowing it. 

“ Me? Ha! No,” your denial is quick—too quick. His small smile turns into a wide grin. You’ve just confirmed his conjecture,“ Yes, you are.” 

“ No. Go ahead and marry her for all I care. I won’t be at the wedding anyway,” you don’t mean what you say and yet you said it anyway. Playing up the indifference act you’ve dawned. 

“ You won’t be at my wedding?” He’s not upset when he responds, he's amused. He has to hold back his laughter at your train of thought. This gets under your skin and you grumble a snippy no before picking up your pace. You’re now imagining Darla in a wedding dress next to Bucky in his suit and it does devastating things to you. 

“ That’s impossible.”

“ How so? I just won’t go.”

His tone takes a more serious turn when he replies, “ It’ll be hard to have a wedding without the bride there.” You come to a halt, your head whipping so fast to look at him you almost gave yourself whiplash.

“ What?” You manage to find your voice. His gaze softens,“ You heard me, doll.” He’s being completely sincere—you know this deep down. However, there’s still a part of you that doesn’t believe this is happening. That believes this to be a dream.

“ You don’t mean that.”

“ I do. If you were to ask me where I see forever—I see it with you.”

His confession takes your breath away. The mere admission of him thinking of you as his eternity—as the one he wants beside him for life—your heart could burst at how delightfully overwhelmed it feels. 

“ But you—” you start and his pointer finger gently presses against your lips to shush you. He already knows what you’re about to bring up and he needs to nip it before your drunken mind jumps to wilder conclusions.

“ She’s just a friend. She’s a secretary at the SSR—nothing more. I was dancing with her to be nice. Honestly, I was trying to find a polite way to leave her and get back to you until I saw you dancing with that guy,” he removes his finger from your lips once he’s done explaining. At the mention of Thomas, his jaw clenches briefly and annoyance flashes in his eyes. 

It dawns on you why he was glaring at Thomas earlier. The realization of Bucky having felt as jealous as you did sends your heart ablaze. Your heart had gone through so much tonight, you were surprised it hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest already. 

“ Who’s the jealous one now?” you tease, an almost giddy smile on your face. 

Bucky rolls his eyes playfully,“ Yeah, doll. Unlike you, I’ll admit it. I was jealous. I don’t like seeing you with another man. Laughing and dancing—should've been me, not him,” he says stepping closer to you. His eyes reflected pure adoration.

“ Why didn’t you ask me?” your question comes out quieter than you’d like. Enamored with the way he’s looking at you. You can barely focus on anything else. 

“ Because when it comes to you I get all nervous and worked up. It's like I’m a punk again—a dumb kid with a crush. I don’t want to mess it up with you, Y/n. I would never want to do anything to lose you. Guess I got too caught up in doing things right I didn’t do anything at all,” Bucky opens up to you, his answer shedding away any last bit of hesitance in your body.

“ Bucky…I wish it would’ve been you instead too,” you say softly, stepping closer until you’re only a few inches away from him. His features match yours in fondness as he gently reaches out to grab hold of your waist, pulling you even closer, and closing the final bit of distance between you.

Your hands rest delicately at his chest. You can feel the way his heart races under your fingertips, drawing out a small gasp from you. Knowing you had this effect on him delighted you. It made you wonder how long you had been making him feel this way—and how long you had missed the signs.

“ Told you. I’m a dumb kid with a crush,” he reiterates with a soft chuckle. You giggle at his words, beaming dreamily at the way that all of this is real. That Bucky has feelings for you, and you two can only grow closer from here on out.

For a split second his eyes dart to your mouth. Having you so close like this tempts Bucky to no end. Everything he’s ever wanted to do with you crosses his mind and it drives him crazy. He has no idea where to start or if he’ll even let himself start anywhere. 

Your body thrums with anticipation as it waits for him to make a move.  

Bucky ends up tenderly kissing your forehead, “ Come on, doll. Let’s get you home.” Your lips form a light pout, disappointed his lips didn’t touch yours. He sees your reaction and he laughs, giving your hips a light squeeze, “ Doll, our first kiss will happen after you get that alcohol out of your system,” he says, one hand reaching up to lightly swipe at your nose—finding you endearing. 

“ We’ve already had our first kiss.” 

“ Doll we—oh, we have…” 

The memory of you two drunkenly kissing in the medical tent on one particularly lonely night during the war flashes through your minds. The already tension between you rising to a palpable form. 

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes,“ Still. If I’m being honest, I’m not stopping at just one kiss. So let’s wait until you’re sober, alright?”

“ Not stopping?” Your tone is playful as you pry for further explanation. 

“ Oh no, doll. I'll be doing so much more than kissing you,” he smirks, his words laced with suggestion. His hand goes out to cup your face, caressing your cheek. It warms under his fingertips at his implication. The air around you buzzes with electricity. 

He can tell where your mind went and he’s enjoying every second of it,“ Yeah, doll. Like taking you out on a proper date,” he winks at you. A genuine laugh erupts from you at the way he side steps what he really meant. He joins you in the laughter, his eyes telling you the truth of what he really desires.

You. Every bit of you.

You interlace your fingers with his, knowing deep down he has a point. When you kiss Bucky you want to be all there. You want all your senses to be fully awake to drink in every bit of him. 

Especially if it goes farther than a kiss.

Bucky moves you over so he’s walking on the outermost part of the sidewalk, holding your interlaced hands to his waist so you’re pressed right up against his side as you walk. You tease and playfully banter all the way to your apartment. The unspoken promises and unmistakable yearning for one another dancing around you two. Assuring you there was so much more to come. 

[amarriageoftrueminds]

Can't stop thinking about the idea of CATFA as a propagandised version of the Captain America story which exists in-universe and Steve seeing it and being absolutely livid about how 90% of it represents him.

.

Examples: being furious that it doesn’t mention his mother (his moral compass) anywhere, or his socialist politics pre-war, implies he only wants to fight to be like one of the guys and get a girlfriend?! (barely mentions Nazis),

implies he simply cannot have had any romantic attachments before serum, yet skims right over his disabilities as if his only problem was just being short, posits that Bucky would’ve spent his last night in Brooklyn off on a double date with two total strangers rather than with his own friends and family, (no mention of the Barneses anywhere?), 

has Steve scoffing at the idea of working in a factory (when he’d consider himself lucky to get a job in the times he grew up in), almost his whole relationship with the Howlies relegated to a single silent montage, none of the details of their missions shown except one, not a single girl in his USO tour gets a mention or name, ditto none of the women of the SSR/Army/that the Howlies met in the field, and wastes most of the screen time on that creepy violent nepotism-hire who was convinced Steve had given her some kind of secret signal he wanted to date her (at the time he just thought she’d taken the hint and was trying to beard him??), 

also puts her, Stark and Phillips in places they never went (why would a scientist, an old CO and an intelligence analyst be in Italy, or in the middle of a battle?? that’s not their job!), 

says Steve would waste his last precious moments of contact talking to a woman he’s not dating rather than saying goodbye to the men who’ve been fighting beside him for over a year?? 

And that he wouldn’t even bother to look for Bucky’s body?? (Only thing it got right was how much Bucky mattered to him / being a big part of why he wanted to fight!)

[aurumacadicus]

I finished binging Miss Fisher again:

"So why did you fall out with Howard, anyway?" Steve asked, slouching down in his seat as the car inched up the driveway. He hadn't asked before, and as he'd watched Peggy's hands tighten on the steering wheel as they passed through the gates to the Stark mansion, it finally occurred to him to wonder why he wasn't still involved with SHIELD after being one of the founders of SSR.

Peggy worked her jaw delicately. "We had a disagreement about values," she finally said.

"I can't imagine why," Steve muttered, and relaxed a little when the corner of Peggy's mouth curled up.

"Well, he'll surely enjoy me coming to him for help," Peggy added with a sigh, pulling to a stop. She took a moment to take a deep, fortifying breath, then let it back out slowly, giving Steve a glance out of the side of her eye. "And that I'm bringing you."

"I can thank him for looking for me so long," Steve agreed, and turned to unfold himself out of the car as Peggy did the same. Even though she was in her sixties, she was still sprier than he was; cars had gotten smaller while he was in the ice, somehow.

The door opened before they could knock or ring the bell, and Peggy brightened a little, greeting, "Mr. Jarvis."

"Ms. Carter," Mr. Jarvis answered, voice clipped, and her smile faltered as quickly as it had arrived. He bowed slightly, motioning toward the sitting room on the left. "Mr. Stark will be down to see you presently."

Steve took it as the dismissal it was, wondering at Peggy's reaction. There was so much about her that he didn't know. So much about the world he didn't know. His years in the ocean had done him no favors. He stared at a painting of peaches and tried not to think about how much he'd lost. Then his ears caught the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and he turned, clasping his hands behind his back as he instinctively fell into parade rest.

The man coming down the stairs was not Howard, Steve realized, even though he looked a lot like him. Anthony, he remembered the file saying. Howard's son. Steve hadn't believed Howard would ever settle down, but here was proof, walking casually down the stairs as if they had all the time in the world. To their surprise, he used the post at the bottom of the stairs to swivel directly to face the sitting room they'd been directed toward, walking over like he was meant to be there.

"Tony," Peggy said, and she was unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"Aunt Peggy," Tony answered, voice measured. He crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. "Or should I be calling you that?"

Peggy sucked in a sharp breath and closed her eyes, looking vaguely annoyed, then opened them again. "Tony, I'm here to see your father."

"I'm the only Mr. Stark here," Tony told her flatly, scowling. "You'd know that if you ever called. Mom said she wanted to take a trip around the world while they still had their health, and they left three months ago. You'd know that if you read the society papers." He waved his hand dismissively. "And just so you know? I'm not really inclined to help. You didn't make it to a single one of my dissertations even though I invited you. You stopped coming to my birthday parties. You didn't even come to my coming out party," he added, and that last part was where Steve finally heard perhaps the first real emotion Tony had shown since he appeared on the stairs--hurt.

Omega, Steve remembered suddenly, at the mention of a coming out party. Tony didn't carry himself like the typical omega, he thought, tilting his head a little. But then, high society always carried themselves a little differently, he remembered. Howard had never carried himself like any of the alphas Steve had grown up with. It stood to reason that Tony would be much the same.

"Tony," Peggy began gently. "I'm sorry that my falling out with Howard affected you, too. I should have tried harder to stay in touch. But you were a child when that happened."

"And I was just as much of a pain in the ass then," Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes. "If they made a fuss about me talking to you, I would have just screamed the house down. I was good at it," he added with a huff.

Steve figured with the way Peggy winced, he was telling the truth.

"Whatever. I don't want to hash this out. What does SHIELD need from my dad? I'll pass the message on when they call next week," Tony continued before she could say anything else. "Maybe. If I feel like it."

Peggy looked like she was considering pressing him, but whatever she saw in his face, it made her back down. "It's about your mother's gala, Tony."

At that, Tony's gaze sharpened, shoulders straightening as his posture changed from dismissive to alert. "I'm in charge of the the foundation while Mom's on vacation," he said, sharp-edged and stern. "What would Dad have to do with that?"

"Hydra is trying to reestablish a foothold in New York," Steve finally answered, taking a step forward. "They intend to slither in through charities, because they believe it's easier to launder money that way. We believe several members will be trying to infiltrate the Maria Stark Foundation, and the gala will be where they make their move."

Tony swiveled to him, eyes calculating. "And who the fuck is this?"

Peggy glanced at him sharply, silencing Steve from answering. "This is the lead agent on the case, Agent Roger Stevens."

Tony pursed his lips, and the look he gave Steve wasn't entirely disgust, but it wasn't... not entirely disgust, either. Steve found himself sweating a little, and he couldn't quite figure out why.

"I suppose if I tell you that I'll take care of it, you'll poke your nose in anyway. Omega can't handle it," Tony said, lifting his chin at him aggressively.

Oh, Steve thought, wondering if this was how Bucky felt when Steve had raised his chin at him and asked, 'You wanna fight, too?' Tony thought that Steve believed he was incapable. "I'm sure you can handle it," he answered carefully when Peggy simply raised an eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat when Tony rocked back on his heels, clearly skeptical. "I just wonder. How you're going to arrest anyone. You need... authority from a governing body to do that."

Tony stared at him, unimpressed. Steve let the moment hang there, waiting. Adding anything else would be too risky, too likely to offend him. Steve had, unfortunately, not gotten any better at interacting with omegas. The only tried and true way to stay on their good sides, he'd found, was to shut the fuck up.

"So citizen's arrest doesn't count?" Tony finally asked.

"You have to hand the person you arrested over to a judge or police officer. I can detain them at SHIELD," Steve answered, and he thought he sounded pretty reasonable.

Tony scoffed. "Why? What can you do that the police can't?"

"Waterboard them, obviously," Steve deadpanned, then winced when Peggy's elbow rammed into his kidney.

"We do not waterboard our prisoners. We are not the CIA," Peggy told Tony sternly.

Tony's mouth dropped open into a surprised little 'o.' Then he threw his head back and laughed, loud, and Steve saw Peggy's shoulders relax, just a little. Maybe this would work out, Steve thought, allowing himself a small smile.

[gunsandspaceships]

Shall we play a game? Answers

Here I'll explain why the correct answers are:

Drinks when upset (Steve)

Criticizes everyone (Steve)

Obeys orders (Tony)

Doesn’t trade lives (Tony)

Worked for politicians for personal gain (Steve)

Good shooter (Tony)

Kissed 4 different women after starting a relationship with his partner (Steve)

Asks others for help and advice when needed (Tony)

Drinks when upset - Steve

He can't get drunk, but that doesn't mean he doesn't drink. And he does this when he is upset for some reason. In Captain America: The First Avenger, it was Bucky's death; in Civil War (extended funeral scene), it was Peggy's death.

There is not a single scene in the entire MCU where Tony drank because he was upset.

Criticizes everyone - Steve

I didn't remember that until I started working on the "Nice Guy" Contest and watched every scene with Cap in every movie he was, as well as every scene in every movie with the other OG6 Avengers. And it caught my attention - how often Steve criticizes other people: Fury, Nat, Tony, Bruce, Thor, even Peggy. I even got tired of this.

One of the examples:

Obeys orders - Tony

Steve spent his entire military/paramilitary career doing the opposite - refusing to follow orders and criticizing his commanders. In any hierarchical organization, be it SSR, SHIELD or the Avengers, he took control. Tony, despite being the owner of the Avengers, obeyed him and followed Rogers' orders.

Doesn't trade lives - Tony

Even though it was Steve who said, “We don't trade lives,” he traded them. And more than once. As our winners mentioned, he traded the lives of Wakandans in Infinity War. In Civil War he traded the lives of civilians, special ops operatives, agents (they were killed or injured), Clint (his freedom and life with his family), Scott (his freedom and even life - he didn't stop him when Scott offered to do something that could "split him in half"), Sam (dragged into danger), Wanda (same), Sharon (who risked several times to help him), Nat (who also would be safe if not him), Rhodey (who wouldn't have been injured if Rogers hadn't started the fight), Peter (who he could have killed with the boarding bridge he brought down on him), and Tony. He traded them all for one man and the right to continue to command without anyone above him.

In Endgame, his plan was to bring back 50% of the universe. Before Tony and Bruce explained to them how time travel actually works, the plan was to erase everything that happened after 2018. This means all the people who have been born since then and everything that has happened to the remaining 50% over the years.

Tony had to intervene anyway because they would have done terrible things if he hadn't told them not to change anything in those 5 years. He is the one who does not trade lives.

Even when he is told he can't save everyone - he tries. And sometimes he proves that he can.

Worked for politicians for personal gain - Steve

That's how Steve became captain, in case you forgot.

And that's what Tony never did - work for politicians for personal gain.

Good shooter - Tony

You can find it here:

Kissed 4 different women after starting a relationship with his partner - Steve

In 1940s Steve started a relationship with Peggy Carter. Since then he kissed:

Howard's secretary

Unknown woman (or man? who knows)

Natasha

And Sheron, Carter

Ever since Tony started his relationship with Pepper, he hadn't kissed anyone else. Or did anything else of that sort of things.

Asks others for help and advice when needed - Tony

Steve asked for help. He brought a bunch of people to risk everything and start a fight in Civil War, for example. He never asked for advice though. He always has his own opinion, it is always the right one and he doesn't need anyone else's.

On the other hand - Tony is not above asking others for help, as well as asking for advice and opinions.

[cable-knit-sweater]

Before The First Light

Rating: T Word count: 884 words Tags: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, nightmares, minor injuries, Steve Rogers needs a hug, (light?) angst

Written for @catws-anniversary || March 26 prompts: on your left, PTSD, endurance

He’s running. 

Steve’s running so fast that even with the serum coursing through his veins, his lungs are starting to burn with the strain of exertion. He barely pays any attention to the bullets whistling past him, dodging and weaving to avoid them, almost just on instinct. It is on instinct. There isn’t much time to think about anything but getting out.

The place is a fucking maze though, so it’s taking longer than he’d planned.  So much for that damn song, he thinks, almost laughing at the irony. So much for being the man with a plan.

He presses on, through endless corridors twisting and turning, Hydra soldiers hot on his heels. Steve thinks that maybe they’ve finally figured it out, judging from the screaming and cursing. That he’s just a diversion so the other Howlies could go to work. 

By now, they’ve definitely set the place to blow.  By now, Steve should’ve made his way out. 

A bullet grazes his shoulder, but he tries to ignore the searing pain as he pushes himself harder, his heart hammering in his chest. 

Suddenly, he’s outside, the building exploding behind him. He’s hit with a blast of air, pressure, heat, but it just propels him forward faster. There’s still no time to think. 

There’s more cursing and shouting. This time it’s not in German though.

 It’s in a heavy Brooklyn accent, his favorite in all the fucking world. 

“Are you fuckin kidding me? Are you tryin’ to get blown to pieces? For fuck’s sake Rogers!!”

“Just brushing up on my German,” he yells back as he gets closer and closer to the source of the cursing and shouting. “You know, they’d call you an Arsch-”

“Don’t you even think ab- fuck, Stevie, watch out! Three at your 9 o’clock!” 

Steve twists and turns to the right, still running towards the treeline that Bucky is shouting at him from.  He doesn’t slow down or turn back - he’s made that mistake before and gotten an earful - as Bucky takes out the Hydra goons with his rifle.

He doesn’t slow down or turn back until he gets to Bucky’s position. That’s where he draws the line. Steve’s not ever going anywhere without him. 

By the time he comes to a stop, Bucky has taken care of the last stragglers, and Steve collapses against a tree. 

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, you can say that again,” Bucky grumbles as he drops down from a tree branch. “What the fuck?”

They start running again, side by side, Bucky on his left like always. There’s no benefit in sticking around. There might be more Hydra soldiers out there, and the other Howlies will definitely give them shit if they take much longer catching up to the group. 

“Hmm.”

“I was this close to coming in and dragging your ass out. Did we not have a plan?” 

“I was fine. I am fine, stop bitching, Buck.”

Bucky pushes his shoulder against Steve’s, and he winces. Of course, Bucky notices. “Fine, huh? I’m thinkin I should just tie myself to you so you don’t go runnin’ off making stupid ass decisions.”

“What makes you think I won’t do that with you tied to me?”

“Good point,” Bucky huffs. “You’d probably enjoy it, and then you’d just drag me int-”

The rest of his sentence gets cut off by a blood curdling scream. Steve’s heart stops. It’s Bucky. 

****

Steve jolts awake. 

He’s drenched in sweat, his senses still reeling. A little disoriented, he scans his dimly lit room, heart hammering against his ribcage, the image of Bucky lying motionless on the ground, blood staining the fabric of his uniform, still seared freshly into his mind.

It’s hard to ground himself. It seemed so real for a moment, like it was yesterday. But he’s not waking up in a tent in the French countryside, or on his cot back at SSR headquarters in London. He’s not waking up with-

He wakes up alone, in his DC apartment, and it’s never felt more suffocatingly small.  

With a heavy sigh, Steve swings his legs over the edge of his bed.  His muscles are protesting with the weight of exhaustion that still clings to him, but there’s no point in staying in bed. It’s not like he’s gonna get much more sleep now. He knows what images he’ll see if he closes his eyes.

Instead, he forces himself out of bed, switches out of his sweat-drenched clothes and into his running gear, and makes his way out of the apartment as quickly as he can. 

Running - ironically, given tonight’s dream - will help. Just to have a moment, an hour (or two) to not have to think, that’s all he needs. It doesn’t matter that it’s barely light out. He’ll be at it for a while. 

Maybe he'll try a different route today. Make his way south towards the Potomac, run a couple laps around the Mall before it’s run over with tourists.

Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. The sunrise over the Mall will make a pretty sight. Not enough to dislodge the dream still haunting him, but he doesn’t think anything ever will be. 

He doesn’t take much time to warm up, even if he knows he should. Soon enough, he’s running full speed.

He’s running. 

Steve’s running fast, but his lungs don’t burn. His heart, though. His heart aches.

[ronearoundblindly]

Threadbare (1)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part One: Yield Strength (see series)

Summary: Steve gets to meet his favorite designer, and you get a surprise visitor at work.

Warnings: none. Maybe a bit of creepy behavior but not from Steve. Yes, I did just want to use the leather jacket gif for shiggles. What's it to ya? WC 3355

Steve Rogers hates stuffy functions. He hates the brown-nosing. He hates trying to convince people who have everything to give scraps to people with nothing. He hates watching the excess and indulgence, even when he knows it ends up giving something to those in need. He hates it. He hates the whole lot of these stupid, asinine—

Steve takes a breath and smooths his hand down the buttery fabric of a double-breasted jacket hanging next to his intended garment.

Ok, fine, he hates the functions, but he actually enjoys the dressing up part.

He didn’t used to. No. The only outfit outside of his Cap suit that ever truly fit him—before or after the serum—was his SSR uniform, and coming from a time of nothing, Steve accepted that as a huge win.

And then he woke up in this world of excess and—what do they call it? Fast-fashion?— realized that what should be easier to acquire was much, much harder to find: room to breathe.

Steve may roll his eyes at Tony’s custom everything, but he admits internally that at least Stark’s comfortable all the time. Steve would settle for being comfortable in his own skin.

This helps though, this gloriously draped, stiff in a supportive way, heavy in a grounding way, and shapely button down. He doesn’t need a whole suit tonight; it’s not that kind of event. In fact, Steve wasn’t specifically invited. He heard Tony talking about the new collection by the designer of this shirt—which happens to be the label for 90% of Steve’s dressier clothing at this point—and Steve outright volunteered himself to go with Tony.

See, Steve Rogers is now a big, broad guy, and it’s been an adjustment, as well as plain difficult, to gather a wardrobe that isn’t custom tailored due to his sheer size and proportions. The team jokes about his tight shirts, but if he buys things large enough for his shoulders, his waist swims in fabric. Steve had to live off of stretchy clothing for the first three years he was out of the ice. He wasn’t out of his Cap suit long enough for the investment to be worthwhile. Then it took another several years before he discovered Tovarich.

The man must know what it’s like to be big and broad, that’s for sure. Steve may not be much for high fashion, but he’s genuinely gotten so much comfort and enjoyment out of Mr. Tovarich’s work that Steve wants to thank him personally. For once, being Captain America is a good card to play to ensure he gets to meet the designer.

Steve adjusts his rolled sleeves a bit in the mirror, smirking at himself for being a bit of a dandy concerning his look right now, but he’s determined to have a good time out with Tony. It’s just a fashion show. How difficult can it be?

Really damn difficult, that’s what it is.

Steve isn’t prepared for the bizarre press interest in who is there instead of what is being shown. He’s used to cameras flashing at him—especially because the bright and loud pops of flashes were much worse in the ‘40s—but Steve’s in awe of the models’ complete indifference while walking a straight line with a straight face in some of the simplest, most magnificent men’s wear he’s ever seen.

If all he had to do was tick boxes on a list to order things, Steve would be in big trouble with a full bingo card and an empty wallet. It’d be worth it though.

Tony tries to talk to him every so often, but the music is outrageously loud. Steve can’t hear a thing.

He gets tapped on the shoulder by some women sitting behind him, and they try to say some more things he can’t hear.

Everyone rises to clap, and Steve joins in, overwhelmed by the fast pace of all the outfits on repeat, when the man on his other side accidentally elbows Steve and drops his program. The paper flutters to land in front of Tony’s feet, so Steve picks it up, hands it back, and the man makes an appreciative face before gesturing vaguely at the runway and mouthing his admiration. Steve nods and smiles, happy he’s not the only one fanboying over clothes.

The lights change in the venue. The photography and clapping stop. Tony starts yammering on about an after party, but Steve wants to meet the designer.

“Oh, Cap, that walk-and-wave was as close as you’re getting today. Tovarich is a hot commodity. I’ll just get you a fitting sometime.” He clamps a hand onto Steve’s shoulder and tilts his head toward the refreshments. “Shall we?”

Darn. Steve should have done more research on how fashion shows work, but he hates how invasive online snooping feels. It was fine when he was catching up on history and historical figures. However, most of the ‘news’ now is not news at all, so he avoids searching for information that way. He doesn’t ask question about Mr. Tovarich because, in theory, it’s none of Steve’s business and Steve may or may not be slightly ashamed at how obsessed he is with something as trivial as clothing.

Fashion is not something he thought about until very, very recently. The most time he’s spent worried about what he puts on is his tac suit, and the main features of that are being blade resistant and bullet proof. Those things don’t exactly interest him so much as they are in his best interest.

So Steve is rather disappointed by the outcome of the evening, but he’ll manage. For once, he’s got a tiny bright light of something to look forward to in the form of a few more dress shirts and a very sharp vest.

He goes on with life as usual.

Months later and they’re doing this thing.

It’s called the Hellfire Gala, and apparently, it’s a big, big deal. Steve’s told everyone goes all out, that he’ll need to be dressed to the nines, and he realizes this is his opportunity.

Tony’s elated to make the arrangements for him with the Tovarich Atélier and plans to go with him. He wouldn’t stop grumbling about how awkward Steve might be, raving that he can’t have Steve getting a bad rap under his clout, so Steve shows up nervous.

Tony sends a text saying he’s running late. Of course he is, today of all days.

Steve shuts his eyes and lowers his head in gratitude that there are only two seamstresses when he first arrives. The ladies—one older and one younger—offer refreshments and ask a few questions about the event and what styles he might be interested in. He explains the getup needs to highlight the ‘Cap’ persona since the gala is a celebration of their work as Avengers, but other than that, it’s the-sky’s-the-limit for Tovarich.

The younger seamstress smiles at that and calls it ‘fun.’

Sure. That’s one word for it. Steve would also call it daunting.

As instructed, he stands on a small platform while the ladies bustle about speaking quietly to each other. Steve hears Tony ring the reception bell before any measurements have started, and he heaves out a sigh of relief.

“In time for the good stuff, am I?” Stark winks.

“Always perfectly welcome, Mr. Stark,” you, the younger woman, say politely. “Would you care for anything to drink?”

“Uh,” Tony smooths his hand down his current suit front, eyes flickering to Steve, “have you met me?”

Your smile widens. “Dominica, please,” you signal to your coworker.

Between your fingers, you’ve folded a scrap of paper, something you scribbled while Steve stood awkwardly on the pedestal (which isn’t to say he has stopped standing awkwardly), and Tony snatches the paper from your grasp, unfolding it to make a challenging, inquisitive face.

Steve huffs and glares, praying his friend doesn’t start hitting on Tovarich’s employee before the man even shows up. Steve isn’t the one to be worried about.

Stark takes Dominica’s proffered tumbler of brown liquor, saying nothing.

You are a ninja with the tape measure, gentle hands sliding over his chest and waist and—Steve swallows—his hips, all while rattling off numbers…which no one writes down. Steve moves his arms and legs when told. When you’re kneeling on the edge of the platform, eye level with his crotch, Steve decides to distract himself and get some answers.

“I’ve been looking forward to my first meeting with Mr. Tovarich. When might he arrive?”

Tony clears his throat, wincing. “Not possible, buddy.”

Steve tenses.

“I thought that—“

“You can’t meet him for the the first time.” Tony holds up a hand before Steve can move. “You already did. She’s measuring the distance between your balls and the floor.”

Steve startles out a ‘what,’ snapping his legs shut with your hand between his thighs.

“Captain Steve Rogers, please meet your favorite designer,” Tony beams, shoving his tongue against the inside of his cheek and hiking up his eyebrows.

Steve shrinks, face burning.

“Hello, Captain Rogers,” you introduce yourself with a lovely smile, “I will…need my hand to make your suit, sir.”

His open-mouthed impression of a fish is cut short by standing at attention, releasing the seal of his thighs. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“Very polite,” you mutter before turning to Tony. “Mr. Stark, was that entirely necessary?”

“For the look alone, yes. My god, I’ll pay you again just to watch now that he knows.”

You push off the platform and practically skip over to Tony, reading over his shoulder. “How did I do?”

Tony looks at the piece of paper. “Damn it. Spot on,” Tony grunts.

“And that means…?”

“That I leave you alone for the rest of the consult,” Tony whines. “Fine, but make it worth it, buddy. Lady gets paid by the hour.” He snaps his fingers playfully. “Dominica, let’s take room two, my dear.”

Steve’s not sure what to do with his hands and mistakenly remains up high on the pedestal while you pull out a notebook and sit at a small table.

“Oh!” You look up at him with tender, lively eyes. “You may step down now.”

He feet seem to thunder to the floor even against the carpet. “I didn’t mean to—I just assumed that—I’m sorry, Misses—”

“It’s Miss,” you correct him. “And don’t worry. You are not the first, and you won’t be the last. Have a seat, Captain.”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” you correct yourself this time. “I’ll tell you a secret. I prefer that most people assume a man runs this business. You get to see people’s true colors when they finally find out.”

That doesn’t help Steve’s hot flush of embarrassment.

“You are one of the good ones. I can tell,” you add, adjusting to a fresh page in the notebook and marking the top corner.

In the silence Steve asks, “so you already knew my size?”

“You aren’t so different from my standard cut.”

“No,” he allows. Of course, he should have known that seeing as everything he buys from your label fits him so well. He kicks himself internally while trying not to frown at his slip up. It is, however, easy to keep a smile while basking in the glow of yours.

You pop your shoulder up into a shrug, lips morphing into a wry tease. “And I’m pretty good at what I do.”

Amazing, Steve thinks to himself. You’re amazing…at what you do.

Your elbow rests against the table, hand cupping your jaw as you hold Steve’s gaze.

“Some even call me a master of the male form.”

His swallow is deafening, which only makes you happier, and he looks down at his knee, rubbing his pant leg while his face heats.

“But for today’s purposes—“ you lean back in your chair, twirling your pencil playfully, a magic wand in your brilliant hands “—why don’t you tell me what makes me your favorite designer so I can make you my favorite client?”

Why’d you have to be so pretty? Why do you need him for so few fittings?

Steve has to stop himself from spending a Tony Stark-sized fortune on clothing for the pleasure of walking into your store and seeing you alone—well, in the hope of seeing you at all. Dominica is very sweet, sassy in a hard ass mom kind of way, and she’s one of four total assistants you have at the shop. Steve’s met three of them.

There’s just only one of you, and you’re busy.

Between his duties with the Avengers, actually sleeping, and debating with himself about what constitutes looking desperate, Steve is lucky to have caught you in-house only half the times he visits.

And then he tore a shirt. In fact, he tore three shirts, and to his credit, two of them were by accident. The third…uh, there’s a chance that when Steve exclaimed “oh shoot, I didn’t see that nail poking out” that he 100% saw that nail and deliberately brushed himself against that wall. He also may or may not have deliberately done it in front of Tony, faking that it was no big deal, because now he has the excuse that Tony is the one who told him to go see you.

Yeah, Steve agrees, if you say so.

He’s all excitement and nerves again when he rounds the corner of your street, but then the adrenaline shoots through Steve’s veins for a different reason.

A squad car has jumped the curb in front of your shop, lights flashing, doors left open, and Steve can hear lots of tense voices.

It’s a stressful enough day without the uninvited guest. Not many people—who know how you work and are not assholes—would dare to show up within a month of the Spring Show, without an appointment, and demand a rush job.

A rush job on a custom suit that you explicitly said could not be rushed before its scheduled time, mind you, but the surprise visitor doesn’t care.

Richard Fisk is broad. He has dirty blond hair that falls in front of his eyes when he tilts his head to smile. He often travels with a whole team of other imposing men.

The son of Wilson ‘Kingpin’ Fisk, however, is a prime example of personality souring good looks. Where it’s bashful and adorable that Steve Rogers hides his smile, Richard barely bridles his menacing entitlement.

You hate him, but he’s not a person you can outright refuse. He makes all of your assistants uncomfortable. Fisk is needlessly hostile to Tarik, who is thankfully not here today; he’s a creepy dick to Abby, who you insist stays in the fitting room with Anja, your longtime client who trusts you to push the envelope tastefully for a redheaded woman in her sixties; and he almost made Jules quit because he couldn’t follow instructions during a consult. Dominica stands in as the perfect buffer when she’s here, but the eldest of the Tovarich Atélier employees is currently on the other side of the city for a VIP delivery.

Your busy, busy day just got much harder.

His trio of beefy entourage flanks Fisk at the front of your shop.

“Here for my suit, sugar,” he drawls, flicking his used toothpick into a corner on the floor.

He eyes Abby as she shuts herself and Anja away from his direct ire, and although this leaves you alone, it stops your worry for their safety in addition to your own.

“As it stipulates in the commission, we take at least—“

“Those little hands are free now, I see,” he spits, stepping within an few inches of your face. His breath is foul and hot.

The aggression has you stumbling back, smashing into a side table and knocking a box of supplies to the ground.

“How ‘bout you get to work.”

You take in a heavy, fortifying, and quiet gasp. “Per your order, the fabric is manufactured off-site because teal is not a standard color. It takes time to produce. This was made very clear when you signed.”

Fisk flashes that menacing smile. “We can wait. One of these fine men can…keep you focused till you do your job.”

The condescending tone and disrespect of your work ethic spark flames of rage in your gut. Even though terror still simmers beneath, it’s too easy to let an insult fly.

“You’re lucky I’m even making it. The all white one last summer was a stretch, but teal? On you? Not something you can pull off.”

He lunges forward again. “Keep up the cheek, and I’ll lock you in my basement until I get everything I—“

“Ma’am,” a cop bursts through the shop door, “we got a call…” The officer goes quiet after one look at Fisk.

Abby must have phoned after hearing you knock supplies down, and you’re grateful, yes, but police are of little help with this guy. Cops wouldn’t dare ruffle Kingpin’s feathers or his awful son’s by proxy, but if you roll over now, you’ll never get back out from under him.

The only way forward is to put your foot down.

“Mr. Fisk, I wouldn’t make you a black and white striped three-piece if you did chain me in a basement. You’re a spring, and I have standards.”

“Ma’am,” the officer warns, his partner standing nervously in the open doorway.

“What kind of professional would I be if I let you walk around looking like a mental asylum inmate? I’m doing you a favor!”

Richard brandishes another toothpick. “The customer is always right, sugar.”

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid to taunt him and yell. Being insulted and diminished doesn’t make you want to be smart though; it makes you want to be right.

Your hands ball into fists of fear and rage. “It’s my name on the label,” you bark, “and I could just refund you to get you the hell out!”

Now you’ve really done it.

The boy gangster’s face twists and his oral fixation goes limp in disbelief. No one talks to Richard Fisk that way, least of all women.

His men step between both the cops and their boss, leaving Fisk himself to grab a solid wood tie box from the nearest counter and fling it at your face.

Your arms fly up to block it, but nothing ever connects, nor is there a crash behind you.

An officer’s voice wavers from across the room. “Uh, I’m sure this can all be worked out. No need to…start anything.”

You’re ashamed to say that your hands are shaking when they return to your sides and reveal an entirely different bulky blond.

Steve Rogers casually holds the caught box in his hands, staring daggers as he shifts squarely in front of you to block Fisk.

“This doesn’t concern you, Captain,” the bully grunts. “Piss off.”

Steve strides forward to replace the box neatly and plants himself inches from Fisk’s face.

“Can’t do that. She’s expecting me.” He turns back to you. “Ready?” Steve asks with a tight smile.

You swallow down one iota of your alarm and clear your throat.

“Yes—” the word cracks but you hope familiarity will scare off Fisk for now “—thank you, Steve.”

That seems to be Captain America’s cue to handle everyone else at odds in the storefront. By the time you get control of your trembling limbs, Steve has shown Fisk the door and promised the officers that you’ll be looked after.

Abby peeks out of the fitting room, surprised to see only Steve.

“Did they send you instead?”

She opens the door wider for Anja to see.

The redhead quirks an eyebrow. “Call the police more often, honey. They’ve upped their game.”

The now bashful, broad blond tilts his head, rogue hair falling across his face. His blue eyes sparkle beneath long lashes while he apologizes for lying, but you can’t for the life of you figure out why he’d feel guilty.

“I…” Steve stumbles. “I don’t have an appointment. I just wanted to see you.”

Currently estimating four parts to this grumbling into the ether but who knows. I clearly cannot be trusted to estimate length anymore...

[Next Part]

You can find more to read on my Main Masterlist! For readers under 18, please see the Light Masterlist which contains all-age-friendly works.

@supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @femefetalelevelingup @darsynia

[hainethehero]

Steve Rogers Headcannon- why Steve was so against the Sokovia Accords (trigger warning as this analysis involves SA/r*pe)

I think we can all agree that the MCU absolutely desecrated Steve Rogers' character to the point where people actually believe he's a horrible person- especially after Civil War. But I've had this headcannon about why Steve was so vehemently against the Sokovia Accords and its never been more obvious after She-Hulk.

From the jump (CATFA), we see that the serum is generally regarded as "property of the U.S government/SSR" thus, whoever is injected with it becomes government property by proxy. Ironically, after getting the serum Steve's freedom becomes limited. He has to follow orders and put on a show for the senators because they're the ones who have the power and position to fund the fight against the N*zis. He's their dancing monkey. We even see evidence of this when Steve is made to parade about like a showgirl in this scene 👇

Now, throughout the MCU there's an ongoing interest in Steve's "virginity" and cheap jokes at his perceived lack of sexual proclivities. We see it in CATFA, CATWS, Avengers 1 & 2 etc. Which leads us to She-Hulk. There's this whole reveal in that one episode that Steve lost his virginity to a showgirl on one of the USO tours.

This is where my headcannon comes in.

I don't think he lost his virginity consensually. I think he was forced into sexual acts by powerful men like the senators and military officials who saw Steve as a literal puppet and of no true value as he was not being used in battle or the war yet. Remember, they initially saw him as a failure because the serum was lost and their plans for an entire army of allied supersoldiers were lost after Erskine died. Now, for anyone who knows the comic Steve Rogers, it's not in his character design to have sex with a random girl he just met on tour- a tour which by the way didn't last that long.

We did see, however, that Steve is easily taken advantage of, esp in this scene 👇

Which ultimately leads to my main point, Steve was against the Accords because he knew that giving up their autonomy meant physical, mental and sexual abuse. The government wouldn't just be able to control where they went but also who they worked for and as he said in CACW, "[the UN] is run by people with agendas and agendas change. If we sign the accords we surrender our right to choose."

Steve knows what that much power (over super-powered beings like the Avengers) can lead to and he doesn't want that to happen to them. Add on the very heartbreaking case of how Bucky's autonomy was stripped from him as well and that only strengthens his case.

I just find it hard to believe that Steve would lose his virginity so cheaply and honestly shame on the writers for even insinuating that. He was taken advantage of and assaulted and this is one of the main reasons why he's against giving up his freedom to the very same people who would use and abuse him without a second thought.

[lavellenchanted]

The Courtship of Peggy Carter (fic coming soon)

When Steve returns to the 1940s, he knows he wants to be with Peggy, but he can't help but worry about how the years they have both lived through have changed them - so he proposes that they start dating and get to know each other again. But Peggy has her own ideas about how their courtship will go, and is a woman determined to get what she wants. Namely Steve. In her bed. Sooner than he seems to be planning to get there.

Happy holidays @margarethcarter! I'm your Secret Santa this year - I'm so sorry your gift is so ridiculously late, but this month has just been incredibly full on. I am hoping to get your gift finished and up soon, but I didn't want to end the year without you getting anything.

You said you prefer post-Endgame time period and mentioned Peggy finding out that Steve's acquired some game since she last saw him, which what inspired this fic, so I hope when it's finally finished you will enjoy it, but in the meantime here is a little preview for you!

***

“And this . . . you being here . . . is it for good? Or do you have to go back?”

Steve held her gaze, serious and steady, the way he always did whenever he wanted her to know that what he was about to say was something he had thought over carefully.

“I’d like it to be. I came back because this place, this time, is where I belong. I wanted to come home, to have the life I never got a chance to have. And I want, very much, for that life to be with you.” 

For a moment Peggy felt as if she had forgotten how to breathe, her chest tight and her heart beating painfully hard against her ribs. She opened her mouth to tell him yes, that she wanted a life with him as well, but before the words could form he had brought a finger to her lips to keep her from speaking.

“But,” he continued softly, a tenderness in his expression that made her glow with warmth, “I don’t think that’s a decision either of us should be making right now.”

A faint frown creased Peggy’s forehead. “Why not?”

“Because of how good this feels.”

She couldn’t help quirking an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth curling upwards. “That’s a bad thing, is it?”

Steve chuckled. “No. I just mean . . . I’ve dreamed about being here with you for so long, it would be easy to rush into this. To forget that . . . a lot of time has passed, for both of us. And that we’re probably both different people than we were when I went into the ice.”

Peggy let out a slow breath. Part of her - the part that for the last four years had been filled with grief, sorrow and longing whenever she thought of Steve - was afraid, terrified that this moment of joy in finding him again was going to be cut short, and leave her with nothing but echoing silence of his absence once more. She wanted to cling on to him as tightly as she could, to hold him to her so she didn’t have to face the pain of losing him again.

Another, regrettably more sensible part of her, recognised that what he was saying was true. The four years she had spent being overlooked at the SSR had left their mark as surely as the war had, and now she was reinventing herself again as the Director of SHIELD. She felt very far from the young agent that had worked on Project Rebirth. 

And Steve . . . right now she could only guess at the sort of things Steve had lived through, the reasons for the weariness that lurked at the back of his eyes, the sadness  that seemed etched into his face, mingling with his joy when he had asked her if he could finally claim his dance.

“So what are you suggesting?” she asked, forcing a calmness she didn’t entirely feel. 

But to her surprise - and a little to her relief - Steve smiled.

“I’m suggesting that we date. Like we would have - should have - if things had gone the way we planned. Get to know each other as we are now. And if after we’ve dated for a while, we’re both sure this is still something we want . . .  well, then we can talk about what’s next.” 

Peggy almost wanted to laugh. “Are you telling me you travelled back nearly a century in time just to ask me on a date?”

His smile widened to a grin. “To start with, anyway.”

[geekynerddemon]

Happy Holidays @somewhereapart

I hope this is good enough to be a phone wallpaper. I also hope this isn’t too nsfw for tumblr. It was. Here is where you can see it.

In my head Steve or one of the Howlies found the mistletoe and brought it back and stuck it at the door of their favorite supply closet (like the one from @doctorhelena ‘s story The SSR Supply Closet Crisis). Then Steve and Peggy were there while the office was pretty empty while everyone was in a pub or spending the holiday with a British family (that was a thing apparently) and one thing led to another and here we are.

I wish everyone health and happiness for the new year.

Thank you @steggyfanevents for organising this lovely exchange.

[captainsophiestark]

A Reverse Steve Rogers

Jack Thompson x Reader

Masterlist - Taglist

Requested by @hawaiianpizzaenjoyer !! Thanks for the request, and for being so patient while I got it done! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Y/N, an Avenger, friend of Tony Stark, and the one who helped Steve Rogers adjust to the 21st century after he came out of the ice, gets flung back into the 1940s when something goes wrong on a training mission. She has no idea how long her stay in the 40s might be, but one way or another, it's going to be interesting.

Word Count: 4,684

Category: Fluff, Humor

A/N: This doesn't follow any of the season 2 timeline lol, just some vague stuff put together for the sake of this story.

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"We could always just find another ticket for her and make up a reason for her to be there on her own..."

"Yeah? Like what? At this event, anybody with the slightest hole in their story is gonna stick out like a sore thumb.”

I looked between Peggy Carter and Daniel Sousa as they talked, frantically trying to figure out what to do with me tonight. They were currently in the middle of breaking up a secret society in Los Angeles, and they had a mission disguised as a date tonight where they'd be infiltrating a fancy party being thrown by said society.

Unfortunately for them, I'd landed in their laps (pretty literally) this afternoon, and accidentally thrown a wrench into their whole operation.

One minute, I'd been doing a training mission with the Avengers. The next, I'd been falling on top of  a desk in the SSR in 1947. I still didn't know exactly what had thrown me back in time, but no matter what the cause, the fact didn't change that I was here, and would be for the foreseeable future.

I'd almost had a heart attack when I'd looked up to see THE Peggy Carter, founder of SHIELD and total badass, standing in front of me. I think I freaked her and Daniel out a little by fangirling the minute I got up off the floor, but a stranger landing in the middle of their super high-level organization probably would've landed me in the interrogation room anyway.

Thankfully, I knew Steve Rogers pretty well, and so did Peggy. I'd mentioned his name briefly when trying to explain how I knew who she was, but then I'd been able to use what I knew about Steve and the stories he'd shared with me to convince her I was telling the truth about time travel.

Since then, we'd done some brief introductions and I'd been let out of the interrogation room. I'd been given the bare minimum details of the mission to understand the conversation, and now I sat on the edge of a desk watching Daniel and Peggy talk as they tried to adjust their plans.

"Perhaps Mr. Jarvis would be available on short notice to take her as a date..." mused Peggy.

"Whoa, Jarvis? Oh my gosh, the real person Jarvis is alive and walking around right now. That makes sense," I said, mostly talking to myself.

"That still doesn't solve the problem of them not being on the guest list," continued Daniel, he and Peggy only briefly glancing my way at the outburst.

"Maybe Howard could help us secure another two."

"He already wore out his welcome with these guys to get you in there the first time."

"Did you just say Howard? As in Howard Stark?"

Peggy and Daniel groaned in unison.

"Don't tell me you're a big fan of him too?" groaned Daniel.

"His ego's already big enough as it is," Peggy agreed.

"No, it's not that, I- uh... nevermind." I pushed off the desk, waving off thoughts of Tony. I still wasn't clear on how this time travel stuff worked, and I didn't want to go telling people about Howard Stark's currently nonexistent son without more assurance it wouldn't have any crazy impact first. "Look, you guys clearly don't have space for me in this mission. The best path is a small team, specifically a couple, who can enjoy the night like a regular date while still gathering intel and handling the mission."

Peggy and Daniel shared a look, and I could see an entire conversation passing between them. I continued.

"I might not know much about the forties, but I'm still a capable adult. I'm an Av- I was on a team with Steve to take on missions around the world. I'll be fine handling myself for a bit while you guys take care of business."

"Are you sure?" asked Peggy with a frown.

"We don't want to completely abandon you. Disappearing from your own time and reappearing in another can't be easy," added Daniel.

I gave them a faint smile, momentarily overwhelmed with memories. I'd first met Steve when he'd shown up in the future and needed someone to help him adjust. I'd been a SHIELD agent at the time, responsible for liaising with Tony Stark, so they figured helping a living legend adjust would be nothing compared to that.

They'd been right, and we'd hit it off the bat. When Tony eventually formed the team, I'd been on the roster. And now, I was the one being faced with adjusting to another time.

"It's not easy," I said to Daniel, the smile still on my face. "But I also don't need babysitters when those babysitters have important, world-saving duties to attend to. I actually have a little bit of an advantage, going back in time. I took history classes and whatnot, so I at least have some idea of how this world works."

"Well, if you're sure-"

"Alright! Sousa, Marge, fear not! The cavalry is here."

I turned at the sound of a new voice, but not before I caught Peggy and Daniel rolling their eyes so far back into their heads I couldn't see the pupils. A tall, blond man in a suit was striding across the room towards us, and a second after I started sizing him up he noticed me and did the same.

"Who's this?" he asked, coming to a stop in front of us. Peggy and Daniel didn't answer right away, apparently working together to gather mental strength before entering the conversation with this guy. I just leaned back a bit against the desk and watched.

Peggy and Daniel took a second to make significant eye contact, then sighed as one. Daniel turned to Jack, and Peggy subtly shifted closer to me.

"She's somebody who does a job like ours, but from the future," said Daniel. Jack just stared at him for a minute, then looked to me, and then back at Daniel.

"Sousa, despite what you might think, I'm not stupid."

"Jack, I get that it's hard to believe, but if you actually listen for two seconds-"

Jack huffed and crossed his arms while Daniel kept talking. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Peggy leaning in towards me, and I blocked out the boys' argument as she whispered to me.

"Y/N, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Hit me," I whispered back. Peggy sighed.

"Jack has recently had a moral epiphany," she started. I took half a second to give her a curious glance, and she just rolled her eyes in response. "It's been mostly nice, both to have him on our side and to finally have him respecting me and Daniel and anyone that's not an older man already in power.

"That said, we don't have space for him on this mission. All he's going to do is be a nuisance, and he's far less likely to agree to being benched than you."

"And I take it you have a solution for this?"

"Yes. But it would require throwing you under the bus to keep him occupied tonight."

I paused for a second, giving Jack another good look. He and Sousa were still in the middle of a heated argument while Sousa tried to convince him I was actually a time traveler, and even though they both seemed exasperated, Jack also seemed to be enjoying the back and forth. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

"Peggy Carter, it would be an absolute honor to assist you on a mission," I said, turning to her with a smile. "Even if it means spending the evening learning about the forties from a slightly questionable teacher."

"You're a lifesaver," she said, giving me a smile back. She pushed off the desk, moving towards Daniel and Jack to interrupt them but shooting me a wink first. "And don't worry, I'll give you an actual introduction to the decade after this mission is over."

I nodded, then Peggy got Jack and Daniel's attention to put their argument to rest and explain the situation. Jack raised an eyebrow when Peggy told him his job would be keeping me company, but she phrased it well enough that it didn't quite sound like babysitting for either of us. Finally, he agreed, and Peggy and Daniel headed out for their event, leaving me and Jack Thompson alone in the bullpen of the LA SSR.

He stood by the windows, staring out at the traffic below as I spun around in a swivel chair. I kept looking at him, but he didn't look over at me once, at least not that I could catch. Finally, after a few more rotations, I huffed a sigh and pushed myself up. I put my hands on my hips, but Jack still didn't look over.

"Alright, I'm bored out of my mind, which should not be a possibility less than three hours after I suddenly appeared in a different time period," I said. Jack finally looked over at me, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as he did. I continued. "You're supposed to be helping me adjust to this place, since I don't know how long I'm gonna be here. Believe it or not, it didn't take me that long to adjust to this office."

He sighed heavily, but stepped away from the window anyway, stopping a few feet in front of me with his arms across his chest. He stared at me for a few seconds without saying anything, and I just stared right back. I crossed my arms to mirror him and he snorted and rolled his eyes.

"You're really from the future?" he finally asked.

"Did the twenty minutes Peggy and Daniel spent convincing you not settle this matter?"

He grunted, then finally dropped his arms back to his sides.

"Fine. What do you want to do then?"

I grinned. "Any good places to grab a drink and a dance around here?”

****************

"This is only my first week in LA, so if this place ends up being terrible, it's the city's fault and not mine," said Jack as we stepped out of the cab together. I'd taken a second to find a dress to steal from Peggy's emergency disguise stash at the SSR, since my 21st century mission clothes would probably cause a riot if I went out in them, and then Jack and I had jumped in a cab to a spot in town he'd heard about.

"Boooo," I teased as he paid the driver and we headed in together. "You can't consider the possibility of the night being a failure before it's even started! It's a jinx."

"A jinx?"

"Yeah, you know. Like bad luck."

"I know the definition of the word jinx," he scoffed. "I just think it's ridiculous you believe in them."

"Oh, yeah, of course. Actually, I didn't want to tell Peggy and Daniel this, but in the future we've discovered that a lot of things people dismissed as superstitions or bad luck are actually true. Like jinxes. Oh, and breaking a mirror? That actually will mess you up! We didn't realize it until science advanced a little further, I think in the seventies, but it's true."

Jack stared at me for a few seconds, and I stared back with a perfectly neutral expression on my face. Then, he broke into a grin and nudged me with his shoulder.

"You're messing with me."

"I definitely am."

He scoffed and shook his head, but the smile didn't drop off his face. He sighed dramatically, looking up at the club in front of us, then held out his arm for me to take.

"C'mon. You're the one who wanted to experience the time period."

I smiled up at him, then looped my arm through his. He pulled me a little closer, and I'd be lying if I said my heart didn't speed up a bit as we walked into the club together.

Immediately I got hit with the music I associated with the swinging jazz of the 1940s as we stepped into a world of men in suits and women in old-style dresses, all twirling across the dancefloor together.

"Whoa," I breathed. Suddenly, it started to sink in that I was actually in the 1940s, more than 80 years from everything and everyone I knew. A new surge of sympathy for Steve welled up in my chest.

"You alright?" asked Jack, nudging me a little as we stood in the doorway. I took a deep breath in and out, then slowly nodded. "Okay, good. Let's go get a drink.”

I huffed a laugh as he pulled me through the crowd and towards the bar. We managed to find two stools, and Jack pulled my seat out for me before I sat down. I couldn't help giving him a slightly bemused look, which he grunted about as he took the seat next to me.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said, waving him off. "Just, you know... forties."

He turned to stare at me, his eyebrows knit together, but the bartender appeared before he could question what I was talking about.

"What can I get the two of you?" asked the bartender. Jack turned to me, letting me go first.

"I'll have an old fashioned, please."

Both he and Jack looked at me for a second, but I looked right back at both of them like they were crazy for questioning it (because they were). After a second, Jack shrugged and turned back to the bartender.

"I'll do the same."

The bartender nodded, then moved away to make the drinks. I turned and gave Jack a smile.

"Thanks for buying," I said. "I didn't have my wallet on me when I got sucked back in time, and even if I did, I don't think the bartender would be able to accept the kind of bills I carry. I'm not trying to get arrested for counterfeiting a few hours into being in the past."

Jack chuckled. "Sure thing. So, an old fashion, huh?"

"Yeah. It's Ton- uh, it's my friend's favorite drink. He got me drinking them, too."

"Hm. Future sounds like a wild place."

"Honestly, I'd say 1940 is a little wilder."

The bartender set down our drinks, and Jack put a few bills on the table. Then, once he was out of earshot again, I turned to Jack with a smile.

"Cheers," I said, raising my glass in toast. "To new experiences and getting to know each other and this weird ass trip back to the past."

Jack smiled, although I could tell he was fighting it, and clinked his glass with mine before we both took a sip.

"So, Jack Thompson... tell me about the forties."

Jack and I spent the next hour talking about everything from foods that hadn't been invented yet (ranch dressing!) to the weird, national popularity of baseball and how I couldn't wait to see people start getting the memo about the NBA. Some of it was informative, even helpful, but for the most part we just... talked. Laughed. Joked around and enjoyed each other's company like people who'd known each other much longer than a few hours.

For some reason, it just felt easy. Going into this, heading out with someone who was clearly a confident, if not arrogant, man from the 1940s, with Peggy's warnings on top of everything else? Well, let's just say I didn't have the highest of hopes. But by some miracle, whether it was our equally loud and teasing personalities or that fact that I proudly didn't know anything about baseball beyond the fact that games took way too long, rather than the ignorance or indifference he had been expecting... Jack Thompson and I got on like wildfire.

"I'm just saying, when you're watching a legend play, that's the only part of the game that matters!" Jack continued, defending his baseball stance. "And DiMaggio's a legend."

"Yeah, no shit," I scoffed, rolling my eyes to go with it. Jack snorted at my language, but I caught him grinning at me all the same as he took a sip from his drink. "But, unlike in other sports, your legend's only playing for like fifteen minutes out of every hour. Still boring!"

Jack opened his mouth, clearly ready with some other comeback that would do absolutely nothing to change my position, but before he could, the band started up with something I actually recognized.

"Oh my God!" I cried, setting down the now-empty glass that previously held my second old fashioned. "This song- we have to go dance!"

"You know this song?" asked Jack, only looking slightly bemused as he set down his glass and I dragged him towards the dance floor.

"Yeah. Steve plays it all. The damned. Time," I said, finally coming to a stop in the middle of the floor. I moved to drop Jack's hand now that I'd gotten him out here, but he just squeezed it tighter and pulled me closer. "It's one of the only songs from the forties he plays that I can actually stand."

Jack scoffed, wrapping an arm around my waist as we started twirling across the floor together. "You're actually friends with him? Sousa wasn't making that whole thing up?"

"What? No. Actually, I'm the one that helped him adjust to the future not long after he woke up in my time."

Jack nodded, looking thoughtful. "So that's why you recognized Carter? Sousa said you almost fainted from excitement when you first saw her."

"No. I mean, sort of, I guess. But I would've known her even without Steve. She's only the coolest, most badass woman and intelligence pioneer the world has ever known," I said. Jack snorted, and I scowled. "What? You disagree?"

He shrugged. "I mean, I'd probably argue there are some other intelligence pioneers that deserve mention. But... I guess no, I don't necessarily disagree. Just don't mention it to her, alright? I'll deny it, and I don't need her immortalization from a time traveler being thrown in my face every time I work a case with her for the rest of time."

I laughed, and Jack gave me a knowing smile before spinning me out and away from him. He twirled me across the floor before pulling me back to him quickly. We moved in perfect harmony, picking up our pace to match the band and putting the other couples to shame. We quickly got lost in our own little world, to the point that everyone and everything except the music disappeared. When Jack sped up, I sped up a little more, and we easily met each other's challenges, stupid smiles on our faces the whole time.

When a slower song started playing, Jack and I finally relaxed the pace, forgoing the elaborate dance moves to just sway in place and catch our breaths for a minute. I was still a little lost in our moment, enough so that I didn't notice someone else approaching us until he shoved himself part way between me and Jack.

"Hey doll. Mind if I cut in?" The guy leered over me, totally ignoring Jack as he reached for my hand without waiting for my answer. I scoffed, my tired-but-happy smile instantly turning into a scowl. Jack seemed equally frustrated and moved as if he was about to step in and do something about it, but I decided to just take care of it for the both of us.

"Actually, yeah, I do mind," I snapped, fixing the guy with an unimpressed look as I snatched my hand out of his reach. He seemed incredibly surprised by my response, but I plowed ahead anyway. "I'm dancing with someone already, and even if I weren't, I have no interest at all in dancing with you. So... scram. Or beat it. Or whatever people say now."

The man just stood there for a second, open-mouthed, blinking at me in stunned silence. Then, his expression shifted into a scowl and his face started to turn red.

"I- You- How dare you-!"

"Dude, get lost," I said, crossing my arms and staring him down as I talked over him. I glanced over his shoulder to Jack, who also looked shocked but in a pleasantly surprised way, and addressed him. "What's another good way to tell someone to go away?"

He shrugged, a delighted smile growing on his face. "Take a powder?"

"Really?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Jack just nodded, so I looked back at the rude guy. "Alright, take a powder. Hit the bricks. Take a long walk off a short pier. Other creative ways to say leave. I want to dance to this lovely song with my dance partner here, who is not you, so... yeah. Take the blatant instructions."

The man whirled around to Jack, like he expected him to say or do something to reign me in. Jack just shrugged again.

"You heard the lady. I'm not gonna tell you anything she didn't already say."

The man scowled, whipping back to look at me again. I just met him with crossed arms and a look that told him I wouldn't be budging an inch. He spluttered a few more incoherent words in indignation, then stormed off the dance floor and out of sight. I sighed, then faced Jack again.

"How wildly out of place was that for the time period? Both him and me?" I asked. Jack grinned.

"Him? Not very. You? Insanely," he said, taking my hand again as we went back to gently swaying in place. He tugged me a little closer to his chest, and I smiled. "I gotta say though, I sure enjoyed watching it."

"Good. Because I don't actually care at all, and I had a lot of fun doing that."

Jack laughed, throwing his head back before fixing me with a brilliant smile. He twirled me out and away from him again, then pulled me right back into his chest. We swayed together, closer than we'd been all night, and to my surprise I started noticing more than a few butterflies squirming in my chest as I stared up at the SSR Chief. Hm, noted the more logical side of my brain as we moved across the crowded dance floor. Nice, my heart replied as Jack's strong hand laid firmly on my waist and my hand traveled to the collar of his shirt.

Jack and I spent the rest of the night at the club, enjoying the music, the dancing, and each other's company until the place turned on the lights and threw us out. A few times, other men came up to hit on me and "steal me away" from Jack. Each time, I dressed them down and sent them on their way, and each time Jack just grinned and watched me do it. I could still tell he was ready to jump in, that his instinct was to take care of it for me, but he seemed to enjoy watching the jerks splutter and babble in shock and surprise as much as I did.

Afterwards, when we wandered back out onto the LA street together, Jack insisted on escorting me back to Howard Stark's place, where I'd be staying with Peggy. It was going to be incredibly weird staying at Tony's dad's house, meeting him and the real-human Jarvis, but I could process that later. Right now, I wanted to focus on the amazing, less-weird parts of being in the 40s. Specifically Jack Thompson, who I'd just spent a wonderful night enjoying this new time period with.

Jack hailed us a cab, and I rested my head on his shoulder and watched the city go by as the taxi took us out of the city, to the massive Stark mansion. It was basically a 40s version of Tony's Malibu house, and a pang of sadness tightened in my chest when I realized I had no idea when–or if–I would see my friends again.

I took a deep breath and shook those thoughts out of my head as the car came to a stop. All of that was a problem for later, not now. Jack got out first, holding the door for me and offering a hand to help me out, which I took. Rather than dropping it once I stood, he wrapped it around his arm as he asked the cabbie to wait and escorted me towards the house. We stopped on the porch and turned to face each other, and I realized I actually really didn't want the night to end.

"Thanks for showing me around the forties," I said, giving Jack a small smile. "It was actually really fun."

"You don't have to sound so surprised," he griped, but a smile made its way onto his face all the same. "So... I don't know how long you're gonna be here, and obviously we've got a lot of other work to do with Carter and Sousa tomorrow, but... maybe I could take you out again sometime. There's still a lot of forties you haven't seen yet."

"I'd like that," I said, a warm feeling welling up in my chest. I hesitated a second as Jack and I stared at each other on the doorstep, then decided to say fuck it and keep doing what I'd been doing all night: following my impulses. "Quick question: in the forties, if I kiss you on the first date, is that going to scare you off or something?"

Jack grinned. "It might get a raised eyebrow from the cabbie, but I sure as shit won't be complaining."

"Good."

With that, I grabbed Jack's lapels and tugged him towards me, leaning up just a bit and giving him a kiss. It was short, really just a quick peck since we'd just met, but fireworks exploded in my chest at the sensation anyway.

Jack's grin stayed in place as we pulled apart, and his hand lingered on my waist an extra second before dropping to his side. He took a step backwards, towards the waiting car, even as his eyes stayed on mine. I rested my hand on the doorknob, watching Jack and trying to stay in the moment even as he walked away.

"Welcome to the forties, sweetheart," he called as he made it down the porch steps and into the driveway. "I'll see you at work tomorrow."

I waved, a smile on my own face to match his. "Can't wait."

Jack gave a short wave and one last grin before getting into the cab. I watched as he drove away, a smile still on my own face even after I knew he couldn't see it. Finally, after the lights of the cab faded back into the LA night, I turned on my heel and walked into the house.

I'd been in the 40s for less than twelve hours, and I knew for a fact that I hadn't even scratched the tip of the iceberg on exploring the time period, or what frustrations being eighty years removed from everything I knew would bring. But, despite all that, I'd had a blast tonight, and tomorrow I'd get to start working with THE Peggy Carter. Whether I was only here for another few hours or it turned into months or longer, I couldn't help being excited at the idea of everything that was yet to come for me, not least of all my next date with Jack Thompson.

[bedlamsbard]

“The soldier,” Thanos said. He flinched a little as one of Natasha’s widow’s stings hit him in the side of the head, but brushed it off as if it was nothing more than a mosquito bite. “The man out of…time.”

Thanos let the last word linger there between them. The Stones set across his knuckles glittered in the fading sunlight as he turned his left hand over, thoughtful.

He was a kid playing with a new toy, the kind of boy who burned the wings off flies with a magnifying glass and a sunbeam. Steve knew the exact instant Thanos realized he could use more than one of the Stones at the same time.

March 1945: With the deaths of Johann Schmidt and Steve Rogers only a month old, the SSR has spent the intervening weeks hunting down the last of Hydra’s holdouts. When Peggy Carter and the Howling Commandos are unexpectedly called back to London, however, the return of Steve Rogers from beyond the grave raises more questions than it answers – and draws the attention of a dangerous new enemy.  (Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff)

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15: Where the Sun Goes Down 187K, AU, WIP

Chapter preview:

They lay side by side in silence, watching clouds move across the stars overhead.  Eventually, Steve said, “Ever since I woke up here six years ago, all I wanted was to go back there.  And then I did and all I wanted was to come back here.” Bucky took that in, then said quietly, “Why?” “That’s the only question that matters, isn’t it?” Steve said.  He didn’t answer for a while and Bucky didn’t push him, just held the photograph Steve had given him up over his face and studied it in the dim moonlight while Steve thought. “I always thought that if I could ever go back, I’d just…be able to throw myself back in,” he said finally.  “And the thing is – the thing is that’s what everyone there wanted too.  They wanted the guy who’d gone up in the Valkyrie.” “Only you’re not that guy anymore,” Bucky said, his voice soft. “No,” Steve said, equally quiet. “Or, well, I am, I always will be, but – I’m not just that guy anymore.  And I don’t – I didn’t know how to go back, to be just that guy again.  Even if I wanted to.” “Do you?  Want to, I mean.” “I thought I did,” Steve said.  He tried to smile and couldn’t, but Bucky wasn’t looking at him anyway.  “Maybe I could have been if Nat hadn’t been there.  Sometimes I thought that maybe they were right and I had gone crazy.  Sometimes I wished I had.” “Yeah,” Bucky said, so quietly that Steve might not have heard it except for his enhanced healing. “I get that.”

[swan-of-sunrise]

Sunshine

Summary: Steve pays a visit to the Smithsonian’s new exhibit honoring Captain America, and a little bit of sunshine unexpectedly breaks through his cloudy day.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a candid depiction of depression and its symptoms, and brief depictions of PTSD

A/N: I wanted to start this new one-shot collection off with a look into Steve’s POV, specifically when he meets (Y/N) in the Smithsonian. It was my favorite moment to write in The Winter Soldier and I had so much fun revisiting it from a new perspective! Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope that you enjoy!

Sunshine March 2014 Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, Washington D.C. (Fanfiction Masterlist)

Although it had been over two years since he’d been discovered alive and frozen in time within the wrecked remnants of Schmidt’s plane, Steve Rogers still didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He had work, of course; completing missions on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D. was familiar, reminiscent of his past and all the work he’d done alongside the SSR as the leader of the 107th tactical team throughout the war. But outside of work, he struggled to find ways to keep himself occupied. The notebook he filled with seventy years of various pop culture references kept him busy but as his understanding of the 21st century grew, so too did the disconnect he felt from the people and places that surrounded him.

So, on a beautiful spring afternoon that others were no doubt spending with their friends and family, Steve found himself sitting alone in the screening room of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum’s ‘Captain America: A Living Legend and Symbol of Courage’ exhibit. The filmed testimonials of various men and women who’d been directly or indirectly impacted by his actions included an emotionally-charged interview of Peggy Carter from the early 1950’s, several years after the creation of S.H.I.E.L.D. and her promotion to its first Director. Her hairstyle was different and her brown eyes had the hardened look of someone who’d seen far too much pain in such a short span of time, but to Steve she looked exactly the same as she had when they’d fought through Schmidt’s mountain fortress together in 1945.

“That was a difficult winter. A blizzard had trapped half our battalion behind the German line. Steve…Captain Rogers, he fought his way through a Hydra blockade that had pinned our allies down for months.”

Steve remembered the battle, just as he remembered each and every battle before and after. His elevated body temperature and high metabolism kept him from feeling the chill of the blizzard that raged on as he fought, but nothing in the super-soldier serum could keep his body from going numb when he saw the frozen and broken bodies of hundreds of soldiers scattered amongst the snow. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop himself from visualizing the explosions ripping through Panzers and hearing the roaring gunfire ricocheting off his vibranium shield, and he took a deep breath before opening his eyes and refocusing on Peggy.

“He saved over a thousand men, including the man who would…who would become my husband, as it turned out. Even after he died, Steve was still changing my life.”

He looked down at the compass in his hands and studied the black-and-white photograph he’d clipped out of a newspaper back in ‘44. He was happy that Peggy had gotten to live a long and happy life surrounded by loved ones and he made sure to tell her every time he visited her in the nursing home, but he couldn’t help but envy her a little; she’d lived the life he’d always wanted back before he took the serum and became Captain America, but after all he’d seen and done since, he wasn’t even sure what sort of life he wanted to live. He was lost in an unfamiliar world filled with people who believed he should be grateful for a chance at a new life and who didn’t care to know how he truly felt about his situation. It didn’t take him very long to learn that only one thing remained constant after seventy years: the rest of the world only saw Captain America, the Star-Spangled-Man-With-A-Plan, and not Steven Grant Rogers, the kid from Brooklyn who hated bullies and who only wanted to do the right thing.

The video continued to play as Steve stood and exited the screening room, slipping his hands into his jacket’s pockets and bowing his head while he went. The rest of the exhibit was filled with tourists eagerly examining artifacts from his life before and during his time of service, and Steve felt a familiar twinge of discomfort at the sight; it’s like they don’t understand that they belonged to real people and not characters from a story, he thought to himself as he walked past a group of young adults snidely critiquing Dum Dum Dugan’s combat gear displayed on a mannequin along with the rest of the 107th tactical team. There were far fewer people near the display dedicated to Bucky, so Steve gravitated towards it and studied the old photograph of his best friend; he was smiling and there was still a sparkle of life in his eyes, eyes that hadn’t yet seen the brutality of war, the unspeakable horrors concocted by the Nazis and the gruesome torture inflicted on him by Hydra while he was a POW.

Steve’s memories of Bucky and that fateful mission in the Alps were suddenly interrupted when the young woman standing in front of him turned and collided with his chest, dropping her notebook onto the ground and scattering its loose papers across the floor; she immediately knelt and began gathering up the sheets and Steve winced at the accident he’d inadvertently caused. “Sorry! Here, let me help you with that.” He kneeled on the ground before her and assisted her. “I wasn’t paying attention, I’m sorry-”

“I’m the one who should say sorry, I was so wrapped up in writing that I didn’t see…” The young woman’s voice faltered when she looked up from their shared work and her (Y/E/C) eyes widened in recognition. “Steve?”

Steve’s own eyes widened as he finally recalled just where he’d seen the woman before. “(Y/N), right? From yesterday morning?”

(Y/N) nodded. “That’s me.” She took the papers and tucked them inside her well-worn notebook as they stood. “What brings you to the Smithsonian?”

He shrugged and took a moment to adjust the bill of his baseball cap while he thought up a suitable answer. “I had the day off, and I guess I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. What about you?”

“Research,” She answered with a smile as she proudly brandished her notebook. “I’m writing a novel, so I was looking up information on Soviet Cold War-era missiles. Then when I finished with that, I thought I’d also see what all the fuss was about. I actually had another spark of writing inspiration before I smacked into you just now.”

Steve’s brows rose with interest. “You’re a writer? Have I heard of any of your work before?”

“Well, this novel I’m working on is actually my first.” They both stepped aside to let a group of schoolchildren read Bucky’s display. “I’m trying to become a historical fiction novelist, and I chose to write about the Cold War for my first novel.” Steve couldn’t help but admire the brightness in her smile and how the simple gesture illuminated her entire face, so much so that he nearly missed her question. “So, what do you think? Is everything here historically accurate?”

“Pretty much. What do you think of it?”

(Y/N) considered his question for a moment before answering. “I don’t know yet; on one hand, I think it’s great that an exhibit like this exists to educate people, especially children, about history, but part of me can’t stop thinking that it’s also an invasion of privacy.” Taken slightly aback by her reply, Steve frowned in confusion and watched as she gestured towards the many display cases surrounding them. “Like these, for example. These are private sketches of your family and friends that I’m sure you never meant for others to see. And over there, they have your underwear on display, for God’s sake!” A nearby middle-aged couple threw her a disapproving glare at her exclamation and Steve did his best to stifle his chuckle. “I don’t know, I think that they should show more respect when they create exhibits like this, especially if the person they’re about is still alive. You may be Captain America, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a little privacy, too.” The earnestness and underlying indignation in her words of defense took him by surprise, and it wasn’t until her head tilted to the side in curiosity that he registered the small smile playing on his own lips. “What is it?”

“Nothing…you just sound a little different from most of the people I’ve met since coming out of the ice.” Steve looked over at his best friend’s display and awkwardly cleared his throat as he struggled to keep their conversation going. “It’s lucky that I ran into you, actually, I was gonna try and stop by the VA today but I have no idea what the address is.”

“Oh, I’ve got it right here!” She reached into her pocket for her cell phone and began tapping away. “Let me see, where did I-ah, found it! It’s 50 Irving Street Northwest. All you have to do is go down North Capitol-wait, it might be 6th Street instead…and of course, no signal in here…” A small line formed between her brows as she frowned. “Urgh, if I had my car with me, I’d just give you a ride since I’m going there later anyways but Sam took it to work this morning…”

“I could always give you a ride, if you want?” Steve blurted out, praying that he wouldn’t start blushing as she considered his abrupt but sincere offer. “It’d be no trouble at all.”

(Y/N)’s smile brightened her expression and she nodded. “Okay, then. I’m pretty much done here, so just let me know when you wanna leave.”

“Let’s go.” They walked out of the exhibit and Steve snuck a clandestine look at the writer walking beside him; she was undoubtably pretty, with strikingly intelligent (Y/E/C) eyes and lips that seemed perpetually ready to curve into a teasing smile, and just as he’d done the day before when they’d first met by the National Mall, he compared her to sunshine breaking through a cloudy sky. She was vivacious and so full of life – a shining example of a modern 21st century woman – but at the same time, something about the way she talked and carried herself reminded him of a different time. He’d gone on a couple of dates since coming out of the ice but up to that point, the only woman he felt comfortable being around was Natasha, his coworker and occasional mission partner at S.H.I.E.L.D.; with (Y/N), though, he felt unusually at ease and the only discomfort came from the shyness she brought out in him. C’mon, Rogers, there’s nothing scary about just talking to her, he scolded himself before swallowing thickly and speaking up. “So, how far along are you with your novel?”

“I’m actually almost done with it, thank God. Not that I don’t enjoy writing, of course, but some days it feels like I’ve been writing this thing for a decade.” (Y/N) hitched the strap of her messenger bag higher on her shoulder and flashed him a thankful smile as he held the museum’s front door open for her. “Today was my last day of research. All I need to do is finish writing the last few chapters and then I can send them to my publisher for final approval.”

Steve smiled at the enthusiasm he detected in her voice. “Have you already chosen a title?”

“It’s called For Queen and Country, but there’s a funny story about how that came to be. I originally titled it The Détente Paradox, because the novel chronicles how a female MI5 agent discovers a plot to infiltrate and destabilize peace talks between the United States and the U.S.S.R.; my publisher argued that even if American readers knew the English translation, they wouldn’t understand the story from the title alone-”

“The Relaxation Paradox; makes perfect sense to me.” Steve felt himself flush as (Y/N)’s brows rose in surprise. “I, um, speak a little French. Sorry, you were saying?”

She looked impressed as they made their way towards the museum’s parking lot. “The criticism got under my skin and I couldn’t think of anything else until one night, my publisher called me after binge-watching some classic James Bond movies with his wife. In a couple of them, James Bond sometimes says he does the things he does as a spy ‘for Queen and country,’ and-wait, do you know about James Bond?”

“Nope, but I’ll go ahead and add him to the list,” Steve replied as he pulled out his notebook and jotted down the fictional spy’s name.

“So anyway, my publisher convinced me to change the title to For Queen and Country. I’d hate to boost his ego, but it sounds a lot better than anything I thought of.”

Tucking the notebook back into his pocket, Steve scanned the parking lot for any potential threats while he remarked, “In my day, authors usually sent a completed novel to a publisher instead of sending it in separate parts. I guess that’s changed, too?”

“No, that hasn’t changed; this publishing company’s co-owned by one of my old friends from high school who also happens to be the only person I trust to edit my writing. My situation is a little unorthodox, though; to convince his publishing partner to give a first-time novelist like me a chance, he’s been giving him some of my short stories to read. His partner likes them so far, so as long as I keep sending in things that he enjoys he might agree to publish my novel once it’s finished.”

Steve hummed to himself, even more impressed by the writer walking beside him than he already was. “Sounds stressful.”

“Well, it’s not ideal but it makes balancing research and work a little easier, and I’m not about to quit now, not while I’m so close to being published.” (Y/N) shrugged and looked over at him with a kindly smile on her face. “But what about you? What’re you doing to keep busy these days?”

Hastily deciding that (Y/N) didn’t need to know how he spent his free time alternating between visits with his ninety-three year old first love and moping alone in his apartment, Steve replied, “I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. Whenever I have some free time I read the internet and go through my list to mark things off. I didn’t have much to do this morning, so I listened to some of the soundtrack from American Graffiti; it’s not what I’m used to, but I liked it. All the songs sound unique from one another.”

The writer’s eyes lit up when he mentioned her music recommendation, and he felt his heart stutter at the beautiful sight. “Right? My mom was born in the sixties so she grew up listening to that type of music. Whenever my brother and I had to help on chore day, she’d put on her old records so that we’d have something fun to listen to while we cleaned the house.” They walked through the parking lot and as they turned down an aisle, Steve subtly checked that they weren’t being followed while an unaware (Y/N) continued to talk. “Sam thinks that music from that era is too cheesy, but this is also the guy who thinks that Marvin Gaye’s better than Jimi Hendrix so what the hell does he know?” He stopped beside his motorcycle and she sucked in a quick breath. “Is this yours?”

“Yep, it’s a Harley-Davidson Street 750. The one back there in the exhibit’s a Harley, too, a modified ’42 WLA Liberator. I’ve always preferred motorcycles to cars, so it was nice to see that they haven’t changed too much over the-” The rest of his sentence died in his throat when he caught sight of the unreadable expression on (Y/N)’s face, and his heart instantly plummeted in his chest. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you that I didn’t have a car. If you’re not comfortable with-”

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ve always wanted to ride a motorcycle!” (Y/N)’s exclamation took him by surprise, but he managed to return her excited smile with one of his own. “Do you have a spare helmet?” He pulled a helmet out of the bike’s back compartment and tossed his baseball cap into it, trying his best not to think about how cute she looked when she placed the helmet on her head. “Wait, what about yours?”

Steve flashed her a teasing grin. “Super-soldier, remember?” She rolled her eyes as he swung a leg over the bike and sat, giving the empty space behind him a pat before placing his hands back on the handlebars. “Hop on.” She followed his direction with less than perfect grace, doing her best to respect his personal space while also trying her hardest not to fall flat on her face, and Steve bit back a smile as he watched her progress in the rearview mirror. “I’ll be able to hear you over the engine noise, so feel free to give directions as we go. And make sure to hold on tight, okay?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Chuckling, Steve revved up the engine and backed out of the parking spot; the writer seated behind him predictably panicked at the sudden movement and involuntarily moved her hands from beneath her seat to rest on his waist, causing Steve to blush as he gently took hold of her hands and guided her to wrap her arms around his torso. If he weren’t a super-soldier with heightened abilities, he almost certainly would’ve crashed the motorcycle because of how distracted he found himself by (Y/N)’s presence. He could feel the warmth of her body through his jacket and smell the faint scent of her perfume as she clung onto him and on a wild impulse, he sped up and grinned when she shrieked in delight and tightened her hold on him. True to his word, he heard her give him directions amidst her laughter and much to his disappointment, they reached the VA in under fifteen minutes.

Steve parked the motorcycle in front of the building and switched off the engine before turning in his seat to look at his beaming passenger. “So, how was your first ever motorcycle ride?”

“Amazing!” She held onto his shoulders as she clambered off the bike and removed the helmet. “I might even have to trade in my baby for one!” Steve’s eyes widened at her remark, and she hastily shook her head. “No, no, that’s just my dumb nickname for my Volkswagen Bug! I don’t have an actual baby, of course, and if I did I certainly wouldn’t trade it…um, so yeah, no baby…and no guy, either, in case you were wondering. I’m single, single like a Pringle.” (Y/N) cringed at her own words and dropped her head in her hand to avoid eye-contact. “You can stop my dumb rambling anytime now, Steve…”

Steve’s grin widened. “Don’t worry, it’s not dumb. Entertaining, yeah, but definitely not dumb.”

The writer shot him a glare that would’ve intimidated him if it hadn’t looked so adorable on her. “You know, you’re a lot more of a pain in the ass than the history books make you out to be.”

Just as he was prepared to say something flirtatious, his cell phone chimed with a notification and when he looked to see what it was, his heart sank in his chest and reality came crashing back down on him.

Nurse Alia: Mrs. Carter’s been having a rough day. Might do her some good to see an old familiar face.

Steve tucked his cell phone back into his pocket and looked back up at a confused (Y/N) with an apologetic expression on his face. “I’m sorry but I’ve gotta go, something just came up. I’ll try and make it for the end of the meeting, though.”

“Okay, I’ll be sure to let Sam know!” Their fingers brushed as he took the helmet from her and stowed it away, and she gave him a half-hearted wave as he revved the engine and backed out of the parking spot. He returned her wave and sped off down the street, the image of (Y/N) standing by herself on the sidewalk with a befuddled expression on her face burned into his memory while he navigated the streets of D.C. to reach Peggy’s retirement home. But while he drove, he recalled the way his heart lurched when (Y/N) smiled at him, how lovely her laughter sounded as he gave her her first ride on a motorcycle and just how – for the briefest of moments – he hadn’t felt so alone and unseen. Like sunshine breaking through a cloudy sky, he thought to himself once again, resolving to see the writer who uncovered Steve Rogers from beneath the façade of Captain America again as soon as he could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: This was my first time writing from Steve’s POV, so let me know how you liked it so I can decide if I wanna write from his POV in a future one-shot! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting, and I hope that you enjoyed it!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (Part I)

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist

Stumblin’ In Book I: “The Winter Soldier” Masterlist

Tagging:  @mrs-obrien​​​ @lahoete​​​ @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk​​ @momc95​​​ @savedbystyle​​​ @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat​​​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​​ @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove​​​ @brooke0297​​​ @hufflepeople​​​ @becausewelie​​​ @outoftheregular​​​​ @junipermurdock​​​ @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley​​​ @username23345 @crist1216​​​ @capswife​​​ @lilmschild​​​ @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell​​​ @y-napotat​​​ @mary1raven​​​ @groovy-lady​​​ @ljej95​​​ @innersublimefury​​​ @prettysbliss​​​​  

[doctorhelena]

Summary: A mix-up with one of Howard's spy lipsticks leads to Peggy and Steve spending an unexpectedly candid evening at home.

Rating: R

Words: 15k

Chapters: 1/1

Note: This is my extremely late @steggyfanevents Steggy Secret Santa 2023 gift for the amazing @theawkwardterrier. I'm so sorry it's late, but as usual, it ended up considerably longer than I expected!

Read it on A03

Excerpt:

A ringing phone in 1949 was a far more common thing than it had been in 2023, but that didn’t stop Steve from worrying whenever theirs rang while Peggy was out, even though he knew perfectly well that nobody who worked for the SSR had any idea that Peggy even had someone at home to notify if anything should go wrong.

He hadn’t fully considered this particular consequence of retiring from the top-secret line of work that Peggy was still very much in the thick of. He knew, of course, that she was very, very good at what she did, and could absolutely take care of herself. It was just - well, he guessed he just missed working with her, missed knowing at least the general outlines of what she was doing out there. Their relationship had always been professional as well as personal, and now he wasn't part of that world anymore.

Before Steve had left on his journey to return the stones, Bucky had teased him that he wasn't going to know what to do anymore when he couldn't Google things, but in truth he did miss the casual ease of text messaging a lot more than he'd expected to. Maybe that was part of it. Even though he and Peggy had never actually had the benefit of anything like it, he'd been in the 21st century so long that he wasn't used to everyone being routinely unreachable.

Of course, it wasn’t that they never talked Peggy's work life. In the four months since Steve had arrived on her doorstep, they'd actually spent a lot of time discussing some of the intel he’d brought with him, and making plans for how they could use it to greatest effect to prevent the worst of the disasters of the original timeline. Steve's role was going to be more the guy in the chair than the guy with the shield (although clearly still the man with a plan, Peggy had teased him), but he was still involved. But as to her day to day work at the SSR - and even the finer details of her other side project, the development of SHIELD with Howard and Phillips - Steve was mostly in the dark.

He hadn’t realized how much it would bother him. Or maybe it was just that he still hadn’t quite figured out what he wanted to do all day while Peggy was out saving the world. He hadn’t really planned that part out when he’d decided to come back and see if she’d be interested in making a life with him - which she very much had been - and, now that he'd recovered from the bone-deep exhaustion he'd arrived with, he was feeling a bit at loose ends. 

He reached the hallway and answered the phone, his relief at hearing Peggy's voice lasting only until he processed what she was saying. “Darling, it’s me. I’m in a little trouble. Don’t ask me to explain just now.”

“Wh - ”

She cut him off. “Not now. I'm sorry to ask, but Mr. Jarvis isn't available, and I need a lift as quickly as possible from someone I trust implicitly. But I’m all right for the time being and it’s snowing quite hard, so there's no need to drive like a maniac.” She gave him her location, a phone booth a few blocks north of the White House, and hung up before he could ask any more questions.

Well, Steve thought wryly, this was more how he'd imagined his life with Peggy was going to go.

Read the rest on A03

[themculibrary]

Daniel Sousa Masterlist

3, 2, 1… (ao3) - muscatmusic18 peggy/daniel G, 1k

Summary: What if Peggy and Daniel didn’t follow up after their office kiss, and instead have to wait until New Year’s?

A Confidential Source (ao3) - Cuppa_tea_love peggy/daniel G, 11k

Summary: Peggy is missing Daniel after he moves to L.A. and nothing on earth will induce her to talk about it.

all we do is drive. (ao3) - romantashas daisy/daniel, leo/jemma M, 30k

Summary: Daisy has missed the open road. She used to always love taking her van out and just driving. Los Angeles was where she liked to stick around, but she would always go on these road trips just because she wanted to explore somewhere new.

She’s always liked running away from things.

It was different, having someone with her.

-

In which Daisy Johnson helps Daniel Sousa explore the modern world by taking him on a cross-country road trip in a van. Post-Finale road trip AU with MCU tie-ins.

A Week After Death (ao3) - manoutoftimeandquake daisy/daniel, peggy/steve T, 15k

Summary: An explosion in an alien junkyard sends Daisy, Sousa and Kora back in time to meet some people from Sousa’s past.

Bad Romance (ao3) - Peggysousfan peggy/daniel M, 27k

Summary: Peggy is a young, new, college professor starting her first day on the job. Daniel is a new student starting fresh at the University. The two meet at a party not knowing anything about each other. What will happen when a one night stand turns to be a secret love affair between a teacher and student…

Edge of Tonight (ao3) - Letmebecomeataboo daisy/daniel G, 38k

Summary:  1946, New York City

Daniel Sousa is an agent, working for the SSR in New York. When the search for wanted fugitive Howard Stark comes to a stand still, a new agent named Daisy Johnson is sent from the Los Angeles office to help. Now, on top of trying to figure out where Stark is, Daniel suddenly has to fight with his feelings for the mysterious and beautiful new agent.

Endings and Beginnings (ao3) - truth_renowned peggy/daniel M, 56k

Summary: Two cups of angst, a few tablespoons of smut and a heaping helping of mytharc. Post Hollywood Ending. Originally posted as a one-shot but it wouldn't leave me alone until it became a search for Jack's shooter. Alternates between Peggy's and Daniel's points of view.

Grace Under Pressure (ao3) - sheron background peggy/daniel G, 20k

Summary: Of the hundred ways Jack could confess his secret, he picks one of the worst. Daniel doesn't take it well.

I Have Lived A Life (ao3) - em2mb peggy/daniel T, 11k

Summary: A look back at her life with Daniel Sousa.

In the Cold November (ao3) - Sholio peggy/daniel T, 14k

Summary: Peggy, Daniel, and Jack hunt a lake monster in upstate New York. It goes about like you'd expect.

Question and Answer (ao3) - keysburg peggy/daniel T, 35k

Summary: Returning to reality after their Hollywood Ending, Daniel and Peggy have their hands full with Hugh Jones and the M. Carter file. If that wasn’t enough to hinder a fledgling romance, there’s still an office to lead--and a mole inside it. At a specialized training camp, Daniel searches for the traitor. Meanwhile, he learns more than he expected about all his agents, including Peggy.

Renegades (ao3) - inkdust peggy/daniel M, 45k

Summary: or, Peggy & Daniel Against the World

The Next Guy (ao3) - roboticonography peggy/daniel, peggy/steve T, 11k

Summary: "It’s the one subject that’s never open for discussion: Peggy’s grand love affair with Captain America. It’s not exactly a secret—in fact, it’s become something of a legend within the SSR. Everyone and their dog has a version of the romantic tale, pieced together through third-hand eyewitness accounts and wild speculation.

There’s only one person Daniel wants to hear the story from, though, and she ain’t talking."

Three Deaths (ao3) - glorious_spoon peggy/daniel T, 1k

Summary: Three ways it could have gone for Jack, Peggy, and Daniel, and how it went instead. Inspired by this prompt.

Time Difference Like A Lifetime (ao3) - spatialvoid peggy/daniel, daniel/violet T, 5k

Summary: or, what happened between when Daniel left and when Peggy stayed.

Trip Wire (ao3) - Sholio peggy/daniel T, 11k

Summary: “Former reconnaissance scout. This won’t be my first time defusing a bomb.” Daniel knows bombs, but it’s a little different when it’s Peggy’s life at stake, and he’s having to talk Jack through defusing the bomb over the radio. For my h/c bingo wildcard square, “explosions.”

Whiskey and Lipstick (ao3) - i_owe_you_a_bourbon peggy/daniel/jack G, 7k

Summary: “That was a hell of an entrance, Carter,” said Thompson. He didn’t seem to have any problems forming words, though he seemed affected enough to have forgotten the fact that his arm was still draped over Sousa’s shoulders. Sousa wasn’t about to remind him. The closeness of Thompson’s body and Peggy’s smile and the liquor in his belly were all making him feel very warm and comfortable, and he wasn’t quite ready for the feeling to end.

Worth It (ao3) - Yalu peggy/daniel T, 20k

Summary: Peggy and Daniel take on an undercover mission - as a married couple. Between arranging cover stories and plotting with Jarvis, Peggy works double-time searching for an edge to help clear Howard's name.

Set between episodes 3 and 4. For my tropes bingo square "fake relationship".