#bucket sexy - doc

[yakdee]

nonnie here! I like the idea of pen pals! Especially because I feel guilty for taking so long to respond, so the snail mail vibe works for me. But here we go in response to the last one!

S&M by Rihanna for Even Sun, I want to say it's not because it's a sexy scene! It's just really funny and for some reason, that song feels like it could have changed the scene or made it more comical if they'd been able to use it or thought of it.

Last Twilight is definitely a show I would still recommend even if I am disappointed with how they handled the disability at the end. I have rewatched it again just to catch some of the other things I loved and they did get a lot of things right. So I hope people will still watch it. Just know that the ending isn't as good as it could be. It's not terrible it's just unsatisfying to me.

I am now at 87 finished, 5 sitting in the probably not gonna finish bucket (which is hard for me as a completionist) and about 5 that I am working on, most of them slowly because I want to finish them but they are tough to watch for one reason or other, and one of them that I am loving so much I am watching as it drops which I don't typically do, but that one is Wandee Goddday and I LOVE it so much!!! I have also watched a number of shorts and one movie.

I am keeping track in a google doc lol. I really wish I had thought to track it in a spreadsheet so I could mark when I finished each but I am too far in now! But I think I might still make a spreadsheet because I like sheets. We'll see. And I use MDL mostly for finding shows and figuring out what to watch next based on actors. Oh the google doc is sitting just over 18K words, so I have thoughts!

You mentioned the different countries and taking on same shows, like Cherry Magic and Why R U, I admit I still need to find the Japanese CM, but I have now watched both Why R U? and I love both versions, especially because I was able to compartmentalize the Thai one and not let it affect how I felt about the Korean one and I love them both. Just need to find the Japan Cherry Magic because the gifs I have seen look so good.

I still love my old top 4 but I have another 4 that are my favs too that I have to mention which are Semantic Error, Unknown, To My Star (both) and The Eclipse (with the caveat that I had some issues with it and wanted to change a few things but I did love Akk/Aye and the protestors so much!) To My Star hit me in a way I did not expect a BL to hit me, and I found some healing watching it. I am finding that BLs often address very real things that hit me kind of hard, and I am okay with that.

I've also learned that there are not happy ending BLs and I have to say I kinda hate them. But I have watched at least 4? Maybe 5 now, and only one was I okay with the fact that it wasn't a particularly happy ending, although they kind of hinted at something at the end, but it felt like it wasn't enough. That was Kissable Lips, which is the same couple from Poondock that I really liked. I liked the unique play on vampires (I have a thing for vampire shows but I didn't like two western vamp shows or rather I couldn't get into them, they were good but just didn't pull me in like I thought they would) and I know I have some more Vampire BLs I need to check out. Seriously hoping the Boun Vamp show is good, though I like the old name better than the new name LOL

Last but not least, about my cat and The Sign, I have rewatched it again on the big screen to see what if anything draws her attention, and I have to say you're a genius, she seems to like Phaya the most. AND SHE DEFINETLY LIKES HIM IN BIRD FORM!!! How did I not pick that up before?! AND she did like Saint in bird form too, in fact she tried to jump up on the place where the TV is and she fell off. Oh wait...this might mean she wants to eat him...she watches birds out the window like a hawk...it's kind of disturbing sometimes, so maybe she is just hungry and wants to eat them both 😂

Anyways still loving the BL world and cannot seem to pick a genre or a country that's a fav so I love them all, even the ones that pissed me off LOL

Sorry for the late response, my life got kinda flipped upside down and I am grateful for BL because it has given me something to distract me from the not so great thing. I am okay, just some people did some horrible things and I am trying to sort through it. In fact BL is kinda saving my sanity right now.

Thanks again Rae you made my world a better place with the BLs

K 💜

Hi nonnie~ great! pen pals it is! I also feel guilty for taking a while to respond… case in point this reply which I didn’t realize is over a month out orz

Re Even Sun: Ah, I understand. Idk when time will permit (there are so many things to watch this summer 😭), but I look forward to watching it at some point so I can get the full effect of what you’re saying.

Re Last Twilight: Yeah, that was the general consensus for the ending, but I still plan on giving it a chance since I enjoyed gif-watching it while it aired. I know what to expect, so the (potential) disappointment with how things ended won’t be as great.

Whoa, 87 already?! What’s your binging method? I gotta step up my game XD Seriously though, as I said last time, I definitely feel you because I am also a completionist but sometimes we have to take the L no matter how much it goes against our nature. Always remember, enjoyment comes first.

It’s been a month since you sent this. How’s it going with the 5 that you were struggling with? Did your interest pique for any of them?

Re Wandee Goodday: Despite a few plot holes and very questionable moments, it has been quite enjoyable for me too.

Ooo shorts! I’m always in the market for good ones — any recs? And if you are looking for some more to watch, I would recommend Trémulo (YouTube), Summerdaze (YouTube), Private Lessons (Gaga), Some More (Gaga), Love Takes Courage (Hold Me) (YouTube), and Please Tell Me So (YouTube). The last 4 recs are from the STRONGBERRY production house which I still highly recommend till this day. The fandom literally has a tag dedicated to them (#in strongberry we trust) which should tell you all you need to know XD

You can find Cherry Magic JP here — happy watching! I have yet to watch the Thai version yet, but it looks great.

Why R U? is one of my all time faves so I have not watched the Korean version because I know I will not be able to compartmentalize. That might change in the future, but for now it’s a no-go for me lol

Those are great additions to the top of your list. They ranked pretty high for me too and I have to agree with your sentiments about To My Star. K-dramas do melancholy characters/vibes very well which can be quite healing for those of us who can relate. Other dramas that I think do this very well are Blueming, Our Dating Sim, and Sing My Crush.

Same, I also don’t do sad endings. I was caught off-guard and utterly devastated once and wish to NEVER feel that way again lol

The vampire bls that have aired recently are not as dark as I’d like them to be but as you said, Revamp looks promising. There is also My Golden Blood, but I don’t think that it’ll air this year anymore.

For the old title of Revamp, are you talking about My Broccoli? If so, I have to agree. The stories are not connected, but that title would've been a nice call back to Boun & Prem's characters in Until We Meet Again.

Wait! It makes total sense that she would like them in bird form for food purposes! Here I thought she was feeling a level of camaraderie. Either way, my previous statement remains true. She indeed has good taste 😂

Glad to hear that you’re doing well despite what has been going on. I hope that things have gotten better and keep trending that way.

Sending hugs and positive vibes~ Talk soon 💜

P.S. I’ve updated your tag to #nonnie k

[artdecosupernova-writing]

15 OC Questions

Thanks for the tag, @druidx! I, too, used a randomizer for this, and the wheel told me I should have Guetry answer...so here we are lmao

tagging @drippingmoon, @sleepy-night-child, @ashen-crest, @zmwrites, @oh-no-another-idea, and @pertinax--loculos to do this too! no pressure, obvs.

▽ Guetry Danon Sympa —

Are you named after anyone?

Nope. Well...actually, I think Danon comes from a great-great-great grandfather on my dad's side. Yeah. Danny Sympa—the founder of our vineyard, actually—was Danon, I believe. My mom came up with Guetry because she liked it.

When was the last time you cried?

I don't cry that often, believe it or not. But I think the last time I really let loose was after watching that stupid movie Alec made me watch about the twins that died on separate planets. Something about twins, man, I've got, like, a soft spot for them or something, I swear.

Do you have kids?

...I don't think I'm cut out to be a dad. A good dad, anyway. I've got too much baggage. What with everything I went through with my mom, and being an addict, and the fact that I could barely keep my poor sisters sane as they grew up, I dunno. I'm just not made of strong enough stuff.

Do you use sarcasm?

I think I'm allergic. [sniffs]

What's the first thing you notice about people?

The way they look at anything. People, things in front of them, me, anything. I can tell a lot by the way someone looks at, say, a sandwich. If you're looking at it like it's the best fucking part of your day, you're honestly so cool and maybe a little sexy.

What's your eye color?

Blue. I tried to have a color-changing procedure at the hospital after Scotty was put into my head, but the doc was not receptive to the idea. I said why the fuck not? All I can see half the time is purple anyway, why not portray that outwardly? They said no. And then they stuck me with a six-point-five-billion-credit bill and bullied me until I cried. Ah, that was the last time I cried. [laughs]

Scary movies or happy endings?

Hear me out...a scary movie with a happy ending. Turns out nobody actually dies and the blood-sucking murder clown was really the friends we made along the way.

Any special talents?

Yeah, but I can't talk about them in mixed company.

Where were you born?

Somewhere on the outskirts of The Void.

...Okay, Texas. I was born in Texas.

What are your hobbies?

Well, I've got a band to help maintain. That's Skywaste; I'm the guitarist/keyboardist/digital jockey and also a vocalist, and Alec is the other vocalist and the drummer. I don't really have any other hobbies as being a galactic superstar and an agent for the Consortium take up literally all of my time.

Have you any pets?

Nah. Unless you count the AI in my brain. [Guetry's tattoo and temple flash. He smiles.] Apparently he does not.

What sports do you play/have played?

I tried baseball for a second when I was in school, and that ended quite abruptly when I got pissed off at the pitcher and beaned the ball at his face.

How tall are you?

Six-foot-three, last time I checked. Though I have a pair of boots that get me closer to six-five, six-six. A friend made me try on her heels from her job once and I was near six-nine...the fact that I ate that look didn't scare me so much as just being so high up I had my own cloud system around my head.

Favorite subject in school?

Math. It's weird. Can't do math for shit, but I really enjoyed it.

Dream job?

I'd say I'm doing it now, but that's not entirely true. If I could retire from the 'Sort and just do music full-time, that would be the dream. As it stands now...I'll be lucky if I can squeeze out a week of retirement from their clutches before I ultimately kick the bucket at a hundred years old or something. [laughs]

[kateyiswell]

So what happened to me this week.

Monday was my 3rd session with Doc Ethel. Gosh, I am so thankful for this one beause I got to know what are my good points in life.

Wednesday, I rejoined dating app again. And then met one of my matches nearby. He is a good looking man. So, I agreed with the meet up. We had a sexy night (ifykwim). He is a bit handsome but then I remember my ex from him.

Friday, I watched Taylor Swift concert. Too bad I wasn’t able to watch All Too Well part because my stomache hurt :(. And it was my most favorite Taylor Swift song of all time. I then broke off my connection with the bumble guy. I got irked when he is asking to loan some money from me.

Saturday is my dance class day. So, yeah in the morning I drove our car for washing. By afternoon, my sister dropped me to MRT station. I rode the train and got off at Cubao Station.I met Bert afterwards and we then went straight to the Studio. We had a blast for this class <3. My Carat heart is very happy. Another activity ticked off from my bucket list.

[epicmusic42]

WIP Game

Okay so I've seen this around a few times, where you're supposed to list all the stories in your WIP folder and followers can ask about them/request snippets. And it did get me curious how ridiculous my list is because uh... I work on many stories simultaneously. And it's a WIP until it's finished or I decide I'm not writing it.

So yeah. Folks can ask about anything they want. I do not promise you will get an answer since I also included the count of [Redacted] WIP files I've got.

Everything is organized by Fandom and if I have multiple wips for a series, then the series has a subheader. Things in [brackets] are more commentary than wip, but I felt should be acknowledged when counting.

Arda

Crown of mikhil

Prompt notes

Untitled 1

CritRole

Time Fuckery

Modernish AU

Mirror Images?

Two Steps Forward, Nein Steps Back

The Brunch Club

Flashbacks

The Brunch Club backstorys

Mechs AU

Murderplay blumentrio 

Untitled 2

DC

My Wish for You

Not my sister, my uncle 

Agent A

I'm calling Martha

Ot4 but Crack

Untitled 3

Mechs

Breaking Marius's curse

The Terror: God of grieving, living out of spite, and the trapped

Going from Yes, to I love you

Pangolin Brian 

Time loop

Brian is Arthur 40k fiction go

Ocean Pirate AU

On Recovery When You're Immortal 

Te amo

This is new

Next Steps

Untitled 4

I Said I'm Keeping You 

Lyf/Raph

Not Quite Human

[Loose Change]

Promise You'll Keep Me, Even If I'm Real

Quick Thots 

TS/Brian

TS/Jonny

Ts/Jonny end

Ts/marius

Ts/marius/Jonny

Ts/tim

Smut

Ashes/Aurora 

Jonny gangbang

Marius/Jonny cannibalism 

Superhero Stuff

@fracnkie 's Outsider Pov

The Inherent Eroticism of…

Asking for what you want

Welcoming a new crew member

Ivy

Marius

[Concatenated]

Urban Magic

Eyot Cemetery 

Sexy Ghoul Feeding Time

[Like five docs on Ghoul language]

Star Wars

Ka'ra the Gota

Copikla 

Friends

Loose Change 

More Dead than kaysh thought

Prologue?

Sexytimes

Untitled 5

Mir'j'ade

Advice

Comfort 

Consent?

Discussions

Interview

Obi-wan Kenobi of aliit Kryze 

Obi-wan Kenobi of Clan Kryze

Xai giiyha'ah anohrahak uu ehnoctel

[Also like 7 notes docs]

Tra'kem'ad

Goran joha

Tra'kem'ad

Translations

Jesara, celo kat fohl

Ke'nuhoy, ner ad'ika 

Mando'a I see fire

sa sarad cuyir gotal de pitat

Tal jabat te laamtorun (Blood upon the risers)

Werdlaar

Follow up

Jesara celo kat fohl, juve e paihenelru foh keelak

Misc

Tamah qa brok vaversi

"I've been yours"

Alpha means buir

And I say

Bat Concordia 

Dom/sub thing

Ehnap im Lunetana'unru'yth; Rumar'eyir nu Ru'hiib'manir

Jatinobi

Jensaarai

Jetii ori'vod 

Ka'ra'ade 

Kar'ta beskare

Mattress red

Melida/Daan

Merged world's

Mission: babysitter wanted

Paden'hibir

Protest snippet 

Rex fucked up

Rex/sabe

Staging a couple

Stewjoni witch

T'ad runise

Time travel dooku

Time travel maul/Obi-wan 

Time8

To be naasade

To: a connection 

Untitled 6

Untitled 7

Xanatos/Jango?

Xarehk paiochl Rakadaiji

TMA

PA

Brain wtf?

Jonny dville and Jon Sims same guy

Other

Genderfluid?

Marvel-Dimension Travel

Sire, if I may?

Prompt Bucket

Original Work

Space Beowulf

Satan & Jesus go to pride

Cyberpunk persephone 

The Adventures of the Wise Old Wizard

Novel

This is my idea of a pandemic

Generic Prompt Bucket

Loose Change (technically not a WIP)

Redacted

Redacted A

Redacted 1

Redacted 2

Redacted B

Redacted 3

Redacted 4

Redacted 5

Redacted 6

Redacted 7

Redacted 8

Redacted 9

Redacted 10

Redacted 11

Redacted 12

If you read this far, I'll do you the favour of informing you that there are 133 WIPs.

No, I'm not actively working on all of them. But these are all projects that I haven't removed to a "fics I'll never write" or equivalent folder.

[rhadko]

all my favorite songs - weezer art by my good friend doc!

[rumblelibrary]

Number 26 (were you masturbating?") with Laszlo walking in on female reader 😉

Thank you so much for your request;ng?” With Laszlo

Thank you so much for your request ;)

“Thank you so much Lucius”

You said it while rushing out of the police statin waving at him. You were holding the autopsy of the last victim of a killer that spread terror among the city.

You were the new apprentice of Doctor Kreizler. Not only it took ages to pass all the tests and the interviews he pulled onto you and the other candidates, but it was mentally exhausting and that’s what he wanted, to prove who was the stronger in that sense.

And you were.

Truth to be told he scared you at first, you knew him by his writings and fame, but being around him he only charmed you more, and by now it was almost hard to be in the same room of him without getting weird ideas.

“Doctor I have the results”

You said as you walked into his office and it was empty, you dropped the files while you slowly took off your gloves and coat.

You looked around hesitantly finding a note for you

Dear Y/N,

I am out for a consultation, see you at Sara’s office at 7 pm sharp.

Dr L.K.

You looked at it and slowly leaning it closer to you as you took a whiff of it trying to search for his expensive cologne.

Your eyes darted up to the clock on the wall, you had hours in front of you.

You put down the note as you moved to the shelves looking for something in particular.

Your fingers tapping over the heavy volumes until you found it, last publication by the doctor.

You picked the book and made your way to pull a bit the curtains as you sat down at his desk, the leather chair enveloped into his scent and you shivered softly as you pulled up your skirts.

It was evident that it wasn’t the first time you did so, you were too into the ritual by now, but it helped you to keep going.

You shifted all those layers until you could easily reach your pussy, you started to tease yourself as your other hand moved to open that book. The book was scientific and all, but at the very beginning it sported one of the hottest pictures ever taken of the doctor.

You almost let out a moan as soon as you saw it.

You begun slow, teasing your clit, spreading some wetness over it as the supposed to be hard stare of the doctor just made you more horny, he looked so sexy, so intense. It was so wrong from you to desire him to that extent, but you couldn’t help yourself anymore.

Before you could even think about it twice you were already knuckles deep inside yourself, fucking yourself hard as your eyes traced his masculine figure in the picture. You closed your eyes moaning his name.

Then the soft sound of the door made you jolt up, your heartbeat blasting and shame pouring over you like a bucket of ice water. You sat up straight pulling down your skirts messily in one move

“Y/N”

Laszlo, your fantasy in his own mean standing in front of you “Hello doc-“

“Were you masturbating?”

You blinked at to his boldness

“No” You blurted it out but maybe even too soon, almost anticipating him “I was sleeping, I had a nap”

You stood up as he leaned in over the desk and stared at his own picture opened there before closing the book.

“Continue”

You looked at him as he sat in the chair where usually the parents of the kids he is treating sit in front of the desk, he moved his leg over the other as he opened his jacket lightly to sit more comfortable.

“My..nap” you mumbled

He raised his eyebrows and opened his hand to gesture to keep going “There is nothing shameful about it Y/N, proceed”

He knew everything and he wasn’t even bothered about it.

You were still too dazed, your orgasm was too close and you just lost it a second before.

You resumed your position quietly, you stared at him gulping down as you pulled your skirts up again, just noticing that were so tangled that your lie was a failure from the very beginning.

You moved your hands between your legs resuming that touching and rubbing trying to relax yourself, but his eyes were now burning holes inside you.

Now it wasn’t a picture, it was the real thing and you almost had an heart attack only by the thought of it and got even more wet by the same idea.

He leaned his head on side touching onto his beard aimlessly as you squirmed under your own touch, your hips following your hand as your fingers found again their way inside you. Your eyes fluttering shout at the pleasure for a moment.

“Look at me”

He ordered and you looked up but only the way he talked, acted, requested you things, your legs were already trembling.

“Good, look how good, let it go when it comes, don’t hold it back”

His voice was intoxicating, he could read your body no matter the distance.

You moaned and cursed in pleasure as your legs stretched, muscles tensing into the void created by his own presence there.

He stood up after giving you a moment to collect yourself.

He put his hand in his pocket pulling out his pocket watch and then putting it away.

“Well, you showed me how you do it, now I will show you how it is properly done” His words a sentence falling on you like some judge pronounced it, his left hand making its way between your legs.

You will be surely late to your appointment at Sara’s.

[horseboneologist]

You know sometimes... you do the most self-indulgent shit in the world? You know sometimes - you go "oh it's time for drawing practice" and then spend WAY TOO MUCH TIME drawing characters from the magnus archives in your own ridiculous wardrobe? Anyways if anyone reblogs this please tag it as nsfw cuz looking at this should get you fired.

Time to stop spending so much ✨money✨ on 🌟clothes🌟

Description below the cut:

A series of digital drawings of characters from the magnus archives. I'll just describe them straight out.

1- a title page reading "A Magnus Archives Fashion Show" in goofy 70's font. Subtitles read "Bored? Try drawing a ton of fictional characters in your own clothes!" "Like way too many!" "A totally normal and healthy way to spend your time!"

2- Martin wearing a silvery dress with a long slit up the thigh. He's also wearing a fan-shaped blue stone necklace, a blue ring, blue nail polish, and brown roman-style sandals. The text behind him just reads MARTIN in giant text with a little tiny "I love you sir" next to it.

3- Jon kneeling on the ground looking extremely sexy and extremely sleepy. He's wearing a black t-shirt with the words "highly emotional" in vaporwave colors. Above that he's wearing a black button-up with purple & blue chevrons across it. He's wearing acid-washed cutoff jean shorts and knee-high pink sparkly boots. He has neon green nail polish. The text next to him reads "oh no he's so very sleepy" and "<- just got pushed to the floor by basira"

4- Jon wearing a sequined cow-print baseball cap, a cream-colored western shirt with tassels across the chest, pink pants, and white & brown cow-spotted boots. He's holding a white hexagonal purse with a blue eye on the front. His text reads "Yes honey you're PRECIOUS"

5- Sasha wearing a billowy white pirate shirt with a corset. The corset has Bosch's 'Garden of Earthly Delights' on the plates. She's also wearing white pants with a pattern of small rainbow zebras, and purple ballet shoes. The text next to her reads "Sasha you're so much better than these fools I'm so sorry they did you so dirty"

6- Basira and daisy standing together. Basira is wearing a black jumpsuit with a velvet top that has tassels along the chest, which is attached to silky wide-leg pants that have large pockets with tassels along the rim. She's wearing black high-heels and white cat-eye sunglasses with blue lenses. Daisy is wearing a red jumpsuit with an open back, red triangular sunglasses, and a ruby ring. The text between them reads "on their way to a 'buff wlw' key party"

7- Georgie wearing a purple frilly dress with a green frog pattern and an orange scrunchie. Her text reads "I just want her to be proud of me (pleading face)"

8- Melanie wearing a pink silky bomber jacket over a green sheer shirt. She's also wearing black leggings with a pattern of white leopards, black doc martens, and carries a purse in the shape of a black bucket with champagne and fake ice coming out of the top. Her text reads "My only feedback for Melanie: could have been meaner <3"

9- Gerry wearing a long-sleeve green velvet shirt with the shoulders cut out, showing his tattoos. He's also wearing black velvet leggings and draping a black velvet robe down around his elbows. He's also got shiny gold doc martens. The text for him reads "ALL VELVET ALL THE TIME"

10- Michael wearing neon blue leggings with a pattern of bright red, green, and yellow. He's also wearing a blurple robe with red & green flowers, and a velvet shirt with a cheetah print & rose pattern. He has neon green toenail polish and neon yellow fingernail polish. He also has a bright blue iridescent backpack. His text reads "Please take me into your hallways mr spiral."

11- Helen wearing a t-shirt with a bird on the back that says "I am a LIE" as well as gym shorts with a wtnv quote: "I don't know who I am and I don't understand the concept of time and how it relates to me." The text next to her reads "Fearpocalypse's #1 wingwoman!"

12- Tim wearing a pink velvet baseball cap, a t-shirt with color blocks of teal, pink, and yellow, and baggy pink jeans. He's also wearing black & floral carpet slippers. The text next to him reads "OMW to murder some clowns <3 <3"

13- Oliver wearing a green velvet blazer with matching 3/4 length pants. He's got a white shirt underneath, as well as black dress shoes with zebra fake fur on the tops. His text reads "Oliver you never did anything wrong & I love you"

14- Jon wearing a bright green velvet jumpsuit with huge flaring sleeves. On the sleeves are basic stylized eyes with yellowish sclera and red irises. His text reads "Come at me bro" and "NOT amused"

15- Elias looks like he's fallen down into a corner and his limbs are all akimbo. He's wearing a cow-print shirt under a lilac jacket, which has a white & black pattern of little snakes. His pants are the same color of lilac and have a pattern of purple crying eyes. His shoes are silver and reflective like disco balls. The text next to him reads "a NORMAL pose for a NORMAL man"

16- Elias standing in T-pose but also squatting with his knees out to the side. He's wearing a black velvet mini-dress, which also has huge flaring sleeves. On the sleeves are basic stylized eyes with white, veiny sclera and teal irises. He's wearing high heels with eyeballs skewered on the stillettos. The text next to him reads "laying an egg."

17- Simon Fairchild wearing a white & blue hawaiian shirt, a baggy black jacket with a pattern of purple flowers on it, and hugely baggy purple hammer pants. He's also wearing orangey iridescent round sunglasses. The text next to him says "This is the face of a man who has fucked the sky.... and will do so again."

18- Peter Lukas wearing blue & white flower-patterned booty shorts, blue short cowboy boots, and a white t-shirt that says "of course I cum fast, I've got fish to catch!!" with a picture of a bass on it. The text next to him reads "...what are you looking at"

19- Elias wearing a pink & multicolor eyeball-patterned robe, pink velvet shorts, and a white t-shirt with some Tom of Finland art on it (look up 'hot and heavy'). The text next to him reads "Lord forgive me for I have sinned" and "fuckboy"

20- Elias again, almost naked but wearing a leather full-body harness that has little tiny patches of fur tufting off of his nipples, as well as a big puffy patch of fur as a merkin. He's making direct eye contact with you, dear reader. He has a pair of condoms under his hand and the text next to him reads "I got a Magnus condom for my monster dong" and "fuck MAN" (and "psst this is the only outfit I don't own")

Hey I'm really sorry

[actualbabe]

PLEASE tell me about the Reagan nipple piercing fic 👀👀

well as the google doc title conveys, i haven't sorted out all the (less important) details yet, but it falls under the broader new girl alternate universe where nick is the one who leaves for jury duty, but not before convincing reagan to sub-lease his room while he’s away. (jess: “welcome to our home!” reagan: “oh, thanks. you’re really pretty btw :)” jess: “this better not awaken anything in me...”)

in this iteration jess would impulsively agree to spend her summer vacation with reagan in NOLA and one thing may lead to another...

(a bit of a spicy excerpt under the cut:)

Reagan smiles at her and gives her another fleeting kiss to the mouth before sitting up suddenly. Jess stares up at her in awestruck disbelief, all of her bare skin gleaming in the dim light of the hotel room lamp, her curves interrupted only by the dark fabric of her ridiculously tiny bikini. She shifts the hand on Reagan’s hip to brush her fingertips over her stomach and trail down to the impossibly low dip of her swimsuit bottom, tugged down by the friction of Reagan’s hips grinding down into her own. 

“How are you even real?” Jess murmurs, mostly to herself, and Reagan laughs. Her hands slide over Jess’ body to rest on either side of her ribcage, still covered by the fabric of her one-piece.

“Is it bad that I bought this a size too small?” Reagan jokes, her smile mischievous and just a touch shy of evil. 

Jess’ eyelids feel heavy as she drags her teeth over her swollen lower lip, eyes traveling all the way up the length of Reagan’s body. “Why would you do that?” she breathes.

“Maybe I wanted to drive you crazy.” Reagan’s eyes are dark, pupils dilated and shimmering with want. “Did it work?”

Jess almost feels drunk, her head cloudy with lust as she nods in agreement, “Uh huh.”

A grin spreads over Reagan’s face and she leans in to briefly brush her lips over Jess’ before whispering. “Good.” 

Then Reagan sits up again, smirking down at Jess before reaching up to tug her top over her head, and just like that she’s almost completely naked, and it hits Jess like a bucket of cold water that this is happening, and oh god that’s Reagan and she’s topless and she’s a girl and Jess knew all of this before but it’s only just now that the reality is sinking in. She stares up helplessly at her, and then there’s a glint of something that catches her eye and she realizes almost in a panic that Reagan’s nipples are pierced and that’s enough to completely throw her off her rhythm.

Reagan catches her looking, and instead of something hot or sexy, Jess lets out a giggle-shriek.

Jess’ eyes go wide with embarrassment and she quickly slaps her hand over her mouth, as if that will do anything to take it back. “Oh my god,” she squeaks, bemoaning how she can’t just be cool about sex and why she always has to go and ruin the mood just when things are heating up.

[jeonsblackgf-writes]

CRUSHES AND DATES || 2 ||

summary: Jaewon finally gets to go on the date of his dreams. 

pairing: jung jaewon x black!OC

genre: fluff

word count: 1.2k

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------🖊

"Maybe this was a bad idea," Nia whispered as she clung onto Jaewon's shirt, fear evident in her voice.

Jason thought it was a good idea to go to a haunted house as a first date, not only that, it was one of the most claimed haunted houses in Korea so of course Nia protested but once Jaewon brought out the puppy eyes, she found herself saying yes before she could even think about anything else.

They had only been in the house for five minutes and she felt like she was going to shit herself. She was one for adventures and fun but not on the first date and a haunted house was definitely ALLLLL the way at the bottom of her bucket list.

"Come on babe, it's not that bad." The latter explained, as they looked around the interior of the abandoned house. There was dust everywhere and it was starting to make Nia's skin crawl. There was graffiti covered all over the walls and satanic writings as if someone tried to perform rituals inside.

The second he said those words, a loud boom echoed throughout the house, causing Nia to jump and scream loudly. She grabbed Jaewon's left arm and held his hand tightly.

"Fuck this shit. This not what niggas do." She mumbled to herself about to turn around but Jaewon wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close to him.

"I won't let anything happen to you, I promise," He softly reassured her, kissing her forehead, calming her nerves a little.

Nia could feel her hands shake but nodded at his words anyway. The two continued to walk throughout the house, ignoring the sudden chills and gust of wind passing through them.

"I read up on this place. A lot of things happened in this house. A girl committed suicide in here, the owner of the house was killed in a car crash and any one who tried to buy the house after him had died shortly after. There were even a few rumors going around that he murdered people in this house on the second floor, and if you go into the basement, you can still hear the screams and pleas from the little kids who died. This house was even built on a massive cemetery of the soldiers who died in the Korean war. The house was abandoned in the 80's and anyone who visited the house had either become badly ill or died a few days later." Jaewon explained, walking further into the house.

"Now why the hell are you telling me this while we're already inside? You got me fucked up, Jaewon I like you a lot baby, but black people don't do this shit. I would've been fine going to your house to chill and watch a movie or something." Nia grumbled, stuffing her face in the taller mans jacket. Her words made him feel bad a little, he did drag her into the house after her constant pleas for him not to.

He gave her an apologetic smile, and tugged on her hand, leading her out of the building. Nia ran as fast as her legs could carry her, and jumped in the car. Jaewon laughed and jogged behind her, getting into the car as well and driving off.

"let's go get something to eat."

{few hours later}

"This is so good," Nia groaned as she took another big chunk out of her burger. It may not have been lady like for her to eat like a man in front of her crush on their first date but food is food and she was going to be the same person she was in school. Which is why everyone liked her so much.

"Y'know. I never got to compliment you on how good you looked." Jaewon stayed as he looked over her outfit. He liked how she didn't have to make such a huge effort to look good. She looked perfect in anything.

Most girls in the first date would wear a dress or a skirt but not Nia. Skirts and dresses weren't her thing. She liked to keep her outfits street yet simple.

"Boy this ain't nothing, this is light work." She joked, popping her imaginary collar, causing the boy in front of her to laughed. After a few seconds the laughter calmed down, and she stared back at him. "You look good too,". He had on a mean leather jacket, a white tee, blue skinny jeans and black doc martens. Something so effortless yet so sexy.

Jaewon blushed and looked at his plate of food shyly, muttering a small thank you. Nia really loved making him all flustered and shy, it was one of the cutest things ever.

"You like anime?" Nia asked, starting a new conversation, which sparked the interest of the boy in front of her.

Jaewon's eyes perked up at the question. "I love it! What's your favorite?"

Nia laughed, "How do you assume I like anime?"

"You wouldn't have asked me if I liked if it you didn't." He replied with a smile. Nia gave him a smug look and leaned back in his seat.

"My favorite is one punch man. Only, I don't like how Saitama has yet to find a worthy enough opponent butttttt in the second season Garou the monster is definitely my favorite."  She explained, stuffing fries in her face. Jaewon gave a thought to her words and nodded his head.

"My favorite is Kimetsu No Yaiba: Demon Slayer. I'm so invested into the characters, I know a lot about each one." Jaewon bashfully gushed. Nia smiled at his enthusiasm about the said anime.

To her, it was adorable how passionate he was about those type of things. When she was with her ex, he found anime weird and she could never watch it with him or around him because he always had something to say so it was refreshing to have someone with the same interests as you. It was a nice and comforting thing for a change.

“Y’know, I never really told you how much I truly liked you.” Jaewon stated, playing with his fries. He couldn’t look Nia in the face, but he knew that wasn’t an option because she pulled his face up to look at hers. 

“From the constant stares and love notes since 6th grade, I could tell. You should’ve said something sooner.” She joked, finishing the last of her burger. 

“You were in a relationship at the time that I was going to confess. I really didn’t want to get beat up by your big ass ex boyfriend.” He laughed but deep down, he was dead ass serious. Her ex boyfriend was the scariest person he and ever come across, and he knew he had to avoid Nia at all times until the time was right. It was a good thing they aren’t together anymore. 

“I’m really sorry if he caused you any kind of pain, I know how much of a bully he used to be. Despite the fact that he cheated on me, he was a shit head and only showed his feelings through anger which I fucking hated. I had to get the fuck away from his ass.” Nia explained before drinking the rest of her milkshake. Jaewon felt sorry for her, and he knew it was his duty to treat her right for as long as he could. 

“What matters now is you and I moving forward.” Jaewon smiled.

“Of course.”

[trendresearch]

2) Reading Week Homework

Before the module began, my tutors gave homework to help prepare me for the module. 

The first was to read Holland. G and Jones, R (2017). ‘Fashion Trend Forecasting’ 

and the second was to research trends, considering the following criteria:

TITLE/THEME

FABRIC SELECTION

KEY SHAPES/GARMENTS

COLOUR PALETTE

& KEYWORDS

My chosen trends...

1) THE MINISKIRT:

Image taken from: https://www.wmagazine.com/story/miniskirts-womens-liberation-trend/

Title/Theme: Mini Skirt

Fabric Selection: Varies from Denim, stretchy Cotton, Leather to Knit and tweed

Key Shapes/Garments: Usually tight fitted but can be flared and free flowing, A-line shape, pleats, ruffles.

Colour Palette: Patterns vary from plaid/checkered to floral- Denim blue/black. Colour palette is broad and open ranging from anything to colourful and bright to more muted and monochromatic tones.

Key Words: ‘Women’s Liberation movement’, ‘Mary Quant’, ‘1960′s’, ‘Mod’, ‘André Courrèges’, ‘Swinging London’, ‘Space Age’, ‘Twiggy’, 

Contexual Information:

Since the early 1960s, miniskirts have existed as a symbol of women's liberation. The pioneers of the mini skirt are attributed to designers Mary Quant and André Courrèges.  Popularised in "Swinging London," by the likes of model Twiggy whose most famous attire was that of a mod mini skirt.

Image taken from: https://byronsmuse.wordpress.com/2015/08/09/twiggy-the-face-of-1966/

Paris adopted this look and became part of the Space Age trend and becoming a staple part of a political standpoint with activists like Germaine Greer and Gloria Steinem making the miniskirt a symbol of the women’s movement. It wasn't long before the miniskirt became a symbol for female liberation.

Images taken from: 

https://france-amerique.com/en/cardins-space-age-fashion-touches-down-in-brooklyn/

https://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/09/business/andre-courreges-fashion-designer-who-redefined-couture-dies-at-92.html

However, not everyone agreed with the design with society deeming the high hemline as controversial even designers like Dior refusing to feature the hottest trend on their runways and Chanel questioning the trend wearers if they: ‘‘Have they all gone mad?’’

However, despite much acquisition from the public The Miniskirt has never quite faded throughout history since it began—with icons like Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell and The Spice Girls sporting this look throughout the 90′s. However, it made a more prominent comeback in the early 2000s, with American designers like Tom Ford bringing sexy back into fashion, and It girls like Paris Hilton raising hemlines even further with denim miniskirts, concluding what we now call the ‘micro mini’.

Even today, the miniskirt is still a staple part of fashion and is frequently seen being sported by the likes of Bella Hadid, Kendall Jenner and super models alike.

2) Punk

Image found and taken from: http://devilinspiredgothicpunkdress.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-1970s-punk-fashion-for-men-and-women.html

Title/Theme: Punk

Fabric Selection: leather, fishnet, tartan/plaid, vinyl, rubber

Key Shapes/Garments: Tight fitting leather jackets, ripped jeans, shorts, black tights, studs, pleated skirts, loose flannels, chains, chunky boots; motorcycle boots, combat boots and doc Martens, tapered jeans, tight leather pants and ‘bondage’ attire

Colour Palette: Typically a darker selection of colours; black and red are common colour combinations.

Contexual Information:

The Punk subculture first emerged in the mid 1970s in London as an anarchic and aggressive movement. It is generally regarded as a defining moment in British cultural history; encapsulating the socio-economic and political climate of the late 1970s. Punks deconstructed garments into new forms, using clothes from charity and thrift shops, destroying the fabric and refashioning outfits that was often thought of as crude-attracting attention. In this day and age torn fabrics, frayed edges and defaced prints are now considered normal but in the 1970s it shocked many people, because it had never been seen before. Until then fabric had been treated as a material to keep as pristine, and as beautiful as possible.

Black leather, studs, chains, bondage, animal print bum flaps and leg straps epitomise some of the looks that immediately spring to mind when thinking of the early punks.

Image found and taken from: http://www.anothermag.com/fashion-beauty/9432/the-ten-most-iconic-safety-pin-moments-in-fashion

Image found and taken from: http://devorahmacdonald.blogspot.com/2014/06/vivienne-westwoods-seditionaries.html

Vivienne Westwood is often coined as the pioneer of the Punk subculture; from her little boutique ‘Worlds end’ in Chelsea, Vivienne Westwood designed original punk clothing, adding tears and safety pins to clothes long before the punk aesthetic hit mainstream attention. Her controversial ‘God Save The Queen’ T-Shirt quickly rose to notoriety in the public eye after she faced prosecution under the obscenity act. Punk as a style succeeded even more when Vivienne Westwood and her husband Malcolm McLaren launched the infamous ‘SEX’ shop which was renamed Seditionaries in 1976 which was considered a hub for rebels and riot kids. They sold leather and rubber fetish goods, especially bondage trousers and produced designs flexed by the band ‘Sex Pistols’ and Siouxsie ( Siouxsie and the Banshees) now, back in fashion with Cara Delevigne. 

Cara Delevigne wearing a Seditionaries 'Tits' inspired T-shirt by Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm Mclaren.

3) 90′s StreetWear

Image found and taken from: http://www.thefader.com/2016/10/17/how-to-wear-90s-streetwear

Title/Theme: 90′s Streetwear

Fabric Selection: Denim, velour, leather, nylon, corduroy 

Key Shapes/Garments: oversized and loose fitting; baggy jeans and ‘sweatpants’/joggers, loose T-shirts, ‘sneakers’/trainers, bucket hats, bandanas, tracksuits, windbreakers, dungarees, denim jackets.

Colour Palette: Bright colours, primary colour palette, bold designs

Contexual Information:

The '90s valued colours and aesthetics in designs; colour blocking is a common occurrence. The 90′s style is focused on baggy jeans, loose fitting t-shirts and jackets and can have ‘grunge’ elements with ripped jeans and flannel shirts. Sport and Athletic brands such as Adidas, Nike, Fila, Kappa and more alike were heavily sought after and worn; with their bold colourful logos never going a miss.

[mayakern]

Where do you write spitfire before posting to patreon/ao3? And what inspired you to sit down and write it/how did you start?

i use scrivener! it makes it soooo much easier for my to organize my outline vs. my writing (and my notes documents, which i have a lot of) and having the ability to open 2 documents in the same window is really useful (i wish i could do 3 tho)

as for how/why i started it -- i’ve always loved writing stories and writing a romance novel, in particular, has been on my bucket list for like 10 years. 

spitfire actually started out as a random RP idea. i used to RP a ton in high school/somewhat in college and i missed it so i tried to start back up 2 or 3 years ago because i wanted to write but i was still making monsterpop so i didn’t have time to, like, write a whole thing.

because i wasn’t planning a book, just a fun thing with a friend, i poured a lot of self indulgent bullshit into it and ended up spending wayyy too much time thinking about the dragon/blood magic mechanics (things that are dear to my heart).  the RP never happened and so i ended up with a small chunk of character/world building that i loved with no home that i just sort of shelved for a while.

but i kept thinking about it. eventually i was like “well, i want to write a romance novel eventually, maybe i’ll just take this world and these characters and try my hand at writing some steamy scenes.” so -- i did that. there’s a google doc out there that will never see the light of day that contains my first attempts at writing smut and it is. well. it’s not great. it’s not terrible, but my writing has improved a lot since then.

among other things, the doc contains very early versions of the werebear and nymph scenes.  originally the plot of spitfire was just me doing my best to string together these disparate sexy time snippets i’d written, world building/plot be damned.

and then i had this stupid idea that i wanted spitfire to, i don’t know, make sense or have a real plot or whatever and so i spent 6 months battling with an outline for a story that vehemently did not want to fit conventional pacing/story structure ideals. devin’s best friend (also a dear friend of mine) tied me down to a chair kicking and screaming until i did all the world building i’d been avoiding for ages. spitfire split POVs -- originally it was all going to be Feon’s POV and i’m so glad that’s no longer the case -- and then spitfire split into 2 books because it really needed to.

it was an ugly time and i’m so glad i stuck it through because i really love what this weird project has become.

[h-sleepingirl]

“9 Persisting Misconceptions About Hypnosis”

A zine by sleepingirl and GleefulAbandon

(Access the downloadable and nicely formatted Google Doc here!)

Hey, there! Have you been turned on to the wonders of hypnokink? Do you feel like you've just had a bucket of shibboleths and tips and bits of wisdom dumped over your head, and they are now slowly dripping down your back? Are you thinking to yourself, "OK, I am finally getting the hang of this erotic hypnosis thing?"

Not so fast! Odds are a lot of the information you've received is, while given in good faith, mired in assumptions about the nature of hypnosis and the human mind that are not empirically true! And the kicker about a practice that takes advantage of suggestibility is that buying into these can make them more true! How’s that for a mental rut?

Here are 9 myths about hypnosis you are likely to encounter in your freaky journey!

(Full disclosure: We are experienced hypnotic players who are constantly exploring and growing, and we recognize that not everyone may share our perspective on all of these. But when we accept the oft-repeated principles we hear as incontrovertible truth without questioning them, we risk building a wall between us and further learning about the amazing, weird things we can do with our brains! This is not meant to disparage any person for their beliefs or experiences, and we welcome feedback and discussion!)

1. All hypnosis is self-hypnosis.

Yep, and all pain you feel when someone punches you in the thigh is your own brain making pain happen. CURSE YOU, BRAIN!

This tends to be an idiom that can cause more harm than good. It’s clearly not an empirical statement (how could it be?) though it is often taken as one. On the surface, it’s well-intentioned and trying to convey that subjects have agency and hypnosis isn’t mind control like you see in the movies. However, while it's good to know that subjects have the ability to cultivate a real sense of self-sufficiency, it minimizes connection with the hypnotist and the power that can be exchanged. Hypnosis is collaborative, and the hypnotist’s behavior absolutely affects trance, whether positively, or in bad situations, negatively! It takes two to do hypnosis with two, full stop.

When you hear this phrase, ask yourself, what is really being communicated here?

2. Hypnosis is distinctly different than meditation, subspace, etc.

Different how, exactly? Sexiness is not sufficient here, kids.

Well, here's a whole can of worms: Hypnosis as defined by hypnokink practitioners tends to be a wider umbrella than the clinical definition of hypnosis. There is also the concept of hypnosis as an altered state and then the concept of hypnosis as a set of practices. Pretty much any altered state could be called hypnosis when kinksters use it in hypnokink to commit dastardly deeds. Same with the (extraordinarily broad) set of practices that we take advantage of to fuck with brains.

Here’s the thing: hypnosis isn’t just one solid thing or state with one solid set of rules. Trance and brainfuckery are dynamic! We don’t really even have a great way of defining suggestibility, because we know that shoving someone into an altered state and then telling them, “You will experience xyz” is not really sufficient. And of course, a lot of stuff can get done outside of a traditional “trance.” Where is the line?

Spoilers: Any line we make is subjective. Meditation, when you potentially put yourself in an altered state and change the way you focus pretty much fits under that umbrella, too.

3. You can't make someone do something they "don't want to do" or go against "core values" with hypnosis.

We do things we don't want to do all the time, starting each day from when we wake up when our alarms go off. People drink alcohol and do things they wouldn't have otherwise done. People are talked into buying things they don’t want or need, or making complex decisions that don’t always have their best interests at heart. Not to mention that our broad-strokes “core beliefs” are changeable, sometimes with just a simple shift in perspective.

Human beings are dynamic and complex and exciting creatures, and we don't have a black box inside of us with ideas that are immutable to us. Change in belief and behavior is a part of how we function, and that’s WITHOUT hypnosis! Once again, this myth is well-intentioned, but an oversimplification that can backfire if someone is trying to process why they experienced a hypnotic scene differently than they thought they would.

4. Depth is the key to suggestibility.

Here's an idea: A swear jar but you have to put money in every time someone asks if they were "deep enough." Depth is a metaphor, but it's a useful one! It relates to your own subjective trance experience and how you experience intensifying it, which is hugely important self-knowledge. But it is not quantifiable, and there is not a simple correlation between depth and ability to access more trance phenomena. As with many things in hypnosis, it’s different for everyone and can be different at different times based on a huge number of variables.

And on that note…

5. Suggestibility scales are legit.

"But wait!" You might say, "These have been studied! What about things like the Stanford Susceptibility Scale?"

They're bad.

Academics, in good faith, tried to impose objective rules on altered states that run on the subjectivity and diversity of the human mind. People are different. Subjects are different. Alas, researchers at Stanford in 1959 (yes, that long ago) were mystified by this concept. And still, so are some today.

Really, Stanford peeps, amnesia is the most hypnotized a person can get? Some folks lose memories in trance right away but won't take to certain hallucinations. And some hallucinations are easier for some folks than others. Trying to create hypnotic rules for how hypnotizable you are is a losing game.

But speaking of different kinds of hallucinations...

6. Working with someone’s “primary modality” is the key to effective hypnosis.

The idea that of the five senses we each have one primary one that aids in our learning and that is best used to create hypnotic states and phenomena is not only limiting, it’s been debunked time and time again. The concept of “modalities” that is so prevalent in the erotic hypnosis world comes directly from NLP, where Richard Bandler and John Grinder stated that we had primary modalities — a “Preferred Representational System.” However, just like with learning styles, study after study after study has found no supporting evidence of this. In fact, in the ‘80s (yes, that long ago), Bandler himself said that this idea was no longer emphasized in NLP (regardless of the fact that it is still pervasive today).

And beyond this, yeah, you could spend your time using only visual cues and visual words and creating visual hallucinations, or you could actually utilize multiple senses, because spoiler alert that is how human beings experience the world. You're not trying to find a secret code that unlocks a shortcut to being a better subject, you're Dora the Goddamned Explorer and it's not just about finding the thing at the end; it's about chilling with Boots and Map.

7. “iM tOo AnAlYtIcAl To Be HyPnOtIzEd”

Also going in the swear jar is anyone saying they have trouble being hypnotized because they're "too analytical." Bruh. Hypnosis is not a game of chess wherein the hypnotist out-logics the subject to get them to comply. It's engaging your brain and letting you do more with it than you thought possible. This is definitely not downplaying the experience of people who have had a difficult time getting the experiences they are searching for, but more about The System(ic misunderstanding pervading hypnokink culture) getting us all down.

Being “thinky” doesn’t mean someone can’t be hypnotized (hypnosis =/= not thinking or altered thinking), it just means that you both use what you’ve got — hypnotist AND subject. Analyzing something doesn’t make it impossible to trance. Hypnosis should not be synonymous with “letting go.” It’s about changes in focus and engagement, oftentimes really subtle, especially for subjects who have preconceived notions of what it’s going to feel like. It’s dynamic, it doesn’t mean laser focus, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean blank-minded.

Subjects: Learn to love the way you analyze; notice shifts and changes, use it to be open to learning about how hypnosis feels for you as opposed to what you expect it to feel like. Understanding what your real subjective responses are is key to growing.

Hypnotists: While it might be helpful for some people, stop assuming that you necessarily have to overload or confuse them to get to the holy hypnotic grail of mindlessness; utilize their internal responses for the trance!

Here's a secret: If a hypnotist calls someone a "difficult subject," they mean they failed to connect with their partner in a way that they deemed hypnotic enough. This is on them, not the subject.

8. Your subconscious is like a quiet roommate chilling inside your head.

The metaphor of your subconscious (or unconscious mind) as someone with whom you can communicate is a useful one for a lot of people! It can put you in touch with how you're feeling and processing, and create fun surprises no one might expect. But it's just that: a metaphor. Your brain is not a director and an actor; it’s a beautifully complex amalgam of experiences and observations. You can play with treating your subconscious as a person, but recognize that there's not literally a man behind a curtain, and recognize that your interpretation of it might be flawed (i.e., don’t use your “unconscious mind” to negotiate under the assumption that this conscious personification is faultless and somehow knows better than you do).

9. Abreactions.

This is a huge one, and another one where the hypnosis scene has deviated from psychology (sometimes a good thing!). Clinically, an abreaction is a response with some emotional connection, and is in fact often used as a tool to create breakthroughs in therapy. In the hypnokink Scene, “abreaction” has also become a boogeyman, a synonym for "freak out.”

Can folks freak out during a hypnosis scene? Sure! Can they freak out during an impact scene? Of course! Can they freak out in the dairy aisle of the supermarket because the wrong song starts playing on the loudspeaker? Also, yes. But an abreaction isn't technically synonymous with freak-out. Technically, a giggle-fit during hypnosis can be an abreaction.

Here’s the thing: it might even be OK to appropriate the term “abreaction” to mean “negative reaction” in the hypnokink community, but we have to stop making that interchangeable with “unexpected reaction.” Of course a negative reaction is unexpected. But that doesn’t mean all unexpected reactions are negative. They happen absolutely all the time in hypnosis; demonizing all of them is unhealthy and unrealistic.

Well-intentioned practitioners of erotic hypnosis have put all their safety eggs in one basket: Caution against causing an abreaction, end the scene when you do, and you've accounted for the worst. But this is a scene that traffics in suggestibility; when you make out abreactions to be this looming, awful risk, you bring them to the fore, and when both players assume that that means an unexpected reaction is cause for panic, it creates unwarranted anxiety and problems. Not to mention that it greatly hinders the breadth and depth of what you can achieve together.

In short, you can and should learn to navigate emotional vulnerability and be confident and flexible in handling your partners’ responses, no matter how unexpected or intense they are. We're here for those reactions, folks, and not all of them are to be feared and fixed.

Sleepingirl is a switchy writer, presenter, and podcaster who joined the public kink scene in 2012. She’s had a life-long hypnofetish and is way too interested in brainwashing. She did the doodles for this zine, and look out for her Brainwashing Book coming soon! Check out her hypnokink podcast at twohypchicks.simplecast.fm and follow her: Twitter @h_sleepingirl, Tumblr @h-sleepingirl, FetLife @sleepingirl

GleefulAbandon is a queer, submissive hypnofetishist. She joined the BDSM/Hypnokink Scene in 2012, and teaches and writes about hypnosis from the subject’s perspective. She’s a sucker for a pocket watch. @gleefulabandon

[devil-kindred]

Repercussions

Pairing: Isobel Walters⎟Female Deputy/John Seed

Rating: T

Warnings: drug use (bliss), hallucinations, kidnapping (i guess?)

Summary: Isobel disappears into the Henbane, intent on staying away from Holland Valley for as long as possible and takes an unfortunate trip in the bliss that opens far too many eyes to a revelation that could change everything. [aka: Faith tests the waters of temperament with the deputy and learns some valuable information.]

WC: 2,429⎟1/1⏤ part two of the sins of the past series (though part one is not required reading as it’s set before the events of FC5)⎟read it on ao3

-

“Bliss. Great, just great.” Isobel murmurs as she takes in the expanse of greenery coated in fog so thick she can barely see three feet ahead of herself. “Don’t know what I expected from Sharky’s stories but not… this.”

She holsters her gun and tentatively steps forward, unsure of what direction to head into let alone what she’ll find hiding in the bliss. She doesn’t wonder for long, however, as a figure rushes from the fog and latches onto her with both hands.

“Deputy!” A giggle from the woman who’s appeared before her. “So kind of you to join me!” Faith relinquishes her hold and dashes a few steps away, twirling once before throwing her arms wide with a smile. “Welcome to the bliss, a peaceful place where things can be whatever or whomever you desire.” 

Isobel stares her down cautiously, still aware of herself if only slightly.

“Oh come on, Deputy. Don’t you want a rest? To see the people you love at peace? You can have it.” She disappears into fog, only to reappear behind her causing Isobel to turn and nearly jump back at the sight. “All you have to do is walk the path. Do that and you’ll be accepted into our family.”

In the ensuing silence, Faith steps forward once more and takes Isobel’s hands in her own. 

“The Father will look after you. He’ll make you feel loved and safe.” Faith stares into Isobel’s eyes, that gentle smile still in place even as her tone twists. “Don’t you want to be safe, Deputy? Both you and your daughter?’

Isobel freezes, the words hitting her like a bucket of cold water to the face, and all the hazy ease of the Bliss is gone. Replaced by mounting panic, and, as her gaze goes wide Faith’s turns knowing.

“What?” She asks, her quick nonchalant laugh sounding near hysterical.She tries to backpedal, to reel in her loss of control like a fish on a hook, but it’s of no use.

“Shh, everything will be all right, Deputy.” Faith, now looking smug, yanks her down into a cluster of bliss flowers and holds her. One arm wrapped tightly— far tighter than someone her size looks capable of— around her shoulders, holding her still in the field of bliss as she draws in big gasping breaths of tainted air. “It will be all right. Just breathe… and relax.”

Faith’s words grow faint as she strokes Isobel’s hair, and just as her vision starts to go dark— sparkles drifting and dancing at the edges— she vanishes in a puff of green haze. 

As if she were never there to begin with.

-

Everything has a hazy warmth when she opens her eyes again and she finds herself sprawled out on a grand bed. A fluffy white pillow is tucked beneath her head and sheer white curtains waft in the warm breeze at the edge of her line of sight. The mattress creaks and dips beside her and she slowly turns her head to find the source of the added weight.

“John? What are you doing⏤”

“Shh.” He shushes her as settles onto the bed next to her, hooking his fingers into the hem of her shirt and slowly pulling it upwards. “Everything’s fine, deputy. Just relax.”

He splays a hand across the exposed skin of her stomach and drags his palm against it, his long tattooed fingers tracing the silvery white scar stretching across her abdomen from side to side.

“Cesarean.” Her voice is soft and lazy, barely there as the warmth of the room intensifies.

“She wasn’t natural?”

“Well gee, John, when you say it like that you make it sound like I bought her from a lab somewhere.” Isobel says as she stares down at him with a mix of distaste and annoyance. “No, she wasn’t a natural birth. She was breach which made my only option a cesarean.”

“Stubborn.” He chuckles, his palm still flat against her skin as he looks up at her⏤ dark blue eyes staring deeply into her own amber. “Did it take long?”

“Given they had to put my internal organs back and sew me up afterwards, yes. I didn’t get to see or hold her until after they cleaned her off.” Isobel’s voice is soft and, while her eyes still meet his, he can tell she’s lost in the memory. “Her eyes were grey when she was born⏤ not unusual with newborns⏤ but they turned blue later.”

“What is she like, Isobel? Tell me everything. I want to know all about our daughter.”

Something in his smile looks… off, and yet she finds all kinds of details falling from her lips as the room turns hazy and her eyelids grow too heavy to keep open.

When Isobel comes to once again, John is laying beside her on the bed with his head propped up on hand and the other tangled in her hair. He flashes that same smug smile as blinks up at him, trying her best to shake the fatigue from her limbs.

“Quite the sleepyhead, aren’t you?” 

John’s voice sounds wrong and after some thought in she realizes the southern drawl that has always laced it is missing from his tone. He speaks again before she can question it and she spends her time trying to wrap her still fogged mind around what he’s asked.

“What?”

“What is your daughter’s name, Deputy?”

Isobel squints up at him in confusion as he looms over her on the bed. “I already told you. Did you say ‘your daughter’?”

“So you did.” He says quickly, smiling gently and steadfastly ignoring her question. “It’s just, we’ve talked about so much. Your old home and town— who our daughter is currently staying with, and all about her. I know you gave me her name, I just need you to tell me again so I can make sure I have everything right. Don’t you want her to have a proper welcome into our family?” He coos, stroking her hair with a tattooed hand.

“Bella.” Isobel answers, dark eyes fixated on his hand as he pulls away. “John?”

“Yes, Deputy?”

“Why are you missing a tattoo?”

At her words, his likeness wavers as if someone had waved a hand through him. 

“John?”

 The John who was not really there smiles and reaches a hand out of her line of sight, shaking his head gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll all be together very soon.”

Isobel feels a prick in the inside of her arm and the world falls away.

-

The screech of tires and a large cloud of dirt are what greet Isobel in the waking world as she comes to with an accompaniment of voices loudly bickering with each other.

“You sure it ain’t a peggie? I don’t wanna get over there just to have some frickn’ angel trying to claw my face off.”

“Hurk, man, I would know if it was an angel. They just stand there, they don’t lay down. ’Sides, I’ve been traveling with po-po for days. I know how to find her.”

Isobel sits up with a groan, a hand to her head and a stinging feeling in her arm.

“Po-po! See, I told you I knew how to find her.” Sharky rushes to her side, crouching down to look her over. “Man, you are way worse for wear than I expected.”

“Thanks, Sharky.” She says dryly, even as she grins.

“What happened? One minute I had you with me and the next you disappeared into the damn trees like some sorta nymph or something. ’Cept it was more creepy than sexy, no offense. It’s not you, just the way you walked off kinda dead eyed and didn’t listen to me. Total boner killer.”

“Madre de dio, my arm is killing me.” She swears, either ignoring or not hearing Sharky as Hurk Jr. climbs out of the car and hauls her up to standing position. “I was with John.”

Hurk Jr. and Sharky exchange a glance. 

“Uh, Dep, we were right on the edge of the Whitetails when you disappeared.” Sharky stares her down with a concerned gaze. “Nowhere near the Valley and the Seeds do not strike me as people who like to share their toys. So unless Johnny boy was pulling an extreme heist⏤ and believe me, he’s too lazy for that⏤  there’s no way you were with him.”

“But he asked about Bella.” She replies, confusion lacing every bit of her tone.

“Who’s Becca?” Hurk Jr. interrupts, as he helps Isobel to the car and lifts her into the seat with ease.

“Bella.” She corrects, head lolling back against the seat. “My daughter.”

“Uh Dep,” Sharky says, climbing into the front of the truck and leaning into the back seat as Hurk Jr. climbs in the driver’s side. “let me take a look at your arm real quick.” He takes her extended arm gently, turning it this and way that, his eyes locked onto the large bruise and needle mark in the crook of her elbow. “Did anything look weird when you were with John?” He asks, making quotations as he says the name with his free hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Did anything look hazy? Or, like, green? Maybe there were sparkles somewhere?”

“Why would you ask⏤ The bliss.” Isobel pulls her arm out of Sharky’s grasp and digs frantically in jacket. “I was in the bliss, I saw Faith and wherever she is the bliss is always involved.”

“Dep, what’re you looking for? Maybe if you just, slow down a bit... You might’ve overlooked whatever it is.”

“No. No. Fuck!” Isobel shrieks and slams a hand down against the seat, eyes wide in panic. “It wasn’t real which means she knows, which means he knows.”

“Who knows?”

“Faith! She knows about Bella which means J⏤ means that her dad knows about her.” Isobel can see the ‘wait a minute’ stare on Sharky’s face, but she’s lucky enough that he lets it go and doesn’t press her on it. Instead, he focuses his efforts on getting everything back to normal or as normal as peggie-infested Hope County can be. 

“Dep, you gotta calm down. Let me get us back to the valley and we’ll get the Doc to look you over.”

“No!”

“Hurk, I don’t think the valley is very high on Dep’s list of places to be right now.”

“Where do you want me to take her then, Sharky? She needs looked over! We just picked her up out of a field in the middle of the Henbane⏤ she could get pulled back into the bliss again if we stay here. Besides, she’s not in any shape at this point to be running around the Whitetails unless you wanna go toe to toe with Jacob motherfuckin’ Seed.”

“You don’t have to be so harsh, dude. I’m just saying we shouldn’t make her panic more than she already is.” Sharky turns back to Isobel, patting her leg absentmindedly. “Dep, I know you don’t want to go back to Holland Valley but we have to take you somewhere. Let’s drop by the Rye’s for a bit, maybe Nick or Kim can take a look at you and see if they can have the Doc come to you.”

Isobel gives a reluctant nod, slumping back against the seat and saying nothing in reply as Hurk turns the car around to head to their newfound destination.

-

Faith stalks down the path to Joseph’s church, ignoring the curious stares of the chosen as she walks by without a word. As she reaches the building two of the chosen standing guard scramble to open the doors for the herald of the Henbane. She nods in their direction, all the acknowledgement she’s willing to give them as the doors of the church are thrown open wide. She steps inside, barefoot as always, as the faithful turn to look with their guns at the ready… They hesitate when they see it’s only one of the heralds, but only lower them at Joseph’s command.

“May I have a word alone with The Father?”

Joseph inclines his head and the faithful file out without a single protest.

“Joseph—“

“How fares our wayward Deputy? Has she yet joined out crowd of the faithful?’’’ He asks from his seated position, voice terse as he studies the pages of bible in his hands. 

“No, she’s still resisting—“ Joseph sighs in disappointment and Faith rushes on quickly to evade the oncoming fallout. “… but I learned something important. Something that could be helpful in our efforts to sway her to our cause.” She bounces slightly on the balls of her feet, graceful footsteps carrying her up the steps to the pulpit. She twirls once and then faces forward, hands braced on the dark stained wood as she leans towards him with a smile. “The Deputy has a daughter.” 

There is an uncomfortable stretch of silence following her words and, as her eager smile begins to slip away, she rocks back on her heels. Faith had thought he would be pleased with the knowledge... but his silence says otherwise.

“As much of an opening as that would provide, the idea of using one’s child against them seems unbecoming of our noble cause.”

“Even if the daughter were one of our own?” Faith questions as she steps away from the pulpit, slowly descending the stairs and kneeling before Joseph. “Wouldn’t you want to save her?”

“I wish to save as many souls as I can. You know this.” He shuts the bible with a loud snap and stares her down with a level gaze. “Enough dancing around the topic, Faith. You have my attention and it must be very important for you to leave the Henbane without permission. You say the deputy’s daughter is one of our own?”

“She’s John’s daughter.” She says with renewed glee, bouncing back to her feet. “She told me herself.”

Joseph closes his eyes and turns his face to the heavens, letting out a slow breath as Faith waits, eagerly bouncing from foot to foot. After some time, he opens his eyes and levels his gaze with Faith’s own.

“Have the deputy brought to me and speak of this to no one.”

“But Joseph⏤”

“I will look into this information and, if things are as you say, I will have our family be reunited.”

“Yes, Joseph.” Faith exits the church with renewed purpose and sets off to locate Isobel, and as she pulls the stolen phone from the pocket of her dress, ponders on doing more digging of her own.

[winterromanov]

keeping all the promises (we made years ago) - a romanogers fic

Peter’s mixing a bad gin and tonic when Natasha and Steve finally come into the back. Her tiny frame guides him through the throngs of people as a The 1975 song plays in the background, crooning about skinny jeans and spare time and she’s got a boyfriend anyway. They disappear down the basement steps and Natasha must be a little drunk, he reckons, because the door is barely shut when they start kissing. And this—this, he realises, is the only narrative of the two of them that matters. (rock band au. chaos, man.)

/one

It’s Uncle Tony that gets him the job. Well—perhaps gets isn’t quite the right word, because get implies a bit of shuffling behind the scenes and handshakes when in reality Uncle Tony can get whatever he wants whenever he wants. He’s not even his biological uncle. Sometimes, Peter wonders if Uncle Tony just fancied having a nephew and saw him in kindergarten and thought, hey, he’s the one. May’s never told him how Tony ended up being his sort-of guardian, usually financially but sometimes otherwise. He’s just…always been there.

The always been there feels a little more literal now, ever since Peter mentioned that he might not want to go to college after all. Yeah, sure, the Princeton physical sciences program is like, the best in the country, but is that really all there is? He likes music and evening walks and the shitty little apartment he shares with May in the city. He likes the familiarity and the way it covers him like a safety blanket.

It wouldn’t be an understatement to say that Uncle Tony was pretty fucking pissed at the idea. Of, you know, not making the most of the thousands of dollars he’s invested in Peter’s education and not going to an Ivy. Nevertheless, there’s not much he can do about it. Even Tony Stark can’t force him to go to college, even if he looks at him with that disapproving glare every single goddamn day for the rest of his life.

(Uncle Tony’s disapproving glare is one of the scariest things Peter has ever seen, period. And Ned once made him watch all The Exorcist films in one sitting back in freshman year. Took him a good few weeks (months) to shake the paranoia and realise that, realistically, he probably wasn’t going to get possessed by some angry old spirit anytime soon.)

But Uncle Tony can ask him what he’s doing instead of going to college, and Peter quickly discovers that a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders is not an adequate response. He thought that maybe Tony would get him some sort of starter position in his company, but Tony isn’t the kind of guy who gives out jobs to anyone (even if they’re his sort-of nephew). No, if Peter ever wants a job at Stark Industries he needs a college degree first, and a good one at that.

“You need a taste of the real world, kid,” Tony had said, Peter idly spinning on the office chair in front of his desk. “And then you might think twice about giving Princeton the boot.”

And that’s how he ends up in front of Endgame.

-

Peter knows a hell of a lot about Uncle Tony, but also absolutely nothing at all. There are things he deliberately keeps hidden and Peter knows better than to ask about but he’s also ridiculously open, especially about how fucking rich and clever and sexy he is. May says it’s a confidence thing—that he must be hollow under all that blithe arrogance, but Peter has never met anyone more solid. He thinks. Tony cannot be anything other than whole, because he’s sure helped keep Peter’s foundations stable all these years.

He knows that Tony’s business is his life. That he’s a bit more…forward, with women than he should be, but it’s all talk because Pepper wouldn’t stick around if it wasn’t. He knows he prefers Turkish food over everything else and that he cares more than he lets on, always.

But he absolutely didn’t know that Uncle Tony kind-of owns a nightclub in the city; the super cool kind that has live bands and plays British indie rock and a menu with over fifty different kinds of cocktail on it. It makes so much sense, when he thinks about it. It’s exactly the kind of place he imagines Tony heading to after a day working non-stop at the tower.

It’s only three in the afternoon but the place is unlocked, Tony pushing open the double doors at the front with his shoulder. Inside, there’s a jarringly bright room with a bar and a stage that feels wrong not swathed in darkness or the muted glow from overhead lighting. A woman with long, brunette hair that falls down her back is mopping the floor off to the side. She looks up when she sees them enter.

“Wanda,” Tony greets, pushing Peter forward. The girl smiles bemusedly, shoving the mop back in a red plastic bucket. “Working hard?”

“As always, Mr Stark.” Her accent is soft, European. Peter likes the twinkle in her eyes. “You’ve just missed Nat, but Clint is still in the basement, if you’re looking for them.”

“Barton. Perfect.” He tugs on Peter’s arm, and Peter vaguely feels like some naughty kid being dragged around by their dad. This must be what that feels like, he muses, not that he knows much about the whole parent thing. “Come on, Peter.”

Peter rolls his eyes. Wanda catches him, and she laughs a little, returning back to the mop.

Tony drags him through a hallway lined with black-and-white checked squares and down a set of stairs labelled staff only, the walls covered in aggressive-looking graffiti which he assumes are song lyrics he’s never heard of. He likes music, but he’s the soft-spoken acoustic type. Not the mosh-pit type.

(Alongside Tony Stark’s disapproving glare and horror movies, he’s also kind of terrified of being swallowed by crowds. He doesn’t like the feeling of being lost or untethered. He likes being anchored to something. Someone. It’s kind of ironic, really, considering.)

Tony opens a door at the bottom of the stairs that leads onto what he assumes is some sort of staff common room, the walls all exposed brick and lined with tattered leather sofas probably pulled from a garage sale. Band posters either hang loosely with blue thumb tacks or, in some cases, in black frames—some scribbled with messy signatures. A makeshift bar stands in front of a small kitchen, lined with more liquor bottles than he cares to count. A coffee table is littered with vinyl cases and sloppily written notes, a wire charging an iPhone trailing all the way from the door. A man with brown hair and a strong jawline sits on the sofa nearest the back wall, Doc Martens kicked up on the table, scrolling through his phone. His eyes barely flicker when they enter the room, like he’s waiting for Tony to talk first.

“Welcoming as always,” Tony remarks, urging Peter to walk further into the room. The other man snorts.

“If you want a fucking parade every time you enter a room, Stark, you should stick to those dumb expo things you still insist on doing.” He’s still scrolling through his phone. “Who’s the kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” Peter can’t help but say, because he’s eighteen and a high school graduate, for God’s sake. Both Tony and the man raise an eyebrow, in that patronising way Peter is all too used to. Like, you’re basically just fresh out the womb, boy.

“You’re a kid until you stop thinking like one,” Tony says, and it looks like Peter is still going to be getting a lot of that. He gestures towards the man and back again. “Clint Barton, Peter Parker. Peter, Barton. He’s your new boss.”

“Half-boss,” Clint quickly corrects, “Nat would probably slit your throat if she heard you say that. Also…” Clint pauses, finally putting his phone down. He seems to examine Peter carefully, eyes flicking up and down. He feels oddly exposed. “Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, be doing AP Literature homework or something?”

Peter sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m not in high school. I graduated high school.”

“I refuse to believe that. How old are you? Fourteen?”

“I’m eighteen!”

Clint narrows his eyes. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know my own age.”

Clint hums. He shifts his feet from the coffee table and to the floor, leaning forwards. “Don’t get me wrong, Peter, but are you sure you want to work here? Aren’t you better suited to…like, a computer science major? You just don’t look like the kind of guy we’d usually hire.”

Peter takes that to mean you look like a massive fucking nerd, moron. Well, Clint’s not wrong, but it’s always a bit jarring to hear someone say it actually out loud. He’s not the kind of person who works in a cool bar with cool people who wear Doc Martens and listen to the Arctic Monkeys.

“He’s hired because I say he’s hired,” Tony interjects, pressing his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “And because this little punk thinks that he doesn’t want to go get a STEM major.”

Clint smirks a little at that, like he’s gone from zero to just a touch of respect for him. “Teenage rebellion, huh?”

“No,” Peter replies, not that convincingly. “I just don’t want to go to college, alright?”

“Not right now, but a few weeks of working with these absolute head-cases will have you handing in your transcripts before you can say Ivy League,” Tony states and Clint chuckles, “You will be begging for the sweet release of the Princeton marching band and that compulsory calculus class.”

Peter looks over at Clint, who merely nods in a faux serious manner. “We’re special here, Parker. Absolutely one-of-a-kind.”

“Who’s one of a kind?” Another voice rings out behind them, clearly feminine but surprisingly low and sultry in tone. When Peter turns, he sees a petite woman with red hair that scuffs her shoulders, skinny jeans hugging her legs and a leather jacket over her shoulders. She clutches a shopping bag in her left hand, her nails painted the same shade as her hair. Her Converse sneakers are black and streaked with dirt, but like they were made that way, like it’s all staged.

He has to actively fight his jaw from dropping open. Because, Jesus—he isn’t blind. She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen…and there’s something about her, a familiar quality he can’t quite place, like he’s seen her before in another time or place. She smirks when she finds him staring. Peter flushes, looking away, and thinks idly about beautiful gardens and being tempted in by a Devil.

“You are,” Clint replies effortlessly and, like that, Peter realises that there must have fucked at some point. Her eyes glint as she drops her bag on the counter.

“I assume you’re here for a reason, Stark,” she says, “If this is your new intern, I’m dying for a coffee.”

“Funny,” Tony shoves his hands in his pockets. “And as I was just telling Barton, this is your new employee.”

“As of when?”

“As of right now.”

When this woman assesses him, it feels more scathing than it did with Clint. Her eyes are slower, her expression less readable. Clint was clear in his uncertainty. It’s impossible to tell with her. Eventually, she halts, lips pursed. “Huh.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Clint responds. He’s back on the coffee table, like he’s bored by the whole situation.

Tony stands back, folding his arms. “You have an opening now the other Maximoff has moved on, and this moron needs a reality check. You lot are probably the worst people I could think of to give it to him.”

The redhead blinks slowly. She rests her chin in one hand, her elbow on the bar. She’s looking straight at Peter, green eyes blazing like exotic jewels. “You have any bar experience?”

“Uh…” Peter scratches his head sheepishly, “No?”

“You train him, Nat,” Tony says when Nat looks skeptical, “You train the hell out of him. Or get him to do the 4am bathroom cleaning shift. Your choice.”

“We have Clint for that,” she says, and Clint throws a scatter cushion at her. She catches it with ridiculously quick reflexes and dumps it on a bar stool before hopping onto it. Her shopping bag is exclusively filled with grapefruits. “Although, we do need a new bartender now Pietro has fucked off.” She pulls a knife from seemingly nowhere and points it in Peter’s direction, which gives off a threatening air that Nat looks all too comfortable with. Worryingly. “But no doing homework at the bar. It’ll ruin our image.”

“I’m not…” Peter starts, but Nat’s smirking again. So. He’s just going to have to accept the fact this is going to be a running joke, right? Anything that gets Tony off his back.

“You’re kind of adorable,” Nat says, looking over at Clint. “Steve will love him.”

“Steve will try and adopt him.”

“Steve will try and adopt anything that looks vaguely pained and puppy-like,” She chops a grapefruit in half, then into quarters. “It’s taking everything I have to convince him we don’t need a golden retriever right now. It’s exhausting.”

(At this point, he stands gormlessly and watches both Clint and Nat bicker back and forwards about this Steve, this guy that Nat must be dating, and nothing clicks. Nothing clicks yet. He feels like a bit of an idiot when he eventually does, though, because of course. That’s why Nat looks so familiar.)

“Well,” Tony interrupts in a tiny pocket of silence where Clint and Nat aren’t snarking at each other, “Consider Peter your anniversary gift. He’s every bit as charming as a golden retriever without having to pick up the shit. I think he’s already potty-trained. I think.”

Peter shakes his head out of disbelief. Not biological, but every single bit as embarrassing as a blood relative in front of anyone cool. Nat doesn’t take her eyes off the grapefruits.

“Our anniversary was last month, asshole, and all you gave us was a fucking star named after us. You know, one of those dumb certificates you buy online for about ten dollars.”

Tony clutches his heart dramatically. “It’s romantic, not that I’d expect you to understand. Imagine looking up at the night sky and knowing a little piece of you and Steve is up there, glimmering just for you, courtesy of me. That’s special, Nat. Money can’t buy that feeling.”

“Money can buy that feeling. You bought it for ten dollars. Fortunately for you, Steve is a gullible and the sappiest son-of-a-bitch we know so at least someone enjoyed the sentiment.” Natasha pauses for a moment, resting the knife down on the counter. “Now. You—Peter—how much, exactly, do you know about cocktails?”

-

There are things he learns incredibly quickly when working with Nat—facts, logistics, statements. Both Clint and Nat have known Uncle Tony for a while, but he’s not sure why or how. Tony helped Clint and Nat buy Endgame and he continues to invest in the business, taking a share of the profits. It’s been open five years, but Clint and Nat have known each other way longer than that. He’s not sure why or how. Actually; he’s sure why, because Clint and Nat are pieces of the same puzzle, irrevocably interlocked. The way they look at each other is haunted by years and years of shared history. You’d have to be blind not to see that.

Also—Nat mixes drinks with a speed and precision that is impossible to replicate. He watches hopelessly as she grabs spirits off a rack on the wall from memory, barely glancing at the labels. Wanda occasionally brushes past and Peter can see the amused look in her eyes, like she’s in on a joke he doesn’t know about.

She’s trying to teach him how to mix a basic mojito—not their most popular drink, but one of the easiest—when the front doors swing open and a man walks in, tall and broad-shouldered, blonde hair mussed from the motorcycle helmet that hangs in his right hand. His shirt is way too tight for his torso and arms but he looks so good anyway, in a way that Peter could only ever replicate in his dreams.

It takes Peter a moment to realise, when the man smiles at Natasha like she’s every good dream he’s ever had, that this must be Steve. And then it takes another moment once he gets a decent look at his face, that this isn’t just any Steve. This is Steve fucking Rogers. And Nat… Nat is Natasha Romanoff.

“You certainly took your time,” Nat says coyly as Steve sidles over to the bar. He reaches over and takes her face in his hands, kissing her gently and casually on the lips. It’s like Peter isn’t even here. It’s nothing too intimate, though; Nat seems aware of her privacy and what she wants other people to see. She seems to have a strict code on showing and telling. Peter isn’t part of her exclusive inner sanctum (yet).

(Clint struts in, then promptly struts out again, muttering something about letting someone else be the third wheel for a change.)

“Meeting overran,” he confesses, still curved over the bar, “Honestly, I keep telling them I’m retired.”

“Show them your birth certificate. Can’t possibly expect a man in his nineties to record another album.”

Steve laughs, and honestly, it’s like watching a scene out of a romantic movie. “For some reason, they just won’t believe me. They might believe you, though. You have a way of getting people to do what you want.”

Natasha pats his cheek gently. “Absolutely. Oh—and this is Peter, by the way. Anniversary gift from Stark.”

Steve’s eyes settle on him for the first time since he arrived, because it’s very clear that he’s the kind of guy who tunes out the rest of the world when his girlfriend is in the room. “I thought Stark got us a star for our anniversary. I love that star.”

“Of course you do,” Nat titters, “And Peter is filling in for Pietro.”

Steve offers Peter his hand, and he shakes it tentatively, because this is still Steve fucking Rogers. “Great to meet you, kid.”

“Oh,” Nat lowers her voice, “He’s not a kid. He just graduated high school.” When Peter’s mouth opens, she grins. “This is Steve. He hangs about here sometimes. Can’t seem to get rid of him. I have tried, believe me.”

“You’re Steve Rogers,” Peter breathes, dumbstruck, and it’s only when Nat and Steve share a bemused look that he breaks out of his stupor, cheeks flushed. He nervously looks at his feet. “Sorry—it’s just I’m a big fan.”

There isn’t anybody who hasn’t heard of Steve Rogers, as far as Peter is aware. He’s got all his albums on CD stacked on the shelves of his bedroom and he listens when he’s feeling particularly nostalgic, pressing them into the portable player May got him a lifetime ago and lying back on his bed. Steve is the Golden Boy of America’s pop music scene, his songs soulful and sad with a quiet, yet constant, lingering optimism. It’s the kind of music that reminds him of leaves in the fall and sitting alone on the subway. The kind of voice you could get lost in, but not in the unknown, terrifying kind of the way. It’s like he’s trying to guide you home.

Steve and Nat share a look and Peter fears that he’s made a bit of an idiot of himself. Again.

“Whatever you do, don’t ask for his autograph,” Natasha scrunches her nose, glancing up at her boyfriend. Steve looks mildly entertained. Like he’s used to it. “His ego is big enough as it is.”

Steve shakes his head. His hand reaches across the bar and squeezes Natasha’s shoulder. She softly runs her hand over his knuckles—it feels weird, to use the word soft to describe Natasha, because from what Peter has seen (in his admittedly limited experience) she’s never anything but razor sharp. “You’ll come to realise, Peter, that this woman never has a day off.”

Natasha’s smile is wistful, longing. “I don’t have time for days off.”

The room suddenly feels heavy and Peter can feel something lurking under the surface of their dialogue, something that’s not being said while he’s there watching. Steve looks away, smiling at the ground. Look—he’s not that into tabloids or dumb E! News twitter threads where their pictures are plastered about like incriminating photo albums, but he’s not totally unaware of it either. He knows Nat’s surname because he’s seen her red hair on the cover of magazines at the drugstore countless times, on May’s coffee table. Some of them have been holding Steve’s hand. Some of them are just Steve. Some of them are Steve with other women.

He’s got enough knowledge to know that this relationship mustn’t be…easy. Or conventional, at the very least. Not that he knows much about that. He knows about as much about romantic love as he does parental.

(Aka, not much at all.)

Wanda is the one who breaks the moment. “Nat, Clint is asking—oh, hi Steve!”

Steve smiles and the two share a quick embrace, because Steve definitely seems like the hugging type. Meanwhile, Natasha walks round the bar and beside him—Steve slings an arm casually round her shoulder, and it’s so comfortable and natural that Peter feels something shift in his chest. Wanda lets them know that Clint needs to run over the inventory before opening in a couple of hours, so Nat leaves Peter in Wanda’s capable hands while her and Steve head down to the basement together. Peter can’t seem to drag his eyes away from them.

“You too, huh?” Wanda remarks, one eyebrow raised. Peter blinks, not sure what she means. “They’re magnetic, right? And not just because they’re both ridiculously attractive.”

Peter flushes—for what seems like the millionth time since he arrived—and covers his hands with his sleeve. “I don’t—“

“We’ve all thought it, one time or another. There isn’t anybody else like them.” Wanda smiles softly. “They haven’t had it easy but they’re happy now, so. Every cloud, yes?”

Peter nods hesitantly. “What do you mean…haven’t had it easy?”

Wanda’s smile is still gentle, but there’s an unwavering nature to it. She seems to float past him, like she’s not quite real, an ethereal ghost. “That’s not for me to tell. But I can tell you how to make more than just a mojito, if that’s adequate?”

Peter feels himself relaxing, the tension vanishing from his shoulders. Wanda is a little less terrifying than Natasha. Her eyes are big and touched with melancholy, but there’s no bitterness there. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be really adequate, thanks.”

-

His first shift—well, his first shift is insane, and he completely and totally understands why Tony thought this place would cure his college related existential crisis. The bar is packed from the moment the door opens because even though there’s no live music tonight, Clint and Nat’s sick playlists seem to reel in people from all over the city and further out. A bearded guy in a Led Zep shirt drunkenly tells Peter that he’s come all the way from Toronto to listen to Hawkeye and Black Widow, and he’s really not sure what that means.

There are also people who are here when they realise Steve is about, from Twitter or whatever. He’s not exactly under the radar as he seems to spend a lot of his free time in Endgame (for obvious reasons) but as soon as the customers start coming in, he edges away, disappearing off into the basement while Nat, Clint and the rest of them work. Other than Wanda, there’s only one more employee who turns up—a tall, buff British guy called Thor who wanders in about fifteen minutes before opening time with hair off a Herbal Essences commercial. He slaps Peter on the arm and almost knocks the wind out of him.

By the time closing time hits Peter feels battered, bruised and a little like he’s fallen out of a top floor window, his shirt covered in shit tons of unnameable alcoholic combinations and his head beating like a bass drum. Clint, Nat, Wanda and Thor weave between people and the bar like it’s ingrained in them, grinning and laughing and seemingly knowing everybody. As the cool, 2am air of August hits his face like a slap round the face, Peter wonders if he’d actually been holding his breath the whole time, waiting for the storm to be over.

He almost throws up on the stairs. Almost. He kind of wants to go home, go to bed, and never come back here again. Everything—it just happens a lot, always. Maybe he is just a kid. Maybe he’s not ready for a life outside of education, like Tony had said.

He feels a hand curl round his shoulder and he starts, but when he turns he sees Steve, oddly reassuring and stable in this new world that makes no sense whatsoever.

“You alright, Peter?” he asks, warm and empathetic, “Maybe you should sit down.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, instead sitting on the damp, stone steps that lead up to the entrance. Peter sighs heavily, goosebumps bristling up and down his arms. Cautiously, he eases down next to him. Wonders how his life got to this.

“It can get pretty intense in there, huh?” Steve nudges him with his shoulder. “I thought that when I first started singing in public, like my heart was just going to rip out my chest. But it gets easier. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

Peter laughs a little at that. There’s a scab on his left thumb and he picks at it out of habit. “I think Clint was right. I’m not the kind of guy they like here.”

“God, don’t let him hear you say that. Clint can’t ever be right. The universe would implode.”

Natasha appears at the front door from nowhere, as is the pattern, and it’s the first time Peter’s seen her all evening properly—she’s wearing a black lace camisole and leather pants that leave very little to the imagination, but Peter knows better (and is better) to let his eyes hover for too long. Her lipstick matches the color of her hair. She’s absolutely breath-taking, like a rebellious Hollywood starlet. It’s the first time he’s seen her tattoos, too; she has a spider on her left shoulder, an arrow on the other and there’s the smooth curve of a circle that peaks out of the waistband of her trousers. She hands Peter a paper cup filled with water. Come to think of it, not drinking anything all night was probably a bad idea, adding dehydration to a general sense of, you know, existential dread.

“It’s just your first day, buddy,” Steve says, “It’s new. That’s all.”

“I think you did pretty well for someone with no experience,” interjects Nat. Steve gives her an exaggerated look of shock. “Hey. I said pretty well. He’s still got a lot to learn.”

“Praise indeed! You should be proud, kid. Took her over a year for her to say anything remotely nice about me.”

“That, and also I’d take every opportunity to prove Tony Stark wrong about something.” Nat smirks. “You just got to get into the music, then you won’t be able to fucking wait to come back.”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles, looking up at her, “She’s pretty exceptional at making mixtapes.”

He’s entering yet another moment that feels like an intrusion just being there, another conversation without words. He’s been the third-wheel before—countless awkward dates at the Cheesecake Factory—but this feels like a whole other level of it, because the worst kind of couple to tag along with are the ones that use silence like it’s not silence at all.

“Am I…alright to go?” Peter asks quietly, folding the cup in his hands. He’s not sure how all this works.

Nat nods. “Yeah, seeing as it’s your first day. But tomorrow you’re helping with the clean-up.”

“How are you getting back?” Steve is already sifting through dollars in his wallet, “Get a cab on me.”

“Oh—Mr Rogers, I couldn’t possibly…”

“It’s Steve, and you absolutely can.” He hands him twenty, and Nat audibly sighs from behind him. “What? What is it?”

Natasha looks totally unsurprised. “Clint was right about something. You’re totally adopting our new bartender. He’s only been here a day!”

Peter has to admit, having Steve Rogers look out for him is hardly the most disastrous thing to come out of this shift. He half-smiles, mostly to himself, unfurling the twenty between his fingers. Steve just shoots Nat a withering, long-suffering look, because this is what Steve calls being nice.

“Thank you, Steve,” Peter says, standing up, “And thanks for the water.”

Steve salutes a goodbye and Nat walks down the stairs, filling the space Peter leaves. As he saunters down the sidewalk, he picks up snippets of their conversation:

“Which star do you think is ours? You know. The one Stark bought us.”

“Oh, shut up about that goddamn star. Stark will really try and buy anything, won’t he? Even bits of the universe. You’re supposed to—I think you should just leave the cosmos the hell alone. We don’t have to understand everything.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” A pause. “The science is neither here nor there for me. And Stark’s capitalist consumerist ideology aside…I just like to think the stars all come out for you.”

(He thinks about that all the way home, in the slow hum of the cab, the buzzing tinnitus in his ears. He thinks about loving someone so much you want the whole universe to exist just for them.)

-

The first thing he does when he gets home is Google them. He can’t help himself. He just—he has to know more. But as soon as he types in their names, and a ton of unsavoury articles mentioning other women and possibilities about Natasha’s past come up, he feels disgusted with himself. This isn’t the truth. This is just hearsay and shady sources and the edges of facts cobbled together with hyperbolic adjectives and PVA glue. This feels voyeuristic and weird, like he’s doing something explicitly wrong, like he’s listening to high school gossip.

He turns to Instagram instead. Natasha’s—predictably—is on private and he’s too awkward to send a request, and the blur of red on the icon might not even be her. Steve’s is a lot easier to find. He’s got almost three million followers and a blue tick, his photo an outtake from some shoot where he’s laughing like a maniac. His most recent picture isn’t even of him. It’s Natasha, caught off guard in the basement of Endgame, looking through the stack of records he’d seen on the coffee table. When he swipes along there’s another where she’s using a Bon Iver vinyl to cover her face, looking beneath her eyelashes at the camera. The caption reads though she be but little, she is fierce.

And this—this, he realises, is the only narrative of the two of them that matters.

-

The next day he wakes with a thumping headache. When he asks May if there’s any aspirin, she looks at him with a mix of disappointment and muted shock.

“Yes, I agreed with Tony when he said getting a job would be good for you, but really Peter?” she tuts, to Peter’s confusion, popping two tablets out of the tray and into his hands. “What was it, then? Beer? Rum? Vodka?”

Oh. Oh. She thinks… “Relax, May. I didn’t do anything. The music was just loud, that’s all.”

May doesn’t look entirely convinced, her eyes slightly narrowed, but it admittedly isn’t in Peter’s character to engage with any underage drinking (even though that’s what he’d probably do in college, if he was still going). Clint had slid him across a jack and coke with a wink at some point after midnight, but he’d let it go warm on the counter. The only time he’d ever really drunk was at Liz Allan’s New Year’s party at the end of junior year, and that was only to prove to that dumbass Flash Thompson that he wasn’t a pussy. His puke tasted like beer and then that just made him puke more.

“I just worry about you. I’ve never pictured you working in a place like that.” May sits at the kitchen counter, watching him as he swallows back the pills. “Couldn’t you send your resume to a bookstore or something? Bryony from Pilates says she’s looking for a new waiter at her place. Maybe that’s more your… thing.”

It’s quite likely that’s more his thing, but the told you so that would come out of Tony’s mouth is persuasion enough to keep on at it. Yeah, he feels like death and another night like yesterday is not going to make that any better, but surely he’ll get used to it. Right?

“I’m not quitting already. It wasn’t so bad. Plus, I got to meet Steve Rogers.”

May’s eyes almost bulge out of her head. “Excuse me? Steve Rogers as in…?”

“Yep,” Peter pops the ‘p’, grin tugging at his lips. His aunt isn’t exempt in the nationwide crush everybody has on Steve Rogers. “The manager—well, one of the managers—is his girlfriend. You know Nat Romanoff?”

“Oh, so she’s Nat Romanoff to you,” May chides, “Didn’t realise you two had got so close already.”

“Shut up. She’s kind of terrifying. So is the other guy who runs the place. But there’s a girl there—Wanda. She’s pretty awesome.”

May purses her lips, studying his expression. “Is she pretty pretty too?”

“No!” Peter replies a little too quickly, to May’s delight, “No—she’s… nice, but she’s a bit older than me. Anyway, I’ve told you before. I’m not looking for anything like that.”

(It’s been almost a year since Liz Allan tore his heart to pieces and he’s still not over it. It’s kind of pathetic, really. They were never really dating to begin with, but it all felt so real anyway.)

“Alright,” May hums, “Just…be careful, okay? I heard you come back late last night and I hate thinking about you walking about on your own.”

He wants to say that he’s eighteen and basically an adult and that New York City at 3am doesn’t scare him, but him and May have been so close his whole life and it must be difficult, her watching the little boy dropped abruptly on her doorstep all those years ago growing up and moving on. Other than Uncle Tony, who walks in and out of his life when it suits him, May is all he has. And she’s only got him. There’s a lifeline there that holds them indefinitely together and she hates watching it stretch, fray.

“Steve got me a cab,” he says gently, “And I’ll bring my bike tonight. I’m totally fine. I promise.”

She gets up, kisses him on the top of his head, between the curls that are still damp from the shower. It makes him feel like a kid, but not in the restrictive, controlling way Tony does when he’s pissed at him. It makes him feel nostalgic for the time where May would kiss his scraped knees better when he tripped on the sidewalk and make him peanut butter sandwiches with the crusts cut off for his lunch box.

“I love you more than anything,” May says, her mantra. You don’t have a lot, but you do have me.

Peter smiles. Blinks slowly. “I love you too, May.”

-

Just before he leaves the apartment for another round, a notification lights up his phone. He doesn’t recognise the number, but he opens the text anyway, and it’s a link to a Spotify page ran by username blackwidow. The playlist is titled for peter.

-

“You’ve looked them both up on Instagram, right?”

Wanda says this as she drops on the sofa next to him, propping her feet on the coffee table. Clint and Nat are bickering in the office adjoined to the kitchen and occasionally he can see one of them through the window—he’s almost certain at one point Nat had Clint by the throat, but Thor looks at him, shaking his head. You just gotta let them ride this one out.

“Uh…what?” Peter absent-mindedly replies, dragging his eyes away from the pot of pens that has just collided with the window. Wanda doesn’t react. It must be normal.

“Steve and Natasha,” Wanda elaborates, “I did. It’s the first thing I did, after I met them. You wanna know about someone’s life, you find their social media. Or lack of it.”

Peter sighs. Well, at least it’s not just him. “Yeah, I did.”

“I’m assuming you haven’t sent Natasha a request.”

“Nope.”

Wanda grins. “She’s meticulous. Natasha. Obsessed with privacy and who gets to see what. I’m surprised she has social media at all. I mean…it’s not illogical, considering, but she does not reveal her soul to just anybody. Steve, on the other hand, is an open book. Not very good at hiding anything. Which is usually a good thing, sometimes not.”

Peter tilts his head, taking Wanda in. She’s wearing makeup today, black smudged round her eyes. May’s right, she is pretty pretty. “You seem to know quite a lot about them.”

“I’ve worked with them for a while now. And anyway. They’re interesting. You see it, too. Sometimes it’s hard to look away when they’re together.” Wanda doesn’t flinch when another crash comes from the office. “You wonder how they work, because they seem so very different.”

Peter shrugs. She’s not wrong, obviously, but he doesn’t want to look too interested, like the creepy fans that leave leery comments on Steve’s pictures. “People do say that opposites attract.”

“People are stupid. And vague. What even are opposites?” Wanda’s laugh is low and sort of croaky. “I am just glad they found their way back to each other.”

“How did they even meet?”

Wanda’s smile is the same one he saw yesterday, like he’s encountered a dead end and she knows it. This is not her story to tell, like so many others. “I am sure you will find out eventually.”

Clint bursts out of the office, then, dabbing at a cut on his cheek with a napkin. He looks kind of like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, flustered and breathing hard. His eyebrows lift when he sees Peter sitting there, offering the two of them a quick greeting.

“Oh, and Clint!” Natasha calls out, appearing from behind the door, “Could you get me an iced latte?”

Clint considers for a second, before nodding. She throws him her reusable mug and he catches it with one hand before turning to leave.

“Don’t even try and get me to explain that relationship,” Wanda says, “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Peter laughs under his breath. It’s like Nat said, in the conversation he shouldn’t have heard. We don’t have to understand everything.

-

At about 11pm that night he joins Wanda for a cigarette out the back fire door and for the first time, he feels kind of cool, watching as the end burns a tiny amber dot, ripping a hole in the black. He’d never smoke one himself—the fact that May is horrified by him consuming alcohol is bad enough—but he likes watching her, how oddly and decadently beautiful the smoke unfurling from her lips is.

At the bottom of the alley, a motorbike pulls up and a man that looks vaguely Steve-shaped jumps off of it. Wanda glances at him with a smirk, stubbing out the cigarette with the toe of her boot. His arms fold out, and a woman runs into them, their laughter echoing down the street. They obviously don’t know that him and Wanda are watching; it feels like a private glimpse that they’re not supposed to see, a privilege. Natasha’s legs wrap round his waist. They hold each other for what feels like minutes, hours.

He can’t take his eyes away the whole time.

“I told you,” Wanda elbows him, brushing past to get to the door. “They’re magnetic. You’re pulled into their orbit.”

“I just…I don’t know why,” Peter says, dumbfounded, “Maybe it’s the way they look at each other? Like the whole world could burn to ashes and they’d just…stand, in the afterglow.”

“You’re poetic, Parker,” Wanda muses, “But you’re not wrong, either.”

They’re pulled back into the heat of the club when Clint realises they’re not working, grabbing them both by the shoulders and violently shoving them back onto the bar. He’s not paying them to gossip about snapchat and heelies, or whatever the kids are into these days, apparently. And Thor can only handle so much attention before his ego combusts.

He’s mixing a bad gin and tonic when Natasha and Steve finally come into the back. Her tiny frame guides him through the throngs of people as a The 1975 song plays in the background, crooning about skinny jeans and spare time and she’s got a boyfriend anyway. They disappear down the basement steps and Natasha must be a little drunk, he reckons, because the door is barely shut when they start kissing.

-

It takes about two and a half weeks, give or take, for things to start to feel normal. The hours fuck up any semblance of a sleeping pattern, but he’s no longer waking up with a thudding in his skull like a second heartbeat and Wanda’s tip about earplugs help a ton. He arrives at about three, sometimes earlier, sometimes later. He’s usually off again by two unless Nat or Clint are feeling generous about clean-up. The bar is shut every Sunday and the freedom is near divine. He doesn’t get up until midday and spends the rest of the day in his pajamas, eating pancakes and watching shitty reality television about people who are paid to sing badly or hate each other.

Steve is in the bar most nights and whilst he doesn’t always talk to Peter, he begins to miss him when he’s not there. He’s usually got a motivational speech or two in his back pocket, and it feels pretty fucking awesome that Steve Rogers seems to care a little about his wellbeing.

He hasn’t had the nerve to ask about how they met, yet. Wanda is still tight-lipped and Clint is borderline psychotic anyway, so each of them feel like a dead-end. He’s stuck with assumptions and watching them from his peripheral.

“You know, he wrote his last album about her,” Clint says in a rare moment of honesty, while they’re preparing for opening. Steve and Nat are tucked in a booth by the door, her knees brought to her chest, speaking impossibly close together. “It’s abhorrently adorable. Almost puked when I heard it.”

“What?” Peter says skeptically, “You mean the whole of See You In a Minute is about Natasha?”

“The whole goddamn thing. Sickening, isn’t it? I think the title is some sort of private joke between them.”

Peter doesn’t mention that Steve’s last album is his favorite, because he doesn’t need more excuses for Clint to bully him. Plus, he needs to push on. He needs to know more. “Have they always been like that? You know. Close.”

Clint pauses. He’s polishing glasses, but lays the cloth on the counter, looking over at him. “I’ve known Nat a long time. Long enough to know that it takes…a lot, to impress her. To pull her in. Even with me—and with Steve—it took her months to realise there was a mutual trust there.” He grins a little, showing the softer side to all that strident energy. “If you tell her this, I will violently murder you, but I love that girl to bits and I wouldn’t accept just anybody taking her away from me. But I accepted Steve immediately. So take from that what you will.”

It doesn’t really answer his question, but he supposes it answers a bunch of other unasked ones.

There’s a moment of silence. And then—

“Have you and Nat ever…?”

The look Clint gives him makes him realise he knows better than to finish that sentence.

-

(He brings up See You in a Minute on Spotify the moment he has time alone before opening, back on the leather couch in the basement. He figures the songs might have a new meaning now he knows who they’re about. His thumb taps the titular song—a slow, atmospheric ballad that sits in the recesses of his heart as soon as he hears the opening piano chords.

I have one last dance all saved up for you

He really wishes he wasn’t crying, but he just can’t help it.)

-

A band is playing that night called The Guardians who everyone but Peter seems to know well. They’re a six-piece retro rock band that the crowd goes wild for—they all have crazy hair colors and equally crazy names, apart from the lead singer, who’s messy brown hair is barely brushed and is weirdly also called Peter. They stay for a while after their set has finished, building up a substantial bar tab that Clint’s on their ass about. Peter Quill and his girlfriend Gamora (the other singer and guitar player of the band, her hair bright green and her lips painted black) sit on the stools and tease Peter (who they call Little P, hilarious) until closing time.

“Are you even allowed to serve alcohol?” Quill jibes, sipping a beer, “Isn’t there a rule against children being anywhere near liquor in public?”

Gamora pokes his shoulder. “Maybe it’s some sort of psychology project. He’s studying us for a paper.”

Peter can’t even be bothered to argue at this point. He still gets this same genre of comedy from Clint on a daily basis so what’s a couple more age-related jokes? He just smiles, mixing a cosmo for Gamora’s scary looking sister who silently glares at him from the stool next to her.

“You know what would be a fun psychology project,” Quill points a finger in Peter’s direction, “Nat Romanoff.”

Peter pauses for a second. “What makes you say that?”

Quill’s limbs are loose from all the drink he’s been downing before, during and after his performance, so his movements are all exaggerated and floppy. “Don’t tell me you’re not interested. Clint too. They both have shit in their pasts they don’t want us to know about.”

Gamora is decidedly more composed. She shakes her head, looking at Peter seriously. “All conjecture, of course. And none of our business.”

“I heard she was a spy for the Russian government,” Nebula casually mentions, her tone completely void of inflection. “She can slit someone’s neck with an envelope.”

All three of them look at Nebula, slightly aghast, but Nebula’s expression is so stoic and emotionless Peter can’t tell if she’s joking or not. Even Quill blinks heavily, knocked speechless.

“That’s…not what I meant,” Quill slurs, leaning in closer, “But there’s something there.” He taps the side of his nose. “Mark my words.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Gamora says, “Having a past you want to remain in the past is hardly rare.”

Peter’s beginning to notice a pattern with his colleagues. They all guard their memories under heavily armored doors and it’s only in occasional moments of softness or weakness where anything is ever revealed, and rarely by the person themselves. Clint let’s something slip about Natasha, Wanda about Clint. None of them really know anything about him.

“How long have you guys known Nat and Clint?” Peter asks, before tentatively adding, “And Steve?”

Quill and Gamora smile knowingly, like maybe this is a question that’s been asked before. Gamora presses a hand down on Quill’s shoulder. Peter hides the urge to sigh at another dead end. “We’ve been performing here since they opened, but if you actually want to know anything about them we’re probably the worst people to ask.”

Quill nods. “They don’t talk. If you ever find anything out, though, feel free to let us know.”

Peter laughs disbelievingly. “As if they’ll ever tell me anything.”

“Have you asked them?” Gamora replies, and Peter’s expression answers her question. “Little P, if they didn’t think they could trust you, they wouldn’t have hired you. They don’t let just anybody into their inner circle.”

“My uncle got me the job—he’s like, an investor, or something. Trust had nothing to do with it. Probably the opposite.”

Gamora’s lip curve, unconvinced. “I think you know it’s never quite that simple.”

“I don’t…I don’t even know why I’m so interested.”

“That’s what everybody says,” Gamora says wistfully, sliding him a tip across the counter. “And we should probably leave before he makes a fool of himself.”

(The he in question is Quill, who has since disappeared to join the dancing crowds with his shirt off. Nebula’s eye roll is mechanical, like the rest of her. Peter wonders if Quill and Gamora are her Steve and Nat; two wildly different individuals that seem joined together by something no-one else can see, that no-one quite understands. She downs the rest of her cocktail and makes her way towards the couple, who have since started kissing in the middle of the dancefloor.)

Gamora kind of reminds him of Michelle. Clever, beautiful, existing on a plane that floats way above everybody else. He swallows hard. He’s not sure where that thought came from.

-

By coincidence, MJ actually messages him about a week later. He’s been so busy either sleeping or working that all his friendships outside Endgame have taken a bit of a back-burner, texts stacking in his inbox that he’s been too tired to respond to. Besides, the only person he really keeps in contact with from high school is Ned and he’s spending the vacation before he goes to college with his family in Hawaii—he’s kept updated with sunkissed snapchats from the beach, exotic flowers and drinks in coconut shells. He’s hovered over Michelle’s name a few times over the past few weeks, but she isn’t always the kind to message back. She flies off grid as soon as school is out. There’s no point in tormenting himself over her lack of read receipts.

But when she messages, asking if they want to meet at the mall, he types sure before he can properly think about it. It’s a Sunday, after all, and he’s been thinking an awful lot about the limited relationships he has lately. What he wants them to be.

(That’s definitely a bi-product of Nat and Steve. He can’t put it down to anything else.)

MJ is sat by the fountain in the middle of the shopping complex reading a copy of Marx’s The Communist Manifesto, making notes with a tiny wooden Ikea pencil. Her dark hair is long and loose and she’s wearing a plaid shirt with sneakers, casually beautiful in the way she’s always been. It takes her a minute to look up and actually see him standing in front of her and when she does, her mouth opens a little, curved in a bemused grin.

“Woah, Peter,” she says, closing her book, “Didn’t realise you were edgy now.”

(She’s talking about his new Doc Martens that Wanda helped pick out. They’re shiny black leather and extremely uncomfortable, but you know, he’s getting down with the culture.)

“I’m…not,” Peter says. MJ laughs at his awkwardness. “You should see the people I work with.”

“This your new job, huh?” MJ eases back into the bench, crossing her legs. “Now you’ve decided to fuck college. Is this the beginning of a crisis? I’m getting vibes, here. Smart kids who screw college to work in a nightclub are definitely going on some sort of downward psychological spiral.”

Peter shrugs, smiling. Trust MJ to be brutally honest about his life choices. “Do you wanna grab coffee?”

“Yeah, as long as it’s not Starbucks. I’m not using my limited finances to fund their crooked corporate empire.”

They trail around for a bit before they find a cripplingly expensive but decidedly independent coffee house, filled with mismatched vintage furniture and hipster-types crowding the front windows with their moleskin notebooks. Peter feels out of place but Michelle fills the space like she owns it, lounging in an armchair angled away from the counter. She closes her eyes and asks for a chamomile tea and a blueberry muffin which he—he just gets for her.

He returns with an Americano for himself, because for some reason he wants MJ to think he’s the kind of person who drinks black coffee now, when in reality he’d prefer something fruity and sugary that has him flying off the walls.

“So…” Michelle starts as he falls into the sofa opposite, “You’re definitely not going to Princeton?”

Peter folds his legs. Tries to get comfortable. “I’m definitely not going to Princeton.”

“Interesting. Even though Tony Stark will probably fund, like, all your tuition fees?”

Peter rolls his eyes. He hates her insistence on bringing up the fact he has Tony in his life, a handy billionaire safety-blanket, like he can’t complain about anything ever. Yeah, sure, Tony would probably fund his way through college—but he wonders how much of that is guilt money, the dollars his mom and dad would have scraped together if they were still alive. Not everything is about money. Tony Stark is the kind of person MJ hates with every fibre of her being, but… Peter still loves him, and not just because he’s rich as shit. Even when he’s being super annoying.

Michelle smiles sadly when he doesn’t reply. “I’m sorry, Peter. It’s just hard for me to get my head around, you know? I would commit homicide for someone to fund my way through college. Maybe I already have.”

Peter chuckles. Has a sip of his god-awful coffee. “Where are you even going for college? I don’t think you’ve ever said. In-state?”

“It’s what I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually,” MJ admits, “It’s a bit further out than in-state.”

“Oh. Right. Pennsylvania?”

“Bit further than that.”

“…California?”

“Not exactly.”

“MJ, are you going to make me run through every college I know about? Tony’s shoved just about every prospectus in my direction so we might be here a while.”

“I got accepted onto a philosophy program,” MJ starts, bringing her teacup to her lips. “At University College London.”

Peter almost spits his coffee out everywhere.

“I honestly didn’t think anything would come of it. The whole admissions process in England is completely whack, and they don’t have SATs and stuff over there so I didn’t think I had a chance. But—I don’t know. Something happened, and I got in. So I guess I’m moving to London.”

He’s not completely sure what she’s saying, just watching her mouth move and nothing but blurred, incoherent noise reaching her. She said London. MJ is moving to London, and that’s a hell of a long way from anywhere.

“You’re moving to London?” he just about manages to squeak.

“Yep. Totally aced it, dude. Time to live my English dream. You know. Try and abolish the class system they have over there and stage a revolution against their monarchy.”

A vacuum opens in his stomach, like he’s just now realising that he doesn’t really want to live in a country that isn’t the same as MJ’s. But she looks so happy. He doesn’t want to be, but he can’t help it. He can’t not be happy for someone who is about to do everything they’ve ever wanted.

Nevertheless, it’s an inconvenient epiphany. Wanting to hold onto someone as soon as they tell you they’re going to leave.

“Congratulations,” he says, hoping there isn’t a crack in his voice. “That’s…incredible, MJ. You’re awesome.”

“I know! And now you’re earning a proper wage like an adult, you can totally come and visit me over there. We can eat scones and laugh at how ridiculous British accents are.” She kicks him gently, grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Peter says quietly. “Yeah, of course I will.”

“Cool. Now we’ve got that out the way…” MJ reaches into her bag, bringing out her little black copy of The Communist Manifesto. “Can I interest you in a dialogue with my new BFF, Karl?”

He sinks back into his chair, feels his whole body bleed between the fabric and through the floorboards.

-

He walks into work the next day and finds Steve and Natasha sitting in one of the booths. Steve has an acoustic guitar and he’s strumming chords while Nat is nodding along, pointing at something on a scrap of notebook paper in front of him. Occasionally, he’ll grab a marker and cross something out or scribble something down. When the door shuts behind him, the two of them look over. God. He’s got a running habit of ruining moments.

“Hey Peter!” Steve calls out in his usual, friendly way, “What’s up?”

He’s about to reply, but Natasha edges in first. “Come over here. Let’s talk.”

There’s something ominous in her tone but Natasha is impossible to predict, so a vague sense of anxiety haunts him as he sidles over to the booth and sits slowly in the space Nat has made for him. He wonders if she’s firing him but Steve looks chipper—surely he wouldn’t look that happy if he was about to lose his job, right? Maybe his not so discrete interest in their relationship has…got back to them? He’s already imagining the look on Tony’s face. I said you needed a reality check.

“Am I in trouble?”

Nat laughs. Even that is low and sultry, somehow sexy. Steve laughs too. “Peter—I know we tease you about it, but you do realise you’re not in school, right? And…calm, measured conversation isn’t usually how we deal with things here.”

He recalls the argument in the office a few weeks prior. Yeah, sounds about right.

“We just want to know about you,” Nat continues, “Because—I know a lot about the people I work with. But I don’t know anything about you, other than what Stark has said. And I trust his judgement about as much as I trust Steve’s.”

“Hey!” Steve says with a pout, “My judgement is perfect, thank you very much.”

“It’s the opposite of perfect, but okay, Mr I-trust-everybody-I’ve-met-ever.”

Steve shakes his head at him. “This is what I get for not being openly hostile all the time.”

“It’s got me and Clint this far. Anyway, I digress.” She nudges Peter gently. “Tell us something about you.”

Peter is mildly suspicious about the whole thing and doesn’t know what to say, so just stares vacantly at the two of them.

“Okay…well, at least we know you’re not a talker,” Nat murmurs, “So how about I ask you a question. Who was the girl you were with at the mall yesterday?” Peter’s jaw swings open like a door on a loose hinge. Nat half-smiles. “I saw you when I was coming out the Urban Outfitters. I’m curious.”

Steve glowers at her. “Peter, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. She’s insatiable.”

“Oh, yeah. But if you don’t answer it you’ll be kind of answering it, if you get what I mean.”

Peter’s taken aback. For someone who is so private about everything, she’s appears to have no qualms investigating his private life. He coughs on nothing and shifts in his seat awkwardly. “Just a friend. From school. It isn’t—she isn’t…”

Nat laughs under her breath, looking over at Steve. “He’s right. It’s none of my business. But you two looked good together. That’s always a good start.”

“Is it?” Steve asks, and she sighs.

“I think so,” Nat splays her hands out on the table. He notices her fingernails are painted electric blue. “But, sure. It isn’t everything.”

“What is everything?”

The question catches both of them off guard and Peter instantly regrets asking, wishing he could catch his words back in a butterfly net and shove them back inside of him. The two of them are…they’re untouchable, Wanda and Clint have both made that equally clear. It’s something you find out, not something you’re told. But it’s too late now. Steve and Nat look at each other in a minute of an intense, burning eye contact and not for the first time Peter imagines being swallowed up by the seat whole.

“I guess…” Steve begins but trails off. Peter watches as his fingers inch closer to Natasha’s on a table, like they’re playing a complex game wherein they discover where their boundaries are, how far they can go while he’s still there. “I guess everything is when you’re sat in a room, and there could be just one person it or thousands, but it doesn’t matter because none of those faces are the one you want it to be. The only perfect room, the only one you’ll ever be happy in, is the one they inhabit with you. To leave it…or for them to leave, feels like you’re constantly just gasping for air.”

Natasha looks away. Somehow, Steve manages to drag his eyes away from her, after saying all that, and back to Peter.

“But sometimes everything is just knowing the favorite brand of ice cream they like to eat when everything is awful or the setting they prefer their washing machine on. It’s all about striking a balance.” He half-smiles. “Sometimes it takes a while to find it.”

Peter frowns. He likes Michelle, likes her more than he’d ever let on if the uncontrollable reaction his body had after she said she was leaving is anything to go by, but how can he know if it’s everything? What Steve is saying sounds suspiciously like soulmates, if they exist. That not being with them feels like dying. What he feels for MJ is blurry, inconstant; but it’s there all the same. He’s not sure if that flame is supposed to become anything more. Not that it matters.

“Michelle is moving to London for college,” Peter says desolately, then rolls his shoulders. “She’ll be living a whole other life over there. I can’t expect her to fit me into it, even if she liked me back.”

“Hey, Peter?” Nat says with a sympathetic smile, “Distance sucks, but you know what sucks more? Waiting too long. We know a thing or two about it, and I’d recommend quite heavily against it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve adds his two cents, “I’d give it a one star review on Amazon for being the worst ever. Not what I ordered, arrived broken, the lot.”

Clint enters and asks if they need a witness to sign the adoption papers and Nat throws a dirty washcloth at him, everything returning to normal. But there’s a warm feeling in Peter’s chest, because this is the closest he’s ever got. Maybe Gamora was right.

-

He sends Michelle a text that night, asking if they could maybe meet up again. She doesn’t reply. Maybe she never will, because that happens. But he’s not waiting too long. It’s not what he ordered.

-

They have an evening off a couple of weeks later because it’s Nat’s birthday. Apparently it’s tradition that whenever her or Clint turn a year older they fuck potential profit for a day and spend the night drinking whatever they can get their hands on. Instead, Peter’s invited to a small party that is hosted at Clint’s apartment across town—he’s still dragged to the bar a couple of hours before, however, to roll kegs of beer and various bottles of multi-colored spirits from the storeroom to Clint’s car for the occasion. He vanishes back home to shower and change before returning, May hastily shoving a bottle of wine into his hands as a gift as he leaves. He’s pretty sure he’s never seen Nat drink white at all, but hey. He’s only little. He doesn’t know much about liquor.

Clint buzzes him in and he follows the drum beat in the corridor to his top-floor apartment; the door is open so he just walks in, but is surprised when he sees nobody about. The speaker is blasting music into an empty room and if it wasn’t for Wanda entering the kitchen, he’d assume he’d come to the wrong house.

“Peter!” she says excitedly, squeezing him into a tight hug. Her dark hair is loose across her shoulders and she’s wearing a burgundy dress that floats above her knees. He can’t help but smile at her. “So glad you could make it!”

He leans out of the embrace, putting the wine on the counter. Glasses are spread out without any clear design, interspersed with opened bottles of various drinks. As far as he can see, there’s no non-alcoholic alternatives—May would probably freak out. “Where is everybody?”

“Did Clint not tell you? We’re on the roof. I’m just off to the bathroom but if you go through the door off the kitchen and up the fire escape you won’t miss it.”

She bounds away so he slowly makes his way up as per Wanda’s instructions. As soon as he opens the door he can hear chatter and laughter, and upon reaching the top he finds an area covered in strings of white fairy lights and odd chairs from jarring furniture sets. A bar runs along the edge near the wall where Clint is mixing drinks, rows of glasses filled with a very generous amount of vodka and garnished with olives. There are people he recognises—Steve and Natasha are tucked into a loveseat, finally comfortable with the eyes on them, with Thor perched on the edge—but mostly people he doesn’t. A man with white hair sits comfortably with a brunette woman, while two unknown men stand deep in conversation off to the side. Nobody notices him straightaway and he feels little odd, the youngest there, but Clint dramatically fist-pumps the air.

“Parker!” he exclaims, walking over and clapping him ferociously on the shoulder. He wonders just how long the drinking has been going before he arrived as he tries not to cough up his lungs. “No extra-curriculars tonight? Lacrosse, maybe?”

“Leave him alone, Clint!” Natasha says, to Peter’s surprise, but then— “He’s way too little for lacrosse. I think he’s more of a mathlete.”

“Who’s kid brother is this, then?” One of the men he clocked earlier calls out before heading over, “Could be Rogers, I suppose. You both have that needy white boy look about you.”

Peter sighs, stretching out his arms. “Should we just get all the insults out the way now? Then we can move on with our lives.”

Needless to say, the insults don’t decrease with time—if anything they continue to spike as more vodka is consumed and less fucks are given, which are outstandingly little to begin with. Sam—a friend of Steve’s from his touring days—is by far the most scathing, not letting him rest for a second. Peter kind of likes it, though. It’s the way a lot of them show affection for each other, brutally kicking the shit at every opportunity. Steve’s other friend is Bucky, someone from childhood, and the white-haired guy is Wanda’s brother Pietro who left Endgame for music management somewhere. Maria and Phil work in legal and know Clint and Nat from wherever they were before Endgame. A good-natured yet authoritative man called Rhodey turns up later, who Peter recognises from Tony’s offices but has never actually met. Maybe Tony and Pepper will turn up at some point. Maybe they won’t.

Clint offers him one of Nat’s Special Birthday Martinis. He’s on the edge of turning it down, but everybody is laughing and he kind of feels part of this, so why not. The taste is bitter and awful and Clint laughs at him for a very long time, until his eyes water and he has to go and sit down. He talks to Wanda and Pietro, about their life in Sokovia before civil war ripped it to pieces, and Steve mentions how he took Nat out for Chinese food and champagne.

Steve brings in Natasha’s cake and Nat flushes—just a little—as she sees the candles flicker in the relative darkness, like Steve is holding a fire in his hands. Her eyes flutter closed as she blows out the candles and Peter muses on what she wished for, or if she wished at all. The alcohol makes his stomach feel warm, and the people make him feel warm, and he thinks this little party in this pocket of New York City may be one of the happiest moments of his life.

As the hours lull into the coolness of the morning, guests in various states of drunkenness either leave or continue on into Clint’s apartment. Peter takes a minute to steady himself, his heady heart and clouded head. He clings onto the metal railings until his knuckles turn white, staring out over the city. His city. He can’t go to college because he can’t leave here, all the lights and the heat and the music. New York is him and he is New York. This is something that cannot be ever taken away from him.

He hears footsteps and instead of you know, staying, like a normal person, Peter’s instinct is to duck behind the bar. He’s not ready for anyone to see him yet. He just wants a couple more moments alone with the world—plus he feels a little drunk, and being drunk is the best right here.

The footsteps come to a halt barely feet away from him. He’s not trying to listen as this is weird enough as it is, but it’s difficult not to. It’s Steve and Natasha.

“Another year, another one of Clint’s illegal martinis.” Steve’s voice. “Or two. Or several.”

Nat laughs lightly. “I’m going to go with several. I better not be holding your hair back while you puke tonight, boy. It’s my birthday.”

“Well—technically it stopped being your birthday a few hours ago, Nat, but I’ll let it slide because I love you.”

“You love me, huh? That’s certainly a new development.”

“Nah, it isn’t. Loved you the moment I saw you.”

“You fall in love with everybody.”

“Not in the way I love you. God, Nat. Do you actually realise what you do to me? Every time I look at you—you rip all the air out of my lungs.”

“That sounds pretty painful.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s agony. But it’s worth every second because…because you’re you. After everything. You’re you.”

There’s a few seconds of quiet. Peter wishes he’d just gone because as much as he wanted to know about them, to feel closer to them, this isn’t…this isn’t it. This is too private. Maybe if he edges along, he could sneak…

“Marry me.” Steve’s voice hangs in the night, like one of his songs. Poignant. “Marry me, Natasha.”

Nat is quieter than Peter’s ever heard it. It’s quiet, and it cracks in the middle. “Is that Clint’s martinis talking?”

“No. No. This is me talking. Marry me. You know—you know I’d be happy, forever, with what we have now. But I want to. I really, really want to.”

“Steve…” her voice is barely a whisper. Peter’s hand balls into fists. He’s here and yeah, he shouldn’t be, but he’s goddamn invested at this point. “I’ve been told that I can be pretty hard to deal with, sometimes. I’m reluctant to inflict that on somebody forever.”

“For you to inflict your inconstant, confusing, ridiculous self on me forever would be a privilege, Romanoff.”

“You really do have an answer for anything, don’t you? Insufferable asshole.”

“I’m your insufferable asshole.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

At that moment Peter’s leg just…involuntarily spasms. His foot collides with a nearby chair and it shifts across the concrete loudly, his cover completely blown. Shit. There’s no hiding now, so he peeks round the edge of the bar, finding Steve and Natasha stood with their arms around each other.

“Hello,” Peter says sheepishly, pointing towards the door, “I was just—“

“Parker, you’re not going anywhere.” Nat grabs him by his shirt and pulls him up, but there’s no malice on her face. Instead of violently throwing him off the top of this very high building for perving on their proposal, she drops him on one of the sofas. Steve hands him a nearby martini, amused by the whole situation if anything.

“You’re sitting there, and I’m telling you everything you want to know.”

[howdydandystony]

Ficlet time!

This ficlet takes place in a convenience store owned by two old grumpy men. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.

As old man Stark took his place at the cashier, Old man Rogers was taking his mop and started to clean the floors. "Stop mopping the floor. The damn dog will slip on it again" old man Stark grumbled.

"A clean shop is what brings people in, last weekend , Mrs Thompson said ours was the cleanest. " Steve smiled at his parenter from his spot.

"I'll listen to what that wacko says, when she buys something. She comes in and touchs all my oranges ,then walks out. She made me follow her for a whole hour. My hips were in pain and she didn't even buy any". Stark grumbled at Steve and then he put on a half smile when he noticed his partner's blue eyes, twenty years and his better half still looks sexy.

"Stop looking at me like that. I can't follow you with a mop and bucket all day as well as mopping the floor". Steve looked at Tony and then winked.

"How many of those blue pills, do you still have? ". Tony gave him a wicked smile.

"No more , Anthony, your heart stopped last Christmas after those damn pills." Steve warned and then went back to mopping.

"That was a mix up with pills that young doc gave me. Brucie came over and put them all in small separate containers, he even put the days on them." Tony said then the bell to the store dingged and he turned his attention to the first customer of the day. It was always Bill the fella that buys minty gum. He sells houses or so he claims.

Tony squinted at him, as Bill walked up and down the aisle. Tony's face had a frown on it when Bill finally made his way to the register with his gum after he paid and left.

Steve started talking again, noticing how upset Tony looked. "You know, he really needs to talk to that girl".

"Who does? " Tony asked grumbly then turned to Steve frowning.

"Brucie , Brucie needs to talk to that lovely girl. What was her name... something with a B..um.. Betty? Becky?". Steve said as he kept his mopping then stopped to scratch his head. "That was a kind girl , she sent us blue berry muffins remember those? Wednesday before last? Where did you keep them?". Steve frowned at Tony and dropped his mop into his bucket and place his hands on his hips.

"Brucie said your suger levels are through the roof. Don't look at me like that. If I ain't taking the blue pills because my heart , You ain't getting those damn muffins." Tony frowned back but as he was about to start the second round of arguing with Steve the bell rang again.

"It's the darn theif with his sticky fingers. Keep everything away from him". Tony yelled at Steve while Steve just waved him off.

"Hey there, Clinton. How are the new aids?". Steve said then signed the question at Clinton.

" It's Clint uncle Steve. Just Clint and they're better than the last ones , I can swim with those". Clint conversed happily with Steve but stuck out his tounge at Tony.

"I'm coming over and breaking those fingers for you". Tony got up from his spot with his cane.

Steve moved Clint behind him and held up his arm out. "Tony! You can't hit other people's kids. Clint grab your candy and go out from the side door". Clint did as told, while Steve started laughing as Tony's leg got tangled on his chair.

Steve moved closer to Tony and helped him off his chair. " that kid is not someone's kid. He's ducky's. God damn chair! Damn it Steve I told you to change my chair. You want me to trip over this stupid chair". Tony went off on an anger tangent.

"Clam down Anthony, you'll just get yourself upset and I have to deal with the high blood pressure." Steve clamed Tony down and lowered on the floor and helped untangle Tony's leg.

"I spent a whole summer! A whole summer teaching him and that Parker kid with math. and do you know how they repay me? With an - A and a lousy B". Tony huffed and then moved his legs around the chair. " and Ducky is paying for all the candy, that kid just stole " Tony pointed at Steve's chest.

"You know his name is Bucky, Tony. He was my best man in my wedding". Steve said to Tony and then checked on Tony's legs and got out his blood pressure cuff and put it on Tony's arm. " Relax old man. I need my better half alive if I want to have a life." Steve said then kissed at Tony's forehead.

The cuff dingged showing the high read on Tony's arm. " Don't tell Brucie , he'll just yell at me for this." Tony said after a while.

"Since when I'd pick a stranger over my baby?". Steve held on to Tony and gently rubbed at his side. "And I'll have this over you now, I can do whatever I want". Steve said and had a big smile on his face while Tony chuckled. Steve held on to Tony, then went to the back room to get Tony something to help lower his blood pressure.

As Steve was away, the store's bell dinged again. Tony sighed and then looked over as a couple walked in. "Your kid stole again". Tony pointed at the man with his cane.

"He's not my kid. He's the miss's baby brother". The man nuzzled at the lady's neck.

"Ugh , keep it to yourself. Still , he stole things from here. Someone has to pay up". Tony threatened.

"How much did he take this time?". The nice red head lady asked.

"You shouldn't pay for that kid. Ducky should". Tony pointed his cane again.

"Bucky. You know it's Bucky. You yell at me every night at ten pm." Bucky sighed and took out his wallet.

"Bucky! You're back. And Natasha oh dear me you look lovely in that dress". Steve gretted cheerfully and went over to give Bucky a hug.

"Too close , control your man, Nat. Blue eyes is spoken for". Tony warned and then moved closer to greet Natasha and give Bucky the stink eye.

Natasha chuckled, then gave Tony a kiss on his cheek. "How are you feeling today? I see you're wearing the cuff". Natasha moved in closer and took off the cuff.

"Testing it. That's all. " Tony smiled at her and her gentle touch. "Why did you marry the bag wet hair? When you could have anyone else?". Tony asked Natasha as she gently rubbed at the mark in his arm from the cuff.

"I married him for his looks. I'm a shallow girl." Natasha winked at Tony.

"You telling me? I bagged blondy with blue eyes." Tony smiled at Steve brightly.

"Stop looking at me like that. I just cleaned the floor. You're going to get them dirty again". Steve reprimanded Tony.

"Oh for fuck sake. Your stupid floors are always filthy". Tony said grumbly.