#he and Steve learning sign together because neither one of them can hear for shit

[symbioticsimplicity]

A lot of people headcanon hoh!Steve and I love it, but you know who should definitely have at least minor hearing loss?

Eddie.

Dude is a metalhead and a musician himself. You know he listens to his music as loud as physically possible, and he'd be spending a great deal of time nearby an amp. I doubt if protecting his hearing would even be on his mind.

It starts off small so its easy to miss. He's constantly asking people to repeat themselves, and there’s a not zero chance he just misses someone talking to him entirely. I also headcanon him as ADHD so as the hearing problem worsens it drags with it some audio processing errors. He can't hear quite well enough to know 100% of the time what people are saying to him for sure, starts lip reading to bridge the gap without thinking much of it. It leads to some pretty funny misinterpretations, but he can play that off easy.

Its when it starts getting to the point of not being able to keep up that he actually gets worries enough to want to do something about it.

[bottoms-movie]

SAMBUCKY FIC RECS

so a lot of people seemed interested this so here it is! if ya’ll like this, i can make more parts! this is split into three categories: based on tfatws, canon divergence, and au. all fics are on ao3. all of the fics are complete. some fics do include smut, but i included the ratings, so make sure to check for that based on preferences!

also, feel free to send me asks on your thoughts on any fics or if you’re interested in another sambucky fic rec post!

BASED ON TFATWS

Fill the Hole in my Heart | Not Rated | 4,848 words

Bucky dives into the world of online dating. The girls are nice, but there seems to be something missing. When he goes to Louisiana to meet Sam and his family, he realizes what that something was.

Skip, Reverse | Explicit | 7,945 words

Sam stood in the middle of their local Target with a throw pillow in each hand. The one in his left hand was butter-soft and matched the drapes in the living room, but Bucky had walked by five seconds ago and declared the one on the right “absolutely fucking hideous,” and so now Sam kind of wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything.

Sometimes romance is just bickering with your superhero partner/roommate at several different Target locations.

just won’t do right | General | 7,524 words

Sam's eyebrows go up, impressed, and he reaches over to squeeze Torres' shoulder, "This is amazing, kid. Thanks, really."

Bucky sits and watches in utter horror as the pink darkens on Torres' cheeks.

Oh, he realizes. Oh. Fuck.

body language will do the trick | Explicit | 12,598 words

“There’s no way you’re going to win this,” Bucky tells Sam. “I am going to love language the shit out of you.”

Sam gives him a considering look. “You do seem like you’d be really good at that.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush with heat. “Thanks, pal, I—”

Sam smirks, and Bucky’s eyes narrow. He shoves his elbow into Sam’s side and stalks off, leaving Sam cackling behind him.

“Your ass looks great today!” Sam yells.

Bucky reaches up to flip Sam the bird, and he definitely does not feel grateful that he wore his good jeans today. Bucky’s ass looks great every day.

checklist | General | 4,716 words

Bucky Barnes keeps a mental checklist of things he knows to be true at any given moment. Sometimes the checklist changes, because he's learned something else about himself. It changes, for example, when he starts realizing that maybe he would like to kiss Sam Wilson. Maybe.

best laid plans | 3 parts | 26,808 words

part 1: baby you’re the wave and I’m ready for the crash | Explicit | 6,616 words

Nah, my plan’s better,” Sam declares, before clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, what plan? Was that a plan? It didn’t sound like a plan to me, it sounded like a vague intention,” says Bucky, still scowling, and Sam grins.

“We’re winging it, the plan is a work in progress! Now c’mon, we gotta make some wardrobe adjustments if we’re gonna get into that club.”

Sam and Bucky have some unorthodox methods of going undercover in a club.

He Doesn’t Deserve You! | Teen | 5,154 words

Sam and Bucky have an argument that results in Bucky being left at the bar. A group of drunk strangers assumes Bucky just got dumped and quickly adopt him for the night to make him feel better.

Reconstitution | Not Rated | 10,228 words

“I didn’t back Steve on the Sokovia Accords,” Sam says unprompted one day. They’re so close to apprehending the Flagsmashers and wrapping up this ridiculous saga.

“I don’t follow,” Bucky says.

“I was the one who refused to sign it first. Not Steve.”

Sam says it so softly that Bucky has to strain to hear him. Sam is loud and chatty and half the time he keeps up a constant stream of chatter just to get on Bucky’s nerves, but Bucky’s coming to realize that when he really wants to make himself heard, he’s soft spoken and mild. Bucky doesn’t entirely follow his train of thought, though.

Or: a breaking down, remaking, and coming back stronger than ever before

Stuck On You (You Suez, You Luez) | Explicit | 10,136 words

Sam and Bucky’s mission was simple: stowaway on a ship suspected of weapons-smuggling in the Suez, gather enough intel to report back, and hop off again in Port Said. Something gets in the way, and a day-long recon session turns into a week of chess, bickering, semi-successful movie references, and trying not to go slowly insane.

His Touch | Mature | 1,006 words

When Baron Zemo touched Bucky’s face, Sam Wilson saw red.

Bucky just wants Sam to comfort him.

rusted | Teen | 2,358 words

Bucky doesn’t grace him with a sound of acknowledgement. He’s been quiet, ever since that night with Zemo. Well. Quieter. It’s almost like. Every time he opens his mouth, he’s half-expecting the Winter Soldier to come out.

He hasn’t, yet. Won’t, ever again. Not unbidden. Sam’s sure of that. Bucky, not so much.

‘You busy?’

‘’m scouring the—’

‘Good,’ Sam cuts the idiot off, ‘I need you to help me shave.’

advanced therapy methods for large adult men | 2 parts | 11,717 words

part 1: The Gottman Method for Dealing with Conflict | Mature | 4,187 words

Bucky and Dr. Raynor have a follow-up session and two entirely different conversations about his relationship status.

Or: Let's do more couples therapy, James.

it’s always Bucky’s Fault | 3 parts | 20,089 words

part 1: Did you see it? | Explicit | 3,905 words

In which there's supposedly a viral video of the Winter Soldier on his knees sucking off Captain America.

Everything is, like always, completely Bucky's fault.

CANON DIVERGENCE

Even in the Present (I Am Living in the Past) | Teen | 16,977 words

Sometimes Sam still questions everything about his ability to shoulder the 80-year legacy he now bears. His history, and the history of his loss, sticks with him and even in healing he doubts whether or not he is able to fulfil his purpose, and whether he may find lasting peace and happiness.

Told in fluid-fragments, the story moves between his therapy sessions after his return from active duty and the post-Endgame present.

You never forget your first | Teen | 3,650 words

The story of Bucky and Sam getting together in a series of firsts.

leftovers | Mature | 19,249 words

With the New Avengers up and running, Sam finally has time to start dating again. Unfortunately, it's not going as well as he'd hoped.

Partners | Explicit | 7,235 words

Sam's not sure if he can be Captain America. He's not a supersoldier. He can't throw the shield. He's just a dude.

And Bucky Barnes is just a nuisance, albeit a pretty good-looking one.

I’ll explain everything to the geese | Explicit | 50,949 words

Bucky is so competent that it hurts my feelings is not a rational complaint to have about a person, and yet, after a year of being Captain America and partnering up with Bucky for the new and improved, post-Blip Avengers, that’s kinda how Sam’s feeling.

It’s not great. It maybe leads to Sam making some rash, ill-advised decisions like claiming he has a previously undisclosed superpower, and then getting caught in a web of lies when he ends up actually developing that surprisingly inconvenient superpower. Talking to birds had seemed like a harmless superpower, but it turns out that birds have a lot of opinions, and they don’t hesitate to tell Sam about them, especially when it comes to his supposedly subpar courting skills. Which is ridiculous, because Sam isn’t courting Bucky. Right?

Night Swimming | Teen | 2,056 words

“Come on. The princess has a new arm for you and I gotta see if there’s a barber around here willing to tackle your…” Sam waved a hand at Bucky’s face.

“I don’t want a new arm,” Bucky immediately bit out.

And then -

“I can cut my own damn hair.”

Sam just raised both eyebrows. Crossed his arms over his chest again.

Dared Bucky to prove him wrong.

AU

Cpvert Coffee & Flirtation Specialist | General | 5,542 words

The reporter says "—for Captain America to—"

And Bucky rolls his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

Sam looks at him then tips his head sideways, got a weird grin on his face. "Not a fan?"

"Not that. Just… the guy seems too good to be true, right? Wings and a shield?? Come on."

"Uh, is that why your eyes are like glued to the screen whenever he's on?" Kate says. "Is that why you call him Captain Tight Ass?"

"He's a goddamn show-off, and you know it. Tight ass or not."

Just then Sam snorts, real loud, grabs his coffee and suffers a horribly controlled laugh on his way out the door.

Stolen Moments | Teen | 98,767 words

“No,” Sam said, chuckling. “I don’t cheat,” he swept his gaze up and down James’ body, “even with guys who look like you. But, I’m bored and a little pissed, so if you wanna sit here and shoot the shit ‘til my man shows back up, I’m game.”

Never one to back to back down from a challenge - especially a challenge who looked like Sam Wilson - Bucky took another swig from his bottle and replied, “Sure, doll. I’ve got nothing but time.”

Steve has Sam. Bucky wants Sam. Sam wasn’t expecting any of this.

Such a Whirlwind Since I Saw You | Teen | 10,871 words

The Men of Letters turned Bucky Barnes into a weapon. Hunters Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov are determined to save him, but they're going to need Sam Wilson's help.

“So you want me to ditch work, drive across America with you until you find your friend, who you thought was dead - all while avoiding some high-tech hunters who are out for blood?” Sam is asking.

Steve shrugs a shoulder, looking a little sheepish. Natasha almost laughs at the dry tone of Sam’s voice, but he's not wrong.

You Got What I Need? | Explicit | 37,588 words

Sam and Bucky are both in a bind, professionally. Nat points out a solution that neither men like. To save their careers they play along or rather, stop playing all together.

[carelessannie]

the five times steve gives bad dating advice, and the one time it actually works

Or, the Starker Shifter and College AU no one asked for

Link to AO3 Main pairings: Tony x Peter, (background) Steve x Bucky Word count: 5.6k Major Warnings: smut (not shifted), everyone’s a complete idiot, discussion of canine and feline mating behavior, excessive cursing Aaaaannnnnddddd I’ll tag @the-mad-starker because I said I would and I really hope you enjoy it bb

---

The door slams, startling Steve out of his afternoon nap. Peter must be home. He’s pretty sure Sam said he was gonna be out until the evening, and the stomping, slamming of cabinets, and various clanging dishware are usual signs of Peter’s afternoon fury.

Steve shakes out his coat, rolling his eyes as he stretches in the sun— his roommate is a damn idiot.

He doesn’t even bother shifting as Peter storms in the room, throwing his backpack to the ground and perching on the nearby armchair. He’s learned by now that when Peter wants to talk, Steve doesn’t need to speak. In fact, his friend probably prefers it that way.

So instead, he lets Peter brew, slamming his fingers onto the keys on his laptop, and viciously eating apple slices and… nutella. Oh. One of those days.

They only bring the nutella out on bad days.

Steve throws him a bone— metaphorically— and opens an eye, making an inquisitive noise deep in his throat.

Peter looks up, his delicate features squished together in an angry pout.

“First of all, your boyfriend’s an idiot.”

Offended, Steve bares his teeth and squints his eyes, sending Peter a menacing snarl that the smaller man waves off. His boyfriend is an idiot, but Peter has no business noticing that.

“I’m right and you know it,” Peter sniffs, turning his nose and inspecting his nails, “and his roommate is the absolute worst. And I’m not talking about Clint.”

There it is. Steve chuffs, feigning indifference. If he waits long enough, Peter will tell him more. So he lounges back, keeping one eye open, and letting the sun warm his fur. As he watches, he sees the moment Peter gives up his act. He jumps off the chair, making his way into Steve’s sunbeam, and slowly curls up next to the larger wolf.

“I’ve never met another cat so absolutely infuriating, Steve,” Peter whispers, petting through Steve’s golden fur, distractedly, “I can’t stand it. Always purring at me and calling me fucking kitten— no sir! I’m not a kitten, and it doesn’t matter how… how…”

He trails off, gripping tight onto Steve’s coat. When Steve turns to look, he realizes Peter’s tiny fangs have lengthened, poking through his rosy lips, as he runs his tongue over them absentmindedly. If he looks close enough, he can even see where Peter’s small, shifted ears are pushing through his curls.

Peter mumbles something that even Steve’s enhanced hearing can’t pick up. He nuzzles under Peter’s arm, urging him to repeat it.

“It doesn’t matter...” Peter murmurs, “... how beautiful he is, right?”

Steve’s ears perk up.

“Don’t act so surprised. Bucky told me you guys talk about it all the time. I just… I didn’t see it, okay? Not until today. Not until Tony fucking brought me coffee. I had no idea he was so sweet, Steve. I guess I always thought he was a dumb male cat shifter, like the stereotypes paint us out to be. But… he’s not. He’s so kind and funny and sexy, and oh my god, I bet his shifted cat is absolutely gorgeous.”

Steve rolls over to let Peter pet his tummy as he continues, “So naturally, I cornered Bucky to get him to spill. To tell me more about Tony, and how to date him, and… and… how you guys got together. But he said to come talk to you—” Peter crawls closer and tries to look him in the eye, “pleeeeeease, Steve? Help me?”

With a sigh, Steve sits up, shaking out his fur and letting his wolf recede, until he’s stretching out long arms and wiggling his fingers. His gym shorts are nearby, so he slips back into them, doing a customary once over to check for a full shift. Then he settles against the couch, opening his arms in an invitation for Peter to curl up on him.

Peter scoots closer, marginally, and Steve chuckles, “Want some dating advice, Pete?”

“Mhm, yes please,” Peter hums, closing the distance and leaning into Steve’s leg.

“Okay, I’ll tell you some things that worked for me, when I was courting Bucky.”

One.

Later that evening, Tony and Steve are set up in the dining room, comparing notes for their Econ class, and steadily working through their midterm project. Bucky and Peter should be back in a moment with pizza, and hopefully the four of them, plus Sam, will spend the night watching movies. It’s Friday, after all.

Steve hears the front door open and close, quiet conversation drifting down the hallway, but is surprised when just Bucky walks into the kitchen, setting down pizza and making his way over to where the two of them are seated.

Bucky leans down, planting a sweet kiss on his lips, before claiming a seat.

He opens his mouth to ask, but Tony beats him to it, not even looking up, “Where’d Pete get off to? You didn’t lose him, did you?”

Bucky just huffs, “No, you moron. He had to grab something from his room.”

Tony just shrugs, turning back to his notes. Steve spares Bucky a glance, curious about what Peter could be up to, and Bucky gives him a wink. Great.

It’s quiet as the three of them shift pages, typing gently on their laptops, and only exchanging conversation when there’s an issue with the material. Steve gets up once to grab a glass of water, and tries to look down the hallway— no sign of his roommate whatsoever.

With the smell of pizza filling the apartment, they decide not to wait any longer to eat. Steve hollers down the hall for Peter to come get some dinner, but still, his roommate is nowhere to be seen.

As he sits back down at the table, Steve can hear light footsteps coming towards them. He turns his attention back to their homework, and watches as Tony and Bucky pass out glasses, uncorking a bottle of wine.

“How fuckin’ fancy are we?” Steve wonders, giving Bucky a smirk as Tony starts to pour.

“Okay, there’s nothing wrong with a nice bottle of—” “YEEEEOOOOOWWWWWLLLL—”

Tony drops the bottle, flipping backwards out of his seat at the ungodly screech. Steve hops over into Bucky’s lap, picking his feet off the floor as his boyfriend flounders around, cursing and gasping for air.

“Holy shit, what the hell—”

“ReeeRRROOOOWWWWLLL—”

The noise continues, splitting through the air, and Steve watches Tony shift down, fangs lengthening, ears and whiskers emerging, as he drops to four legs. From where they sit on the dining room chair, neither of them can see what happens as the noise suddenly stops, a long, hissing growl taking its place.

Steve peeks under the table, and sees both cat shifters arched up, fur fluffed out in a clear challenge, teeth bared and hissing. Dammit. Peter’s cat— a yellow tabby— is slowly backing up as Tony’s cat— dark and tortoiseshell— follows him, spitting and growling, until Peter finally turns his back, relaxing his coat, and slowly retreats.

“Holy shit,” Bucky breaths, starting to laugh, “what the fuck was that.”

Steve just shakes his head in disbelief, watching Peter sprint down the hall to his room as Tony licks his paws, tail still fluffed in irritation, and eyes pinning them with a deadly glare.

The table is a mess— wine spilled across their notes, Tony’s laptop, and pizza overturned, smeared across the soaked pages. Once Tony starts shifting back, Steve slides off of Bucky’s lap and takes stock of the damage. What the fuck indeed.

He looks over at Bucky, “Can you… take care of this,” he gestures to the table, “I’m gonna go talk to Peter.”

Bucky nods, still shocked, and Steve turns to follow Peter back to his room. He stops outside, knocking gently— careful not to intrude into the shifter’s territory.

“Peter, it’s me. Can I come in?”

There’s a rumble, and then the lock clicks, letting the door swing open. Peter struts back towards his window seat, fully shifted back and wearing just a pair of black briefs, and curls up by the window.

“Uh, Pete? What happened?”

Peter sniffles, looking out the window, “You told me that you and Bucky like to show affection by making noises at each other in your wolf form. So why didn’t it work?”

“Oh my god.”

“He attacked me, Steve!” Peter whines, burying his face in his hands.

It takes everything in Steve’s power not to laugh. Poor kitten. He slowly approaches, sitting nearby and in Peter’s view, extending a hand for Peter to take if he wants.

“So… maybe that wasn’t the best advice. I swear, it’s one of the easiest ways we bond, as wolves. But not that screeching noise, Peter— more of a growl, or other small noises.”

Peter pouts, looking into his hands.

“Here,” Steve stands up, holding out his hand, “let’s go get some pizza and help clean up. You can apologize, come up with some dumb excuse, and we can find some other way to hit on Tony, okay?”

“Fine.” Peter joins him, pulling on a sweatshirt and some shorts, “Let’s hope I didn’t spill all the damn wine. We’re gonna need it.”

Two.

A few days later, all of their friends are lounging across Steve’s furniture, taking a lazy afternoon after midterms to drink some Coor’s and watch Japanese game shows. Steve’s not even sure who’s interested in this, but doesn’t really care, as he lets himself drift off to the sound of Bucky’s deep breathing, his mate settled close on his chest.

It’s rare that everyone is in the same place, especially without homework or projects taking up their time, and Steve feels a deep sense of peace as his pack is settled, warm and safe, around him.

“Stop it, Stevie, you’re givin’ me thoughts,” Bucky mumbles, pinching him in the side.

Steve just hums, smiling down at his mate, and looks over to where Peter’s laying across the floor, partially shifted, and tail flicking slightly. On the other side of the room, Tony watches with his arms crosses, eyes following the striped tail.

“Let's go for a walk.” Steve announces, lifting Bucky off and getting a grumpy noise in protest. He makes a show of stretching, and gives Peter a wink. His eyes go wide in understanding.

“Fine,” Peter pushes off the carpet, shaking himself to shift back fully, “but only if I can get ice cream.”

Bucky ends up agreeing, and muscles Tony into joining them as well. Sam and Natasha decide to stay, enjoying the silence, but demand delivery from their friends. Clint stands up as they’re leaving, and follows them out the door.

It’s a quick walk down to get ice cream, just a block away, and Steve tries to make a show of brushing up against Bucky, reminding Peter of their last conversation.

Peter saddles up next to Tony, walking side-by-side only a few steps in front of them. He glances up, batting his eyelashes, and bumps his hips into Tony’s.

Tony whips around, on instinct, and pushes Peter in the chest, sending him careening off the sidewalk and landing in a heap, right in the middle of the road. All of them freeze, looking between Tony and Peter in disbelief, as the younger boy’s eyes brim with tears.

“Oh my… Peter, oh my god,” Tony shakes himself, and sprints into the road, thankfully clear of traffic, and pulls Peter to his feet, leading him back to the sidewalk. “I don’t… I don’t even know what happened, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” Peter pulls away, giving Steve a dirty look, “can we just go get ice cream, please?”

Tony nods, sticking close to Peter as they walk away, and Steve can hear him promise, “I’ll buy yours, really, I’m so sorry.”

When they’re out of earshot, Clint ambling along after them with a shrug, Bucky turns to him and smirks, “What was that, Stevie?”

“I… I told him about the rubbing thing we do. You know… when we walk together?”

Bucky laughs all the way to the ice cream parlor.

Three.

It’s a week or so later when they have Tony and Bucky over for another movie night. Peter was mortified, and furious, about his latest attempt, but Steve can tell he’s determined to make a move tonight.

And Steve thinks this one will work, too. He’s not sure, at this point, if he should still be giving Peter advice, but he’s seen cat shifter mates do this, so he’s pretty sure it’s gonna work.

Bucky just smacks him in the head, annoyed that Steve wants to meddle.

The four of them are watching the Hobbit trilogy, per Tony’s request, and have piled blankets and pillows on the floor to lounge on. Steve takes the leads and shifts down, kicking off his clothes, shaking out his fur, and stretching out in his wolf form on the floor. He feels Bucky join him, the familiar warmth of his mate comforting against his side. They both look expectantly at their friends, hoping they take the hint.

Peter squints at them, irritated, but shifts down anyway, pushing out of his clothes and settling against Steve’s side, purring when the giant wolf starts to groom him, licking long strokes down his back.

Steve can see the adoration on Tony’s face. He’s completely captivated by the sweet kitten, and he shifts, stretching out and pacing closer to the three of them. Steve can’t help but wag his tail, bumping up against Bucky and wiggling closer to get a lick on Tony’s face.

Tony yelps, bouncing away, and pretends to clean himself. Peter just watches on, intently, as Tony takes his time to walk back over, carefully avoiding the wolves. His eyes are wide and unblinking. Tony curls up nearby, and Peter takes his chance, slinking closer, and reaching out to lick Tony’s cheek.

Tony shifts, moving out of Peter’s reach. Peter crawls closer and tries again, but Tony pulls away. One more try, and Tony stands, jumping up onto the couch and out of reach.

Peter just mewls, soft and sad, before tucking himself back underneath Steve’s front leg. Bucky growls, low in his chest, and Steve can tell it’s aimed at Tony. Dumb cat.

They stay shifted for the better part of an hour, grooming and cuddling together, until Tony finally comes back down from his perch. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see him approach, slowly, and try to get near Peter. Bucky growls again, not even opening his eyes, and the tortoiseshell cat scrambles away.

So much for that.

Four.

Spring break— fucking finally.

Classes have been hard this semester, and all of them are feeling it. Steve’s thankful that Tony’s parents have a place in the woods for them to escape to, because he’s itching to shift, let loose, and run away with his mate. Hopefully for the whole week.

Somehow, Steve got stuck driving their car, packing Bucky in the passenger seat, Sam and Peter in the middle two, and Clint, Nat and Tony in the backseat. He’s not sure how they make it there alive, with Bucky’s Cool Vibes playlist, Sam and Tony’s backseat commentary, and the thick mix of pheromones swirling through the air.

“What is that, Buck?” he murmurs in a low tone, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand over the center console.

“Hm?” Bucky looks over, blinking lazily.

“The… tension. The smell. What is it?”

“Oh, uh—” Bucky takes a moment, scenting the air and grimacing, “— yeah, that’s rut.”

Steve almost slams on the breaks.

“Rut? Like cat rut?”

Bucky just nods, making a point to roll down his window, “Yeah, Stevie. It’s springtime. We’ve got two, male cat shifters in the car. The rest of us ain’t gonna feel nothin’, but they’re definitely feelin’ it.”

He turns around and glances behind him, smiling at the sight of both cat shifters arguing and flirting behind them. Sam looks horrified.

Steve just rolls his eyes, “I’m tired of their bullshit. Hope they spend some time together this week, ya know?”

“Hope they spend more than time,” Bucky laughs, giving Steve’s hand a squeeze in return.

In the rearview, Steve can see Tony, fully turned around in his seat, gesturing wildly as Peter shakes his head, the two of them clearly caught in a deep discussion. When he looks closer, he sees the way Peter flutters his lashes, how Tony rubs up against the seat and the wall of the van.

Idiots.

Steve focuses back on the road, sighing and trying to enjoy how warm Bucky is next to him, how settled he is with his mate nearby.

Less than an hour later, and with every window rolled down, Steve parks the van outside of the cabin. If anyone would call it that. Three stories tall, the cabin looms over the driveway. Dark, aged wood is contrasted with sleek and modern architecture, blending back into the treeline and standing out of it at the same time. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.

As they carry their bags into the cabin, Steve catches sight of the lake in the backyard. Apparently Bucky and Clint see it as well, because all three of them are dropping their stuff, stripping out of their clothes, and racing to the water.

Steve shifts mid-stride, barking in joy as his pack follows him into the lake. Around the cabin, down the hill, off the dock— he’s first. First! And Bucky follows after him, their splashes large and in sync.

Clint ambles, albeit slower in his shifted golden retriever, and flops gracelessly in after them. The water is heavenly, and the three of them swim and play, bounding through the water and jumping off the pier.

That is, until their friends join them.

It seems as though Tony let the others into the house, put away their bags, packed a cooler, and found a few beach chairs and towels. The four of them set up a row of chairs and open an umbrella above them, settling down in skimpy swimwear to enjoy the afternoon sun.

Clint barks up at them, no doubt encouraging Nat and Sam to shift down and join them in the water.

“You guys are idiots,” Sam yells back, popping the tab on his drink, “the beer’s up here!”

Steve treads water, huffing a bit in amusement as he watches his pack— which is how he catches Tony moving closer to Peter. Tony passes him a beer, which Peter takes with a smirk and quick comment that makes Tony laugh.

Gag.

And he almost misses it— he goes to turn away, and sees Tony dart across, pressing a swift kiss to Peter’s blushing cheek. Peter gasps, meeting Tony’s eyes in shock, before grabbing his shoulders, leaning closer, and—

“Ow!”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, Tony—”

“You bit me!”

Steve swims over to the ladder, shifting down as he goes, and grabs a towel as he climbs up to investigate. Both men are standing now, blushing and holding their faces— Peter in shame, and Tony in mock horror. So dramatic.

“— how could you think that was what I wanted?”

“I didn’t! I just… I asked Steve, and he said—”

“Woah woah woah,” Steve cuts in, hands up in surrender, “I never said to bite him.”

Peter covers his face again with a groan, flopping down in his seat and throwing a towel over his face.

Tony looks down at him, bewildered, and back up at Steve, shrugging. “What did I do?” he mouths, lips turning down into a sad, sad pout.

Steve doesn’t even know what to say.

“Let’s go start the grill,” Sam suggests— thank god for Sam, and grabs Steve and Tony’s shoulders to lead them away.

A few minutes later, working over the grill together, Tony peers up at Steve, giving him a pointed look. Steve just sighs, again.

“Canines do this thing— instead of kisses on the cheek, when we’re shifted, we like to nibble on each other’s faces. It’s the same thing,” he pauses, taking in the disbelief written across Tony’s expression, “... for canines.”

“So he was… trying to kiss me back?”

Sam huffs, clapping Tony on the shoulder, “More than that, Tones.”

Tony sits down, hard, in light of this revelation.

Five.

Bucky corners him, later in the evening, and it’s not for a sexy reason.

“You’ve gotta stop meddling in their shit, Stevie,” he hisses, pinning Steve to the wall.

Steve looks down to where their bodies are pressed together and groans, “Buck, this is a serious conversation, but you gotta let me up, pal.” Bucky’s eyes go wide and he grimaces, letting Steve up.

The two of them take a deep breath before Steve continues, “I’ve got a plan.”

“No.”

“It’s a good one.”

“Absolutely not.”

“We should force them to sleep together.”

“...”

“I mean. Not like… Buck, not like that. I mean, like, den together, like how we did when we were bonding for the first time.”

Bucky crosses his arms, giving Steve a less than impressed look.

“So you think that would work? How would you even pull that off?”

“I told you, I have a plan.”

---

Steve and Bucky corner Tony, later, and tell him their plan. Steve explains how he’s spent almost a month trying to help Peter court Tony, and Tony, for the most part, looks absolutely baffled.

“Yeah, I didn’t get that.”

Bucky covers his laugh with a hand, turning away so Steve can’t see him. Idiot.

They try to convince Tony to go along with their plan— sneaking into Peter’s room, fully shifted, and curling up next to him.

“It’s not gonna work, Steve. Felines are territorial—”

“— so are canines—”

“— and he’s not gonna want me in his space uninvited!”

“— but it’s not his space! It’s yours, it’s literally your territory,” Steve insists, “and it’ll show him that you want more, Tony.”

Tony just sighs, looking off into the fireplace, roaring with life. Warm and inviting. Steve aches to get out of here, but he’s committed to getting his friends together first.

“Fine,” Tony concedes, rising to his feet and starting to shift. He points at Steve as he shrinks down, “but I’m blaming you when thisss goesss to shhit.”

Fully shifted, Tony stalks across the living room, disappearing up the stairs to the guest bedrooms. Steve pulls Bucky close, both of them nuzzling close and enjoying their shared scent, shared warmth. They hear a door shut. Silence. Bucky turns to dot a light kiss on Steve’s jaw, and Steve returns it with a teasing growl.

“When this is over,” he rumbles, “we’re shifting for days, baby.”

Bucky sighs and wiggles closer, “Can’t wait, Stevie. Been itchin’ for it. Needin’—”

BANG, CRASH!

MrrrOWWWWWWWW

“Not again,” Bucky groans, hiding his face in Steve’s chest.

Tony, still fully shifted, tears through the living room, tail fluffed out and fur raised along his back. He darts under their couch, breathing hard and hiding, as Peter stomps down the stairs. He’s half shifted— fangs and ears and paws and tail all displaying aggression and annoyance.

“I really like you Tony,” he hisses, crossing his arms and standing so that Tony can see him from under the couch, “but that was a real dick move. Sometimes I feel like you hate me, and want me to hate you. Don’t try to talk to me, Tony. I don’t wanna see you until the morning.”

Peter stalks away, leaving Tony under the couch. Bucky tugs on Steve’s sleeve, “We really shouldn’t be here when Tony shifts back.”

Steve spares a glance under the couch, watching Tony clean his paws and glare back at them, and nods. The two of them beat a quick retreat, heading for the kitchen to pack some snacks for their time in the forest. Tony said the deer in this area are free to hunt, but sometimes they like fruits and pastries for breakfast. It’s a whole thing.

Before they run off into the woods, Steve stops, looking back to where Tony, still shifted, is sulking under the furniture.

“You should do it.”

Both Tony and Bucky look at him in shock, the latter already protesting.

“No, no— you don’t have to take my advice, Tony. I know I’ve screwed a bunch up already. I’m just saying, you should talk to him tonight, show him that you care. Follow your instincts— because they’re obviously different than ours. We know…” he glances over at Bucky, who nods, “we know you love him, Tony. Go fight for him.”

Tony just turns around, showing his back.

Bucky grabs Steve’s hand, “Let’s go, Stevie.”

One.

Tony watches them retreat out the backdoor, letting it close with a soft click! He slinks out from under the couch and sits by the fire, thinking about what Steve said.

Follow your instincts.

He thinks about the kiss earlier. How pretty Peter’s blush had been, how much he wanted to rub up against Peter’s cheek and mark him, claim him. He wishes they got to run together, fight and wrestle away their pent up energy. He knows both of them are rutting, he just thought… he really thought…

It doesn’t matter now. He closes his eyes, lets his ears twitch in thought, as he focuses on his instincts. He lets the rage and the desire and the animal need wash over him, and all he can think, all he can feel, is chase.

Chase. Catch.

Chase. Catch.

He doesn’t even register getting up, prowling up the stairs, moving down the hallway.

Chase. Catch.

Chase. Catch.

The door to Peter’s room is open.

Chase. Catch.

He creeps inside, taking a peek over to the bed.

Mate.

Peter turns his head, making eye contact.

Run.

Tony leaps into the air, sprinting out the door— Peter hot on his tail. He flies down the stairs and slides around the corner, slamming into the trash can. Dammit. Why is that always there? As he growls at the metal can, Peter catches up to him, tackling him to the ground with a loud shriek.

They wrestle, growling and biting, until Peter breaks free with a hiss, bouncing on the pads of his feet to assert dominance. Oh no. Not in Tony’s house. Tony spits, rising up on his toes, until Peter freezes— both of them growling, low and angry.

Peter takes off. Spinning on his feet, the yellow tabby slams, hard, into the wall— fuck, he’s so strong— and bounces off lightning fast, out the door and into the front yard. Tony runs after him, dodging bushes and trees to follow Peter’s agile trail, secretly admiring his speed and the cleverness of his path. Beautiful.

He follows Peter all the way up a tree, forcing him out on a limb. Tony arches his back, sending a signal of dominance across to Peter, but Peter refuses to back down. He meets Tony’s gaze, raises his haunches, and spits back. Holy shit.

Tony leaps, tackling Peter off the branch, and sends both of them tumbling into the grass. In a flurry of nails and teeth and yowling, they fight for dominance, pinning and repinning until they come to a stop, teeth mutually clenched in the other’s scruff, and completely tangled together.

They’re breathing hard. Tony can feel it on his neck, and realizes both of their penises have unsheathed, rubbing together and catching on the barbs. It’s a crazy sensation— ramping up both of their rut pheromones.

As they lay there together— intertwined in the dark of the spring night— Tony feels himself start to shift back. He closes his eyes, gripping tight to Peter’s neck, his bare skin, as he flexes his fingers. He feels Peter shifting in his arms, and they hold on tight, neither willing to give up their prize.

“Mine,” Tony growls, unlatching his jaw as he feels Peter do the same.

His friend, his new mate, smiles— his gorgeous, bruised lips pulling back to reveal delicate and deadly fangs, “Mine,” he agrees, leaning forward hesitantly.

Tony closes the gap, rubbing their cheeks together and earning a satisfied purr from deep in Peter’s chest. He rolls them until he’s on top, and takes a few moments to kiss and lick around Peter’s chest, his tummy, his neck.

He grins mischievously before biting down on a pale pink nipple, earning him a gutted moan in response. Peter’s definitely hard against Tony’s thigh, but he’s been waiting way too long for this to rush it. Damn if he isn’t gonna take his time tonight.

“Mine,” he growls again, fiercer, and drags his nails up Peter’s hips, down his back. He drowns in the small gasps and moans he’s able to coax from his mate, marveling in the way his pale skin glows in the moonlight.

Peter paws at his back, spreads his legs wide, and grinds up against Tony’s erection, desperate for his touch. Every Mine is echoed between them, sung like a mating call for all to hear in the thick, springtime haze. They dance together, flipping time and time again for dominance— although, this time gentle. Caring and full of playful adoration.

When Tony finally takes them in hand, Peter throws his head back, yowling into the open air— “Tony! Tony, fuck fuck, touch me, goddammit, please touch me,” and Tony bends to his wishes, stroking their cocks together, long and firm.

He loves how Peter feels next to him, a tiny bit smaller, but the perfect size to compliment Tony’s own length. Tony spits down into his hand, slicking the way, and thrusts forward, urging Peter to follow his lead as they fuck into his grip.

“C’mon Pete, c’mon love— fuck me, baby, please.”

“Yeah, oh Tony, please. Need more, Tony,” Peter begs turning his wickedly innocent doe eyes on Tony in desperation.

Tony grips tighter, thrusts harder, and returns Peter’s molten gaze. What can he… oh.

He throws himself forward, bracing with one hand above Peter’s head, and seals their lips together. Peter gasps, stuttering his hips, and Tony can feel the warmth spilling over his palm, coating both of their cocks. He strokes Peter through it, kissing him deeply, thoroughly, until his mate starts to whine in discomfort.

Tony pulls away, feeling his orgasm pooling deep in his belly, and crawls up closer on Peter’s chest. His eyes are half-lidded, lips swollen and hair matted and messy— and Tony’s never seen anything more gorgeous.

“Please,” he pants, speeding up the stroke on his cock, “Pete, please let me, let me come on you, please. Mine. Mine, Peter. Let me mark you, please.”

“Yes, yes—“ Peter moans, reaching up to cup Tony’s balls, “mine, give it to me, Tony— it’s mine.”

At his words, Tony lets out a breath, crumpling forward as his release drains him, throwing him over the edge and right into Peter’s waiting arms. He watches as hot stripes of cum paint Peter’s chest, drip down his chin, and even land in his mouth. It’s too much to see his mate, covered in him, licking it off his fingers— so he falls to the ground, exhausted and spent.

A moment later he’s grabbing for Peter, humming in pleasure as his mate saddles close, burying his face in Tony’s neck.

And then Peter giggles. A soft, barely there laugh that tickles the side of Tony’s throat.

“What?” Tony rasps, looking down at Peter in amusement.

Peter keeps laughing, sitting up fully to bury his face in his hands and get out full, gasping belly laughs. He holds onto Tony as he wipes away tears, and Tony just chuckles, happy to see his mate so joyful.

When Peter settles down, he sighs, giving Tony a lopsided smile, “I can’t believe what just happened,” Tony shakes his head, returning the smile, as Peter continues, “I’ve been taking dating advice from a fucking wolf for a month— when all we had to do was,” he gestures wildly, “whatever this was,”

Tony laughs, he gets it now, “Well, it was kinda inconvenient that every suggestion they had was actually a severe act of aggression between male felines.”

“Oh my god,” Peter giggles again, “what the hell were you even trying to do tonight? When I found you in my bed?”

Tony blushes, looking away, and mumbles, “Steve and Bucky thought if we slept next to each other—“

“— but that’s a breach of territory for unmated felines!”

“— that’s what I said! Somehow they convinced me otherwise, and… well…”

Tony trails off, letting his words fade to a comfortable silence. Peter snuggles closer, letting Tony wrap and arm around him. It’s chilly outside, but until they go and lay by the fire, both of them are content to find warmth in each other.

“I’m glad you came to find me,” Peter whispers, dotting a kiss onto Tony’s collarbone.

“I’m glad I did, too,” Tony nuzzles into his curls, inhaling the new scent of mate and home that he’s come to associate with Peter, “and you know what? In the end, that idiot’s dating advice ended up bringing me to you.”

“We don’t have to tell him that do we?”

Tony shakes his head, “No. No we don’t.”

Bonus:

Clint and Sam and Nat stare at each other in horror, refusing to acknowledge what they just heard going on inside and outside of the house.

“Do you think the coast is clear?”

“Can’t be certain. It’s way too quiet out there.”

“They’re both in rut, it could be days.”

“Maybe we should go find Steve and Bucky, they’d know what to do.”

“If I know them at all, and I think I do, those two are gonna be knotted up for the next few days. I don’t wanna witness that.”

The three of them are silent, listening for any movement or sign that their newly mated friends are alive.

“I vote we shift down and doggy pile.”

“Yes, okay.”

“Fine.”

“And in the morning, we can talk about feline mating patterns.”

“... and boundaries.”

[poormeowmeowcollector]

When Gods Ache

Relationship: Loki/Bucky

Warnings: earthquakes, smoking, mental health, nightmares

Summary: Bucky learns that when Loki is in pain, shit happens

Notes: I wrote it within one hour, be patient

Read On AO3

The first weeks together were some of the best days Bucky had since before the war. Loki was like they had just found the fountain of happiness, and just this was enough to make Bucky's heart fill with joy.

Even on his bad days, Loki was there, with a compassionate smile and an offering hand, trying to ease the pain, if not make it vanish. Bucky was not allowed to thank Loki for this, he was insisting that he does it because Bucky deserves this. That Bucky's pain is not a burden.

And then, the fountain dried out.

Bucky knew when Loki was spiralling down, he had seen the signs before getting together. But watching from up close is worse.

First, came the smoking, obviously. It took days for Bucky to convince them to quit, and just a bad day for it to start again, much worse than when it stopped. Before he quitted, he was trying to maintain control, never allowing more than five smokes per day. Now, it was not rare for neither of them to cringe at Loki's harsh voice, barely recognisable anymore.

Then, he lost every bit of energy, as it evaporated away. The early waking ups were gone, Bucky had to beg to get them out of the bed, sometimes succeeding and sometimes leaving only to bring a toast and water, just so there's something other than nicotine in their system.

There's almost an irony in this. Because whenever Bucky was feeling a bit down, Loki would do anything to make him feel better without expecting anything in return. And now, he keeps Bucky at arm's length, and expects a favour anytime Bucky tries to help. No matter how many times Bucky was explaining that he does this because he cares, it would fall on deaf ears.

So, no matter how it aches him, Bucky stops trying to cheer Loki up, even the slightest. He compromises on not making things worse and manages to at least minimise the fights on what strings Bucky attaches to his kindness.

Bucky was trying to sleep in his room (I need more space, Loki had told him when asking to sleep on separate beds, two days ago. Bucky knew they were believing that they hurt him by feeling bad) when the room started moving. Bucky has not experienced many earthquakes in New York, but remembers what to do from some missions in Japan.

He commands JARVIS to sound the alarm and gets out of the building, glad to see his teammates follow, even though they're still half asleep.

But Loki is nowhere to be seen and the quake just gets stronger.

Walking, and climbing the stairs, becomes more and more tricky, and it's almost like the closer Bucky is to Loki's room, the stronger the earthquake is.

He opens the door, watching as frames and books fall off around him. He checks on the concrete, glad to see it in one piece. Then, he hears Loki's scream.

Loki's bedroom is a complete mess. There's not a single thing on top of another, the window has broken and the shelves have collapsed, the ceiling ready to follow. And Loki is… sleeping? No, he's having a nightmare. And the more they scream, the stronger the earthquake is.

Wait, isn't there a lore about Loki being in pain and causing earthquakes?

Bucky has no time to wake him up, the ceiling above him is about to fall down. So, he grabs Loki and jumps from the window, clenching them as his metal fingers dig the wall and make the fall easier. At least, Loki's demands to have the lowest room have earned something.

The other avengers are around Bucky's landing place, glaring at both him and Loki. The earthquake stops the same time Loki opens his eyes.

"Darling, what happened? Did Stark set something on fire?" they hum, voice hoarse from the sleep and screaming (and probably the lack of smoke) as they gaze around the chaos.

"Actually, you did this, Reindeer," Tony answers, all matter-of-factly, like he hasn't actually set something on fire.

"Me? I was sleeping! How would I-"

"Do you know about the lore with the cave and the snake?" Steve asks because Loki is done with his yelling.

"What did you say?" Loki's eyes narrow at Steve, and Bucky spots Thor hesitantly walking closer.

"It's in the Eddas," the answer makes Loki scoff darkly.

"The Eddas are fairy tales, serving political agendas, not history books. I did not kill Baldr, and I don't create earthquakes!" they yell, but Bucky can feel the earth quivering below his feet.

"Love, maybe we should sit aside, calm down…" Bucky whispers, hoping it would somehow make things better. He should have known better than that.

"Yes, let's sit down and have a cup of tea while those ignorant assholes blame me for things they cannot comprehend! Truly brilliant!" Loki lifts his hands and slithers away, getting back inside the building while the others watch.

"Great… leave us alone until Loki's calm, this includes you too, Thor," Bucky sighs and follows, ready for either another fight, or a peace making.

"My love, no one is blaming you. But, you were screaming," he whispers, careful as he walks closer. Loki is sitting on the ground, letting their fingers pick each other.

"They are right. I can feel the ground moving, I did this," he sighs, glassy eyes staring back at Bucky.

"Can you control this?" he asks. They laugh.

"Can one control pain? And if yes, how? I'd be a great knowledge," he keeps the smiling lips, even though the grin looks painful and never reaches his eyes. Bucky sits beside them, feeling the small quake.

"Then, since you cannot control it, why be blamed for it?"

"What do you want from me, Bucky?" they ask, for the millionth time. But now, Bucky doesn't raise an eyebrow, sigh or show how heartbreaking this question is.

"What I want, dear, is this breathtaking smile of yours. With your melodic laugh, and this stunning sparkle in your eyes when you're excited about something. I want you to be careless and unafraid to show your emotions, including happiness. And I want you happiness to be genuine, to come from just as deep inside you as this pain comes. And in return, I will do whatever I must, in order to help you get this blissful emotion. Will you let me?" he answers, careful with every sound.

A fraction of this sparkle rises in Loki's eyes, casting away the unshed tears.

"Under one condition, I can do the same thing to you," he bargains.

"Seal the deal with a kiss?" Bucky smirks.

He earns a small laugh before Loki's lips drag his into a slow, soft kiss, their smile barely held back.

~~~~~

Taglist: @lucywrites02 @electroma89 @the-emo-asgardian @rorybutnotgilmore @hybrid-in-progress

[cockasinthebird]

Apparently I never shared this here?? Some more Soulmate AU because fuck if it isn’t cute

-

For a Saturday morning, Steve is awake surprisingly early.

When his alarm rings at 8am, he shoots up and has exactly ten minutes to become clear headed after too little sleep, maybe 4 hours or so; it's so hard to fall asleep when his skin tingles.

Feet stumble over yesterdays outfit, as he rushes into his bathroom to turn on the shower, drowsy movement guided by a groggy head from lack of sleep, but it's worth it all when he catches himself in the mirror.

“What song best represents you?” Steve had written on his bicep, and the response was-

“Rock you like a hurricane ;)” Which... isn't a surprise. “You?”

“Don't you forget about me”

He still feels a slight blush creep up when he sees what Billy's response had been. “I won't.”

“Show me your moles again” Billy had requested, written across his ribs.

And Steve had taken his time with that; circled every single one he could reach from the comforts of his bed. Up and down his arms, his chest, that he shaves for this exact reason, abdomen, shins... thighs... hips... down where he trims his pubic hair, body oddly... excited to reveal certain locations, and his heart races as he re-reads, in impressive cursive-

“Oh ;)” down between his legs.

He catches himself grinning like a fool in the mirror.

Then looks at his left hand, words on his wrist-

“Take my hand”

The circle in the middle of his palm has faded a bit, probably worn off by Billy as he had gone about his day-to-day in Australia, while Steve had slept in America.

And he reaches for the ballpoint pen on the sink – a tactic he was quick to learn, is to always have something to write with in every room of the house, rather than just carry one pen with him everywhere and occasionally lose it – then retraces the circle in his palm, now fresh and clear blue.

It takes less than 10 seconds before he feels pressure in the same form again, as Billy draws on top of the circle in his own palm.

Next there's a gentle and familiar tickling across his naked hip-

“Good morning princess” and a little crown scribbled above the i.

Steve is so, so tempted to draw out a heart, to just make that tiny little shape down there, but the both of them understand what a heart so low means. So he simply signs off with a singular dot, to show “message received.”

And in the shower he does his best to wash away old messages and song lyrics; to clean up the canvas for today's fresh pen strokes. His skin is itching to be touched and used again already, ready to be marked up everywhere the two of them can reach.

When the clock says 08:09am he's out of the shower and drying his hair – never before has he washed up so quickly, but for good reason, because barely does the clock switch to 08:10am, when the phone on his bedside table rings.

“Harrington residence, this is Steve,” he says all courteous and well mannered, but who else would it be other than-

“Hey pretty boy,” Billy drawls out.

A smile grows immediately. Steve leans against the table and smooths his hair back from where it lies limply against his forehead. “Hi.”

“You busy?”

Steve hums in feigned contemplation and looks around his room, only slightly messy. “I guess I can take a break from my busy morning for you.”

The way Billy chuckles deep in the receiver urges forth goosebumps down Steve's bare arms.

“Want me to put on some music?” Steve asks per the usual.

Since he lives alone and hates the silence of such an empty home, he listens to music near constantly, and it eventually became a bit of a thing between them, to always have something running in the background.

“Yeah, play the song you mentioned earlier.”

The song he had said “represented him best”, although having thought more about it, there are several songs that could describe him and his life, Tainted Love, Sweet Dreams are made of this, Don't you want me. Plenty of songs put in to words how utterly lonely and starved for attention he truly is, but Don't you forget about me had been the subtlest choice in a constant struggle to not come off as clingy.

“Ok, hold on!” the tone he had intended was soft, but it jumped right into eager before the words had even left his tongue.

Swiftly with practiced hands, he slips out the vinyl from its sleeve, lifts up the plastic cover for the turntable, and places the stylus in the grooves of the LP. The music is low and Jim Kerr's voice fills the room.

Steve dances; pumps his shoulders to the beat and spins his way back to the bed, then lands with a poomf next to the phone receiver he had thrown onto his covers.

“Is it too loud?” he asks with closed eyes as he listens to the song.

“No it's good,” Billy says with a clear smile to his tone. “And the song isn't that bad.”

Saying that they have vastly different tastes in music would be a severe understatement. Sure, a few of the records that Steve has lying around his house is technically from rock bands- Van Halen, Inxs, even Simple Minds is rock, but not the right type of rock according to Billy. It's pop rock, it doesn't count.

“Sleep well, princess?”

Steve feels his lips twitch further up at that stupid name that started out as a tease years ago when Steve had been crying about not getting his way with his rich parents, but now it was something dear.

“Mmh yeah,” he mumbles out and leans into the phone. “Didn't get much sleep though.”

“Hey you can't blame that on me, I was at work all day,” Billy laughs, “You're the one that started it all... couldn't stop thinking about you after you fell asleep.”

“And now I'm awake and you're going to bed,” Steve whines only a bit.

“Yeah... time zones suck.”

There's a short silence, as the chorus plays-

Don't you, forget about me

Don't, don't, don't, don't

Don't you, forget about me

“Tell me about your day.” He crawls further up the bed till he meets with his pillows, and takes the pen from his bedside table.

“Same shit as every other Saturday really, spent all day at work getting distracted.”

The insinuation in his tone makes Steve laugh.

“My co-workers really tease me about it sometimes, they noticed all the circles on my skin and asked about it.”

“And what did you say?”

“The truth; that my soulmate was marking all her moles...” It's clear in his voice that Billy stopped smiling. “I'm sorry that I haven't told them that you're a-”

“A guy?” Steve interrupts, his own mood slightly sour, but he gets it; he can't blame Billy for the way the world works. “Billy...” he speaks softly, “I don't want you to feel bad about not telling anyone that I'm Steve and not Stacy. I've only told one person here the whole truth.”

“Robin, right?”

“Yeah, from history.” He pops off the cap on the ballpoint pen, and sits up to start drawing little flowers up on his thigh.

“Hmm...” Billy hums as he has probably noticed. “How's it going with her and Heather?”

“Pretty good; Robin's become an oddly proficient swimmer suddenly.” And Steve chuckles, “I'm kinda feeling neglected though. My best friend is spending more time with her girlfriend than me!”

“Well...” Billy's voice suddenly so warm and sweet like honey, as he says, “What can you do when you're in love.”

And Steve's heart beats an extra few times upon hearing Billy say that word. Love. Yeah, what can you do...

“Anyway,” Billy says as there's no response from Steve. “There is this one guy at work, uhh, think his name is Julien? Julian? Julius? Something with a J, it doesn't matter. I think he might be gay, too.”

Steve perks up a brow with a sly smirk. “Oh? And how do you know that?”

“I dunno,” his response a slight mumble, “He just... gives off a vibe?”

And the other brow goes up. “A vibe?”

“Yeah! Like!” frustration apparent at the fact that Steve doesn't just get what he's saying. “You know... all... well groomed?”

Steve chortles loud enough for it to drown out the music through the phone. “Ok, go on.”

“His hair is just always so nice, face clean shaven and skin always so clear...”

“Oh you must have gotten pretty close to notice all of that,” Steve is still bubbling with leftover laughter.

“Steve...” but Billy sounds so worried. “You know I wouldn't-”

“I haven't asked you not to,” Steve interrupts and looks up into the air, as if he could catch Billy's eyes and give him a reassuring look. He can feel that they're all so suddenly on the brink of a rather important discussion that they've already had.

“I know! I know...” Billy sighs. “I just want you to know that I haven't... been with anyone ever since you and I started...”

Getting serious? Are they serious? With an ocean between them, can they be...

“Yeah, me neither...” Steve's heart thumps as his mind starts spewing out ideas of what it would be like... to be with Billy. “But you can. If you want to. You don't need my permission, Billy.”

“Yeah you've said that already, and the same goes to you, too, of course.”

“I know...”

But there's a clear air of assumption between them, despite the thousands of miles. Assumption, expectation, hope that there's a chance...

The song repeats again.

Won't you, come see about me

I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby

Yet the two of them don't say a word. Just listens to the song, together. The type of silence between them that can only be achieved with someone you're so comfortable with. When Steve feels Billy draw in his hand, and looks to see a heart in his palm. A little, shy heart.

And he can't help but smile warmly; feels his cheeks heat up with unspoken feelings- the kind that just came naturally over the last 7 years, and that he wishes to cherish forever.

He draws a heart around Billy's, just slightly bigger, surrounding it, like an embrace.

“Getting tired yet?”

“Yeah,” Billy sighs, sleepy and exhausted. “I always feel so drained during winter. It's so cold and dark... I miss being a lifeguard, but no one wants to go to the beach in this shitty weather. And I use my body in a different way as a mechanic, and I have to deal with customers and co-workers...” he complains about it a lot, but Steve knows that Billy loves getting to spend all day getting dirty and fiddling with cars.

Once talked about opening his own shop somewhere. Says he hasn't quite decided where to do so yet.

Assumption, expectation, hope...

“Should we hang up?”

“Mmmh, no, let me just hear the song a few more times,” is his reasoning, but they both know that that's not why.

They always struggle with hanging up, which is why they don't do this as much as they want to- other than it being expensive of course. Despite their souls being connected and bodies bonded this way, being on either end of the phone line is when they truly exist together. Even in silence, just knowing the other is there too keeps the world away.

“Want me to trace my hand?” Steve whispers softly, his voice a sweet little thing, only for Billy's ears.

“That'd be nice, yeah.”

And oh how he wishes he could see Billy now; eyes closed, a warm and dopey smile, tan body naked under the sheets. There's nothing he wants more in life, than to fall asleep with his muscular arms wrapped around himself, to share body heat, to share their breaths.

But for now, he can settle with drawing the pen along the lines in his palm; creating an endless pattern that Billy describes as feeling like you're running your finger over my skin.

The closest thing to caressing his soulmate that he can get. For now. And the last thing he hears from Billy's end, is him humming with pleasure of the gentle touch.

[starkergames]

Title: New Years Artists: @lilsoshie (Sketch), @iammagicfishhook (Lineart), @marveling-marvelous (Color) Writer: @darker-soft-starker The years will change and people will change as much as they stay the same. Some changes though, Tony finds, he really doesn’t mind.

Fic below the cut

Some things never change.

Like, being riddled with nerves whilst attending big events. 

Or, the little ticks he’s adopted to mitigate the uneasiness, like bouncing his leg up and down, firing off questions to anyone in earshot like, do you think they’ll have sushi at this thing, I have a craving. 

Or Pepper singing along to whatever is playing on the car ride over, and Morgan answering his inane questions with things like, ew, sushi.

Some things do change, though.

Like, coming back to life after five years of being dead. 

Or being delegated to the backseat next to his daughter, despite the honourable resurrection. Or having his wife remarry in the years following his death. 

You know, typical resurrection things, like realizing that the entire world and everyone you knew has changed. 

Tony’s got a thing about control. Always has. He likes to know, has to know, all of the variables. He thought he knew all of them before he snapped his fingers and prayed to the stones in his gauntlet.

Here’s the thing about infinity stones: they’re sentient. They like balance.

They’re also assholes with a perverted sense of symmetry.

Somehow, perfect balance and perfect symmetry translated into bringing Tony back to life after five years. Or, being suspended in the ether that was neither life, nor death, the holding cell between worlds. 

That was the airy-fairy, hand-wavey way that Strange explained to him. Sparkles and mystery. But Tony doesn’t remember any of it. The not being alive. One moment his heart was giving out, the next he was clawing himself out of the earth. 

That was pleasant.

Emerging dirty and naked to find he’d missed five years of his life was also a barrel of laughs. Missing five years of his daughters growth, finding out his wife had moved on? Hilarious. Best cosmic joke to have happened to him yet.

Though, Tony supposes this is how the recovered Snap victims felt, after. Chasing and chasing the years that were missed, feeling as if they will never be completely caught up.

But that was months ago, his resurrection. Reawakening. Whatever. Seven months and three and a half weeks, if he’s counting. He’d say he isn’t, but he definitely is. 

He’d used the time mostly caught up on the life of his friends and family, shed his tears. He’s lamented Steve, grieved over Natasha all over again. Wondered why the divine equilibrium didn’t include her sacrifice. 

But he’s learned to be okay. He’s living back at the re-built compound with Clint and Wanda and the old-new crowd of super-people that populate the place he used to call home. 

He doesn’t don the suit, hasn’t since he came back, worried that the moment he activates the housing unit that it will all be over, and Morgan will lose her father for the second time. 

He’s a consultant, now, for the new team. Financier. Benefactor. It’s very boring.

“You sure you want to go to this thing,” Tony says again, stretching his legs so his knees hit the driver's seat in front of him, where Peppers’ new husband sits. “You don’t want a quiet one at home? Ring in New Years with the llamas?”

“Morgan wants to go,” Pepper repeats, peering back to smile at her daughter. “Right, sweetpea?”

Beside Tony, Morgan looks up from her hand-held video game and nods vehemently, smiling brightly. Tony feels betrayed by her enthusiasm.

“Are they paying you to say that?” he leans in, whispering close to her ear. “You can tell me Morgasboard, name your price. I’ll beat it.”

His daughter flicks her gaze between her mother and Tony. She leans into her father and whispers loud enough for the entire car to hear, “Uncle Peter is going to be there. I haven’t seen him in forever.”

Tony sighs exaggeratedly, nodding along, even though he knows she saw him two weeks ago. 

“Forever is a long time,” he agrees. 

That was another change that Tony feels weird and wonderful about. 

Somehow, in the time that he was six-feet-under, his former protege had become something akin to family to his daughter. Which, if he’s honest, in the years after the Snap, was the goal, the dream as he skipped through time with the Avengers, the proverbial what if that drove him to say yes that one, final time. 

Happy families, he’d thought. What else could two wayward orphans hope for?

Tony’s at least glad that Peter got that part of the deal. That Morgan got Peter. 

Even if Tony didn’t really have either, after.

“Uncle Peter could go back to the compound or the penthouse with us,” Tony offers, nudging his daughter. “You could ask DUM-E to be your new years kiss.”

“You have a speech scheduled, right, babe?” Peppers husband, Greg, cuts in. He was hired as CFO of SI three years ago and it was heart eyes at first sight, Tony is told. He watches as Greg frees one of his grubby hands from the steering wheel to reach across the console and squeeze her knee.

“Sure do,” Pepper smiles, snaking her hand down to clutch his, squeezing their fingers together. 

Tony’s not jealous. No, really. He’s adjusted, he’s over it. 

But he’s still Tony Stark, so he’s unapologetically petulant. And it’s Pepper, what kind of ex would he be if he didn’t properly field the prospects of the one woman he truly loved?

Feigning a stretch, he kicks his feet out again and jolts the driver's seat, delight welling up when Greg huffs irritatedly. Morgan giggles as if it’s some kind of game, and all the adults pretend that it is to please her. 

The unimpressed stare from his ex-wife caught through the rear-view mirror does little to dampen his satisfaction.

It’s the little wins, Tony thinks, as they pull up to the building, paparazzi huddling around the rope barriers that flank the red carpet, flashes firing through the tinted windows as they come to a stop.

Just because some things change, doesn’t mean he has to.

It’s that mentality that gets him through the dreaded, interminable walk from the car to the ballroom entrance. This is old hat, he tells himself as he waves to the crowd. You could do this with your eyes closed. God, he used to be so good at pretending to care about this kind of crap.

Reporters brandish their network-issued microphones at him, at his family. Fans shoulder against security, all of them yelling out in a cacophony of noise he might call white were it not the sound of his own name, in all of its iterations. 

Although he’d rather make a beeline straight to the ballroom he stops and greets a few fans, shakes a few hands, high-fives a few kids. After a slew of signings and selfies the comparatively calm interior of the ballroom is blissfully welcomed. The quartet supplying tunes in the far corner is a reprieve. 

So is the way that Pepper clutches Greg’s hand and leads him away at the same time Morgan clutches Tony’s. She looks back and says, be good. Tony doesn’t know if she’s directing it to him or their daughter.

Socialites swan around them, but Tony just looks down at his daughter and smiles. He squeezes her tiny fingers.

“You wanna dance, Morgarita?”

Her serious expression turns gleeful as she drags him to the centre of the room to dance without a shred of shyness. 

She’s a lot like she was before he died. Smart and mischievous, cute as a button. But she’s markedly different, caught in that pre-teen phase where she’s gaining modicums of independence. Tony’s getting used to not needing to make all her meals or do her hair for her. He kinda misses it.

Little things. It’s always the little things.

She’s taller now, too. That was a change, to have his daughters head rest against his chest when she hugs him. She’s too tall to be picked up, too proud when Tony offers. So she wraps her arms around his midsection and they sway together on the dancefloor. 

Only a few couples are dancing. The night is still young. But, like anything in high society, it’s all smoke and mirrors. 

Which means most guests are mingling, telling each other how beautiful and fabulous they are, filling the room with so much re-circulated pomp and hot air the room is practically a hotbox.

Of course it’s a business event as much as it is a philanthropic one, so not even Tony can avoid the inevitable schmoozing that comes along with it. When Morgans tired feet demand a break they seek out seats and snacks - and they too, are sought out.

To his ire, associates come and go like a conveyor belt to shake his hand, politicians and socialites thank him for reversing the Snap, the Blip, the Click, the Dusting, all of the stupid names and his daughter is sitting right there, growing more and more morose at each mention of the worst thing that ever happened to her.

So Tony looks down at his daughter, mid conversation with a senator and says, “Hey, sweet child of mine, wanna go to the dessert table?”

She perks up at that and is off like a rocket to the other side of the room where swathes of mouth-watering sweets are spread over an eighteen foot table. 

Tony follows her beeline without saying goodbye to the senator, mentally rubbing his hands together at the grub. He’s sure he will pay for directing his daughter to a trove of sugar and hyperactivity. But desperate times. 

Who is he kidding. He’s going to need all the sweet stimulation he can possibly consume to get through this shit-show himself. 

When he catches up Morgan already has chocolate smeared on her lips. Fancy desserts perch daintily upon gold lined plates, on tiered stands. Thin streams of velvety, liquid chocolate trickle out of apex fountains, flakes of edible gold cover the setting.

She points excitedly with messy fingers to the ones she wants Tony to try. He should resist, right? He’s really isn’t supposed to eat dairy. That, along with his faulty levels of serotonin, was something the all powerful stones failed to fix. Which was really just plain lazy, if you ask him. 

But he spies a flamboyant looking fruit-pastry and thinks, fuck it.

Then he sees a yellow-treat that makes his mouth water and thinks, I can work it off tomorrow.

He reaches over and crams an entire portugese egg tart in his mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. Morgan laughs, tipping her neck back in unbridled delight.

“Do it again!” she says, bouncing on her feet.

He does. And then again, and again.

Which is how Peter Parker finds him no more than ten minutes later.

“Mr. Stark!”

Tony nearly chokes in his haste to chew and swallow the pastry when Peter swans into view, dressed to the nines and grinning a mile wide. He hears Morgan gasp delightedly beside him, running off to catch up with the younger man while Tony tries not to quietly asphyxiate.

Swallowing roughly, Tony gives him a thumbs up.

Several feet away, Morgan throws her gangly arms around Peter. She buries her head into his chest, just like she does with Tony, brown hair cascading over her shoulders as she embraces him tightly. Peter settles his arms around her neck and leans down to kiss the crown of her head, whispering something to hear that Tony can’t hear.

There’s a weird pang somewhere behind his ribs at the sight. 

He swipes his half-empty flute of champagne and downs the remainder in one gulp to cover it. 

“Mr. Parker,” Tony greets, rocking on his feet when his daughter and former protege walk back to him hand-in-hand. “Didn’t know you owned a suit in your size.”

The younger man holds his free arm out, twisting it to test the fit. It’s a grey suit with a maroon dress-shirt, tailored to perfection. It looks new.

Peter smiles. The action has creases forming at the corners of his eyes; a small, subtle nod to the years Tony missed. Gone is all of his baby fat, his face angular and defined. He holds himself with more self-assuredness, even now. 

He wouldn’t say it aloud, but Peter grew up handsome. 

Worse, he grew up to be Tony’s type.

“Oh, this? I didn’t pick it - but it’s nice, right?”

“Yeah. You, uh,” Tony swallows roughly, eyeing the man from head to toe. “You look good. You clean up well, kid.”

Peter rubs the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly at the compliment. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. You - you too. You look... good. Really good.”

Peter meets his gaze, his cheeks a furious shade of pink. 

The motion of the room slows as he watches the sparkle reach Peter’s eyes. Everything in his peripherals becomes dull, unfocused. His own heartbeat jackrabbits against his chest and his sure his face is doing something without his permission. 

Tony’s throat clicks when he swallows. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, stepping closer. 

Now, Tony thinks, staring at Peter’s face, the earnest smile still tugging at his lips. Now is the time he would say something to curdle the mood. 

Peter being a full-fledged, rent-paying adult adult is new. Being on an even footing with Tony as a person and a professional is new. There’s so much new about him that Tony still has to learn.

There’s plenty that has stayed the same. His soft-spoken, courteous nature, his ethics.

But Tony can read the unfamiliar in Peter’s posture as much as he does the carefully curated vocabulary, how he stops himself from stammering into subjects he might have stepped into, before. The barely-there lines of age around his eyes, the confident squaring of his shoulders. 

And how Tony finds that his imperfect teeth compliment the ever-wayward hairs of his eyebrows - and how all of it, all of Peter, is now somehow charming, rather than awkward.

“How have you been, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shuffling forward

“Good,” Tony says, lips stretching onto the first genuine smile of the night. He’d try to tug those corners down, were it not for the infectious way Peter’s mouth does the same. “You?”

“Good, yeah. Super busy.”

“That’s good. Good to keep busy, as they say.”

“Yeah,” Peter nods. “It is good. Keeping busy. And how are you? -- Wait, shit, sorry, I already asked that.”

“This one keeps me going,” Tony tugs on a lock of Morgan's hair, taking mercy on him. “You been too busy to see the news about Spider-Man? I know you’re a fan.” 

Peter steps closer again, clasping his hands behind his back, smiling coyly as those around them perk up in interest.

“Which news?”

“Taking down Kingpins empire. Fisk behind bars.” 

“Oh, I think I heard something about that.”

Tony nods.

“What a guy. New York’s never looked cleaner. Although, take that from a guy who hasn’t seen the city for five years.”

“That’s some high praise,” Peter says, wringing his hands together as he nears. 

“He’s a hero,” Tony looks to his daughter. With an affirmative nod of dark hair she concurs.

“I think he’s just a regular guy,” Peter huffs, snorting when Morgan giggles knowingly.

Before Tony can inch closer, maybe to do something impulsive like what his hands have been itching to do and grip the lapels of Peter’s suit jacket, the moment is broken by a nearby cry.

“Peter! There you are!”

Sweat beading along his receding hairline, a heavy arm slung over Peter’s shoulders, Otto Octavius swims into view, nodding politely at Tony and Morgan.

“You’re a slippery one, Parker,” he says, shaking Peter’s shoulders. “Been looking for you.”

“Otto, this is --”

“ -- Got some guys that want to meet you,” Octavius interrupts, thick fingers squeezing Peters bicep. He leans in and and whispers in a way Tony is sure is meant to be discreet, “They’re keen to meet the brains behind the project; come say hi.”

Another change Tony never counted on was the trajectory Peter’s life took after his passing. 

Peter never went to MIT like Tony had dreamed for him. He went to Empire State University.

Pepper informed Tony that she in fact had reached out prior to his graduation and offered him a position. But Peter had declined. He hadn’t said why, but he’d chosen to work under Otto Octavius at Octavius Industries instead. 

One thing that Tony learned in his short time back in the land of the living was that Otto was infamously proud of his new employee and favoured immensely. 

It’s what Tony would have wanted for Peter, really. Doing what he loves, being given the respect his intellect and kind heart deserves. He seems to be happy and all grown up. As if Tony needs the reminder.

It’s just that Otto was always an insufferable do-gooder. Save the trees, save the bees. ALl noble notions that Tony agrees with - but Otto is like the human personification of a PETA ad. He’d never been a fan of Tony’s, even after he reformed, literally. 

Still, do-gooder or not. There’s something about him. Something that Tony doesn’t like. Just a vibe he has. He’s got good instincts after all of these years and he knows he’s got a solid hunch. There’s something about that man, he knows it.

It’s got nothing to do with the proprietary hand Otto has on Peters shoulder, like the younger man is just a thing to show off. Or how Tony wanted to be the one doing that.

It’s got nothing to do with the way Peter’s suit perfectly fits his frame, or how the maroon and grey compliments his clear, milky skin.

It’s definitely not related to the way Tony’s heart beats just a little bit faster when Peter is in the room.

Yeah.

“Um, I’ll just be a minute,” Peter smiles apologetically at the Starks, eyes softening at Morgans pout. “I won’t be long, you owe me a dance little miss, remember?”

Tony waves dismissively at him, reaching for another flute of champagne from a passing waiters tray. He swallows another generous mouthful, bubbles burning on their way down. 

With Morgan munching on a gold flaked cheesecake at his side, Tony watches as the young hero is led away. Otto’s hand on his back, guiding him to make nice with some university hacks. Five years ago Peter would have fumbled through these introductions. He would have gone bright red and blurted some weird factoid to make conversation. 

But he’s polished now, Tony watches. Not perfect, but his posture says confident adult, not awkward teenager, like the last time he wore a suit around Tony. This suit really does fit him like a glove. His handshake looks strong, too. Firm.

Were Peter’s hands always that big? 

Tony sips his champagne, observing the girth of his former mentee’s fingers. It’s not until he feels the burn of Morgans stare on the side of his face that he breaks his gaze.

“What,” he says.

She points a chocolate covered finger at his face. 

“You know how I feel about people holding up one finger at me. If you’re gonna do it, it should be the middle one.”

“You like him.”

Tony huffs, rolling his eyes. “Of course I like him. He’s your Uncle Pete.”

“No, dad, you like like him. You want to be his boyfriend.”

“What -- I do not,” Tony says, casting her an incredulous stare.

“You do. You want to marry him,” she says, scrunching up her face and making kissy noises. 

“Do not.” 

“Do too.”

“I --” he huffs, gesturing to the room at large as his words run away from him. “Do not. I’m the adult. You’re the child. I’m right, you’re wrong. Case closed.”

“Dad.”

“Fine, here,” he fishes out his wallet from his back pocket and slips a crumpled fifty out. He waves it in her face. “Take this and never speak about it again.”

“Can I speak about it to mom?”

He slips out another fifty and hands it to her.

“No.”

She smiles, neatly folding the notes and tucking it into her little bag. Tony stuffs another tart down his throat, knowing he’s been played.

She really is his kid.

----

It’s not that Tony doesn’t know.

He knows.

It’s familiar after decades of experience. That weird feeling he gets. The fluttering of his heart, the topsy-turvy motion in his stomach, were he any younger he might call them butterflies.

He just doesn’t get it.

There’s a lot of things that were jarring when he awoke, soil under his fingernails as he tore through the earth in the desperate search for oxygen. He remembers waking up, confused and naked, body restored to the moment before he snapped his fingers. He remembers stumbling onto a rebuilt compound, unable to speak, learning that the entire world had moved on and changed without him.

With FRIDAY as his guide Tony had seen all of the monuments and the altars in his name, fresh bouquets propped against them, even years after his death. The adoration and the glorification immortalised in murals and statues, in grants in his name, in tell-all books. 

They’d even made a shitty movie about his life. 

The actor who played him was too short and the woman who played Pepper wore a wig. It was funny. Not like, funny haha, but funny in that uncanny, meta photo-within-a-photo kind of way.   

But when Peter had come to the compound that first time and they talked after they both finished crying -- it was different. And every time after, it was different. 

It was… awkward. At first, they didn’t know how to be around each other, automatically falling into old molds of mentor and protege. It was almost immediately clear that their old roles weren’t going to work -- too much between them had altered to fit back into the old model. 

They needed to recalibrate, and quickly.

Their dynamic did change. If Tony thought about it long enough, innocently enough, he might dare to call it a friendship.

He would, but there was that feeling in his chest. Beat, beat, bang.

It was a work in progress, to reconcile the flutter in his stomach with the Peter now, with the Peter that was, before. A man who had lost all his baby fat, who was old enough to have colourful stories and a wealth of life experience, who had remarkably broad shoulders looked damn good holding a wrench.

It was the hands. 

They looked very dexterous. Capable.

But that didn’t stop him from spiraling into deep, existential pockets of despair as he wondered if the stones really thought it was best to revive him so he could actively thirst over someone he used to be responsible for. 

Peter is barely fifteen years older than his daughter. He’s lost count how many real and missing years are between them now between death and the Snap. Five a piece.

He can’t tell his road-runner heart if that’s better or worse, though. 

But, too high on the adrenaline of seeing Peter, he forgets to tell his body to stop, to remind his stupid heart that this one is not available. 

----

Sometime after eleven the gala is in full swing. The mood perks right up in anticipation of the New Year.  

Most of the remaining guests are pleasantly tipsy by this point, if not outright drunk. All of the stirring speeches have been made, Peppers included. 

Tony tried to listen, however got distracted by - well, anything. But the effort was there. Something about giving and starting the year fresh, clean slates. 

The relaxed atmosphere has more couples dancing on the floor. The Mayor and his wife stumble over each other, moguls and A-Listers mingle and take selfies against attractive backdrops. 

Even Morgan grew tired of Tony’s ornery approach to the evening, departing with a kiss to his cheek to dance with her mother.

Tony forgets, sometimes. That people expect something of him, something more. Like his resurrection was divine intervention, and if the universe intended him to be here, surely it was for a purpose higher than acting like a morose old man, hiding in the corners of ballrooms.

It’s just. He doesn’t know where his place is anymore.

Norman Osborne stops by to crow about his latest achievements, his contract with the NYPD to provide surveillance towers all over the city. Tony’s seen them. They’re hard to miss.

“Design’s a little archaic, don’t you think? Not very discreet. A pettier man would say you were overcompensating for something.”

He’s not really paying attention as he’s speaking, too distracted by the debacle before him. 

Harry Osborn and Peter dance together in the centre of the room, leaned in close to one another and snickering at what the other has said. 

They look loose and comfortable around one another, as if they were old friends. Or something else.

Peter leans in close to Harry’s ear to whisper something, the flush on his face creeping down his neck. In one swift movement Tony throws back the rest of his champagne, wishing the liquid would drown him, stomach turning to cement.

Whatever Norman says in response goes unheard. 

With the crowd dispersed, Peter catches Tony’s eye and waves exuberantly, nearly hitting Harry in the face.

Tony raises his glass, wincing. 

At least some things stay the same.

“They roomed together at ESU,” Norman breaks Tony out of his musings.

Clearing his throat, Tony tries his best to appear indifferent. Why should he care? That’s right, he doesn’t. Not even remotely.

“I see.” Play it cool, he thinks. “They look close, are they —?”

Nailed it.

“No. They tried, but it didn’t work out. Harry’s engaged now.”

“Huh.”

“But Peter is always welcome in our home,” Norman drawls. “He’s like a second son, really. Wasn’t he your protege once?”

Osborn is so smarmy. All at once Tony remembers why he hates this man and his dumb, weathered face. His covetous tone makes Tony want to hurl, or send a suit to the nearest Oscorp building and play rain of fire.

“Good god, imagine if he was your son,” Tony says blithely. “As if you need another one of those to mess up.”

Norman huffs.

“You’re hardly the authority on raising well adjusted children, Stark.”

Ire spears up hot to his throat, but before Tony can deliver a withering reply, he’s interrupted by the arrival of Pepper and Greg. 

Morgan trails behind, dragging a laughing Peter with her by hand. She weaves her thin body through the crowd, having pulled the man away from his dance wearing identical grins.

He watches his daughter cut through swathes of the elite in a trail of chiffon, delight clear in the laughter that follows her. Tiny heels clack against the polished ballroom floor, and Peter indulges her mischief, catching Tony’s eye and winking as they near him.

It’s the first time he’s seen his whole family look truly carefree since he came back. 

And Tony is where he should be. An inscrutable mass against the beige, peeling wallpaper. 

The look of distaste on Normans face as he walks away is enough to dampen some of his churlishness as his family form before him. Pepper makes small talk with Peter and Greg smiles awkwardly at a passing senator. Morgan dives for a profiterole before anyone can stop her. 

For a moment Tony feels like he’s in a McDonalds playground instead of an upper-class charity event.

Pepper must have had a hand in choosing Morgans dress, Tony thinks, because it has pockets. And, watching her as the adults talk, she sneaks handfuls of tarts and truffles into the grooves of her dress. Tony wants to laugh, to wink at her conspiratorially at the same time he wants to tuck her into bed, new years or not. 

Morgan beckons Peter closer to the sweets table. The younger of the two piling her favourite sampled sweets onto a napkin and thrusts them towards Peter, fervently requesting that he try them, they’re so good, Uncle Peter. 

“Not everyone wants dessert for dinner, little miss,” Tony reminds her, swiping a napkin off the table and wiping the melted chocolate off the corner of her mouth.

“I’m not a baby, dad,” she complains, taking the napkin from him.

He forgets that too, sometimes.

Peter smiles between them, delicately plucking a single strawberry off one of the offered miniature flans and popping it into his mouth. 

Lust spears through him so suddenly Tony sways on his feet. Fuck. 

His daughter and ex-wife are right there. 

“Mr. Stark. Would you - uh,” Peter breaks off to swallow audibly. “Would you like to dance?”

Otto is by the bar. Harry, by the French Ambassador. Tony is in his self-made corner of the room, nibbling on vol-au-vents and sashimi to pass the time. 

He can smell Peter’s cologne and his sweat when he steps closer and sheepishly offers his hand and Tony’s entire damn body wants to just reach out and interlock their fingers, to pull Peter close and breathe him in. Never has Tony wanted to bury himself in another body before and not come back out, not like this.

Tony would consume all of what Peter had to give, if Peter let him. The offering look in Peter’s eyes say that he would let him.

“I… uh,” Tony begins, searching for a quip to cover his falter. Smiling at his companions, Tony smooths his hand down his tie, pretending the curious looks of concern are just the alcohol. “I need fresh air.”

“Tony --”

“Mr. Stark --”

He waves them off and smiles apologetically at Peter.

“-- I’ll just be a sec. Is it hot in here? Is anyone else hot? I’m like, sweating here, wow. It’s just pooling under the armpits. I’ll just be a minute, excuse me --”

The crowd parts for him like the red sea as he marches through it in search of the nearest door. But he’s never felt less powerful in his entire life.

Or lives, as it were.

----

Outside, the air is blissfully fresh and cold. The rooftop is far less crowded than indoors, only a few patrons lean against the railing, cigarette smoke curling up from their fingers, some in quiet conversation with another.

There’s a carefully constructed pyramid of wide, vintage wine glasses brimming with champagne. He’s careful not to topple the entire thing over when he goes to reach for one. Overheated, even as the winter wind nips at him, he takes his drink and finds a quiet corner to sulk in.

Perching upon a stone bench away far away from the others, Tony tips his head up at the starless sky and huffs. 

What the hell does he think he’s doing?

The New York City skyline is alight before him in all its glory, but the memory of how Peter’s face dropped flashes across Tony’s mind on a loop. He looked taken aback. Hurt even. 

Shame wells up low in Tony’s stomach and doggedly stays there. 

It’s for the best. Right? It has to be for the best. Peter deserves the best and Tony is not that.

It’s not right for him to want to fit himself into Peter’s life when he seems to be happy and successful without Tony - there’s one thing he knows unequivocally about himself is that he would ruin that. Ruin Peter, one of the few good things he has left.

His heart doesn’t get the memo. 

Because when he closes his eyes, all he imagines is the way Peter’s firm body would feel against his. What it would feel like to curl together on the sofa, in bed, under the sheets. How his curls would tickle the underside of Tony’s chin, and what it would be like to trace the lines that branch from his eyes when he smiles, or to stroke the narrow slope of his nose as he sleeps. 

It’s wrong.

It’s wrong because Tony doesn’t fit there. Not there, nor in all of the places he used to. He’s not Iron Man or a businessman. He’s not a husband or a full-time father. He’s not even Peter Parker's mentor. 

What he is, for all of his resurrected glory, is an afterthought. A spectre, hovering in the fringes of all of the places he used to be the centre of.

He smiles, raising his glass to the smoking couple as they nod politely at him.

It’s fine. He’s happy that everyone is happy.

But it’s been months. He ain't Jesus, but surely by now he’d find some sense of purpose.

“Mr. Stark?”

When Tony opens his eyes Peter stands before him, clutching a perspiring glass of wine.

Tony doesn’t want to notice, but he does anyway. The look of concern written on his face is unmistakable, even in the dim lighting of the rooftop, the nearby flamelight serves to deepen the frown lines on his young face.

“Are you alright, Mr. Stark? Sorry to follow you out here, you just seem kind of...”

“Surly?” Tony guess. “I’m fine, kid. Just had a few too many. Didn’t want to hurl all over the drapes. No need to worry.”

“I was gonna say overwhelmed, but yeah,” Peter says, shifting closer until Tony’s bent knees hit the top of Peter’s thighs - his stomach swoops, again. “I’m gonna worry anyway.”

“Yeah, well, happy New Year,” Tony says dryly, knocking their glasses together. 

Peter taps his smart-watch with a finger. 

“Still got five minutes before that. Can’t break into Auld Lang Syne yet, Mr. Stark.”

“We could if we were in Halifax,” Tony counters. The younger man tilts his head agreeably and Tony calls the easing of tension from Peter’s shoulders a win.

“Let’s stick to New York.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “You don’t have somewhere you’d rather be? You got four-something minutes.”

“Right here, actually, if that’s okay with you.”

Tony doesn’t know if that’s frankness or fiction, but he smiles all the same, patting the slab of stone he’s sat upon invitingly. 

“Well, come aboard, Mr. Parker.”

Without pause, Peter hoists himself on the bench with a single hand, delicately balancing the glass of champagne with the other. He shuffles to get comfortable, swinging his legs as he settles.

The firelight catches onto the curve of Peter’s curls, slicked down into wilted tendrils from the sweat dotting his hairline. 

His heart is positively thunderous in his chest. He raises his hand to soothe it and at once, sickeningly, painfully misses the comforting heat of the arc reactor.

“You wanna talk about it?” Peter asks, after a moment.

Tony smiles wryly, mostly to himself. Of course, there’s nothing that escapes Peters notice.

“Trust me, kid. There’s not much to say.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Peter says, fishing something out of his pocket and handing it to Tony “I, uh, thought you liked those. I took the last one.”

It’s a portugese egg tart, Tony notes, warmed slightly from Peter’s body heat. Fuck. He does like them. They’re his favourite. 

Tony pretends like his heart isn’t swelling to the point where it feels it's going to burst and breaks the tart in two, passing over the other half to Peter. 

“Thanks, kid. Try some.”

They eat their halves in relative silence, save for the sound of chewing and Peter’s shoes hitting the stone as he swings his legs. But the mood grows quieter, noticeably pensive after they finish eating. It makes Tony’s skin crawl.

“You know,” Peter says softly, as if raising his voice would shatter the moment, “you’re not the only one to come back to find years lost. To find the world different. I know it’s not easy. Especially on nights like this.”

Tony swallows roughly, chasing it with a mouthful of champagne. 

“You seem to have managed well.”

Peter huffs. “Oh yeah, real well. God, you don’t even know how --” his voice breaks off, voice wet with emotion. He looks away, throat bobbing as he gathers himself. “You just -- you don’t know.”

The moment feels fraught with enough gravity that it would bring the moon down between them.

“Hey,” Tony chides, trying to diffuse the heavy emotion with what levity he could utter. “Come on now, it’s supposed to be me out here maudlin. Don’t steal my thunder, Charlotte's Web.”

“Sorry,” Peter says, cracking a smile. “I’ll try to pencil in sad hours for later.”

“Appreciated.”

A comfortable silence settles between them. A woman, visibly drunk, passes them and raises her glass to Tony, the liquid sloshing out from the glass and down her arm. She doesn’t seem to notice, smiling and stumbling away.

That would have been Tony ten years ago (in his lived years). On the weekends without Morgan, sometimes it still is.

“Got any resolutions, Mr. Stark?”

Tony snorts. “Shit, kid, I don’t know. Take Morgan to Saturn. Run for president, get back on the Cosmo’s Bachelor of the Year.” 

“Most people just join a gym.”

“I didn’t come back to life to break my hip on a treadmill,” Tony says, offended. “What about you, Peter Rabbit?”

Peter takes a sip of his drink as he visibly deliberates. Wayward drops of champagne gather at the corner of his mouth before he scoops them with his tongue, eyes drifting to the glittering skyline.

“Yeah. I’m trying to get this guy that I’m into to take me seriously.”

Tony hums, stomach dropping.

“Some guy, huh?”

“Yeah. I’ve known him since I was fifteen and I’m like, super into him, but he still sees me as a child.”

His stomach swoops back up.  

“Well,” Tony clears his throat, daring to hope, “this guy’s an idiot if he can’t see you for the man you are. You’re a catch.”

Peter shrugs, inching closer as he adjusts his balance. Their hands are nearly touching and Tony can feel the heat radiating from the man's body and he hates himself for it, just a little bit, he’s too old to feel like a kid with a crush again. 

“He’s not an idiot. Well, he is, sometimes. Not all the time.”

“You sure this guy is good enough for you?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, looking out at the skyline again. “He’s just lost. I can wait.”

“What if he’s not right for you?” Tony says, throat closing unexpectedly. “What if he’s not worth the wait?”

Peter shuffles closer. 

“He has been so far,” he says, bravely extending his pinkie so it curls atop Tony’s. In the cool night air the touch of skin against skin is scorching. “Worst case scenario has already happened. I’ve already lost him in the worst possible way. I could do without him calling me kid all the time though.”

“He makes no promises on that.”

“I thought as much.”

“You deserve better than lost, Pete,” Tony says around the lump in his throat. For a moment he can’t speak, the memories of electricity ripping through his body in a moment of love much like the feeling he has now. “You deserve the best.”

But Peter doesn’t say anything. He tugs on their linked pinkies to intertwine their fingers, resting them in the interstice of their pressed thighs. Tony doesn’t miss how Peter’s palms are damp against his, how they tremble ever so slightly. It’s grounding, to know Peter is as nervous as he is.

When he gets brave enough to stroke the back of Peters hand with his thumb some of the mired shame melts away.

“Deserve is subjective,” Peter says, squeezing Tony’s fingers. “And I decide he is the best.”

“What if he wants you back,” Tony whispers, shifting closer on the stone until their sides are entirely flush together. “But he has nothing to offer you. Doesn’t fit in with your life.”

“What about what I can offer him?” Peter clutches his hand tighter, raising it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of Tony’s hand. “What if I'm there while he finds his way?”

“Pete.”

“You have time, Mr. Stark. You can figure the rest out as it comes to you.”

“And until then?”

“You go with the flow.”

“How?”

“Like this,” Peter whispers, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. 

Closing his eyes, Tony leans into it and lets himself fall. Peters lips feel soft, pillowy, the kiss chaste and unassuming. When Peter pulls back he looks dazed, which is silly, because that was a tease for Tony. 

Eyes on the glistening bow of Peter’s lips, he wants to dive in and tug it between his teeth. So he does.

“That’s -- yeah,” Tony says, sliding their noses together, “Were you -- were you always this confident?”  

“I’m not confident,” Peter replies, kissing him again, pulling back to exhale shakily against Tony’s lips. “Holy cow. That was, like, a super big risk for me. Wow. Did I fool you? Are you fooled?”

“Bamboozled,” Tony says, staring at Peter’s lips again. “Just to confirm, I’m the guy, right? Resolution guy?”

“Y-yeah. Yes.”

 “Good,” Tony says, cupping his cheeks and kissing him again.

Fireworks bathe the couple in an electric array of neons, and crowds can be heard cheering from all around them. Tony pulls away to see Peter illuminated in brilliant colour, lips wet and swollen.

“Is this okay?” Peter reaches his free hand up to cup Tony’s cheek. “Is it weird? It’s a bit weird. Right?”

“It’s weird. But weird-different,” Tony amends. “Good different, right?”

“Right.”

“I should, maybe, keep kissing you to be sure.”

Peter’s answering grin against his lips vivifies the lights exploding around them.

To the soundtrack of waning fireworks, Tony gets lost in learning how Peter kisses, the shape of his lips, how the heat of his tongue feels against his own. 

Struck suddenly by a memory Tony pulls away from Peter to groan.

“What?” Peter queries, flushed and panting. “What’s wrong?” 

“I literally paid Morgan a hundred bucks to not tell you I was hot for you.”

Peter balks, staring at Tony as if he were stupid.

“Um, I have enhanced hearing, remember? And she told me, like, two months ago.”

Tony squints. 

“That little brat.”

——

The knowing smiles when they walk back into the ballroom from their family is a little uncalled for. Morgan is asleep in Peppers lap so she isn’t even awake to crow about her victory.

But the way Otto splutters as his eyes dart between the bruise on Tony’s neck and their joined hands is deeply worth it.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Octavius!” Peter beams, swinging their hands together. 

“And - and you. Mr. Parker.”

“Sorry to drop this on you last minute, would you mind if I get another ride home?”

“Well, I --”

“Let me compensate you for the cab,” Tony offers, dropping Peter’s hand to wind his arm around the younger man's waist, pulling their sides flush together. “It’s the least I can do. Don’t worry, Peter’s ride will be very enjoyable.”

“I take it you’re not coming back to the penthouse,” Pepper cuts in, sharing a look with Greg.

“Yeah,” Tony nods, already pulling Peter away. “When Morguna wakes up from her beauty sleep tell her she owes me a cut of the winnings, okay? Good. Happy New whatever.”

They stop by the dessert spread on their way out.

-----

Their taxi driver sends them scalding stares from the front seat.

It’s fine, Tony will compensate him generously in tips. Though, if he were the driver, he’d probably be pissed too. 

For all of his stealthyness as Spider-Man, Peter is not quiet right now. He bucks into Tony’s touch, rubbing his crotch against Tony’s hand. He breaks their kiss to moans lewdly into Tony’s mouth, breath hot against his face.

“Oh god,” he exhales shakily, tugging on Tony’s tie to bring their lips together in a filthy kiss.  

“Good?” Tony mumbles against his lips, grinding his palm down harder. Peter nods, tilting his head back to groan as Tony’s mouth latches onto his neck. The creamy skin is mottled with teeth marks and barely blooming hickies. 

Tony sucks and and laves his tongue over the heated skin to hear how his breath hitches, those high ahh-ahh’s that fall breathlessly out of his mouth, to hear him moan --

“M-Mr. Stark!”

Tony winces, pulling back.

He sighs. “Kid, if we’re doing this, you really gotta call me Tony.”

In an instant Peter’s face turns stony, somehow looking stern despite his swollen lips and wrinkled shirt. He looks like a petulant pitbull.

“If we’re doing this you really gotta stop calling me ‘kid’, Tony.”

Tony undoes the first button of Peter’s dress shirt, then the second, parting the folds of fabric to get a view of his collarbones.

“I suppose I would be amenable to such amendments, Peter,” he nods, “on the condition that you let me take you on a date.”

As Tony snakes a hand over the curves of his clavicle, Peter’s deft fingers undo the knot of Tony’s tie until it lies loose from his neck.

“I would be amenable to that. Conditions accepted.”

“Fantastic.”

“Yeah. I’m going to kiss you again now.”

“Okay. Yeah. Good.”

-----

With a heavy arm slung around his midsection, Tony finds out what Peter’s body feels like curled around his body when he wakes up the next morning.

There are a lot of little discoveries on New Years Day.

Like the feeling of Peter’s morning wood pressed pleasantly against his ass. Or how Peter squints adorably as he wakes up, as if he were confused by his own consciousness, his bedhead a mad nest of curls. Or how much Tony doesn’t mind the humid exchange of morning breath. 

“Do you always take your first dates to bed?” Peter queries over breakfast, the ghost of a teasing smile on his face.

“That was not a date,” Tony points his fork at him. Scrambled egg falls from the utensil onto the table. “And we didn’t even have sex. That’s misleading, mister.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Tony sniffs.

“You’ll find out when we have our first date, won’t you? Friday at seven. Yes or yes?”

Peter sips his coffee to hide his smile, but Tony still sees it.

“Yes.”

-----

They got their date. 

Six months after the New Years festivities comes Morgans eleventh birthday. 

Tony’s had a lot of dates with a lot of people, including Peter, but nothing quite trumps this. 

It’s a double date. With his ex-wife and her new husband. Plus twelve other kids and their parents at a McDonalds. 

All four are seated at a table, Peter to his side, squirming on the terrible, hard chairs while Pepper and Greg sit opposite. Several servings of burgers and fries lay cold between them. Mostly melted McFlurries ooze off the provided plastic spoon when disinterestedly stirred.

It’s terribly romantic.

Morgan wanted McDonalds with her friends for her birthday, and before the big move to middle school. It fell on date night. 

The garishly decorated diner is alive with the sounds of yelling and laughing, kids and their siblings running after one another, pushing each other down slides and following each other through narrow, plastic tunnels.

Tony’s never really been a double date kinda guy, particularly when it involves the mother of his child and his new, twenty-something lover. It was stilted in the beginning, made more awkward by Tony’s foursome jokes, but Peter keeps the conversation afloat, dipping the congealed fries into Tony’s melted ice cream. 

He rubs Tony’s lower back as he speaks. Soothing, grounding circles that inadvertently keep Tony in the present.

Peter likes being in constant contact, Tony found. Now that he has the permission. Whether its holding hands, a casual grip on Tonys knee, his thigh, his back. 

It’s… actually nice. Maybe because he does it too.

It’s not always about comfort though, Tony concedes, as Peter’s hand dips a little lower, brushing over the swell of his ass.

They share a knowing look. 

Tony knows now, what that odd twinkle in Peter’s eyes mean. That little pervert. He knows it in the way Peter bites his bottom lip, as if canary feathers are about to flutter out of his guilty mouth. He wants to lean over and kiss the look right off them.

Greg keeps a close eye on the playground, loafers tapping anxiously on the tiles when a kid pulls a daring move and nearly misses their landing. 

He’s not the worst, Tony concedes, wearily assessing the other man. He cares for Morgan which is a plus. But he’s greying gracefully and is genuinely so nice and humble that Tony can’t help but test him every now and then. How earnest can he truly be with Tony stealing a fry here and there and knocking his knees ‘accidentally’. 

The conversation turns to Morgans transition to middle school. Pepper thinks she’ll outgrow her peers in months and will pursue a more scientific-focused academic curriculum. 

It’s one of those rare, transient moments of life that Tony’s here to witness. He’s getting used to feeling like everything is going to be okay, like maybe he wasn’t brought back just to be a part of another fight. But there’s a lingering anxiety, he just doesn’t know how to deal with without a solder or a suit to tinker on.

He’s working on it though.

“Should we manhandle her highness back in for the cake?” Tony asks, hand snaking down to squeeze Peter’s firm thigh.

Peter, not missing a beat, sends him a smirk that says I’ll manhandle you. 

It’s only right that Tony tightens his grip on Peter’s thigh, smiling proudly to himself when Peters breath hitches.

A kid knocks into the back of Tony’s chair, screaming as they run towards the playground. Tony winces, the moment broken.

“Need I remind you two that we’re in a family establishment,” Pepper stresses.

“Yes,” Tony rolls his eyes, gesturing to the playground of rambunctious, screaming children. “How could I forget.”

“Tony.”

“You heard her, Pete, keep it safe for work. You’re making people uncomfortable,” Tony says, clamping down tighter on Peter's leg. Speaking to the couple, he gestures to Peter with his thumb. “Real horndog this one. Insatiable.”

“Me?” Peter says accusingly, jaw dropping.

Pepper raises an eyebrow cooly. “Please, Tony. Don’t think Morgan hasn’t told me about the time she walked in on you two. One time you told her you were checking each Peters temperature. With your long thermometer -- honestly, Tony. Try not to traumatise our child.”

Peter visibly colours at the mention.

“Wait,” Tony says. “That little -- I paid her twenty bucks not to tell you that.”

“So did I,” Peter frowns. “And I gave her the rest of my Reeses to seal the deal. Ah, crap.”

“You got played,” Greg snickers. Tony hates him again.

He nods at Pepper. 

“She gets that from you.”

Pepper smiles, unbothered, looking every ounce the image of class as she raises her plastic cup of milkshake to them.

Tony sighs, not even mad.

Some things never change.

-- Thank you to our wonderful artists and writer who participated in the first Starker Games! <3 <3 <3 this is fabulous and we hope you enjoyed yourselves!

[ghostspideys-moved]

All For The Best

Chapter Eight

A/N: I’m actually pretty proud of this chapter. Don’t forget to leave a comment or reblog if you’ve been enjoying this ride so far.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairings: Steve Harrington x OC, Nancy Wheeler x Jonathan Byers x OC

Summary: While El looks for the flayed, Hawthorne reveals a secret he’s been keeping in for a long time.

Somehow, Hawthorne was stuck sitting in the waiting room, watching over the kids. He supposed someone had to look after them, especially since Nancy and Jonathan decided they’d be the ones to visit Mrs. Driscoll.

He was sitting next to El, who was reading a magazine, mostly flipping through and glancing at the pictures. He’d already heard about her break up with Mike, and he didn’t need to be able to read her mind to know it was bothering her. Especially when he’d caught her glancing over in Mike’s direction a few times. 

“How are you holding up?” Hawthorne asked. El glanced up at him, a confused look on her face. “You know, with you and Mike?”

El shrugged. “Okay.”

As she turned back to her magazine, he debated exactly how to help her out. It wasn’t exactly Mike’s fault, though he hadn’t been the smartest either. Hawthorne remembered what Hopper said about his “talk” with Mike, and he couldn’t help feeling that was the real problem here. Not that he was surprised. Even he was a bit annoyed with Hopper handling this the way he had.

“You know, I think you two should talk,” he finally said. “I mean, you both seem miserable without each other?”

“Miserable?” El set her magazine down, clearly wondering what he was getting at. 

“You know, like...sad. But, like, really sad,” Hawthorne explained. “If you two don’t talk to each other, I’m sure it could get a lot worse.”

She at least appeared to be considering her words. Sure, he didn’t know how solid his own advice was, but he was a little tired of watching them tip-toe around each other. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “Like Nancy and Jonathan.”

Hawthorne sighed, slumping in his seat. “Yeah, something like that,” he said. “They’re working it out, but it happens. Fights happen.” It wasn’t like he was some expert on relationships, and he didn’t really know where all of this was coming from, but he hoped it was helping her, even if only a bit.

Turning to her, Hawthorne gave El a reassuring smile. “Just don’t hold a grudge against him, okay? Most guys your age do dumb things.” He was glad that part earned a laugh from her. “Hell, I do dumb things all the time.”

For all his attempts to keep Nancy and Jonathan together, it was taking a toll on him. And, though it was taking some time, it seemed like the two of them were finally making progress. There was still some understanding needing to be reached, but it was something. He didn’t plan on mediating forever. Eventually, they’d have to own up to their own mistakes - they both had some apologizing to do, he was sure - and he was just glad to help kick-start the process. If anything, he didn’t want El and Mike to let this sour their relationship. They were kids, and they deserved to learn from their mistakes just as much as anyone else. 

Hawthorne let his advice sink in and left when Mike came over to talk with El. He was more than happy to give them space to work things out, though he made a mental note to have a talk with Hopper about the mess he’d made.

By now, he was starting to realize Nancy and Jonathan had been gone for a while. And maybe there was nothing to worry about, but he had an awful feeling. It was sitting in his gut, constantly pestering him. With how easily things went to shit again, Hawthorne hoped they were okay. It occurred to him to check on them, but there was no way he was going to get past the receptionist. And if he did manage that and it turned out he was worrying for nothing, he would just feel like an idiot.

Just as his anxiety was starting to get the best of him, the lights started flickering. Normally, Hawthorne might pass it off as nothing, but that usually wasn’t a good sign. He’d learned that by now. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one to notice, and even worse was how jumpy Will was. The poor kid looked pale and unbelievably freaked out. It was becoming abundantly clear to Hawthorne that he may well have been right to be worried.

Will’s shaky, “he’s here,” was enough for it to dawn on Hawthorne that this was about to get pretty intense, as much as he hated it.

At the very least, they’d missed the action so far, but neither Nancy nor Jonathan looked like they were in very good shape. And as soon as they explained everything that happened, they were off to the cabin. 

Rex came running over when Hawthorne let them all inside, and El ended up locking herself in her room as she tried to track the flayed. Hawthorne tried to busy himself with feeding Rex while everyone else was working out their plans. In the grand scheme of things, he wasn’t sure how to help, and he felt pretty useless. He’d hardly done anything to help. If only he could stop being a coward for just a minute, he might be able to contribute something. 

He’d been so deep in thought that he’d accidentally spilled some of the dog food. His only response was a deep sigh as he moved to clean it up. Hawthorne looked up when he noticed Nancy trying to help. She opened her mouth to speak a few times, trying to find her words.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asked. 

If there were any words to describe how he was feeling, “okay” was not one of them. “Fine,” Hawthorne lied, standing again.

It was clear she didn’t totally believe him. Even when they finished cleaning, she didn’t let up. “If this about what’s been happening between Jonathan and I, I’m really sorry you got caught in the middle of it.”

Sure, that might have been part of his stress, but he had no clue how to even explain everything that was going on in his head. It was so much more than that.

“No. I mean, not really.” Hawthorne sighed, looking down. “I guess I’m just stressed out with everything that’s been happening. After last time, I really hoped all of this was behind on.”

The concerned look on her face only made him feel bad for putting all of this on her. Nancy had much bigger things to worry about. Seeming to sense his apprehension, she took his hand and made him look her in the eyes.

“Everything’s gonna be fine, okay?” Whether it was true or not, he almost believed her. “We’ll get through this just like last time.”

“Nance, I don’t even know where my sister is, or if she’s even okay. I don’t know where Hop is either, and I feel like I’m doing a terrible job of keeping it together.”

Nancy paused for a moment before asking, “You saw it, didn’t you? When you were walking in the parking lot?”

Hawthorne had almost forgotten about his vision, but he could never forget the dread he felt in that moment. “Yeah. It wasn’t much, really,” he admitted. “But I freaked out.” If it came down to it, he wasn’t sure if he’d really be able to help any of them. This was worse than last year, and he just knew that, given the chance, he’d freeze. Just like he always did.

Somehow, Nancy always had a way of making him feel better, and this was no exception. “You’re stressing yourself out too much,” she said. “Don’t forget. You’re not alone. You have me, Jonathan, the kids, your family. None of us will ever make you deal with this alone.”

Deep down, he knew that. It felt good to hear it, though. Sometimes, he needed a reminder that he wasn’t carrying all of this weight alone. 

Hawthorne offered a slight smile as she kissed him on the cheek. Now that he was feeling at least somewhat better, he let her get back to planning. He let her borrow the phone in the meantime, and he actually managed to feed Rex. The poor dog probably needed it. Hawthorne was feeding him as regularly as possible in all this mess, but he felt bad for leaving him for so long every now and then.

Just as Hawthorne was settled, Nancy finished her final phone call, none of which produced any results. It wasn’t looking so good. With no clue where any of the flayed were, they had no clue what they were doing. It was like they’d just disappeared, and they weren’t any closer to finding the source of the flaying.

Worse still was the argument happening between Mike and Max. Hawthorne didn’t feel so inclined to agree with either of them, no matter how much they yelled. Realistically, both of them were right. He’d learned the hard way that even if they explained to El how damaging it could be to push herself, that didn’t mean it would stop her. Mike was very adamant on finding a new plan, though, and Hawthorne couldn’t blame him. El had been locked up for quite some time now looking for the flayed.

“You’re treating her like some kind of machine when she’s not a machine, and I don’t want her to die looking for the flayed when they’ve obviously vanished off the face of the earth,” Mike snapped. “So can we please just come up with a new plan? Because I love her, and I can’t lose her again.”

His words were met with silence as they sank in. Hawthorne could hardly believe what he’d heard, but Mike said it with such confidence and conviction that it was almost frightening. 

Before anyone could say more, El finally came out of her room. She looked fine, if not a bit exhausted, and Hawthorne thanked whatever omnipotent being there may or may not be that she was okay. 

“What’s going on?” El asked, glancing at each of them curiously.

Mike was quick to cover for them. “Nothing. Nothing.”

“Just a family discussion,” Lucas added.

“Oh.” El seemed satisfied enough with their answer, even if she didn’t totally believe it. “I found him.”

El usually needed some quiet when she was tracking. The TV was turned on, only playing static for her, and her blindfold was back on. Everyone was trying to stay quiet for her sake in the hopes she would find something. 

Thankfully, she found Billy, just like she’d said, though they didn’t have much to go off of with the information she had. He was sitting in his room, which Max confirmed wasn’t normal. It was clearly a trap.

But El was insistent that she might know a way to figure out where he’d been, and while Hawthorne didn’t want her to push herself, he knew it was the only way to get anywhere. They hadn’t been having any success on their own. 

After taking a break, El put the blindfold back on and tried to look again. 

Hawthorne sighed and sat back while she gave it another go. “So, what do we do if this doesn’t work?” he asked quietly, trying not to bother El.

“Don’t you have powers?” Mike asked. “Can’t you help somehow?”

Nancy gave him a stern look. “Mike.”

“We’ve never seen him use them. Maybe he just doesn’t have any,” Lucas said.

“If they took him to the lab, he has to have them.”

Hawthorne raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, hi. Standing right here.”

“Well, do you?” Mike asked.

There was no way around this. Hawthorne was going to have to explain himself eventually, and he knew that. 

“Yeah. It’s just...not a good idea for me to use them,” he claimed.

“But whatever it is you can do, it might help El.”

“I haven’t used them in years. The last time I did that things went wrong.”

“We can’t push everything onto her, though. She’s going to wear herself out.”

“You told her you’d trust her, though.”

“And I do, but I know she could use the help.”

Max finally cut in. “Okay, seriously. You’re gonna break El’s concentration.”

Hawthorne and Mike finally shut up, but they gave each other one last look of disdain. Nancy pulled him and Jonathan over to the kitchen where they wouldn’t bother El.

“Hey, don’t worry about him, okay? He’s just worried,” she said. 

Hawthorne sighed, leaning against the counter. “I know. I get it,” he replied. “I’m just as worried she’s going to wear herself thin, but I don’t think I’d even be all that helpful.”

“What happened the last time you used your powers?” Jonathan asked. “It sounded like it was pretty bad.”

That felt like the understatement of the year. But if he trusted anyone with this, it was both of them. He might as well get it off his chest.

“I just...they made us do a lot of tests, you know? The scientists liked to up the stakes each time, and they’d already learned a lot about my powers. I really just tried to go along with what they asked of me because it was better that way.” Hawthorne swallowed dryly. “Whenever I touch people - any sort of skin contact - I absorb their strength, memories, abilities, sometimes even pieces of their personality. But it always wears off eventually, and they just pass out until it wears off.

“One time, I guess the scientists were curious what would happen if I tried it on one of the other kids. Maybe I could absorb their powers. And they were right. It worked the first few times, and it only lasted about half an hour at most. They’d always be fine afterwards. But one time, it didn’t go that way at all. There was this kid they had me try it out on and-” Hawthorne almost couldn’t finish, but he dismissed their looks of concern, trying to press on. “It didn’t wear off that time. And he went into a coma. Pretty sure he didn’t make it.”

Jonathan placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring look. “How long did it take to wear off?” he asked.

“It didn’t.” Hawthorne avoided their eyes, knowing he’d break down otherwise. “I still have his powers. I don’t use them, but I could any time. It’s kind of been eating at me.”

They shared a look, almost seeming to debate if they should ask him anything else. But he knew they’d stop if he really asked them to. 

Nancy finally braved one more question. “What exactly were his powers?”

Hawthorne hesitated. “Shapeshifting.”

In his mind, it wasn’t anything monumental. Nor was it going to do them any good. And while he had his powers mostly under control by now, he wasn’t sure how he’d feel about knocking anyone else out if he didn’t have to. 

Before he could go into it any further, El announced she’d found the source. They raced over as Max asked where it was. 

“Brimborn...Steelworks.”

Jonathan grabbed the phone book and flipped through the pages in a hurry. “Found it. 6522 Cherry Oak Drive.”

“That’s close,” Nancy realized.

El still hadn’t come back yet, which was beyond worrying. Mike was trying to call her back, but it didn’t seem like she could just yet. There wasn’t anything they could do to bring her back. She had to do it herself, but it didn’t look like she was ready yet. 

The room went silent as they waited hopefully for her to get out of there. El finally threw off the blindfold, screaming. 

Hawthorne felt his heart sink when she started crying, throwing herself into Mike’s arms. He raced back to the kitchen and grabbed her a glass of water as Mike calmed her down. They made her sit down and take a drink, giving her enough time to bounce back from whatever she saw. 

Hawthorne was taken by surprise as she clung onto him, clearly exhausted and scared beyond belief. He tried to calm her down, wrapping his arms around her as he let her cry. If he was having any doubts before, they were only growing and settling in his mind, but he would never back out on any of them, but least of all El. Mike had been right about her needing all the help she could get.

//

Taglist: @charmedtenderness​ @nxncywheeler​ @koibecomedragons​

[wkemeup]

The Witness (7)

series summary: After witnessing a Hydra hit and the handsome, borderline endearing cop who had become a regular at your bar takes it upon himself to ensure your safety off the books, you learn to rely on someone else for a change and find you don’t mind it at all. Not when it’s him.

pairing: detective!bucky x reader

word count: 7.2k

warnings: angst (some fluff) angst angst SMUT (18+) 

series masterlist // previous chapter

author’s note: thank you for all the love on the last part! buckle up my friends!! 

Nothing was the same again after that night. Bucky had insisted you move into his flat for the time being, concerned that staying at your apartment was too easy of an access point to you if, and when, Rumlow put the pieces together. He had helped you gather a suitcase of clothes, toiletries, and several books from the shelf you had bought in the years past but never got around to reading. Free time wouldn’t be as sparse as it used to be now that you’d be closing the bar.

Bucky had expected a fight, had even prepared a few different angles of argument in advance, but you conceded easily. The very idea of stepping foot back in that bar made your stomach sick and that you hated more than almost anything else. The bar was supposed to be your home, your safe haven. Those assholes took that from you.

Meanwhile, Bucky had taken the liberty to tack a sign to the door, telling your patrons you’d gone traveling for a while but you’d be back soon. You hoped it wasn’t entirely a lie.

You spent most of your time curled up on Bucky’s couch, reading or watching a new tv series you had been meaning to get to as Bucky sat at the table in the kitchen, hunched over his laptop through the late hours of the night typing furiously at the keys. Steve had given him leave for the last week while he helped you get settled until they could come up with a better plan. It didn’t stop Bucky from pursuing every lead he could from behind the computer.

It was laughable to think you had felt suffocated with how much Bucky was doting over you before your run-in with Rumlow. Now, the very idea of being outside of the same room as him made you weak with anxiety, even when he started to keep himself at a painful distance.

You stole a glance at him over the top of your book. Bucky was seated in his usual spot at the kitchen table, illuminated only by the light of his laptop screen as the hours passed by since the sun set and he had failed to turn on the overhead light. You sighed, setting your book down on your knees. You had been scanning the last page over three times and had yet to retain a word, anyway.

“Hey Buck,” you called, leaning your head against the back of the couch. His eyes flashed up at you briefly before he returned to the computer. “Think you might want to eat something? I could heat up the leftover takeout you ordered for me?”

Bucky paused, the endless clicking of the keys silencing for a moment. “I’m alright, doll. Thanks.”

“You haven’t eaten dinner yet and it’s almost eleven,” you pressed, pulled out your necklace from under your shirt and twisting the pendent nervously between your fingers. You slid your legs out from under the blanket and paced over to the kitchen. You clicked the light on and Bucky flinched. Once you were close enough, you set a hand on his shoulder, bending over to kiss the crown of his head. “I know you’re working, but I need you to eat. For me?”

He didn’t look up from his screen, but a quick glance down and you could tell he was still diving into the police database, Rumlow’s most recent mug shot in the top right corner of the screen. Bucky’s hand reached up to rest on top of yours. He gave it a light squeeze.

“Just for you, okay?” he conceded lightly, forcing out a tight smile.

Then, he let his hand fall away and you found that you missed the touch instantly. In the week since you moved into Bucky’s apartment, neither of you spoke about the glimpse of a night you shared, but it was clear something had changed. Bucky was quieter, more reserved, and he kept to himself unless it was you that initiated the contact. He was sure to keep a distance between you in the rare moments when he agreed to step away from the computer long enough to watch a movie. He still struggled to meet your eye on most occasions.

Somewhere along the line, you had grown to know and understand Bucky better than most, and you knew that his sudden withdrawal had little to do with the way he touched you that night.

It was because he was a man who carried the burden of a guilt so strong it was suffocating him, wrapping tight around his self-doubt and misplaced blame until it stole the air from his lungs. Nothing you said seemed to lessen the load. He’d just smile softly and nod, thank you again for your selfless forgiveness and change the subject.

He tried to mask how much he was torturing himself for not being there when Rumlow walked into your bar. He kept himself from you, withholding against every instinct that begged him otherwise, and put up walls and barriers between you. He didn’t realize it was hurting you and much as it hurt him.

You threw the leftover Indian food in a bowl and stuck in the microwave. Bucky would barely touch it. You knew as much, but at least he’d get a few bites in. He’d do it to appease you, anyway.

Once the microwave beeped, you pulled the warmed rice and chicken from under the steaming lid and carried it over to the table. You sat it down next to his laptop and he didn’t so much as look at it. He was too focused on his screen.

“It’s good, Buck. You’ll like it,” you said as you sat down next to him. You leaned your elbows on the table, watching as he typed away at the keyboard. You sighed, and slumped back in your chair. Bucky must have noticed your disappointment and he reached for the spoon, taking a quick bite.

“It’s perfect, Y/n,” he replied, forcing out a smile as he chewed. “Thank you.”

You nodded and stood back up, making your way back to the couch. You grabbed the book from the cushion. “I’m going to head to bed,” you called softly over your shoulder.

“Okay, doll,” Bucky said, pausing his typing to watch as you dragged the blanket alongside you towards his room. “Goodnight.”

“Don’t work too long, alright?” you asked of him, leaning against the door frame. “Try to get some sleep tonight, at least. That file can wait until morning.”

“I’ll do my best,” he assured you.

You fell asleep to the gentle clicks of his keyboard, carrying on through the early hours of the morning.

***

You woke the following morning to voices whispering in the kitchen. Rubbing at your eyes, you patted the side of the bed, searching for your phone. The screen illuminated and you squinted to avoid the influx of light to your eyes. It was nearing ten o’clock already. Light seeped in through the blinds in the window on the other side of the room and birds chipped just beyond the glass.  

“We’ve had a warrant out for his arrest for a week, Buck, what else do you want us to do?” A voice questioned suddenly, muffled by the bedroom door. Steve, it sounded like.

“More,” the voice you quickly recognized as Bucky groaned.

“Listen man,” the cadence of the tone easily gave it away as Sam, “I know being cooped up here is hard but-“

“Hard?” Bucky scoffed and you could practically picture the glare he was likely throwing in Sam’s direction. Kicking the blankets down the bed, you swung your legs over the side of the mattress and pulled yourself to your feet.

“You think I’m on you about tracking down Rumlow because this is hard?” Bucky continued and you pictured the way he would start chewing on the inside of his lip cheek when he became upset. “Every day we don’t have him in custody, Y/n’s life is in danger! Every second we fail to nail that asshole, he could be learning her identity! This is beyond hard, Wilson! This is a whole other fucking level!”

An understanding sigh, “I know, Buck, but-“

“No, Wilson. You don’t know!” Bucky shouted and a chair squeaked as he must have kicked it out from under him. You threw on a sweatshirt and quickly tied your unruly hair up into a bun.

Pacing of footsteps down the hall, back and forth, and you could only imagine Bucky raking his hands through his hair, the frustration boiling in his skin so hot he could hardly stand it. The pacing ceased but not before the sound of a fist slamming against the wall startled you enough to make you flinch.

“You don’t know shit, Sam. Either of you!” Bucky snapped and you could hear the panting in his voice. “You have no fucking idea what it’s like! To constantly be worried that something’s going to go wrong! To have to watch someone you love be targeted by the deadliest, most powerful criminal organization this city’s ever seen! You’ve never had to-- to deal with that dread, that fucking paralyzing fear, that you’re going to mess up again and this time she won’t live long enough to just blindly forgive you!”

You clasped your hand over your mouth, recoiling your fingers from the doorknob.

Someone you love.

Another chair skidded on the tile floor. “I know how much you care for her Buck,” Steve said carefully. “Take a seat, alright? We’ve got everyone on this case. Nothing is slipping by without us knowing.”

A long pause, the scuffle of feet, and then, “Sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to--“

“Already forgotten, partner.”

Without giving yourself the time to hesitate, you opened the bedroom door and strolled down the hallway to the kitchen. The three men turned abruptly in your direction as you walked in and headed straight for the cereal boxes on top of the fridge, acting as though you hadn’t heard their argument.  

“Good morning, Y/n,” Steve smiled, pulling out the empty chair for you between him and Sam. You waved with your free hand and grabbed a clean bowl and spoon from beside the sink. You plopped into the chair and sent a wink at Sam as he nudged your arm. None of them seemed the wiser and no one was intent on filling you in.  

“Sleep alright, doll?” Bucky asked gently, though you could still make out the strain in his voice. You looked up at him as you poured the cereal, taking in the sunken look under his eyes and the flush of redness in his cheeks. He hadn’t been sleeping well in the last week. Your eyes glanced over to the couch where he insisted he stay despite your protests, blankets and pillows still tossed over the cushions like he had been fumbling against them in the few hours he gave himself time to rest. You gave him a slight nod, hoping to ease his constant worry.

“We should get going,” Steve said, pushing his chair out from the table. Sam scowled as Steve gestured for him to follow.

“Yeah, I guess we’re leaving then,” Sam grumbled and he climbed out of his chair rather dramatically. He bent over and gave you a one-armed hug as you shoved a spoonful of cereal into your mouth.

“I brought you the tomato sauce and homemade linguine from the Italian grocery store Bucky said you’d been craving,” Steve smiled, nodding to the bags of groceries he must have brought in this morning.

You glanced over at Bucky with wide eyes, not having realized he had made the request to Steve for you. You didn’t even know he had heard you mention that. It was an off handed comment you had grumbled to yourself during a commercial for Olive Garden about how you could make a better looking bolognaise if only you’d had access to that small family run convenience store in Little Italy. Bucky had been sitting over in the kitchen on his laptop at the time. Maybe he paid more attention than he let on.

You smiled at him sweetly, almost sadly, like you had been missing him. He returned it, only a glimpse of the smile you were so fond of, before he let it fade away.

“Nat will be by around nine tonight, that work for you?” Steve said over his shoulder as he headed towards the door.  

“Uh, yeah, that’s fine. Thanks,” Bucky stuttered, eyes falling away from yours as you raised an eyebrow at him. With that, Steve and Sam left through the front door and closed the door behind them.

“What’s happening at nine?” you asked more casually than you felt, taking another bite of cereal.

Bucky sighed, clearly considering lying to you for a moment before his judgement got the best of him. “I have an old informant I want to meet up with. He might have some info on Rumlow’s whereabouts.”  

Your heart skipped a beat. “By yourself?”

“This guy won’t trust me if I’m not,” Bucky replied gently, noticing the flicker of nerves in your voice. “I’ll be fine, Y/n. It’s part of my job to make friends with these guys.”

“You can’t bring Sam with you?” you tried to reason but Bucky shook his head.

“Sam’ll scare him away with his loud mouth,” Bucky teased, enough to get you to laugh. It had been a while since he’d done that. You smiled as you took another bite. “Nat said she was going to bring over some kind of Russian chocolate and some kind of soviet spy movie. You’ll have fun and forget all about me.”

He had said it with a laugh, like he had meant it in a playful way, but you knew part of him really did believe that you could forget him easily. You swallowed, setting the spoon in your empty bowl.

“I’ll always worry about you, Buck,” you said softly, truthfully. “Promise me you’ll come home safe tonight?”

A flash of surprise etched over Bucky’s features, though he nodded. He gave you a nervous smile before he grabbed your bowl and began to wash it in the sink. You watched him curiously as he dried it and bustled off to find his laptop in the living room. You wondered what had made him so flustered until you realized what you had said.

You called his apartment ‘home.’

***

Truthfully, you had always enjoyed Natasha’s company. She had the kind hardened exterior that normally would have scared you off before you had given yourself the chance to know her, but under it all she was incredibly kind, empathetic, and a lot funnier than she let on. Her humor was subtle, enough so that you had to pay attention to catch her mumble a witty retort under her breath. She didn’t have a flare for the dramatic like Sam or enjoyed the spotlight like Tony. Nat was more comfortable in the shadows and you were grateful she had been willing to let you in.  

You had always been curious if she and Bucky had a past. For two people that rarely seemed to interact, they shared some kind of unspoken bond you couldn’t quite understand. She had agreed without question to join the protection detail when he asked, having not even met your before. Loyalty certainly was not one of her weaknesses.

As she sat next to you, tossing a handful of popcorn in her mouth and missing a stray bit that fell into her hair, you gathered the courage to ask.

“So, you and Bucky-“

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Nat smirked, turning to tuck a leg under her to face you. “Oddly, you’re not the first person to ask me this but nothing’s going on between me and Barnes. Never has. We trained together at the academy when we were rookies and learned pretty early on to trust one another. He asks for a favor and I do it. No questions. He’s done it for me, too. But that’s as far as it goes.”

You bit on your lip, heat rushing up to your cheeks. “Oh, ok. I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Nat waved you off, laughing softly at your reaction. She grabbed the piece of popcorn still sitting at the edge of her hair and dropped it on her tongue. “I can see how much you care about him. It’s sweet. Besides, Bucky could use someone like you in his life. I’ve never seen him as happy as he was when he first starting going to your bar, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow, pulling your knees up to your chest, the movie long forgotten. “Really?”

Nat shrugged. “Well this was before you became a key witness in a Hydra hit, so he’s been a little tense since then, but yeah.” The way she smirked over at you got you laughing again.

Nat sighed, her smile faltering somewhat. “He’s got a control issue; wants to protect the people in his life he cares for above all else. It’s admirable. Honestly, it is. But it’ll eat at him if he lets it. That kind of devotion comes hand in hand with a guilt that can’t be swayed on its own.”

You nodded, taking in her words. She was always more perceptive than the team gave her credit for. You let your chin rest on your knees as you hugged them to your chest. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve already forgiven him a hundred times but he keeps pulling away. It’s like he doesn’t believe me.”

“It’ll take time,” Nat said carefully, like she spoke from experience. “He’ll come around. Something tells me you’ll be here when he does.”

***

You fell asleep on the couch three times before Nat convinced you to go to bed. You had wanted to wait up until Bucky returned, but as the hours passed by and with no text to Natasha that he was on his way, you reluctantly gave in. Nat sat on the edge of your bed, running her hands softly through your hair to ease the worried mummers under your breath. It only took a few minutes before you succumbed to sleep.

When you woke again, Natasha was gone. The room was absent of sunlight and crickets chirped softly from beyond the cracked opening in the window. You yawned, grabbing your phone to find it was nearly three in the morning. You laid back against the pillow, eyes staring up at the ceiling fan as the panels spun slowly in endless circles.

A parch in your throat urged you to leave the comfort of the bed. It smelled like Bucky, even eight days after he replaced the sheets and you had slept in it alone; a part of him still lingered behind and it seemed to be the only thing that brought you ease at night.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, rubbing at your eyes as you lazily grabbed the empty cup on the nightstand and made your way to the kitchen. The door usually had a creak to it, so you opened it as cautiously as you could in the event that Bucky had returned and was able to find sleep of his own. You crept down the hall, pausing suddenly when you heard the distant echo of a voice. It sounded a little like yours.

“Bucky, please,” you heard your voice carry down the hall. It was impossibly quiet, muffled through the speaker of a phone. A recording, it sounded like. You took a step into the living room to find Bucky hunched over on the couch, a phone pressed to his ear as his head set in his hand. His back to was to you.

“You promised you’d answer. You promised.”

A skip in your heart and your breath caught in the back of your throat, a paralyzing ache deep in your stomach. He was listening to the voicemail.

He wiped at his eyes, sighed heavily as he pulled the phone from his ear, tapped a button and it message began again.  

“B-Bucky, please. I need you to answer. P-Please, Buck. Shit. He was here. He was just here!” your voice begged through the recording and you winced. You could barely remember what happened after Rumlow left the bar and before you recognized Bucky kneeling next to you under the desk. You hadn’t realized how terrified you sounded; crying and voice cracking through nearly every word.

“Please, I need you. C-Call me back. I’m -- fuck-- I’m scared,” it continued. You watched as Bucky raked his hand through his hair, gripping the phone so tight his knuckles were white. “Please. I don’t know what to do. No one’s-- no one’s here. It’s just me. Bucky, please. You promised you’d answer. You promised.”

Bucky pulled the phone away from his ear only long enough to press a single button. To your horror, you watched as he began listening to it again, your voice echoed through the small speaker for the third time.

Unable to take a second more, you made your way towards the couch, careful on your footsteps to avoid the loose floorboards. It took until you stood at the end of the couch before Bucky realized you were there. His eyes shot up to you, red and rimmed with tears, as he scurried to tuck the phone back in his pocket.

“Y/n,” Bucky gasped, rubbing his eyes with the corner of his sleeve. “What are you doing up so late?”

Unable to form words, you sank down onto the couch next to him. Your hand reached out to grab his but he yanked it away, recoiling on instinct and muttering an apology under his breath. He had flinched away from you like this before in the week since you’d been staying with him, but it didn’t seem to lessen the sting in your heart each time it happened.

You pulled your hands back into your lap. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

Bucky looked away, a nervousness about him as he shook his head. “I don’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard you listening to the voicemail, Buck.”

His muscles visibly tensed and he ran his hand over his face, tugging at the dryness on his lips. It had been years since you’d seen the blue in his eyes; the true, honest blue that lit up when he smiled and carried a world of vibrancy behind them. They had been clouded in shame and self-loathing since that night one week prior and you craved it more than anything else.

Tears welled in your eyes. “How many times do I have to forgive you before you believe me?”

Bucky shook his head ever so slightly, unable to look away from the floor as he leaned over his knees. “What I did isn’t forgivable, Y/n.”

“I get to decide that, not you,” you retorted sharply, your voice cracking at the effort. Bucky clenched his jaw. Giving yourself a moment to steady your racing heart, you took in a deep breath before you spoke again. “How long have you been doing this?”

He didn’t respond. Shame spread through him and you knew this wasn’t the first night he had listened that voicemail on an endless loop.  Your heart broke at the thought of him sitting out here all alone, replaying that awful recording for hours and torturing himself over it.

“You can’t keep punishing yourself, Bucky,” you begged. “I need you to be here, really be here. Not with your head stuck back in that night. Please. I’m okay, Bucky.”

“What if you’re not next time?” he asked suddenly and you had to strain your ears to hear him he spoke so softly. His whole body slumped. He was exhausted. “What if next time, I’m too late?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, a whisper of trepidation in your voice. Bucky finally turned to you and you placed your hand on the side of his face, thumb brushing over the scruff he hadn’t had the energy to shave. You sighed, a warmth filling your chest as he leaned earnestly into your touch. “All I know is I miss you, Buck, even when you’re sitting right next to me. I miss you.”

Bucky opened his eyes, big blue orbs staring up at you carrying the weight of the world.

“I know how bad you want to keep me safe,” you exhaled, a tear falling down your cheek. Bucky reached up to brush it away and you shivered at the feel of him on your skin. “You are incredibly loyal and protective and-- I’ve never felt as safe as I do when I’m with you. You beat yourself up and punish yourself again and again because you care so deeply that it’s tearing you apart. But I need you to stop, Buck. Please. Stop punishing yourself.”

A silence took over as Bucky chewed on his lips, his eyes darting back and forth, trying to process what you said. Then, an unsteady breath, and he admits, “I don’t know how.”

Your hands grasped at the sides of his face, begging him to look at you. Soft bristles of his beard scratched over your palms.  You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his forehead, holding him there against you as he sighed in such relief you felt the waves of tension lift from his body. You pulled back only slightly, enough to lower yourself to meet his eye.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, brushing a fallen tear as it ran down his cheek. You leaned closer, enough that your nose brushed his and you could feel his breath warm on your skin. “Just be here with me. Right now. Just be here.”

Bucky nodded, blinking away the tears woven amongst his lashes. Your fingers continued brushing gently over his jawline. Forehead to forehead, you held him against you for several months, giving him the time he needed. You were content to spend forever in that minute.

Slowly, you felt his hands wrapping around your waist, careful traces along your skin that sent shivers up your spine. He was breathing harder, apprehensive ocean-blue eyes flickering up to yours, so impossibly close.

Then, in a moment of courage, his lids fluttered shut and lips pressed delicately against yours. You gasped against him from the shock of it and he nearly pulled away before you locked your hands behind his neck and kissed him again.  

It was soft, gentle, and aching. The kind of kiss that was wet from tears and the sweet relief of a lifetime of agonizing longing. It was like he was exposing decades worth of heartache and need with every touch, every brush of his lips igniting something deep within you. He laid you down on the couch, careful of your head as he settled between your legs, resting his chest against yours.

His tongue traced your lower lip and you parted them further for him, fingers raking gingerly through the soft strands of his hair. A blissful kind of dizziness in your head as Bucky’s hand ran down the fabric of your t-shirt and slipped beneath it, calloused hands against the supple skin of your stomach. His lips trailed off to the corner of your mouth to your jawline, then to your neck as he started to suck at the crook of your collarbone.

His hand was hesitant as he trailed it up your stomach. Breathless, you stretched your neck to the side for him, giving him more access to your skin. You could feel his hand against your hip, itching to move further along your body but he kept it still. Knowing he needed something more than the subtext of consent, you reached down and rested your hand over his. Slowly, you guided him up to the curve of your waist to cup your breast, urging him to touch you.

Blue eyes met yours, almost surprised, and you nodded at him. Bucky’s finger brushed over the hardened nipple, more confident now as he elicited a gasp from you. Your hips bucked up against his and he bit on his lip to suppress a whine.

“Take it easy on me, doll,” Bucky pled between kisses to your neckline. There was a trace of a laugh, a piece of his old self in his voice, that made your eyes start to water. He had spent so much time hiding from you, torturing himself for events he couldn’t control, withholding the kind, sweet, quick-witted man you knew. Seeing that part of him again, hearing the teasing tone in his voice, the light-hearted banter that reminded you so much of his early days in your bar before the chaos of Hydra invaded your life, brought tears to your eyes. You had missed him more than you had realized.

As Bucky kissed in lines along your collarbone, you brought your hand up to your eyes to wipe the tears before he could notice, but he was too attentive for that. He lifted his head, concern flooding his features as he yanked his hand away from your breast, pulling it out from under your shirt.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice panicked. “What did I do?”

“Nothing, Buck. I just really missed you,” you exhaled with a smile of relief upon your face. Bucky furrowed his brow, confused, and you pulled him down and kissed him chastely. “Please, don’t stop now.”

Bucky nodded, a careful smile lifting his lips as he sat back far enough to pull his shirt over his head. He tossed it over the back of the couch towards the bedroom. He glanced over his shoulder, towards the door, thinking, before he jumped up off the couch and scooped you up without another word.

“Bucky!” you yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders as he hulled you into his arms and carried you to the bedroom. You laughed, kissing at his neck as he gripped you tight under the knees and behind your back. He twisted to the side as he walked through the doorway, careful to watch for your head and feet as he passed through. Once he set you down at the edge of the bed, you crossed your arms at your waist and pulled your shirt over your head, throwing it towards the dresser. Beneath, all that covered you was the thin layer of your underwear. The pendent of your necklace hung down by your breasts.

Bucky sighed, his eyes falling down to your exposed chest. He shook his head. “Jesus, Y/n. You’re gorgeous.”

“And you’re wearing too many clothes,” you baited, hands dipping under the hook of his jeans and pulling him towards you. Your knees caught on the back of the bed and you fell down onto the mattress, your hair circling above you in a halo. Bucky looked down at you like you hung every goddamn star in the sky.

Snapping from his gaze as you propped yourself up on your elbows, raising an eyebrow at him impatiently, he pulled the belt from his waits and slid his jeans down over his hips. As he stepped out of them, your gaze darted down to the outline of his arousal prominent behind his briefs. Noticing your stare, Bucky chuckled lightly under his breath before he crawled onto the bed, caging you under him.

Your hands ran up his sides, causing him to shiver as he settled atop of you. His lips returned to yours, sucking and pulling at one another enough to send an ache down to your core. You pushed your hips up against him, searching for relief, and Bucky flinched. You could feel how hard he was and you were burning with anticipation begging have him inside you, stretching you, filling you.

“Fuck, Bucky, I need you,” you moaned, grinding against him again, and he chuckled.

“Patience, doll,” he breathed, kissing sweetly at your earlobe before he started to trail his way lower down your body. “I’ve got you.”

A kiss to your collarbone. A kiss to the top curve of your breast, then to your nipple where he pinched and sucked into the warmth of his mouth. He swiped his tongue over the bud as you arched against him, fingers combing in his hair. He moved down to your stomach, kissing and licking down to the top of the only remaining fabric shielding you from him. He looked up at you, eyes pleading before you nodded and he slowly pulled the material away. He sat back, sighing as he looked at you.

“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?”

“Maybe you should show me,” you purred, wiggling your hips and Bucky’s hand palmed at his cock through his briefs just to ease his own aching.

“Don’t even have to ask, sweetheart,” Bucky licked his lips and lowered himself down to your core. His hands slid around your thighs, holding you still as he licked a long stripe between your folds. You gasped, bucking against his face, too sensitive from the anticipation.

His breath was warm against you and you could feel him smile as he ran his tongue over your clit. He sucked it into his mouth and your hands grasped at his hair. He moaned hungrily as you tugged him where you wanted him and he began rubbing himself against the mattress.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you panted, eyes squeezing shut as Bucky slid a finger inside you, curling towards him as he circled your bud with his tongue. He added a second finger and you started to feel dizzy. He pumped them slowly, in rhythm with the movements of his mouth, until he felt you start to clench around him. He started to pick up the pace, moving more irregularly and sucking harsher at your clit.

“Bucky, ah, baby, right there,” you chanted, gripping his hair tight in your fist. Then, as he hit that sweet spot inside of you and swept his tongue with just the right amount of pressure, your release hit you and your walls trembled around his fingers. Your back arched off the bed as you pushed your hips harder against him, sweet pleasure washing through your body. Bucky worked you over as you came back down, kissing softly at your hipbone before he pulled his fingers from your core.

“Wow,” you exhaled, panting as you settled against the bed. Bucky grinned, kissing his way back up your body until he reached your neck. You grabbed the sides of his face and brought him back to your lips, kissing him eagerly and tasting yourself on his tongue.

When you pulled back, completely breathless, you found yourself smiling so wide it hurt. Bucky raised an eyebrow, a little confused, but he couldn’t see the blue in his eyes the way you could; how the light you had missed so much had returned.

You reached down for the waist of his briefs, but Bucky pulled away with a gasp. You narrowed your eyes, the pang of hurt from the night one week prior still in your chest.

“Please don’t run from me again...”

Bucky shook his head, an unexpected nervous laugh escaping him. “No, doll, it’s not that. It’s just,” he blushed, redder than you’d ever seen his cheeks, “I won’t last if you touch me and I— fuck, I really just want to be inside you.”

You pursed your lips together, nodding, and trying to hide the way his words sent shivers down your spine. “Next time, then.”

A flash of relief passed over Bucky’s features, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he would get the chance to be with you like this again. He bent down and kissed your lips before he started to tug down his briefs, tossing them over where he had discarded your underwear.

His cock stood proudly, hard, as he lowered himself back on top of you. The head, red and swollen, was dripping in precum and the thick vein running along the underside looked as though it was pulsing painfully.

“Forgive me, doll. It’s been a while,” Bucky said nervously, noticing your stare.

“You’re perfect, Bucky,” you insisted, never having meant something more in your life. He kissed your lips and you couldn’t help but feel something more than lust and desire in its movement, something stronger.

“Do I need a-” Bucky stammered, looking over to the dresser. He bit his lip.

You shook your head, hands grabbing down at his hips to urge him closer. You couldn’t wait anymore. “On the pill,” you replied in a gasp as the head of his cock brushed over your clit. Bucky twisted his face, trying to hold himself back.

“You’re sure about this?” Bucky asked, a lingering doubt in his voice.

You pulled his lips down and kissed him again, slowly, longingly. When you pulled back, you brushed your thumb over his lower lip. “About you? Always.”

Bucky kissed you again, smiling against your lips as he sank into you in one slow thrust, your body more than willing to compensate for his size. Your walls stretched around him, a tinge of pleasurable pain as you took a breath to adjust. You could feel Bucky’s lips on your neck as he shuddered at the feeling.

“You good, doll?” he whispered in your ear and you could hear the strain in his voice as he tried to stay still for you.

You nodded, your hands wrapping around his shoulders. “Need you to move.”

Slowly, Bucky pulled out, just to the edge of his tip before he sank in again. You groaned, pushing your hips up to meet him halfway when he thrusted into you. His face dipped into the crook of your neck as he began to pick up in pace, his arms caged around your head. He pressed desperate, messy kissed to your shoulder as you slithered your hand down between your bodies and rubbed circles on your clit.

“F-fuck, Y/n,” Bucky grunted as his hips started to become more erratic. “Tell me your close, baby. I’m begging you.”

You nod, unable to form words as the pressure began to build at your core, walls clenching around him, a soothing ache so wonderful you could have spent hours in it. Then, as Bucky sucked at purple the mark already forming at the base of your neck, you came hard, crying out his name as you clamped your hand over your mouth.

Bucky nudged it away as he kept chasing his own release, prolonging your high. “Wanna hear you,” he panted, snaking his hand down your bodies and replacing your fingers rubbing at your clit. He took over, pressing smooth gentle motions against the sensitive nerves as you gasped.

“So close,” Bucky huffed, his voice shaking. You kissed at his jawline, fingers trailing along the subtle discoloration of bruising along his abs yet to heal fully. “Ah- Y/n, f-fuck-“

He twitched inside of you, his arms shaking from the exertion as he continued thrusting sloppily through his high. You took every ounce of what he could give you, filling you whole, as he lazily began to still. You pressed your lips to his forehead as he collapsed on top of you with a heavy sigh. You brushed back his hair, smiling sweetly as he laid his head on your chest.

After what felt like the culmination of a century within only a few moments, Bucky lifted himself and pulled his soft cock out from inside you. He hulled himself up and hastily stalked off to the bathroom where you heard him turn on the faucet. He came back only a moment later with a washcloth, having already cleaned himself off. He smiled sheepishly at you as he dipped the washcloth between your legs. It was warm against your sensitive nerves, but he was careful, gentle with you as he cleaned. Once he was done, he tossed it back to the floor of the bathroom and crawled into the bed.

“You’ll stay?” you asked hesitantly, worried he would find a reason to escape at any minute.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, a flash of regret from the night one week previous, before he settled in next to you, adjusting the pillow under his head. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever leave. That okay with you?”

A smile filled your lips as you nodded, turning on your stomach to tuck your arms under the pillow. Faces only inches apart, breaths easily felt upon one another’s skin, it was the most relaxed you had been in months.

Slowly, almost apprehensively, Bucky reached out and picked up the pendent of your necklace, examining it in his hands. You had never let anyone else touch it before, feeling too sacred for foreign hands. He handled it so delicately, like it was an extension of you. A few moments later, he set it back against the mattress, giving you a smile in appreciation, for allowing him to share this part of you, something beyond the physical.

After some time, after Bucky had begun lazily tracing patterns on the bare skin of your back, you found yourself getting lost in the colorful shades of blue of his eyes.

“I love you, too, you know,” you said, thinking back to what you had overheard the previous morning and watched his reaction carefully. He paused, eyes flickering up to you; shock, panic, realization, awe, all washing through his features. He licked his lips, taking a deep breath and resumed drawing the lines on your skin.

“You heard that, huh?” Bucky sighed, daring to meet your eye. He swallowed. “Does it scare you?”

You pondered that for a moment. A lot of things scared you. Rumlow, for one. The possibility of closing your bar for good. What could happen to your father as he spent the next forty years in prison. Any of the one-four getting hurt trying to protect you – or worse. Something –or someone—taking Bucky away from you.  

But not this. Bucky loving you was a gift, a beautiful miracle among a sea of nightmares. From the darkness Hydra wrapped you in, Bucky gave you a light. Maybe there was a time when that would have scared you, where you would have recognized his feelings, or yours, and blindly ran in the opposite direction and you have. But that was before you had learned to trust him, to care for him, to rely on him. Before he made you laugh and brought about a sense of relief whenever he walked through the door.

Bucky Barnes was your safe haven now. Nothing scared you when you were with him.

So, you shook your head, smiling sweetly at him as you pulled yourself closer to his body among the sheets. He sighed contently, letting his arm drape over your back as you curled up against him. With you pressed against his chest, your steady breaths warming his skin, Bucky slept well for the first time in months.  

part eight .

tags 🦋: @sweetheartbarnes / @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @lumar014 / @alohafromhell1 / @bucksandroses / @teardropcup / @beautiful-aravis / @me-chi / @somewereinthegalaxi / @marvelfansworld / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @yourwonderbelle / @fairislesheets / @brokeinflight / @verygraphicink / @lollipopdomination / @emotionallysalty / @forsaken-letters / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @ashlieadelia / @kasimagines / @ladymelissastark / @panic-naran / @pinkisokay / @jsmith509 / @hennessy0274-blog / @littlemsrantsalot

[need-a-fugue]

We Grow Together (11)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

Warning(s): angst, emotional and mental turmoil… the good stuff

Chapter Summary: Ah, the aftermath... Bucky has to face what he’s done, no matter how painful it might be.

He never does show up at Natasha’s. Not later that day. Not that evening. Not the next morning. By the second afternoon of being held prisoner in Nat’s apartment, Tessa feels like she’s going to explode. Which may be, in part, why she reacted the way she did when Tony stopped by – smashing the creepy British tablet to pieces in front of him. Though that was largely about him uttering the words, “He’s right to stay away,” when she lamented still not having heard from James.

“I’m not saying Tony was right to say that to you,” Natasha states calmly as Tessa continues to angrily pace a rut into the floor in front of her. “I’m just saying that he feels that way because he cares about you.”

She turns on her heel and stares the redhead down, her glare so intense that even the Black Widow is a bit intimidated. But before she can say a word, chide her friend for taking Tony’s side, Clint chimes in from across the room. “I don’t think he was wrong at all, actually,” he says as he nonchalantly tosses some more popcorn into his mouth. “He might’ve said it in an asshole way, because, you know… Tony. But he’s right.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows at her friend, a silent what the hell are you doing? look that she’s surely given him countless times before.

“Come again,” Tessa says with a forced sort of composure as she stands still and places her hands on her hips.

Clint cringes involuntarily at the sound of her worn voice. When he arrived about an hour ago, eager to settle in and watch some movies to “take Tessa’s mind off of things,” as Nat had put it, it took everything in his power to keep from losing his shit.

Natasha had called him that morning to tell him what happened the day before. She’d said that between Steve hovering, Bruce going into full-on doctor mode, and Tony being… Tony, Tessa could use another friend. She’d also told him that, “She looks a little rough, so be nice.” He had expected her to be a bit worse for the wear. Being choked by a super soldier surely would leave a mark. But Nat had been so casual when she said, “She’s fine. Don’t worry,” that he was not at all prepared for what he saw.

He had not expected to see her with burst vessels so bad that almost the entire white of her right eye and a good portion of the left would be blood red. And while he assumed there’d be a nice bruise, he did not expect to see her neck almost completely covered in dark blues, purples, and greens. The raised welts that rose from the colorful backdrop being the size and shape of fingers. And he certainly had not expected to hear that gravelly, rasping sound come from her mouth, nor to see the pained look on her face every time she swallowed or choked out a few words.

He sets down the bowl of popcorn and approaches Tessa, places his hands on her upper arms, and looks her directly in the eye as he says, “He almost killed you.” She jerks herself away and takes a large single step back. He throws up his hands in a gesture of appeasement as he continues. “I’m not saying he meant to do it. But he did it. That’s a lot to deal with, Doc. Hurting someone you love, even if you didn’t mean to, especially if you didn’t mean to and never would have in your right mind… it’s a lot.”

“He happens to be speaking from experience,” Natasha pipes up from her perch on the couch.

“That’s right,” Clint nods, dropping his hands and taking a step closer to Tessa. When she doesn’t make a move to back away, he lifts one hand to her shoulder and ducks his head a bit to capture her downcast gaze. “After Loki’s whole mind fuck, it took me a while, a long while, to come to grips with the fact that I wasn’t to blame for the things that I did. Not entirely, anyway.”

“Not at all,” Natasha corrects from behind.

“But he’s already doing that,” Tessa whines. “That’s what he’s been dealing with since he got here. Learning not to blame himself for what Hydra made him do.”

“Good. That’s good. Then he’ll have a head start on making it through this too.”

Natasha gets up and moves over to the pair. “Steve said that he had a really long therapy session yesterday. So he’s trying to figure things out.”

“But you gotta let it happen at his pace,” Clint says, giving her shoulder a squeeze. When an over-the-top pout comes across her face, he asks her simply, “Do you love him?” She folds her arms across her middle, hugging herself tightly, tightening her grip before nodding. A few fresh tears fall from her eyes. “Then let him take the time he needs.”

000

She’s finally released from observation – house arrest, as she and Nat had been calling it – later that evening. Natasha sticks around for a bit after taking her back to her apartment, mostly because she just looks so damn lonely and pathetic. But it’s only a matter of time before Tessa tells her to stop the pity hang and get the hell out. She has to get to bed anyway, there’s a lot to do tomorrow to make up for all of the work that she missed. Nat just rolls her eyes, reminds her that she really only missed one day of work (which isn’t entirely true since she typically works on the weekends too). Plus, Tony already told her to take off this coming week, though he must’ve known that she’d never actually do it.

She does manage to stay clear of the lab the next day, but that’s only because Tony had put it on lockdown to prevent her from entering. But she’s still able to put in a full day in her office, compiling reports and finalizing plans for the new med center at the compound.

The compound… she pulls up the plans for her new apartment – their new apartment – and looks them over once more before signing off on them. James had requested a bigger kitchen. She had asked for a balcony coming off the living room. Tony put a large soaking tub in the hall bath, all so he make a joke about a rusty arm.

They were set to move in at the end of the month. If they were still planning on moving together, that is.

“Fuuuuck,” she moans , dropping her head to the desk with a loud thunk. She lays there for several minutes, enjoying the feel of the smooth, cool wood on her forehead. She can feel a migraine beginning to bloom around her eyes.

All at once, she notices a rather dramatic shift in the energy of the room. She feels the air thrum with a mixture of sorrow and regret, and fear. Amid the terrible pangs of bad energy, she feels him, the signature that is just pure James. Sensing all of it mixed up together is enough to very nearly break her heart. “I can feel you brooding,” she mumbles into the desktop.

She hears him shuffle forward, assumes he was probably looming in the doorway before. “You’re not supposed to be working,” he says softly, his voice sounding so painfully hesitant.

She slowly lifts her head from the desk and watches as his face contorts with an odd mix of shame and rage when he sees her eyes. She threw on a big woolen scarf this morning before heading out, all too aware of how her neck looked. Thankfully, it was 40 degrees outside and she was known for being coldblooded, so no one thought it odd to see her wearing it throughout the day. But she had removed her giant sunglasses once she closed herself in her office.

Taking in the sad, guilty look on his face, she feels a sudden and inexplicable wave of anger roll over her. “Where have you been?” she asks him through gritted teeth.

Again, his face shifts, eyes closing tightly as though he simply can’t bear to look at her. Lips closed in a firm, set line and nostrils flaring as he tries to keep himself together. Hearing her angry, tired, broken rasp is almost too much for him, and all at once he realizes that this was a bad idea. “I’m sorry,” he whispers before turning to head back out the door.

She jumps up from her desk, the crash of her chair against the full boxes lining the wall of her office stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t you dare leave,” she nearly shouts at him. She’s not entirely sure where the anger is coming from – she may have been feeling it all along – but it’s certainly bubbling to the surface now. “Where were you?” She asks again, barely controlled rage lacing the carefully uttered words.

He doesn’t turn to face her when he says again, “I’m sorry,” this time louder.

“Stop saying that,” she tells him firmly. “Where were you?”

He takes a deep breath. “I just needed… I was at Steve’s,” he says finally.

“Well I was in a hospital bed on the med floor,” she says, voice full of hostility. He winces as she speaks. “I was hurt.”

His shoulders drop even lower, eyes pointed down, concealed by the dark hair draped over his face. “I know.”

She shakes her head and moves to wipe a few stray tears that had only just begun to fall from her eyes. “I needed you,” she says plainly, as though that should be more than enough to make him see. “I was hurt. And scared. And I needed you. And you weren’t there.”

He turns then, not quite believing what he’s hearing. “You were hurt and scared because I hurt and scared you,” he says, a hint of anger now in his voice too.

“You didn’t mean to –”

“That’s not the point!”

“Yes it is!” Her words are barely audible, her voice giving out and cracking as she tries to shout. When she opens her mouth again, the words come out as a mere whisper. “I needed you.”

They stand in silence for what seems like an eternity, neither looking at the other. Some chatter can be heard from down the hall, so Tessa walks over, pressing herself against Bucky as she leans past him to shut the door. Before she can get back to her desk, he makes a move to grasp her hand. Realizing at the last moment that it’s his metal hand trying to take hold of her, he lets her fingers drop. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out into the small space between them.

She looks down and sees him open and close the metal fist repeatedly. “I don’t want you to be sorry,” she tells him. “I just want you to be with me.”

His lets out a shuddering breath when he says, “I don’t know if I can.”

She reaches down and takes hold of his hand, peels the metal fingers apart so it’s no longer tightly fisted. He makes a move to pull away when she brings the hand up to her face, but relents when she grasps his wrist with her other hand as well. “You can,” she says before kissing his open palm.

He watches her closely, watches as she kisses each one of his metal fingertips, slowly, softly. He can feel the warmth of her hands on his wrist, the slight pressure of her lips on his fingers. “Stop it,” he says finally, harshly tugging his hand from her grasp.

She looks up and they meet eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. He’s never seen eyes so red. With blood pooled into the whites like that, she looks like some sort of B-movie zombie. His gaze travels over her face and he takes note of the other sparsely spaced red marks that pepper her skin, more tiny broken vessels. He brings his right hand up to touch one near her temple, the mark thin and windy, tracing the line of the capillary.

Then he lets his hand drift down to her cheek, her chin, to the very top of the woolen scarf. His fingertips work their way under the fabric and begin to tug it down. She closes her eyes and reclines her head back so that he can better see the bruising beneath. “I could’ve killed you,” he nearly sobs.

She reaches up and removes his hand, replaces the scarf and says simply, “But you didn’t.”

When she looks up at him, he’s shaking his head slowly, tears seeping from his tightly closed eyes. In a thick voice he asks her the one question that’s been playing over and over and over again in his mind. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

She’s momentarily stunned, and he knows it. Hearing her breath catch, he opens his eyes and looks down at her. Her mouth is agape, ticking at the corners as though preparing to form words, but never quite getting there. She looks confused, lost even, and he has to fight the urge to wrap his arms so tight around her. “I…” she finally manages, but nothing more comes out.

“I’m sorry,” he issues out hurriedly. “I’m not… I’d never… blame you.” He shakes his again, hating that he can’t do anything right, can’t even apologize. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” she ekes out, taking a step back, then another. She backs into her desk and leans onto it, both hands gripping the top firmly. “No, you’re right. I should’ve –”

“I’m not saying that,” he interrupts quickly. “I’m not saying that you should have done anything. This was my fault.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “It was a night terror, James. Would you blame yourself like this if you had a seizure and accidently hit me?”

He gives her a confused look. “It’s not… that’s not the same thing.”

“You had a physiological reaction to an emotional stressor. Your body reacted to a stimuli without the knowledge or permission of your conscious mind. It was not your fault.” She speaks with such determination, such authority, that he almost believes her. They gaze at each other for only a moment before she drops her head and stares down at the floor in front of her “And I should have stopped you,” she says quietly.

“Tessa,” he tries, but she’s quick to interrupt.

“I told you that you were safe with me, that you couldn’t hurt me. And I could’ve stopped you. It would’ve been so easy…” She looks back up, meets his eyes and gives him a small, sad smile. “I froze,” she says with a shrug. Tears glisten in her eyes and she sniffles as she nods her head. “I froze, and I’m sorry.”

He wants to tell her again that it isn’t her fault. He wants to tell her that everyone freezes up sometimes. He wants to tell her, more than anything else, that he loves her. But he can’t find the words to actually say any of these things. Instead, he moves forward in two long strides and sweeps his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck, tilts her head up as he drops his lips down onto hers. It’s only a breath of a moment before she releases her hold on the desk and wraps her arms around his middle, pulling him in closer.

She slips away from the kiss and nuzzles into his neck, whispers to him as hot tears fall to his shoulder, “I didn’t want to feel like this. I didn’t want to… need anyone like this. But I do. I need you.”

He inhales the sweet scent of her shampoo as he twines his fingers deeper into her thick hair. “I need you too,” he tells her, slowly bringing his metal arm up and wrapping it loosely around her hips.

[mss4msu]

Call Me Doctor. (Chapter 16)

Summary: Fresh out of graduate school, you had somehow landed a spot in the faculty of a prestigious university. The small anthropology department has too many faculty and too few offices; sharing an office does not go as you expected.

Pairing: Professor!Steve x Professor!Reader 

Words: 1885

Warnings: Soft Steeb, SO MUCH FLUFF YOU MAY DIE

A/N: LMAO I wrote the last chapter from reader’s perspective about Halloween when it was May the Fourth and now I’m still writing about Halloween and I actually got my decorations out for spooky season today. Time flies when you have writer’s block. Sending so much of my love to everyone still hanging in there and reading this story!

Catch Up on the Story Here

As you groggily opened your eyes Sunday morning and tried to roll to the edge of the bed to get up, you felt arms wrap tightly around you. You blinked your eyes open and they focused on the Halloween costumes crumpled up in the corner of your bedroom. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dr. Steven Rogers growled into your ear, as he pulled you closer to him. 

“The bathroom,” you yawned, trying halfheartedly to pry yourself from Steve’s arms. 

“I’ll let you go on one condition,” you felt his warm breath on your neck, making you shiver.

“And what’s that?” 

“You have to come right back.”

“Deal,” you replied. 

As soon as his arms loosened around you, you hopped up and went to the bathroom to relieve yourself. You quickly ran a brush through your hair and gurgled some mouthwash before you went back to the bedroom. Steve sat up as you walked in, his eyes wandering your figure, which was concealed with the oversized t-shirt you had put on last night. You flopped down on the bed next to him, and he reached over and pulled you closer. 

“You are truly...what was the word you told me...nfrt?”

You felt very warm as a blush crept into your cheeks, “I don’t know if beautiful is the word I would use to describe myself in the morning.” 

“Good thing I’m the one doing the describing then,” he said before taking your chin in his hand and guiding your face until your lips met his. “Thank you for the generous hospitality and letting me spend the night.”

“It was my absolute pleasure, plus I couldn’t have let you go home in that state,” you beamed at him.

“I don’t know…” he kissed you, “what state,” he kissed you again, “you mean,” he kissed you even longer on the last one. 

You began to replay the previous night in your head as Steve continued to kiss you: 

After everyone else had left and you had given Steve a tour of the apartment, he had pulled you down onto your bed and you kissed passionately, neither of you wanting to be the one who pulled away first. After thirty minutes spent locking lips, you both finally surfaced for air. As you sat up, you let out a small yelp of pain as the corset zipper dislodged itself from being stuck in your skin. You excused yourself to change into the big t-shirt you woke up in, opting to keep the little hot pants on underneath. After asking your permission, Steve stripped out of his costume too. You hadn’t pegged him as a boxer-briefs kind of guy, but his underwear really accentuated all of his assets. Once you were both stripped down, you both seemed to get more shy around each other. You had sat next to him on the bed, and after a few minutes of awkward silence, you suggested watching a scary movie to cap off the spooky season. You tried to let Steve choose, but he insisted that you did, as “you were the expert.” You flipped through a few options, but ultimately decided on the original Halloween, “Can’t go wrong with a classic,” you had said. You made it past Michael Meyers killing his sister before Steve moved closer and put his arm around you. You got up to grab a blanket after the first teen death, and snuggled up closer to Steve upon your return to the couch. Despite how many times you had seen the movie, you still got spooked by the jump scares, especially that damn closet scene, and a quick glance up at Steve showed that he felt the same. “You doing alright?” you had asked him hesitantly. “Absolutely,” he had replied, squeezing you closer to him. Steve seemed enthralled the whole movie, and his look of perplexion at the end, when a should-have-been-dead Michael disappeared from the pool cause you to giggle. “What’s so funny?” he had asked. “You’re just so dang cute,” you replied, readjusting yourself so you could kiss him. You sat on the couch, making out to the terrifying score of Halloween as the credits ran. When the credits ended, you silently got up, took Steve’s hand, and brought him back to the bedroom. You gently pushed him onto the bed and crawled on top of him, kissing him gently at first, and then more passionately as his hands began to wander your body. With weeks of anticipation and longing finally rearing its head, you began to slowly grind your hips on him. Less than one minute of this and Steve pulled away. “(Y/N), we should take this slow,” he said, causing you to stop everything, “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just, I already fucked this up once and I don’t want to do it again.” “Steve, you didn’t fuck it up,” you said quickly, your vagina speaking for you, for if you had been thinking clearly you would have agreed with him. “Yes, I did, and I will not do it again. But, that doesn’t mean we have to stop this part,” he put his hand behind your head and smashed your lips together in a long kiss, “I just think we should wait on,” he cleared his throat. “Ok,” you replied, taking a deep breath and un-straddling him, opting to lay next to him instead. “I really, really like you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” Steve said, turning on his side to face you. “I really, really like you too, Dr. Rogers,” you said, turning on your side and facing him. “What did I say about calling me doctor?” Steve laughed before kissing you deeply again. You fell asleep wrapped up in each others’ arms.  

“Well, you were pretty shaken up by the movie,” you replied slyly.

“Babe, it wasn’t the movie that shook me to my core,” he smirked, running his fingers through your hair. 

Just hearing him call you babe made your stomach flutter, “Oh?” you asked coyly. 

“Mhm,” he replied, before kissing you again. 

You spent the morning in bed, only breaking once to grab some of the leftovers from the night before and eat them in bed, and alternated between long periods of time kissing and talking about life. Much of it was lighthearted, you discovered his favorite flavor of ice cream was chocolate chip cookie dough, because it reminded him of the cookies his mom made him as a kid, but you also learned about the deeper things, like how he had lost his mom while in school and James had really become his only family. You had told him about your previous failed relationships and how much you loved The Mummy movies. 

Your perfect day in bed was interrupted when Steve’s phone started to buzz uncontrollably on the bedside table. Steve looked at you and you gave him a small nod that he should answer it. He picked up his phone and sighed as he answered it.

“Yes, Buck?” He asked, rolling his eyes, “Oh shit. That’s today? Fuck. What time?” Steve sat up quickly and momentarily pulled the phone from his ear to check the time, “Fuck, ok, I’ll just meet you there? Any chance you could bring me a pair of shorts...and some running shoes?” He began to turn red, “Shut. Up. Barnes.” He said through gritted teeth, “Ok, see you soon.” 

“That sounded like a very interesting conversation….”

“Yeah, I forgot that we signed up for this Day of the Dead 5k a few months ago. It starts in an hour and it’s across the city, so if I leave right now, I’ll just make it.”

“Well, seeing as I already ruined your couples costume, it would be unfair of me to get in the way of your run today,” you said, sitting up and wrapping your arms around Steve. 

“You didn’t ruin the costume…” he said, rubbing his hand on your arms, “Well, I guess you may have depending on which half of the couple you ask. Regardless, I should go,” he heaved a big sigh.

You undrapped your arms from around him as he got up and went to his costume, which he had thrown in the corner the previous night.

“I know you already asked James to bring you clothes, but do you want to borrow some sweats?” you asked, giggling as he began to put the Superman costume back on.

“No, it’s fine,” he said as he got the suit up to his midsection. He paused, “On second thought, if you think they’d fit, I’d love to borrow them.”

“I own a variety of sizes for various levels of comfort,” you said, grabbing out the very oversized sweats you had in the closet just to be sure they’d fit you. 

Steve took the Superman suit back off and eased into your sweats, letting out a sigh of comfort, “Thank you.”

“Of course! Wouldn’t want you to have to do a Halloween walk-of-shame,” you winked at him as you slid off the bed. 

“Funny,” he smirked at you before pulling you in for a hug and kissing you on top of the head, “Do you mind if I leave this here?” he asked, motioning to the Superman costume he had thrown back to the reject corner with your Wonder Woman costume. 

“Might be strange if you took it with you,” you laughed, “Do you want me to bring it to the office tomorrow...or…?” 

“Oh...um...I guess if that’s the easiest for you, then sure,” he rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. 

You felt a sudden surge of bravery, “Or we could get dinner later this week and I could bring it then?” 

“That sounds like a much better option,” Steve grinned at you, “Plus, we should probably meet outside of office time anyway for the museum project, right?”

“Oh...right!” the museum project was honestly on the back of your mind after all everything that had been happening with Steve recently, “Yes, probably good for us to get that on track, especially as I think the installations are set to start up next week.”

“According to the itinerary you gave me, that is exactly when they are set to begin.”

“Well, then lunch this week it is. I guess we can figure that out later?” you looked at the clock on your bedside table, “Steve, you should really get going or you’ll be late! I can’t handle James being upset with me over two different things in a span of two days,” you grabbed Steve’s hand and led him into the hallway. 

“Perfect, I look forward to it,” he kissed you on the head, and then the nose, and then on the lips. 

You both stood in the hallway, the yearning displayed by your lips as they pressed together revealing that neither of you wanted to part ways so soon. Unfortunately, you were interrupted by the buzzing of Steve’s phone.

“Fuck,” Steve mumbled looking at the Caller ID, “Yes, Buck, I’m on my way. See you soon.”

“Alright, I actually have to go,” Steve said, giving you a quick peck on the lips and unlocking your front door. 

“See you tomorrow, Steve.”

“Can’t wait,” he smiled back at you before closing the door.  

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Call Me Doctor. Tag List:

@ashislost @wantingtobekorra @zlixlle @crazy--me @grey-raven @queenkitten95 @chook007 @tequila1984 @yallneedtrek @ssweet-empowerment @guera31 @justmesadgirl @fourtyninekirbygamzeegirl @rainbowkisses31 @writing-for-a-chance @sp2900 @notkikibear @itzmegaaaaaaan @partiallyinthecloset @moonstruckhargrove  @straybattie @angryteapot @fandom-addict-aesthetics @hazellnut94 @abschaffer2 @hadesgirl1015 @vikki-rogue @biskwitmamaw @justkending @marvelous-capsicle

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tag List:

@patzammit

Permanent Tag List:

@sophiealiice @mrsdeanwinchester19 @thisismysecrethappyplace @ailynalonso15 @221bshrlocked @hazellnut94 @libbymouse @nerdypinupcrystal @hufflepuffchloe @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @dibsonamericasass

[kinkylittlebastardsuniverse]

tell daddy a secret.

warnings! ok, let’s go again: cursing; spanking; obviously a daddy kink so if you don’t like that kind of stuff just click away; NSFW w/ plot ‘cause you guys may have realised im a slut for both; i guess that’s all for today.

and yess, you have to be over 18 to be reading this. tumblr’s rules, not mine.

words! not that much. don’t be dramatic. (jokes on me, the number you are looking for is 2940)

this is a fem!reader x bucky barnes imagine and unfortunately it’s just fictional.

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You had a kink.

You had it for some time now. It was a bit obcsenioux. And dirty. Some may even consider it disturbed. But you liked it anyway. It was your kink afterall, nobody's business.

You had a daddy kink.

And a boyfriend as well. Although he didn’t exactly know what was going on inside your naughty little head. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t trust him. Nope. Neither as if you didn’t want for him to be the first man you’ve ever been with to know about your little secret. Nah. You were just scared, to be honest. 

'Cause he was easily the best thing in your life. Your whole world; the light in the darkest night. You never thought you actually could be this enamoured by someone until you met him. James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes. The Winter Soldier on the flesh and Captain America's best friend. And the love of your fucking life.

Ok, maybe you were more than just scared. Maybe you were terrified. 

Sex with Bucky was amazing. No, more than amazing: it made you transcend. But Bucky was a 40's man even though he tried his best to adapt to 21 century. He still was a man born and raised in 1940. And he naturally still had some assumptions and behaviors from that decade. And you had no fucking idea how a man from that age would react to you telling him you would like to call him "daddy" while he fucked you. 

And you didn't blame him for that. Far from it: you accepted Bucky as a full package, with every scar and flaw. With his past and ghosts. And if you had to control your deepest desires just a little not to make him uncomfortable, you would do it with a smile on your face.

As if it was that easy. 

You craved Bucky since day one. Since his built up, muscular figure walked through the Tower's door you just knew he was meant to be yours. He was just a sexual crush back then. Even though a little voice in the back of your head always told you that he wasn't just that. No. He was more. There was just something about the little glint hid in his cloudy eyes that fascinated you. That had you trapped. Since day one.

It didn't take more than a few words for you to know that he was the one. It was cheesy and almost ridiculous, I know. Even you kept telling yourself that you were just enchanted by him. It was just arousal, just a phase. You would get over it.

But you didn't. And what was just a tiny little crush became an huge liking you took for the sarge. Natasha was in shock when you told her about your - as she called - obsession for Bucky. She told you had gone insane; she thought it was some kind of fever, that you should probably get a break from missions or get laid. You knew him for what? Three months? You had spoke with him what? Twice? And about what? Missions?

How could your stupid ass possibly claim you were in love with the guy? 

Oh, but your stupid ass knew. It (you) just knew it was meant to be. He was meant to be.

So there was a day that you were suffering from a terrible insomnia and the idea of making yourself some tea just popped into your head. You got up, making your way straight to the kitching and when you found Bucky struggling to make the microwave work you knew it was the Universe sending you a sign.

You helped him, letting out some stupid joke about how for a man who had a metal arm on display he had no idea how to deal with metal stuff. It was a dumb, tired joke that you almost regret, automatically thinking that he could feel uneasy by your forwardness. Until he directed you a richful laugh that made your poor little heart skip a beat.

He was beautiful.

You both spend the rest of the night together, just talking bullshit and getting to know each other. It felt so natural. You learned that he  was fascinated by bikes and coincidently you had a Harley FXB Sturgis you proudly took care of. You told him you really enjoyed Glenn Miller and Jimmy Dorsey even though you never knew how to dance and he promised you he could teach you, if you allowed him.

After that each day was a different conquer. A different new fact about Bucky and you were just addict to it. What could you say? You guys just clicked. Before Bucky you never imagined you could feel so electrified to know something new about someone. It was like you were drowning your whole life, submerged, craving for something your lungs couldn't reach. Then came Bucky. And he was pure oxygen for your pained lungs.

So one thing led to another and when you blinked you guys were already a thing. More than a thing, you were a couple. And you couldn't fucking believe it. 

Fuck, you told Natasha you were right.

It didn't take long for you guys to fuck, the connection that pulled you together being away too strong for any of you to resist. And the sex was another thing with which you both clicked. Bucky liked to be dominant and possessive over you, and you just loved to please him.

But then your daddy kink kicked harder then ever and you didn't know what to do about it. Natasha - who was basically your sister - warned you it would be best for you to just tell him. That he would still love you. You knew it was kind of silly to think his feelings for you were fragile enough to break because of such a thing. But you were still scared. 

What could you do? Swallow your feelings and be the tough Avenger you were on the field? At least that was what Natasha told you to do. So you decided you should tell him, yes. Someday... Maybe... If it was really necessary.

No, you had to tell him. Before he found out by another way.

...

It was an ordinarily enough Saturday night. Tony was throwing an "we survived this time, may not survive the next so you better enjoy" party; Clint and Pietro were on a drink-or-die contest; Steve was doing it all day; Thor was laughing loudly enough to sound like sparkly thunders through the night; Loki was probably scheming; Bruce was... well, Bruceing; Nat and Wanda were betting who would pass out from drinking and how they would manage to drag Pietro to his room at this time of the night. The good ol' Avengers.

Oh, and Bucky was about to fuck you.

You two lovebirds couldn't just resist. Your dress was just too tight, fitting your gorgeous body away too nicely. And you knew Queen Catherine from France had so much lovers because she never saw Bucky on a suit. 'Cause dear God that was a sight.

So that leads us here: you already naked, legs spread widely when Bucky had just teared your thong apart, your poor Calvin Klein's thong being shattered into pieces. That wasn't such a loss though; you were sure your dripping core had ruined it already.

"Shit, doll. You are soaked." Bucky's husky voice told you while his pinky lips hovered over your whimpering pussy. "All that for me, hum?" He continued, his grip tightening on your inner thigh.

"Yes! Yes..." 

Daddy. 

You bit your tongue. "...Bucky." You meowed softly, your desire for call him daddy hitting you like a thunder.

"Yeah? So put that ass up in the air. Wanna see it while I make you cum." He demanded and you obeyed eagerly. Oh, if he just knew the things you would do for him...

"Look at that." He grabbed one of your ass cheeks roughly and you moaned at the suddenly contact of cool metal on your flaming skin. "My babe got such a pretty ass." He groaned, his fake thingers now teasing your wet hole.

"Tell me, (Y/N). Tell me who this pretty cunt belongs to." His fingers easily entered your pussy, pleasuring your insides.

You, daddy.

"You, Bucky." You speaked in a muffled tone not just by the mattress your face was currently buried in but also by your firm attempt to not let yourself go so much and end up saying something you shouldn't.

Bucky put one more finger into you, making it three, and pumped harder into your pussy.

"I'm sorry, doll, I guess i couldn't hear you since you are moaning so loudly." And you were. You could almost feel his cocky smirk ranging proudly on his handsome face. Although you couldn't care less with his fingers buried deeply inside you, beautifully flirting with your orgasm.

You daddy. I belong to you.

"You, Bucky. I belong to you." You said loudly this time, your voice dying on your throat at the end of the sentence. You couldn't say it, not now.

But Bucky didn't seem to get enough of you and the slap that hit your ass made you lose control from all your senses for a second.

"YOU, DADDY!" 

A tiny little second. 

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks. Did he hear you right? Daddy?

Oh dear God. Did you just say it? 

Did he hear you? Of course he did, asshat! You just screamed it out loud!

You started to debate which were the chances of the music outside being too loud for him to hear you (you were panicking as you can see). But when you felt his fingers getting away from your pussy you just knew he had.

God, you were screwed now. And not in a good way.

Your blurred brain quickly started to think about possibly excuses and explanations for the current situation. You were right between "I'm sorry, you shouldn't find out like this" and "hey there, as you noticed I have a daddy kink, please don't push me away because of this" when you felt Bucky's metal arm clench around the back of your neck, pinning you into the bed. Your arms were beside your head in a submitted state when he leaned in, whispering into your ear with the most lustful voice:

"Did I hear you right, babygirl?" His grip hardened and you feel his knee spreading your legs apart, leading you to wonder which would be the size of the poodle in the middle of them since this man was driving you completely insane.

"Tell me. How long have you been keeping this little secret from daddy?" Oh, dear.

He caressed your pussy again with his free hand and you lost it.

"I'm so sorry, daddy!" You moaned loudly, your voice sounding more acute then normal.

“And here I was thinking so good of you… Guess I was wrong, hum?” He seemed almost hurt if it wasn’t for the strong scent of lust and superb on his tone, showing off his intentions. 

“I’m so, so sorry, daddy…” You meowed one more time, hoping for him to forgive you. 

Bucky made a disapproving sound with a snap of his lips. You squirmed under him, anxious for more.

"No, babygirl. I am sorry." His grip left your neck and you felt empty all sudden. And guilty. As if you had really disappointed him.

But then his touch travelled through your back, his hand caressed the whole extension of it before landing into your ass cheek. He stopped for a moment, right before

"Because now that you have been a bad girl I will have to punish you."

a slap. A hard one. Harder than any other he had ever disfered into your body during sex. And you fucking loved it.

"Count for daddy, pretty girl. I wanna you to take ten." You moaned a yes before the second slap came.

"Two, daddy!"

Who would ever say James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes,

"Three, daddy!"

the Winter Soldier on the flesh and Captain America's best friend, and the love of your fucking life 

"Four, daddy!"

would love your daddy kink so fucking bad?

"FIVE, DADDY!" This one was harder, making your skin burn; the scream leaved your mouth without permission - a mix from all the pleasure, pain and suppressed desire that you had boiling into you.

"S-six, daddy!" Your eyes were wettering right now and you bit your lower lip not to sob a pained whimper, not from slaps but mostly from your aching core which Bucky had abandoned a while ago and now was crying for some of his attention.

"Can't take them all, babygirl? First you lie to me. Now you are being disobedient. I'm starting to think you don't want to be a good girl for daddy anymore." 

You could almost touch the fake disappointment in his voice.

"No! No, daddy! Please! I want to be good for you!" 

But you were in for it anyway. 

"So keep counting while daddy spank that tight little ass."

Another slap.

“Seven! Daddy!”

And other.

“Eight!” A moan. “Daddy!”

“N-nine,” Your voice softened as a tear dropped from the corner of your eye. “Daddy!”

“TEEN, DADDY!” 

And there you were: ass all burning pink, your pussy aching wet and tears streaming through the corner of your eyes. You swallowed the gulp on your throat when Bucky’s chest came near your back. You were in ecstasy.

“There she is. My good girl.” His voice sounded warm on your ears as his flesh fingers came to clean some tears from your beautiful face. 

“Was I good, daddy?” You purred when his touch leaved your sensitive skin, placing a gentle peck where his fingers once were.

“You were, babygirl. Now open those legs, daddy is gonna fuck that pussy nicely.”

You spread your legs as open as you could, trying to make Bucky proud. He fitted right into the middle of them, opening you up a bit more. Bucky took his hard cock into his hand and slipped into you smoothly, your wet cunt greeting him warmly. 

“God, you are always so tight for me, babygirl. Taking daddy’s cock so good…” He groaned after a few thrusts, making your pussy clench around him. You both moaned at that.

“You are just too big, daddy!” You moaned and you swear you heard an animalistic growl coming out from Bucky´s chest. Jesus Christ.

“Oh, yeah? But you love it, don’t you? Such a cockslut my babe is, squirming all around daddy’s cock.” Bucky pounded harder on you this time, your pussy struggling to fit his whole cock all at once. His words made you shiver and your orgasm started to show up.

Bucky seemed to feel it too and managed to go even deeper into your sore pussy, making a bunch of loud moans to leave your dirty little mouth. He was fucking you senseless and your couldn’t help but love it.

“Daddy!”

You moaned loudly into one deep thrust of his and the dirty laugh that left his mouth was nothing but unexpected. And hot as well.

“Wanna cum on daddy’s cock, babygirl?” You nodded eagerly, the knot on your belly being away too strong for you to stop it. “So you better ask for it.”

“Please, daddy! Please I wanna cum so bad!” 

He slapped your already bruised ass to that and you almost screamed if the pleasure he was giving you hadn’t cut your voice. His pace became sloppier although his thrusts were still hard enough to hurt, making you inevitably squirm under him while your high was getting closer and closer.

“So you better come, babygirl.”

And you did. Hard and almost painfully. Waves of pleasure washed your body as Bucky managed to reach his own reach, spreading his white cum all over your ass. You moaned as you felt his orgasm reaching your skin so warmly, the thought alone increasing your own climax.

Bucky pecked your shoulder sweetly, getting out of the room for what felt like an eternity. You were about to stand up and look for him when you felt something fluff cleaning your skin. The sarge had came back with a towel and was taking care of you while you melted to his touch. Such a gentleman he was.

You the leaned down; Bucky with his back to the mattress and a hand under his head while you curled your self, leaning into his broad chest. You started to make little silly drawings into his skin when you felt him clearing his throat. Your shining gaze met his beautiful face right before he spoke. 

“So…” He began softly, shifting his curious blue gaze to yours after he cleared his throat once again. “ A daddy kink?” And something on his away too eager tone told you he was up to learn more about it.

“Yeah…” You said almost shyly. “Did you like it?”

Bucky laughed at it and your heart died for an instant. 

“If I like it?” His voice sounded darker this time, dragging you in. Bucky moved on the mattress, bringing his enormous body upon yours, caging your naked, vulnerable body to the bed.

“Doll, I wanna hear every single thing you have to say about that.” His predatory gaze met yours and he bit his pink lips, making that eager sensation on your low belly starting to rise all over again.

It was going to be a Hell of a night.

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tried to make this one more into (Y/N)’s perspective. what did you guys think about it?

[robertdowneyjjr]

any mcu (Tony centric) fic recs? xoxo

I wasn’t too sure if you were looking for any specific pairing or time period within the MCU, so I’ve sorted this list out into a few different pairings, and for stevetony’s case, uhhh several different ~eras~

This is mostly stevetony though. With some pepperony, irondad spiderson, and various other pairings sprinkled in. Under the cut, because this got ridiculously long.

Steve/Tony – CACW // IW

almeno tu nell'universo by @silkspectred50/50 Steve/Tony POV, but very much Tony-centric as it’s set in Italy, where Tony goes to discover some things about his mother’s past that he never knew about. Steve goes along with him in hopes of winning Tony’s forgiveness.

shelter from the storm by @silkspectredTony adopts a baby. Guess who’s Majorly Fucked Up™ about it.

A New Way For Us by ann2who (@stark-spangled-lovers)(Time travel) They fight Thanos—and they’re losing. And before Tony knows what’s happening, he’s standing with Doctor Strange in front of the Eye of Agamotto and gets send back in time. Can he find a way to fix things this time around, or are they doomed to fall apart all over again?

System ID: J.A.R.V.I.S. by @cptxrogersAfter Civil War, Tony is struggling with heading up the team and dealing with the emotional fallout of being betrayed by those closest to him. Luckily, an old friend is back to help protect Tony and ensure he comes to no harm. A Jarvis lives AU.

Leaving Promises Against Your Skin by @nostalgicatsea(Soulmates AU) “Someday, someone will choose you, Tony,” his mother had said, her hands back to cupping his. “And no one, not your father, not anyone, can ever take that from you.” (second in series but can be read as a standalone fic)

(Un)stuck by @navaanwritesHe finds himself in different places, living different lives. And yet it all comes back to Steve.

Things We Learned at the End of the World by JenTheSweetie1. Even the apocalypse can’t keep people away from Olive Garden2. Smoothies do not replace conversations3. Tony has really obvious sex hair4. Home might be a little different, but that doesn’t mean you can’t go back

between dust and despair (series) by @rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-starsIn the aftermath of the apocalypse, Tony Stark does the one thing he knows how to do better than anything else.He builds.

Steve/Tony – AOU // post-AOU

Language by @sailorchibiThis is how Tony fixed the team and the damage he’d done, and in the process learned how to start fixing himself. Well, maybe the latter might take a little help from Steve.

Fixer-Upper by @imafriendlydalekTony leads the way up the steps to the house, and as the door swings open with a long creaking sound - note to self: oil door hinges - Steve’s eyes widen. He steps inside, turns slowly on his own axis as he looks around.“Tony, this place, it’s…” There’s a sense of wonder in his voice. Tony smiles inwardly. It is just the kind of thing Steve would like. Steve, who has a keen appreciation for fine aesthetics, who has a healthy - okay, sometimes more than healthy - sense of history and an acute desire to preserve things he deems worthy.“This place is a dump.”Well, so much for that, then. Tony shifts his weight to one leg as he takes an appraising look. “It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, yeah, I’ll give you that, but it’s not past saving. Just needs some TLC.”Steve uncrosses his arms and shoves his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Well listen, you ever want an extra set of hands with some of the work, just give me a call.”

Caesura by @ylixiaTony’s gotten maybe twelve hours of sleep in the past four days, and he’s been carrying the deaths of everyone that matters to him like a rock in his gut.

The Path I Started by JayEz (@multifandom-madnesss)Tony rebuilds, modifies. Takes fragments and gives them new order. He does not create. He can’t, not anymore. Not after this. Or: After the events of Ultron, Tony rebuilds the tower by himself and shuts everything out to the point that Pepper takes desperate measures and asks Steve to come and help.

Steve/Tony – post-Avengers // canon divergence // pre-AOU

Master of Communication by somanyfeels (@aceofultron)Tony didn’t like being touched, on the rare occasions he wanted physical contact he would initiate it. It was how things were, how it had always been, and he was fine with it. His new team didn’t know, they just kept touching and Tony wasn’t quite sure how to ask them to stop.

Untitled Playlist Number 5 by dapperyklutzThe many times Tony Stark plays BAMF-ing music while the team fights their Baddie of the Week. And somehow, along the way, between sleepless nights, game nights, movie nights and saving the world every other week — plus looking out for his wayward protégé whom he cares for very deeply -— he falls head over heels in love for a certain super soldier.

Who’s Your Caterer? by Bandearg_Rois(Mainly Steve POV) After moving into the Tower, the group starts taking meals together. This is a story about food, and about love, not necessarily together. Also contains physics and old movies, not at the same time.

Run Program: {x} (series) by Amuly (@everybodyilovedies)Taking care of Tony is a lot of work. Especially when you’ve only got one arm. And your code dates back to the 1980s.

Best Kept Secret by @alchemyaliceIn which there is a secret friendship, and Tony can’t deal with feelings, so Natasha has to do it for him. These two features may or may not be related.

honey, you’re keeping me afloat by mmotionEvery so often, on evenings with nobody else, Tony and Natasha drink some wine together and talk about everything and anything.

five times tony stark was kissed by a teammate (and one time he kissed a teammate) by colourexplosionin which people kiss tony a lot and he doesn’t get it

grey and other colours by @theappleppielifestyle(Demisexual and Demiromatic Tony) Distantly, Tony hears Clint say something like, “No, I definitely heard he was an equal opportunist. Like, equal-equal, no preference. Hey Tones, who are you attracted to more, dudes or chicks?” He calls the last part out to Tony, who runs the words over in his mind and unthinkingly says, “I’ve actually never been attracted to anyone, it’s really worrying.”

Reasons Why (Whether They’re Real Or Not) by infinite_wonders (@thetwowriters)Tony is slow, has very little self-worth, and thinks that the universe hates him as much as he hates himself. Everyone else is long-suffering, especially Steve, because disproving that notion could take a while.

Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Boy by mybrotherharry (@baffledkingcomposinghallelujah)The first time Jarvis holds little Anthony in his arms, he is overwhelmed by emotion that is surprising in its intensity. When little Anthony’s palm curves around his finger, Jarvis ducks his head to keep the others from seeing the wetness in his eyes. “Hello Master Anthony,” he whispers into the little ear, tugging the bundle of blankets closer to his heart.

Pepper/Tony and/or Iron Dad & Spider Son

call every girl we ever met maria by irnan“You’re telling me,” Rhodey said, gleeful, “you’re telling me that you’ve been shot, stabbed, sewn up, been riddled with shrapnel, had a magnet implanted in your chest, spent two years poisoning yourself with palladium, spent twenty years as a functioning alcoholic and had a vasectomy and you still managed to knock Pepper up?”

with arms wide open by @parkrstarkTony and Pepper are expecting a baby and Peter may be the one most excited…just maybe…

yet turning stay by irnan“Tony - you’re all I’ve got too, you know.”

The Right Thing in the Wrong Way by igrockspockPeople don’t ask why Pepper sticks by Tony as often as they should, and if they did, she probably wouldn’t tell them the truth:  that he’s never left her alone on the one day she actually needs him.

Twist of Fate by nikki_ofshadows (@karenninaaa)A single picture triggered Tony Stark to suspect that Peter Parker was his son, biologically.

i’m the satellite (and you’re the sky) by CamelotQueen (@missmgann)When Tony went to the Parker household to recruit Spider-Man, he had no idea what he was signing up for. AU where Tony is Peter’s biological father and neither of them know.

Welcome to the Family by FriendLey (@peppertoyourtony)Peter Parker spends time with Tony’s family. Happy is annoyed, Rhodey is amused, Pepper gets an assistant, and Tony feels betrayed.

The Publicity Verse by @xmypandabear A main of SpiderSon and IronDad with a side of social media and the internet (and healthy puddings of Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, Vision, FRIDAY, May, Ned and MJ) 

Exploding Head Syndrome by foolscapper(Mainly Peter) Everyone comes back, when the snap is undone. Or, well — almost everyone.

Gen + other relationships/pairings

Twenty-Five Years by @notfknapplicable(Tony/Rhodey) Nobody knows how long this has actually been going on. (Tony Stark has pretty much been in a monogamous relationship since he was 18 years old.)

The Years In Between by @notfknapplicable(Tony/Rhodey) A follow-up to Twenty-Five Years (best to read that one first). All the years we missed.This is it, okay? This is forever, you and me.

Sound of Madness by martianwahtney(Post-CACW, Tony/Rhodey) After the fight in Siberia, Steve takes Bucky and vanishes, leaving Tony to pick up the pieces. Tony does everything in his power to bring the Rogues home, and still, somehow, things go to shit.

Helpless in Love by Avengerz(Tony/Rhodey) Rhodey and Tony being together since their MIT years. They married as soon as they could, and are still hopelessly in love after ~30 years. One of these perfect, almost sickeningly sweet couples.

First Choice by @sailorchibi(StarkQuill) Two years ago, Tony’s heart was broken when Steve picked Bucky over him. Now, he was certain that the past was repeating itself with Peter and Gamora.He was wrong.

Placeholder by @sailorchibi(StarkQuill) In the days leading up to his birthday, all Tony could think about was last year. Last year, when he and the Avengers celebrated together. Last year, when he had a family. He’s not as alone as he thinks he is.

Paths Are Made by Walking by @potrix-the-queerschlaeger(WinterIron) The road to recovery is long, winding and a different one for every person walking it. Bucky chooses to help himself the only way he knows how; by doing what he does best. Or, alternatively; the one in which Tony is a mess and accidentally kick-starts Bucky’s protective mother hen instincts.

Scars by @arvensis5(WinterIron) When Tony tried to urge the homeless guy sleeping on the steps of the Tower’s loading dock to move, he never expected that he’d found Hydra’s pet assassin—James “Bucky” Barnes. Now, after months of keeping his presence a secret from the Avengers and helping Barnes learn to cope with both his returning memories and the modern world, Hydra is back for their favorite toy and Tony must call in old friends to save the life of the man he just might have come to care for a little too much.

potato guns and repulsers by gossamernotes (@brooklynboystosupersoldiers)(Tony & Harley) The story wherein Harley Keener thinks over his life and watches where it goes after he meets the one and only, Tony Stark. It doesn’t really go the way he planned.

Amend by ancalime8301(Post-CACW, Tony & team) Negotiating the Accords, dealing with Ross, the end of his relationship with Pepper, Steve’s faction coming back to the Avengers compound … the stress finally catches up with Tony in dramatic fashion. The team has to decide to step up and handle things while Tony can’t. Tony has to decide if he’ll let them.

That’s it for now! Let me know if you’d like more recs later :)

[drawacharge]

so this started off as a drabble inspired by @hoppnhorn’s fic where hopper sees steve & billy fucking on camera lol read it here and turned into that + like a slight hopper introspective?? which i didn’t mean to do but whatever, enjoy anyway???

He’s late.

He’s late because he’s still technically on the clock and caught Tommy Hill speeding so he had to pull the kid over, give him the Required Lecture, and stick him with a ticket that his father would just pay off. Hopper would have loved to just over look it this time, but Hawkins is small as shit and the last thing he needs is the teenagers to stop fearing him. According to Joyce’s oldest son everyone thinks he’s made up of pure anger and spite.

Really, he’s just exhausted. 

And like. Maybe he enjoys terrorizing the teenagers of Hawkins just a little bit. But no one can prove it, so.

Anyway, it means he arrives at the cabin late, to a pouting little girl whose arms stay glued across her chest during the entire car ride to the Byers’. 

Thing is, Hopper’s trying, he really is. It’s just.

Being a cop-- much less the chief of police-- is kind of an unpredictable job, even in Hawkins, but Jane’s only twelve so she doesn’t get that. She just sees a guy who keeps breaking promises. A guy who kept her locked away in a remote cabin in a thick forest for an entire year, after she was kept captive her entire fucking life by some psycho scientist. 

But he’s trying.

He’s been looking at places to live that aren’t in the middle of fucking no where. He’s been going through the motions to sign her up for school. He’s been letting her see her friends more. He’s even been fucking reading Lord of the Rings to her at night, because her friends bought the series for her and her reading comprehension isn’t there yet. 

And it’s a boring fucking book, so.

Like, seriously. Ninety percent of it they’re just walking. 

He even does voices. 

Two weeks ago, she went to the mall for the very first time and he let her buy whatever she wanted. She chose a pink dress-- which like, fine, whatever-- but she also really wanted a leather jacket that was kind of too expensive but Hopper bought it for her anyway. He sacrificed a months’ worth of buying beer for it. Not that she knows that.

She also bought a stuffed teddy bear because she said it reminded her of him, which was... kind of cute. She named it Jim, too, which is less cute and more confusing, but whatever. 

A month before that was the start of summer and she went to the quarry for the first time. Jane doesn’t have the best history with deep water, so she spent the first hour clinging to either Hopper or Mike, making them promise to not let go. But, eventually, she explored on her own.

With floaties on her arms, of course.

So, yeah, he’s trying. But.

He still feels a little bit like a failure. He’s still too angry, too impatient. His voice still gets too loud even when he doesn’t mean for it to. 

Couple weeks ago, he confessed to Joyce over a midnight joint that he felt like he was becoming like his father. Joyce-- who vividly remembered Hopper’s father from when they were teenagers-- looked positively offended at the notion and went, “Don’t be ridiculous, Hop. You’re nothing like him.” Which, like, yeah.

He doesn’t hit the kid. He doesn’t tell her that she was worthless, or stupid. He’d rip out his own tongue or cut off his own hands before ever doing any of those things, but.

That doesn’t mean he’s a good dad. 

And, christ, that kid deserves a good fucking dad. A great one. A god damn superhero, even.

And that’s... not him. 

But he’s trying.

So, she doesn’t talk to him the whole way there, but, when she hops out of the car she still takes the time to hug his hip before grabbing her bag and running in. It’s stupid how much better that makes him feel.

By the time he follows in behind her, she’s in the living room talking excitedly to Mike about something or other. He’s looking at her with his stupid googoo eyes and Hopper-- not for the first time-- wants to kill the kid just a little bit, because his girl is too fucking young to have some twerp sniffing at her heels, but she likes him too apparently.

Besides, if Hopper learned anything from his teenage years it’s that the more parents don’t like a boy, the more the girl does.

( something he used to his advantage far too much back then )

Everyone’s there already, but not everyone’s staying. Henderson is talking too loud-- basically yelling-- in front of Steve Harrington, going, “C’mon, why do you wanna go to a party with him instead of hanging with us--” and the him in question here is Billy Hargrove, who is standing a little farther back from everyone else, closer to the door. Hopper can’t help but agree with Henderson’s sentiment, even if the thinks the kids are just headaches waiting to happen. But.

He doesn’t like Hargrove. The only adults who do, seem to be housewives, but Hopper’s reasoning is a little different from everyone else’s. 

See, Hargrove reminds Hopper too much of himself at his age. He seems angry all the time, rage bubbling underneath his skin like he’s always looking for an excuse to lash out. He walks through the town like it belongs to him, flirts with housewives even though he’s a fucking kid. Sometimes it’s like Hopper’s looking in a fucking mirror. Shit, even some of the rude shit he says reminds Hopper of the shit he’d say at his age. Closed minded kind of shit. 

You’d probably think all these similarities would make him more empathetic to the kid but, nah, not really. 

Maybe, if his kid didn’t like him. Maybe, if he wasn’t starting to hang around the group of people Hopper has almost died to protect twice now.

People Hopper would still die to protect in an instant. People he cared about. People he kind of considered family.

Right down to the rich kid who used to be a real fucking thorn in his side.

( still was, on occasion )

He’s been able to stand Harrington a lot more after he started dating Nancy Wheeler. She was a sweet kid and kept him out of trouble, influenced him to be good rather than the party boy he was before her. They weren’t together anymore, and while Hopper never gave enough of a shit to find out why, he was worried that’d mean Harrington would go back to his old ways. 

So far he hasn’t, not really, but he did start hanging around Hargrove sometime in the spring. 

Unlike everyone else, Hopper wasn’t too surprised when they started hanging out. It wasn’t unusual for two guys their age to get into it then end up becoming friends some time later. If Hopper hadn’t been friends with anyone he fought at their age he wouldn’t of had any friends. Boys will be boys. They’ll fight, they’ll draw blood, and after that they’ll get a fucking beer and forget about it. Shit, even grown men did that from time to time. 

But, Hargrove could easily be the catalyst that makes Harrington go back to his old ways. It hasn’t happened, but--

“What’s this about a party?” He sounds gruff, but when Harrington turns around he smiles at Hopper with the same kind of smile he’d give after getting pulled over for speeding, or for the staunch smell of weed coming from the open window of his BMW. “I hope there ain’t gonna’ be any underage drinking at this party--”

He knows there will be.

“Nope,” Harrington says, all innocent acting, Ray-Bans over his eyes even thought he’s inside and it’s fucking dark out. He was such a ridiculous kid. Hopper would have probably punched him too when he was seventeen.”Just soda and fruit punch, sir.”

“Don’t push it,” he mutters, but waves off the conversation, heading for the kitchen to say hi to Joyce real quick. 

On the way out he hears Hargrove hiss, “You wanna invite him to the fucking thing too?” and Harrington goes, “Relax, he doesn’t care.” Which like, Hopper does care, but he also knows teenagers will be teenagers and if he spent all his time shutting down parties he’d never fucking sleep, so. 

Joyce has her back to him, stirring something that smells real fucking good in a pot while her two boys help. The radio is playing softly and Jonathan’s singing to his mom as he pulls what looks like ( and smells like ) garlic bread out of the oven. Will is standing on a stool, getting plates, and Hopper walks over to help him when he starts to wobble.

The kid offers him one of his soft, grateful little smiles and Joyce goes, “Oh, Hop,” in greeting, “When’d you get here? I didn’t hear the door.”

“Just a few minutes ago.” He makes sure Will can handle the rest then looks over her shoulder to take a peek at what’s in the pot, “What cha’ makin’?” He reaches for some bread and she smacks his hand with a spoon.

“Chicken parm with spaghetti and garlic bread--” his stomach growls at the thought, and he’s not sure if she heard it or not but she goes, “You’re gonna’ stay and eat some with us, right?” so either she did or she just knows. 

He wants to. He really fucking wants to, but. 

“Can’t. Still on the clock technically.”

Jonathan and Will take the plates and what food is finished to the other room while Joyce frowns at him. “You work too much.” And he might, maybe. But so does she, which he says. She smiles real gentle at him in response. Joyce always looks so much younger when she smiles like that.

“Try and stop by after then?” She asks, tilting her head back to look at him better. They’re closer than Hopper realized. They always seem to be closer than he realizes. “I’ll save you a plate and we can talk while the kids are asleep.” 

Thing is, Hopper probably visits her at night far too much for it to be appropriate. If she was married and he did that, her husband would have every right to punch him, but. 

She’s not married, and neither is he, and.

And that sounds real good, so, “I’ll try and make it.”

Which makes her smile even more, and Hopper likes making her smile. She’s been sad for too long and too often over the last couple years, and if anyone in this town deserved to smile it was Joyce Byers. 

“Good. See that you do.” She pats his chest. “Now go do your job. I’ll be waiting.”

And that sounds real good, too. Joyce waiting up for him.

Like real good. 

So, he finds Jane and ruffles her hair in good-bye, glares at Wheeler a little, and heads out the door, noticing that the BMW is still in the driveway but Harrington, Hargrove, and Hargrove’s Camaro are long gone. 

He’s almost done with his patrols, heading down to Lover’s Lake to make sure no one’s trying to get pregnant out there. He’s dreaming of Joyce’s chicken parm ( and a little bit about Joyce, too ) when he sees the missing Camaro parked at the edge of the lake, lights off and silent, and audibly sighs. 

It’s not the first time he’s caught Hargrove and some girl out here, and he’s kind of getting tired of the kid blatantly ignoring his warnings, so he shuts off his cruiser, gets out, and walks real quiet like toward the car just so he can have surprise on his side and put the fear of god into Hargrove and whatever poor girl he’s charmed into his backseat. 

Okay, so, maybe he enjoys this part of his job. Terrorizing horny teenagers was kind of fun. He now understood why the cops before him did the same fucking thing. Nothing like wide eyes and shit shit shit as limbs flail and clothes fly around to give you a good chuckle.

He hears moans as he gets closer, nose wrinkling because, christ, they left the fucking window open. Do they want the whole fucking town to hear them bumping uglies, like-- 

He pulls out his flash light, leans down, and flicks it on, “Alright, you two--”

Well.

Shit.

There’s two forms, and the one on bottom is most definitely Hargrove, naked from the waist up, hair a mess and a very angry looking red mark on his throat, but the girl on top-- well, the girl on top isn’t even a girl.

It’s fucking Harrington. 

Hopper’s world goes a little sideways and he stands there looking a little stupid, both kids staring at him with wide, terrified eyes before Hargrove’s shoving Harrington off him unceremoniously, a look of pure panic on his face. Harrington hits the seat with a grunt-- far more naked than Hargrove was-- and scrambles for his pants thrown over the middle console behind him. Hargrove’s muttering something like fuck and shit and i’m so fucking dead while yanking his shirt over his head and Hopper--

Catches up around the time Steve turns to him, out of breath and looking almost as scared as Hargrove, but infinitely more desperate. “Hopper,” he breathes, trying to smile like he did back at the Byers. It falls a little flat this time. “Hi, uh--” he glances back at Billy who is now just staring forward at the head rest of the front seat. His back is rigid, and that look of fear is still on his face. “-- it’s not... what it looks like. I uh. We. I--”

Hopper’s caught him like this before, but with girls, and Harrington’s always been much more composed, sometimes even smug. Now he looks about ready to piss himself, voice almost trembling and christ. 

Hopper gets why.

Like, it’s Hawkins. And--

He hasn’t always been the most outwardly accepting guy, even as an adult. He’s said shit before that he probably shouldn’t, but. That’s changed. He’s gotten better, because he has Joyce, and Joyce has Will, and Will--

Well, he’s not sure what Will is, but he’s pretty sure he’s not normal-- er, straight. Whatever. He’s still learning. Point is.

It’s not his thing, and he might not ever, like, get it, but. 

He knows what pure fear looks like, and Hargrove looks like that but worse. He’s green like he might throw up, and Steve only looks a little bit better, but not by much, so.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he hears himself sigh, and Steve goes still, so he adds. “I can’t believe Hargrove left his fucking car out here empty and unlocked. It’s illegal--” 

See, he should probably talk about it. He should probably tell the boys that it’s okay, or it’s natural, or some other liberal shit that Joyce would probably say, but he can’t. Doesn’t want to even, because that sounds fucking awkward as shit, and he isn’t even ready to have the talk with his kid, much less two queer teenage boys--

So this is his best option.

And they both look confused, which is fair. “God only knows who could find it,” he continues. God only knows who could find you. “He better get back here and leave soon.” You better get out of here. “It’s dangerous.”

Then he steps back, flicks off his flashlight and adds, “I’m not gonna’ report this,” which sounds stupid to say out loud, but he wants the kids to know he’s not going to tell anyone. That even if he doesn’t understand, he still fucking knows anyone finding out could mean either of them getting fucking dragged down a country road by a truck, and even when Hopper was at his worst he didn’t think people like them deserved that shit, so.

He gets back in his truck, heads back down the road, parks behind some trees, and sits there until he sees Hargrove’s Camaro fly by. Until he knows they’re safe, and hopefully not planning on doing that ever again.

Then he heads back to the Byers’, smokes a joint on the porch with Joyce, and eats chicken parmesan and garlic bread until he can no longer recall what Steve Harrington looks like butt ass naked. 

[winterwitch611]

Drowning- Whumptober Day 24

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton

Word Count: 1609

The sky is clear, the sun is hot and this is going to be a perfect day one way or another. Clint and Bucky have been waiting for months to get some time off. They started dating four months ago so their relationship still has that new car smell. They’re enjoying the ‘I can’t get enough of you’ stage and want to be alone to bask in some peace and quiet. Maybe get to know each other better. Something beyond how loud they can make each other scream in bed.

Tony gave them access to a jet and the keys to his beach house in Malibu. It seems like this is exactly what they both need. Too bad drama follows them wherever they go.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Damn, it’s beautiful here,” Clint says as the waves crash nearby. The beach behind Tony’s house is private so there’s no one around for quite a distance. It helps Bucky’s confidence since there isn’t anybody in the area to point or stare at his arm. They’re laying in plush lounge chairs soaking up the sun. Someplace Bucky never thought he’d be.

“Yeah, it really is. The view is amazing.”

“The sky seems bluer here, if that’s even possible.”

“Mmmmm…yeah; but I wasn’t talking about the landscape.” Bucky is still working on regaining his stellar flirting skills. It’s been a long time since he needed them. He’s still a little rusty.   

“Smooth. Reeeal smooth,” Clint replies with a wink.

“Yeah I know. I can’t help myself. It’s not my fault you’re gorgeous.”

“Okay enough of the flattery. We can continue this over dinner if you’d like but it’s not going to cook itself.” Clint stands and makes grabby hands at Bucky. “Let’s go,Casanova!” As usual it works. He jumps up and wraps his arms around his boyfriend. Neither man thought being this happy was possible. Actually, neither man thought they deserved to be this happy. Enjoying the moment is something they never learned how to do...

After dinner they pour some wine and head out to the back deck. It’s still light out; the sky has a beautiful multicolored hue that makes the evening seems even more relaxing.   

“Wow, that sure is a pretty sky. This might be the perfect place to retire when the time comes.” Clint sips his wine and leans back in his chair. “The way I figure it, I have about ten years, maybe less, before I retire from the field. Doesn’t hurt to plan ahead, right?” Bucky doesn’t answer right away. After a few moments of awkward silence Clint looks over and sees a look of worry on Bucky’s face. It’s almost as if he’s on the edge of panic. “Hey, Buck…what’s goin’ on? What’s wrong?”

“Retire? I never even thought about that. It’s not something I would even need to think about yet. I mean I may be a hundred years old but technically I’m in my twenties. I guess I didn’t think about our ages being a big deal.”

“And now you do?” Clint asks, his tone a little more harsh than he intended. “I mean no one really knows how fast you and Steve age. You could do this job for another fifty years and only age ten.” He takes a huge swig from his wine glass and brings it down on the table with a bang. Swinging his legs around the edge of the lounge chair, he leans forward. With his elbows braced on his knees and his head in his hands, he lets out a long sigh. When he looks up he sees the sadness in Bucky’s eyes. He knows this is something they should have talked about sooner.

“Why are you getting so upset, Clint?” he asks in a hushed tone. “I didn’t say our age difference bothered me. It was an observation. Nothing more.” He reaches out but Clint flinches away from him.

“If it didn’t bother you you wouldn’t have said it. It’s something that has crossed your mind.” He stands and takes a few steps toward the stairs that lead down to the beach. “I’m gonna take a walk. I need to think, clear my head a little. Before I say something I can’t take back.”

Bucky watches him walk away. He watches until his boyfriend is just a speck in the distance. It feels like he just walked out of his life. How the hell did a seemingly innocent conversation end up here? He doesn’t know but he sure as hell isn’t ready to give up or let this go. In a few short months Clint has become his world. If retiring beachside in ten years is what he wants then so be it. Bucky has always dreamed of a happily ever after. If it takes hanging up his guns and knives, he’ll adjust. He’s got ten years to worry about it. For now he just wants to be happy WITH Clint because he sure as hell won’t be happy without him.

Alright, Barnes. Get your shit together and go get him. He barely finishes this thought when he sees someone running down the beach waving their arms. They’re too far away, they’re yelling but he can’t quite make out what they’re saying even with his enhanced hearing. The crashing waves are like interference. As the person gets closer he sees it’s a teenage boy, He’s frantic so Bucky runs down to see what the problem is, maybe he can help him.

“Help! Help please!! My brother is drowning,” the boy yells. “Can you help me?! There’s no one else around!!”

“Show me where,” Bucky says and joins the boy running back down the beach. He knows he can run faster without the boy but he doesn’t want to leave him behind. He thinks about scooping him up and running but that might not be the best idea given his history. He’d probably end up in jail for his trouble.

“Thanks mister,” the boys huffs as he runs. “There’s a man…he tried to help…my brother was freaking out...he pushed the man under,” he tries to explain as he gasps for air. He’s run so far so fast, he’s running out of steam.

Oh god…Clint. That thought is all it takes. “I’ll get them. Don’t worry.” he yelled back over his shoulder as he left the boy behind and ran for all he was worth.

He stops short when he sees the boy flailing in the water. No sign of another person. He runs into the water and swims as fast as he can, The weight of his arm holding him back slightly. He reaches the boy just as he slips under the surface. Holding him tightly he looks around for the other man the boy’s brother spoke about. Nothing. He sees nothing in any direction, his heart sinks. He’s too late to save whoever it was. Please, please god, don’t be Clint.

His prayers are not answered. As he swims back to shore, with the boy in tow, something bumps his leg. It’s Clint, lifeless, just below the surface.

No! no no no … FUCK!

Bucky uses all his strength to hold the boy and Clint while trying to reach the shore. He’s holding back his emotions but he wants to scream. This can’t be real. It has to be a bad dream.

The struggle onto to the beach is short lived. The boys brother arrives. He’s completely out of breath but seeing his brother being pulled from the water seems to give him a burst of energy. He’s able to help drag his brother ashore while Bucky tends to Clint.

He begins CPR immediately. Compressions, breaths, nothing. No sign of life. He won’t give up. Even as he hears Clint’s ribs crack, he’ll try until he collapses if he has to.

A few minutes later Clint coughs and gasps for air. Bucky rolls him on his side as he spits up sea water. The color is returning to his boyfriends cheeks. Relief washes over him and a few tears run down his face.

“Oh my god. I thought I lost you,” Bucky says as he cradles Clint’s head. “I thought I’d never get to tell you that I love you.”

“You do?” Clint’s voice is a low rasp but Bucky hears him loud and clear when he says “I love you too…” he tries to take a deeper breath my coughs and then groans in pain. “...but did you have to…” another gasp of air “...break my ribs?”

“Well, it was break your ribs or let you die and I’m not finished with you yet.” He can’t believe how close he came to losing the most important person in his life. He tells himself to make sure he reminds Clint everyday how much he’s loved.   

Bucky wants to scoop him up and carry him back to the house but then he remembers the boys. He looks up to see them both sitting up, hugging and crying. Whew, the kid is okay. My work here is done.

Luckily someone in a house nearby saw the commotion and called 911. The paramedics were jogging across the sand toward them.

“No, Buck. No hospital. Please,” Clint begs between coughs and groans. Bucky knows how much he hates anything having to do with medical. He’s gotta overrule him this time.

“Sorry, babe. You’re goin’. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

“You have about…uuugh… six weeks of taking care of me… owwww… to make it up.” Even after a near death experience and being in intense pain Clint finds a way to be wise ass… and Bucky loves every second of it.

Beta: @caramell0w

[sologxlaxies]

Not About Angels - Part 6

Antisocial Animals

Bucky x Reader series

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Summary: Loving him feels like the most exquisite way of self-destruction. Too close, and you’re radioactive. Too far, and your heart shatters, and the city cracks in two while debris scatters in the space between your ribs. Pining over a brooding, unstable Bucky Barnes isn’t exactly your brightest idea, especially when you’re just as damaged as he is, and he doesn’t seem to love you half as much as you love him.

Warnings: Swearing (tons of it), drinking and smoking, mentions of death.

Word count: 2720

A.N: This one’s pretty exciting! In other news, I’m finally back!! My writing inspiration isn’t back in full swing just yet, but I’m trying my best to post again. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

Bucky isn’t there by the time you wake up.

The first moment after you open your eyes seems to stretch for hours as the events of early morning flood into your mind, fuzzy and fleeting to the point where you wonder if it might have been a dream. It is only when you stretch along the bed that your fingers brush the other side, feeling the faintest hint of body warmth still lingering on the sheets, and your entire body tingles with the ghost of his touch fresh on your memory.

He had been in your room, after all, you think to yourself. But after that, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Bucky doesn’t show up for breakfast that morning, nor does he appear after that. He’s not at the table when Wanda calls everybody for lunch, and he doesn’t show up afterwards either. Even without him, lunch is a tense affair, with everybody quietly eating their food and dancing around the elephant in the room that is your presence in the compound.

It’s been exactly three years since the night of the accident at the tower. Three years since you killed a SHIELD agent during Clint’s birthday party.

You don’t blame Bucky for staying away, opting yourself to stay away from the common area as the final preparations for Clint’s birthday party are set up in place, just like three years ago. 

An all-too-familiar sense of dread starts building in your stomach the moment you see the giant birthday cake being brought into the living room. That, along with the presence of the crew Tony hired to decorate the place is enough to trigger bad memories of the night of the accident.

You try and do your best to keep the panic down; breathing in and out for what could easily be a thousand times, but the feeling doesn’t go away and you remain antsy all over, without being able to shake off your uneasiness.

This isn’t the kind of night for you to appear in public, and you know that much. You’ve learned to notice those subtle changes around you; how the air thickens up into a toxic cocktail, and the bracelet on your wrist has to work double to counteract the effects, dosing you up on Bruce’s drug cocktail. 

As soon as FRIDAY announces the first guest, you all but dart to the roof, a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of bourbon in hand. You’d rather freeze to death on that roof than set foot in that party ever again.

“You got a smoke?”

The voice behind you makes you tense up for a second, catching you off guard. You were so immersed in your thoughts that you almost missed the sound of the metal door opening and closing, revealing the presence of someone else on the rooftop. Almost.

“You know that shit’s bad for you, right?” You retort, adjusting your position on the cool concrete.

“Says the woman chain smoking on the edge of a roof.”

“Touché.” you huff, watching the cloud of smoke float away at your harsh exhale. “Why are you here Barnes?” You’re hyper-aware of his presence, slightly uncomfortable to see him in his party attire, with the top buttons of his shirt popped open and suit jacket hanging from his shoulders. Neither of you has spoken about last night, and you don’t want to be the first to bring it up.

“I was bored.” He’s skating around the subject too, you notice. Good. But then- “I saw you leaving-”

“I swear to god Barnes, that if you just came here to lecture me you might as well go back to the party.” You practically growl. “Steve’s already tried—and failed—and heaven knows I only have the patience to deal with one supersoldier’s broken ego.”

He laughs heartily when he watches you take a long gulp of bourbon, his amused smile turning into one of disbelief when you keep chugging it down without signs of stopping.

A part of you almost expects him to stop you; to make a comment or try to pull the bottle away from your fingers, but you’re surprised when he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky just watches as you take gulp after gulp, whistling after you’ve put the half empty bottle down.

“That bad, huh?” He asks.

You wait a couple of seconds, taking a drag from your cigarette before answering. “Yeah” It leaves your lips as a soft sigh, accompanied with smoke as both get lost in the night.

“Want to talk about it?”

He catches you off guard, again, with his question. Even more so when you hear him rustling behind you and all of a sudden, he's plopping right next to you, making himself comfortable with his feet dangling off the rooftop just like yours are and his jacket bundled up at his side. 

It's new and unexpected; the feeling of another human acting so normally around you after all this time. You can’t help but look at him unabashedly, your eyes probably growing triple in size at his question because it’s been so, so long. 

You’ve spent the last few years letting others determine who you are and what you do, and now that somebody’s asking for your story, wanting to hear your experience and giving you the reigns, you suddenly feel so clumsy. It’s like waiting an entire lifetime for something but not quite knowing what to do once it’s within your grasp.

 Instead of answering him, you reach for the box of cigarettes inside your pocket. It’s almost empty and crumpled, but the cigarettes are still good and so you take another out before you pass him the box.

“Don’t touch the upside-down one” you warn him without even looking in his direction. “That one is mine.”

 He doesn’t say anything about it other than humming appreciatively when he fishes out his own smoke out of the little carton box, waiting for you to provide a lighter. After he watches you scrambling for one—patting all your pockets and turning them upside down but coming up empty—he finally speaks again.

 “You know we don’t need a lighter, right?” He asks, motioning towards your lit cigarette. “I trust you.”

His comment makes you scoff. Mostly because of how naive it sounds, knowing awfully well that your powers aren’t something you control, but also because trust isn’t something you’ve seen much these days. “Well, you shouldn’t,” you grunt, and yet you find yourself stretching your hand towards him with your lit cigarette held between your fingers.

Bucky takes it, maneuvering it carefully as he removes the filter from his own and puts it between his lips. He places them together, end to end, with the utmost care, and then he inhales, making the embers of your cigarette flare up as they light up his, and he breathes in through his mouth, sucking in the smoke.

It feels like an oddly intimate gesture, watching as his eyes flutter closed and he relishes the burn of the smoke on his throat before he slowly breathes it out. It becomes even more enthralling when he licks the tip of his ring finger, the one he used to remove the filter, and you can’t seem to avert your eyes from the sight until he hands you your cigarette back.

Both of you stay in silence for a while, acutely aware of each other’s presence as you smoke, until you finally speak.

“They hate me because I killed their partner,” you whisper, so softly that even Bucky with his enhanced hearing has a hard time to catch it. Then you continue. “After the Triskelion leak, the team started to get suspicious of me. My file… it, uh, had some inconsistencies.”

Why you're telling Bucky about this is beyond your understanding. Maybe it's because he asked, maybe it's because of the slightly intimate moment the two of you are sharing, or maybe just because you're slightly tipsy in both alcohol and the cigarette smoke. Either way, it feels good to talk, so you keep going.

“You know where I come from now, but the team… nobody knew anything back then. Nobody knew I’d worked for HYDRA.”

There’s no missing Bucky’s sharp intake of breath, no mistaking the way he almost chokes on the smoke even as he tries to hide it. You don’t blame it on him; HYDRA is a touchy subject and even if he’d heard it from the team before, you confessing it to him only makes it more real.

“What happened then?” He asks, careful not to push you too much for the information.

“Tony was throwing a birthday party for Clint and his S.H.I.E.L.D. friends. One of them didn’t trust me at all, and so he confronted me and I freaked out-  I didn’t mean- he just dropped-” One of your hands reaches for the bottle at your side, but it’s dark and you’re shaking. Instead, you knock it to the side, effectively spilling its contents on the floor. “Fuck!-”

There’s barely enough time for the words to leave your lips when Bucky’s already at your side, carefully placing a hand on your shoulder. It’s only when his words—not his touch—jerk you out of your thoughts that you notice the fresh tears on your cheeks.

“Whoa doll, it’s okay” He’s prying the cigarette from your fingers as he discards his own, throwing them to the floor before he squishes it with his boot. “It’s over now, it’s okay. There’s no need to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

The next second he’s grabbing his jacket from the floor and placing it over your frame, careful as he lightly envelops you in his arms. You rattle against him, shaken by both the bad memories and the cold but he makes up for it as he pulls you closer, allowing some of his body warmth to seep into you.

“I need to-” you sniffle, “Can we go back inside?” Your throat feels tight from holding back a sob and your fingers are slowly getting numb from the cold. Still, the request in plural takes the both of you by surprise, although Bucky seems to understand better than you think because he only gives you a short nod before he’s ushering the both of you inside and closing the door softly behind you, all while he keeps a hand hovering right behind your back.

He's quick to guide you both to the living quarters, his steps as silent as he can make them when you pass the living room and try to walk by unnoticed as Clint’s birthday celebration goes on.

You duck your head down at the sound of voices, but Bucky knows better than to ask after his conversation with you. Instead, he takes you up the stairs and down the hall that leads to your bedrooms, but just when you think he’ll walk until the end of the hallway where your bedroom is, he stops at the room that’s right before yours. His room. 

“Are you going to come in or not?” he asks as he holds the door open, noticing how you haven’t followed him inside.

“I- I don’t” you stammer, clearing your throat. You shake your head briefly, trying to dissipate the thoughts that have begun to crawl into your mind, edging into it like growing vines. “It’s a bad idea, Barnes. You don’t want me in your room.”

This time it’s him who’s frowning.” And what exactly makes you say that?”

“Because the last time I was in a bedroom with a man, he ended up dead.” You deadpan. Memories of that night flashing before your eyes.

The silence that stretches between you and Bucky suddenly becomes anything but pleasant as the air noticeably thickens around you, the more upset you become.

As you begin to recognize the feeling in your gut, the panic inside you sparks up after the realization, and for a full two seconds you try and get as far away from Bucky as you can. Yet, instead of moving further, you stumble and crash against the opposite side of the hallway, practically clawing your way up the wall in your haste to move. 

You know what comes with the burning sensation on your skin; you fear it, but before your brain can fully process what’s happening, the bracelet on your wrist beeps, delivering yet another injection, and the air around you dissipates as the drugs force you to calm down.

“Hey, hey-“ -he catches you just as your knees buckle, and no sooner does one of his hands splay flat across your back than it takes for your skin to break into goosebumps. “What just happened?” 

“I- shit!” You try to pry yourself from his grasp “I almost killed you.”

“What?” He freezes for a second, and that’s more than enough time for you to put some distance between the two of you.

“What I’m saying is,” You huff, “You just witnessed my powers, Barnes. My lethal powers.”

“And I’m not dead yet,” he shrugs, and it just makes you want to strangle him, because how can he be so fucking stubborn- “So I don’t see why I should let you go away and lock yourself up.”

“I can’t stay Barnes. You already have enough shit to deal with as it is, there’s no reason you have to put up with mine as well.”

“Don’t you think that’s my own call to make?” That takes you by surprise, “Why are you always trying to run away-”

“It’s all I know!” You’re panting now, careful not to scream in case the others can hear it,  “Running away is all I do now. I tried settling down with Steve, I really did, and all it just backfired-”

“I didn’t know you had a thing with Steve” He mumbles, so low that you almost fail to hear it, but it’s enough to distract you from your tantrum.

“We… yeah,” You shrug, “We were together for over a year, but I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you.”

Bucky frowns, but you keep on talking. “He’s probably ashamed of it by now… Who wouldn’t be, if their girlfriend turned out to be a freak?” You can’t help the bit of venom in your tone, and it suddenly hits you that you actually resented Steve way more than you’re willing to admit.

He doesn’t miss your sigh or the way that your head hangs slightly lower once the words leave your mouth, and it makes something in his gut clench. Something about the way you hold yourself that reminds him of how he felt before. 

“Tell me about it; about you and Steve.” Bucky says then, once again catching you by surprise, “Come to my room and talk. You don’t have to do anything else, just… talk, spend some time with me.”

You blink up at him, arms crossed protectively in front of you, and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

It sounds half pathetic, and it only makes you want to slam your head against the nearest wall, but it’s the only word you can come up with.

“Humans social animals. You’re human”

“That doesn’t mean anything-”

“Oh, but it does.” He smirks. You suddenly feel the urge to wipe it off his face. “We need social interaction because it’s part of us, and you, my friend, are in desperate need of some.”

“I didn’t know we were friends.” You counter, but you can’t help the small smile that makes its way to your lips.

There’s a breath of silence, as he watches you intently, and notices your smile. His smirk softens at the sight, morphing into a small grin. You decide then, that you like it when he smiles.

Bucky takes a step back, motioning towards his open bedroom with a subtle nod of his head.

“Come on in, sweetheart.” He says. It’s almost a whisper, but you like the sound of it; it makes you feel safe. 

“Okay…” You exhale “Alright, let’s talk.” 

Almost without thinking, you nod your head. It’s more of a gesture that you make for yourself instead of him, but a second later you’re following him across the hall and inside the bedroom, shutting the door behind you with a soft click.

Next part 

FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED (Please don’t let this series flop)

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[themyskira]

THAT Wonder Woman script, part 3 of why do you hate us joss

PREVIOUSLY IN THIS SHITTY MOVIE:

Diana left her extremely heterosexual all-women island commune to take a gap year and discover herself! And also because a boy turned up and dazzled her with his moral superiority!

The pair arrived in a stereotypical war-torn African country, where Diana unhelpfully escalated a situation, got shot and was deeply offended that she took six whole hours to heal from a near-fatal bullet wound, while Joss tried unsuccessfully to insert his own gun politics into the story.

Then they went to America, where Diana was hilariously mistaken for a sex worker and shamed for her revealing clothing!

We also met our villain! Well, villains, because why have one quality bad guy when you can have about six bargain bin ones. Roll call!

whosit the stereotypical African warlord; he’s out of the picture

whatshisface the stereotypical gangster, who’s about to get condescendingly lectured at

Discount Veronica Cale, an embarrassing caricature who runs Evil Incorporated, which secretly fuels war and panic and inequality all over the globe because fear is tasty etc.

Strife, a Greek goddess who Whedon has retooled into a male demigod for no reason I can see

The Khimaera, which is either a mythical creature or an industrial-sized drill or possibly a combination of both, it really hasn’t been adequately explained

Ares, the evil behind the curtain

no, I know, I’m shocked the studio passed on this kind of quality material, too.

Diana is still tracking Kleen, and she believes she knows where she can find him — in a trendy nightclub unsubtly called “Olympus”. Diana tells Steve it’s a ~sign~ because she is obsessed with this shit.

The bouncer gives her shit and calls her “bitch”.

Cut to a minute later, as Steve and Diana walk inside. Griffin has taken the unconscious bouncer’s headset and clipboard and is using his newfound position of power to be a massive douche.

GRIFFIN Okay! Guy from the ‘burbs desperately trying to impress his date, you, yeah get on in. Tee shirt guy. You two…

Two thin supermodel types come up to him—

GRIFFIN (continuing) Go eat something! Go to Arby’s, get some protein, you frighten me.

wow fuck you joss, this is some nice guy sexist bullshit.

Meanwhile, in the club, Diana has found Kleen and his posse. Steve warns Diana that they need to approach with care; if anyone starts shooting, people will die. Diana ignores him and walks right on up.

And at this point you may be thinking, for a mission about busting a crack kingpin, this subplot sure has a disappointing lack of offensive stereotypes. Friends, I have good news for you.

KLEEN […] I keep hearing my product’s getting jacked by some crazy strong bitch in a tiara. That couldn’t be you, ‘cause here you are too scared to speak. It’s sad. The way a funeral is sad. You up in my world now.

The girlfriend slinks up him.

THE GIRLFRIEND What are you talkin’ to her, I need a little sugar—

KLEEN Get ya skank ass offa me while I’m doing business!

Diana proceeds to lecture Kleen about how he can do good if he stops being a captive to society and embraces the “real power … in connection, in community”. It’s some white saviour, white feminist bullshit and Kleen is genuinely furious before he brushes her aside dismissively and warns her not to mess with him again.

Steve trails after Diana, rightly pointing out how irresponsible and completely ineffectual that was. But Diana can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else going on with this place. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s in a bar called Olympus, and the owner has just sent her over a complimentary glass of probably-divine wine. Gosh, do you think the universe is telling her something?!

Diana takes a sip, twigs what’s going on and skols the whole glass. Then abruptly announces that she needs to dance. As she makes for the floor, Griffin asks Steve if he’s gonna dance with her and Steve splutters something to the tune of ‘what no why would I dance with her did someone tell you I like her I don’t like her girls are dumb and they have cooties’ before proceeding to watch her while pretending not to watch her, because he is an actual teenage boy.

Diana reaches the middle of the floor. She raises her arm and holds still. Turns her palm and brings her arm down with ritualistic rigidity. This could go very badly…

Then she moves her leg back and turns, fluidly, a curve rippling up her body as she folds into a dance that is sexual, ethereal and wicked sexy. This is not a warrior march; though it remains idiosyncratic, it is neither out of place nor unnoticed on the crowd floor. […]

BEN Are you watching this?

GRIFFIN (big-eyed) It’s like Christmas…

I think I hate Griffin even more than I hate Steve.

Anyway, guys on the dance floor start fighting over her (of course) and then some divine shit happens, but the important thing is that after Diana does her sexy dance she’s allowed upstairs and into a lush private room where the aforementioned club owner is waiting.

BACCHUS (without turning) I like that you knew you needed to dance for me. And it was worthy; I mean, for a girl [who’s] never seen Soul Train even once you can bend a bit.

yeah Bacchus is a wanker.

The reason he goes by “Bacchus” and not “Dionysus”, btw? “The Romans! They came and changed all our names. How random is that?”

Like I said, total wanker.

Also once again, zero research, because the name “Bacchus” originated with the Greeks -- the Romans just appropriated it. They used the name fairly interchangeably with “Liber”.

DIANA I was told the gods were dead.

BACCHUS (it doesn’t swing) Yeah, well. Most of them are.

DIANA Athena?

BACCHUS Deader than Elvis. […] a God exists because people believe in it. Worship. Is a thing. Goddess of wisdom? Not hanging in, not today. (raises his drink) But nobody ever stopped worshipping wine.

DIANA Or war.

BACCHUS (nodding) Ares, yeah. It’s his world now. I mean, Aphrodite’s still looking good, but not for publication I think she’s had some work done. Also she’s out of her mind.

This is some ignorant, cynical-ass bullshit masquerading as pithy insight. Even if you want to take the most pessimistic attitude towards institutions of learning and culture and science, even if you want to say that what’s driving all of those things is all hard profit and no curiosity, Athena is more than “just” the goddess of wisdom. She is the disciplined, strategic side of war, to Ares’ unbridled bloodshed — and hasn’t Joss just been lecturing us about how warfare has been corporatised and industrialised and monetised? She’s also craft, intellect, learning — you could argue for echoes of Athena in the growth of manufacturing and technology.

And as for Joss’s contemptuous treatment of Aphrodite — well, no surprise there, really, given his demonstrated puritan attitudes towards women’s sexuality.

Diana concludes that “[t]his whole world is mad” and not only is Dionysus doing nothing to help, he’s exploiting it like a douchebag.

BACCHUS You’re a feisty little filly. Let me ask you this:

He picks her up with one hand and slams her onto the bar. Doesn’t even spill his drink.

BACCHUS (continuing) Are you a god? (holding her down) ‘Cause I am and I’m used to being addressed like one.

Then he explains that Ares isn’t playing by “the rules”. “The rules” are vague and kind of nonsensical; basically it appears that gods personify certain concepts, but humans choose how to engage with those concepts: “Wine and revelry, it can bring men together or tear them apart, I can’t choose which. Humans choose. More and more they choose blindness. They choose hate, and isolation.” Whedon’s really hitting his cynical, preachy stride now.

So, according to these very flimsy “rules”, gods are incapable of making people do good or evil; they can only present them with the choice. But people doing evil violent shit makes Ares powerful, so he’s skirting this limitation by getting minions like Strife to push people to do evil violent shit. Except… Strife is also a god… who should be bound by the same “rules”…

Oh, and the other gods can’t stop him because conveniently “the rules” prohibit that as well!

fuuuuuuck this is stupid.

Dionysus rambles some more, tells Diana that Spearhead is Ares’ base of operations and Arabella Callas is his lieutenant.

BACCHUS […] She’s like Medea without the maternal warmth. You wanna get near her. (looks her over) Might need a more subtle look — your boyfriend can help you with that.

DIANA I don’t have a — who?

BACCHUS The pilot. Trevor. (before she can protest) Don’t even bother. Diana, what’s happening between you two isn’t chance. It was predicted by the Oracles millennia ago.

DIANA It was?

BACCHUS (snorts) No. But check out your face when I said it. There’s something going on.

DIANA He’s… a good man…

OH FOR SHIT’S SAKE NOW EVERYONE’S IN HIGH SCHOOL

The trajectory of this romance so far has been roughly this: Boy meets girl. Boy belittles girl at every available opportunity. Both boy and girl profusely deny harbouring any feelings for the other whenever prodded or questioned by those around them. When forced to speak truthfully, boy admits that he is attracted to her — and that he fucking hates it. BY GOSH, IT MUST BE TRUE LOVE.

Dionysus hams it up some more like the tosser he is, then we cut to the “gleaming, phallic grandeur” of the Spearhead tower. Steve and Diana steal the access codes to the building and sneak in undercover — Diana in classic Diana Prince getup.

They break into Callas’s office, where Callas is waiting calmly for them. Diana whips her lasso around Callas’s neck — I don’t know why she always goes for the neck — and Callas answers their every question with an unnerving calm. Yes, obviously she works for Ares. What’s she planning to do to Gateway? Oh, just destroy it. Why? Blahblah extended monologue about creating a glorious “golden age of fear and apathy” where everybody knows their place and does exactly as they’re told.

And at the end of all this, finally Diana thinks to ask how Ares and Callas are planning to achieve world domination. Callas, smugly: “You should have asked that first.” Then the guards bust in, guns blazing.

worst. heroes. ever.

Diana and Steve make their exit through the Evil Corporate War Room. People dive for cover as the guards give chase, firing indiscriminately. A tech guy gets caught in the crossfire and dies dramatically in Diana’s arms because why not. They make it to the creepy prayer chamber, barricade themselves in and — of course — stumble upon the high-tech-magical-silo in which we last saw the Khimaera. The maintenance machines and insectlike repair robots all manifest weapons and start shooting at them.

Diana grabs Steve and leaps down the central shaft and into a dark tunnel beneath the city. Of course, they end up in the same chamber the reporter and the homeless guy we’ve all forgotten about at this point were exploring. Diana identifies the “dragon” in the mural as the Khimaera and the “knight” the reporter thought was St George as Bellerophon. The message is clear, she says: she has to fight the Khimaera.

DIANA […] The Khimaera is here. It’s already working. This was left for me. It’s the sign.

STEVE It’s not a sign. It’s graffiti. Technically, it’s vandalism.

She turns on him, genuinely pissed.

DIANA What is wrong with you? Why do you still deny what is right before your eyes?

Steve, of course, takes this opening to instead expound on what he reckons is wrong with her. He blames Diana for the death of the tech guy just now and implies that all she’s doing with her heroic quests and dragon-fighting is getting people killed.

Which is… that is actually true. But only because Whedon is writing her so abominably.

DIANA I’m trying to keep it from getting worse!

STEVE And it never occurred to you that you’re the reason it’s getting worse? You stand up, call yourself a hero, the uglies are gonna have to bring you down. There’s an old saying: When elephants fight, the mice get trampled.

DIANA So I should, what? Putter around in my plane, bringing help to one of a thousand needy people? That’s a life’s work?

STEVE I used to think so.

DIANA So this is why you’re bitter. Because I—

(With Whedon’s Diana, everything is about her. It’s what she’s supposed to learn from other people’s misfortune, what signs she’s being sent, what the gods are telling her. It’s so fucking obnoxious.)

STEVE Again, this is not the time to talk about my feelings, Diana—

DIANA Because I make you feel small!

STEVE Well, we’re all small compared to you. From up there we probably look like ants.

DIANA I thought you were mice.

STEVE We’re human beings, Diana, and that’s something you will never understand.

oh fuck you joss

DIANA Your people have lost their way. The world crumbles and they do nothing. They need a hero to show them what they can—

No, fuck you, Joss, I can’t even—

STEVE Yes. Yes! We need a hero. Not a demigod sent from on high to lecture us about potential. We need someone with no advantage, no hope, who’s still out there trying. A hero doesn’t decide — ever! — to be a hero. They’re forced into it and they step up and then they live with the consequences.

He’s in her face, seething with conviction. And she is shaken.

STEVE (continuing) You’ll make your show, fight your fight and people will love you for it, and then they’ll need you for it and it’ll start to grate, to bore you and one day you’ll just go back home to paradise. (every syllable hit) Because every day you wake up knowing you can just go back to paradise. (fiercely quiet) You’re not a hero, Diana. You’re a fucking tourist.

Nah. Nah. Fuck you, mate. FUUUUUUUCK. YOUUUUU.

This is the crux of Whedon’s take on Wonder Woman. She is Not Worthy to be a hero and Will Not Be Worthy until she experiences her share of pain and suffering like the rest of us. Because, man, I can buy Greek gods and an island of supernaturally powerful women, but a heroine who’s possessed of both incredible power and great humanity? I’m sorry, that just breaks my suspension of disbelief. Everyone knows you can’t be a hero unless you have it beaten into you first.

This is some nasty, petty-minded, cynical bullshit and it deserves to burn slowly in the development hell to which it was rightly banished.

Just as Steve reaches Peak Douchebag, he receives exactly what he deserves, with Strife materialising to slam him to the ground.

Diana and Strife fight; Strife says what I was just thinking: “So this is a sign, is it? A portent, just for you. Your arrogance is a delight.” Yep; pretty much.

Diana lassos Strife, who casually cuts through the golden lariat. The glow fades as it falls limply to the ground.

He says it’s because his sword was made by Vulcan. I call bullshit, and not just because Joss gives too few shits to say Hephaestus like he means. The lasso is Important. It’s more than just a weapon or an interrogation tool; it is truth incarnate, truth inviolate, and for that to break? That ought to be big and devastating, with larger implications. It ought to mean something.

This doesn’t mean anything; Joss is just using it to signal how fucked Diana is about to be.

Strife materialises behind Steve, puts his sword to Steve’s throat and delights in telling Diana that the only way she can save her boyfriend’s life is to submit to having her bracelets chained and her power taken from her.

What follows is essentially your classic standoff — Steve urging her to kill Strife, don’t worry about him; Diana torn and hesitating — made infinitely more creepy by the dark, predatory... I’ll say it, rapey connotations behind chaining an Amazon and putting her under a man’s power. And god, does Whedon ever play it up.

The chain moves in his hand, twitching slightly. Steve sees the pain on Diana’s face.

STRIFE (continuing) Submit to my will, and I won’t kill him.

Diana hesitates. Steve can barely hiss:

STEVE Take him out…

She looks at him…

STRIFE (disgusted) A true Amazon would never even have hesitated. Your decision is made. Now say it!

STEVE Nnnno…

DIANA Yes.

STRIFE Yes?

DIANA (choking on it) I… submit.

STRIFE Do it.

Slowly, she gets on her knees. Holds out her two hands.

The chain rises, twitching, like a snake, pointed at her, straining at her.

DIANA I submit.

The chain shoots out of Strife’s grasp and attaches to her bands. We pan up from her hands to her face — and there is colour drained from it. Not just ashen shame; she looks less vital, less alive.

STRIFE If your mother could see you now…

Diana looks at herself, at her chains, at her torn and tawdry outfit.

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

(deep breath)

yooooooooooooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

(also “torn and tawdry outfit” like now that Diana is depowered and mortal she is no different than the sex worker Joss was encouraging us to laugh at before)

Strife throws Steve aside and teleports himself and Diana away.

i hate everything.