#howls with laughter because he KNOWS he’s got steve right where he wants him …

[fizzigigsimmer]

Steve is a struggling superhero trying to gain entry into The Defense League, where the top tier superhero’s work together to save the galaxy. But his powers are unruly. He’s kinda like the hulk only instead of going smash, when he loses control of himself he spits out solar energy. He can cause a lot of damage if he’s not careful, and his origin as a hero is pretty messy. Rich boy doing penance: it’s been done. He’s not even president of the club (that’s Tony). Steve’s gadgets aren’t nearly as cool as the tin man’s but Dustin and the rest of the nerd squad certainly keep him in the most unique gear. The indestructible bubble gum actually does adhere itself to any surface. He had to buy a new laundry machine, but he certainly can’t fault them for imagination.

Steve may be a third string hero, but he must be doing something right because he’s already got an arch nemesis. ‘The Hurricane’ blows in about once a month to terrify Saturday afternoon shoppers and trash the downtown in the name of anti-capitalism or whatever, and Steve seems to be the only one who can stop him. The Brain? Turns out her cloaking ability doesn’t hold up to torrential rain. Freeze Frame? Won’t get near the guy after Hurricane picked him up and blew him right into the giant fish tank at Bob’s Seafood. Prism (Robin to those in the know) was done with him from the moment Hurricane started playing rock music from the city alert system whenever he started a rampage.

“He just wants attention. He’s your problem Steve because you give it to him.”

He didn’t put any thought into it at first. Then Hurricane starts showing up every couple weeks instead of once a month. Then it progresses to once a week, and now twice in the same week. It’s troubling… also annoying as fuck because Hurricane always shows up at the worst times, and he just talks so much. He talks more shit than even Billy Hargrove, the super critical and overly suspicious personal assistant (read babysitter) his father stuck on him to make sure Steve isn’t running the Hawkins branch of the company into the ground. The guy’s got his nose so far up Steve’s business that Steve’s 90% sure he is a corporate spy, he just hasn’t found the proof yet.

But he can’t focus on the problem of Hargrove with an overgrown super baby throwing tantrums to Metallica every five seconds. When Hurricane attacks for the third time in the same week, Steve has had enough. He calls it in and leaves before the others even confirm they’re on their way. He knows better than to rush in without backup but he’s so sick of this bullshit. He’s gonna put a stop to this once and for all. He takes the nerd mobile (as Robin likes to call it since Dustin and the other kids in R&D are always coming up with excuses for more test drives) and arrives on the scene in a cloud of smoke and screeching tires.

Jesus he’s going to have to have a talk with the kids about why his car needs to spit flame out the back. The smoke is so black and thick! Though it does look cool (he’s got to admit) when he emerges from the dark cloud, his cape fluttering behind him in the wind.

The sky is an ugly purple overhead, thunder booms and lightning cracks, and the wind whips around them like a twister, tossing droplets of water in every direction. In the center of it all, the eye of the storm, is the man who started it all.

“Hurricane!” Steve shouts to be heard over the howling wind and the super villain's manic laughter.

He turns. Glacial eyes spark with life when they recognize Steve. And it is Steve he recognizes, not just the costume. Cause the one time they thought to send in a fake to do this, Hurricane literally fed the poor guy to the fishes. Blew him so far away they had to fish him out of Lake Michigan.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Pretty Boy?” Steve’s so done with him he doesn’t even bother reminding him that his name is Photon Blast.

“Yeah yeah it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.”

Hurricane laughs like a lunatic. Because he is a lunatic. And the sky crackles with lightning.

Right about now, usually Steve’s backup would be sneaking into place in order to spring a trap on Hurricane while he’s distracted; only Steve didn’t wait for them so there is no backup.

“Brave of you to challenge me alone.”

“Man, what are you talking about?” Steve huffs and Hurricane blinks at him in obvious surprise. He presses on, “Have I ever come at you alone? We banter, we fight, I let you pin me, and just when you think you’ve won, my team appears and you get captured. It’s the same shit every time.”

“Your prison cells can’t hold me!” Hurricane growls, eyes narrowing in Steve with rage like he thinks he’s being insulted.

“Yeah no shit. This is the third time we’re doing this.” Steve rolls his eyes, fists his hands on his hips. Taps his foot. “What gives man? You need a hug or something? A cuddle buddy?”

He’s expecting Hurricane to explode. Is ready for it. Aching for it if he’s honest, because it irks him that he never really beats Hurricane no matter how many rounds he ‘wins’. When the guy keeps breaking out of custody like it’s nothing and coming back, it feels like Steve’s trapped in a game with rules he doesn’t know. So he’s ready for a fight but what happens is worse.

“Are you offering?” Hurricane asks.

Steve stares at him, his mouth dropping open. Did he hear that right?

“What did you just say?”

The whipping rain parts for the leather clad villain and he saunters towards Steve. The fang of some poor creature dangles from his ear and his teeth glint in a sharp smile as he stops in front of Steve.

“I asked if you’re offering.”

“No fucking way dude!” Steve snaps without, thinking and immediately regrets it as the sky booms with thunder.

“Too bad. I give great hugs.” is what he hears before a gust of wind slams into him, so strong it smacks him right into the side of a parked car.

Steve groans. Partly in pain. Mostly in misery. This guy is fucking insane and for some reason, he’s obsessed with Steve and like only Steve.

This is his true penance, he thinks as he struggles back onto his feet before a small tree comes hurtling at his head like a toy carried on the wind.

Oh well, all the greats have their villainous groupies. Stark has too many to name. Wayne has a clown and Steve has a walking storm.

“You finally ready to put up a real fight Pretty Boy?” Steve’s personal pest in bondage gear calls out to him as the hero is reaching for his utility belt. “Or are you still playing around with toys?”

Steve pauses, chest heaving with anger, fighting for breath. He reminds himself that he can’t use his powers because they’re too unstable. People could get hurt and he’d never forgive himself if that happened again. But he’s so tempted.

Because Steve’s not nearly as good as he tries to be. Hurricane is laughing again, those eyes cutting into Steve… and all he wants in the world is the chance to show him what real power is and shut him up for good.

[mirkwoodsprinceofdoingtoomuch]

Steve spinning that nail bat is actually something that can be so personal. And sexy.

[too-gay-for-marvel]

trick or treat treat treat

a/n: am i a week late for halloween? yes, but i’m going to continue to drag it out for as long as I can because thats my decision 😌 i took a bit of liberty with these but dont worry, you still get the fluff!

Request: Oooh Nat and werewolf R going trick or treating with their kids pls pls pls                 Oh what about werewolf R loving halloween?? Like going all out on halloween decorations and carving pumpkins and sharing scary stories??

Word Count: 1,641

Warnings: Nothing but fluff

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

“Where do these go?” James asked, holding up the pile of paper bats he had cut out with his brothers.

“Up on the wall, spread em out!” You told him, shooing him off to the living room. “Perfection, James!”

“How about this?” Bea asked, her little voice barely reaching you over the Monster Mash blaring through your surround sound. She had a very-clearly-child-made pumpkin drawing in her hands.

“That,” you said, kneeling down to be on her level, “can go in Mama’s room.” You gave her a wink and rushed her off, laughing to yourself as her little legs took her as fast as possible.

“When are we smashing pumpkins?” Jeff asked, Anton quick on his heels.

“Tomorrow, we gotta do it after Halloween so we can have them lit tonight,” you explained as you started climbing back on the ladder to finish putting the miniature fog machines in the hanging lamps. “Still gotta keep the ghouls away, right?”

“Do we have anything to smash?” Anton asked, almost whining.

“Go smash your Uncle Tony’s pumpkin,” Nat said, finally coming back from getting last-second candy with said Uncle. “His is the ugliest anyway.”

“Yes!”

“Thanks, Mama!” Both boys shouted as they already started running to the kitchen to grab the pumpkin.

“That’s not nice, you know,” you said. Nat moved closer and wrapped her arms around your legs, her head barely reaching the backs of your knees.

“He would let Morgan do the same and you know it,” she answered.

You climbed down from the ladder after setting the last fog machine and turned around to properly hug your wife. It was going to be a rough night, and you wanted nothing more than to stay with her and the kids the whole time. But you would take what you could get without any complaints.

“Find the candy?” You asked.

“I stole some from Steve,” she admitted sheepishly, causing you to let out a small howl of laughter.

“Of course you did,” you said.

Natasha leaned further into you, allowing you to just smell the life on her. The leftover pumpkin spice on her jacket, the snickerdoodle in her hair, the faintest hint of caramel on her breath. Not to mention the feel of her pulse and the smell of her sweat, but you usually tried to ignore that. For her sake, of course.

“When are we going trick-r-treating?” Bea asked as she came back into the room. You had to try your hardest to hide the laugh that bubbled up when you saw the glue covering not only her hands, but her face and clothes.

“We can go as soon as you and your brothers are dressed,” you said quickly, shooing her out of the living room so you could have a little more time with your wife.

“Isn’t it a bit early?” Nat asked, giving you a quizzical look.

“Not if I wanna go for a bit,” you answered. The music was far too loud now, almost piercing, and you had to turn it down substantially just to be able to concentrate.

“I thought it was tomorrow,” Nat mused aloud while you nodded.

“I did too,” you sighed. “An Elder called earlier to make sure I was prepared.”

“At least you got a warning,” Nat said softly, although you could hear the upset in her voice.

“I can still go for a bit,” you said as you walked over to give her another hug and a quick kiss on the forehead. “And I’m always watching.”

“That makes you sound like a stalker,” Nat snorted.

“Maybe I am,” you argued. “You don’t know.”

“Mama!”

Both you and Nat turned your heads toward the scream coming from deeper in your house. Only when all four kids came out did your pulse relax, instead focusing on trying not to laugh at the suspiciously thrown-on costumes.

“We need help,” James said simply, his eyes downcast slightly so as not to have to make eye contact.

“I can see that,” Nat said softly. “Let’s get you ready.”

“I think you all look like a bunch of monsters already,” you said with a shrug. Nat slapped you in the stomach once the kids had turned around.

“I’m supposed to be a princess,” Bea said quietly.

“I know, little pup,” you answered as you scooped her up into your arms and walked back to her room. “And you’re the prettiest princess I’ve ever seen.”

“A monster princess?” Bea asked, and you couldn’t tell if there was hope or worry in her voice.

“The prettiest, scariest monster princess in the world,” you answered.

“I knew it,” she whispered with a grin.

Getting the kids ready was a mission all of its own. James was trying to dress up like his namesake but couldn’t get the dramatic makeup just right, leading to Nat just smearing black over his eyes; he loved it.

Next was Anton, who wanted to go as Zorro. Why? You had no earthly idea, as far as you knew he had never even seen the movies. But that’s what he wanted to be, and you’d be damned if you didn’t help him. So Nat finished zipping up the suit and handed him the little plastic sword that she had begrudgingly let Sam buy him.

Jeff wanted to be just like his idol; Velma Dinkley from Scooby Doo. You had spent many nights asking Nat where that idea had come from seeing as you rarely saw him watching it, but Nat said it was something he had wanted to dress up as for ages. So you had done your best to find him the most amazing Velma costume you and Wanda could find, and by god did your boy rock it.

And little Bea was last, wanting to be a werewolf princess. When you had brought it up to the Elders - as was required - they had said it was offensive and you should tell her to change it. But when you saw how excited she was, you turned around and told the Elders to get fucked.

So now your sweet little girl was in a princess outfit with harry hands and a werewolf mask.

“I look just like you!” Bea exclaimed as she jumped into your arms.

“You’re much prettier, little pup,” you said with a wink and a smile.

“Everyone ready?” Nat asked as you carried Bea into the living room.

A chorus of “yes” rang through the living room, and you set Bea back onto the floor so she could run and grab her plastic pumpkin basket. Everyone did their last minute adjustments of masks and costumes before looking like soldiers ready for battle.

Of course they were the most serious when it came to candy.

“Let’s hit the road,” Nat said with a head gesture toward the door. “Aunts and Uncles will meet us outside.”

Nat was right, and everyone was outside. Since you and Nat were the only ones who truly lived in the suburbs, the kids liked your neighbourhood better; they could get much more candy in a much shorter time.

Billy, Tommy, and Morgan practically ran to greet your own kids, all of them dressed in… you didn’t know what, but if anyone asked, you definitely knew. All that really mattered to you, though, were the smiles on your kids faces as they ran from house to house, gathering as many goodies as they could ever want.

“Dad tax,” you said after the fifth house, quickly grabbing a few pieces of candy from each kid.

“But Mama doesn’t have a tax,” Anton said with a frown.

“She does now,” Nat said quickly, grabbing a piece from each kid’s bucket.

“I blame you,” Jeff mumbled to himself before the group of kids ran off to yet another house.

“Want a snickers?” Bea asked, staying behind for this one.

“Thank you, little pup, but I can’t eat chocolate, remember?” You said softly, giving her a gentle smile.

“Oh, I forgot,” she mumbled. “How about a lollipop?”

“That sounds delicious,” you said, scrunching up your nose with a smile and taking the lollipop handed to you.

“Softy,” Nat whispered to you as Bea ran off to join her brothers and cousins.

“What can I say,” you shrugged, popping the sucker into your mouth. “Can’t say no to the werewolf princess.”

The night continued, with the kids racing each other to houses and you stealing your Dad Tax every fifth house. You all laughed when Morgan told Tony that his Dad Tax was illegal and, actually, he owed her candy. And as the night continued and you could feel the moon starting to rise, you felt better knowing that your kids had still enjoyed their Halloween.

“You’re shaking,” Nat told you as you both walked slightly behind the group.

“I’m pushing my luck a bit,” you said with a sad smile.

“Go on,” Nat said, her hands resting on your arm and stomach. “They know you’re watching.”

“I’ll be back to take care of the sugar hangover,” you said quickly.

“Good, because I’m letting them eat as much as they want,” Nat teased.

“Of course you are,” you sighed. You leaned down to give Nat a kiss, holding back with everything you had so you could enjoy your last few moments for the night. “I love you.”

“We love you too,” Nat answered quietly. “Now go,” she said as she pushed you away. “I’m not explaining to the HOA why the neighbourhood is traumatised.”

“Don’t let Uncle Steve ruin their fun,” you called out, ignoring the look of indignation on Steve’s face as you jogged your way to the wooded area across the street.

The pain didn’t even register as all you could think about was your wife and childrens’ smiling faces and laughter echoed in your ears.

[wolferine]

Heart Skips a Beat - Part 4

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha faces her worst nightmare when a rescue mission goes wrong…

Warnings: Violence, blood, torture

Word count: 2843

Part 3

Tags: @blkmxrvel @blackxwidowsxwife @marvelwomen-simp @phoenixofash @marvels-bitch-boy @when-wolves-howl @bitterlime13 @hallecarey1 @orangewheein @unexpected-character

AN: I apologize if some tags don’t work! Tumblr can’t find some of your usernames.

After listening to Steve’s plan, all four of you—technically five, since Bucky had to tag along—take the Quinjet to Siberia. The goal was to break out the five soldiers in Bucky’s former task force and bring them back to the Avengers Tower, where there was the technology to free their minds from HYDRA. 

Each of you were armed with a mask which would spray a powerful sedative into the face it was applied to, keeping the victim unconscious until it was removed. It was the simplest solution to taking down the super soldiers—when Bucky had been skeptical, Natasha had slapped a mask on him and he was out before he hit the floor. You were pretty sure you pulled a muscle from laughing so hard.

Now, you and Natasha sat in the cockpit while the others sat behind you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Bucky says suddenly.

“Yeah?” You don’t even look over your shoulder.

“I’m…sorry for shooting you.”

“Twice,” you clarify. “I didn’t forget the count.”

“Sorry,” he repeats.

“Well, as long as you don’t mistake me for Steve again, I’ll be okay,” you say with a chuckle.

“So, just to reiterate our plan, Bucky will be with me and Clint, and Nat, you’ll be with Y/N,” Steve says.

“Even Captain America knows better than to break up the power couple.” You grin and reach over to put your hand on her thigh. Without taking her eyes off the controls, she takes your hand and interlocks your fingers.

“Yeah, so you two just do your thing—” Steve catches himself. “Wait, not that kind of thing.”

Clint explodes into wheezy laughter and Natasha shakes her head, her cheeks reddening. You’re not embarrassed like she is, but you’re still quick to defend yourselves.

“It was one time!” you protest. It had been a mission where everything that could’ve gone wrong did, and you and Natasha were convinced it would be your last. You two decided to end it wrapped around each other, but then the rest of the Avengers had barged in and said there had been a miscommunication and it wasn’t the end of the world after all. It was the one mission you would never live down.

“Just keep it professional, please,” Steve begs. “No matter what happens, we’re all going home alive, okay?”

Bucky looks completely lost.

Natasha lands the Quinjet in a flurry of snow and all of you exit the warmth of the plane.

“I should’ve brought one of your hoodies,” she mumbles, walking as close to you as she can without tripping you. 

“It would’ve clashed with your uniform,” you say, putting your arm around her waist. The super soldier serum in your veins causes you to run a higher-than-average body temperature. You feel as comfortable as if you stepped out of hot shower.

The facility is the only building for miles. It looks big enough to fit a space rocket and has a dull, concrete exterior. The only security is a chain-link fence with a frozen padlock that Steve breaks open with his shield. You file through the gate, and Bucky inputs a code into the door to grant everyone entry. The interior is just as disappointing as the outside. Nothing but a maze of concrete halls with metal doors. The ceiling has dripping water stains and an uncomfortably musty, moldy smell hangs in the air.

“I bet you’re really glad you escaped this rust bucket,” you say to Bucky. He only shakes his head.

“Stay alert,” Steve advises. “We’ll split here. Keep us updated on your position and if you find anyone.”

“Copy that.” You and Natasha turn right while the others turn left. She finds a flight of stairs and you follow behind her. You unholster your gun, holding it at the ready by your side. Natasha makes random turns and ignores every room you walk by. You listen intently for any sort of noise that would indicate a person lurking in the shadows, but so far, there’s nothing.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” you ask.

“Do you?” she snaps.

“Hey, I’m just following you.” You back off. Even though you know this is no time to be making jokes, you still can’t help yourself. High-stress situations make you nervous, especially when you’re with Natasha, because anything that could happen to you could happen to her.

When you pass by a room with its door open, you see a large glass tank big enough to fit a human and filled with murky green water. For a reason you can’t explain, you feel yourself drawn towards it and you step into the room, a chill raising goosebumps on your skin. You reach out to touch the tank’s wall and close your eyes.

You’re floating in a tank of your own, tubes running out of your nose, mouth, and down every limb. You jerk around wildly in the water tinged pink with your blood. Your lungs seize for air, but every breath you inhale is wet and salty.

“Shall we go another round?” you hear someone on the other side say.

“Might as well. No pain, no gain, right?” someone replies.

You want to bash your hands against the glass, but you’re too weak to have any control over your movements. You feel a sharp pain in your lower back, at the base of your spine, and your body arches as more drugs are pumped into you. You have no breath to scream with as your body twists in agony. It feels like a fire eating you from the inside out, burning through your bones, and you want nothing more than to wither away to ash...

“Hey.” You jump when you feel Natasha’s hand on your shoulder. “What are you doing in here?”

“Um, I…I thought I heard something,” you lie. Natasha frowns. Like Steve and Bucky, you had been a lab rat yourself, although not to SHIELD or HYDRA. You had been passed around other government agencies—at least, that’s what you think. Most of your memories of that time were fuzzy, which you were fine with. The ones you did remember weren’t worth reliving anyway.

“Y/N.” Natasha looks concerned.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?” You don’t want to interrupt the mission with your personal problems.

She knows better than to push you, especially at a time like this. “Okay,” she says, leaving the room. You take a minute to collect yourself. When you finally turn around, you see a black-haired woman, shorter than Natasha even, standing in the doorway in the same vest Bucky had worn the first time you met him.

“Hello,” you say, holstering your gun. You’re not going to shoot someone who looks like she’s barely of age. “You must be one of the super soldiers Bucky told me about. Who was your target supposed to be? Romanoff?” you tease.

“Thor.” The woman’s voice is dainty. Her body is literally the size of one of Thor’s arms. There’s no way she’s telling the truth.

You laugh. “That’s cute. But this is no place for a kid,” you say, walking towards her. But she sees that you’re too casual, your guard let down too low, and takes advantage of that. “Now all I need is for you to put this mask on and—”

The woman launches at you with a speed you don’t even process. She swipes your legs out from under you, causing you to crash on your back. Then she’s on top of you, hands around your throat. You reach into your pocket for your knife, all jokes lost with her attempt to take your life.

You flip the blade out and swing at her face, but she’s quick to dodge and rolls to the side. You jump to your feet, wondering where Natasha is. But you’re too embarrassed to call for her help, even if this soldier claims she was given the task of taking out the god of thunder.

The woman is impossibly fast and she lands blow after blow on you while you stagger back and slash out helplessly with your knife. When she kicks you in the stomach and your back collides into the water tank, you’ve had enough. 

You switch your knife to your left hand and aim for the woman’s neck. She grabs your wrist and twists it around so the knife turns towards you. Your eyes widen as she puts her entire body weight behind the knife. The blade sinks into your shoulder.

“What the—” You don’t even register the pain, more upset that you’ve been harmed with your own weapon. The woman grins, distracted, and you punch her in the throat as hard as you can. Her eyes bulge and she coughs, her hands flying to her neck. 

You take the mask out of your pocket and shove it onto her face, hearing the hiss as the sedative is instantly released. The woman immediately goes limp and you have no problem letting her drop to the floor.

“Y/N!” You look up and see Natasha staring at you, arms crossed over her chest.

“I got one.” You puff out your chest proudly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Natasha comes over and inspects the soldier’s limp body.

“I didn’t need to. I handled her all by myself,” you say, a little annoyed by her doubt in your abilities.

“Is that a knife in your shoulder?” she asks.

“I…Oh, yeah—” 

“Is that your knife?” Being called out hurts more than the actual pain of having the knife in your shoulder.

“Uh…maybe…” You can’t even look her in the eye.

“Y/N,” Natasha growls. “Here, let me take it out.”

You back up until you hit the tank again. “Wait, shouldn’t we—ow!” you yelp as Natasha jerks the knife out.

“You’ve been through worse.” She tries to hand you the knife, but you shake your head, too embarrassed to continue carrying it with you since you obviously can’t be trusted with it. She shrugs and pockets your knife, taking out some gauze and tape to patch up your wound. You rotate your left arm in circles; besides an uncomfortable twinge, it works fine. 

“So, what do we do with her body?” you ask.

“We’ll come back. We need to find the other three first.”

“Three? I thought there were four.” You try to do the math in your head. Bucky had said there five super soldiers, and you had just defeated one, meaning there were four left—

“Three,” Natasha repeats and you look at her in confusion. “Mine’s outside.” Unlike you, there wasn’t a single scratch on her. Together, you leave the room and find a man slumped on the floor, a mask on his face.

“When did this happen?” you ask.

Natasha shrugs, but you can tell she’s extremely proud of herself. “When you were busy dealing with that little girl.”

“Excuse me. According to her, her target was Thor,” you say. “So, I just took out the soldier who was supposed to take down the god of thunder.”

“Yeah, you can keep telling yourself that.” Natasha nudges you playfully.

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey, are you two okay?” Steve asks in your earpiece.

“We disabled two soldiers on the second floor,” Natasha responds.

“Perfect. We got two down here as well.”

“Who did you take out?” Clint asks.

“This tiny woman and a guy,” you answer.

“How big was the guy?” Bucky asks.

“Maybe around your size?” you estimate, staring down at the soldier Natasha subdued.

“Okay, because the two we took out were also average-sized dudes. The last one—I was hoping it wouldn’t come down to this—he’s an absolute beast. I think he’s almost seven-feet tall and could bench press a plane with one hand,” Bucky says.

“So whoever takes him out wins,” you say. Between you and Natasha, you were certain you could win any fight.

“You’re on,” Clint says.

Natasha and you leave the soldiers where they lay and search the rest of the floor. This time, you take the lead, a little more cautious since you know what to expect. You head up to the third floor, expecting the last soldier to jump out at any moment. The tension of waiting to find him is almost unbearable and your muscles ache from being coiled so tightly.

“You guys find him yet?” Natasha asks through the earpieces.

“Negative.”

Suddenly, a moving shadow catches your eye and you throw out your arm to stop Natasha. A man steps out from around the corner and Bucky wasn’t lying about his size. He’s so tall the top of his head disappears behind the ceiling beams and he looks like he would sweep any bodybuilding competition he entered.

“Never mind, we found him. Third floor,” Natasha mumbles.

“Don’t engage him alone.” That’s Steve’s voice. “Try to stall—”

“Too late” you want to say as the man charges towards you. There is no way you two are taking him down without the use of any weapons; plus, you don’t have any more masks to use. But if you punched or kicked him, you wouldn’t be able to reach his face without catching airtime. You run backwards, fumbling with your options. An idea pops into your head.

“Maybe he has a safe word, too,” you say, crashing into Natasha and shoving her back. “Lizzie! Karen!” you scream the first names that come to you. “It could be a guy’s name—can’t assume anything, right? Chris! Tom! Mark!” The names have no effect other than making you look like an idiot.

“Shut up, Y/N—” Natasha hisses.

The man roars and reaches out, grabbing a fistful of your shirt. He throws you like a javelin and you can’t believe how far you fly, landing on your stomach and skidding another 30 feet.

Natasha tries engaging him, and although she’s faster than him, any punch or kick she lands goes completely unnoticed by him. The man flings her aside like a sack of flour and comes towards you.

You reach for your gun, but before you can bring it up, he kicks it out of your hand and stomps on it. The barrel literally flattens before your eyes, and you roll onto your back to face him. He lifts his foot, which is easily as big as your calf, and brings it down on your right knee.

CRUNCH.

The pain of your leg snapping in half is so blinding and nauseating you don’t even scream. It feels like someone is holding a blow torch to your bones and your entire body starts trembling in shock. The man scoops you up with an arm leveraged underneath your chin, and once you’re upright, you feel the lower half of your right leg dangling like a broken branch.

He lifts you high enough so your feet don’t touch the floor, leaving you scrabbling at his arm and choking on your saliva. Your vision flashes white and you feel the overwhelming urge to vomit as he spins you around to face Natasha.

She has her gun out, pointed at his head. “Put Y/N down,” she orders.

“And what if I don’t?” the man says in a voice that sounds like it came from the depths of the ocean. “You think you can shoot me before I can break a neck?” He squeezes you harder and you whimper.

Natasha pauses to think, and her eyes dart to the side before looking back at the man. “Okay, okay.” She sets her gun on the floor and raises her hands. “Just please don’t—”

“Kick it towards me.” The man crushes your windpipe like a straw and your eyes water.

Natasha reaches out with her foot and sends the gun spinning towards you and your captor. Suddenly, the man tosses you away and when you crumple on your broken leg, you swear you see purgatory. 

“Get on your knees,” the man tells Natasha. She doesn’t obey. “I said, get on your knees!” Very slowly, with a defiant look on her face, she drops to her knees one at a time. The man picks up her gun and holds it in front of her face. “I’ve been waiting years to finally meet you, Agent Romanoff.”

“Well, sorry for not coming around sooner.”

“My comrades may not have been successful in eliminating their targets, but I don’t fail,” the man says.

Natasha looks away from him to you. “I love you,” she calls, as casually as if you two were lounging on the couch watching a movie together.

You blink away tears to make eye contact with her. You can’t move, you have no weapons, and he has a gun pointed at her head. The complete helplessness you feel hurts more than your broken leg, more than Bucky’s gunshots had, more than any pain you’ve ever felt before. There’s a thousand things you want to tell her, but you only have time to say one.

“I love you t—”

But there isn’t even enough time for you to finish your sentence, because suddenly Natasha’s face is covered in blood.

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Click here for Part 5!

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doubt comes in

orpheus!bucky barnes x fem!eurydice!reader

summary: a retelling of orpheus and eurydice for an extremely late entry for a mythology challenge!!

warnings: uh- yeah i was not playing with this myth lol… fluffy beginning, uh, that’s all imma say about that and ALSO i haven’t edited this so haha, i am running on fumes but had to post this jeez 

word count: 11.3k good god

There were gods that were unexplainably strong. There were some that could bend fire and metal to their will, some that could string up love and cast it upon others, and others that knew more of war and how to win more than they even knew themselves. Others were the faces of glory, like Zeus and Hera and the sun god Apollo and so many others. There were many that were worshipped by humans every day of every week, and others that were forgotten until they were desperately needed. There were some that lived immortal lives and demanded respect from humans and gods alike, and then there were the ones invested in their art, in themselves, in the beauty of life itself.

That was Bucky. He was so immersed in song, in the gift that he had inherited from his mother, Calliope, that it was all he could think about. It was what made him different, it was what made him stand out from the boys that he grew up with that were just plain old strong. He had a talent, he had a mother that was a myth and a legend alike, and he had a lyre. He had a lyre, a lute, his voice, and a bit of speed, and that was all that he would ever need in life. That, and a pretty landscape to look at while he strummed his golden strings. But that was all he ever thought he would need- which was why he was knocked right off of his planted feet when he saw you walk by.

You were a human. You were a beautiful girl, probably the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his entire life. He had met goddesses and nymphs and princesses alike, but never had he met someone who had such a sweet face, such a gentle aura, and even more, a beautiful voice. You had only said a few words to someone else that were delivered with a gentle smile, but he could have sworn that your words were a melody. Before he knew it, your entire being was stamped into his mind, and he knew that he would never be able to forget you.

It was by complete chance that the next day, he decided to wallow in his sadness by a fountain in public, strumming his lyre too quietly for anyone else to hear. Anyone who knew him knew that he was devastatingly off. And coincidentally, the only ones who truly did know Bucky were Steve and Sam, two forest nymphs that had been his best friends since he taught them the ways of the lute years and years ago. They were sitting by him in silence on the marbled fountain, waiting next to him for the second shoe that they doubted would ever drop. But then, like Bucky was a sunflower following the sun itself, his back straightened, his head perked up, and his mouth dropped, his eyes wide and swirling with admiration as he watched you- the same human woman he was enamoured with- walk through the square again, a woven basket full of fresh fruits on your arm and your lilac dress swishing in the wind.

“No way,” he heard Sam mutter, and Steve poked his side.

“You were always such a doubter,” Steve mumbled, but the smile on his face was audible through his tone. “There she is, in the flesh.”

Bucky could hardly hear anything but the soft melody stirring up in his mind, louder than his racing heart, and just as tender as the feelings swirling inside of him. He saw you wave to the older woman you were talking to and then start to walk away, and he knew that he couldn’t let you go, not when the Fates so obviously gave him a second chance. Without a second thought, he slid off of the fountain, leaving his friends and his lyre, striding towards you with the brightest smile, trying to cover the fact that he was nervous.

His clumsy feet were carrying him a little too quickly, and he could hear the snickers of Steve and Sam from behind him. He craned his head backwards to look at them and laugh too, but he tripped over his own left foot, barreling right into you and knocking you flat onto the ground. His half immortal heart beat heavy and hard in his chest as he watched you wince under him. He scrambled up, cheeks flushed and hand shaking as he watched you sit up and brush the dirt off of your dress. He was looking down at you with a look that he prayed wasn’t as desperate as he felt. But he had to know you.

“I’m Orpheus,” he started, and when you turned your bright eyes to him with your brows furrowed, he shook his head like he was trying to get water from his hair. “No, I meant that I was sorry- I’m so sorry. For knocking you over, miss.” He extended his hand to you again, and he swore that he saw your lips quirk up a bit at him. You took his hand and stood up, brushing the fabric of your dress once again. He caught a trail of your scent, and he was immediately overtaken by the scent of fresh flowers and lavender.

That was when he really got a good look at you for the first time. The first time he saw you had been brief. You weren’t even looking anywhere near his way, and he only caught a look at your stunning side profile before you walked away. His vision had been practically blurred from excitement while he walked up to you, and he was so embarrassed about crashing into you that he was subtly trying not to look in your eyes. But… damn, he had been missing out.

He swore that time stopped. His own heart stopped beating, even the sluggish beat leaving for a few moments. The noises from the town square were so dull that they seemed muted. The stares of Steve and Sam felt so far off that he didn’t even notice them. All he knew was that he was utterly entranced by you, and for a second, he could have sworn that by the look in your eyes, you felt the same way. But like the blaring of an alarm, something knocked you both out of it, putting you in the present, with present problems.

“Oh, the fruits,” you muttered, looking at the peaches and apples that tumbled right out of your basket, bending over quickly to collect them despite the fact that they had gotten bruised. Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat with guilt when he realized he had ruined the fruit you had either picked or paid for, and then he was rushing to get them even faster, praying to the gods that you didn’t automatically hate him.

After looking into your eyes, he doubted he could live with himself if you even so much as disliked him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t have the best footing,” he apologized again, gently placing the fruits back into your basket.

“It’s okay,” you said, and your eyes trailed behind him to look at his friends that were howling with laughter, holding onto each other. He saw your displeasure, and his heart dropped when he understood that you probably thought they had sent him over just to mess with you. Your eyes whipped back to Bucky, and he blushed something fierce. He felt his cheeks warm up under your scrutiny, and then there was a smile creeping back onto your face. “I'm Eurydice.”

Oh, Gods. Eurydice. He swore that he had never heard something so beautiful in his life. He had grown up with the Muses, even had a mother as one, and was surrounded by music and poetry and epics every second of his childhood. Music was imprinted in his mind, every note embedded in his everyday life, yet still it was the most beautiful- “But I go by Y/N.” No. Eurydice was now second. But your name, the one he knew you had chosen for yourself, was the most beautiful thing that life had ever offered him to hear.

His brain was going many miles a minute, as quick as Hermes on a mission, but all he could do in the end was blink and offer his true name first, like politeness called for. “I’m Orpheus,” he extended his arm again to you, and you shook it twice. Your hand was soft, so soft that he didn’t want to let go of it. He would never forget the feeling of your hand in his, and the way he swore that the nerves under his skin were alight with the gentlest and sweetest of fires. “You can call me Eurydic- I mean, Bucky. I’m Bucky.”

You could both hear the laughter coming from Bucky’s friends, and while you were cracking a small smile, Bucky was dying on the inside. “You like to be called by other people's names?”

“I wouldn't mind being called by yours,” he blurted softly, his words coming out as a quick and uncalculated slur. He blinked abruptly when he realized that he was truly having the worst first introduction he had ever had in his life, and it was the one that somehow meant the most to him. “I- only because Eurydice is such a pretty- so is Y/N- I… I’m sorry.” He shook his head, knowing that he was so close to just having to walk away. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just gave you a short smile and waved, turning on his heel.

“I’m Orpheus, then. Maybe Bucky, too.” He slowly turned back around, a shocked look on his face. Had you really spoken to him again with your own free will?

Bucky knew that he wasn’t ugly. No god or demigod was ever ugly, other than poor Hephaestus. He knew that he had his own sort of charm and that he could bring the roughest of people to tears and the saddest of people to joy with his music, but he didn’t know anything else. He had three redeeming qualities that swirled in his head constantly- he was pretty, he had music, and he had a famous mother.

“Are you a singer?”

“Huh?” So much for eloquence.

You bit your lip. “You speak… you speak like you have a song in your heart. Are you a singer?”

He was stumped. Most knew at least of his music if nothing else. He was the most famed god or man to ever strum a lute besides maybe Apollo. Most knew nothing of his personality and nothing about him other than the fact that he was born to play and sing, and you didn’t? Where had you been living? “Well, I’m Orpheus.”

There was a grin on your face, and Bucky knew that he never wanted to see anything other than that for the rest of his life. “And that makes you a singer?”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk about who he was born from and where he learned to play and who taught him, but when he looked deeper and saw the spark of mischief in your eyes, he leaned back and held back a small smile of his own. His heart fluttered and grew two sizes. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, obvious teasing in your voice, and somehow it still stayed kind. “Maybe I do, and just wanted a free song out of you.”

She knows me, he thought, and his heart may as well have let out a lovesick sigh from within the confines of his chest. She has never heard me sing before, but she will. I’ll sing her a thousand songs.

“I’ll sing you all the songs you desire if you marry me,” he blurted, and while his mind was scolding him for uttering those words so quickly, his heart was steady on beating and so sure of itself that he told his mind off.

To his subtle surprise, you didn’t look shocked. You weren’t disgusted by his rather bold approach and most importantly, you weren’t laughing at him. He held onto your silence in limbo, waiting for you to say something that would either crush him to bits or send his soul rising so high that he reached the cloudy gates of Olympus.

“If you can make me a song that can make the skies open up and weep without singing a word, then I’ll marry you.”

His heart soared. His hands shook. He could have sworn that even his toes clenched. But all you could see were his wide, boyish eyes, and the hopeful look that dawned across his face. He nodded quickly. “I’ll do anything.”

He saw your lips pull up into a smile, genuine and even a little shy, and he couldn’t help but want to step closer. But he knew he had already been up front and abrupt, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

“Okay,” you said, nodding your own head slowly. “I’ll see you soon, then, Bucky.” You took a step back, eyes still connected to his blue ones until you finally turned around and walked away with the same basket on your arm, same dress swaying with the tuneless song of the wind.

The three of them stood in silence, watching you walk away, taking pieces of Bucky’s heart with you in your cradled arms. The bustling of the town was loud, moving about like nothing of significance had happened right where they were all standing, and Bucky found it nothing short of insane. Did no one else just see how the world stopped turning for that one girl? How the Fates put a pause on the clock just so that they could meet?

Steve’s voice brought him out of it. “Did you just ask for her hand in marriage?”

He didn’t even have the energy to shrug. All the swirled in his mind was love, passion, music, and you. You, you, you. “I had to.”

“How will you even find her again?” Steve asked, his logic once again being the only thing that held Bucky down to the ground.

“I know the work of Eros when I see it,” Sam said to Steve, shaking his head somewhat fondly at the pale boy with brunette hair who was still staring off in the direction you left in, like you would miraculously appear again. “They’ll find each other again soon enough.”

The hours went by and then the daylight turned into night and back to day again, and Sam’s words couldn’t have been truer. Your spirit and your face and your voice found Bucky with every few seconds that passed by. He couldn’t blink without seeing you. He couldn’t listen to anyone without hearing you. He couldn’t breathe without smelling your beautiful scent. Everything tasted bland, looked plain, and sounded like white noise after he met you. He knew that until his last (and unlikely) breath, his heart would ache for nothing more than to be yours. He wanted his ring to be on your finger, and yours to be on his.

So he began to make a song.

§§§

He worked tirelessly. The hours below the sun that used to be spent laughing and playing with Steve and Sam were exchanged for hours of composing. His normally perfect posture was hunched over as he tried to find the melody that had stirred in his heart when he first saw you- because he knew that was it.

By the end of twelve days of pure struggling, most of the song was finished. He was a fast worker, so fast that it made everyone else’s heads spin, but he felt it was going too slowly. But then again, he was fast at everything. The melody was as stuck with him as his skin was to his body. He was sure that it would never leave him, even if he wrote a thousand more songs. And part of him never wanted it to go, because it was so you.

He had only held one conversation with you, and it wasn’t long enough, but he felt like he had known you for years. He felt like he had sung to you hundreds of times and danced with you a hundred times more. Your soul felt so familiar yet so foreign that he had to chase after you, and had to discover anything that he could have missed. He knew that you were his destiny, and he had a feeling that you knew he was yours.

The song he was writing wasn’t sad, but it brought tears to his eyes all the same. It wasn’t about longing or loss or chasing after something that would never come to you, but it made Steve and Sam wipe their eyes all the same. It was about your beauty, your inherent wit and kindness, and the way that you set his soul free from chains he didn’t even know of. It was about a love he had never dreamed of finding or even thought to be true, and that was enough to make the three of them weep.

“I think it’s finished, Buck.” This came from Steve after he wiped his eyes again, sitting through the full song again even though his heart aches for a love he had never felt before. “Sam thought it was done days ago.”

Sam had left the two of them alone days ago, claiming that he couldn’t stand to hear the melody and cry each time, claiming that it was beautiful but too much. It made sense. Even Bucky himself was starting to feel the effects of it. But Steve was a stubborn thing, and he would sit through it for as long as Bucky would play it.

“You think it’s enough to make the skies open and cry?” Bucky breathed out, loosely quoting the words he had heard from you not too long ago.

“Even if it’s not, it will surely win her over,” Steve said. “She was already wooed by you, you’re a fool not to see it. She was excited enough that you even agreed to make the song in the first place, anyway.”

Bucky sat there for a few minutes as his fingers tingled, expecting to be used again to pluck the magnificent strings. But he set his instrument down on the log he sat on, sighing and placing a hand under his chin, his thoughts trailing over to you for the thousandth time. “I hope she accepts it.”

Steve just looked at him. “I think that if you came empty handed and told her half of the words you tell me and Sam, she’d follow you anywhere.”

Steve was right. Steve had to have been right, or he was going to wilt right in front of you. He had to be. The brunet nodded, biting his pink lip before opening his mouth again. “Where do you think I’ll find her?”

§§§

It didn’t take long to find you at all. Bucky went to find you alone, finding you because something inside of him told him to search the flowering fields nearby, and there you were. There was a hat made of straw over your head to cover your eyes and face from the sun, and you had the same basket on your arm that you had the other days. It was empty this time, and he had no doubt that you were looking at the flowers for fun before going to look for fruit. He couldn't help but smile fondly at you from across the field, and then he was gripping his lyre and taking a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice full of emotion instead of being the strong sound he wanted it to be. Nonetheless, it caught your attention, and then your pretty eyes were wide on him. Immediately, your feet turned in his direction and you made your way across the meadow, and he followed suit. He met you in the middle, so nervous that the grin that was deep inside of him wasn’t coming out at all.

You were both at a loss for words as you stood close to each other. His hands shook at his sides, aching to hold your hands in his. He wondered if they were as soft as your voice, or as smooth as the petals flowers you admired. “You came?”

He blinked. Of course he did. It was all he could think of doing. “My only regret is not coming sooner,” he admitted, and he watched you angle your eyes downwards, and he smiled at your shyness. “Would you like to hear it?”

Your eyes were connecting with his again, and he could have sworn that your smile could have put him in an early grave. He was momentarily stunned by you and your brightness, so stunned that he hardly even heard what you said. “Of course I would.”

“So then you’ll hear it,” he said softly, his heart and mind completely taken over by you in your presence. He fixed his lyre into position, his fingers already fixed into the correct spots as he began to play your song.

His eyes were shut as he strummed just as he had practiced thousands of times, but he knew it felt different. His body was buzzing with excitement and something else he couldn’t identify, but he loved it. It made him play stronger. His eyes shut even more as he felt the music, swaying side to side a bit as he felt his heart open up to you, finally content with you hearing the song.

He didn’t even realize that he was done until all he could hear was quiet sniffles. He pried his left eye open, almost too scared to look for your reaction, but when he saw that you were just looking up at him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile, he opened his other eye, ready to spring into action.

The only thought going through his mind was that it was impossible that you liked it. The way you were looking at him reminded him of the way people looked at sculptures of ancient monsters— a muted type of awe, but also a sense of discomfort. He brought you to tears, and not in the way he wanted to. He ruined it.

“I- was it bad?” He blurted out, and he cursed himself at ruining his own chance. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t like it-”

“How long have you been playing that song?”

You were too beautiful. Too gentle. You were melting his brain into mush, and he doubted that he would be able to pick up his lyre for another round even if you begged him. “I… I just made it. For you, I made it with you in mind.”

Your facial expression didn’t change. “Where’s the ring?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The rings we’re going to wear when we wed,” you said, almost teasing. “Do you have them?”

His eyes widened. “You want to marry me?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in shock. “The sky didn’t- the rain never came.”

“I cried,” you said, a small smile on your face. You still hadn’t wiped your tears, and he watched them frozen on your face, stuck in time. “I didn’t expect the work of the gods. I just wanted you to play for me.”

He was bewildered. He had half of the mind to ask you if you truly meant it again, but he took his excitement and ran with it. “And you… you feel this too?”

You took his right hand into yours, and he swore that his souls ascended to the gates of Olympus and waltzed right in. “I felt it the second I saw you, Bucky.”

He blushed something fierce before looking down at the ground, shame overtaking his sheer admiration for you. “There’s something I should tell you before you say you want to be with me.”

“Tell me anything,” you encouraged softly, one of your hands coming up to brush his warm cheek.

“I don’t have much.”

And he didn’t. He had Sam and Steve and a nomadic lifestyle. He never stayed in the same place for long, and he didn’t have a roof over his head. He didn’t need one. Rain and wind and fire didn’t bother him. He preferred to live under the canopy of trees and the protection of nature. But he knew humans didn’t. He knew humans— especially women— liked when their partners brought things to the table, and he had nothing but strings and whistles. He had nothing materialistic. He had no gems, no coins, no house, and fancy clothes— nothing money could buy. But he looked at you and saw that you deserved it all, and even more he saw that he had no way to even provide it for you.

“I live in many different places, I don’t have a home. I don’t have money. I don’t have… I can’t buy you dresses or shoes or any of the stuff you would probably like… and I’m sorry. I know that will probably change everything, but I just wanted you to know.”

You took a step forward, strong and secure, and then your chin was tilted upwards. “Like I said, where are the rings?”

Bucky grinned.

§§§

The day of your wedding was blessed by the gods, whether they admitted it or not. You married each other in the meadow Bucky found you in with a small crowd of people, and when you kissed as man and wife, peace washed over the both of you, and it felt like your marriage had been approved by all far and wide. The kiss that you shared to make the wedding official was short and sweet and full of the most innocent of passion, and he felt so adored by the soft touch of your lips that he felt a singular tear cross the terrain of his pale face for the first time in years.

He didn’t even deny it.

He didn’t deny the way that you danced together was perfect. He had never guided you, had hardly even danced with another woman, but it was perfect. It was like he had practiced with you before a hundred times, and the feel of your hands in his was what kept him sane. He was convinced that you could do anything new with him and it would feel like you had done it before, just because you were so familiar to him as a whole.

He had known you for what felt like seconds in the grand scheme of things, but you knew him inside out and he knew you better than he knew himself. He could find you in the dark, you could identify him with just a whisper of his voice, and he could fall in love with you over and over without even touching you. He would perform the Sisyphean task of falling in love with you over and over again if it meant that he could be next to you.

And luckily, it turned out that you didn’t need the things that Bucky was sure you were going to. He got you a small house just for the two of you to come back to, and he still roamed around in the area. Steve and Sam would walk off and come back weeks later, just like they used to when it was the three of them together. And there would Bucky be, at the house he made possible for you, and happier than ever.

Bucky lived an extremely modest life with you, and he liked it. Farming and getting water from wells and working for the food that was on your tables, cutting wood to feed the flames in the pit in the middle of your main room. Life was somewhat repetitive, so repetitive that he was scared he would lose you to your wild imagination and beautiful, adventurous heart. But it had never been as fulfilling as it was with you.

The little things were what made his day. It was waking up with you at his side, tucked into his arms and still sleeping soundly while he made songs up in his head dedicated to you that made him smile. It was listening to you hum to yourself while you washed corn and peaches and squash in the buckets of water you had carried down the hill that served as your property. It was the way you would pull him out of a funk by taking his hand and leading him out of his chair, dancing to music that didn’t exist, or the way you would coax him to sing to the moon because you wanted a longer night. A longer night meant more time spent with each other.

When you woke up after your long nights, sometimes you would coax him out of bed for some daily challenge, a challenge that usually he would end up beating you at. Part of him believed that you just wanted him to show off, but you always said otherwise. You would challenge him in singing only to have him go first and not even sing, claiming you had already lost. You would tell him you wanted to race him to the stream and back, knowing that you would lose by a long shot. He could run circles around you if he hardly tried, and that was just in his godly blood. But there was never any jealousy, never any animosity, never any bitterness. It was all just sweet, it felt.

You were just so magical. It was so simple, the things that made him happy, but he knew that just one call from your soul to his was more than just communication. He craved it. He knew from the moment that he met you that his soul would always seek yours, even into the afterlife. He knew that every day with you would be as beautiful as you were on your wedding day, shining brighter than any gem or any star in the night sky. And none of it would ever change.

§§

Things changed. Just as the sun rose and set, so did time. It cranked on without a single hint of Bucky aging, and you were still as youthful as you were the three years prior. Life was still beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

You had traveled around the world with him, kissed in so many different cities with different kings and different cultures and different music. You had met so many different people, lived so many different lives, just to go back home and settle there. It was wonderful. He loved you, and you loved him. It was the kind of love that was never at risk of fading or thawing away. It was the kind of love that was only spurned on as the years crawled by, the days acting as twigs added to an already strong fire. It was such a beautiful thing that he had with you, and every day with you felt like one that was blessed by the gods themselves.

Until it didn’t.

Bucky had never felt fear in his heart like he did when he heard your scream travel across the meadow. He didn’t even put on his shoes before tearing off to find you, torn between begging you to make another sound so that he could hear you or pleading the gods to make the sound of your distress stop and never happen again. His chest rose and fell with the exertion, and he knew that he had never been so afraid in his life.

The scream was all that echoed in his mind when he ran through the woods, and as he stumbled upon fallen fruits and flowers that he just knew were yours. He realized he was at the end of a ravine almost too late, and when he looked down, following the steep curve of the slope with wary and partially-knowing eyes, he immediately doubled over.

There you were in all your fallen glory, legs bent unnaturally and neck twisted even worse. The light yellow of your dress was stained with brown and dark green, and in some places a deep red that made him sick to his stomach. Your eyes were looking up at the sky, staring right into the sun as it shone down on your figure, taunting him just like the breeze that began to make your dress look so lively.

Bucky fell to his knees right on the edge of the ravine, his heart not even lurching when he lost his balance. An arm reached out to you, like it was stuck in the moment before you fell and he could reach you. Tears were coming down his face slowly, steadily as he fought to get breaths in. He called your name.

He didn’t know how many times he called your name, or how far the sadness in it traveled. It must have been loud and long enough, because before he knew it, there were hands on his shoulders. They were warm and familiar and even the smallest bit comforting in that moment, but not enough. He wanted your hands.

“Let’s get away from the edge, Buck.” It was Steve’s voice, strong and gentle and the backbone of the situation. Bucky’s eyes pried open at the feeling of Steve’s sturdy hands pulling him backwards, and he retched in his mouth at the sight of your broken, soulless body at the bottom. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten so close to it himself.

“I’ll go down to…” Sam started, trailing off with a soft and distraught look on his face when he caught sight of Bucky again, and Steve nodded at him.

“Let’s get you up, Buck. Up and Washed off.” He hadn't even realized he was dirty at all. His hands were covered in dirt and under his fingernails were the same earthy brown he was used to. He had been pulling up grass from where he grieved without even noticing.

His sobs were so loud that they hurt Steve’s ears. His dragging steps were causing such a disturbance to the land around him that animals seemed to crane their necks at him and cast their glances his way, as if wondering how on earth a person could be that distressed. His mouth was moving, but it looked and sounded more like babbling and trembling as waterfalls came down the canvas of his pale skin.

“Buck, you have to calm down. You’re about to have an attack.”

He didn’t know if he meant heart attack or a panic attack, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were dead, all twisted up at the bottom of a ravine. Your soul had left the earth, left your body, and you were just laying there like you had never been alive. Like you had never held his hand, or kissed his cheek, or wore his ring or laughed or sang or read fine poetry while eating the fruits you had picked. Seeing you down there with your open and dim eyes felt like you had never lived at all.

“Keep walking with me, buddy. You’re going to be just fine.”

But he wasn’t. Every step he took away from you made bile come up in his throat. He wanted to be as far away from your lifeless body as possible, but he didn’t want to ever let you go. He wanted to hold you close to him until it felt like you were alive again. But as his heart beat seemed to freeze up but race like a horse all the same, he realized that you would never be alive again. You were only as alive as your last few moments, whether they were filled with the joy and freedom of having the wind on your face or the fear of falling. He could do nothing to change it.

But he would try to do everything.

§§

He spoke to everything and nothing. Steve and Sam would take turns coming to him after they celebrated your life. It reminded Bucky of the way that his mothers friends used to come watch him while his mother was off and away somewhere, and how it felt like they thought of him as a cute little burden. He knew deep down that his friends cared for him more than anything and that he cared about them just as much, but he couldn’t think about anything but you. He wouldn’t.

It was a service that made the skies open just like you said they would for his voice. The day lilies that surrounded you and Bucky seemed to be weeping with him. The wind came from east to west and west to east, spinning around and throwing in the scent of the flower with the smell of oncoming rain, reflecting the turmoil he was feeling on the inside. He could have sworn that the earth had trembled just like his hands that held your cold and still ones. But if the world had caved down under him at that moment, he wouldn’t have moved. He wouldn’t have opened his mouth to scream, or even say a word. He would have only held your hand tighter.

He spoke to the moon more often than he did Steve and Sam. They hovered, but it was the kind of hovering that Bucky felt he would appreciate sooner or later. He would sit every night and talk to the moon with his legs pulled into his chest, small and in such a vulnerable position that it would have made him feel uncomfortable at any other time. But he was vulnerable. He had been knocked off of his feet and winded. The world kicked him while he was down more times than he could count, and they had opened his chest and peeked right into his heart before seeing it was unworthy and walking away from him. It left him bleeding out in the forest while he listened to the birds eventually go on back to chirping, and watched the flowers push through and grow, and people laugh and smile and talk like nothing changed.

He was doing just that. He was lying in the flowering fields that he would always swear belonged to you, the both of you, when he heard soft footsteps. He didn’t care to look up. He knew it wasn’t Steve or Sam, but why would he care? He had nothing to be scared of now that you were gone.

“You’re Orpheus.” It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t even blink, but an annoyance he couldn’t shake bubbled up inside of him at hearing the name his mother granted him coming from a stranger. As much as he wanted complete silence, he couldn’t help but say- “Bu- sure. I’m Orpheus.”

“Everyone heard, you know.” The voice was of an old, frail woman. Bucky knew that without even looking, He ignored the fact that pity was strong in her voice, and that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He ignored the way he knew that she thought that she had the right to talk about his wife, about the way he had lost you far too soon. She knew nothing. But he let her speak. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say a word. He didn't even recognize words as an option. He would stay silent and wait until she left. Maybe if he was quiet enough or stared up at the sky in such a still manner that it scared her, she would leave him. If he pretended to be as dead as he felt, he was sure she would leave.

“There hasn’t been a good song since you’ve stopped playing.” He heard rustling, and then he dared to look off to the side to see the old woman struggling to sit, cane wobbling in her hand as she finally plopped her frail bones onto the ground near him. He sighed heavily and looked back up to the sky. “You know, you’ve gotta be the most moving musician to ever walk the earth, from both god and man.”

It was a compliment that would have had him blushing years ago. It would have had his young mind fumbling for his lute or lyre and clearing his godly voice, asking if she wanted to sing with him or just listen. Now, it incited nothing. It meant nothing. “I doubt I’ll ever play again.”

“You pleased god and man,” the old woman carried on, almost like she had never heard him open to speak with that raspy voice of his that was so uncharacteristic of him that it hurt to hear. “Anyone would have done anything to hear your music.”

He finally turned to the side to look the old woman in her face, and he blinked at her. “I’m grieving.”

“You could persuade anyone with seven strings and five notes, don’t you understand that?” Her voice was almost angry. It was hard and nearly pleading, so different from her previous tone that Bucky snapped his head her way. “If I were you, I would have been at Death’s gates.”

They were staring at each other. Bucky was looking at the decrepit woman with curly gray hair that looked like she had dodged a visit to the Gates of Death herself more than once with shocked eyes. His heart started to beat again, like her words were arousing some kind of vicious hope that he never even knew could exist.

“The gods blessed your union. They won’t ever say, but they did bless your marriage. What makes you think that if you beg, you won’t get a blessed reunion as well?”

She disappeared within seconds of her final words, leaving a revelation swirling around in his mind and haunting his every thought.

§§

His feet ached. His hands were beginning to blister from stroking the strings of his tired lyre, and his throat was even beginning to strain. He had been singing for hours, pouring his heart out at the hidden gates of the Underworld, begging for an audience. But above all the physical pain ranked the ache in his heart, the unbearable feeling of your death sitting on his shoulders and ripping him apart from the inside. His grief was destroying him.

Hades might as well have had ears plugged up with the same wax that was used by Odysseus and his men. Usually he went undisputed, because just as life was certain, so was death. There was no questioning the decision of it, or the Fates, or the rule of Hades and his acceptance of his dear Eurydice into his kingdom. Everyone was allowed to plead and beg, but no one ever went down to the gates of the Underworld to ask for the release of a loved one, whether they were man or god. But there he was, standing in dirtied pants with fingertips plucked pink, and tears running down his face.

He didn’t know if he would ever gain the strength to leave. He didn’t know what he would do if someone even bothered to humor him. He wasn’t going to be able to have you back. He was never going to be able to bring you back up above, have you under the sun and shining beautifully like you were born to do. What would he beg of them? For them to let him see that your soul ended up in the Asphodel Meadows? For them to let him hold you one last time before you drank from the Lethe and forgot everything that happened? What if you had already drank from it? Each thought made his stomach lurch more, and his music grew louder and more desperate, like the final battle cry of a warrior.

His back was up against a tree as he sang out again in the night, praying for someone to hear him and take pity on his poor soul. Strike me down and send me with her, if you cannot give me the gift of seeing her again. The same tears that had been steadily pouring down his face were gathered in a puddle at his unmoving feet, yet he didn’t mind. He couldn’t.

“You have woken my wife.”

Bucky’s playing stopped immediately. “What?”

The man before him was dark. He was tall and seemed to take up almost the entire space even though he was only a bit wider than Bucky. His shoulders were broad and his chin was strong, and his eyes were sharp even under the gloomy look they had to them. His cheekbones were sunken in and his eyes had a ring of black around them, like he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. His lips were set in a hard line, but he didn’t look displeased. Most notably, he had a dark aura surrounding him, even black most coming from behind him and nearly encasing him.

“I don’t repeat myself, and luckily, it looks like you heard me the first time.” His voice was deep, enthralling, like a song that Bucky would never dare write himself.

What was a man this terrifying, this powerful, doing in the forest? How had Bucky woken a soul when he was in soulless territory? He hadn’t seen houses for leagues.

Something inside of Bucky begged him to apologize. It begged him to get into his knees and look downwards towards the growing grass and hope to be spared. If this was before he lost you, maybe he would have listened to it. But what did he have to truly live for now that his darling was gone?

“I’m sorry to have brought you out of your dwellings because of my grieving.”

There was a certain kind of silence that would have made Bucky’s skin crawl if he even dared to look the being’s way. “Grieving?”

“My wife.” He breathed out, finally letting his arms loose as he let his trust lyre fall down to his side. “She… has fallen prey to death.”

“Ah,” the man said, his voice nearly a scoff. “I see. The circle of life.”

“And now my life shall go in circles, on and on and down the same miserable path without the woman I love,” Bucky stated, resting his head back against the tree. “I wish I knew a man that grieved. Me… I live amongst gods. We don’t grieve. We don’t die. I have never met a man who had an inch of grief in his heart. I feel like the first to ever feel it.”

“We can lose people in other ways than death,” the man said. “Death is the most absolute, but it seems to hurt a lot less than voluntary abandonment.”

“This is my first brush with death, and I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan.” What an understatement.

“That’s a shame. My wife is quite the fan of you and your… grief. She says it’s the most moving thing she’s ever heard.” Bucky just nodded, eyes far off. “She wants to meet you.”

“I don’t really want to meet anyone.”

“You don’t want to see my wife? You don’t want a two way ticket to the world you’ve been singing about taking passage to for days now, Orpheus?”

His head turned slowly, eyes widening as he tried to piece thoughts and facts together with his sluggish mind. “What?” But he knew. He knew with another glance at this man that he was no man at all, but one of the original gods. He was Hades, in the divine flesh, standing right before him with a glint in his eyes that meant he was satisfied by Bucky’s shock. He went to his knees, kneeling as a sob piled up into his throat.

“Your Excellency,” he began to plead, recalling back to the times he was a young god, listening to his mother explaining the way that he should speak to all the gods who came before him- especially one as powerful as Hades. “I apologize. My mind is not set right— the loss of my wife has taken a toll on me. Please forgive me.”

“Your grief blinds you.”

There was no point in lying. “It does.”

“I, too, was blinded by grief. In fact, it happens every other six months, though I suppose you young gods and humans call it winter and fall. My wife would leave, gone with a stroke of wind and then come back only to wilt again. But she, just like your own wife, will learn that there is nothing we can do about the situations we are in. Destiny will have us where she has us, and your Eurydice’s path above has ended.”

Bucky wanted to scream at him. He wanted to refuse him and tell him that Destiny and the Fates would have to bend to his will, because there was no other way. He couldn’t last another day without you, let alone a lifetime. But the god he was speaking to was Hades, and Bucky was just Orpheus, a low level demigod.

“However, my wife still wants to meet you. She wants to hear your song clearly, where it’s not muffled by distance.” His heart began to race. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wide as he tried to take in a deep breath, waiting for the gloomy god’s next words. “If you agree to see her and play her that song of yours, I’ll let you see this wife you speak of. Does that sound fair?”

Nodding was all Bucky could do to stay awake.

§§

The Underworld was just as gloomy as it was in the stories. Black and grey ran together to create a shadowy world, dismal and dark. It was full of strange sounds, like the whistling of thick wind that almost sounded like wailing humans. The air was so heavy that Bucky was finding it hard to breathe, and there was a mist so hard to cut through that Bucky could hardly see more than three feet in front of him at a time. Hades led him, and the only reason he could see him was because of his true height showing, and the fact that his dark smoke was even darker than the mist.

His hands shook. Both of them held onto his lyre for dear life. It was close to his chest, strings facing away from him, but still it felt like he could feel the vibrations of it, like the air was mocking him back by playing a song of its own. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and fall to his knees, the environment putting him in near shock.

But he had to find you.

Hades stopped in his tracks, turning his sunken face towards Bucky, who had to fight to not flinch. “If you play for my wife and she likes it, I’ll take you to see yours.” He nodded his head quickly, putting his lyre into position, his arms trembling with anxiety. The double doors opened without the old god even touching them, and then Bucky was faced with an ancient throne room, elegant and dark all the same.

The first thing he did once he got near the sitting Queen of the Underworld was kneel. Tears were already swirling in his eyes, and his throat was lurching. If he were a human, he was sure that he would have been throwing up. He prayed silently to his mother, calling upon the strength of the Muses and their talents into his blood once more.

It was silent until the queen finally spoke. “So you’re the musician?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I expected you to be much older,” she said, her soft voice a plain contrast from her husband’s, and the dark setting of the Underworld. And then, Bucky understood that the stories weren’t embellished. At first thought, she didn’t seem to belong down there, least of all with Hades. He didn’t dare look up at either of them. “Your grief seems to be centuries old.” It felt like it was. The hole in his heart felt older than he was.

“This is Orpheus, son of Calliope,” Hades explained. “He can’t be more than a few thousand years, if I remember correctly.”

“Young, very young.” Persephone mused, the tone of her voice almost curious. “And what causes you to play this song?”

He explained it. He explained all of it. Your death, his need to see you, his stupid hope of bringing you back home where you belonged. He left it all on the table for them both to hear, even though he knew that the odds were unlikely for him. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he got ridiculed or thrown back out of the gate, all that mattered to him was that he tried his hardest to get you. And that you knew, deep down in your forgotten mind, that he tried.

“Your music has moved me so, truly.” Persephone said, and then Bucky looked up. She was beautiful, flowers all over her body. She was the brightest thing down there, no doubt, and she still had that godly glow that all the other gods had, a golden rim around her body. She turned her face toward her husband without taking her eyes off of Bucky. “And I want to give you a chance.”

Bucky’s heart stopped. “Your Excellency?”

She was facing Hades now. “Give him a condition.” She muttered, her hands gripping the arms of the throne she sat on. “But let him try.”

Hades frowned. “If I let her go, how many humans do you think will hear of this tale and try to do the same?”

“None.” The goddess answered quickly. “They’re afraid of you. This boy is not. And unlike gods, humans accept death. They know that it is a part of the cycle, and they wouldn’t dare dispute it. This is just a confused young god. He hasn’t seen death before. This will be the only time anyone will ever ask this of you, Hades.”

It was pure silence. It seemed to stretch on for eons as Hades contemplated his wife’s words. The lyre had fallen to the ground minutes before, and Bucky felt himself reaching for it. Tears were streaming down his face now. “I’ll play for you again. I’ll play for you for a decade straight if you let me take her home at the end, if you let her remember me.” He added desperately, body trembling with anticipation.

Hades had dark eyes, and those dark eyes were full of uncertainty and something close to anger while he stared at Bucky, with a look on his face that was so blank that it frightened him. His wife’s hand was on his chest as she pleaded with him on Bucky’s behalf, yet he only stared Bucky down.

“If you can walk your way out of my domain without turning back to look at her, you can take her with you above ground.” Bucky sobbed. “If you look back, boy, she stays in the Asphodel Meadows.”

Bucky sobbed again.

§§

His back faced everything. He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of his own heart, the heartbeat that seemed to extend all the way down to the fingertips that gripped the infamous lyre in his hand. He shook with every breath, and every blink was harsh on his eyes as he tried not to cry.

He wished he could hear you. He wished he could hear your soft voice reassure him, tell him that you remembered everything, that you were right behind him and that you would follow him everywhere, just like he would follow you. Just like he had followed you. He wished he could hear you.

He wished he could feel you. If your warm hands could just ghost over his shoulders and push him forward without quite letting go, he would have made the trek a thousand times. If he could feel your hands brushing away the hair out of his line of sight, he would have been walking before Hades even gave permission. He wished he could feel you.

He couldn’t. But he would walk anyway.

He hardly heard Hades give permission, his ominous tone echoing through the otherwise empty cavernous area, or the sound of Persephone’s whispers. But he could feel it in the air, suffocating and burying him.

Every lift of his foot was agonizing, every step far heavier than he ever imagined he could bear. But he would do it for you. He would push. Every whisper of doubt that crossed his mind, he would throw away.

It didn’t matter that at times, he wasn’t sure if you got what you needed from him. It didn’t matter that he felt like you weren’t fulfilled by the life you had with him. He had faith. It dwindled with every step, but he had faith. He would keep it and nurture it with every breath he had inside of him on the long journey back home.

Seconds started to feel like minutes, and minutes started to feel like hours. He hated it. His throat was closing in on itself like his voice was his enemy, like the voice everyone thought was so golden was the voice that would be the final nail in his coffin.

His feet were still aching, but the ache had become dull. Louder and more painful was the feeling of the cold biting his skin, like it was a reminder to stay conscious, to stay alert and thinking. Thinking was his vice and virtue. The silence was too loud. His mind was in pain, his heart even worse as he started to feel like the cold was his antagonizer. It was cold up above. It was in the cold where you suffered the most, where you struggled to stay positive. It was in the cold where he could hardly provide for you. It was in the cold where he had to hold you so close to him that air didn’t stand a chance between the two of you because every other man had already chopped the good wood.

But at the same time, he began to feel warm. It felt so warm to his skin that it felt like he was about to step into Tartarus. And it was in the warmth that you dressed in that pretty, short dress that got you harassed by men without humanity. It was in the summer that he found he couldn’t defend you. It was in the summer that he had a flash of realization that he wasn’t strong enough. It was in the summer that he got an even more fleeting flash of the thought that he wasn’t enough at all.

It was in the spring, in the months where there was sun and soft breezes, that he realized again that he was of no help. He had gotten a job one spring that was honest work, but brought in a lot less for the household than you did. He was working with the hands that were already calloused over to help men far more experienced than him craft things to sell to the town. He worked hard to come home tired just to know deep down that for all his work, he had not much more than chump change and a positive outlook to his name.

It was one autumn that he realized how much he had failed you, and he swept it under the rug like he did every other season. One autumn, he walked in on you crying in the arms of your friend- the local plum vendor that Bucky always used to buy from- about how you were terrified of being pregnant. As he walked through the Underworld, he asked himself how he could have ever forgotten that moment. Because what you said had shaken his heart to the core.

“There’s no way I would be able to take care of it.”

It wasn’t the certain doubt that was plants in your mind. It wasn’t the fact that neither of you had noticed Bucky hovering in the door because you were sobbing so hard. It wasn’t the way the woman comforted you better than he thought he was ever able to- because with him, you just never addressed the bad. It was as swept under the rug as dirt was. It was the way you said “I”. Alone. By yourself. Him and his contributions weren’t even in the picture. Were they even contributions?

It was never his voice that was his greatest feature and his worst. It was his mind. His mind was his killer. His mind was a killer, his poison and his weapon, and he was turning it right onto himself. His legs trembled as he fought the urge to look, to crane his neck and get his disappointment over with. Were you following him? Did you even remember him- or had you already drank from the river that would steal all of the life that you had before? Had Hades tricked him into leaving quietly?

And if you did remember him, why on earth would you follow him? You would be following him back to a land that was full of struggle and making it through day by day. You would be trudging after him this time only for him to bring up the rear in everything else. He would be the one smiling at you after you came from working to the bone, providing for him and yourself. That was all he ever had to offer, a smile and a song. What could he truly trade for a smile and a song? What could he get you?

Nothing.

What could he do if you got hurt again?

Nothing.

What could he do with his life when he surfaced and found you not there, far behind in the Underworld?

Nothing.

The doubt piled up. It replaced the faith like the faith was a forest and doubt was a wildfire. Every footstep added to it. He was convinced. He was sure that the result of him turning around at that one moment could be no worse than him turning around when he got to be above ground and away from the suffocating death. You weren’t going to be there. Whether he turned right then or in a hundred years, you weren’t going to be there. If you were in your right, beautiful mind, you would have seen him begging and turned your eyes from him and pretended like you hadn't known him.

He couldn’t tell where he was. His breathing was too shaky for him to think about anything else but breathing and thinking about you. It was too dark. His feet hadn’t touched grass yet and he knew he had to try to keep pushing, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He was bursting at the seams to confirm something that he already knew was coming for him.

His feet dragged. His steps sped up but it felt like he was fighting quicksand. He was struggling to walk through it, fighting to take breaths in it. The shallow breaths were somehow pitched high, bouncing off of the rocky, cavernous walls he began to hate. The only thing on his mind was doubt, doubt, doubt. It was a fever he couldn’t sweat out. A tremor he couldn’t shake away. A dark color he couldn’t paint over. A shadow he couldn’t run from. And just when he couldn’t fight it anymore, he saw light.

He never ran so fast in his entire life. He wanted to escape the feeling clawing at his throat and chest, the dread and preparation for pure disappointment. He wanted to step into the light, step into something he knew, before he allowed himself to collapse in grief again. It felt like the light was getting closer, and then it would fade again and come back lighter. He didn’t register the sound of sobbing until the sound faded out and stopped echoing, and then he was aware that his feet were touching the grass.

His feet were touching grass.

His hands shook as he raised them to his face, cupping his cheeks as he came to the realization that he was out of the nightmare that was the Underworld. Emotions were rushing into him faster than he could understand what they were, and then his mind stopped. His face was dry. His head whipped around.

Your eyes were wide and watery. Your dress was torn and bloody, just like it was when you had died. Your hair was a mess, and you were shaking from crying so hard. You stood there like a ghost, transparent and out of place, but crying real tears all the same. The sobs he had been hearing weren’t his own. They were yours. And you were still encased by the shadows of the Underworld.

You had been trying to catch up to him.

“Oh!” His exclamation was more of a dying moan than anything else. His trembling hands cupped his mouth again as he watched you cry again, crying even harder than that one time where the leaves were falling. He uttered your name once, and then once turned into four times, and as your cries got louder, his muttering turned into a shout, your name the one word he was calling out over and over again.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby.” He watched as you opened and shut your mouth over and over, shaking your head as silence was all you could produce. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He was drawing blood from how his fists were clenched. “Baby, my sweet love, my darling,” the names were dripping from his tongue like honey, like it was a balm that could soothe the both of you. His apologies were just as tender, as quiet and disbelieving as the language his eyes were speaking. He couldn’t help but reach out to you with a dying apology on his lips, his foot crossing the barrier you would be stuck behind forever, and just before he touched what must have been your cold skin, there was nothing but air.

Nothing but your lingering presence and his poisonous mind.

§§

He never thought that life could be so meaningless. Even before he met you, he felt like he had a purpose. He was an entertainer, a traveling man, a man who brought joy and music with him effortlessly wherever he went. Not anymore.

He was empty, and he felt like an empty glass jar. He wasn’t even an empty box— he was something anyone that had eyes could see right through. Everyone saw him and knew he was the one who had lost a wife and in turn given up all his divine talent. They looked at him through lenses that were wet with pity. He hated it.

He hated himself for doing the same to the humans who had lost loved ones. He felt horrible for giving them those looks, for telling Steve and Sam their stories without really knowing it. Now he was going through the unimaginable.

Nothing mattered, he learned. He thought that thought over and over again every time he woke up and every time he was going to sleep. He thought it while he sat in the cold on one winter night with no fire in the fireplace. It was something that would have made him worry a bit, or made him irritated at himself. Nothing really caused him to get angry or sad anymore. He was just there. It was like he was living yet another death by extension. The world gave him his cards and he played them in the worst way possible. But that’s what he did. He couldn’t change it.

He couldn’t change anything. All he could do was pray that you forgot the way that he failed you time and time again, and then where it was most important.

He would remember enough for the both of you.

****

hi guys! i feel like i literally have come back from the dead with all the time i’ve been in and out of here. it’s been so hectic and busy that i’m proud i got this out so soon lmao- i worked hard on this, so if you were feeling it please like and reblog!!

[mysterious-ocarina]

Truth or Dare (NSFW)

Steve Rogers x Female!reader

Main Masterlist

(1.7 words)

You were woken up from your nap by loud laughter coming from the living room. Nat, Wanda, Thor, Clint, Tony, Sam, Bucky, and Steve were sitting in a circle on the floor, howling with laughter. Before you had a chance to walk away, Tony called you over.

     "Come on, Y/N! We're playing truth or dare," Tony smirked at you, "and since you are just now joining, You should go first this round." You sat next to Nat, across from the one and only Steve Rogers. Yah, that guy, the one you've liked since you met him. Steve smiled at you as you sat down and fought a blush.

     "Fine, I will play, but go easy on me. Y'all idiots woke me up from my nap," you laughed out. Nat just looked at you with her smirk before asking, "Truth or Dare?"

     "Truth," you didn't like the look she had on her face. You knew she was not going to be easy. 

     "Is it true, that you like someone in this room?" she smirked. You could feel your face heating up. She is so paying for this later, you thought. 

     "Damn it, Nat! You promised you wouldn't say anything," you huffed out as you lightly slapped her. She only smiled and blew you a kiss. You looked over at Wanda for help, but she only held up her hands in a defensive stance. You sighed, "Yes, it is true, but don't expect me to say anything else."

     "Aw, come one Y/N! Give us a clue or something," Sam whined. You shot him a glare and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

     "Fine, I'll give you a hint," you smirked. You threw your arm around Nat, "My crush is a guy, he's really hot, and has blue eyes."

     You gave them the blue eyes hint because you knew that only narrowed it down to four of the six guys in the room. They all groaned when they realized your last hint wasn't very helpful. The four blue-eyed men just looked at each other, and in the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky nudge Steve. You ignored it.

     After a bunch of rounds of the childish game, you decided to get some snacks and go back to your room. When you got to the kitchen, you weren't paying attention and walked right into a certain soldier. Steve caught you before you had a chance to fall and you blushed at how close you were.

     "T-Thanks, you know how clumsy I can be," you muttered. You backed away and tried to grab your snacks.

     "No problem, doll. I was pretty clumsy too, you know, before the serum," He replied back at you. You tried to stop the blush that formed on your cheeks at the pet name. Little did you know, Steve saw it and gained some confidence. "But I didn't look as adorable as you."

     Oh shit, you thought. Is Steve Rogers flirting with me?  That certainly made your face heat up, and you could have sworn Steve was smirking at the sight of you all flustered.

     "Well, you still look good for an old man, Stevie," you huffed out. You were trying to distract yourself from him, he had this certain effect on you where you couldn't think straight.

     "You know, I tell Nat my secrets too. She knows who I like too," he was walking over to you, but you had your back turned. Then he whispered into your ear, "I think she set you up. Or, more accurately, set us up."

     "W-What? I-I..." You couldn't get an intelligible sentence out, you could feel his breathing on your neck. Did he already know, did he figure it out? "I don't know what your talking about, Stevie."

     "Then tell me, Y/N. Who is your really hot, blue-eyed crush?" He started to leave little kisses on your neck and your ear. "I really hope it's me."

     "D-Do you like me, Stevie?" Your breathing was heavy by now and your heart was crashing in your chest. Please, please, please say yes, you thought.

     "I asked you first, doll. Who do you want?" he asked. He found your sweet spot under your ear and you had to stifle a moan.

     "Y-You," Was all you could get out. At this, he quickly turned you around and kissed you. He swiped his tongue on your lip asking for entrance. You denied just to spite him, but he wrapped his arms around you and grabbed your ass. This made you gasp, and he immediately fought your tongue for dominance. Of course, he won.

     "I'm glad, cause I want you too. And if you want, we could go to my room. I can think of a few things we could do," he whispered. You looked into his eyes to see them backed with adoration, but also another emotion. One that can only be described as lust and desire.

     You quickly grabbed his hand and walked towards his room. You passed by Nat on your way and she whispered, just loud enough for Steve to hear, with a wink, "Use protection, and don't rough him up too bad, I know how you are in bed. He's just an old man."

     When you got into the elevator, Steve pushed you against the side. He was kissing your neck, desperate to find your sweet spot. He knew he found it when he heard you whimper.

     "What was Natasha on about? Does my babygirl like it rough?" He whispered into your neck. All you could do was nod.

     As soon as the elevator stopped, he picked you up and carried you to his room. When he shut the door, you were against it with his hands on your waist and his knee between your legs.

     He was kissing you again and his tongue easily won dominance. You brought your hand down and massaged his cock through his sweatpants, causing him to groan.

     You were on your knees, pulling down his sweats and boxers. He pulled off his shirt, then yours. You pumped his cock a few times, before you licked the tip. You grabbed one of his hands and put it on your head. He raised an eyebrow and you nodded.

     He pushed your head down and you fought your gag reflex. He pushed all the way into your mouth and started to thrust. As he was fucking your mouth, you took a hand and massaged his balls, causing him to moan. His moaning simply made you even more wet, and you could feel it soaking through your panties.

     Before he could cum, he pulled out of your mouth and threw you onto his bed. He was kissing, nibbling, and biting all of the skin he could reach, making his way down.  When he got down to your shorts, he looked at you asking for permission. You nodded and he gingerly pulled down your shorts and panties, kissing down your thighs as he did.

     "Wow, my babygirl is already so wet for me," His voice was very husky and it was intoxicating. He slipped a finger between your folds, drawing a line from your clit to your entrance.

     "All for you, Captain," You huffed out. He groaned at your words and slipped two fingers in, making sure to curl them. You were a moaning mess when he lowered his head and suck on your clit, grazing it with his teeth.

     You arched your back and he simply just went faster. He brought his lips back up to kiss you as his fingers were still pumping at an unrelenting pace.

     When he put one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked on it, you were done for. You screamed as your orgasm washed over you, cumming all over Steve's fingers. He made sure to prolong you high as much as possible making you jerk from the oversensitivity.

     You watched him pull his fingers out of you and put them in his mouth, licking them clean. You quickly lines him up with your entranced and gave him a quick kiss.

     He pushed himself in and gave you a moment to adjust. He was huge inside of you. You bucked your hips, when you were ready for him to moved. He kissed you as he began to pump into you at a leisurely pace.

     "F-Faster, Captain! Please," You whined. He obliged and started to pound into you with as much speed and strength he could.

     You were moaning loudly and you knew if the rooms weren't soundproof, the whole floor could hear you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, which made him hit a spot deep inside you that that made you scream.

     "I-I'm close, Captain," You squeezed out. He dropped a hand to you clit, running rough circles over it.

     "Cum for me, babygirl. Cum for your Captain," he whispered into your ear before kissing your neck. You moaned and arched your body into him, when your orgasm crashed into you. He came, when your walls clenched around him.

     You rode out your orgasms before he collapsed next you. You were both trying to catch your breath, when he got up to get you a washcloth. He care fully cleaned you up before laying back in bed and pulling you closer to him.

     You had your head on his chest and was listening to his slowing heartbeat when he finally spoke up.

     "So, how would you feel about a real date on Saturday?" He asked you almost hesitantly. You looked up at him with a huge grin.

     "I would love to, only if I get to be yours," You replied back.

     "Well that was kinda implied, babygirl," He smirked at you.

     "Then, I guess it's a date, old man," You laughed at him.

     "When's the last time you did all that," He waved his hand around, "With an old man?" He raised his eyebrow at you with a smug looking grin.

     "Oh, shut it, Stevie," you lightly pushed at him. He chuckled before adding, "Yes, ma'am."

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

The Pack: Silent Night, Holy Night

Summary- 3.6k Alpha Steve Rogers x Little One!Reader. Its your first Christmas with Steve. Preparing the tree you picked, Steve falls in love with the holiday once more. 

Warnings- soft smut and feels shared between you two. 

A/N- I know we are in mid January, but this fic was started for the Holiday Challenge Sage and I had going. And no entry is to late, so here’s some Christmas feels for those that might be going through with drawls. Much Love always. Happy Reading. 🐺❄️

Your boots crunched through the snow as you followed after Steve, the two of you had walked rows of trees trying to find one for the cabin. It was the first Christmas you have been able to actually celebrate and once Steve put two and two together, he was sure to go all out in a way he hadn't done himself in years. 

So today was tree picking day, and it had to be a wild fresh cut tree. Not one from the lot in town, that had been perfectly manicured through its life to be the perfect shape. Of course Steve offered that for you, but you were insistent. No it had to be a tree from home, just as wild and imperfect as you two were. You would know when you saw it. 

“What about this one Y/N?” Steve came to a stop, and you tilted your head, looking up at it. It looked full, maybe a bit bigger than the living room it was going into but Steve could easily trim it down to size. You were about to say yes when a head popped out of the top branches, chattering in a scolding manner at the two of you that had you shaking your head. 

“It's the chipmunks home.” You said firmly and Steve snorted a bit, folding his arms over his chest. 

“We’re saying no to the perfect tree cause of that?” 

“Yup. Let's keep looking.” You started in which the Little Wolf was rolling laughing inside of you at the expression of disbelief you left on the Alphas face. 

He glanced up at the tippy top of the branches where the chipmunk stared him down. “You're lucky it's me and not the Wolf, he make a snack out of you.” 

The chipmunk seemed thoroughly unimpressed and darted back down into the branches. Turning to follow your trail, Steve really couldn't be that upset you bypassed it. Truth be told, he was thoroughly enjoying himself this holiday. 

You had managed to dig out some of the old decorations he had stored away, careful with them in case any were fragile. You two had spent one evening going through them, you asking questions about them, where they came from, was there a story behind them. Some made it out into the garbage, memories Steve didn't want to carry anymore. You didn't push for a reason why. Just accepting that they no longer had a place at home. 

Then you two went about decorating the front of the house. You shimmied up the ladder to sit on the roof and help strand the lights along the edge while he used the ladder. Streaming lights that looked like blue and white icicles were stretched along the porch and once finished you two sat on the roof for a few moments while it got dark, admiring what others had done from the higher vantage. “Think Santa come find us Alpha?” You teased him while your head laid on his shoulder. 

“Were lit right up Little One, if he can’t then he's not doing his job.” Steve teased back before tilting his head back to go from the Christmas lights to the stars starting to dart into sight above them. 

“And what do you want for Christmas Steve?” You asked, in which he tightened his arm around your shoulders and dropped his mouth to your temple, pressing his lips there. 

“I already have what I want.” His Wolf could do nothing but agree. You chuckled softly and nudged at him. 

“Come on, I really want to know Alpha.” 

The night he came back late from the lumberyard, you were baking cookies. And not just any cookies, you had managed to find his mothers gingerbread cookie recipe in one of the cupboards and was busy decorating them with so much concentration you hadn't noticed him come inside. The tip of your tongue bitten between your teeth, brows furrowed as you filled in the top of the cookie with icing. He managed to sneak up behind you, arms circling you as you yelped and jumped a bit, Steve laughing deep from his chest as he pressed a kiss to your mark. “Sorry, what are you doing that requires so much concentration?” 

You tried using your fingers to smooth out the icing on Frosty, but it just wasn’t happening. “Frosty is just gonna have three eyes instead of two I guess. Making cookies, but I don't know. Do you deserve them?” you teased him with a wiggle of your brows at your mate.

Steve arched a brow and let his hands fall to the curve of your ass, giving a firm squeeze. “Probably not, but you will give me a taste anyways.” 

You try hiding your grin, but it's hard. You glance at the messed up cookie in your hand and squint at it. “This looks… exactly like you.” Then you sunk your teeth into the moist gingerbread, proceeding to bite off his head, which made Steve tilt his head back and howl with laughter. 

“Should I take that as a promise or a threat Little One?” 

“We will see later tonight, now let me finish these cookies!” You pushed him away gently while stuffing the rest of the gingerbread man in his mouth. 

All of them just adding up to fill his life in the most unlikely of ways. All these moments could be felt in your bond. He was happy, because you were happy. It was like a soothing balm in his soul. The heaviness he had always experienced was simply gone when he was with you, connected with you. The Wolf was happily settled with your Little Wolf every chance he could. Both of them traveling the expanses of their human sides. 

You finally paused, brushing your hands along a branch and tugging at it gently. It was slightly crooked, some gaps in the branches where the tree hasn't grown perfectly. You circled it once while Steve waited for your answer and when you stopped back in the front, you turned, beaming at him. 

“It's perfect.” 

Later that night You were carefully hanging ornaments, Steve had done the lights just so and was helping you fill out the gaps with twinkling lights, shiny balls you had picked up shopping with Sara and strands of tinsel to make it that much more festive. You step back, hands to hips looking at the tree while Steve closes the last box on the coffee table and moves up behind you. Tucking you under his chin and looking at the tree as well while wrapping you in his arms. “Our first Christmas tree is beautiful Little One.” He said softly, swaying slightly to the sounds of the radio playing Christmas tunes from the kitchen. 

He could feel you lean back into his chest, your hands sliding along his arms wrapped around you till you were mimicking hugging yourself as well. The room had such a relaxing ambiance in the glow of the Christmas tree with its twinkling decorations lighting up the room in a soft glow. It even spilled out onto the deck, making the slow glisten just a bit. “It really is Alpha.” You tilt your head enough to nuzzle under his jaw. 

The Little Wolf pushed past the barrier to meet with the Alpha, tangling around him affectionately to settle in with him for the night. Curled around one another as they both laid down, nibbling and nuzzling one another quietly. 

Steve inhaled along your neck, letting himself drown in your warm scent that was tinged with that fresh snow scent. Clean and hinting on a cold sensation. The cider you had sipped from earlier with a tinge of fireball whiskey in it still lingered. Which Steve wanted more of it, more of tasting it heatedly on your lips. 

You could feel Steve's fingers twist into your sweater you were wearing, the slight nips along the curve of your neck while he softly rumbled from his chest. “I got you something.” He pressed the words against your shoulder and then loosened to pull away. You spun at the loss of contact which Steve held up a finger. “Wait, right here Little One.” 

You stalled reaching for him, biting your lip. “You have something for me?” You asked softly in a bit of surprise and Steve nodded, a grin forming. 

“Be right back.” He stepped back and went down the hallway out of sight. Once he was gone, you breathed out and turned back to the tree, your head tilting as you could feel the moment filling you. It was something you had never thought you would get to experience, Christmas wasn’t celebrated at your old Pack. It was just another long winter day trying to survive. 

Now it was filled with everything Steve could think of to do. You were dragged from your thoughts when you heard Steve come back in with a gentle request. Doing his best not to command you as he knew you hated choices taken away from you. 

“Can you close your eyes Little One?” He went back to his spot, pressing behind you and rubbing your hip with one hand. 

“Okay Steve, they are closed.” You assured him, and waited patiently, a held breath of anticipation burning in your lungs till you could feel him whisper in your ear while tracing the side of your face with the tip of his nose. 

“Okay, open them up my Little Wolf.” 

Which you did and dangling from his fingers was a frosted glass snowflake, dangling back and forth in which you reached for it, letting the delicate piece sit in your palm. “Steve… I love it.” You trace the patterns so gently that you were barely touching them, and stepped forward looking around before you went to your tiptoes, higher on the tree and slipped the ribbon around a branch, the blue light placed behind it playing the snowflake in a way that made you think of the winter winds sweeping over the lake outside. 

Falling back into Steve’s hold, the two of you admired the way your tree had come together. Steve dropped to whisper in your ear soon enough. “Know what I want to see in the future? A couple youngin’s decorating the tree all in one spot, so we have to fix it later when they are asleep.” 

You bit your lip while letting that image cross your mind. “What do you say we work on making that happen Alpha?” You twisted and pushed on his shirt, pushing him back to the couch. He didn't put up any kind of fight, letting you push him down to a sit on the middle cushion with a rather turned on look at you. 

You move to stand between his legs, his hands slip up along the back of your thighs and cusp under your ass cheeks through your sleep shorts while your hand slide along the sides of his jaw, his beard making your palms tingle while he pulls you into his lap, straddling him with light nips to his lips. “While we are discussing making that happen. What's a good number.” He teased while sliding his hands under your sweatshirt, his favorite one that had their logging business logo on the front. You moaned while pulling away, and he was quick to get it off you and tossed to the side. 

The glow of the tree lights illuminated you for him, his fingers dipping along the small of your back while tugging you in close to nip the tops of your breasts while his fingers found your bra clasp and drew it off of you as efficiently as the sweatshirt. 

You let your head tilt back to enjoy the sensation of Steve's mouth fondling your chest. Holding onto the back of his neck while he teased you with his mouth, swirling a pebbled nipple with his tongue, he gave a pull to draw it into his mouth, making you growl softly in pleasure and your mind fog over while trying to think of his question. “I know you Alpha.” He gave another rolling twist with his tongue that caused another shudder to roll through you. “You are gonna want a whole mess of them aren't you?” 

Steve continued on, soft bites turning into a lavished lick between your cleavage till he tilted towards your other one, his hand massaging with squeezes, his palm was so warm against you. “Only if you want that as well Little One.” He pulled away with a slow pull, letting himself lean back against the couch. His hands covered your breasts, fondling them while you started to rock your hips against him, clearly rubbing your aching cunt against his hard on straining the front of his sweatpants now. His nostrils flared, drawing in the scent of your arousal. Thick swallows bobbed his adam’s apple as he wanted to take a taste of you, but not as much as he wanted his cock in you. “What do you want?” 

Your gaze dropped to his, and for a moment you were at a loss as your fingers gripped his shoulders. It was hard to really consider it at the moment as all you could think about was his hard on pressing against you and how wet you already were for him. How could he expect you to think at a time like this, it was clearly unfair and you bit on your bottom lip while sliding your hands against his chest, digging in slightly against his pecs to leverage yourself against him. “Umm, a few? Lets try for one and see how that goes?” You whimpered out while he took hold of your hips and started moving you in a way that really satisfied you, the right amount of pressure driving you wild. Already you were drenching through your shorts to the front of his pants, not to mention your inner thighs, your folds dripping with slick for him. 

“I am good with a few.” Steve nipped at your collarbone when he leaned forward, lavishing his tongue in a trail to leave his scent soaking into your skin, further marking you as his. There was nothing more that he craved than filling you with his pups, seeing your belly swell while his babies were safely tucked inside until they were ready to join the world. His fingers dug in possessively and he ached even harder at the thought of filling you with his seed. You smelled so good and were so soft in his arms. He could spend a lifetime just loving you like this, lost in the moment with the Christmas lights glowing softly behind you, illuminating you while you arched back getting lost as his hands rocked your body back and forth against his thigh and aching erection. 

Your hands slide down his chest and abs, your senses all heightened with the Little Wolf right at the surface while loving Steve. You tug gently at his sweatpants band and reach in to circle around his throbbing member, easing it out. Your Alpha hissed at the feeling of your hands gliding up and down his shaft, velvet smooth and thick in your palms. You knew he was feeling good at the way his head dropped back against the couch and his hands stilled from moving you. Deep groans would roll from him when you cupped his balls, tugging slightly and rolling them in your fingers. “I want that Steve, to carry your pups.” You confess, giving one last stroke to his cock before pulling away to stand, and your hips shimmy to pull down your sleep shorts and discard them. His own hand replaced where yours left off, tightening once in a while to hold himself in check while his eyes roamed up and down your body, perfection in his eyes. 

“Then let me fill you up Little One.” He growled out while reaching for your naked body, easing you back to straddle his lap, kneeling above him while he slid his cock through your heated swollen folds and when you felt his swollen tip press against your entrance, you sunk onto him slowly with a jaw dropping sharp inhale at stretching around your mate. 

Steve fought the urge to slide himself fully into your heat, your velvet welcoming walls fluttering tightly around him as he opened you. Made for him, the way you took him and he swore it took the very air from him to see your face screw up a moment and go slack with relief once you were settled on him. He heard you whimper as you rolled your hips. Steve knew you were feeling him completely and clenching around him in need. His hands roved up and down your back while you started to move yourself, arching up and sinking back down, Steve matched your slow pace with an upwards roll of his hips, matching your effort. This was a slow lovemaking, no rush to finish but just enjoy one another intimately. 

Your hands roamed up and down Steve's chest and slid around to clasp your hands around his neck, leaning into Steve to catch his lips. Moaning against his mouth while his tongue filled your mouth, lapping back at him. Your fingers curled into his hair at the back of his head, arching into his chest to rub yourself against him while he sucked on your tongue, twisting your head to break from him panting while he flushed kisses down your neck. His teeth sinking into the curved hollow between your neck and shoulder as he grasped your hips and pulled you fully onto him. 

Your forehead pressed against his, gasping as Steve took over. Dragging his cock through your fluttering channel, making the knot in your stomach tighten heatedly. Your eyes lifted towards his, which were lust blown and studying you so intently watching how you were coming undone. You whined out with his next roll, feeling his cock hit you in all the right places. “You know how much I love you Steve” You panted out, twisting your face to rub against the side of his face whimpering. His hand slid up your back and grasped the back of your neck to lift your head back up to look at him. 

“I can feel it Little One in the way you're loving me right now.” He nipped at your lips with a deep growl, his fingers massaging the back of your neck while holding you in place, listening to those tiny growls and whimpers you were giving him in the soft glow of Christmas lights. “So beautiful right now Little One.” He whispered to you while grinding you against his groin. “Loving your alpha so sweetly, so trusting. I can't wait for the day you become my pups mother.” Losing his hand on his hip, he dipped between your thighs and slid fingers around where you two were joined, gathering arousal to drench your clit while rubbing in circles. 

“Oh god Alpha.” Your voice pitched with the tingles racing along your body and Steve had you where he wanted you. 

“I love you too my Omega… come with me.” He demanded, his own rush tightening his chest and heated through his body with tense muscles. You started breaking apart in the way he loved seeing you. It was the most raw form of yourself, no words could describe the way you cried his name sounded to him, or the roaring growl he gave as he painted you full of him, his knot swelling to lock you together. Steve pulled you into his chest while you shook out your orgasm, blissed out feeling yourself so full with him and you curled up into his chest while he rubbed deeply at your back and over your hips, his face buried in against your neck while inhaling deeply. Warm honeysuckle mixed with your satisfaction wafted through him, as much as he had marked you, you had marked him as well. 

You two stayed like that for several moments, in the quiet of the night in just the glow of the tree lights. You were the first to stir, brushing a hand through his hair that made Steve hum against your neck before shifting back to lean against the couch and you eased up a bit to look at him. “You okay Little One?” He asked softly and you gave a nod, sighing with satisfaction still feeling his knot stretching you. It would be a while before you could move off his lap his time. Not that you minded, you were quite comfortable staying right there with him. 

“Always with you Alpha.” you settled back into him, and he loosely circled his arms around you to rub your still shivering back. Remnants of your passion, but he still reached for an afghan draped over back of the couch and spread it over the two of you. He nuzzled the side of your head, brushing your hair back off your neck to flush possessive kisses against your mark. “Best Christmas I've had in a long time, Little One. You've been my greatest gift.” 

You hid your smile for a moment, letting his words sink in. Your Little Wolf crooned in pleasure while swirling into the Alpha's embrace, the two wolves sharing love bites against the muzzles and rubbing against one another in a mates dance. 

The bond between you two radiated each other's bliss, forming a stronger connection with each passing day. The evening slipped well into the night before you two pulled away from each other. Steve turning on the radio in the kitchen to turn up the soft Christmas music tunes while you tugged your sweater back on. 

Once he approached you again, you thought he was gonna scoop you up to go to bed, but he weaved his fingers with yours and swayed slowly in front of your first shared Christmas tree, sharing whispered ‘I love you’s’ and nips of playful kisses until you led him to the bedroom for the night. You insisted on leaving the tree illuminated through the night. 

Any wolves passing on the frozen lake could see the glow playing on the snow falling heavily, muffling any noises and encasing there part of the world in silence.  

[otp-holic]

The one place (where something happened) (A03)

“In your life there are a few places, or maybe only the one place, where something happened, and then there are all the other places.” Alice Munro. (or the one where they receive a letter from a familiar name and we go into 4Ks of fluff around a lost afternoon in France)

4K. Lamely explicit at one point. Fanfic + Pictures Inside. Trigger for FLUFF as the main plot. Part of the Never let us lose what we have gained series (AO3)

This was supposed to be a manip with 200 words of bantering and it's now 4Ks of fluff with a few pictures. I've decided to leave them inside the cut because I feel they work better with its context there. I'm sorry for the hassle, but I really hope you give this a chance... unless you have cavities, only like fics with amazing plots or are allergic to shameless fluff.

Please do not repost the pictures, I know this is futile, but… I try :)

DAGUERROTYPE, France 1944 Private Collection.

Steve is cooling down from his very early run, enjoying the feeling of the pink sunrise looming over the awakening Brooklyn streets as he walks the last couple of blocks on the way home, when his phone beeps.

“Check your actual mailbox, we dropped something for you there. I think you should appreciate us making it old-fashioned just for you, grandpas!”

Steve smiles at Sam’s text and as soon as he arrives at their building he snaps a picture of the very common and flat envelope with “Barnes&Rogers” scribbled on top of a Stark Logo, to send along his response.

“Nice try, but this is inaccurate. A letter would have never made its way to us without an address or stamp. We’ll send you a proper thank you card to show you how it’s done.”

He can’t help but chuckle at his own joke rereading the text while he opens the door, and when he looks up from his phone and into the kitchen, he is received by a sleepy Bucky looking at the coffee machine like he looks at Steve during their most soft and embarrassingly cheesy moments.

“You love that thing more than you love me, confess it.”

“In the mornings? Yes. I don’t even like you in the mornings most of the time,” he answers matter of factly. “Want some?”

Steve playfully wiggles an eyebrow.

“No way. Your sweaty self is tempting, but coffee smells better. I might join you in the shower later.” Bucky offers him one of the two cups he has poured and he notices the envelope Steve is holding. “What is that?”

“We’ve got mail!” He hands it to Bucky. “I have no idea what's on it, but Sam texted me to say they had something delivered to our mailbox and there it was. Open it.”

Bucky leaves the cup on the counter, face sparked with a curiosity that makes him look twenty-one (and Steve weak on the knees), and goes for it.

The content is a bit underwhelming at first glance: Another envelope, white, no Stark logo, but topped with a bright green post-it with a note on Pepper’s script.

“This got to me via PR. We analyzed it and checked with the source (no peeking, I swear) and it seems legit. With that return address, it’s likely to arouse your interest. Love, P.”

Bucky tears off the post-it and the letter is revealed to be addressed to Steve Rogers at the Stark Tower, but it is when they turn it around when everything goes still for a second.

The return address is some street in Marseille, but what has Steve’s mouth dry and Bucky’s hand trembling just a bit is the combination of the place and the name written on top: Emmanuelle Jaques Dernier.

“Boom?”, Bucky says, trying to cut through their heavy hearts and taking Steve’s hand. It’s a terrible terrible joke, but Dernier would have loved it and he grins.

“That’s a terrible terrible joke,” Steve verbalizes, “but I think at least we’ve reached the same conclusion.”

“Elementary, my dear Steve,” Bucky answers as he opens the second envelope, only to reveal a folded letter and yet another envelope. “It’s a fucking vault of paper!”

Steve takes the letter from him, unfolds it, and quickly scans it (normal office paper, printed, hand-signed) before he starts reading it out loud to Bucky’s undivided attention.

“Dear Mr. Rogers,

My name is Emmanuelle Dernier and I am the great-grandson of Jaques Dernier of the Howling Commandos.

First, let me tell you that we all in our family grew up with amazing stories and praise for you, Sergeant Barnes, and the rest of the team. I never got to meet my great-grandfather or any of them (you), but I’ve always felt like I did.

In fact, that’s the ultimate reason behind this letter: I ached to honor him and I’ve been putting in order all his remaining letters, pictures, and memories so they don’t get lost forever, and there are many things I’m discovering through this journey. So many pictures and tiny details… and amongst them, you and the rest of the Commandos appear at the most random and memorable moments. Nothing that’s going to make it into history books, more like the stories my grandpa used to share with us over and over again, those important tidbits that make him more human.

Anyway, I was going through the pictures he kept when I came across some war photos that didn’t seem to match the 40s timeframe. Typical daguerreotypes from the 20s in a very bad state, probably taken with a camera from the era in 1944 and developed on a later date by somebody who clearly didn’t master the technique.

They were in a very bad state and hidden inside an envelope that said “Terribly drunk soldiers in France making idiots of ourselves in unique and creative ways. Fun evening, horrible hangover. About 20 miles west of the Maginot Line. Autumn ‘44”. I’m attaching a photocopy of that, I hope you can understand my decision to keep the original.

After restoring the daguerreotypes with some experts, all I got were five very bad pictures with silhouettes of people apparently having fun…. but there was one that got a lot better in the cleaning process that feels important somehow. I’m sending the original, as well as the restored version I got.

I, of course, don’t have the whole context, but I hope it brings back a good memory. My great-grandpa might be in the picture, but I don’t think this one belongs to my family or to a museum.

Thank you for your service, I really hope this letter finds its way to you.

E.Dernier.”

“I can’t believe… Steve, most days I’m convinced that day and that place are a figment of my imagination,” Bucky smiles, remembering. “When I think of a moment of pure joy during the war, I think about that afternoon in France, and it always feels unreal. A bubble of air and laughter while we were so surrounded by death.”

Steve nods, reminiscing about that warm and humid September morning when they arrived at yet another abandoned and destroyed little village, this one about twenty miles west of the Maginot Line. They had orders to lie low and wait for twenty-four hours before they started the maneuver to wipe another Hydra base off the map, and that little town was perfect for that.

Among bomb debris and fallen walls, they found one small building miraculously standing next to the remains of the church, so they decided to set camp under a roof for a change since the weather was being a little flickery with the rain, and they had the rare luxury of time.

The inside of the tiny house was as unusual as the outside: nothing was destroyed beyond being dusty and worn by time, and everything they found (furniture, kitchenware, and even fabrics) belonged more to Steve and Bucky’s early childhoods than to 1944, a living museum frozen in time.

Only it was not a museum, but the parish house left untouched and non-raided: old-fashioned clothes, outdated church books, yellowing clergy collars, and, of course, the wine cellar. Oh, that wine cellar… the havoc it unleashed.

“I remember the absolute excitement when Falsworth found all those bottles of old unscathed mass wine from the parish,” Steve brings his memory to words, looking at Bucky, “I’m still a little convinced that we are going to hell for drinking them.”

“Not for that, probably, but it was a wonder nobody died on the spot of wine poisoning, it tasted like sweet vinegar, ugh.”

“But it did his part, right? Took our minds off things; got us drunk, bold and silly.” Steve answers.

“Apparently not all of us,” Bucky says very seriously, looking at Steve.

“Technicalities… I got drunk by proxy. Seeing you all so happy made me giddy and tipsy, too.”

“I came and went… I remember being a little surprised at the clarity of my thoughts at some moments there when some of the guys were basically drooling on the floor. Now I understand, of course.”

Steve squeezes his hand, not much to be said there.

They were already way too drunk by the early afternoon, drinking to the sound of a sudden rainstorm pouring outside. All of them scattered across the small dusty living room and its adjoining kitchen while they went through all the bottles of wine they had been able to find. Cheering for the foregone priest every time somebody raised a glass, and laughing as if there were no ruins or war on the other side; just silly men (boys, really) laughing their hearts out.

“Earth to Steve… I don’t know about you, but I’m dying to see what the hell that envelope is hiding. Especially now that we know about its time stamp.”

“I’m sorry, me too! Gabe drunkenly handling that old camera and those glass plaques the way he did? I’m honestly impressed that he was able to take any pictures at all,” he muses. “Shit, is it weird that I’m nervous?”

“I’m gonna save us the bantering because I’m nervous, too,” Bucky answers in all sincerity. “Truth is, Steve, I remember everything about that day.”

It’s a new admission, a newly opened door for them because for some reason, they have never talked about that peaceful surreal afternoon, and Steve nods in recognition as he silently goes for the envelope one-handed, not wanting to let go of Bucky’s hand because his surface is way cooler than his wrenching insides. Maybe the picture is an overexposed french wall but maybe…

The photo he extracts from the envelope is clearly the original and damaged one Emmanuelle specified in his letter. Anybody else looking at it would see nothing beyond Dernier’s blurry profile, but since Steve and Bucky were there when this was taken, they know exactly what moment Steve is holding in his hand.

“Buck,…” is all Steve can say, struck by the blurry keepsake.

Later in the afternoon when they had already consumed most of the wine and there was not a single coherent thought left in the room, one of the guys took the parish books and besottedly announced that there was a wedding set for today… thirty years ago. Alcohol fueled a goofy idea that escalated at the speed of light, with Morita saying they were going to a wedding because they deserved a celebration, Dernier confessing that he had once considered becoming a priest, and Dum-dum bringing out all the old fashioned clothes from the wardrobe and deciding they were getting nice and clean for the festivities.

“That’s clearly Dernier in the picture killing it in his priest role, right?” Bucky says, half smiling and interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “You know, I went all-in with that fake wedding party. I was laughing to tears when I saw you put on that ridiculously long and ill-fitting jacket from the 10s, feeling weightless and silly for the first time since sailing off, and God knows we all deserved that. And it was all safe and light-hearted until fucking Morita decided you had to be the groom, and...”

“Were you jealous because I won the dashing groom competition?”

Steve’s attempt at a joke is weak, but there’s truth behind it: Morita chose Steve as the groom (“Cap, you are the most dashing and the least drunk”) to a chorus of excited voices cheering for him. Somebody else, most likely Dum-Dum, chose the rest of the roles (Sarge, best man duty; Jones, camera; Morita, keep the wine flowing; the rest of you, misbehave!) and in the blink of an eye, they were all going outside laughing under a light rain, and about to celebrate Steve’s fictional wedding to nobody.

“How could I be jealous?” Bucky cuts in. “Do you remember all you said to me that afternoon? During World War II and in front of a battalion of men?”

“I was drunk.”

“Fuck you!” Bucky disentangles his hand from Steve’s to use both of them to hold Steve’s face and kiss him with violence. “Tell me. Do you remember what you said?”

As if he could ever forget. He can recall every step he took from the house to the makeshift wedding spot amidst the trees where his best man (looking dapper even in that ludicrous jacket) was laughing along Dernier. He can still smell the petrichor, can still sense the blush coloring his cheeks while hoping nobody noticed and can still hear the beating of his heart when Bucky handed him a battered umbrella (“You don’t deserve to get rained on your wedding day, punk”) and a fucking ring made out his shoelaces (“You’ll have to buy something a little more permanent.”). And then…

“Dernier started the ceremony and he wanted to know if I had somebody in mind and I said ‘of course’.” He replays, his voice barely a whisper. “I said I’d had my eyes on a brown-haired Brooklynite since before I could remember. I said that I was pretty sure those blue eyes were set on mine too and that hopefully those eyes would be set enough to want to marry me even if I had never dared to ask.”

He’s been holding Bucky’s gaze the whole time, and he’s far from over yet, but he needs to fucking breathe before he goes on. Neither of them has moved a muscle for the past minute.

“Then he asked me to repeat the wedding vows after him and…”

“And you said Buck, right?”, Bucky interrupts, voice winded. “You fucking whispered I take you, Buck, as my lawful wedded husband till the end of the line. I heard, Steve. Even if the rest of the world didn’t, I did. But you never said anything, so I always deemed it impossible, a product of the corniest nook of my mind trying to outweigh all those bad things, because not even you could be as bold, reckless, and mushy as to do that,…it’s my fucking fault, I should have known better!”

“Not completely reckless, pal. I was scared shitless as I said those words, but what else could I do? You were right by my side about to put a ring on my finger as my “best man”, everyone, including you, supposedly drunk past recollection, and everybody else too far away to hear my whispers. It was such an easy choice in the end because truth should always win over fear. And those vows were. The truth.”

“You have always been too honest for your own good, Rogers,” Bucky is breathless and exasperated and goes for his mouth again, bringing in all he (they) couldn’t in 1944. “You destroyed me, Steve. My knees were as weak as a teenager’s in front of his first crush. I wanted to kiss you so badly when I heard you say all that there in the open… and I couldn’t even acknowledge it.”

“I know. And for what it's worth, I really thought you didn’t remember.”

It is too much. Is it normal to feel this much? Steve would blame it on the serum enhancements, but he was already overwhelmed at 16, so that’s clearly not the answer.

He craves, no, he needs touching, grounding, closer. Bucky. There’s too much space between them even if they are back to kissing like they would have that day in 44, and at any other time if their own lives wouldn’t have stolen those moments from them.

“It happened.” Bucky whimpers, biting on Steve’s lip who abandons his own stool to straddle him, both of them gasping in sync at the feeling of their cocks, hard against each other’s through their soft pants.

Bucky soon ups the stakes by carding his metal hand through Steve’s hair pulling his head backwards to help himself into that spot on his neck.

“Same two moles as when you were tiny, as when we were at that war... Your cute vampire bite. Favorite spot.” He licks on them with the tip of his tongue. Steve growls on cue and Bucky giggles. “Favorite chain reaction.”

“Buck, you cheater, you know what that does to me!” Steve cries out followed by Bucky’s evil chuckle.”Bed, couch, countertop,…I don’t care, but naked. Now. Stained pants due to heavy petting are too much of a trip down memory lane for me. Let me keep a bit of my dignity.”

Steve stands up liberating Bucky from his grip but aching at the loss of contact.

They are naked and making out in the middle of the kitchen in no time; Bucky steadily pushing him against the refrigerator while fiercely grinding against his crotch.

“Hey, ‘teve,” Bucky pants. “The way this is going, it’s my dignity now that's at risk. I don’t think I can make it further than the floor before I come.”

Steve groans into his mouth just at the thought and they start sliding to the floor the best they can until he’s a human blanket moving over Bucky. With no lube at hand, and no time, that’s their best option.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, his hands not leaving Bucky’s sweaty hair. Bucky’s hands on his ass, forcing their groins closer with one while he (almost absently) plays around his hole with the other, driving Steve crazy in the process. Dicks left to do their own thing through pressure and friction. Everything is working. And fast.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky exclaims “Can you promise me all this stuff with the letter was real and not a long-con plan to assure your fragile masculinity that I love you more than I love that espresso machine?”

That. That silly unfunny excuse of a joke that screams Bucky all over is what pushes Steve all the way over the edge. He fucking laughs as he comes making absolutely embarrassing sounds, pressing their foreheads and noses together until it hurts, and shaking from head to toe without stoping his pressure on the stupid and smug man under him. His lover. His partner. His unofficial husband. His best friend.

His Buck.

“There’s still too much blood in your brain if you can play that dirty,” Steve states, placing one hand between them grabbing Bucky’s hard cock. “Let’s see if I can do anything about it.”

“Your hand, usually so helpful, but I was already following you after that sound you make when you come and laugh at the same time, shit, it always goes straight to my dick, I’m,…” he keeps talking with difficulty between breaths and moans until he leaves his speech unfinished coming all over Steve’s fist.

They kiss on the lips breathing into each other before Steve rolls over. They are sticky and panting in silence, spread on their kitchen’s floor, Steve’s shoulders crushed between Bucky’s and the dishwasher. Domestic bliss at its most literal.

One lavish fuck and two showers later they reemerge into the kitchen in search of something to eat: Bucky is in charge of the food today, while Steve cleans the mess they left a couple of hours ago.

He’s decluttering the counter when their damaged picture laying there puts a smile on his face but also reminds him of the restored version presumably still waiting inside the disregarded letter, so he grabs the envelope to retrieve its contents: one photocopy (from Dernier’s original writing), and the promised photo.

And it is restored. Everything is clear where it was blurry before: Dernier (so deep into his priest impersonation that he’s not even looking at them), the trees, the battered umbrella, the ridiculous jackets… and them.

“You had the nerve to call me reckless and mushy, Buck?” Steve laughs as he stares at the picture where a very young Bucky is about to put a ring on his finger with the least subtle lovestruck expression he’s ever seen (“and it’s for you”, his brain proudly reminds him) “Wow, you might as well be kissing me there, anything would be more subtle than this!”

“Don’t shame me, you punk, especially not when you were the one responsible for breaking my brain back then!” Bucky answers coming from behind and stealing the picture from his hands to scrutinize it. Goofy grin and raging blush quickly taking over his face. “But you’re one to talk, Cap. You are gazing at that shoelace’s ring as if I were handing you a diamond tiara!”

Steve laughs softly at that and moves his right hand to his pocket, feeling the weight of the little compass he had retrieved earlier from one of his drawers. He used to carry it with him everywhere for comfort, but he has a better option now.

“Didn't you know that shoelaces are forever?” He asks, taking the compass out of his pocket and holding it in both hands as he opens it, nudging Bucky with his elbow to get his attention.

Bucky is confused for an instant while he looks at his young face staring at them from inside the little box. Of course he knew that (he made fun of Steve for days and days) but Steve detects the change in his expression when he notices the other thing.

“Wow, you gigantic sap,” Bucky says, taking the compass out of his hands to double-check he is seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. “You saved my shoelace.”

He had. While they were all celebrating his wedding under the rain dancing to no music, he quietly slipped the little string off his finger and tied it to the most secure place he had back then.

“It’s not a shoelace, you jerk, it’s a symbol. A declaration.” He laughs, stealing the compass back to safely pocket it again.

“You are delusional,” Bucky snorts, kissing the top of his head. But he’s widely smiling and lost in thought as he goes back to their sandwiches.

Steve stays on the spot enjoying the peace in their silent companionship, his focus on the latest news showing up on his phone, the text he’s writing to Sam and the comforting sounds of Bucky moving around the kitchen.

“You might have married me, but I never actually married you.” Bucky blurts out of the blue a bit later, sitting by his side as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and some grilled greens on it. “Do you want mayo with that?”

“Uh?” Steve forgets all about the news and the text and looks at Bucky in confusion.

“Mayo, do you want some?” Bucky repeats nonchalantly.

“No mayo, thank you; but I was actually more interested in the other part, you know, that thing about marriage?”

Bucky looks him in the eye: earnest, blushing and with the same look of smug adoration he had on the picture.

“Oh, that part.” He jokes. “You apparently married me in 1944, but I never married you back. And I would like to.”

“Marry me?” Steve asks and Bucky visibly nods.

“I’m sorry for throwing the idea at you like this, books tell me I'm supposed to have candles, music, and a ring, but you showed me that restored picture and I couldn't stop thinking about it, about proof,” Bucky speaks uncharacteristically slow and very softly, voice trembling here and there while he claps his hand with Steve’s finger by finger for reassurance and as a distraction. “A single photo had the power to transform a moment that existed just as a made-up happy place inside my mind into something tangible and real. Something that would be tangible and real for anybody getting a hold on it and looking at our stupid faces.”

“So stealthy,” Steve says, and they both laugh together.

“Proof, Steve. I was slicing tomatoes and thinking how there’s so much evidence, thousands of files! out there proving that all the stuff that fuels my nightmares were real, but nothing solid about this. Us.” Bucky stops for a moment collecting his thoughts, still smiling even with the heavy subject he just dropped into the mix. “Sorry, I believe I put more time into these sandwiches than into thinking this all the way through so I’m…”

“Take your time, we’ve gone from mayo to marriage to nightmares in five minutes so don’t worry, you have me hooked here.”

Steve makes Bucky laugh again as he intended, and he feels their calloused laced fingers immediately squeezing closer.

“It’s stupid because it doesn’t change anything for us but,.. I don’t fucking know, Steve, I think that picture has messed up with my mind! I instantly found comfort in the idea of people finding facts beyond the nightmares now or in the future. An easy to understand, universal and oversimplified proof of how much I loved you and how much I was loved in return.” Bucky takes a breath and stares at him sporting a million-watt smile. “Marrying you,… I would really love that. And for real this time.”

“Ok, Buck.” Steve instantly replies, eagerness winning over thoughtful and heartfelt declarations. He tightens the grip on their joined hands to drive them to his lips and seals the easiest answer he’s ever had to give.

And it's done!Sorry for the cavities, for going on with the fic when it should have ended and for ending it where it might have had to keep going. It was painful and fun. I'm free!

[whisperlullaby]

Just Say It and I’m Yours- Ch. 6

o

Banner by @dreamslikeaheartbeat

Summary: Steve’s POV. Steve and Bucky attend a dinner party you and Connor are throwing and Steve get’s a bad feeling about your boyfriend.

Words: 1990

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, controlling behavior, explicit language, angst

A/N: Thank you as always to @river-soul for her wonderful beta work. Minors please DNI. Please let me know if I missed any warnings!

Tags: @bestofbucky @syntheticavenger @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @libbymouse @sweeterthanthis @purselover2 @loveyou5everr @freyagreyson��

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“I can’t believe she’s still dating that defense attorney,” Steve grumbled to Bucky as they walked to your apartment. “It’s been three months; She’s way too good for him.”

Bucky sighed. “Well, Stevie, you could have told her not to when she asked.”

Steve looked at Bucky with his eyebrows pinched. “I couldn’t put her in danger like that Buck. If she was with me she would never be safe. She has a whole life ahead of her and I’m just a man out of time.”

Bucky clapped his shoulder. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he said, knocking on your apartment door.

Before Steve could say another word, you swung open the door and his breath caught in his throat. You were stunning, he could look at you all day. 

“Hey, guys! I’m so glad you could make it. Come in, everyone else is already here!” You stepped aside to let them in.

Bucky gave you a quick peck on the cheek after he hung up his coat. Steve pulled you close and breathed you in. He always thought you melted perfectly into his arms and he could hold you forever if these were different circumstances. 

At the sound of a voice clearing, you pulled away and Steve immediately missed your warmth. He looked over your shoulder and saw Connor. His clothes all perfectly pressed and he chuckled at the thought. You swatted at him and walked over to Connor pressing a soft kiss to his lips, Steve’s heart stopped beating until you pulled away. He didn’t miss the way Connor gripped your hip and you tried to push his hand away. He gave you an intense look and your gaze shifted to the floor.

“Hey, Connor, how’s it going?” Steve stuck out his hand and waited for Connor to return the gesture.

Connor let go of you to shake Steve's hand and he saw you sigh in relief. 

“Glad Captain America could make it to our little dinner party,” Connor gestured to you. “This one has been excited about it all week.”

You huffed, straightening when Connor sent you a glare. “Well, honey I haven’t seen Steve in a month. Between his missions and our plans, it’s been hard to carve out time.”

You pulled Connor in close and whispered, “Please, he’s my best friend, be nice.”

“I don’t trust the guy,” Connor looked over at Steve and narrowed his eyes. “Go finish dinner.”

Steve was grateful and furious for his super hearing. He searched the crowd for Bucky, and when he spotted him he could tell he heard the way Connor spoke to you too. With a swift pat on your butt, you made your way to the kitchen to fulfill Connors request as he led Steve into the dining room. There were a few of your co-workers sitting around talking and Connor introduced Steve and Bucky to everyone. It was a few minutes before you returned with tears in your eyes, Steve started making his way to you.

“Hey, doll is everything okay?” Steve rubbed your shoulders voice laced with concern.

You took a shaky breath. “I, um, I ruined the roast and it just, it is one of Connor’s favorites and it’s ruined.”

Steve hated that you looked like you were going to burst into tears over a ruined roast. Why were you so nervous over a simple mistake? Before he could ask, Connor made his way over with Bucky close on his heels. 

“Is everything okay over here?” Connor looked pointedly at you.

“Honey, I’m sorry, I ruined the roast. I have some pasta I can make with a simple sauce,” You offered.

“But sweetheart, everyone was really excited about the roast. Is there anything we can do to fix it?” Connor asked exasperatedly. 

Bucky placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder and he realized he was clenching his fists and moving forward to intervene. You were clearly upset, how couldn’t Connor see that? 

“I don’t think I can fix it Connor, please, can I just make the pasta?” You looked at the ground and stiffened when Connor pulled you into a hug. 

You didn’t melt into him like you did with Steve. You seemed stiff, but you let him place a kiss on your lips and lead you back into the kitchen.

“Easy, Steve. Just because he’s curt doesn’t mean you can act like a hero. She isn’t a damsel in distress.” Bucky gently warned.

Steve shook his head. “She’s the strongest person I know, Buck. Something’s not right here.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. “Let her tell us that Steve. Just be her friend.”

Steve clenched his jaw and took in a deep breath. When Connor returned to the dining room Steve craned his neck to look into the kitchen where he saw you crying chopping an onion.

“There’s been a slight change in the menu tonight, we had a little snafu with the stove so how does Pasta Primavera sound?” Connor asked, clapping his hands together.

“If Sparky is making it, then I’m sure it’ll be the best thing I’ve ever had,” Bucky grinned.

The rest of the group clapped and Connor made his way over to the bar to pour himself a drink.

“Hey Buck, can you keep Connor busy? I want to check on-” Bucky cut Steve off.

“Go, I’ll handle him,” Bucky cracked his neck and walked over to Connor.

You were sauteing vegetables when Steve came up next to you.

“Is everything okay, doll?” 

Steve placed a gentle hand on your back and you jumped.

“Jesus, Steve, I didn’t hear you. Can I get you something?” You gave a short chuckle.

“I’m worried about you. Is Connor treating you right?” 

Your eyes snapped to his and he saw anger flare in your eyes. He took a step back as you pointed a wooden spoon at him.

“Connor takes care of me just fine Steve. He loves me and he shows me as much. He’s not afraid to tell me what he wants.” Tears fell from your eyes and you angrily wiped at them.

“Doll I just want you to be happy.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry Steve. I am happy. Just a little stressed, and you would know that if you were around more.”

Steve felt his heart fall into his stomach. He reached out and pulled you into a hug, rocking you back and forth, rubbing soothing circles on your back. He felt you grab a fistful of his shirt and breathe in his cologne. Your body relaxed into his touch and soon you were pulling away smiling.

“Well, Cap. I have vegetables to sautee so get out of my kitchen and let me work.” You smiled at him. A real one that reached your eyes.

“Alright, alright. I can’t wait to taste it, smells delicious.” Steve kissed your forehead.

He walked back into the dining room and saw Bucky’s vibranium death grip on Connor’s shoulders as he told a story. Steve made his way over to the two and grabbed a tumbler off the bar cart.

“Hey, what are you two talking about?” Steve poured whiskey into his glass.

“I was just telling Connor about our Howling Commando’s days. Remember when I took out that guard from 100 meters away? In the rain?” Bucky forced a laugh.

“Yeah, no one ever did see you coming,” Steve added.

Connor gulped down the rest of his drink and stood up. “Well that’s fascinating but I should go check on my girlfriend.”

Connor gave Steve a pointed look before walking away.

“Were you spending that time scaring him?” Steve laughed.

“I wanted to make sure he knew what we were capable of,” Bucky stated. 

Dinner went off without any more issues. Steve swore pasta Primavera was his new favorite dish. After dinner people started filtering out until it was just the four of them enjoying cocktails. Steve and Bucky were sitting on the couch while Connor sat in his chair with you on the arm. The more you drank the louder you got. Steve thought it was so cute how animated your face became while you were trying to tell a story through tears of laughter. After restarting the story for the third time Steve saw Connor tap your thigh while keeping a steady gaze on you. When you brushed him off, continuing with your story he did it again, hard enough that you jumped. Your drink dribbling down the side of the glass.

“Darling, you’ve had a bit too much to drink, why don’t we call it a night?” Connor urged.

Your smile dropped and you stood quickly. “You’re right honey I’m sorry. You have court in the morning.”

You placed your drink on the table while Steve and Bucky stood. You started moving to the door on unsteady feet. Steve watched as Connor remained seated, finishing his drink as you grabbed Steve and Bucky’s coats.

“You didn’t have to do that doll, we could have gotten them ourselves,” Steve said, grabbing his coat from your hands.

“Don’t worry about it Steve, what kind of host would I be if I wasn’t accommodating,” your words almost sounded rehearsed.

Steve took in a breath to speak when Connor walked up to you and put his arm over your shoulders pulling you close.

“Like she said, I do have court pretty early tomorrow. Thanks for coming, always a treat to have real Avengers slumming it with us regular folk.”

“Connor enough,” you stated pointedly.

Steve watched Connor squeeze your shoulder causing you to look down. Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm before he could react.

“Thanks for the delicious meal Sparky. It was one of the best I’ve ever had,” Bucky praised as his gaze shifted to Connor. “I hope we get a chance to continue our conversation. I have a few stories that I’m sure you’re dying to hear.”

Connor visibly gulped. 

“You’re an amazing cook doll, we are very happy we came. It’s like we got to see a whole different side of you,” Steve stated sadly.

Bucky and Steve left your apartment and started walking home.

“Steve I know what you’re gonna say and don’t,” Bucky warned.

“Buck, he's not treating her right. She should be with someone who knows her worth and makes sure she remembers it. Not him,” Steve fumed.

“You can’t make these decisions for her. She’s smart, she wouldn’t do something that makes her unhappy,” Bucky reasoned.

“I’m going to talk to her again,” Steve resolved as Bucky sighed. “When I can spend some time alone with her.”

“Steve. You are my best friend and I love you but you are also the dumbest person on the planet.” Bucky lamented.

Steve scoffed and stopped walking. “I’m dumb because I want to make sure she’s happy? Being treated right?”

Bucky shook his head and sighed. “No, you’re dumb because you could have been her reason to be happy and you threw it away. Now you’re going to confront her, again, for dating someone you don’t like.”

“I can’t stand around and do nothing. He’s not right for her Buck.”

“I know. You do what you think you need to do, but I’m warning you. It’s not going to go how you expect it to.” Bucky continued walking.

Steve caught up to Bucky and continued walking in silence. He knew what he needed to say to you. Bucky didn’t see you in the kitchen, he didn’t catch the way you flinched at Connor’s touch. He didn’t hear the way you said you were stressed as if you had been this whole time. He knew you better than anyone else and could see through you. He couldn’t just sit back and watch the fiery person you are being replaced with this someone he barely recognized. He was going to talk to you again when it was just the two of you. You were his best friend, you’d listen to him.

[marvel-m-lee]

Pranks, Horns, and Tony

Warning: Tickle Fic, birds, spiders, pranking,

Ppl: Loki, Tony, You

Words: 2254

Summary: You and Loki are known fir your pranks, and your both left alone in the compound together whole the avengers are on a mission.

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It was another day in the compound, you had been living with the avengers for almost a year now and seemed to get along with the very mischievous God Loki.

You were both quite young- well sorta. If he were a human he'd be a couple years older than you but that's fine, you both got along splendidly.

You would read books together, play pranks together, be on each others sides and he'd always be there for you even if he wouldn't show the other avengers. Though they all knew you both had a special bond, Thor especially knew because whenever he'd take you to asgard or Loki to Earth you'd both have bright smiles and go somewhere to cause havoc.

Thor didn't really mind though, it just meant he'd get to bombard you both with tickles afterwards.

Yesterday Loki and Thor had come to visit again and would be staying for a couple of days. You and Loki caught up a little and read your books whilst keeping each other company. Today is when the true mischief would start, all the avengers would be going out and you and Loki would be left alone in the compound for a couple of hours so you both were planning pranks for the others.

"Alright y/n, we'll be back in a couple of hours. Don't burn down the house while we're gone okay?" Steve teased as he gave you a hug.

"Yes, and Brother, do not cause any havoc." Thor told Loki, only to be answered by a shrug and a smirk.

"Brother I'm the God of Mischief, what more must you expect?"

"Well then when we come back I'll be the God of Tickles, shall I, dear brother?" Thor asked, wiggling his eyebrows. Loki's face became a rosie red and crossed his arms whilst rolling his eyes.

You stood next to Loki and smiled at Thor with your hands behind your back, "we'll be good, have fun!" Thor nodded and all the Avengers left the compound for their mission.

Both you and Loki waited for there to be a silence that rang through the compound once everyone would have been gone. After a moment you both smirked and turned to one another.

You brought your hand to your face and showed Loki your intertwined fingers to show your face promise, Loki's smirk increased as he saw it.

"Ready to cause some mischief?" You asked him.

"It's in the name" he replied as you both began to run down the halls yo your first target.

You arrived at Bucky's room and looked around, "So, what's the plan here?" You asked the mischief maker himself. Loki walked around the somewhat messy room and found his way to the bed.

"A magnet, a large one. We'd place it under his bed and once he comes back and gets ready to sleep, in the morning he wouldn't be able to get out of bed!" Loki exclaimed, both of you began the process, both with large smirks on your faces.

Loki used his magic to lift up the mattress and keep it in the air whilst you both grabbed a large magnet from Tony's spare parts and placed it under the mattress bed. Loki then placed the mattress back on and the sheets were already messed to so he surely wouldn't notice?

Yeah, I don't know why Tony had a large ass magnet either, let's move on.

You and Loki both snickers at the idea of the prank and moved on to another victim.

For Sam you both collected a bunch of birds and locked them in his closet- with breathing holes obviously. One had pecked at Loki's hand causing him to curse which made you burst out laughing.

Steve's closet was now filled with a bunch of Rock concert shirts and IronMan shorts to pin the blame on Tony, Tony usually was in prank and tickle ears with Steve anyway so it wasn't that hard to believe he'd done it.

You both didn't dare do anything too crazy to Black Widow, so you both just stole a jacket each. She had incredible taste that woman. Loki stole a green jacket with some sort of fluffy collar and you stole a (f/c) leather jacket.

Clint's prank was the simplest, you both sprayed this fart spray into the vents and it STANK.

You both liked Bruce, well Loki wasn't as much of a fan but you all enjoyed reading so Bruce was safe from your havoc.

Wanda's room was all tidy, it smelt wonderful and honestly was your favourite room so you both decided to just put some spices in her bed to make her sneeze.

Vision's room was safe, only you'd both left a piece of gum next to his table with a note attached saying; 'Try this, Bruce and I were working on it. -Tony Stark'

Thor's room was one of the messier one, but he'd taken Stormbreaker out with him rather than Mjölnir, and by some sort of mirical you had all found out you could actually lift the weapon, so you took it and hid it away in a close vent that smelt of farts.

Turns out Clints prank was the most deadly as the whole place started to stink up making both you and Loki gag, and burst out with laughter.

Peter wasnt actually on the mission, nor was Scott but it was a Friday meaning they'd both be coming over for movie night. Plus Peter would be staying the weekend so why not torture him? Even if they were some of your best friends, they werent safe from the mischief makers.

You came up with the idea of hiding spiderman Peter's room, you were terrified of them though so you made Loki do so.

"Wait so Parker's afraid of Spiders?"

"Yeah, I don't really get it either-"

"Pffft, here you want a spidey y/n?" Loki chuckles whilst taunting, shoving a spider in your face as you screamed and jumped into the wall.

"LOKI PISS OFF!"

Loki howled with laughter and placed the last spider down. You both left and did the same with Scott's room but rather than spiders you placed all the ants you could find on his bed.

Last but not least Loki lead you to Tony's Lab where he would be working on all his suits and other personal projects. Its not the main lab but it wasnt too far off, just smaller and more personal so that he could work at night or alone.

You both entered while snickering to yourselves, it had been an hour and a half since they'd all left and you both should gave at LEAST 30 minutes. But hoped you'd have an hour. It wouldn't take long anyway.

"So what's the plan?" You asked Loki.

You both saw an IronMan head on his desk and smirked at one another, knowing that would be your target. Maybe jello inside the helmet? Maybe slime? Maybe hiding it? Repainting it?

"Here, I've got these horns that we can lazer on the front" Loki smirked while taking out two golden horns like his own on his head but separated to be put on a helmet.

You didn't really mind it was a mainly Loki thing, it just meant he'd get in trouble and not you for this. You werent per say throwing him under the bus, but you werent gonna bring it to his attention.

You both walked over to get ready to melt a horn on each, Loki grabbed some sort of tool and started the first one. You stood behind him and watched over his shoulder, you admired the small things,about how Loki's greesy hear was tired up into a man bun before he'd started working on it, and how he squinted one eye to concentrate with his tongue sticking out. It made you giggle.

"I'm almost done..." you watched as he'd almost finished it, both of you concentrating hard on the hand ship.

"Oh hey kiddo's"

You both jumped out of your skin, Loki fell off the chair and part of his hair came out, laying on the floor he turned to see who was talking, you on the other hand jumped and slowly turned around with a nervous smile.

The one and only Tony Stark stepped out of his suit, adjusting his watch as he stepped out.

"So, what are you both up to?" he asked, his lips scrunched inwards and his hands on his hips.

Both of you were silent until Loki began getting up and dusting himself off.

"Nothing, we were just about to leave" You noticed something about him, Loki that is. Something seemed different, and rightly so. You glanced behind you to see the real loki grab the helmet but sink down so he couldn't be seen.

"Oh good, I really cant have you both in here, off you go then."

Tony dismissed the two of you and you both left for ths door, and while he wasnt looking Loki diverged into his clone again but now holding the helmet.

Right before the two of you had reached the door, his suit came speeding past and covered the exit.

'Shit' was the only thing you could both think of. Neither of you turned around to see where or what the billionaire was doing, but you heard him.

"Wait a moment, wheres my helmet? Oh and Loki,I think you left something" Loki and you both turned around, Loki with his hands behind his back,obviously hiding something. Tony stood right in front of him,holding the other horn to his face with a wide smirk.

Quickly the suit begins you both snatched up the helmet and yourself as Tony pounced on the God of Mischief, his hands at his sides, wiggling his fingers all over.

Loki yelped and began lightly chuckling at the fingers that were tickling him, trying to step back but only into closed doors. He tried to use his hands to block the attack but Tony was having none of it.

"Sir I have the helmet and y/n, it seems they were moulding the horns onto it." Friday explained.

"Ohhh, so you were doing something? I thought you were the god of mischief? Not the God of lies?" Tony taunted, as he squeezed the puny gods sides, then quickly moved to a death spot, his hips. Squeezing tightly and vibrating his hands and fingertips causing Loku to fall down the wall with laughter.

"NoHoho!!!! Damn it StArarK!!!!" Loki yelled as he tried to force Tony's hands off him. Though he was incredibly weak from the torturous tickles.

It was a usual sight, Thor was usually tickling his younger brother for some reason or another, its what older brothers are fir though right? Loku would become a blushing screaming mess but he'd never learn. Same goes for you though, everyone in the compound knew your little weakness and would use it against toy for anything. Your laughter was just too cute!

As Tony abused Loki's sides and hips, he ordered Friday to put the helmet on the desk and tickle you. You squealed because as much as you enjoyed tickling, you couldn't never stand it when the robots tickled you. It was rare but in cases when Tony needed an extra set of hands, well he got em'.

The suit held you up and began using a vibrating simulation Tony had recently installed on the hands for some reason and placed them on your ribs whilst holding you in the air. And as this tickled you, because it did t seem like enough the suit also used it's big fingersto scrape and squeezed the insides of your armpits.

You kicked and squealed at the top of your lungs, trying to escape. Somehow being held in the air seemed much worse, and the vibrating cause you to laugh harder and harder when random electric bolts went through your skin.

After around 15 minutes Tony had both you and Loki in piles of laughter on the floor, weak and begging. Well you were begging, Loki was threatening.

"LEHEHET OFFFF! HAHAHHH IHIGIM GONNA KIHIHILL YOU!"

"Okie Doki horny. First let me do this and I'll let you go."

Tony lifted up Loki's lime green shirt and blew the largest raspberry right above his belly button. An inhuman screech came from Loki as he curled in on himself and howled with laughter from ghostly tickles and squeezes.

"As for you" Tony taunted as he walked over to you, you were not on the floor, twisting and turning to get away from this oncoming attack and the tickles. The suit held your hands above your head as Tony brought up your shirt to reveal your belly button.

"PLEHEASE DONT TOHONY!"

Tony looked up at you and smirked, "We all know you love it" and blew right on your belly button. Your laughter went silent and you melted into the floor as both let off.

Tony laughed at you both in giggly messes on the floor.

"I came back early, and the others will be back soon too. So I suggest you both go clean up your messes before you get something worse" Tony suggested as he walked over to his desk to suspect the iron helmet you'd worked on. You and Loki had now recovered- partly- from the attacks and took in what he said.

But it was too late, everyone heard birds chirping and Sam screaming.

"WHERE ARE THEY?!"

[wiypt-writes]

Riding On

Ch23: Unnamed, Generic Baked Item

Summary: Fliss picks her wedding dress, whilst Frank has some great inspiration about a birthday present for his future wife…

Warnings: Bad language, 18+, Smut (NSFW 18+)

Pairing: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: This is totally dedicated to @sweater-daddiesdumbdork . But it’s still a f**kin’ biscuit!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 22

 “Mary, enough!” Frank’s voice rose and Mary glared at him, folding her arms.

“This is so unfair!” She exclaimed and Frank took a deep breath as he fed Alex another spoonful of porridge.

“You know what? You might think that, and I’m not even digging into the reasons why you’re wrong, but Fliss is already nervous enough about today and you kicking up a fuss over it is not going to help,” Frank levelled her with a look, “so get it out of your system right now, because if you’re still moaning when she comes down the stairs, you and me are going to fall out. Big time.”

Mary blinked, and then frowned. “What’s she nervous about? She’s only picking a dress.”

“Because it’s her wedding dress. It’s a big deal.”

“Which is why I wanna go!”

“And it’s also why you’re not!” Frank shot back, turning and feeding Alex some more as the baby had started to protest due to his dad’s attention being elsewhere. “Stack, you got bored within twenty minutes when they took you for your bridesmaid dress last week, so no, you’re staying here.”

“But-“

“It’s not open for debate,” Frank’s voice dropped even further, the warning tone unmistakable, “but feel free to carry on, see where it gets you.”

Mary was saved the trouble of responding as, at that point, Alex gave a loud yell and the bowl of porridge Frank had been feeding him from was knocked from his hands and landed all over the leg of his jeans. There was a pause, as Frank glanced down at the slop spreading over his thigh before he looked at Alex whose eyes were watering and seconds later a loud wail of frustration at the lack of food burst from his son’s mouth.

“For fffff sake, why?” Frank groaned, cutting the swear word short as he ran his hand through his messy hair, shaking his head.

“You know, I’m not much of one for all that fate and philosophy stuff,” his mother spoke as she walked into the kitchen, “but this, Frank, really does feel like straight up karma.”

Frank glared at her as he stood up and took the tea towel from the side and wiped at his jeans. “Fuck my life,” he muttered under his breath as Thor happily trotted over to the spilt porridge on the floor, cleaning it up with laps of his large tongue, Fred also hopping down off the seat at the breakfast bar to investigate the coveted, spilt human food.

“Karma for what?” Mary asked, from where she’d successfully manage to distract Alex from his tears by waving his little stuffed lion at him, the baby making grabbing gestures towards it.

“His own spectacular ability to misbehave.” Evelyn looked at Mary as she handed Alex the toy. “You know, he once sat down in the middle of a supermarket and refused to leave because I told him that it was Wednesday and Wednesday does not begin with the letter S”

Mary roared with laughter as Frank tossed the dirty towel into the sink before reaching into the cupboard for another jar of baby porridge.

“Look, that big yellow feathered bastard on Sesame Street told me that day was brought to me by the letter S.” He looked at Evelyn, then to Mary who was still howling with laughter, Alex now joining in, all tears forgotten. “He lied.”

“That was a particularly furious melt down, Francis.” Evelyn grinned and Frank rolled his eyes as he got the replacement porridge ready.

“What did you do?” Mary asked.

“It was your Grandfather that sorted him out, darling. He threw Frank over his shoulder and carried him straight out of the shop. I don’t know what he said or did, but by the time I got back to the car Frank was quiet as a mouse.”

“I think he threatened to feed me to said big yellow feathered bastard.” Frank chuckled as he sat back down and offered Alex another spoon of porridge which the baby eagerly took, making little appreciative noises as he did so. “Did you not notice I never watched another episode?”

“Another episode of what?” Fliss asked, and Frank looked up smiling at her as she crossed the room, Alex’s noises getting more excited as he looked at his momma.

“Sesame Street.” Evelyn supplied as Frank gave Alex another spoon of his breakfast, as Fliss dropped a kiss first on Mary’s head, then Alex’s, before finally pressing one to Frank’s cheek

“I’m not even gonna ask.” She snorted, moving to pour herself a coffee.

“Probably wise.” Mary nodded and at that Frank laughed.

“First sensible thing you’ve said all morning.” He teased, drawing another glare from the ten year old.

“Shut up.”

“Erm, enough.” Fliss looked at her, then to Frank. “The pair of you are worse than he is.” She nodded to Alex and then turned to Evelyn, waving the coffee pot in a silent question.

“Oh, no thanks. I had a tea before.” Evelyn smiled.

At that point, Thor gave a little woof and ran to the utility room, as Verity’s voice rang out in greeting.

“Nanny V!” Mary ran to her, giving her a huge hug as Verity smiled, bending down to give her a hug.

“Hey Pudding!” She beamed, standing up, before she glanced around the room, smiling. “Oh, where’s my little man?”

“I suspect at home on the sofa.” Frank quipped, earning him a light slap round the head as Verity leaned down to give Alex’s head a soft kiss, the baby laughing and grabbing at her hair. Frank hastily un-fisted Alex’s fingers from his Nanna’s auburn locks and handed him the spoon to play with instead.

“You ready?” Verity asked, looking at Fliss. She nodded, taking a large gulp of coffee before setting the mug down on the side.

“I’ll just go grab my purse.”

As Fliss left the room, Frank looked at Verity. “She’s nervous. A little overwhelmed I think.”

“Yeah, well it’s getting nearer and this is a big deal to most girls.” Verity smiled. “Plus, we all know she didn’t get to choose her last one so…”

“Well, let’s do what my mother did to me.” Evelyn smiled, as she looked up from where she’d been examining her lipstick in a pocket mirror. “Ply her with enough champagne and make it fun. She’ll be fine.”

Verity smiled and Frank rolled his eyes. “The last time you two plied her with champagne she barfed all over the bedroom.”

“Well,” Verity smirked, “that’s your problem now, not mine. Lord knows I’ve cleaned up enough of her and Steve’s drunken messes in my lifetime.”

“Thanks V.” Frank nodded seriously. “Thanks, a lot.”

*****

 Fliss took a deep breath, zoning out as she rifled through a rack at the back of the room. Verity, Evelyn, Bonnie and Sian were all chatting away behind her but it was merely background noise as she scanned dress after dress, nothing catching her eye.

“Have you any idea on what you want?” A soft voice behind her made her jump and she turned to see the assistant, a slight, grey haired woman called Sofia who had been assigned to help them today.

“Nope.” Fliss sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m totally useless.”

Sofia laughed and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it Miss Gallagher, a lot of women come in with either no ideas at all or tonne of ideas that don’t work out. If you don’t know what you want, do you know what you don’t want?”

“Yeah, that’s easy.” Fliss nodded. “I don’t want anything huge, or full of tulle or, you know-” she held her arms out to the side. “-princess bride like. Did that last time, hated it.”

“In that case we can completely ignore these two racks!” Sofia smiled and Fliss grinned as she allowed the woman to lead her a little further round the room. “And that’s half the battle. So, have you been anywhere else before here?”

“Two other boutiques.” Fliss nodded. “And I found nothing.”

“You know, most people think it’s all easy and fun hunting for dresses but, well, I know when I was looking it was so stressful!”

“You’re not wrong.” Fliss stopped at one dress which had caught her attention. It was a plain, off white colour with a simple skirt and bodice with a little beaded detail and chunky straps. “I kinda like the cut of this one.”

“Ah, a trumpet cut.” Sofia supplied, nodding.

“But I don’t know about the neckline, it’s a little…”

“Boring.” Sofia smiled as Fliss snorted. “But, we’ll take it for reference.” The woman lifted it off the rack, placing it onto the rail she’d wheeled alongside them. “So where are you getting married?”

“St Pete’s Public Access.” Fliss smiled. “Which is another reason I don’t want a huge dress. I’ll melt.”

Sofia laughed. “Not to mention the sand getting stuck in it.” She grinned. “Okay, what about this one?”

She lifted a similar cut dress off the rail, this one with a slightly more detailed neckline and Fliss nodded. “Yeah, I quite like that.”

“And this one.”

As Sofia held up the third dress, Fliss paused, tilting her head to one side. “I love the back of this.” Sofia gushed, turning it round. “It’s so detailed.”

“It’s beautiful.” Fliss smiled, her hand reaching out to brush the detailed lace as she studied the garment in front of her.

“Oh, wow!” She heard her mum say and she turned to look at her, then Bonnie who held up the bottle of champagne, Fliss handing over her now empty glass. “Lissy, that’s stunning!”

“It’s gorgeous isn’t it?” Fliss beamed, taking the refilled glass off Bonnie with a thanks.

“The detailing.” Evelyn mused, before she looked at Sofia. “Is that a Nicolle Miller by any chance?”

“Yes.” Sofia looked at Evelyn, frowning, and Fliss turned her head to look at her future mother-in-law, raising an eyebrow.

“She’s from Massachusetts.” Evelyn smiled. “I’ve seen a few of her dresses from time to time, they’re quite recognisable if you know what you’re looking for.”

“My fiancé’s from Boston.” Fliss informed, and Sofia’s mouth made a little O of understanding before she smiled.

“Well, if that isn’t a sign then I don’t know what is.” She beamed. “Would you like to see it on?”

Fliss bit her lip, before she looked at her mum her gave her a huge smile. With a grin on her face, and for the first time that day, a feeling of excitement in her stomach she nodded. Handing her champagne over to Bonnie, she followed Sofia into the changing room at the back, and was soon out of her denim shorts and t-shirt, stepping into the dress. Sofia came in to help her do it up, and it wasn’t even half way fastened before Fliss simply knew this was what she wanted, not even caring it was the first one she’d tried on. Nothing was going to come close to this.

“It’s a little big, around the bust so just give me a second.” Sofia moved to the back of the cubicle and picked up a few clothes pegs, tugging the dress around so it fit right and Fliss smiled, smoothing her hands down over her stomach as she stood, admiring it.

It was hard to guess at the actual shape as its bottom dabbled somewhere between a trumpet and mermaid cut. Her hips were accentuated by the firm fitting cream colored, hand stitched floral lace sewn into a nude overlay. Her back and side panels were completely different. The creamy lace design covered her back and sides with just her soft and delicate skin underneath, the nude underlay that covered her breasts and behind a near match to her skin. It hugged her curves perfectly, the lace covered her shoulders and down her chest in a two finger width and came together in a beautiful heart shape neckline, showing off her delicate décolletage shoulders. It kissed her skin, allowing enough cleavage but much to the imagination as it elegantly, and yet still incredibly sexy, covered her body.

It was something Fliss would never have dreamed of getting married in before but now, well, it felt right. It felt like her.

She took a shaky breath, her vision swimming with tears before she locked eyes with Sofia in the mirror, the older woman giving an appreciative nod. “It looks gorgeous, Honey!” She then handed Fliss a tissue and Fliss took it, giving a little shake of her head.

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Don’t apologise,” Sofia waved her away, “it’s a big thing. Now, you ready to go show the rest of them?”

Fliss nodded and Sofia gathered up the train of the dress, and Fliss stepped out of the little room and into the main area of the boutique. As she moved into the room, the other four women turned to face her and Verity’s hand immediately flew to her mouth.

“What do you think?” Fliss asked, shyly. “I know it’s the first one I’ve tried on but I don’t think I want to bother with anymore, I love it.”

Bonnie raised her eyebrows, her mouth falling open. “Oh my God, Fliss.” She gasped. “It’s…”

“Stunning.” Evelyn nodded in agreement, as Sian gave a hum.

“Liss, you’ll knock him dead.”

Fliss gave a smile and then looked at Verity. “Mum?”

Verity’s hand was shaking as she moved it down, and she opened her mouth, before she closed it again, taking a deep and shuddering breath, Sian curling her arm round her shoulder.

“Oh, Lissy…” Verity sniffed, her face creasing up as the tears began to slide down her cheeks. Immediately, more tissues were offered as Fliss also felt her eyes watering at the sight of her mum crying in front of her.

“Mum, don’t!” She gave a little laugh and Verity shook her head, dabbing at her eye.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart but I never thought I’d be here with you, trying on dresses as last time…” She stopped herself as Sian gave her a squeeze. “And now seeing you there with that look on your face, in that dress, ready to marry a man you deserve to be with, well, this is all I ever wanted for you.”

By the time Verity had finished there wasn’t a dry eye in the room, even Sofia had shed a tear. Verity stepped forward and carefully pulled her daughter into a hug, before she stepped back, kissing her forehead.

“I love you, my baby girl.” She sniffed. “God, your dad is going to bawl his eyes out when he sees this!”

Fliss smiled, and Sofia then directed her onto a little box before she called over to another woman who headed across the room with a tape measure. As they took a few measurements for the alterations, Fliss was vaguely aware that her Mum and Bonnie were both taking a photo, but in all honesty her eyes were glued to her reflection in the mirror in front of her. And she wasn’t looking at her dress. She was fixated on the huge smile that was on her face, a smile that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop.

****** “Hey, Stack, how about we go outside for a little while?” Frank opened the door to the den. “Alex has gone down for his nap so it’s just us.”

“In a minute, I’m just looking at something.” She replied, her eyes still on her laptop as she lounged on her beanbag, Heartland playing on the TV in the background.

“Come on, you’ve been sat in here for hours.”

“Yeah but this is really cool.” She looked up. “I’ve been tracing Monty’s lineage again for my collage, and then I got looking at Heidi’s and dug into all this cool info on her and the other horses that she was bred from.”

Frank obliged as Mary gestured to him, taking a seat next to her on the floor as she moved the laptop so he could see it.

“So, this is Heidi, ‘Sandybrook Hideaway’.” Mary’s fingers pointed to the box at the left of the screen. “And this is Heidi’s dad, ‘Louella Inschello’ and this is her mom, ‘Tremontano Esmerelda’. I can go even further back and find like her grandparents and great grandparents all the way into the seventies.”

“How come Heidi had the name Sandybrook?” Frank asked. “And not Louella or Tremontano or whatever?”

“It doesn’t work like with humans.” Mary shrugged. “You can’t use people’s prefixes that don’t belong to you when you’re naming a horse. Fliss said that the people who bred Heidi made the prefix Sandybrook because of their farm being near the beach in England, and there was a brook running alongside the fields. That’s what all their horses then became called, Heidi being the first, look…”

She moved the screen along a little, and Frank traced the little line that ran from Heidi’s name to another box. “’Sandybrook Typhoon’, sire- Renkum Renogade, dam- Sandybrook Hideaway…” he trailed off before he looked at Mary. “Heidi had a baby?”

“Yup.” Mary nodded. “Fliss showed me photos of him on their website. He’s huge. And real pretty. He was a big, fancy dressage horse that one her friends used to compete and they kept him at the stud farm to breed from because he was that pretty, but he died three years ago. He broke his leg and couldn’t get better.”

“Ouch.” Frank grimaced.

Mary nodded. “I know. This was his last foal, look. ‘Sandybrook Cleopatra’. She was born in 2017, and check out her mom’s name.”

“Sandybrook Dirty Diana.” Frank smiled, and let out a chuckle as Mary smiled at him as she clicked on a small link which opened up to show a beautiful bay filly with four white socks and a white blaze. Her face markings instantly struck Frank as being very similar to Heidi’s even if she was a different colour.

“So this would mean that this one is Heidi’s granddaughter?” Frank asked.

“Yup.” Mary nodded.

“That’s pretty cool, Stack.”

“Mom thought so too.” Mary grinned. “She showed me how to do it as I wanted to check out Monty’s history. I asked her about Heidi’s and she showed me this and she was like, really smiling when she saw Cleo, she didn’t know they’d had a foal from Typhoon the year he died. And there’s lots of photos of Heidi as a baby too on their history page, and she has a really cool profile.” She took a pause for breath and Frank gently dropped his hand to the back of her head, smiling at her enthusiasm. “They added a bit last week to say she’d died and it’s kinda sad but also kinda nice. They thanked Fliss her for giving her a wonderful home and said there was no one better on the Earth for your horse to be sold to than an Olympic Gold Medal winner.”

“How did they know she’d died?” Frank asked. “Did Fliss call them?”

“She emailed them. She said she had also asked them about Cleopatra.”

“Asked about her? You mean to buy?”

“I think so.” Mary nodded. “She sold Bronson the other month and now Heidi is gone she only has Cap left.”

“Yeah, I know. She mentioned maybe getting another but I didn’t know she’d been looking.”

“I don’t think she has, it’s just because she saw Cleopatra. I mean, it would be cool if she did buy her.” Mary shrugged. “She’s a part of Heidi in a way isn’t she?”

“Yeah, suppose she is.” Frank mused. “So, was Fliss not sure about her then or…”

“She said she liked her.” Mary shrugged. “But she’s not for sale on the website so I don’t know what they said. They might have said no, or maybe it’s because she’s busy. You know what she’s like.”

Frank did, only too well. When it came to buying things for herself to enjoy, Fliss was actually very reserved. She didn’t think twice about buying stuff for the house, or for the family, or her work, but her own, personal things, she seemed to have a real reticence to simply splurge on, and he had a feeling that went back to when she’d been married previously.

As his eyes flicked over the details on the screen, an idea flashed in his head. And it was a crazy one but…

“What do you think she would do if we bought her one for her birthday?” He turned to Mary.

“What, bought her a horse?”

“Yeah.”

“This horse?” Mary pointed at the screen to the picture of the bay mare and Frank nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Probably call you a crazy asshole, start crying and say it’s the best present ever.” Mary looked at him and Frank chuckled.

“I can live with that.”

“You know, you better hurry up if you’re gonna do it. Mom’s birthday is like, weeks away!”

“It’s not until the end of July.” Frank replied. “We got nearly two months. Do you not think that will be enough time?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never shipped a horse over here from England!” Mary scoffed, before they shared a look, almost identical expressions of realisation crossing their faces as they instantly realised they both knew someone who had. “Poppa Bill!” Mary stated excitedly. “He’ll help!”

“Sure he will.” Frank nodded. “Right, you better get me the email address, Stack. And not a word of this to Mom okay? This is top secret.”

“What do you take me for?” Mary looked at him indignantly and Frank looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

“You really want me to answer that?”

Mary pondered for a moment before she snorted. “Not really.”

******

“So, did you have a nice time today?” Frank asked as they lay in bed later that night.

“Yeah.” Fliss smiled, snuggling further into his chest as his hand gently ran up and down her arm, his fingers softly tickling her skin. “I did.”

“Good.” He kissed her head. “I’m glad. You were so worried about it all.”

“That obvious, huh?” She sighed and Frank chuckled.

“To me, yeah.” He shifted a little to look down at her. “But that’s only because I know you so well.”

“I didn’t know what to expect.” She shrugged. “I was just a little overwhelmed at the thought, you know, of having to make the decision but when we got to the first shop, I dunno, I kinda realised that I’ve been making decisions about our wedding all along. And, when it came down to it, it wasn’t really that much different to when we picked your suit.”

Frank chuckled. “To be fair, Sweetheart, we’d been in the shop all of five minutes before you spotted the one you liked.”

“Hey, it wasn’t just me.” She protested, tilting her head to look at him. “You liked it too.”

“I do.” Frank agreed. “But I saw the look on your face when you saw it which is what completely sold it to me.”

A lightweight wool three piece suit dyed a stunning steel blue shade had fit Frank expertly. It made his eyes pop and the crisp white button down underneath offered a nice contrast. But what made Fliss fall for the ensemble was the tie. The flash of burgundy, sand, white and grey stood out against the white dress shirt with the stripes of blue pulling in the blue of the three piece. The tailor suggested a printed silk pocket swath with polka dots and paisley printed against a deep blue background.

Frank caught Fliss’ eye in the mirror as the tailor straightened the back of his jacket and arched his brow. She hastily released her lip from between his teeth and gave him a little sheepish look, and he bit back the snort at the fact he’d just caught her looking at him in the way she usually did when she was feeling a little bit ‘frisky’ for want of a better word.

“But I’m clean.” Frank joked, causing the tailor to look up a little, puzzled expression on his face and Fliss laughed.

“Yeah, well this is clearly your Professor look, not the dirty boat daddy one.”

At that the tailor scooted off, Frank watching him go before he turned to Fliss and shook his head. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

She shrugged and smiled as she looked him up and down appraisingly, stepping forward and smoothing her hands up the lapels of the jacket. “You look incredibly handsome, babe.”

Frank gave her a smile and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You almost sound surprised.”

“Not at all.” Fliss shook her head.

A cough from the tailor interrupted them as he had returned with a shoe box and Frank gave him a nod as Fliss stepped back. Once he had laced up the shiny, burnt brown oxfords, Frank moved again to take in the final, finished look and took a deep breath, smiling.

He liked it. A lot.

“So basically, you picked the first suit you tried on and I picked the first dress I tried on.” Fliss snorted and Frank shrugged. “We’re getting married on the beach, having what is basically a barn dance with food trucks…are we taking any of this seriously?”

“Nope.” Frank shook his head and Fliss laughed again as he moved, rolling her a little so she was on her back and he was hovering over her. “But, I think both of us have taken life far too seriously for far too long enough, time for a little fun.”

“Well that fills me full of confidence since we’re writing our own declarations.” She teased and Frank arched his brow.

“You’re talking to an ex Philosophy Professor-”

“Assistant-“

“Whatever, the point is, I’m very good with words.” Frank smirked and Fliss scoffed. “I got you to go on a date with me, didn’t I?”

“That wasn’t down to your words.” Fliss shook her head.

“No? Was it my devastating good looks?”

“That and the fact you’re basically the best man I’ve ever met.” Fliss smiled. “Well, apart from my dad. And Steve. So you’re definitely in the top three best men I’ve ever met.”

Frank laughed and took a deep breath, before he moved, propping himself up a little on his elbow, brushing Fliss’ hair back off her face. “Joking aside, marrying you is something I’m taking very seriously. I can’t wait to say ‘I do,’ get that ring on your finger and finally call you my wife as well as the mother of my kids. But the minute that bit is done then, all bets are off. No stuffy formalities, no pointless, boring traditions, well, apart from the ones we decide we wanna uphold and absolutely no vowing to obey,” he looked at her as she took a breath, “which is a relief because, frankly, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being bossed around.”

Fliss smiled, knowing full well what he was saying. That vow had been one that John had insisted on, and whilst she had never raised the issue to Frank directly, because in all honestly she didn’t feel she needed to, the fact he’d picked up on the way she’d subtly opted for the other vows when they’d had to pick them for the official, made her heart swell in her chest.

“So, I err, I also had another off the wall idea.” Fliss looked at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I know we said we weren’t gonna give each other presents and stuff for the wedding, but, I thought…actually, forget it.”

“No, come on tell me.”

“No, it’s…”

“Liss!” He said, looking at her and she sighed, her eyes moving away from his, scanning the inked words just below his collar bone.

“Tatoos.” She whispered, looking back at him. “I thought, well, that we could get one each. Not matching as such, but you know, for each other.” Frank blinked and she snorted. “See it’s a dumb idea, I just really want another and well, that was another thing I was never allowed, and-”

“I didn’t say it was dumb.” Frank cut her off, shaking his head. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do.” He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about getting another for a couple of months now, I want one for Alex, so having one for you too, well then I’ve got a full set.”

She smiled, her fingers reaching up and tracing the Taurus on his bicep, Mary’s star sign. “What you thinking of getting for Bean?”

“The time of his birth, and the date underneath all in Roman numerals. On my other arm.”

Fliss beamed. “I love that.” She pondered. “I thought about one for the kids too, maybe on my wrist but I don’t know what yet.”

“Well, l can speak to Jake.” Frank kissed her nose. “He’s fucking sweet at art, tell him what we want he’ll draw us a couple of designs and then we can go to the place I got my last one done and book in.” He paused. “So, where you gonna get the one for me?”

“Well, I errr think, I mean if-” She paused, looking at Frank as he waited for her answer and she realised that for a split second she’d been about to ask his permission. But as he simply looked at her, she licked her lips and smiled. She didn’t need to ask, she could just tell him. “I know exactly where I’m going to have it.”

“Show me.”

“So bossy.” She smirked, pushing on his shoulders and making him sit up. Biting her lip she lifted her cami top up a little, her hand pushing up her left breast and she traced the area underneath, just along her rib cage. “Only you will really see it then, well, other than when I’m in a bikini, I suppose.” She stopped talking as she spotted the familiar darkening in Frank’s eyes as he took her in, his eyes sliding up her frame to meet hers. She bit her lip, smiling as he crawled back over her, pushing her back onto the bed a little, her top still hitched up.

“You know,” his hands gently slid up her side, fingers tracing the spot she was talking about, “that area is supposedly quite sensitive.”

“Really?” She whispered, her eyes closing.

“Hmmhmmm.” He hummed, dropping his head, placing a soft kiss just there, and her breath hitched, before she emitted a soft little squeak as Frank’s lips were replaced by his teeth when he gave a soft nip. “Oh, yeah, definitely sensitive. You’re gonna need someone to hold your hand.”

“Luckily I know just the guy.” She sighed, his mouth now trailing a path across her body to her sternum.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll take Steve.”

“You really want your brother there when someone’s tattooing under your boob?” At that she stilled and looked down at him. He paused, his chin resting in between her breasts and he gave her a quizzical look. “What?”

“Are you okay with that?”

“With what? Your brother being-“

“No, idiot!” She slapped his head lightly and he gave an ow of protest. “I mean with me having it there? I mean, if it means the guy there’s gonna see-“

“Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then, yeah, I don’t give a shit.” He shrugged, his lips returning to her skin. “Now, can you shut up and let me give you an orgasm?”

“Just one?” Her voice was a breathy whisper as his lips traced their way up her neck and he gave a little growl, nipping at her jaw.

“Greedy bitch.” He mumbled, causing her to chuckle a little, before his lips met hers in a heated kiss. Her hands snaked into the back of his short hair, nails scratching his scalp a little as his tongue curled against hers in dominating swipes, a rumble in the back of his throat flowing into her mouth.

His hands curled around her hips, before they slid upwards and grasped at the top she was wearing which was bunched unevenly up around her chest. He pulled back and Fliss sat up a little to allow him to yank it off and he tossed it carelessly behind him, where it dropped somewhere onto the bedroom floor. His lips crashed back to hers with an urgency she met back movement for movement. Frank shifted, nudging her legs further apart with his knees, so he could settle in between them, his lips moving back to her jaw, down her neck, moving himself downwards, taking his time and lavishing affection all the way down her body. His hands curled round her knees as his nose skimmed below her bellybutton and he placed a soft kiss onto her tummy before he felt her tugging on his hair.

“Frankie, I want you.”

He peeked up at her, and arched a brow. “I thought you wanted more than one?”

“Changed my mind.”

“Fickle.” He muttered, as he sat up, pulling down her sleep shorts before he discarded his boxers, kicking them down his legs. He gently nipped at the inside of her thigh before he brushed his cheek and beard up her leg, smirking as he heard a tiny mewl from above. With a pace that was agonisingly slow he moved back upwards, his hands moving up the side of her body as he went, gently moving across, thumbs brushing over each of her nipples which were pebbled in anticipation. Fliss arched her back, inhaling sharply as her groin bumped against his, dragging a low grumble from his throat as she twitched underneath him, pressed up against where she needed him most. Taking her hands in his, his thumbs skated over her knuckles before he interlocked their fingers and pressed her hands down on the pillow next to her head.

“God, you’re beautiful." He mumbled leaning down and running his nose alongside hers before kissing her deeply. Fliss gave a little preen of delight at his praise, and he broke the kiss, his lips remaining on hers. “My perfect, Lissy.”

She responded by kissing him hard, a kiss which was broken when he slowly pushing inside her in a gentle, fluid moment, eliciting a moan from them both. He drew back a little and then thrust forward deeply, before he kissed her again, his hips finding a languid, rocking rhythm, his bottom lip nibbling on hers. Fliss rolled her body up taking him deeper, moans and gasps slipping freely into each other’s mouths as he slowly built up his rhythm, his fingers curling around hers tightly as he watched her, felt her shudder as he hit her spot again and again with every rut of his hips until she was writhing underneath him, begging him not to stop.

And he didn’t, not until he’d dragged two orgasms from her, and he’d almost managed a third when he knew he couldn’t fight off his own release any longer. With a whimper that was almost pathetic, he slowed down, his hand dropping between them to stroke at her sensitive nub, and with a hoarse sob she bucked violently as she came again, her walls tightening around him and with a choked cry of her name he let go, his release coating her walls and he throbbed inside of her as she pulsed around him. His elbows gave way and he pitched forward, his sweaty brow pressing into the crook of her neck as his chest heaved, both of them completely spent.

Fliss happily welcomed his weight on top of her as he caught his breath, both of them trembling in the afterglow. She flexed her fingers and he let go of her hands, and she slid her arms round him, fingers dancing up his spine. Frank gave a soft hum of contentment as he lazily raised his head, catching her mouth in a soft kiss before his nose bumped against hers.

He was in no rush to move, which suited Frank fine as he lay there, on top of her, slow kisses being traded before eventually he pulled back and she gave him a soft smile, which lit up her entire face.

“Was that enough for you?” He asked cheekily and she laughed, swatting at his back with her hand.

*****

The next week or so passed in a whirl of work and overseeing the construction at the yard. Frank was still mad busy, but he’d pushed his nagging feelings about his job to the back of his mind. He and Fliss had talked about it at length and he’d decided to wait until the wedding was done before he made a final decision. Whilst Fliss had told him she’d support him either way, he didn’t want to throw his career into turmoil whilst they had so much going on.

The yard expansion was progressing to schedule, despite a pretty nasty storm which had initially set them back a day or so, but Frank had to hand it to the guys Bill had recommended, they’d pulled the lost time back. And, to top it all off, he’d even managed to finish the final mechanical works to his boat, which meant now all he had to do was the cosmetic work. For that, he was happy to let Bill help, his future father-in-law very eager to lend a hand on Friday evenings, especially when the job came with a steady supply of beer.

It was win-win as far as Frank was concerned. Fliss and her mum would sit in the garden, drinking wine, dipping in and out of the pool whilst Mary was at Roberta’s, the four adults taking dinner together, which he always enjoyed, and it also meant he could rope Bill into his master plan for Fliss’ birthday. When he’d first told him his idea, Bill had grown a little emotional, admitting to Frank that seeing him care so much that he want to do something as thoughtful as that for his baby-girl was something he appreciated beyond belief. Frank also consulted Joanne, and between the three of them they now had a pretty watertight plan. Bill was lending Frank the money, for which Frank was grateful for as, whilst Joanne had helped him to the negotiating on the price for the animal, the transportation and associated veterinary fees were more expensive than the damned horse herself. Should the overall amount it was going to cost him go missing from their savings, Fliss was going to start asking questions and he wanted it to be a total surprise.

All in all, Frank was as settled and happy as he had felt in months. Life was good, and as the middle of June rolled round, the feeling in the Adler-Gallagher household was as relaxed and as happy as it had ever been.

“Awww you want a biscuit, Baby?” Fliss looked at Alex who was making grabby hands at the one she had in her hand. “Okay, here…”

She snapped the cookie into two and handed him a half. Alex looked at it for a second before he shoved it in his mouth, turning to look at Frank as he walked into the kitchen. The little boy raised his hands making cooing noises before jamming his precious treat back into his mouth.

“Hey, you got a cookie, buddy?” Frank smiled as Alex made a little noise of delight at the taste, and Fliss cleared her throat.

“He has a biscuit.”

Frank looked at Fliss, rolling his eyes before he moved and picked up the packet, pointing to the label.

“They’re cookies, Fliss.”

Fliss groaned. “Cookies are a specific type of biscuit. What he has there is not a cookie!”

“Look, Lissy, you’re gonna confuse the boy.” Frank looked at her. “Poor kid’ll be going to a restaurant and askin’ for a biscuit, expecting cookies, and then they bring him like biscuits and gravy and-“

“Don’t even get me started on those, Francis.” Fliss narrowed her eyes, pointing at him. “They’re not biscuits, they are scones.”

“The hell they are!”

“Oh piss off, Frank!”

Frank gave a loud laugh. “Hang on, are we actually arguing about this right now? Over what we call a certain baked treat?”

Fliss bit into one of the offending items and smirked. “Get it right and we won’t be.”

“You are such a fucking brat at times!” Frank shook his head as Fliss grinned and shrugged.

“So?”

“Just stating a fact, Sweetheart.”

“So am I. They’re biscuits”

“Oh for the love of-look,” Frank once again nudged the packet on the island, “they’re cookies and nothing you say or do is gonna make me call them anything else!”

“Nothing?” Fliss raised her eyebrows.

“Nope.” Frank folded his arms.

“Hmmm.” Fliss took a step towards him, her hands wrapping round his arms, pulling them away from his chest before her palms flattened on his pecs, smoothing up to his shoulders. “Call them biscuits, Sailor, and I’ll go down on you so fast you can’t even remember your own name.”

“They’re biscuits.” Frank replied immediately, the second she played that card, he didn’t give a shit what the hell they were called.

Fliss laughed, her hands sliding up round his neck. “Like I said, brains are in your dick.”

“Yeah, and now my dick’s gonna be in your mouth, Cowgirl.” Frank shot back, causing Fliss to snort. “Better get to it, I need to go pick Mary up in ten.”

“Hmmm, yeah, I didn’t specify when.” Fliss patted his chest and stepped back as Frank blinked, before he shot her a playful glare.

“You fight dirty.”

“Oh, Sailor.” Fliss tossed her hair over her shoulder as she moved back to the kitchen to move their used breakfast dishes from the sink to the dishwasher. “You should know this by now.”

“So, you basically expect me to drive down to St Pete’s now with a semi hard-on?”

Fliss looked at him. “It’s your own fault?”

“How is it my fault?” Frank laughed, incredulously.

“If you’d have just agreed I was right in the first place, then you wouldn’t have a problem.”

Frank blinked before he shook his head, turning to Alex. “Your momma’s logic blows my mind, Bean.”

“That’s the only thing that’s getting blown, Fliss quipped and at that Frank let out a loud laugh, “for now.”

She shot him another look over her shoulder and Frank groaned, knowing full well that if he didn’t leave he was going to end up pounding her over the kitchen island. And, as tempting as that was, he had places to be.

“Come on, Son.” Frank unclipped Alex from the seat. “Let’s go get your sister.” He reached over and grabbed a cookie from the packet. “Here, have another unnamed, generic baked item for the trip.”

**** Chapter 24

[harrygroves]

a simple favor -- chapter four

to chapter three

Billy’s been doing a damn fine job of avoiding all thoughts concerning Steve Harrington. It’s been a blissful, quiet week.

And now that week is up and hell is about to begin.

They’re in Billy’s Camaro, Steve insisted they take his car, and he’s been driving for almost three hours. Steve is fussing with the radio and fidgeting as they get closer and closer to his parents' summer home.

“Dude, you really need to chill out. You want some Xanax?” Billy offers.

“What? No, I don't want any -- why do you have Xanax?” Steve wrinkles his nose, arms crossed.

“I think you of all people would agree that life requires a little anesthesia every now and then.” Billy gives him a knowing look.

Steve looks like he wants to say something snotty so Billy turns up the radio as a way to deter him. Instead, Steve moodily stares out the window.

Billy lets him for a little while before reaching over and taking Steve’s hand, threading their fingers together. When Steve tenses up, Billy gives it a squeeze.

“It’s gonna be okay babe.” Billy says soothingly but his snarky grin gives him away.

“God, I hate you so much.” Steve grumbles, but he doesn’t try to pull his hand away.

*

The summer house is actually a mansion. There’s a sprawling lawn in front of it, with trimmed hedges and a goddamn fountain. Billy wants to make so many jokes about silver spoons but he holds back because Steve looks like he’s having a panic attack.

“Hey, hey!” Billy says once they’re parked, reaching over and shaking Steve’s shoulder.

Steve looks back at him, like he forgot Billy was there. He’s pale and wide-eyed.

“Oh fuck.” Steve whispers. “Oh my god, oh my god, this is such a stupid idea. What the fuck am I doing, they’re going to see right through this -- ”

Look, Billy doesn’t want to kiss Steve.

Well, actually, that’s bullshit. He does want to kiss Steve but he doesn’t want to want to kiss Steve. It’s very distracting and he’s just in this for the money. The ten grand.

He’s been telling himself this for a week, like a daily affirmation.

However, Steve is freaking out, which is usually good for a laugh or two but Billy needs him to get his shit together so he takes Steve’s face in his hands and kisses him.

Steve is still trying to talk but the words get lost between them while Billy hums against his mouth, trying to be soothing and soft in hopes that it brings Steve out of his head. It works for a few seconds before Steve reaches up and puts one of his hands over Billy’s, which would almost be tender if Steve wasn’t trying to pull them off his face.

Billy lets him go and leans back. Steve is flushed and looks sad.

“Don't just...do that.” He mumbles.

Billy shrugs. “Kind of have to.” He grunts back, getting annoyed that Steve refuses to wrap his head around the thing he planned.

“Yeah, well…” Steve trails off. “Let’s go.”

They get out of the car and Billy grabs his bag from the backseat.

A girl their age with reddish-brown hair is running to them from the front door.

“Steve!” She yells and launches herself at him, wrapping him in a hug.

She babbles and laughs and smiles like Steve’s a goddamn prince.

“Should I be jealous?” Billy calls out to the pair.

Steve and Red Head look over at him.

“Oh, sorry, lost my head for a second. This is my sister, Robin.”

Sister, right. Steve had an older sister. Billy forgot about her, if he was being honest.

“Is this him?” Robin mumbles, but Billy can hear her just fine.

“Yes, uh. This is my...boyfriend, Billy Hargrove.” Steve says, smiling at Billy.

It’s too wide and his eyes are too bright. It’s the most human Billy has seen Steve look in weeks. It’s freaking him out.

Robin marches towards him and stretches out a hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Billy. Steve has told me absolutely nothing about you.” She says it with a bright smiles and zero hostility.

Billy shakes her hand and tries to give her a pleasant smile in return. “Yeah, Steve just wants me all to himself, ya know how he is.”

He doesn’t, he’s totally winging it but Robin laughs and Steve clears his throat.

“You guys must be tired and hungry, I’ll let you get settled. Mom and Dad will be on your asses enough at dinner, so why don't you guys go hide out for a while. I’ll keep them occupied once they’re back from the court.”

“Thanks Robin.” Steve says and gives her another hug. “See you later.”

Robin leaves them and Billy leans towards Steve.

“The court?” He asks.

“Tennis.” Steve replies.

*

Steve leads Billy through the house, past floor-to-ceiling windows and paintings that have to be original prints. A few people pass them, all wearing uniforms. Steve says hello to everyone pleasantly and Billy gives them tight smiles. They have fucking housekeepers. Servants. It’s so...rich. There’s a grand piano at the base of a giant staircase and Steve leads him up to the second floor, down halls littered with vases of flowers and tapestries.

“This is insane.” Billy hisses.

Steve shrugs. “It’s home.” He says it hollowly, like it is very much not a home.

They end up in a bedroom the size of Billy’s apartment. It’s got bookshelves built into the walls, armchairs in front of a fireplace, a walk-in closet where Billy drops his bag of clothes, it’s own bathroom and a giant LED television mounted on the wall.

There’s silver-framed pictures on the fireplace and nightstands beside the bed. Family photos, solo shots of Steve as a kid, in bowties with a bowl cut. Billy examines them all.

“Robin’s nice.” Billy says casually.

Steve’s sitting on his bed, which is huge, by the way and absently scrolling through his facebook feed.

“She’s great.” He agrees flatly.

Billy wonders if she is great.

“Facebook.” Steve mumbles.

“What?” Billy asks, looking at Steve.

“We...fuck, we don't have anything on facebook, about us.” Steve says, almost in horror.

Billy shrugs, walks over to join him. “So what? Not everything needs to be online. We can just say we’re one of those couples who don't showboat our love on the internet.”

Steve winces at Billy’s words and nervously chews on his lip. Billy grabs Steve’s phone.

“Hey!” Steve shouts at him, reaching for it.

“Knock it off, c’mon, Steve -- stop it.” Billy says, smacking his hand away. “This is going to work. But only if you calm down. Right now the only thing in our way is you. You’re getting too caught up in the details. Just chill out, hold my fucking hand, and give me a gross pet name and we’ll get through this.”

He says all this, direct eye-contact, no blinking. Steve is quiet for a second before taking a deep, belly-full breath and closing his eyes, making an O with his mouth and exhaling slowly. Once he opens his eyes, Billy gives him a nod. Steve nods back.

*

Meeting the parents at dinner is a stifling affair. Steve’s mom isn’t going out of her way in the slightest to hide how much she does not like Billy. She turns up her nose at his clothes, eyes his hair like Steve’s isn’t an unkempt mess and politely insults him wherever she can fit in a jab.

“Oh, beer. How perfectly simple. A simple man is good.”

“I like that car, Billy. Very rustic.”

“There’s something to be said about plain fabric. Some can be too cumbersome to care for, it’s nice for some things to be easy.”

Billy grins, toothy and fire-eyed, sneaking glances at Steve who is very interested in his salad.

Steve’s dad isn’t much better. He keeps going back and forth between glaring at Billy and scrunching his face together, like he’s scrutinizing.

“And where did you say you’re going to go to school?”

“How exactly did you meet my son?”

“What do your parents do for a living?”

Robin keeps trying to steer the conversation away from them but the parents aren’t having that.

“How long have you two been dating?” Mrs. Harrington asks during the fish course.

“Six months.” Steve says.

“Two years.” Billy says, at the exact same time.

There’s an awkward pause and Billy can practically hear Steve’s heart rate triple. Billy laughs and takes Steve’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“He was courting me for a lot longer than we’ve actually been together. All those fond memories, right, bunny?” Billy looks at Steve fondly.

Robin starts choking on something and has to thump at her chest to clear it up. “Bunny?” She croaks out.

Steve is bright red and staring at Billy with glassy eyes, probably seething but that just makes it more fun.

“Yes.” Steve blurts out, voice a bit high. “We, uh, I...really wanted...to be his boyfriend.”

Billy barrels onward. “He did that thing, with the boombox, stood outside my place till I let him in. It was so sweet.”

Robin is silent-laughing, and her eyes are starting to water. “I’m dying.” She says. “No seriously, I am fucking losing it over here.”

“They don't need all the details, sweetie.” Steve says in a syrupy voice.

“But the letter, I have to tell them about the letter.”

“No, no, I don't think so. That letter was just for you.” Steve says nervously.

“I would like to frame the letter.” Robin pipes in, struggling to drink water as her shoulders quake from laughter.

“So anyways,” Billy continues. “I finally just said, hey, let’s toss the guy a bone here,”

Robin is howling at this point.

“And he did, and we’ve been in love ever since.” Steve supplies quickly. “Now where is that next course, I am starving.”

He makes dagger-eyes at Billy who just takes his hand again and kisses Steve’s knuckles.

Once dessert and coffee have been consumed Steve gets to his feet.

“Well, we’re exhausted. Right, Billy?” He chirps.

“Sweetie, c’mon, how often am I going to get this kinda face-time with your parents? Shouldn’t we stay?”

He is hamming it up and Mrs. Harrington purses her mouth like the very thought is making her nauseous.

“Now, now. We’ll see them tomorrow morning.” Steve smiles back. “Let’s go to bed.”

Mr. Harrington coughs heartily into his napkin.

They bolt and hole-up in Steve’s room.

After changing into pajamas -- Steve changes in the closet -- they sit on the bed watching television and Billy waits for the inevitable.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” Steve finally snaps during their second episode of Golden Girls.

“I never gave you any indication otherwise.” Billy shrugs.

“That was so embarrassing, making it seem like I pined for you.”

“Well we had to say something, Harrington, and you were doing that Bambi-in-the-headlights thing, so I just rolled with it.”

“You rolled with it alright, I can’t believe you said all that shit.”

Billy snaps. “Fine, Steve, then you come up with stuff. Stop acting like a kid who doesn't want to get in trouble otherwise we’re going to get caught. Be a fucking man.”

That shuts Steve up for a long time. When Golden Girls ends and The Nanny starts up, Steve gets up from the bed and goes into the closet.

He’s only gone for a few moments before emerging with beer, little bottles of alcohol, and a bag of individually-wrapped chocolates.

“What the -- ”

“There’s a mini-fridge in there.” Steve mumbles.

He gives Billy a beer, deposits the bottles in between them and starts unwrapping a chocolate.

Finally, Steve says, “I’m really sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Billy replies, cracking open a beer.

“I’m not very good at this.”

“You’re really not.”

“...I’ll try harder.”

“Good.” Billy replies, eyes never leaving the television.

There’s this weird tension between them and it lasts for a little bit until Billy is so uncomfortable he has to say something.

“Dinner was...something.”

“Told you.” Steve grunts.

“Man, I don't know which one hated me more.”

“Mom, for sure. She loathes people who don't own at least three boats.”

“Damn, and I just have the one.” Billy deadpans.

Steve grins, actually grins, before he catches himself and pops another chocolate.

“This is like a fucking hotel.” Billy says, grabbing for a bottle.

“I learned very quickly growing up that the less time I have to spend outside this room, the better.” Steve says.

“I want to make so many ‘princess locked in an ivy tower’ jokes right now.” Billy says seriously.

“Shut up.” Steve snaps. “And it’s ivory, dumbass.”

Billy chuckles and drains one of the mini-bottles. “So, we’re essentially trapped in here, is that what you’re saying?”

Steve shrugs. “I mean, we can go do whatever you want. There’s a couple libraries, an indoor pool, I actually convinced them to make a bowling alley in the basement.”

“You have a fucking bowling alley?” Billy asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, it was a birthday gift when I was, like, twelve.”

“Jesus christ, Steve.”

“Yeah, but we run the risk of dealing with them,” Steve’s parents, “So, ya know, wage your bets.”

Billy whistles. “Wow, you really don't like them.”

“No, I really do not.” Steve mumbles, eating another chocolate.

“So I gotta ask. Why me?” Billy opens another mini-bottle of vodka.

Steve looks away from the television, eyes Billy, then resumes watching. “You already asked that.” He points out.

“Yeah, but like, you could’ve found someone on Craigslist, like a lot of lonely losers do.”

“Wow, when you put it like that?” Steve rolls his eyes. “Like I said, it was a matter of convenience.”

Billy puts a hand over his heart and pretends to swoon. “I love it when men say that to me.”

Steve throws a handful of chocolate wrappers at him.

Billy grins. “Okay, so really though, what are we going to do tomorrow?”

Steve contemplates this for a moment.

“Ever been horse-back riding?”

part five

[kyber-crystal]

➳ catch me || s.r

summary: in which you struggle to tell the difference between liking him as a friend or something more. until one fateful moment forces you to decide where you ultimately stand.

words: ~3.9k

warnings: mentions of death, blood, overused friends to lovers, slight enemies to lovers LOL

a/n: i suffered through this WIP for like, 3 mf MONTHS before i was finally able to finish it off. i feel so relieved. but i will warn you, it’s terrible

"Rogers."

"Y/N."

You exchanged curt nods with him as you went to grab yourself some water after attending a meeting with Fury. Ever since Sharon started showing up more often, you began to distance yourself from him because you know that lingering by will only make you feel worse.He doesn't know why you're acting so cold all of a sudden, but decides not to question it as it won't help the situation in any way whatsoever.

He was quick to break the awkward silence that had fallen. "Where are you being sent off?"

"We," you replied coldly. "Northern Europe. Got word of an arms trade happening tomorrow morning."

"Okay."

Footsteps were suddenly heard from down the hall and without warning, he tugged you forward by the wrist and pressed his lips to yours.

You didn't protest because you're still too shocked to fully register what's going on and 2) you actually liked the way he made you feel. 

Though you really weren't supposed to be.

"What was that for?" you breathed out as you both pulled away, breathless.

"Sharon," he replied simply, looking around for a moment. "She's been bothering me for the past few weeks and I had to do something."

"You just noticed?" you said, sarcasm lacing your tone as you looked out of the corner of your eye to see the blonde woman walking away. "She's been all over you since her recruitment."

His brows furrow together in confusion as he notices the darkened look in your eyes, but doesn't say anything. You toss him the black manila folder containing information on your mission for him to read, sitting down at the kitchen counter together.

"Infamous dealer carrying nuclear weapons overseas. Headquartered somewhere in the Arctic Circle, I think," you explained as he pulled out the wanted man's file. "Can be taken either dead or alive. We have to stop them from going through with the attack."

"When are we leaving?"

"Wheels up at 8:30 p.m. Should take about 6 hours...we're being flown in via helicarrier."

Great.

You just realized you'd be stuck in a plane alone together for 6 hours straight, when the very thing you were trying to do was avoid him.

You're mostly silent as you board the jet, securing your bags and weapons before taking your seat. Fatigue is tugging at your body and your eyelids grow heavy, although it isn't even that late. Without thinking about what you were doing, you rest your head against Steve's shoulder and close your eyes. He wraps an arm around your waist in response.

Before you knew it, the aircraft was hovering over the drop zone. The two of you got up and went towards the back, fastening parachutes to your backs as the gates dropped open.

"Stay safe out there," you blurted out as you glanced down at the base below you, then over at Steve. "Circle the perimeter and meet me inside. Don't die or I'll kill you."

"Yes ma'am."

Inhaling sharply, you gripped the straps of your jacket and squeezed your eyes shut, the dry wind whipping your hair in your face as you descended downwards.

With his icy blue eyes still imprinted in the back of your mind.

...

It was quite ironic seeing that you, an Avenger and a former SHIELD pilot that flew everywhere all the time, had a crippling fear of heights. The mere idea of being jumping out of planes and having to go on missions involving multi-story buildings shook you to your core, and it always took you at least a week to recover once you got back.

"Steve!" Your voice heightened to a shriek as you felt the plane's velocity increase suddenly. The crates next to you toppled over and you went crashing to the floor alongside them, barely managing to grip the armrest of something and pressing your back against the wall, feeling your head spin. The sticky warmth and stinging, white-hot pain in your side tells you that you were shot. You didn't need to look at the wound to know it wasn't pretty. "Where the hell are you?"

"Fifty yards away from the northeast entrance," he replied breathlessly. "I got nothing. You?"

"The weapons," you panted, "are on the plane!"

"Okay. Where are you?"

"On the damn plane! They're gonna detonate at any moment, I have to get this thing away from the city—I'm not gonna make it so I just wanted to tell you that—"

"Fuck, don't say that," he hissed. You know things were bad when Steve Rogers, the man that coined the 'Language' line, swore. "Just—hang tight, I'm coming for you."

"No. Just forget it," you shouted over the noise, grunting in pain as your head hit the side of a storage box, muttering a string of curses under your breath. "I can't afford for you to risk your own life for me. It's okay. Just leave me behind."

"No, I'm not leaving you!" he yelled back. "I'm not going back home without you."

"Steve," your voice was thick with tears, throat feeling tight as you swallowed back the sob that was threatening to erupt from your lips. You wipe a tear that slips down your cheek and cleared your throat. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," he says hoarsely, "I lost you once, and I'm not losing you again."

"There's no point, Steve. I'm going to die. This thing's on autopilot going God knows where at top speed and if there's any chance of stopping this thing, I gotta crash it. If you come and get me you're gonna die, too. You know Fury's not gonna like having to send out an extraction team to drag both our corpses back to headquarters."

"Y/N, don't-" His voice breaks and you swear your heart shatters into a million pieces. "Please, don't- don't say that. I'm gonna come and get you. You're gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay."

That was the last straw for you; and you lost it at those last words. Tears sting a steaming hot trail down your cheeks as you hastily try to wipe them away with your bruised and bloodied knuckles. "No, we're not. I don't think you understand. I'm over 30,000 feet in the air with no protection whatsoever. They're gonna shoot you down before you even have the chance to get to me."

You always told yourself you'd be willing to put your life on the line to save someone else's; to sacrifice yourself for the greater good. But now that death was looming threateningly close to you and staring you down, for the first time in a long time, you didn't know if you even wanted to leave and you were scared. Scared of what was to come if you really were to meet your end. Scared of what was to come at the end of the tunnel, what would happen when you were swallowed whole by death's bottomless, dark pit. You didn't expect your fate to approach so quickly, and it scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Being a superhero meant that making sacrifices were a must-do. You always knew you would need to give things up in order to successfully do your job. That one day, your time to die would come but you didn't know it would happen like this; so unexpectedly.

Now you realize people were right as they told you in your final moments, you'd see your entire life flash before your eyes. You blink and you're transported back to when you first joined the Initiative, skeptical of the six unfamiliar faces before you. But it only takes a matter of three minutes before Thor cracks a joke that has you all howling in laughter, and another one for Natasha to approach you and start a conversation. To you, her, and Steve on the run as fugitives of SHIELD as you conducted the search for The Winter Soldier. The heartbreaking decision of having to choose between your mentor and best friend in Berlin--which you realized, happened barely over a year ago. So many memories had been created in such a short amount of time and you didn't ever want to let any of them go. You couldn't bring yourself to.

You stumbled over, sliding into the pilot's seat and buckling up. Your grip around the controls were so tight that the barely healing cuts around your knuckles reopened and began bleeding again.

You let out a shuddering sigh, tapping several buttons overhead before reaching down to turn on your comm again. "Steve? Are you there?"

"Darling..." The pure agony in his voice only makes you feel worse. You've never heard the great Captain America in such a soft-spoken tone before, so you could only assume it took him a lot to get him into this state. "Yeah. I'm here."

"So..." you readjusted your grip and let your shoulders fall back, "...you remember that one time we took the subway to see Hamilton last weekend?'

"Last weekend? It was only last weekend?" Steve tried his best to keep it together, but his wavering tone gave it all away. "Feels like forever since we got a break."

"I know," you let out a broken laugh, "and then you wouldn't stop talking about it the entire way back? It got so bad to the point Tony had to forcefully shut off all the speaker systems around the compound because he woke up at 3 am to see you sitting in the kitchen, playing the soundtrack at full volume."

"But when he saw you dancing around in the kitchen while making lunch the next day, he couldn't keep doing that for any longer. You have an amazing voice."

"I don't know..." you sniffed, forcing a smile, "you're the one who's pretty good at singing and playing the piano. I think you got all the musical talent-"

"Y/N," he interrupted, "stop. Don't do this to me."

"Do what?"

"You're talking as if you're gonna die."

The gravity of the whole situation comes crashing down on you again. "...Because I am."

"No, you're not. I'm not letting that happen."

"I don't think you have a say in things this time, Rogers," your voice cracked. You shook your head. "I'm done for. God, I really hoped this wasn't how I'd meet my end. I hate heights. I hate the ice, I'm scared shitless of dying, I can't- I can't do this. But I have to. If I don't, millions of people will die and I can't have that on my conscience."

You sucked in a breath as you looked out of the corner of your eye to see you're falling, and falling fast. In a matter of minutes you'll be plunging through the surface of the ice and into the depths of the icy-cold water. There's no turning back now.

"Geez," you spoke up again, "this is like some repeat of '45. Is this how it felt? Knowing you were gonna die, but doing it anyway because you knew you had to do it?"

"That's not the same. It was a matter of chance that I made it at all. Chances are slim to none that you'll end up frozen in a block of ice for 66 years."

"See, it's hopeless," you sighed. "Go back. You need to go...or you're gonna end up filled with bullets."

"I'm not going back," he repeated. "Not without you."

"If you're gonna think of a plan, you better think fast-"

"Jump."

"What did you just say? Are you out of your damn mind?"

"I said, jump. There's no other choice. Look for an emergency exit...there should be one above you. Do you see it?" His voice was calm, gentle, as if he was speaking to a child, and it soothed you a bit. You muttered a quick 'yes'. "Alright. Pry that open, get out of there. I'm coming with the Quinjet right now, so hang tight."

As if he could sense your fear, he softened his tone a bit more, "Hey. It's okay. I'm coming for you. You'll be alright."

"It's like we're Romeo and Juliet," you managed to choke out in between a laugh and sob,  "except only one of us dies."

"Y/N, you're not dying." He couldn't mask the obvious pain in his voice. "Honey, I promise you're not gonna die. You're gonna be alright."

"Steve-" You let out an earsplitting shriek and scrambled to get a stronger grip as blaring alarms sounded throughout the aircraft. The impact of the hits nearly made you topple off and you clung to the side of the jet for dear life, praying to God you weren't going to fall off and crack your head open on an iceberg. "I got hit. They're tailing after me, you can't, I'm actually gonna fall-"

"Okay, okay, I'm here. Do you see me?" You turned your head to the side ever so slightly to see the Quinjet hovering below, but your heart dropped when all you could see were snow flurries blowing around - and zero sign of the super-soldier.

"No-"

"Just jump. I see you. I'm literally right below you, so jump, okay?"

"Are you crazy?"

"Do you trust me?" he yelled out, his voice carrying over on the frigid winds. "Y/N. Do you trust me?"

"But-"

"I've never let you down before and I sure as hell won't now. Trust me, Y/N, come on."

You pressed your lips together. You knew he was right. Either you made the jump now, or get filled with a dozen bullets and dying a brutal and gory death.

You finally bring yourself to look down again and there he is, a little closer this time. His gaze finds yours and suddenly, you're drowning. You might've been hundreds of feet apart but no distance would be able to extinguish his piercing gaze. His eyes were the ocean and you were lost at sea, lost in those endless pools of blue and losing yourself in him—the one guy who stuck by your side for so long and thought as nothing more than a best friend, a teammate until now. The one guy who took your breath away with his million-dollar smile every time you made eye contact.

In the one guy who you thought was just a friend, until you realized you were hopelessly in love with him - the Steve Rogers.

And now you weren't sure if you'd come out of this alive to finally tell him so.

You squeezed your eyes shut and let go. The wind whipping at your hair and face feels like a thousand tiny needles being jabbed into your skin and you swear if you kept your mouth open you would've puked - if you'd opened your eyes you knew you'd die from fear first before anything else.

But all those thoughts are suddenly put to a halt when you're stopped by a pair of strong, warm arms you'd sought solace in countless times before.

"Y/N, thank God you're alright, oh my god," Steve let out a shuddering sigh as he held you close, cradling your head against his chest. "I thought I lost you. Oh my god. Are you okay?"

"I just fell out of an airplane without a parachute and I have no idea how I survived."

His look of concern immediately turns into horror when he pulls his hand off your waist to see it come back covered in your crimson blood. His face falls. Then it hits you all at once, and you're overcome with a nauseating wave of dizziness - the aftereffects were beginning to get to your head.

The super-soldier hurriedly jammed a finger to his ear. "I got her. We're on our way back. Prepare the medbay; she's gonna have to be operated on as soon as we land."

"Yes, sir," a STRIKE agent replied from the receiving end. "We'll get right to it. Please have a safe flight home."

"Thank you."

Steve put the jet on autopilot so he could sit with you in the back, frantically applying pressure to your wound and doing his best to patch you up. But with each round the bandages made around your waist, the blood flow increased, seeping through the fabric. You didn't have to tell him directly for him to know you didn't have much time left and if he were to save you, you would need to get back home, fast.

...

As soon as Steve stepped down the ramp with your limp, unconscious body in his arms, he was bombarded by a flurry of medbay agents, who had you in a gurney and were wheeling you away within minutes. He tried to follow after them but Tony quickly grabbed his wrist and yanked him back.

"Let me go," he growled. "I swear to Odin, Stark, if you don't-"

"You can't follow her in there."

"I can if I want to."

Tony let out a sigh of defeat. "Rogers. She's going to be fine."

"How do you know? How can you possibly guarantee her survival?"

"I just know. Sheesh, you're a hopeless romantic."

...

You glanced over at the monitor tracking your vitals beside your bed, the constant beeping of the machines seemingly echoing in your brain on a loop. You were too exhausted to do anything at the moment, but you couldn't seem to fall back asleep, even with the drugs coursing through your system.

You try to shift around and find a more comfortable position, and felt a twinge of pain on your right side. Note to self; don't place all your body weight on the side where a bullet tore through your stomach. Bad idea.

Laying flat on your back again, you closed your eyes, willing yourself to fall back asleep. But sleep never comes, and a few minutes later a knock on your door pulls you out of your momentary trance.

"Hey there, soldier," you managed a sleepy grin as Steve stepped into the room, pulling up a chair to your bedside. "Nice weather outside, isn't it? Feels like just yesterday I was gunned down and forced to drive myself to near-suicide...wait, that was yesterday, right? I've lost all sense of time-telling-"

You paused and looked back over to see a rare sight - he was on the verge of breaking down. His bright blue eyes were dulled and glossed over with fresh tears that threatened to spill, and although it had barely been over a day since your admittance to the hospital, it looked like he hadn't slept in over a week. And it was all your fault.

"Are you okay...?"

He shook his head, clenching his fists in his lap so tightly that they began turning white. "You’re seriously asking me if I’m okay? I almost lost you. You almost died."

"I'm sorry-"

"If I hadn't gotten to you in time, then...I don't know what I'd do if-"

"Steve, it's not your fault."

"I let you down, Y/N." His voice was cracked and raw, as if he'd been crying for hours on end beforehand. Your heart shattered at the sound. "I let you down and I'm so sorry I couldn't get to you sooner. I'm sorry I left you alone on that ship because I didn't look out for you well enough. This is all on me. My job was to protect you, to look out for you. And I failed to do that."

"You didn't fail, Steve," you said softly. "You did your best. You saved me. I'm alive right now because of what you did."

The super-soldier inhaled sharply and moved his chair closer so he could reach his hand out to place it on your forehead, letting it stay there for a moment before sliding it down to cup your cheek. You didn't make any efforts to remove it and if you were being honest with yourself, you liked how his warm skin felt against your own. He smelled like honey and freshly ground coffee and everything good in the world. He made you feel like you were at home.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you let yourself bask in his warmth, melting into his soft touch. If it weren't for your currently uncomfortable predicament, you would've fallen asleep on the spot all over again.

"Something's on your mind, isn't there," you mumbled, eyes still closed. Even without your powers, it didn't take much for you to figure out that something was wrong. "Tell me what's going on."

You opened your eyes again to see that there were tears streaming down his face. He hastily tried to wipe them away with one hand as the other was gently placed on top of yours, but his efforts were fruitless, of no avail whatsoever.

"Steve-"

"I was so worried," he croaked out. "I don't want to think about how things would be if you died. I can't live without you."

"I'm here now, okay? I'm going to be fine. I'll heal," you said softly. "You saved me, you caught me, so now I'm okay. We're okay." You moved over slightly to give him room to sit. Steve's arms encircled your waist as yours slid down and over his shoulders, and he pressed his trembling lips to your temple.

It was quiet. Whispered oh-so-quietly, as if he was hesitant to open his mouth. But you heard it regardless.

"I love you."

You smiled sadly. "I know. I love you too."

"Just...please don't try and pull off something off like that again."

"I won't. I promise."

You heard each shaky inhale and exhale as he tried to regain his composure - strong arms tightening around your figure with his face buried into the crook of your neck. Letting out a trembling sigh, you held onto him even tighter as if by some miraculous way, doing so could keep him from falling apart. As if somehow, your arms being around him could squeeze all the million little shattered pieces of his heart back together again.

You knew deep down, exactly why he had been so afraid to watch you meet your potential end. It was the jet plunging into the depths of the icy blue, monstrous sea. He didn't want you to experience even a fraction of what he had and prayed you’d never have to. He swore a silent oath to himself to shield you away from as much of the horrifying world as he possibly could, but you were nearly dragged under by the clutches of Death herself that day, and he couldn't help but feel like he failed you.

You took in a deep breath, inhaling his fresh scent of coffee grounds and warm honey as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. For the briefest moment in time you could pretend everything was in fact, going to be okay, because it was just you and him wrapped up in each others' arms without a care in the world. It was just you and him, basking in each others' warmth, silent whispers of reassurance into his ear and repeated soft, fleeting kisses to his temple that reminded him you were still alive and breathing, and you were just fine.

For the first time in a long time, Steve Rogers felt whole again. The hole in his heart was gone, the void finally filled. And all it took was your presence, and your presence alone.

...

(if your username is striked out, that means i couldn’t add you)

general tags and mutuals who may be intersted (if your username is here, pls go check the taglist link in my bio to specify which specific taglist you’d like to be added to!): @sylvie-writes @zaddychris @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @sis-it-dont-add-up @tonystankschild @buckybarnesthehotshot @musicalkeys @carryonmywaywardbucky @thinkingofbuckybarnes @rynhaswritersblock @wheresmyjae @captainchrisstan @sandystoriess @patzammit @cicicantblog​

permanent tags: @sandwitch-god @renaissancecherub @poesflygirl

steve/chris tags: @speechlessxx @angrybirdcr @marvelfanatic16 @stainedsouvenir @smokeandnailz

[my-simp-land]

Broke Bitch Derby

I started this months ago and finally finished it today. It's okay. Fluffy but funny. Solid fic 1489 words :))

Life sucks with beginner’s luck. You go on a few missions, everything is a walk in the walk, you think you’ve mastered missions, wow everything is amazing, the boom. Broken leg.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the broke bitch herself. I never thought it would catch up to you.” Bucky Barnes was something else. He moved into the compound about the same time I did. At first, I thought it would mean that we would be close friends because we were finding our place in the compound at the same time. Wrong. We were like enemies in a friendly way. Like a rival but the same team. I still haven’t figured out what we’re fighting for, but it’s fun to pick at him sometimes.

“Oh. My. Goodness. The original broke bitch in the flesh. Will you sign my cast? Omg you’re my idol.”

The eye roll is strong with this one. “Ahaha. How funny. What’s next, doll? Want to touch the arm? Brush my hair?” He plops down on the couch beside me, being careful of my leg. We might fight like kids, but we’d never hurt each other.

“Well, you started it. Don’t start something you can’t finish.” All I get in response is a grunt.

I change the channel to Wheel of Fortune. These game shows have actually helped Bucky and Steve more than we thought they would. Now they watch them religiously. I go back to my book though.

We sit in silence like this often when it’s just us. If anyone else was in this area of the compound, in the compound at that, we would bicker and fight, but if it was just us, it was like that competition was gone. We were no longer rivals. There was no attention or favor to fight for. Of course, I wouldn't fight for attention. I understand he needs all he can get because of his time as the Winter Soldier, but I was just a regular freak that Steve picked up on the side of the road. It wasn’t that simple, but you get the jist.

“So....what ya reading?” I peel my eyes from the page. “Uh, it’s this book called Howl’s Moving Castle. I love to reread it every once in a while. There’s a movie, but it isn’t anything like the book. But in the best way possible.”

His eyebrow raises. He turns his head from the television to look at me. He’s doing that stupid smirk. I bet it stole many hearts in the forties…

“Are you saying the movie is better than the book?”

“What? No! This is a case where the book and the movie are both amazing. They focus on entirely different points of interest. The movie is a beautiful tale of love and accepting one’s self while the book is a magical adventure of societal structures and women’s place in society. They are both amazing pieces of art!”

“Here they go again. When are you two lovebirds gonna get on with it and get married? I can hear the wedding bells now.”

“TONY!” Bucky and I scream then our heads swivel back to each other and the fight begins.

“Well, I’m sorry that you have to get so butt hurt about some stupid book. Why can’t you just handle things like an adult?”

“That’s rich coming from you James. I don’t think you’ve handled anything like an adult. Should we bring up Steve’s apple pie? Or what about when you put pop-its under Sam’s toilet seat? Or the time you put KETCHUP PACKETS under Sam’s toilet seat?!”

The argument carried on for a few minutes more, but Tony must have gotten far enough away that the fire died out. We’re both children, so Bucky is cross armed at the television while my nose is back in my book. We probably sat like that for 30 minutes before the explosion happened.

Bucky sprung into action. I sat up as much as one could when their entire leg is in a cast. F.R.I.D.A.Y. comes over the intercom. “There has been a chemical leak in the east wing lab. Immediate evacuation is requested. We ask that you remain calm and follow the predetermined route outside. Further instructions will be given there.”

“Bucky, we’re in the east wing!”

“I know that! C’mon. We’ve got to go. Now.”

Bucky helps me off the couch. I grab my crutches, and we begin our journey outside. Everything is going fine and dandy. No one else seems to be in the east wing, so we carry on quickly. Well, until we get to the elevator.

“I’m sorry Miss. The elevator is not in working condition right now. I must ask that you take the stairs.”

My face falls. “The stairs? Friday, my leg is broken. There’s no way I can wobble down the stairs. Friday? Friday?!”

“I’ll carry you.”

“What? No. You are just gonna throw me down the stairs. I know what you did to Sam.”

“That was different!”

“How so? You were supposed to carry him down the stairs, just like me, but you threw him!”

“I did not throw Sam down the stairs! I rolled him down the stairs. I’m not gonna do that to you.”

“Why should I believe that?”

“Because you’re different. You’re different from everyone else. You’re not Steve or Sam or anyone else for that matter.”

“So, I’m throwable, but Sam isn’t?”

Something broke in him. His eyes darken and metal plates shift. He looks like he could growl. “You’re different than everyone. In the best way possible. Just like your book and movie. Everyone is them, but you’re you. So, let me help you!”

Something in me goes all warm and fuzzy. “Okay. I trust you.”

The air around us changes, There’s no more fear or anger. It’s like we’re a team. He sweeps me up into bridal position, but it’s a little more chaotic because one of my legs is straight out. We quickly descended the stairs. His arms around my body. My arms around his neck. Our faces have never been so close. I can feel his breath on my cheek. From the corner of my eyes, I can see his concentration. I can see the cogs spinning in his head, mapping out every step, so he doesn’t throw the both of us down the stairs. His blue eyes sparkle in the flashing red light. If I was in my right mind, I would even say he was beautiful.

We reach the bottom of the stairs, but he doesn’t put me down. He breaks out in a full sprint. I’m forced to hug his neck tighter. I pull myself into him, trying to make myself smaller for his advantage. It feels like I’m riding a horse. The huffing. The bouncing.

“What are you over there giggling about?”

“It’s like riding a horse. Your huffing, bouncing in your arms, the breeze on my face, the absolute terror of falling.”

“Oh, you think I’m a horse now? I’ll be a horse.” And like the absolute madman he is, Bucky starts doing some weird gallop run, Basically jostling me all around. It’s terrifying, but I can’t help but laugh. A big, full belly laugh. I grip his neck as he twirls and jumps around. Bucky begins to laugh, and not like the hardy hars he gives Sam and Steve. Full body laughs that fill me with happiness. We spin and jump and laugh. We’re like two birds but nowhere near as graceful. That part of me begins to beat and flutter ever fast.

We gallop our way outside, only to be met with no one. “Where is everyone?”

We start looking around from anyone when Tony calls to us from the roof. “There you two are! You missed the debrief. There was a spill. It was just some grape juice onto one of F.R.I.D.A.Y’s sensors. The alarms went off a while ago. Where were you guys?”

Bucky and I looked at each other. “We were trying to get out. I had trouble on the stairs, but we figured it out.”

“Uh huh. You two look like you were in a marathon or a tornado. Are you sure it was the stairs?”

We both scream “yep!” and hurry back inside. Well, Bucky hurried back inside. I can feel the heat coming off of Bucky’s face, so I'm sure he could feel the heat coming from mine.

We make it back to the commons area. Bucky carefully puts me back onto the couch and reclaims his place at my feet. I pick up my book and he continues watching Wheel of Fortune. It’s almost as if nothing happened, but something has changed.

“Hey Buck?”

“Yeah doll?”

“I wouldn’t oppose going horseback riding with you sometime.”

He throws his head back; his body full of laughter. “I wouldn’t mind either, doll.”

[anika-ann]

A Cup of Truth (S.R)

Type: One-shot, a bit of coffee shop AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!reader    Word Count: 3000

Summary: Your favourite pretty blond comes in every day to get a cup of good ol’ joe. You flirt on occasion; mostly you, because your suit of armour – which people boringly call an apron – and his smiles give you confidence.

When the band of dumb goons picks your damn workplace to attack, your confidence flies out of the window. Well. Good thing that the resident Avenger heroes save the day including the one in his all-American star-spangled glory.

Prompt: “You can’t mask that ass. I’d know it anywhere.” (Bold in the text)

Warnings: hostage situation, violence, non-consensual drug use/injected, hospitals, slightly crack-ish humour (?) and some fluff

A/N: For marvelcapsicle’s challenge. Thank you for letting me participate, darling, may you gain more and more sweet followers in the future ♥

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

Here’s a thing: Steve Rogers had a lot of fight in him. Before or after injected with the serum, no matter his shirt size, no matter if he could swing his fists effectively or not, he would punch bullies in their face.

When it came to people close to his heart, that rule amplified tenfold. No one touched the people he cared for. And while he would not necessarily call all of them friends, he would go rabid should any harm come their way.

To be fair, the list of ‘his people’ who were still alive wasn’t long; he could almost count them on the fingers of one hand. Tony. Natasha. Clint. Thor. Bruce. Probably Fury. Really, his circle was a bit monotonous, people who could protect themselves just fine at most times, but simultaneously with high-risk job of being the first defence line for the world’s greatest threats.

And then there was you.

You, with your inviting smile whenever he appeared at your counter at the café he had discovered during his endless walks.

You, handing him a drink different to his usual ‘boring’ cup of joe once a week, because that was the deal you had offered and Steve, caught in his curiosity about today’s world and your adorable challenging expression, agreed.

You, with your pretty eyes, irises twinkling at his attempts at flirting, no matter how awkward and out-of-time they sounded, graciously returning the favour… if he was reading the situation right.

You, always grinning wide when discovering a doodle he had left on his napkin, taking it with you back to the counter.

You, blissfully unaware of his double life, genuine in your demeanour, dealing with plain old Steve Rogers, and perfectly safe; at least as safe as one could be on Manhattan.

You in a headlock, as five rogue SHIELD agents decided to crash into the café you worked at of all the damn places, choosing it with deadly precision and nearly driving the poor Captain America into a cardiac arrest.

Not that you had any idea your life mattered to the proclaimed Star-Spangled Man more than anyone else’s. You were the exception to the rule; you were the precious outsider Steve caught feelings for, the one that was not supposed to learn about his other persona for at least a while longer and sure as hell was not supposed to get herself in a mess like this one.

Steve stood frozen as Natasha had two men at gunpoint, Clint fighting another, the last one having been already knocked down by Steve himself. The only injured people were the few customers, scarce at the hour, and the employees; some bruises and insignificant bleeding wounds between all of them.

The worst problem still remained; Perez had his arm around your neck, visibly squeezing your windpipe at least partly if the colour of your face – one stained in tears and Steve could kill at the moment, kill with no remorse – was anything to go by.

He gripped his shield tighter, staring the man down with his jaw clenched and his heart beating its way out of his chest, the syringe at your carotid scaring him more than the reduced airflow to your lungs.

“It’s over, Perez! Let her- let the woman go,” Steve howled, knees slightly bend in posture allowing him to spring forward at any second, to throw his weapon, to punch the living daylight of the bastard that not only betrayed SHIELD, but put his hands on you.

Big, big mistake. He really shouldn’t have done that.

“I like her exactly where she is, Cap,” Perez snarled, a wicked smile on his bloody lips, only his eyes giving away a fraction of his fear. “Move and she gets a ticket straight to hell.”

Perez was outnumbered and he knew it; even if he managed to escape, they would find him easily with Tony Stark’s system of surveillance. Yet, he tightened his grip and with you involuntarily acting like a human shield for him, he started backing away, gaze flickering between the three present Avengers.

Natasha’s right arm twitched as if she wanted to shoot him on spot – but she didn’t want to risk leaving the other two without the threat of immediate death for even a second.

And then several things happened at once; Clint knocked his opponent down with the construction of his bow; Perez who saw it lost his nerve and swiftly slammed the needle into your neck, piercing your skin easily, as easily as Steve’s panicked shout ripped from his throat.

The next second, an arrow was sticking from Perez’ shoulder as he jerked back with a cry of pain and Clint put another arrow through his hand, adding one to his thigh for a good measure. Two gunshots sounded in the background, Natasha’s aim as unmistakable as ever.

Perez fell to the ground with a scream, not even reaching for the gun in his holster before Steve was there to knock him out with a brutal hit straight to his face with his vibranium shield. The crack sounding at the impact was like music to Steve’s ears, the blood spurting from Perez’ nose a pleasant visual.

Yet, it didn’t feel half as satisfactory as Steve hoped as you had stumbled and toppled over your own feet. He barely managed to slow down your fall, gloved palm shooting up under the spot between your shoulder blades, his other hand holding your shoulder. He supported your enfeebled weight as you practically lied over the unconscious man.

Steve didn’t bother paying attention to his surroundings, knowing that the noise around him was Romanoff and Barton apprehending the remaining thugs. Instead, his gaze scanned you head to toe, focusing on your face and neck when he couldn’t find any other injury.

You were pale, eyes misted, unfocused, skin worryingly cold to his touch.

“Hey-- hey! Can you hear me?” Steve demanded urgently, lightly patting your cheek.

At that, your pupils zeroed on him, wide with disbelief, and to his immense shock, a lazy smile spread on your lips.

“Steve?” you breathed out his name and blood crystalized in his veins, his heart, already panicking, speeding up. How did you know his name? Perhaps the drug, the whatever liquid in the syringe was taking effect and you were turning delirious? Shit, they needed a doctor-- “You’re the pretty blond. Steve. My flirty Steve… my hero. Everyone’s hero.”

Steve’s horror escalated with each word. Good news: you were still breathing and apparently quite lucid, even if your speech was more of a mumble. Bad news: his secret identity just blew up.

Luckily, he considered the good news much more important; and lucid he would like to keep you, so he shot Natasha and Clint a meaningful glare, wordlessly asking them to call help. He wasn’t sure whether it registered because both of the spies were staring at him wide-eyed as the woman in his arms just outed him like the café’s regular… one that flirted with her, no less.

Steve cleared his throat, focusing on his mission – to keep you talking. There was no much point in denying it, was it?

“Eh... yeah, it’s me. How-how did you know? I wear a mask-“

“Muscly… real muscly… and that ass,” you muttered and Steve nearly choked on his spit, certain that he just turned red all over, including the area you pointed out.

Wait, did that mean that you had been checking him out?

So not important right now.

“Oh, uhm- how are you feeling? We have to-“

“You can’t mask that ass. I’d know it anywhere,” you continued babbling as if you hadn’t heard him and Steve gulped, feeling his teammates, who still hadn’t called a doctor, what the actual hell- watching you with interest. ”…could bounce a penny off it… no, that ain’t right, a quarter off of it, that’s it… Dream of it sometimes… biting-“

Clint coughed loudly to cover his laughter, finally springing into action after that uncomfortable remark that gave Steve quite a visual he wasn’t sure how he felt about just yet.

“Alright, as amusing as this is, we should get her some medical attention…”

Steve only took his eyes off of you for a moment, shooting Barton a look that screamed ‘You think?!’

“I want to touch it… please lemme touch it—just once,” you pleaded quietly, swaying even in your practically horizontal position, straining your neck to catch a glimpse of the object of your interest. “The best I’ve even seen-“

“I think it’s ethanol she got injected with…” Natasha announced, sniffing the syringe with disgust in her voice. “High concentration.”

And Steve felt like he just got hit by Thor’s hammer… in his head. Seriously?

“…alcohol?” he asked, dumbstruck and utterly relieved, the heavy weight in his stomach lifting a bit. “You think she’s merely… drunk?”

“Well, alcohol straight to the bloodstream is seriously nasty on its own, S-“

“Alcohol nasty, yesss. And this really hurts,” your voice interrupted Natasha and Steve’s heart clenched uncomfortably when the surprised grimace appeared on your face, your eyes indeed clouding in pain, looking up at him, doe-eyed, so vulnerable and trusting.

“Hey, no sad Steeb! Your eyes pretty too. Little pictures you draw… so suuuper cute. I like your hair. You came in the day, wind blew, so messy-- like bed hair, wanna try top that-- I betcha I can do better-“

“Sounds drunk enough to you?” Natasha hummed casually and Steve didn’t even have to look at her to know she was smirking, while he was both fretting over your state and blushing to the roots of his hair because of your blunt compliments and unfiltered fantasies.

You turned your head slowly to Nat as she spoke, a crooked grin curling up your lips. “Hey, you’re pretty too-“

Much to Steve’s annoyance, the Russian spy had the audacity to chuckle and wink at you.

“Why thank you-“

“But prefer blonds,” you babbled again, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “He’s real nice. His biceps are like… huge. Bigger than my head-- ow, my head… spi-spinning- I think-? Whoa— oh… “

Steve called out your name in panic as you went limp in his arms, your body pliant, folding like a house of cards.

“I like her,” Clint noted as he jogged to Steve’s side, kneeling to take your pulse on the unharmed carotid with a furrow to his brows. “The medics are on their way, she’ll hold on until then.”

Steve sighed in relief when Clint nodded in affirmation again, feeling your heart still beating.

Steve’s grip on your tightened, hand sliding behind your head to cradle it gently rather than letting it dangle in such unnatural angle. He manoeuvred it so your cheek rested against his chest, his newly free hand sneaking under your knees so he could lift you with ease as he stood up.

“Nice, Rogers. Keep going like this, squads with weights, and you’ll keep that exceptional ass of yours in shape,” Natasha teased him, but when he turned to glare at her, she gave him a soft smile and beckoned towards your nearly motionless body. “She’ll be okay. Let’s go get her some help.”

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

Your head was pounding. The right side of your neck was itchy as hell and felt extremely stiff. The beeping sounding in your ears was a thing from nightmares, echoing in your aching skull.

You felt like shit and honestly, you could cry when you tried to open your eyes and the sharp light hit them, making you swiftly close them again.

A realization slowly crept at you that there was a presence of an intrusive smell too, making you want to puke— or was that just the brutal hangover? Because you felt unbelievably hungover on top of everything. The world seemed to be spinning even behind your closed eyelids and you couldn’t but groan, deciding to only curse the universe mentally since your throat resembled a Sahara Desert.

“Oh, hey gorgeous,” a female voice greeted you from your left and you snapped your eyes open with a startle, staring with shock at the beautiful redhead sitting by your bedside.

For few long seconds, you wondered if you died and went to heaven, because there was a non-descript angelic-like creature watching over you.  You quickly brushed that thought aside, because there was no way Heaven looked like a hospital room and provided you with such shitty sensations attacking your poor body.

So you asked the only logical question, ignoring the dryness of your mouth which soon cause you to cough.

“…who are you?”

A plastic cup with a heavenly cold liquid landed in front of you, the straw sticking from it directed to your lips as the stunning woman frowned discontentedly.

“Oh, you don’t remember?” she asked, seemingly hurt. “My heart is breaking! You told me I was pretty.”

You blinked slowly, finally adjusting to the light, finally able to talk without pain (that much pain, that was) and your head started pounding some more, embarrassment filling every fibre of your being.

What the- oh god, you had really got drunk, hadn’t you, and now you had a total blackout on what you had been up to in your questionable state.

“Eeeer… I did? I mean, you are… but-“

“But you prefer blonds, yeah, I know,” the mysterious woman finished your sentence to her liking and your eyes went wide. How did she- and who was she again, sitting in your hospital room like that? Had you really got so smashed that you didn’t remember her when you should have? When had you met? Shit, your mind was so foggy… “And you think Steve’s a bit prettier. And his ass is the best you’ve ever seen, so I get it…”

“The hell?!” you squealed in utter horror, sitting up straight as the words registered, a flash of blue, red and white flickering in the back of your mind, followed by a sharp stung in your temples. A nauseatingly strong pain resembling an intense cramp – only like ten times worse – shot up your neck as you moved so quickly, ripping a startled yelp from your throat.

A hazy image of the café you worked at blended into a picture Steve’s beautiful eyes – did this woman know your regular, your handsome flirty blond regular? –, sensation of gentle hands cradling your jaw, a sting in your neck—

“You need to be careful with how much you move. Your neck took quite a hit, they had to perform a surgery on you, you got a transfusion. They worried about your brain too. They’ve been monitoring you for four days now and this is the first time you’re awake,” your stranger explained patiently, voice full of compassion.

Your hand involuntarily rose to massage the incriminated place, still unsure of what the woman was talking about, the images in your brain confusing the hell out of you. You still had no idea who she was, but her face was starting to feel a bit familiar – you assumed that whatever had happened, she had been there too, possibly helping you.

And there was something in her green eyes, cautious yet somewhat calming, making it easy to trust her for some inexplicable reason.

“Steve’s gonna be pissed at me for missing it,” she added and grinned. “I made him leave to take care of himself before he could actually start taking roots in here. He’s been worried too. A lot.”

The amount of question marks in your head just doubled, but at the same time, your heart fluttered. Steve had visited you? Often, apparently? That was really, really sweet of him. The thought of him guarding you – and didn’t he have a physique of a bodyguard, once mentioning he was in private security when asked –, brought a dreamy smile to your face.

Perhaps it wasn’t only about flirting for him either…?

“Keep looking so lovestruck and I might forgive him that he hasn’t mention you before. Though I guess I can’t blame him, wanting to keep— anyway. I’m Natasha. Nice to meet you,” she extended her hand towards you at last and you automatically accepted it, telling her your name in return.

Even though that was probably beside the point seeing as she had been found at your bedside in a hospital.

“Hi, Natasha. Nice to meet you too… I think.”

The redhead burst out into a quiet laughter at your hesitance. “Fair enough. After Steve comes back and explains what exactly happened – because it’s not quite my place to tell you –, call me back for the good details. It’s fun to make him blush.”

Despite just only having met this woman, you decided that you kinda liked her and nodded in acceptance of her offer. Steve might be sweet – perhaps even sweet on you it seemed – but some harmless teasing could never hurt. Not when it apparently had something to do with his glorious ass.

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

Here’s a thing: Steve Rogers had a lot of fight in him. Before injected with the serum or after, no matter his shirt size, no matter if he could swing his fists effectively or not, he would fight for what mattered.

His teammates and friends certainly fell into the category. The somewhat relationship he had been trying to build with you was right there with them, definitely worth fighting for.

So, after revealing his identity – an action which become inevitable at that point, really – he had a delicate confession to make and a bold question to ask in an almost shy voice. He still asked it, because he would be damned if he gave up on you.

You said yes, your confession about certain harboured feelings matching his.

You said yes, you would like to go out with him very much, because you liked him too.

And no, it wasn’t just because he owned the best backside you had ever seen. Steve Rogers was, according to you, quite memorable and worth fighting for in general too.

(Steve, over time, might have developed a bit of a love-hate relationship with the fact you were getting along with Natasha so well. It was good news and bad news at the same time, seeing as it often resulted in the two of you teaming up against him. Once again, the good news won him over… because he simply loved how easily you fit into his world and how surprisingly well he fit into yours.)

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

S.R. masterlist

⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰

Thank you for reading :-*

It’s once a again a bit different from my usual writing; it’s short (like wtf me? short?) and it’s with a quote that is hard to do justice to... so I hope you liked it at leats a bit. Feedback always appreciated :-*

[buckybarnesthehotshot]

iv: i hate you but i’m too tired for this shit (bucky barnes x reader)

i hate you but masterlist

summary: bucky and y/n can’t stand each other, but y/n needs help with her sister’s kids (enemies to lovers au)

word count: 2061

warnings: swearing, arguing, death, and this is not proofread

taglist is CLOSED

       “Do you know where y/n is?” Bucky raised a brow at Sam as he pulled a carton of milk from the now-replaced fridge.

      “Why? Are you gonna accuse her of burning the kitchen down again this time? I don’t think she burned down any kitchens today,” Sam chuckled, his gaze wandering around the newly repaired kitchen.

       “No, it’s not tha—” Bucky tried to explain, only to get interrupted by Sam breaking out in a fit of laughter.

       “Man, you’re in love with y/n! That’s why you’re always pissing her off!” Sam exclaimed excitedly, earning a smack across the shoulder from Bucky.

       “Why do you always assume people are in love with other people? Last week, you said the guy in front of us in the café was in love with the barista just because he took ten seconds longer than he was supposed to for ordering a drink,” Bucky rolled his eyes at Sam’s childish remarks.

       “You should’ve seen him! He was making heart eyes at her!” Sam exclaimed, holding his arms up in defense.

       “He was on the phone with his girlfriend, Sam!” Bucky pointed out.

       “Okay, that was a mistake on my part, but why are you looking for y/n?” Sam raised a brow at Bucky as he crossed his arms.

       “She borrowed my van four days ago and she never came back,” Bucky shrugged.

       “That’s because she went on an indefinite break from staying at the tower and all her Avengers duties. She even sent Fury an email about it,” Sam chuckled before pausing as his eyes widened, “wait, you let y/n borrow something you own?”

       “She was doing that weird thing with her eyes; you know the one she uses to get information when we’re undercover?” Bucky scratched the back of his neck, struggling to describe what exactly it was y/n did to get him to hand over his van keys.

       “You fell victim to her puppy eyes? Damn man, I thought it would take more than to get you to crack,” Sam broke out in a fit of laughter as Bucky scowled.

       “Yeah, well, she did this thing where she held onto my shoulders and started shaking me!” Bucky exclaimed defensively. Sam shook his head as his laughter slowly began dying down.

       “Man, so if HYDRA decided to capture you and gave you the puppy dog eyes, you would give up all the information they want you to give up?” Sam raised a brow at Bucky. Bucky, as though in deep thought, averted his gaze as he swiped his lip with his tongue.

       “Well, no but—”

       “Man, I should tell Fury to start looking for a replacement now,” Sam quipped.

       “All I’m asking is you know where she’s staying? I wanted to pick up a few things from the hardware store, but since y/n has my van, I can’t really do that,” Bucky questioned, pouring milk in his cereal bowl.

       “Can’t you have FRIDAY call her? Wait, she’s your teammate, you should have her number!” Sam pointed out as Bucky attempted to argue with a mouthful of cereal.

        “She banned,” Bucky paused to swallow his food before continuing, “from contacting her through FRIDAY or via her phone number.”

       “That’s all on you, Barnes,” Sam chuckled before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and walking away.

       “FRIDAY, can I have a location on y/n?” Bucky requested as soon as Sam was out of earshot. To Bucky, talking to someone he couldn’t see was a little weird at first. Sure, when he was in Wakanda, he’d seen Shuri do it plenty of times, but he just assumed she had someone on comms. That was why the first time FRIDAY greeted him, he was startled—and whether or not he’d admit it, he pissed his pants a little too.

       “Unfortunately, Agent l/n blocked any requests for her information,” FRIDAY explained. Bucky groaned in frustration; he just wanted his van back. Was that too much to ask for? That was when he was struck by an idea.

       “FRIDAY, can I please have a location on my van?” Bucky requested, silently praying that his van did not somehow end up in another state.

       “Your van is parked outside an apartment complex in downtown New York. Shall I send the coordinated to your mobile device?” FRIDAY questioned.

       “Yes, please,” Bucky responded as he downed down the leftover cereal milk in his bowl.

       Bucky checked his phones from any notifications from FRIDAY and there it was on his lock screen: y/n’s home address.

       “FRIDAY, set my GPS on my motorcycle to the location of my van,” Bucky requested.

       “The GPS on your motorcycle has been set,” FRIDAY responded.

       Bucky left his bowl on the counter and headed into his bedroom to grab a pair of sneakers and a pale green jacket. He stared at the dark glove on his nightstand in consideration for a moment.

       Even after he’d been pardoned for his crimes under HYDRA, people always had that underlying fear that Bucky would revert to his ways with HYDRA and the Avengers would be unable to do anything about it. Luckily for him, the people of New York only ever recognized him when his vibranium arm was on full display. After all, not that many people in New York sported a vibranium arm and a perfected scowl.

        After careful consideration, he decided to ditch the glove for the day and hope the jacket would cover up the arm the way he wanted it to. After all, he was just heading to y/n’s apartment and he would head back to the compound.

       He pulled his—well, it used to be Steve’s before the old man gifted it to him—motorcycle keys off the hooks on the wall and headed to the parking basement where he kept his beloved Harley Davidson. He mounted the bike and sped off, following the directions in which the GPS directed him through.

       A grin found its way to the super soldier’s face. He was brought back to his younger days as he and Steve rode through the busy streets of Brooklyn whenever the Howling Commandoes didn’t have any missions to partake in—which was pretty rare. He felt young and carefree as his wind blew through his dark locks.

       He remained like that for a while; in a state of nostalgia and an uncharacteristically happy grin on his face as he dashed through the busy streets. He only broke out of it upon hearing FRIDAY’s voice announcing that he was at his location; a shockingly large apartment complex.

       “Shit,” he swore upon realizing y/n would be a bit tougher to locate than he thought. He didn’t think y/n’s life outside the tower would be as glamorous or at least not boring as it was. He was, of course, proved wrong at the sight of the massive building. Did y/n live in an apartment or a condominium?

       Luckily, as Bucky entered the buildings (after having some complications with the metal detector, of course) he noticed there was a concierge stationed at the front desk. He silently prayed to whoever was listening that the lady stationed there would tell him which floor and which apartment number he could find y/n in.

       “Good morning, sir, what can I help you with?” the lady—she couldn’t have been a day over thirty—greeted Bucky, a soft smile on her face.

       “Hi, uh, I’m here for y/n l/n. Do you know what unit she’s in?” Bucky questioned, leaning closer to the desk. He didn’t want to raise his voice; the whole lobby of the complex just seemed like such a peaceful place he didn’t want to disrupt.

       “Just a moment sir,” the woman smiled before dialing a number on the telephone and speaking to who he just assumed was y/n, “She’s in unit 8E on the eight floor, sir.”

       “Thank you,” Bucky smiled as he headed into one of the thankfully empty elevators. He didn’t know why, but since his first elevator ride, he always found riding an elevator—an enclosed metal box—with a stranger filled him with unease.

       Bucky arrived at the beige-carpeted hallway of the building as he passed by the abstract paintings hung on the wall and the doors with the unit number engraved in them. A, B, C, D; he passed by them all until he reached y/n’s door. He brought his fist up to the door before realizing there was a slight racket going on from within the door.

       That was when he panicked; was his teammate in trouble? No, there would’ve been more noise if y/n really was in trouble. Of all the times he’d worked with her, y/n was known to let out a battle cry here and there whenever she got into a physical confrontation.

       He relaxed, flicking his wrist against the smooth wooden door and waiting a moment for it to swing open and reveal a very tired-looking y/n who carried a wailing toddler in her arms.

       “You��re not the gelato guy,” y/n frowned, pulling a chuckle from Bucky.

       “And there’s no way in hell you’re y/n. You didn’t tell me you had a kid!” Bucky exclaimed, shocked at what he was seeing.

       “First of all, we aren’t close enough for me to disclose that kind of information with you. Second, she’s not mine. Well, she kind of is but not really,” y/n shrugged, “wait, why are you here?”

       “You borrowed my van,” Bucky raised a brow as he crossed his arms.

       “Oh yeah, you might want to take a seat, though. I know it’s somewhere here, but the past days have been pretty hectic,” y/n chuckled dryly, stepping aside and letting Bucky into her apartment. The action itself shocked him a little. In all his days living with y/n, she’d never once invited him into her room or any room she was in whenever he needed something. On a normal day, she would’ve shut her door for a while and opened it as she chucked the item right at him before slamming the door shut again.

       Bucky took in his surroundings; y/n’s apartment looked as though it was supposed to be a peaceful place. The spacious apartment’s furnishings matched those of the compound’s, yet it all felt more like an actual home compared to the compound.   However, it didn’t take him long to realize some things were placed where they weren’t supposed to.

       There were articles of clothing on the floorboards, a toy or two there, a pack of diapers in the corner of the room, and a child wrapping his arms around a sobbing teenage girl on the couch. Wait, a child and a teenage girl? How many people did y/n live with?

        He awkwardly took a seat on one of the seats by the plush velvet sofa, trying to avert his gaze from the two on the couch near his seat. His super soldier hearing, however, betrayed him as he heard every sob and every word that fell from the teenager’s lips.

       “I just can’t believe it!” the girl sobbed, her eyes red and puffy.

       “It’s gon be okay, Livvy. Mommy’s gonna go back,” a smaller voice came to comfort her. A smile found its way to Bucky’s face as he heard the child’s attempt to comfort ‘Livvy’. God, it had been so long since he’d seen that kind of innocence in his life.

       “I found your keys,” came y/n’s voice from behind him as she pressed the cold metal against his flesh hand.

       “Did you kidnap these kids with my van?” Bucky quipped, his brows furrowing as he watched the interaction happening on the couch.

      “Look, I’ll explain everything later if you end up sticking around. I’m too tired to even banter with you at this point,” y/n shook her head. As if on que, a knock came at the door and she swung it open to reveal the gelato guy!

       “So, you’re fine with me just, staying here?” Bucky raised a brow in suspicion.

       “Join us for breakfast if you want to. Just, try not be such a pain in the butt, Barnes,” y/n sighed. Bucky noticed how uncharacteristically tired she sounded. With a small nod, he took a seat at the dining table in her kitchen area. It wasn’t like he had much for breakfast, what harm could a little more food do?

i hate you but taglist: @sarcastic-britt​​ / @kmuir1​​ / @shower-me-with-roses​​ / @justab-eautifulmess​​ / @thomasthetankson​​ / @x-abi-sharp-x​​ / @intovert-gone-wild​​ / @brittanymcsharry​​ / @leaving-the-past-behind​​ / @xoxabs88xox​​​ / @mylifeiscrazy0423​​​ / @howliebucky​​​ / @i-cry-so-much​​​ / @witchything​​ /   @naimalove143​​ / @simplybarnes​​ /

Forever tags: @spatium-viatorem​​​​ / @sxphiiwrld​​​​ / @strangersstranger​​​​ / @nerdy-bookworm-1998​​​ / @cutie1365​​​ / @valeriiaaass​​ / @adorkably​​ / @whatinthyworld​​ /

MARVEL TAGLIST: @captainamerica-is-bae​​​

BUCKY TAGLIST: @missmidnightxo​​​ / @tinymalscoffee​​ / @howliebucky​​ /