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lostloveletters · 2 months

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Crimson and Clover (Bucky Egan x OC)

Summary: Bucky expects a lot of things when he arrives at Thorpe Abbotts, but Holly Dean isn't one of them. He's not complaining, though.

Word count: 5.1k

Note: I wrote most of this in a notebook over the past 3 days so my hand hates me, but I hope y’all like this! This fic covers pretty much from when Holly and Bucky meet to about Damn Yankees (mid-May to mid-June). Title comes from the song (Joan Jett version, we're bisexuals here). Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies (I’m playing a little fast and loose with who was at Thorpe Abbotts early with Bucky). Depictions of grief and depression. Period typical attitudes.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Bucky asked.

“Some of the Air Exec girls are having another typing contest,” Dye said.

“Who’s the favorite to win?”

“Dean’s won the past two, but Spinelli’s pretty good.”

He was glad to have caught Lieutenant Glenn Dye when he did. The guy had been making a beeline to the Air Exec office when Bucky joined him. His first night there, and already some kind of action—socially, at least. No one had been able to tell him when exactly he’d actually get to join McDaniels’ crew on a mission, but he was itching to get up there, even despite the weariness McDaniels carried with him.

He looked a lot more relaxed in the Air Exec office, standing toward the front of the bustling chaos with Duvall, his navigator. Bucky and Dye pushed their way through the people packed in like sardines to witness the typing contest. Dread fell over Bucky for a split second. What if that was the most exciting thing going on at Thorpe Abbotts?

A shout carried over the conversations. “Last chance to place your bets, ladies and gents!”

“Over here!” Duvall fished a quarter from his pocket. “I’m in on Pinkowsky.”

“You’re throwing your money away,” McDaniels said.

Bucky pulled a crumpled dollar bill out of his pocket and placed it in the outstretched hat next to Duvall. “Put a dollar on Dean for me.”

A young woman with blonde hair in messy twin braids and oil-stained coveralls rushed over, nearly knocking into Duvall. “Hey, did I miss it?”

“Just about to start. Hey Major, have you met Woody yet?” Duvall asked.

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t believe I have.”

“Private Woodward—Woody,” she said. “I’d shake your hand, Major, but I’d probably stain it.” She held up her right hand, covered in black grime that she made some effort to scrub out before arriving.

“Major John Egan, but everyone calls me Bucky,” he said, before gesturing to the women sitting around the office. “So who’s who in this thing?”

Of the Air Exec typists, three were competing in the typing contest that night. Nancy Pinkowsky, a Floridian, sat a little toward the back of the room, as she applied red lipstick in a small compact mirror. Leona Spinelli of Newark, New Jersey, had her heels—sleek black pumps, not regulation—kicked up on the desk of one Holly Dean, straight from the nation’s capital with the brightest smile and sparkling brown eyes Bucky had ever seen in his life.

“He bet a buck on Holly to win,” Dye said.

“You bet on Holly, and you haven’t even met her yet?” Woody asked.

Bucky grinned. “Intuition. I got a good feeling about her.”

“You’re right about that.” Woody smiled. “She’s my best friend.”

His eyes scanned the room as he tried to commit faces to memory, but his gaze kept drifting back to Holly until she caught him staring and responded with a smile that he couldn’t help but return. He moved to make his way over and say something to her, but his introduction was interrupted by the announcement for the competing Air Exec girls to get to their desks, and all spectators to shut the hell up.

Holly’s eyes met his again, only to fall to the blank page in front of her when he blinked. From the sound of just three typewriters clicking away incessantly, Bucky could tell he’d end up with a headache if he stayed stuck as Air Exec, and that would be on top of the inevitable hangovers.

Her fingers moved fluidly across the keys, her face calm and focused, no evidence of her smile to be seen.

He finally tore his gaze from her to glance at Woody at his side, the mechanic silently bouncing back and forth on her feet, bottom lip between her teeth. Her focus was fixed on Holly, too.

“Finished!” Holly shouted to a cacophony of cheers and groans.

Two guys walked over, one of whom had been collecting everyone's bets. Scanned the paper and muttered between themselves for an agonizing minute before one of them announced Holly had, in fact, won with no mistakes and an impressive word per minute count.

Woody bounced back and forth on her feet, excitedly grabbing Bucky’s arm. “Beat her own record!”

“Attagirl, Holly!” Bucky shouted.

Just as soon as the chaos began, it promptly ended with Holly’s win. No reason to stick around after hours any more. Don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here, as Bucky had heard many a bartender say at last call. People slowly filtered out of the office.

A few bills and some change were shoved into his hand. “Here’s your cut. $4.50.”

He raised his eyebrows, slipping the money into his pocket. Not bad for his first night in East Anglia.

Holly didn’t recognize the man standing next to Woody, but something about him seemed familiar, comforting without the ache that usually accompanied thoughts of home, of…she figured it best not to spoil the rush of her win before she even reached Woody and met the man smiling her way.

Woody threw her arms around Holly in congratulations, their embrace lasting a few seconds before remembering they weren’t alone.

“Oh, Holly! This is Major John Egan. Just landed a few hours ago,” Woody said, her arm around Holly. “Major, this is Sergeant Holly Dean, typing queen.”

“Quit it!” Holly laughed. “You’re the new Air Exec officer, aren’t you?” She extended her hand. “Good to meet you, Major.”

Bucky shook her hand. “Looks like you’re batting 300, Sarge. I gotta keep you on my roster.”

“Starting lineup?” she asked.

“You bet,” he said. “You’re from DC, aren’t you? You must be a Nats fan.”

“Sure am,” she said, with all the foolhardy pride of someone devoted to an ever-struggling team. “How about you?”

“Yankees.”

“So you’re from New York!”

He shook his head. “Manitowoc, Wisconsin.”

“How does a man from Wisconsin end up a Yankees fan, Major?”

“I know winners when I see ‘em,” he said with a wink. “And call me Bucky.”

“Alright, Bucky.”

The two women leaned into each other, sharing an expression Bucky couldn’t quite read. Their closeness palpable, he found himself missing Buck. Probably would’ve had something to say about his betting on a typing contest, and Bucky would astutely point out typing wasn’t a sport, receiving an eye roll accompanied by a movie star smile of amusement in return.

“I hate to be that person,” Woody said apologetically, “but we should be heading back now.”

He nodded. "Right, well it was nice meeting you, Woody. I’ll see you tomorrow, Holly.”

“Bright and early, Bucky.”

——

Despite being in East Anglia for less than 24 hours, Bucky knew Thorpe Abbotts wasn’t anything to write home about, even if he had someone to write home to. The Rip Van Winkle village was only woken up from its slumber by the arrival of the United States Army Air Force and Red Cross. Local farmers were forced to trade a rooster’s morning crow for the roar of bomber planes as their alarm clocks. The English and Irish laborers who worked around the base considered their American compatriots novel and exotic—or a nuisance, depending on who he was talking to.

Found out there was a pub in town. Headed over with some of the other pilots and local laborers the night before. Good drinks, fun company, and a pretty barmaid. At least he wouldn’t have to rely on typing contests and the officers’ club exclusively to get his kicks. Though, if the typing contests happened regularly enough, he’d be looking at a decent payday if he kept betting on Holly to win. A guy the previous night had argued that Spinelli would win often enough, but Bucky, in all of his misguided superstition, figured there must have been something to going into the damn thing blind and making the best bet.

When Bucky got to the office, he almost couldn’t believe it was the same place that had been bursting at the seams the night before. Nancy Pinkowsky’s lips bore no trace of the bold red she painted on them. Leona Spinelli wore WAAC-issued heels, clacking across the floor as she walked over to a file cabinet. And Holly Dean’s brown eyes were dull, framed by light purple crescents below them.

Bucky frowned, making his way over to her.

“Morning, Sergeant,” he said.

“Good morning, Major.”

“Rough night?”

She gave him a tired smile. “Something like that. Did you get a chance to meet Corporal Pinkowsky or Sergeant Spinelli last night, sir?”

“Afraid I didn’t,” he said, a charming smile spreading across his face. “I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other pretty well. Major John Egan, but you can call me Bucky.”

They all seemed more controlled, stifled in contrast to the night before as they introduced themselves. Women always had personas to shift in and out of, social chameleons depending on the situation. Bucky had gotten along just fine without watering himself down for anybody, but as an old paramour of his had pointed out to him, he had the distinct advantage of being a man, and the world was far more forgiving to men with character than women, who had to shrink themselves to fit into perfume bottles, lipstick tubes, or in the cases of Holly, Nancy, and Leona, ribbons of typewriter ink.

“Looking forward to working with you, Major,” Nancy said, her long, dark eyelashes fluttering. She desperately wanted to be a flirt, but lacked the nerve to follow through.

Always sharp, Leona hardly missed a thing. Her attention could be unsettling, too intimidating for some people unless they knew her well enough. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Bucky shifted his weight on his feet, looking away from Leona.

“Oh, Colonel Huglin’s looking for you,” Holly said.

He sighed. “That sounds about right. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Major.”

As soon as the door to Huglin’s office shut behind him, Nancy and Leona’s focus turned squarely to Holly, their attention weighing her down. She knew exactly what they were going to ask, anticipating their disappointment at her answer that no, she didn’t know if the handsome Major was taken. She would have been surprised if he were.

“So, what’s his deal?” Nancy asked.

Leona leaned over her desk. “Yeah, I saw you talking with him last night.”

“Well, he’s from Wisconsin, but he’s a Yankees fan.”

Nancy groaned. “You know what baseball team he likes, but you didn’t find out if he has a girlfriend?”

“What, you wanna make your move after flopping last night?” Leona teased, her cat-like gaze drifting over to Holly. “Besides, he’s got his sights set on you, Holly Dean.”

Holly shook her head. “I’m not ready to even consider anything romantic. You know that. I’ll never say ‘no’ to making a friend, though.”

“He might,” Nancy said.

“Well then you ask him if he’s getting his dick wet, if you’re so curious,” Leona said, snickering at the way Nancy’s face paled. “See, you need someone more your speed. Hey Holly, he say when the other flyboys were getting in?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t mention it.”

“Geez, maybe Nancy’s got a point. Is baseball all you talked about with the guy?” Leona asked.

The women’s chattering fell to whispers when Bucky stepped out of Huglin’s office a few minutes later. Perhaps Holly hadn’t noticed it sooner, caught up in the throes of her own exhaustion following a near sleepless night, but Bucky was quite clearly hungover. He certainly hadn’t kept his aviators on inside for style, that much became abundantly clear as he rubbed his forehead. The three typists shared wordless side glances at the state of him. First day on the job and probably got chewed out already.

“Any of you know where a guy can get aspirin?” he asked.

“There’s a first aid kit in the cabinet over there. Should be some,” Holly said.

“Thanks.”

“Of course, sir.”

They went back to typing, silently, slowly, glancing up every now and then to watch Bucky rifle through the first aid kit and promptly dry swallow two aspirin pills. He haphazardly shoved the contents back inside the box and closed it, shoving the first aid kit back into the cabinet. He retreated into his own office, presumably to sleep off whatever ailed him.

“Forget him,” Nancy whispered, only loud enough for her compatriots to hear. “He hasn’t even been here a day and he’s hungover. That’s sick.”

Holly gave her a pointed look. “Don’t be rude, Nance.”

“And he made a mess of the first aid kit.”

“I got it,” Leona huffed, getting up from her desk. “You’re such a baby sometimes.”

Nancy stuck her tongue out at Leona as soon as her back was to them.

Holly liked them both well enough, at least more than some of the other women in the Air Exec office. Considered them friends, close enough to go out with, share some drinks and laughs, but she never quite clicked with them on the same level she did Woody. Some kind of disconnect emotionally, never quite able to meet her energy the way she needed.

The two had met in San Francisco a little over a year prior, the weekend Stan was being sent off to the Pacific. Holly went with him, glad she had in hindsight, and among the mischief they got up to their last weekend together, one of Stan’s Navy buddies, Frank, invited them to a party. Woody had been Frank’s date, and in a city bustling with women who'd signed up to help Navy or Marines, the two WAAC women bonded right away. Like the stars aligned. The best weekend of their lives. Nothing short of a relief when they were both stationed at Thorpe Abbotts.

She wasn’t quite sure how to describe her relationship with Woody. Friends didn’t encapsulate the complexity of how deeply she felt for her, the certainty with which she knew she could rely on her. She found herself hard pressed to find anyone who understood her the way Woody did.

Holly didn’t see Bucky for a few more hours, and wondered how he could possibly get shut-eye with all of the commotion. If it wasn’t the combined clicking of half a dozen typewriters, it was the talking, a whirlwind of new reports and telegrams and projects to be started and those subsequently scrapped near completion because something had changed, which then affected everything else and brought everyone back to square one.

Quite different from the law firm she worked for as a typist prior to the war. Typically kept up case files and typed up minutes and summaries for various meetings. Sometimes, the lawyers would bring her with them on the cases that went to trial instead of being settled out of court, needing a typist to sit in and record testimonies. While her knowledge of shorthand helped back then, learning the United States Army Air Force acronyms and jargon was like learning another language, not to mention the plethora of accents she had to interpret on top of that.

At least it was interesting work, important work. Kept her on her toes, like she figured Bucky would, as around noon, when she made her leave to get lunch, he emerged from his office and rushed over to her just as she was walking out the door.

“Mind if I join you? I’m still learning my way around,” he said.

“Isn’t half your job knowing where you’re going, Major?” she joked.

He grinned. “That’s the navigator’s job. I’m a pilot, doll.”

“Well, I’m no navigator, but I think I can get us to mess in one piece, as long as you don’t mind walking.”

“Not at all.”

“You won’t be saying that for long, believe me. It rains so much here, you’d think you’d need a rowboat to get around.”

“Know where I can find one of those?”

She shook her head. “What you need is a bike. They’re hard to get a hold of, but since you’re a Major and all, you can probably get your hands on one easier than most.”

“See? I’m learning from you already.”

On their walk over, it became clear Bucky’s fanaticism for the Yankees rivaled Holly’s feverish devotion to the Nationals, and when he made a joke at their expense, he almost thought she took it as a personal offense. She also made a passing remark about how if she had any doubts about city life, it had been snuffed out after a mere two weeks in Thorpe Abbotts, the countryside charm wearing off rather quickly for her. Bucky agreed, neglecting to mention he hadn’t experienced much of fast-paced, city living himself, but he knew he’d thrive in it given the opportunity.

“So, you writing to anyone back home?” he asked when they found a table to sit at.

“Just my parents and a few friends.”

“No boyfriend?”

Her lips pressed together in a thin line. “No.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, I don’t have a girlfriend or anything.”

“It’s not that. I was engaged but…he died.”

“Was he a pilot?”

She shook her head. “Navy. Was killed at Midway last year. His name was Stan.”

“Shit, yeah,” he said softly, “I remember watching the newsreels from that.”

“I could never bring myself to watch ‘em.”

Biggest naval battle in history. The headlines screamed it. Boisterous radio and newsreel announcers regaled the public on the heroic exploits of the members of the Navy and Marines who took on and triumphed over their formidable Japanese enemies. He remembered the restless envy that tore through his gut with each newspaper article, each newsreel—not over the coverage or accolades, but of the action. Lucky bastards got to give the enemy a taste of their own medicine while the 100th was still running practice missions. He hadn’t considered the losses very much. Didn’t have reason to until then.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Holly. I feel like a real jerk.”

She shrugged, a weak smile spreading across her lips. “Don’t apologize, you couldn’t have known. Just make sure you hit ‘em where it hurts when you’re up there. Doesn’t matter what continent. It’s all the same.”

He nodded. “You got it, Sarge. I’m goin’ up in two days. We’ll give ‘em hell.”

“Good,” she said. Cleared her throat, tried to shake off the sadness that slithered through her like a snake. “So, where’s the rest of the 100th?”

“Got lost coming over here,” Bucky said, laughing when her eyes widened. “Hey, I’m kidding! They’re still training stateside. They’ll be here in a few weeks. June, probably.”

“Anyone single?” Holly asked, quickly adding, “Leona and Nancy wanted me to ask.”

“Off the top of my head? Crank, Douglass, Brady, DeMarco…” He grinned. “Hey, maybe you can type up a list for me.”

She laughed. “Sure I can.”

“You gotta meet Buck. I think you’d really like him.”

His best buddy. Second best pilot in the 100th, only following him, of course. The one of the greatest storytellers she would ever meet. Pretty much inseparable since they met at basic. Didn’t mention how being the focus of Buck’s attention felt like being on top of the world, could send him even higher than any of the forts did. Couldn’t think of a time he felt that way about anyone else.

“He sounds terrific.”

“Pretty square, though—“

“Square?”

“The guy doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t like sports, including baseball, and he’s been dating the same dame since high school.”

“You make the last one sound like a bad thing.”

“Well, it will be for Nancy and Leona’s list.”

“Are we seriously going to make one?”

Bucky snickered, increasingly amused with the idea the more he thought about it. “Why not?”

——

If Holly minded Bucky’s company, she never said anything about it. Didn’t bat an eye when he’d tag along to wherever she was headed to every now and then. Sometimes on her own, but she spent a lot of time with Woody, and the more he was around the two of them, the more he was itching for Buck to finally make it over.

The Wilhelmshaven mission rattled Bucky. His first. Poor Duvall caught the bad end of flak and was covered in blood and barely hanging on when the fort landed back at the air base. Woody’s voice wavered when she told Holly about it, the state of the navigator. Woody was friends or friendly enough with most of the bomber boys by virtue of working on their forts, their babies, really. Being ground crew meant she also had the unfortunate burden of witnessing firsthand the aftermath of the brutality the bomber crews faced in the skies.

Suddenly, Bucky carried the same weariness Holly had seen the other men wrestle with in their own ways. She was hardly surprised when Bucky drowned his in alcohol at the village pub, inviting her and Woody along to join him and some of his fellow pilots for a nightcap, a celebration of Bucky’s first mission.

“Mark my words, Holly,” Bucky said, well into his fourth beer. “If there’s gonna be two pilots left in the sky by the end of this war, it’s gonna be Buck and me. I’d bet anything on it.”

His certainty caught in his throat when her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

“That’s hopeful.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” she said softly. “Sometimes I think too much about what could go wrong. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

A stormy melancholy hung above Holly once in a while, and though it never poured, she withdrew within herself. Some mornings, she greeted him with a shadow of the smile he always looked for as soon as he walked into the office. On those days especially, he reached out, tried to bridge the gap between them with whatever story or one-sided conversation he could think of.

He had asked Woody about it, knowing she’d be able to explain it to him better than anyone else. Only started after Stan died. Unnerved some people, annoyed others who thought she was being too dramatic, moping for so long over the man. Her behavior could be erratic, mostly self-isolating, occasionally self-destructive, but that aspect hadn’t reared its ugly head for some time.

“I wish you knew her before,” Woody had told him quietly. “She wasn’t always like this.”

“I like her just fine now,” he’d answered, almost defensively.

“Good. She thinks the world of you, Bucky.”

His heart had jumped. Stopped himself from saying the same.

Now, however, sitting with Holly in the small pub, He smiled, smacking his palm against the table, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “I know what’ll cheer you up. How about a song?”

“You can sing?”

“Nope.”

But he did anyway. Blue Skies. Enthusiastic. Off-key. Loud. Ran around the place like someone lit a fire under his ass while the pub erupted in cheers and heckling at his performance.

“What the hell is he doing?” Woody asked, sitting down next to Holly, half-drunk glass of beer in hand.

“Trying to cheer me up."

Singing certainly wasn’t his forte, and adding dancing to the mix only served to make the performance worse. He crashed into a nearby table, sending glasses to the ground with shrill shatters that cut through his song. Holly’s hand flew to her mouth as she tried to stifle her laughter at the mess and the fact that he kept going. Pulled the exasperated barmaid in for a twirl, and she nearly hit him with her tray.

“He’s nuts,” Woody laughed.

Holly grinned, clapping enthusiastically when Bucky concluded the song, half out of breath, perspiration on his forehead. “Yeah, he is.”

“How about another round and an encore?” he asked when he returned to the table, pleased with himself at how big Holly’s smile was.

“Yes to another round!” Woody exclaimed. “Hold the encore.”

——

June didn’t offer a reprieve from the incessant English rain, but by the second week of the month, it brought Buck Cleven, and as far as Bucky was concerned, things were as right with the world as they could be, all things considered.

He tried not to think about the possibility of Buck not liking Holly. Knew he wouldn’t show it even if he somehow weren’t all that fond of her, ever the gentleman, good ol’ Buck. But Bucky had heard one too many guys make some snide remark about Holly and her odd behavior, her grief, to leave him with more than a few healthy grudges. Still, he wasn’t shocked at Buck’s incredulous attitude when he brought up Holly.

“Where are we going?” Buck asked from the passenger seat of the jeep.

“Quick pit stop to the Air Exec office,” Bucky said. “You gotta meet her—Sergeant Holly Dean, best typist you’ll ever see in your life.”

“Bucky—“

“C’mon, I talked you up to her! She’s keen to meet you.”

Buck shook his head. “You want me to humor your little girlfriend?”

“It’s not—Buck, come on.” Bucky scoffed. “What, I can’t have friends now?”

Buck hummed. “Sure. Friends.”

“She’s great, Buck. We should all go out sometime. You’ll see.”

“You know, Marge went to the trouble of introducing you to Peggy—”

“Holly’s fun! She makes the desk job less boring.”

“Whatever you say,” Buck said as the office came into view.

Holly swore she heard Nancy whisper “oh my god” when Bucky walked into the Air Exec office with whom she could only assume was Buck Cleven. She took in a deep breath in an attempt to even out her palpitating heartbeat. He almost looked like he walked off of a movie set.

Then he took off his cap and smiled at them, introduced himself to Nancy first, who managed a quiet “Hello Major,” and then to Leona, whose deep eyes almost bore a hole through the pilot. Holly swallowed roughly when he made his way over to her.

“You must be Holly, then,” he said. “Buck Cleven, it's nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too," she said, glancing between him and Bucky. "I already know I’m gonna get your names mixed up, so I’m sorry in advance, sir.”

Buck smiled. “My first name is Gale, if that helps.”

“Gale’s a great name. Why go by Buck?”

“On account of this one,” Buck said, gesturing to Bucky. “He doesn’t have any manners, if you haven’t noticed.”

“He’s swell,” Holly said. “Best Air Exec we’ve had yet.”

“Heard you’ve been keeping an eye on him for me.”

“Trying my best, sir.”

“Well, he’s in one piece, so you’re doin’ a pretty good job.”

Kind and handsome—and woefully taken. But not perfect. Didn’t like booze or baseball, pretty much non-negotiables as far as she was concerned. Nancy and Leona didn’t know that, though. Neither of them had Bucky’s insider knowledge the way she did. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered to them all that much, anyway. Most importantly, she wasn’t ready to date again. Ignored who came to mind when she thought of where she’d like to start, though. Probably ruin a damn good thing if she did.

“It was nice meeting you ladies. I’m sure we’ll see each other around,” Buck said kindly.

“Don’t be a stranger, Major,” Leona said.

Nancy nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

“You girls behave while I’m gone,” Bucky joked.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the three typists shared dazed expressions.

“Was he on that list you gave us?” Nancy asked.

“Not a chance,” Holly said. “Bucky says Buck is hopelessly devoted to his girl back home.”

Leona groaned. “That was the most gorgeously unavailable man I’ve ever seen in my life. I need to have a drink or four over it tonight.”

——

The day of Buck’s first mission, Bucky clung to Holly the way a child would a blanket during a bad thunderstorm. He felt ridiculous making the comparison between himself and her, but he knew she’d understand the uncertainty, the waiting. Didn’t say anything when he found lame excuses to keep her working in his office, unsure of how else to express that he didn’t want to be alone with himself, with his thoughts.

The practice missions were just that—practice. Though Buck took them on with all of the focus and skill of real missions, there wasn’t much risk involved. Death couldn’t reach out its cold hands and touch them quite yet, but on his first mission, Bucky swore he felt its frigid grip on his shoulder, trying to pull him away with it somehow. Learned how to ignore it by his second mission, not to see its face behind his eyes every time he blinked or hear it calling for him with each burst of flak. But he couldn’t tell Buck, no way for him to understand until he was up there and experienced it for himself. Maybe that was why Holly sometimes retreated into silence when it came to Stan.

Wondered how she felt before she got the news about Stan. Was she expecting it? Had a gut feeling that she hoped was indigestion? Blindsided and crushed? He couldn’t bring himself to ask. Wasn’t sure he could handle knowing her answer.

Instead, they talked baseball, as she’d given him a Lou Gehrig card she got from an old pack of Big League Chewing Gum, having inexplicably brought her modest collection of baseball cards over to England with her. Had a Yankee among her more treasured cards and didn’t think twice about giving it to him. So Lou found his home among Bucky’s two rosaries and various homegrown talismans that carried his hope and superstition. Took the place of his lucky deuce which he’d given to Buck that morning, not that he’d dream of biting a corner off of it.

He scratched the bridge of his nose, avoiding eye contact with her as he said, “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“What do you mean ‘putting up with you’?” she asked. “I like being with you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He almost couldn’t believe how close they’d become in the weeks since they met. So close that every so often, they’d be asked if they were a couple, brushing off the assumptions with laughter and the answer that no, they weren’t. Hell, even Buck assumed it before he met Holly. But really, he couldn’t think of how much would change between them if they were. Didn’t matter. He knew things would be okay if he had Holly around, no matter how that looked.

“Hey, shouldn’t they be getting back soon?”

“Shit, you’re right. I’ll see you later, Holly.”

“See you, Bucky,” she said, taking his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “Take care.”

He nodded silently, slipping the hand she held into his jacket pocket when he turned to leave, wanting the warm, comforting feeling to last until he could see ‘Our Baby’ approaching and finally relax. A smile spread across his face, but there was no way for her to have seen it.

#bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #masters of the air #bucky egan #john egan #masters of the air x oc #mota x oc #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #mota #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #ch: holly

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whirligig-girl · 2 years

Photo

D'v: "Hahaa... we're holding hands again... I’m so sorry I wasn't watching where I was going and I was just reading up on--well what I was reading wasn’t important--I was..."

T'l: silent Vulcan noises and depraved illogical thoughts

some artist’s notes and fic snippets below the break:

Getting the pose right was a nightmare!

I drew Tendi and T’lyn on different layers with different colors because otherwise it’d be too confusing. The mess going on in their legs and hands especially. It was a challenge to find a relatively natural looking pose that allowed their hands to match up without hiding anything important. I found i could draw a four-segment stick-figure limb connecting their shoulders, and that helped me get their arms right. The legs were also a mess to figure out, but mostly just because they’re a confusing mess of limbs--they don’t have to intertwine nice.

Also, T’lyn is going to make me learn to draw hands right I swear to god. I could not half-ass the hands on this one.

narrative snipets break:

at that second panel, when Tendi realizes what's happened and gets embarassed, she immediately like, tries to let go and raise her hands respectfully......... but t'lyn just... doesn't let go. for a moment.

Ray Daly’s contribution. (Actually Ray contributed to feedback while I was drawing it, but...)

Mariner: it couldn't have been that bad, tendi Tendi, still flustered: not that bad?? Not that bad?!? would it be fine if you tripped and Bradward’s D--?! Mariner: eekaaay! you've made your point!!

Earlier version when I thought I was finished:

It’s good to go the extra mile on your art. I think this plainer version would still have been fine, but since I went so far as to actually draw the background for a change, adding the dropped/thrown clutter (PADDs and Tricorder) helped a lot.

T’lyn and Tendi’s mess of legs was hard to differentiate (though adding the shading helps). I made Tendi’s pants slightly darker, though with the shading you can barely tell. I also gave them different boot colors. The original idea was that pure science officers have black and blue boots and medical officers have white and blue boots. We can see that in a few places in season 1. But it seems like they eventually abandoned that concept and just give all science officers white and blue boots. T’lyn is not a medical officer, so obviously she gets black boots. Technically since Tendi is in Senior Science Officer training instead of Medical, she should have black boots, but I gave her white boots so you could tell them apart more easily.

I wasn’t even going to add the facial expressions. I drew this to figure out which one I wanted to use:

Then I put it in the drawing.

But I just kept looking at the sketch and thinking “both are good. Both are good!”

So I made it two panels. Because of how the layers were set up this was easier said than done. But I managed it just fine in the end. I really like how she’s backlit by the ceiling lights in the inset panels. Some kind of like, contrast between the angelic goddess looking down at you and the reality that she’s an emotional mess who wears her emotions on her sleeve.

It was also really important to add the inset panels because I don’t want to give the impression that either Tendi is doing this on purpose nor any orion fem dom stereotypes. It’s way funnier and cuter if she just keeps accidentally finding herself in these scenarios, worried that T’lyn’s resentment for her is growing because SHE KEEPS AVOIDING ME OUTSIDE OF STUDY SESSIONS! AND WHEN WE MAKE EYE CONTACT SHE LOOKS AWAY! I FUCKED UP! but actually T’lyn is just struggling to control her mad nasty thoughts about just what she’d like to do to Tendi (she’d like to hold her hands some more)

Adding the inset panels lets me make sure Tendi’s character is adequately captured so she’s not just A Thing Happening To T’lyn.

The dropped PADDs and Tricorder make the scene seem more diagetic, and just more real/plausible. They’re busy looking at their PADDs and not looking where they’re going, see? The one that’s face down is T’lyn’s, the two face up are Tendi’s. The PADD screens are cropped screenshots from the show that have been edited and then skewed/rotated/rescaled into place

The first PADD is Tendi doing research on Vulcan touch telepathy (after being told by someone else what the significance of handholding is to Vulcans), the second one is actually breaking the fourth wall and addressing the viewer directly.

one of the last touches I added was to erase the line-art around her pupils, so the pupils would look smaller (aids to the feeling of shock) and add a nostril (Dunno why--I never draw nostrils on Lower Decks characters, but it just seemed correct in this case) and a little wrinkle on her eye. All this was added because, when I drew Tendi’s face, it felt more detailed than T’lyn’s for some reason (freckles I think?) and I felt I had to make them match.

T’lyn’s face here was fun and took a while to get right. She (and all Vulcans in Lower Decks) are usually half-lidded, but we see T’lyn’s kinda shock when Tendi grabs her hand in the One Canon T’lyndi Scene We Have At Least Until Next Year--even then she looks attentive, not necessarily shocked.

I just think it’s kind of cool that they both have non-red blood and colorful blush.

#T'lyndi #Tendi #T'lyn #if you like you should reblog; likes do nothing on tumblr #wlw #femslash #D'vana Tendi / T'lyn #D'vana Tendi x T'lyn #Star Trek #Star Trek Lower Decks #Lower Decks #premarital hand holding #Orion #Vulcan #LWD #LOW #LDS

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venus616 · 2 years

Note

Oml your streets fic was immaculate and now I just keep thinking about this idea of when husband peter comes back and now there’s two peter Parkers…if you know what I’m saying 👀

...ask and you shall receive

the aftermath (streets 1.5); {tasm!peter parker}

Pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader (you can interpret this as any peter parker if you so please)

Summary: in addition to this oneshot + in response to this wonderfully horny ask

Warnings: established relationship, smut, vaginal fingering/sex, dubious consent (dubcon) (technically?), unprotected sex, threesome, cum play (?), oral sex, very nasty shit under the cut, 18+, NSFW

Word Count: 1.5k (only smut (got carried away.) (once again.) (-_-;))

A/N: okay so i was thinking like “in what world would peter parker let this fucked up version of himself intentionally take his wife” and then i realized…. okay okay backtrack….

what if what Actually happened when both peters were gone is that reader’s husband!peter almost died but the second peter found a way to take his place bc he was curious and legit wasn’t thinking when he left his world bc he’s still a little fucked up and what not basically the dark peter didn’t actually try to kill him

then i think husband!peter would be more sympathetic…. so much so this is what happens when your husband ends up being okay, he finds you both and sees that he’s in love with you and just joins in-

more under the cut lol

previously: streets • more here: the bet

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” is what you moaned out when two large hands gripping your hips to align your heat to his, moving your body any way they’d like.

Overstimulated, sweaty, and 4 orgasms in, you don’t even know how you got here. Two Peter Parkers deciding just how they were about to take you down.

Your husband eventually came back, two days later battered and bruised, but sympathetic to the circumstances at hand.

He listened to what his dark-sided counterpart felt when he lost you, and he can only imagine the excitement of what it felt like to have you back.

What he didn’t know was how many times he managed to fuck you in the short time he was gone, even how many times you let him without a fight. Or the fact that there were fights at all.

You don’t think you were ever gonna tell him about that in explicit detail, though.

You leaned into your husband’s Peter’s shoulders for leverage as the other version of him was still lining up to your sore pussy, whining softly in his ear.

“I know baby, I know, but just do it for us ‘mkay?”

You nodded, feeling the tears brim your eyes when you instinctively arched your back at how he entered you. Your body leaned forward into Peter but the other one took you by the neck and pressed your back up against his chest.

Your breath hitched at the force, and your husband covered your mouth to which you sobbed your frustrated moans into his palm.

“You hear that baby?” You don’t know what he’s referring to, slowly shaking your head.

“So fucking wet,” is what the identical voice says behind you, lips ghosting your ear. He thrusted into you as you whimpered into his hand, eyebrows pinched as your eyes remained focused on the Peter in front of you.

The repeated squelching noise of your pussy taking Peter in easily was embarrassing you as it was all you could focus on now.

Peter lowered his hand from your mouth. Your breathing was so labored from the continued thrusting that you threw your head leaned back on his shoulder in relief. Peter hid his cock in his hands at the sight, slowly moving up and down his shaft watching you get fucked out by his counterpart.

In a strange, possessive way, it was fun to watch for him. He had you wrapped around his finger in every universe. But, Peter knew it was mutual.

You’re on your knees, up on the bed pressed in between two versions of your husband and you swear you could cum on the spot. Peter lovingly chuckled at your visible exhaustion and forced your head back up to kiss you, before trailing down to your breasts, hands meeting your clit as you were getting stretched out by his counterpart.

Your voice kept disappearing in your throat, feeling choked by his movements behind you.

All that could be heard in the room was their grunts over the sound of your skin being slapped by his thrusts. You tried to hold onto his hips from the behind but he quickly maneuvered you into a new position, your curses quickly flew out.

Both your wrists were held by his one hand behind you and your body was almost flat against the bed now. Your eyes were eye level with your Peter stroking his cock, but you hardly had time to think about his movements when the other Peter was pounding into your pulsating, wet hole.

Your breathing was ragged, your core already felt sore and knew he was far from done. Your Peter reached over to get your face between his fingers of his unoccupied hand. He cooed your name, begging you to stay with him.

You obediently nodded, almost having no choice by the way your body rocked from the other Peter’s immediate thrusts. Your whines couldn’t be contained from the pain you felt as your arms were stretched back, still not fully pressed onto your bed so you felt the pressure building up.

Peter didn’t help it by how his fingers found their way in your mouth, you knew what he wanted. You instinctively opened your mouth, letting his fingers rest on your tongue then push towards your throat. You resisted gagging, not wanting him to stop.

When Peter was satisfied he placed the wet head of his cock on your tongue. The saltiness of his precum swished around your mouth when you wrapped your lips around him before bobbing your head deeper.

It was bizarre really, how you were getting fucked by the same man, but not really. One thing for certain, it was going down as one of your favorite nights to look back on.

“Such a fucking good girl,” Your husband’s deep voice rang before thrusting deeper into your mouth. You arched deeper against the other Peter as he exerted more pressure on your backside and you felt dizzied by how much you had to focus on not collapsing right now.

He wrapped his hands in your hair as he moved his hips forward while the other Peter finally released your arms from his iron grip and you planted them firmly underneath you. You were finally able to hold your own as you were being fucked from the back and in your mouth.

The gagging noises heard from you were obscene, and both Peter’s enjoyed it. The other Peter couldn’t last any longer from the sight of you sucking his- technically your husband’s- cock while bouncing on his before his hips started to stutter.

You wanted to yelp out from the quickness he started to fuck you at, but you focused on the amount of spit you were salivating on your husband instead.

They were both looking at you like you were a goddess.

The other Peter moaned out almost pathetically before cumming inside you, then pulling out to spread it on your ass. You could feel the heat of his cum drip down your butt, pussy still clenching around nothing. Your husband saw this and couldn’t hold back anymore, throwing his head back in frustration.

You couldn’t help but feel relief since his thrusts were only becoming more aggressive. Peter held your cheeks in both his hands, the wedding band imprinting in your cheek by his refusal to let go.

The head of his cock kept hitting your uvula, causing tears to streak down your face, eyelashes getting wet from the crying. When you opened your eyes again you looked back up to see him watching you intently, still fucking your mouth. He only moved slower when his hands migrated to your scalp to hold your hair, cock hitting the back of your cheek now.

“I’m about to cum,” He announced. You took back control by going faster, wanting nothing more than his load in your mouth already. Your eyes met his while your mouth remained busy, and he loved seeing you like this. Wide, doe eyes staring back at him, practically at his feet.

“‘M gonna cum all over your pretty fucking face,” He hissed before popping his dick out of your mouth. You licked your lips quickly, wiggling your jaw a bit at the soreness. Peter continued to jack himself off at the sight of you, completely covered in sweat and cum, tears stained on your cheeks but nothing but love for him in your eyes.

You nod, whimpering as you’re both at a loss for words and throat incapable of speaking. Also the fact that you can’t even form a coherent thought right now.

You closed your eyes and felt the hot spurts of his load on your cheeks, running down on your lips when you stuck out your tongue to lick it. You kept your mouth open when you heard Peter’s desperate groans, only getting louder when his cum landed directly on your tongue.

You only opened your eyes when you felt his head tap on your tongue, feeling him soften up. He quickly removed it when he fully lost his erection.

When Peter took some of his cum on your cheek and into your mouth like he always would, causing you to wrap your lips around his fingers, he smirked.

“My pretty girl, all covered in cum,” He sounded satisfied with himself. You didn’t have anything to add due to the exhaustion you felt dealing with two men who have a level of stamina you already could barely handle one on one.

The identical voice you already grew used to piped up as he massaged your ass before running his fingers against your pussy lips, still leaking with cum. You moaned softly at the feeling of him playing with you again, and looked back at him, heavy lidded eyes barely peeking over your shoulder.

“Our girl,” Is what he adds, grinning when he inserts his two fingers back inside of you. You help before looking up at your husband to gauge a reaction and only find him grinning, looking forward to the other version of himself. When you turn around to face him, he’s only focused on their new staring match, before they both relax their smiles to look back at you.

You knew you were fucked. In more ways than one.

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the-ace-with-spades · 9 days

Text

Almost finished with the last chapter of just hold my hand and questioning whether to write one more, so here are some bits that didn't (won't) make it into the fic

tw mpreg

• Jake and Bradley won't ever name their kid after someone, at least not exactly the same way, but they're okay with using some version of their parents' names, or will use it as a second names if exact same, like with the twin girls (Tommy Carole and Nicky Patricia). The exception is of course their boy, PJ (Peter Jacob), because Jake wanted some kind of name that can be shortened to XJ, like CJ, AJ, etc. Peter is also Jake's (late) dad's second name. Jake's family has a tradition of doing all of the above with all their kids.

• PJ is definitely daddy's boy (Bradley's) and he's extremely shy around strangers. Even when he was an infant and technically couldn't recognize people, he'd get very fussy when someone who wasn't Bradley or Jake's mom would hold him. Yes, this applies to Jake as well - he was on deployment the first few months after PJ was born and when he came back, PJ would regard him as stranger for the first couple of months. He accepts only a couple of people, including his favorite aunt, Nat. He's also a quiet, angel of a baby.

• Ronnie is also quiet but not as much of an angel. I've mentioned it but she has speech development issues and instead communicates in different ways - this includes being a bit more touchy and more expressive with her body language as well as simply trying to do/get what she needs herself without asking for help. They've taken her to her paediatrician but she wasn't too worried as she seems to be developing well socially and has plenty of support and examples at home.

• Both Ronnie and PJ are a bit clingy, just because Bradley spent a lot of time with them when he was on maternity leave/pregnancy leave/office duty due to the timing of the both pregnancies being so close. The twins were more used to staying with Jake's ma and had been going to the nursery/preschool most of their lives so they're the most social and the most independent of the kids. (I also think they have ADHD and are a bit oblivious to social cues...)

• The first pregnancy wasn't planned. (I might allude to it in the fic so spoilers) Bradley and Jake were actually broken up when Bradley found out - it had been Bradley who started getting a bit scared and had his issues resurfacing and did the breaking up when Jake started being more serious about them. This has happened before and Bradley would always come back within a month so Jake was going to just wait it out - he didn't know it, but this time Bradley was more adamant and had planned to be transferred and have that break up be permanent. The whole plan changed when he was pregnant just because he couldn't be stationed at Atsugi and because he felt like Jake should have a chance to be present in the baby's life. It took Jake half the pregnancy for him to actually get them to move in back together (and that only happened because Bradley was having trouble getting by alone in his apartment) and then almost another month for Bradley to actually let them get back together - he had a lot of issues before but after he found out he was pregnant it was like he started worrying about them about three times as much. It was a very emotional time for them.

• Bradley started therapy before the twins were born and Jake proposed to him when they were still in the hospital after labour (not very romantic but Bradley liked it) and married when the twins were around six months old, no ceremony, just them, the twins and Jake's ma

• The second pregnancy was planned. It was Bradley who brought up that he wanted another kid - Jake had been thinking about it for some time but remembering that pregnancy wasn't easy on Bradley, he didn't want to pressure him. It took them ten very frustrating months but another nines months later Ronnie (Veronica Rose) was born. Her second name was Jake's memaw's first name and Veronica is a name Bradley's mom really liked for a girl.

• The third pregnancy was kinda planned - they knew they wanted another kid, they just thought they would wait a couple of years before trying so it was a surprise when not even a few months later and during Bradley's flight fitness physical it turned out he was pregnant again.

• Obviously, the fourth pregnancy wasn't planned at all. They haven't talked about having more kids, but neither was opposed to, even if it was implied they would wait at least a couple of years so Bradley could get back into service for some time.

• Bradley did have problems with work related to having kids -- each time there had been offers (that sounded more like orders...) of early retirement or switch to non-flight positions and a lot of pressure to take them. Each offer and its rejection was followed by some shit happening - first time around, they put Bradley on alternative jobs that were too physical for his condition or gave him minimal maternity leave ultimateum; second time around, it was Jake's deployment being moved from after the due date to before and during the due date, Jake being sent abroad for special training way more often than anyone else. It was also why Bradley was held back from being sent to Top Gun, the argument being 'we send you there, you take a place of someone who won't get pregnant and be out of action for months'. It changed when he and Jake transferred from Oceana to Lemoore, partially due to Ice's influence behind scenes.

• Jake had been amazing through each pregnancy, even if the first one was an adventure of trials and errors. Bradley was very stubborn and emotional and Jake had the patient of a saint and didn't take it that personal whenever Bradley would explode/reject/etc at him. But also pregnancy wasn't the easiest on Bradley (each time, the last 2-3 months he'd end up on med leave, not because he was high risk but because the symptoms were quite intense), also in the emotional sense (he's really sensitive to hormone changes) so Jake tried to make it as easy as possible on him each time.

• Further into the future, Mav will pretend he can actually tell no to the kids (he can't) but Ice straight up melted and doesn't even try to say otherwise. It's enough that they mention something once and Ice already makes up a plan to get/do it for them...

• Mav is also absolutely hypnotized by Bradley's baby bump once it shows, always so taken back when he sees it. He'd be glued up to his side if he didn't know how much it annoys him (and if Hangman was always nearby and taking the spot already...)

• Jake's ma, Pat, is quick friends with Ice (she teaches him to knit and quilt). Mav is friendly with her but it takes him awhile to warm up to her completely - mostly because he's kinda jealous? that she was there for the boys the whole time, since the twins were born, while Bradley never even thought to reach out to them or even just tell them about the kids (even if he knows it was his own fault)

• Mav and Ice also have different perspectives on Bradley having kids. Mav never thought about it, having Bradley stuck on being barely 18 in his head, and Ice always knew that Bradley would eventually make his own family, he just prayed they would be included in it.

• The first time Mav watches the kids, the twins lose their front teeth. They trip and don't even cry but when Mav checks them out, they're each missing one of the front teeth. He absolutely panics, thinking that Bradley will absolutely hate him and will never let him watch or even see the kids and then Hangman comes to pick them up and he's ready to be ripped to shreds and Jake just goes, "Oh, yeah, they've been moving the whole week. Did you keep them for the tooth fairy?" Ice makes fun of him for weeks for this even though he'd be scared shitless too, if that happened with him.

• Jake and Mav eventually do have a truce, even if they still are a bit sharp with each other. It's the typical (if less toxic) in-laws relation where Mav still thinks Bradley could do better and where Jake still thinks Mav had been a bit of a crappy dad and has a slightly limited trust in him (mostly follows Bradley's cur tho). Ice likes Jake for Bradley a lot tho.

Could go on but I'll leave it here...

#just hold my hand tag #hangster #tgm #mavdad

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scoops-aboy86 · 3 months

Note

I'll send somethin' for the kiss ask game prompts!

💕

💕 kissing somewhere other than lips

(send a heart to make me write meme)

I'm just going to post this, because it's actually my second attempt. The first I'm going to save for the vampire Eddie fic I'm working on... Both are sad, because this is a rough week/month, and I don't feel like doubling this currently 1.2k word count on this to resolve it into a happy ending right now.

But I am open to suggestions on where to go with it, to keep in my back pocket for finishing it later.

They’re not dating, but Eddie spends a lot of time at Steve’s big house for someone who still technically lives in the local trailer park.

They’re not dating, but he lets Steve dote on him. Eddie shares his weed without even bothering to charge him anymore, which is a friendship perk that historically only his band mates enjoy; Steve, in turn, provides movies and meals and snacks in between.

They’re not dating, but when they’re both stoned as fuck they twine together on the couch, alternating who’s laying on who because it’s warm and nice and they’re both a little touch starved. It’s started happening even when Robin is there, and she keeps side-eyeing them like she’s waiting for some sort of announcement of What It Means.

Which is ridiculous because they’re just friends. Steve doesn’t even kiss him on the mouth; he kisses him everywhere else.

Like now, when Steve is sprawled half on top of him and half wedged in against the back of the couch, mouth on the soft part of Eddie’s shoulder. It’s all soft—all those snacks have done their work, all the lounging around Steve’s living room while still recovering from the Upside Down too, and Eddie is comfortable with this larger, well-padded version of himself. Steve’s kisses work their way gently down to his pecs, sucking one nipple into his hot, hungry mouth while teasing at the other with his fingers, cupping what could just about be called a tit in one hand—and it barely fits. One of Steve’s legs is draped over and shoved between Eddie’s, pressing against the one place he isn’t soft these days, and Eddie’s mouth is free as a bird to spout off whatever suggestive, pleading filth he wants.

Except he doesn’t, because they’re not dating and Steve isn’t his and he doesn’t know where the line is, doesn’t know where he’d have to stop and self-control isn’t exactly in his repertoire these days or he wouldn’t be not-making-out with Steve fucking Harrington. Eddie is far from silent though, letting out moans and gasps and pleading little whines, wordless but clearly saying keep going, keep doing that, never stop. And Steve, day after day, lazy afternoon after lazy afternoon, keeps obliging him. What had started as helpful belly rubs after a big meal has somehow evolved into this, and Eddie would be lying if he said that isn’t part of why he’s really been packing it on lately, because he’s a weak, weak man and it all feels so good. Feels so good to have Steve in any capacity, touching him, taking care of him, being so sweet and perfect and Steve.

So they don’t talk while they do things like this, and they don’t talk about it after, and it’s all fine because they’re not dating and Eddie can be content, he can be, with this arrangement.

Steve's lips are wet with spit and trailing down his chest now, scooting down on the couch, wriggling out and pressing Eddie more onto his back so he can drape over him fully, and it’s good. All the way down to where his shorts are unbuttoned—because that’s all it takes to set this off now, is Eddie reaching down to make himself a little more comfortable, and then Steve is on him—and nipping at where his belly starts to pooch out into a roll, gripping his thighs, sliding one hand up to grip him through the denim, and…

Something in Eddie’s head (or maybe his heart) snaps. It’s not fine. It’s undefined, it’s the elephant in the room, it’s nothing because they’ve never even tried to put a name to it, just shoved it in a corner and pretended it wasn’t there. And Eddie is sick and fucking tired of pretending. He almost died in March and life is too short to wallow in something he wants but can’t ever have, never moving on because there’s some comfort in the suggestion of having Steve like this, at least, but the comfort is ultimately hollow because, at the end of the day, he doesn’t have anything.

He reaches down, slides his fingers into Steve’s luxurious hair, and pulls. Just enough to get the guy’s attention away from tongue-fucking his belly button—Jesus H. Christ—and is only a little surprised when the tug elicits a moan. “Steve,” he tries roughly, and has to stop to clear his throat. “What are we doing?”

Never before has he seen Steve Harrington look so caught out. And Eddie had been there the day Steve had been caught making out with a cheerleader under the bleachers when he should have been leading the basketball team out into the school gym during a rally.

“I, uh.” His face is beet red, and maybe he wants to run but he can’t exactly go anywhere when Eddie has him by the roots. “I was just…”

When he doesn’t continue, Eddie sighs and shakes his head, letting go. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He’s trying so hard to pretend that this isn’t devastating, this yanking the plug that he should have pulled a long time ago before his heart filled up with it, and in its absence he’ll have nothing. Not even a friend, probably, because that’s what happens when you let yourself become some straight guy’s experiment. “I don’t want ‘just,’ Harrington, so… I think I’m gonna go.”

Steve is still hovering over him, frozen, but Eddie wriggles out until he can rock into a sitting position and starts to wedge himself back into his shorts—a difficult task, embarrassingly more because his dick has yet to get with the new program than anything else.

“I,” Steve tries again weakly, but Eddie doesn’t even pause in his efforts to button back up. Forget the zipper, he’s just glad he didn’t wear a cropped shirt today and can let it hang down to cover himself, which… sort of works. It’ll get him back to his van, at least.

“It’s fine,” he says, standing up without looking at Steve. “Just, next time there’s a movie night or something, be specific with the kids about whether or not you want me to come or they’ll invite me anyway. Wouldn’t want that surprise with all the witnesses, right? And if we do run into each other, I’ll take my cues from you on how to… handle it.”

As he says all this, he’s gathering up his stuff. It’s not much, a couple of notebooks and his lunchbox, which he’d brought over for their hangout smoke session… Really just code for ending up with an excuse to fool around. Nothing more than that, though. Steve has never even kissed him on the mouth.

Then he’s out of there, all his shit dumped haphazardly in the empty passenger seat and driving home, and Steve hadn’t even tried to stop him. He wonders if the guy is still crouched on his couch, looking shell shocked with his lips kissed red and a tent in his tiny basketball shorts. Wonders if that’s the last time he’ll ever see Steve, if that image is the one that’s going to follow him around for the rest of his life or if it’ll end up being something worse. Maybe he should move. That had always been the plan, blow this popsicle stand the second he got his diploma, but he’d stayed…

Well. He’d stayed for Steve, but he has to wonder now that the point of that was ever supposed to be, because.

It’s not like they’re dating.

now with a part 2, part 3, parts 4 & 5, part 6 - also on ao3

#steddie angst #wg steddie #chubby eddie munson #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #scoops words #steviewashere #ask #wg not dating

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i-eat-deodorant · 4 months

Note

Tell me about your onions.

here's an onion. i'm so funny.

ahem.

ok real talk though i've been doing a couple brief dives into the reincarnation aspect of buddhism/hinduism, which haven't been super applicable to COTL so far. which is a shame, bc it has such an interesting take on rebirth and resurrection within the nature of religion.

in COTL, death is seen as semi-permanent and a boon. lamb uses it to their advantage via the nature of game protagonists being able to restart from a save point when they died. the ritual of resurrection is groundbreaking for followers, and i headcanon that the ritual of rebirth is the main reason why TOWW got imprisoned. it is very much a loaded gun in the COTL world.

but buddhism treats rebirth as not only a nature of living, but something that needs to be escaped from. literally something that one must fight to be unshackled from, to break past samsara and reach ascension via nirvana. it's such an interesting viewpoint to consider and explore, especially bc my interpretation of lamb has them never being willing to become this resurrecting figure in the first place. as much as the red crown has been a boon for them, it's also acted as a bind. they will always have both their mortal and godly vices.

in both hinduism and buddhism there are multiple schools of thought that tackle the continuuity of resurrection, aka "what is carried over when one is reborn?"

now suppose narinder did not carry everything he had as TOWW to his mortal form. what is lost, and what is gained?

if i were to adapt samsara into my cotl fics i'd focus less on actual death and more on metaphorical ones. which, ok bear with me here, is a huge part of my personal philosophy.

humans are not static; we grow and develop, and in doing so we shed prior versions of ourselves like metamorphosis. a sort of ego death lite, if you will. when faced with a traumatic event, the person you once were is not the same as the person you are now. that is the kind of metaphorical death i'm talking about; the death of a former self.

but what exactly marks the new self and the old self? nothing, theoretically. we can make the boundary as low or as high as we want.

consider the ship of theseus: if a huge portion of my body is replaced every 7 years, can i definitely say i am who i was 7 years ago? what part of identity and self stays constant, when my personality's changed drastically? am i a stranger with the memories of someone else?

now narrow the boundary. if the self is physically static, then every time a cell dies, the self dies.

using that technical definition, technically i die and am reborn every single second. a metaphorical death and a metaphorical rebirth, and what gets carried over?

something something life and death are two sides of the coin of change.

that's why i kinda keep emphasizing lamb's impostor syndrome crisis about themselves dying in both soul and body during the execution. that's why i divide narinder's life into such stark epochs (mortal, bishop, imprisoned, mortal again). that's why i love treating their afterlife not as a continuity of their character development, but a second chance. ship of theseus, broken down and rebuilt anew.

it's not nirvana. but it's making the best out of your own personal samsara.

and just. there's something so poetic about narinder and lamb reincarnating as gods of death, because the only way to die repeatedly is to live again after each one. a taste of permanence in the impermanent, without ever reaching that finality that they embody as gods. they represent the very thing they are and aren't. it's a paradox that makes perfect sense the moment you remove the black-and-white boundary of life/death that dictates they must be opposites.

and this is what i love exploring. breaking down the barriers of identity and death in the metaphysical sense, in two characters who are defined by so much loss in their lives. (metaphorical) death, treated as redemption, treated as healing.

lamb, offering a hand up to a newly reborn narinder. i died, i got up, and i live.

#my asks #for the record i am very firmly an atheist #i just find studying religious beliefs very fun and very interesting as an expression of the human condition #and also ship of theseus is a tasty thought experiment when applied to human identity #am i a bit cuckoo? absolutely.#:)#long post #long ass fuckin post that i don't expect anybody to read. if you did congrats you get to hear one of my core motivations for narilamb

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you-remind-me-of-the-babe · 3 months

Text

An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIPs

Thank you for tagging me @ic3-que3n @theearlgreymage @wellbelesbian @shrekgogurt @orange-peony @youarenevertooold @whatevertheweather @thewholelemon @cutestkilla @aristocratic-otter @monbons @emeryhall @valeffelees (wow everyone is out here playing huh?)

🦈Tell us the name of your / one of your WIP(s)

As of right now, I’m going with Back and Back and Back but that may change.

🍄Decscribe your wip / one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Past flashbacks in which Baz grows up being visited by an older Simon in the woods outside his house in Hampshire + current 7th year Simon suddenly finds himself traveling back in time to visit young Baz = both Simon and Baz trying to figure out what’s happening in the present, resulting in them falling in love in a mesh of past and present

🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your wip(s) need if you intend to share it?

Soulmates, time travel, canon divergent, Watford-era, angst with a happy ending, kid!Baz, lightly inspired by Time Traveler’s Wife.

🧭An alternative title to your / one of your WIP(s)?

I mentioned this last week, but I quite like Start at the End, even though I don’t think it technically is accurate or describes the fic.

⚠️Which wip you’re most likely to finish or update next?

Idk, this one will be quite long, but everything else in my WIP folder are just attempts at starting a premise I liked, but none of them have gotten much traction, so probably this one? Hopefully?

💾What is your document of your wip / a wip called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

Time Travel AU

🖍Post Any sentence from your wip

He whistles, looking around and finally taking the time to fully appreciate the tree house.

“Did you make this?”

“With help,” I explain. “Some from Father. Mostly from you.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. That’s one thing I’ve yet to figure out, why he forgets. Sometimes, he remembers our past visits with more detail than I do. As if they’d just happened the day before instead of years ago. Other times, he can’t remember something as big as building a treehouse with me. He reminds me of my grandmother, when her dementia had its grips on her. She’d recall something from her childhood so clearly, and the next minute, she’d forget my name.

Father didn’t want me to call attention to it in front of her. He said it would only make her more confused. So I don’t mention it to him, either. We just sort of…dance around it, without mentioning it outright. (He’d fit right in with my family, honestly.) I just clarify things and then we move on.

♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP

I was thinking about having the Humdrum be a time traveling younger Simon, or something like that, in addition to current Simon being a time traveler. Like, they discover there’s another version of him traveling, but I thought that would be too confusing. So instead, he’s just the regular ol’ Humdrum.

🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

I have a lil Drabble in my head about Baz being sad while his wedding ring is getting fixed by the jewelers for a week so Simon has to cheer him up. (It me. Rubbing my empty ring finger all week while it’s getting fixed and I hate it not being there.)

🤡How many Wips are you actively working on?

Actively? I think just this one right now. There are about 4 other half starts from earlier this year when I was just throwing spaghetti noodles at the wall to see what stuck. Some of them I may come back to if I get a burst of inspiration or something.

🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

(One of) the big reveals because the scene carries a lot of emotional weight, and I want to do it right.

❤️Not a question, just a second kudos to send.

And kudos to anyone who read this far!

Anyone else want to play? @facewithoutheart @hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @blackberrysummerblog @run-for-chamo-miles @mooncello @angelsfalling16 @artsyunderstudy and anyone else interested! 💜

#tumblr tag game #writing process #my writing

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hatredmadeofgold · 2 months

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I'm a terrible person with words, but here I go. (using a translator, my English is a little shit when it comes to writing and a little bit when it comes to pronunciation, ha!)

I would like to say with ALL my heart that I love your work and the writing in "Sing to Me", my heartbeat even accelerates when I remember the existence of this work of art and how wonderful the sensation was, the euphoric feeling of read each chapter and see all the care and dedication put into it. I have immense affection for Raiden, Sam (and Monsoon :)). Seeing how complex they are in the story brings me immense satisfaction, and I just wish all the positive recognition for you, it's impeccable.

(There's a lot I'd like to express, like my hyperfocus- but hey, I'm a terrible person at showing appreciation and affection, I hope you got the message anyway :))

hugs and kisses from a Brazilian! 🇧🇷❤

Oi, não se preocupa! Não sou falante nativo, mas entendi muito bem. Da próxima vez, você pode me escrever em pt-br (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Thank you so much!! I am really happy to know that you enjoy my work 💕 Honestly, every time someone tells me that they enjoy Sing to Me so much, I am getting really happy. This fic means a lot to me and gives me lots of strength and stability, although on the outside it might look that I am not doing much for it for the past year (I do, it's just background work that I can't show T_T massive spoilers and so on). But I mean, I kept saying that each time somebody came to my inbox about it for the last months.

And I am so glad to know that you're feeling like this for each chapter you've read so far! This fic in itself is really complex and long, I could give you a rough estimate of around ~100 Chapters for the main story (Those would be just arc 1-3, the series, however, has 6 arcs in total excluding the 2 AUs). Sooo... let me say, you've got a lot to look forward to, I suppose :3

Also I hope that you'll be curious about the revisions too. Chapter 5 and 6 will have a darker tone than their current version that is on AO3 at the moment, but also will be much better in quality. Chapter 6 will have major changes I think, especially the second halve of it. I am all giddy and excited myself whenever I think about all the plans I have for this story. The drama, the comedy, the (bitter-) sweetness, but also the chaos, the pain and the darker parts of this fic. I wish I could go on a ramble but it's so many spoilers lmao And I don't want to take that away from my readers. If anything, I might drop a few essays about Raiden and Sam that I've got on my to-do list at some point, that in some cases will directly tie to Sing to Me as well.

The series also goes in great detail about Sam's past and who he is as a person because I was a bit dissatisfied with how most fics for this pairing at least that I've read didn't come up with much for his past (but I still liked all of them regardless), hence I went a little bit insane about him. To the point that Sam is technically my OC now (according to my beta reader) lmao

Jsyk, this is my current graph view of my Obsidian vault for Sing to Me and all the dots that connect to him:

My vault is an absolute mess still tbh because the program is a bit overwhelming when you don't know where to start, so this is far from how complex this fic actually even is.

What I can tell you pretty much spoiler free is that the series is complex because timeline wise, it starts in the year of 2001 and ends (technically) in the year of 2026. I say technically because ARC3.5: The War in Heaven goes a bit crazy with science fiction elements and time is... let's say, "relative". The main fic spans from 2019 until 2023 btw.

The prequel (ARC0: I Come with Knives) is entirely about Sam's past, from his POV entirely, and a collaboration with @thatthereneverwas since he originally requested me to write it. Basically adding more Sam lore that we definitely need :3

Please don't hesitate to come to my inbox or DMs if you want to chat about Sing to Me, samuraiden or just Sam or Raiden with me! I don't bite :] Monsoon is also my favourite from the Winds of Destruction aside from Sam, so I get you! I've been thinking of maybe including him in the fic as well, but it's uncertain how so yet, and if it will just be a flashback of some sort 🤔 But I take notes as I go, we'll see :3

Beijos pra você também 💞

#polastrieve #ask #samuraiden #Jetstream Sam #Raiden #MGR #my writing #Sing to Me

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sftly-blooming · 2 months

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Trigun (Polygun) Headcanons

warning: not exactly mature or suggestive content, but lots of discussion of bodies, genitals, etc. in terms of transness.

these aren’t like firm headcanons, just some cool ideas that i would love to use in a fic if i wrote one. this is with the idea of these four all dating each other in a closed t4t4t4t polycule.

Vash

- he/him preferred, they/them okay. technically agender but enjoys being seen as a man, so he identifies as a man.

- plant version of intersex, has both types of genitals (but they have like. petals/different color).

- had very slight boobs but never had to worry about top surgery because he got severe chest injuries and lost both tissue and nipples in the process (he would have rather kept the boobs, honestly, healing is too much work).

- he and knives were both originally raised as girls until they talked to each other about it and told rem they would rather be boys. knives will still refer to vash as his sister to purposefully misgender and aggravate him, as a result vash can’t stand being called sister or sis. in retaliation vash refuses to call knives by his real name.

- attraction confuses him because it doesn’t work the same for him as for humans, but overall doesn’t discriminate based on gender, sex, or anything else for that matter.

- doesn’t have body hair at all, very smooth and wolfwood teases him for it.

- autism + ADHD, PTSD, dissociative amnesia, amputee and usually wears a prosthetic, chronic pain from the scarring but it’s usually fairly mild.

- very pale but pretty much just absorbs sunlight. he doesn’t actually know if he can get energy from the sun but he always gets too hungry before he can find out.

- he’s about 150 but appears around 25.

Wolfwood/Nick/Nico

- he/him only. trans man. usually stealth.

- during the medical experimentation he went through rapid puberty and begged the doctor to “change him into a man.” the cross scar is from top surgery + the other experiments, and he has a second version of the vials that are gel, which serve as pain relief (chronic pain) but are also his testosterone therapy.

- muscular with some fat over so he’s squishy, huge chest muscles that he’s rlly proud of. has excellent sensation in his nipples, the surgery he got was well executed and he heals rapidly, so the grafts stuck easily. hairy chest, overall very hairy.

- no need for bottom surgery because his hormone therapy combined with the experiments mean that he had great success with bottom growth. bathrooms are annoying but most of the time there’s only one anyway in the tiny places he stops at, so it’s not a huge deal, and not worth the surgery to him. he does often wear a packer which usually doubles as an STP.

- actually loves drag and dresses, but thinks he can’t pull them off due to his hair (which he also loves). he’s wrong.

- he definitely doesn’t mind a pretty woman or anyone else, but finds himself attracted to men more often than other genders.

- autism + ADHD, cPTSD, full body chronic pain (mostly from rapid growth in his youth and his rapid healing).

- southern drawl + latino but never got to learn spanish due to being an orphan. wants to learn it but hasn’t found a good teacher yet. tans mostly but has been known to burn on occasion.

- he’s actually 21 but looks to be about 40.

Milly

- she/her only. trans woman and proud of it.

- on estrogen for some time. she’s very buff and loves to arm wrestle with wolfwood. she also shows off by carrying around his punisher. she didn’t really start gaining muscle until she was already on estrogen for a good while, because that’s when she felt comfortable enough to work out regularly.

- BOOBS. she never had top surgery, just a combination of estrogen and being buff. she has on occasion forgotten she can’t take her shirt off in public, and then gotten embarrassed when meryl pointed it out.

- her family is accepting of her, partially because they’re good people and partially because milly has a large stun gun and doesn’t take kindly to being misgendered. she won’t hesitate to shoot it at strangers who bother her either.

- sometimes she’s very loud about personal info due to her not understanding volume control or social cues. this has caused more than a few incidents of the boys + meryl having to deescalate a “why did that woman just say she has a dick” situation. she doesn’t understand why people have a problem with it though.

- she does regularly tuck, but finds it uncomfortable for long distances. in these situations she opts for leggings or compression shorts under her dresses instead.

- takes estrogen in pill form, she has to pack extra before trips and refill at local pharmacies. sometimes she has to get the pills from the black market and deal with outlaws due to lack of supply. she can take care of herself, but wolfwood makes for good scary dog privilege.

- primarily attracted to women, basically the opposite of wolfwood, but pansexual. loves the label sapphic as well, and is often grumpy about being the only woman in the quad. meryl doesn’t mind being her girlfriend for a bit though, usually.

- autistic, ARFID.

- southern accent but less thick than wolfwood. covered in freckles, tans well, has to shave her face because she was hairy before starting estrogen. now her body hair is soft and she likes to stim with it, she doesn’t shave her body hair.

- she’s 28 and the oldest human of the group.

Meryl

- she/he/they + anything used with respect. doesn’t care too much about gender. not really agender, just gender apathetic. most likely would say genderfluid if asked for a specific label due to changing presentation.

- usually gets read as a woman. he has been on a low dose of testosterone and off for years, but can’t stay on consistently due to injection supplies not being easily available. she doesn’t like being off of it because it makes her feel weird and she has bad dysphoria around her voice. it also makes their mood much worse.

- she has major issues with her height and being perceived as a weak, short woman. they carry a megaphone with them and have a deeper voice from the testosterone than they used to. he’s discovered guns and yelling get people’s attention, height aside. he’s become really good at shooting derringers, under the guidance of the other three.

- hasn’t been able to get top surgery yet but does want it, when they can afford the time off work. luckily, she has small boobs so she mostly just wears baggy clothes. sometimes they will wear a binder when they’re dysphoric, but they can’t wear it for long or in the outside heat.

- doesn’t want bottom surgery.

- he used to identify as a lesbian woman due to not liking cis men + past trauma. then they realized they just doesn’t like cis people in general, and is firmly t4t.

- ADHD, OCD, MCAS, was diagnosed with POTS but it has improved quite a bit over time especially with testosterone. she still has episodes every now and then and often has to have one of the others carry her due to lack of desert friendly mobility aids. he has a weak right ankle due to a childhood injury, but no pain. they do have a cane and a foot for it that works on sand for bad days, but that doesn’t always cut it.

- wolfwood is quitting smoking for their sake.

- japanese, pale, and burns very easily.

- 23, second youngest, but usually gets read as the youngest.

#sftly fandom #trigun #trigun 98 #vash #vash the stampede #polygun #meryl stryfe #milly thompson #nicholas d. wolfwood #wolfwood #trigun vash #trigun wolfwood #trigun meryl #trigun milly #trigun headcanons #i have a lot of thoughts about these four

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darsynia · 1 year

Text

Just Right | Ch 3

(Steve Rogers x F!Reader, post-Ultron Multichapter)

Summary:

You’ve been in love with Steve Rogers for at least a year, but he treats you the same way he treats every other member of the team– with respect, but nothing more. It takes an inter-dimensional mistake and a whole second, more assertive, actually interested Steve for you to realize that you don’t want just any version of Steve Rogers– you want the one you’ve been pining for all this time.

Length: 3,119

FIC MASTERLIST | LAST CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Dedicated to @ronearoundblindly who is the bestest! This story will be I THINK about 5 chapters, but don't pelt me with chickens if I'm wrong please!

Excerpt:

“What if it were you, Tony? Would you accept staying home and ‘out of the way’ if you could help? Or would you be threatening to fly there yourself?”

It’s Steve’s voice, but the context tells you it’s Gold Steve.

“You want to waste all the time I’ve been spending inventing a dimensional portal? Your me already has one! I’m not interested in being invaded by a pissier other self who’s raring to kick my ass for losing you.”

“If it’s not safe for me, it’s not safe for him,” Gold Steve points out.

An almost identical voice responds directly afterward. “It’s plenty safe.” There’s more talk, but you need to pay attention to your own intense little meeting, so you refocus on that.

“Hey, Brigandine, you wanna c’mere for a sec?” Stark calls out, right as you’re following the others out the door.

“Go on, plan for an extra person,” you whisper to Aeronautics, and turn around. Multiple Avengers are looking at you expectantly. “No, no, and no,” you groan, taking in Stark’s stubborn expression. “You’re making me the tiebreaker, aren’t you? No.”

“It’s in your contract,” he says with the supreme confidence of a person who knows there’s no time to check his facts.

Chapter Three

You’re trying to figure out how to dodge Gold Steve’s question and reconcile your mix-up of the two Steves when an alarm goes off.

The alarm.

It’s a call to assemble, telling everyone in earshot something’s happened that some or all of the Avengers can help with. That it’s happening at all is a compromise with Secretary Ross, the culmination of a month-long excruciating negotiation that allowed Steve and Natasha to stay out of jail, that lets Clint be a part-time Avenger and not have to choose between his family and heroism (though if he knew you were even thinking of it that way, he’d punch you in the shoulder. Hard), and loosely soothed the gaping wounds between the team, for the greater good.

Basically, the Avengers have an uneasy truce with the governments of the world, and you’re grateful for it-- but this is the first time that alarm has gone off since that agreement, the Modified, Extended Sokovian Settlement, as Tony calls it. The MESS.

You whip the towel off of your head and see that Gold Steve’s alert and concerned. Everyone else at the compound will know what to do, you’ve all trained for it. Everyone but Gold Steve.

Swearing under your breath, you grab his arm and head to the door, scanning your badge to open it.

“There’s not a silence protocol that goes along with that, is there?” he whispers as he follows you through multiple corridors to a second door.

“Nope.” You reach the building with the gathering point, and the two of you wait in the line to go inside.

“Technically, we could get in faster if I picked you up and speedran to the back door,” Gold Steve muses. Out loud. Where other people around you hear it and turn to look at the two of you.

“Funny,” you say tersely, hoping the turbulent terror in your stomach isn’t outwardly visible.

The MESS protocol designates each employee a level, and your meeting point depends on that level. Your level happens to be the highest there is, with the actual team, so you’re prepared for the feeling of unreality when you walk in there and see all the Avengers who are currently on-campus arrayed around the table. What you didn’t expect is for you and Gold Steve to be the last through the door, meaning all eyes are on the two of you as he pulls out a chair for you and finds a seat of his own.

As one of the high-level support team, you and a few others need to be present for the decision making, which made sense to you when reading the documents but now that you’re in the room, is both cool and intimidating. You’ve gotten to know most of the Avengers on a personal, friendly level, but individually, as they’ve met with you about their gear, but this? This is different. This is serious. You feel incredibly out of place.

You fix your gaze to the table as you hear some of the others in the room greeting Gold Steve before Maria Hill starts the breakdown of what’s happened.

It’s bad. In a combination of a radioactive event and possible HYDRA activity, local authorities in Romania have detected high levels of Cesium-137 in an abandoned factory that’s been doubling as a junkyard for years. They’ve contacted the Nuclear Regulatory Commission for assistance, who are already on site. The underground complex they found on the site wired for electricity has set off alarm bells, and, well. Why overspend your containment budget when there’s a group of people who can take those risks for you? A group that desperately needs a win?

You’ve been sneaking glances at Gold Steve, feeling conflicted and guilty. There’s no way he would have wanted to be left out, but if this exists in your universe, does that mean your meeting reveals its existence to him prematurely? Assuming, of course, that he gets to go back.

“First, let me address the elephant in the room,” Stark is saying, gesturing towards Gold Steve. “I can see you making manfully conflicted expressions over there, but I don’t think anyone here doubts you would have made your way into this meeting as soon as you found out about it.” There’s some murmuring and many nods. “Frankly, I can’t bring myself to feel guilty if the first thing you do when I send you back home is show up at this place and mete out some justice.”

You look around the room, trying to get a sense of the general consensus. In the process, you catch the eye of your Steve, who was already looking at you. You offer him a smile, and he returns it, shifting his gaze away quickly.

After twenty minutes of debate, the group decides to send a team. Though Clint’s recon skills would be an asset on this one, he’s back in Missouri and this is time-sensitive, so they settle on Tony, Natasha, Sam, and Steve. Support staff is to immediately report to workstations to prep all equipment needed, so as soon as Hill calls an end to the meeting, you get up and head over to your colleagues.

As the group of you confer for a few seconds about your own timeline (everything needs to be ready before the firm head-out), you can hear an intense conversation happening back at the table.

“What if it were you, Tony? Would you accept staying home and ‘out of the way’ if you could help? Or would you be threatening to fly there yourself?”

It’s Steve’s voice, but the context tells you it’s Gold Steve.

“If it’s not safe for me, it’s not safe for him,” Gold Steve points out.

An almost identical voice responds directly afterward. “It’s plenty safe.” There’s more talk, but you need to pay attention to your own intense little meeting, so you refocus on that.

“Hey, Brigandine, you wanna c’mere for a sec?” Stark calls out, right as you’re following the others out the door.

“It’s in your contract,” he says with the supreme confidence of a person who knows there’s no time to check his facts.

You glare at him. “Okay, but don’t tell me who’s on what side. Steve?”

Gold Steve smiles and looks away, obviously knowing you aren’t referring to him. Your Steve looks at him, then at you, before he says, “Yes?”

“Do you think he should go?” It would just waste precious time to make them tell you the stuff you already overheard.

“Why are you asking him? I’m your boss!”

You’re so determined to explain yourself you forget everything else. “Because Steve’s the one with the most at stake, here, Stark. It’s Steve who’s focused on the team as a whole, Steve who always has everyone’s locations in mind, Steve who’s constantly running calculations in his head about whether what you’re about to do might put someone in danger!” You point somewhere behind you, picturing the other universe out there that’s missing their version of Steve Rogers. “And it’ll be Steve who feels the worst about it if he doesn’t bring himself back home, because every single person back there who is missing him feels guilty that they can’t just set off an assemble alarm to go get him back!”

Stark says a sullen, “Yeah, okay,” but the rest of the room is dead silent. Your throat hurts, which means you were yelling, and there’s zero fucking chance you’re going to look up at anyone to see if they’re showing expressions of dawning comprehension, because that? That was pretty damned revealing, right there.

“I need to go set up an extra set of gear,” you say in an admirably calm voice as you turn on your heel and walk swiftly toward the door. Once through, you rush.

Because you’ve done your job right, no one has to come pick up anything they’re missing for the mission, because it’s all at their ‘muster station’ in the armory. No one but Gold Steve, that is. When he shows up, you’ve already delivered some backup items for the Quinjet, and are running back through Steve’s checklist to ensure there’s a copy of everything for his copy.

“Thanks for that,” he says when he walks up, a clear look of admiration in his eyes.

You’re all business. “All right, this is the alternate to Steve’s usual uniform. It used to be the primary, but he ripped it a little while back doing an event with some first responders, and I had it in for repairs. Truth is, I haven’t done the whole round of testing to make sure it’s got the right integrity to go back in--”

“I’m sure it’s fine, I don’t need a run-down. I trust you.”

“That’s good, because the upshot to Stark making me a symbolic tiebreaker is I’m gonna feel responsible if anything does happen,” you sigh, avoiding Gold Steve’s eyes by packing up his things so he can get going.

The door opens behind him, but you don’t see who it is before he replies with, “I wish the guy in charge of our gear back home was half as diligent as you are. You should give yourself a break.”

Beside him, your Steve walks up, shooting a look between the two of you. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he asks. Given Gold Steve’s Serious Eyebrows and the way you’re wringing your hands, you suppose it’s a reasonable question, but it sends your stomach through a trapeze routine that tangles up your tongue, as well.

“She’s stressing out about the suit you’re graciously lending me,” Gold Steve answers smoothly. “Said something about not sending it through all the testing protocols, but--”

Steve reaches over for it, holding it up with a critical eye. “I don’t even remember where it ripped, ‘Dine, I’m sure it’s fine. Thanks for being careful, though.” You get the feeling that he was only looking it over to reassure you, and the thoughtfulness of the gesture warms your heart. “You’d better get moving, wheels up in fifteen,” he tells Gold Steve.

The two men nod respectfully at each other, and once Gold Steve has left, you take stock of your workspace, just in case you forgot anything. Satisfied you haven’t, you start toward the lockers to check over there.

“Wait, ‘Dine--”

Steve catches your hand. He catches your wrist first, actually, but your momentum carries the gesture through to your hand. It’s as close to a caress as you’ve ever felt from him, and you suck in a shocked, delighted breath, freezing in place for a few seconds.

“Yes?” Your voice is breathy, and you feel hot embarrassment thick in your throat.

He doesn’t let go. “Can I talk to you later? When I get back?”

You can’t not look at him now, so you do, nodding as you turn your head, totally normal, your besotted heart isn’t doing cartwheels in your chest or anything. As you thought he might, once you make eye contact, Steve lets go, but it’s gentle, a pulling away, again like a wanted touch.

“Okay, then,” he says awkwardly, flashing you a brilliant smile before turning and jogging away.

Minutes later, you’re still bemused, repeating tasks, distracted. “Okay, maybe this was why there were fainting couches. Not because our predecessors were weak and flighty, but because they needed a minute to collect themselves. Things were too expensive back then to screw them up with your head in the clouds!” you mutter to yourself.

It’s late evening. The team’s expected to stay overnight tonight, and you’re in the ‘rec room’ area waiting for news. The tv is on, and Wanda’s showing Vision one of her favorite episodes of a vintage show. You’d seen the weapons master Carl pass through at one point, but you don’t know where he is now. You’re at one of the computer desks poring over a scan of some old SSR documents, trying to calm your mind so you can sleep tonight.

“Is that Howard Stark’s handwriting?” Vision asks from behind you.

“Yeah, good catch!” you say, sharing a wry look with him. He’d probably recognize a lot of more obscure people’s handwriting, but it’s the thought that counts. “I like to go over his notes sometimes. No need to reinvent the wheel.”

“Yes, I imagine certain observations would be already documented,” Vision agrees. You feel his hand light on the back of your computer chair as he steps closer. “‘Rates of Metabolic Healing After Exposure to Low-Level Ionizing Radiation in Subject Rogers, Stephen Grant,’” he reads aloud. “Ah.”

There’s an uncomfortable level of understanding in that single word, and it makes you want to note that Wanda Maximoff probably didn’t need to drift quite so close to him as she walked past on her way to the restroom. That would be unkind, however, and there’s a non-zero chance that Vision might genuinely not understand you if you did try to rib him about it.

You go with, “Yes. ‘Ah.’”

“I hope you find the peace of mind you’re seeking,” Vision says quietly before walking away.

In your head, you answer, Me too, Viz. Me too.

They come back three days later, arriving in early morning New York time after having left Romania in the afternoon. You’re already at work when one of the Steves comes in wearing the full kit, clearly having come directly from the Quinjet. Your heart does a dull, frightened flip-flop when you realize you literally cannot tell the two of them apart anymore. Not since they’ve both favored you with a look of warm appreciation that sent your whole body into shivers.

“I owe you an apology,” this Steve says, turning around with a blush-cheeked wince. Three inches under his ass is a gap in the fabric wide enough to show a swathe of muscular thigh. “Good news is it gave way when I got antsy to get out of there, mid-leap onto the Quinjet. I came here because I don’t want to make it worse, trying to take it off without speaking to you first.”

You’re not picturing that.

You’re not.

Not.

“Thoughtful of you,” you say, rushing to add, because your tone could be described as caustic, “Not mad at you, I promise. I took a risk with this fabric. It doesn’t really repair, which is why I’d hesitated putting it back into rotation. Might be back to the drawing board for materials.”

He’s still basically presenting his ass, looking over his shoulder to say, “So no problem if it gets worse taking it off, then?”

“None at all."

“Got it. Thanks!” Gold Steve says, leaving without pressing you for further conversation. You try not to take it personally-- he’s got a hole in his pants, after all. Still, every time you talk to him, you feel like you get a little glimpse of what it might be like if you and your universe’s version of Steve ever felt more comfortable with each other. It’s like a hopeful little time machine. Future Steve, almost.

That would, of course, require Now Steve to do something more than just look at you like you’re someone special that one time.

And grab your hand.

Say he’d like to talk to you when--

“Brigandine!”

You startle out of your lovesick reverie to see Steve standing in front of you in regular clothes. He looks full-on exasperated, and you stammer out an apology.

“I’m sorry, I-- honestly, the other Steve was in here and the uniform ripped again, meaning I’m going to need new fabric, if it won’t repair, and--”

“He was in here already?”

Crystalline regret precipitates from every blood vessel as you see actual disappointment in Steve’s eyes, and maybe something else. You don’t dare speculate on what it is, not when your careless words may have implied there was more to Gold Steve’s chair-pulling than mere politeness. Your frantic thoughts are racing faster than the horse second in line at Preakness. Is this Steve’s typical gallant leadership, defensive of ‘his’ team at the imposition of a stranger? Would he react that way when the stranger is himself?

Your innate truthfulness proceeds to make everything worse.

“He didn’t know how to take it off without making it worse, and since it’s yours-- ”

Steve actually starts pacing around away from you, and you have a split second of confusion as you go back over your words before you realize.

“Steve, I promise you, your other universe counterpart didn’t come in here to have me help him take your clothes off, okay?”

“Well, when you put it like that--”

“Oh my God, Tony’s got a recording of me saying that!” You slump into your seat, throw your arms down on it, and bury your head onto them, entirely embarrassed. You’re both terrified and elated at the idea that Steve might be in any way jealous of Gold Steve’s influence on you, mostly because of what that might mean about his own feelings. There’s nowhere to run to, no way to go back to the way things were before, and the yawning chasm of what ifs ahead scares the hell out of you.

“Somehow this whole visit got turned around,” Steve says. You let out a little noise of distress, and he chuckles. “How about a redo? Lunchtime?”

“You’re on, but my face is puffy and I’m hiding from Tony’s all-seeing eye,” you say with your head still buried, popping him a thumbs up.

“I can have a talk with FRIDAY if you want me to?”

His tone is so gentle that you sit up, desperate to know what his expression could be. Steve’s eyebrows are lifted, his head tipped to the side with a slight smile that grows broader on seeing you lift your head. If these subdued reactions are enough to intoxicate you, how on Earth would you survive anything stronger?

Before you can say anything, though, Steve heads for the door, pausing once he’s got it open to say, “Flustered looks good on you.”

He leaves without looking back.

Next chapter...

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #captain america x f!reader #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #romance #pining

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unclewaynemunson · 2 years

Text

(Pt 5 of the Steddie ft. Rose Harrington AU aka my pathological need to sneak Wayne into every fic i write) | full version AO3 link

Steve was on Eddie's mind every second of every day. He couldn't believe that guy was even real: twenty years old and taking a responsibility that his father wouldn't, having so much love to give to a lost little girl when he obviously got so little of it from his parents.

There were two things he had to admit to himself. The first one: he was more than just in love. He was head-over-heels for Steve Harrington. And the second one: he wasn't nearly as brave as Steve. He knew that dating Steve would come as a package deal with becoming a stepdad – Rose might not technically be Steve's daughter, but in practice, there really wasn't much of a difference. And that thought scared the shit out of him.

'So who's the lucky fella this time?' Wayne asked him one evening, when the two of them were sharing a quiet night at home.

Eddie tried not to choke on the air in his lungs and stared at his uncle for a good few seconds. 'What?' he finally managed to utter.

'C'mon, Ed,' Wayne said. 'I been watchin' the game for almost an hour and you're pretending to watch it with me, without making a single remark 'bout how stupid it is.' His uncle snorted softly. 'You didn't even know we were watchin', did ya?'

Eddie stared at the tv screen, where – as he now noticed – a whole bunch of sweaty dudes was running around chasing a ball, then back at Wayne. 'I did not,' he admitted.

'So you wanna tell me 'bout him?'

Eddie sighed dramatically. 'He's perfect, Wayne,' he blurted out. 'He's fucking perfect, I'm not even exaggerating this time. But I can't ask him out.'

'He straight?'

'I'm pretty sure he's not,' said Eddie. 'We've been flirting a lot, I'm not even that worried about him rejecting me if I would actually make a move. But –' he sighed again, to make extra clear how distressed he was about the whole thing, 'He has a half-sister. A three-year-old. And he's basically raising her all by himself. So that's... That's a kind of terrifying commitment to make.'

'Hm?'

After years of living with Wayne, his uncle didn't even need to ask full-phrased questions in order to keep a conversation going. The two of them could understand each other perfectly well without words.

'I'm kind of serious about him, I guess,' Eddie admitted. 'So if I'd go for it, I'd also have to commit to his sister. And that's... I'm nowhere near ready for anything like that.'

Wayne frowned. He lit a cigarette, taking his time to come up with a proper reaction, thoughtful as ever.

'D'you think I was ready for you when you showed up on my doorstep all those years ago?' he finally said. 'Course I wasn't. I wasn't much older than you are now. And there you were, not a soul in the world lookin' out for ya. You won't hear me say that I didn't have a choice, 'cause that's bullshit, there's always a choice. You can always run away. But I made the choice to keep you and I never regretted it, not once.' Wayne paused to utter a soft chuckle. 'Okay, maybe I did, that one time when I was putting new wallpaper up at Maddy's trailer and you decided it'd be a good idea to sit your ass down in that bucket of glue and got the whole place flooded with it.'

'Yeah, I remember that!' Eddie laughed at the memory. 'I think I was still sticky for days after.'

'Got what you deserved there.'

Eddie lit a cigarette for himself, too, mulling over Wayne's words.

'So you think I should go for it, with Steve?' he asked.

Wayne sighed and took another drag of his cigarette to buy himself some more time to think. 'Look, I'm never tellin' you what to do, boy. All I'm sayin' is, it ain't easy, dating when there's a kid involved. Why d'you think I never been interested in any of that?' He shot Eddie a meaningful glance. 'It's 'cause you've always been my number one, Eddie, simple as that. And that's probably the same for your Steve and his little girl. It's up to you to decide if you can handle that or not.'

'It's fucking scary,' Eddie admitted.

'I know.' Wayne nodded. 'I know. I been scared for years after I took you in. Hell, sometimes I still am. That's an unavoidable part of raising a kid, even if you're not a real parent. You're gonna be scared to make mistakes, and you're sure as hell gonna make some mistakes. Lord knows I did.' Wayne looked at Eddie with slightly raised eyebrows, almost as if he was assessing him. 'But I like to think I didn't do that bad of a job, after all. Even though I had no idea what I was doin'. Makes me think that as long as the love is there, things will be alright.'

Eddie felt slightly embarrassed about the tears he had to blink away. 'You did a pretty okay job, old man,' he said in a somewhat choked voice.

Wayne didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. The slightly brusque pat he gave to Eddie's shoulder was saying enough.

🎵

The conversation with Wayne definitely helped to make Eddie a little less scared of the whole thing. After meeting Rose, his weekly lessons with Steve had become a little less flirty, like they were both holding themselves back – like Eddie wasn't the only one who was scared. And Eddie still had a lot to figure out, but he knew that he enjoyed his time with Steve in the practice room more than anything, and he wanted nothing more than to see that adorable blush on his cheeks or that hesitant smile around his lips. So maybe he joked around with him a little bit more than he was supposed to. And maybe he helped him with his finger positions a little more often than was strictly necessary. And maybe he spent a whole lesson on his posture, holding his shoulders and rubbing the tension out of his back, even though he didn't really need to. And maybe, maybe, it became a little bit more difficult with each passing week not to lean in a little bit further into his personal space and kiss him.

And maybe he was a little bit too disappointed when Steve called him on a Monday to tell him that he had to cancel his next lesson.

'Lucas usually babysits Rose on Wednesdays, but he has this important game that he can't miss, and I don't wanna bother any of the others, because I'm sure they'll all wanna be at the game to support Lucas and I don't wanna ask too much of them, so...' He trailed off, not really finishing his sentence; Eddie knew him well enough by now to recognize it as a habit of Steve whenever he was feeling anxious. 'I'm sorry.'

'No, don't apologize for that,' Eddie said immediately. 'Listen, why don't you just take Rose with you to the lesson?'

There were a few seconds of silence at the other end of the line.

'Are you sure about that?' Steve sounded hesitant. 'I don't wanna – I mean, it'll probably be distracting to have her around and –'

'Steve,' Eddie cut him off. 'Don't worry about it. I'd love to have her around. She's awesome, I'd love to get to know her better.'

Pt6

Taglist: @kardinalkalamity @imzadidragonfly @simpforsauron @undreamingscatworld @nailbatbabygirl @solosnail @theysherobinbuckley @sharpbutsoft @manda-panda-monium @piningapple @whimsicalwitchm @withacapitalp @kerlypride @bejeweledbaby @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @cheeseaddict-12 @henderdads @hammity-hammer @nelotegreitic @silentiumdelirium @mad-h-w @evix-syne666 @legitcookie @csinnamon-fox @deleataecount @sadcanadianwinter @shadowofaliar @and-say @connected-dots @thosemessyvibes @panicatthediaz @basilthefourth @swimmingbirdrunningrock @inikokoru @adaed5 @ali-just-ali @spectrum-spectre @paperbackribs @steddiewritingnerd (HOLY SHIT how are there SO MANY OF YOU??!!!?!)

#i'm not american so it'll always be my love for wayne vs my lack of knowledge about southern accents #i hope this kinda resembles how an actual southerner would sound bc i have no idea what i'm doing sorry #steddie #fruity ficlet #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson my beloved

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