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edie-k · 3 years

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Legally Ginger - Chapter 3 "What, Like It's Hard?"

Title: Legally Ginger Chapter 3: "What Like It's Hard?"

Rating: Teen (I'm sorry Ron and I are equally fond of the f word)

Summary: Based off the movie Legally Blonde. Ron makes the move to Boston but his Harvard career is off to a rough start.

Author Notes: I do want to caveat that not everyone who attends an Ivy League school is a snob so no offense to anyone that did; it’s just a fun romcom stereotype.

Additionally, I felt the need to address that it can be a bit scary for anyone to stalk someone across the country but particularly a man stalking a woman across country is historically problematic. Unfortunately, given it's basically the entire plot of this story, we can't completely avoid it. So remember, this is a fun thing in movies but a red flag in real life.

And yes, I do crib more from the movie on the curriculum. I did not attend law school and can use the help. So I bolded the language that was either verbatim or heavily cribbed from the movie.

Chapter title is a movie quote.

Thank you so much to adnei for all of the beta help and feedback!

I've been so excited to share this chapter with all of you and I think when you get to the end, you'll know why. Let me know what you think!

Link to AO3 or read more below.

“All set then?” asked his dad, closing the back of the old Ford Escape Bill had passed off to him.

“I think that’s all of it,” Ron agreed.

“Well, I’ll go get your mother then to see you off,” Dad said.

The twins and Ginny were standing on the curb, having already loaded the boxes they carried in the vehicle.

“Well, in two days, you’ll be knocking on Astoria’s door to find out if this crazy plan worked.”

Ron laughed. “Not exactly. Hopefully I run into her the first week.”

George’s jaw dropped. “You spent 90k of Muriel’s cash and wasted the best party semester of your life to hope to run into her?”

He hadn’t gone the entire spring semester without seeing Stori. She’d sought him out a few times for a bit of, as she put it, mutual stress relief, but refused to discuss anything further about their relationship. She had bid him a teary goodbye at their commencement ceremony, where he had been evasive about his post graduation plans.

“The point was to be worthy of her, not scare her. Ginny, imagine you get drafted by the Red Stars and suddenly that douche you dated, Corner, is working there as the strength and conditioning coach. You’d be freaked out.”

“It’s a good point,” said Ginny.

“Look, I’ll show up, I’ll get to know everyone, make my connections, and charm the professors. She’ll know I’m there without me ever telling her.”

“You never faded into the background at CULA,” Fred agreed.

“I’ll say hi if I see her but she’ll be knocking on my door by October,” Ron said confidentially.

“Oh yeah?” George’s voice was skeptical.

“You didn’t think I’d make it this far,” pointed out Ron. “It’s… it’s got to work.”

Suddenly, he felt his confidence drop. Was this a stupid plan?

“Best of luck, bro,” said Fred, giving him a one armed hug.

“Regardless of everything… Ron, you got into Harvard. Harvard. Don’t let them take that away from you,” Ginny said fiercely.

“Yeah, yeah, you sound like Mom now,” Ron said, brushing her off before his cheeks could burn. “Where’s she at? I’m burning daylight here.”

“I’m right here,” said his mom, walking out the front door of the ranch home he’d grown up in, holding a cooler. “I have some sandwiches to at least get you through the first day on the road,”

“First hour maybe,” George scoffed.

“Thanks Mom,” he took the cooler and stuck it in the car. When he turned back around, his dad had joined them again.

“Well, this is it,” he said awkwardly.

“Oh… Ginny, go pack a bag and join your brother. We’ll buy you a plane ticket home. Or I can come along,” his mom blurted out, nervously twisting her hands.

“Mom,” Ron groaned.

“Molly, he’ll be okay,” his dad said gently.

“Call me once a day,” Mom said. “Just during the trip,” she added, when Ron started to object.

“Okay,” he agreed. He drew her into a hug.

After he’d said goodbye to each of them, he whistled. “Pig, come on boy!” The pug ran across the yard and allowed Ron to scoop him up and put him in the passenger seat. He climbed into the driver’s seat and swallowed hard. Was this a big mistake?

“We’re so proud of you, son,” his dad said.

“We’ll see you at Christmas?” his mom asked.

Ron didn’t trust his voice so he just nodded and closed the car door. He started the vehicle and with one last wave, he backed out of the driveway.

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

Five days later, Ron’s alarm was blaring.

“What fucking time is it?” he muttered, slamming the sleep button. In response, Pig grunted and rolled over.

It had been four days of naps and showers at truck stops, coffee, Monster, and fast food but he’d arrived yesterday in order to get a decent night’s sleep before today’s orientation. He, however, had failed to calculate in the three hour time difference that combined with his driving fatigue, was wreaking havoc on his mind and body.

He sighed and went to a still packed box marked “clothes”. He immediately groaned. His khakis were wrinkled as hell. Should have hung them in the bathroom last night when he showered to at least get a little help from the steam.

Luckily, he had a couple dress shirts in the garment bag with his sports coat and two suits. During his brother Percy’s summer visit, he’d used one of Ron’s rare free days to take him shopping. Percy had gotten some advice from a friend of his that attended the University of Chicago on law school attire and had insisted Ron needed at least three suits.

Ron, who was expecting that this whole thing would be wrapped up by spring, balked at the idea but finally agreed to one new suit to go with the one he already owned, a blazer, khakis, and a few polo shirts. He had shirts and tie combos from various formal and semi-formal events, but doubted he’d need much of it. Percy’s friend had said classes were business casual and while his golf shirts were comfortable enough, Ron really hoped that by the second week, everyone was wearing hoodies in class.

He finished getting ready and then grabbed Pig’s leash. “Come on boy,” he prodded the slumbering pug. “If you don’t go now, you’ll be holding it all day.”

They walked the campus, enjoying the morning quiet. While it didn’t give Ron the ease and sense of belonging CULA did, it was an impressive campus. For a moment, he wished he’d taken his mom up on the offer to come out with him - she’d love to see this. He hated the loneliness he felt and was glad to see Pig do his business. Sooner he could get to orientation and meet some people, the better.

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

Orientation had been a mix of boring and interesting. He’d slipped in right at the last minute and sat in the back row to ensure he went unnoticed if he were in the same group of students as Astoria. Luckily, he didn’t notice her in the room. While he missed her terribly, he hadn’t come this far to destroy his plans now, and running into her before classes even started was not the plan.

Now they had moved into the social mixer part of the evening, which he was delighted to see that unlike undergrad, law school mixers included booze.

“Uh… you have anything local?” Ron asked the bartender.

“Nothing craft but I do have Dogfish Head,” the bartender said.

“That’ll do,” Ron responded, sticking a dollar in the tip cup. Had Astoria accepted his proposal, maybe he would have pursued the Boston Beer job and he’d have cases of this stuff in their kitchen. The bartender handed him a glass full of his other life and he wandered over to a small group of people, chatting.

“Hi, Ron Weasley,” he said sticking out his hand to the woman on his right.

“Uh, hi,” she said, sounding surprised but not unfriendly. “Lisa Turpin.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Ernie MacMillan,” said a blonde man, standing next to Lisa. Ron shook his hand and then shook the hand of the man next to him who introduced himself as Jack Sloper.

“We were just discussing undergrads,” Ernie said. “Jack and I were both Princeton men, although I took a gap year in Europe so different classes. Lisa here was an Eli. How about you?”

Ron inwardly winced. This guy sounded so pompous. An Eli, really? Anyone who watched a few seasons of Gilmore Girls knew what that was. Ron took a deep breath. “West coast here. I graduated from CULA.”

“That’s a solid state school system,” said Ernie. It wasn’t an insult, but when he said it, somehow it sounded like one.

“Yeah, well, it got the job done,” he said, forcing his friendliest tone.

“What were your undergrad degrees in?” Jack asked the group.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit of a stereotype. Political science for me,” Ernie chuckled.

“Same,” said Lisa. “Although I double majored in French.”

“I was a double major as well. Economics and Spanish,” Jack responded.

“There just wasn’t time for a double major while I was student body president, I’m afraid,” Ernie said. “What about you, Ron?”

“Uh, yeah, just the one major for me. Food science,” he said self-consciously.

“Food science,” Lisa repeated, her tone again not unfriendly but certainly not welcoming. Ron’s whole body stiffened.

“Like cooking?” asked Jack skeptically.

“No, there are a few different concentrations but I was focused on food biochemistry and microbiology,” he explained.

“I think the only micro I’m aware of with food is microwaves or microbrewing,” Jack said, letting out a condescending chuckle.

“Actually, brewing was a big part of my internship last summer. I was at Anheuser-Busch working on their new sustainable brewing initiative,” he said.

“Interesting,” said Lisa. “Ernie, where did you spend your time abroad?”

“I assume you’re interested in whether I spent any time in France, which I can assure you that I did.”

“I hope when you say France, you don’t just mean Paris,” said Jack and Ron was glad to see his condescension focused on someone else.

Ernie laughed loudly in response. “Of course not.”

Ron took a big swig of his beer. This was going to be a long night.

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

Ron shifted his backpack as he carefully studied the room numbers next to each door. Everyone else looked so comfortable and confident and he wondered if all of his fellow students had mapped out their routes in advance of the first day of classes.

His eyes were so busy shifting from the left side of the hallway to the right that he failed to notice someone stopped right in front of him until he slammed into them.

“Ooof,” he said. “I’m sor - ”

“Ron?!”

Of course he had just walked right into Astoria.

Astoria stood there, mouth hanging open as she stared at him. Despite the gormless look on her face, she looked absolutely gorgeous with her blonde hair pulled back into a tight curled ponytail, the kind he used to love to pull out at the end of the day. Even though it was just barely September, she was wearing an orange cardigan and he thought about how she obsessively dressed in what she called “the colors of the season”.

“Hey there,” he forced out in what he hoped was a casual tone.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, looking shocked.

“Going to class,” Ron responded. “Don’t want to be late; see you!” He took broad steps around and away from her.

Ron let out a sigh of relief as his classroom was the next one he spotted. He took a deep breath as he walked into the lecture hall for his first class. He spotted a seat near the middle of the room that felt like the right place for the impression he wanted to make.

“Hey,” he greeted the guy next to him. The guy nodded, not even looking up from his laptop. Ron shrugged and pulled his computer out of his bag and powered it up.

While it was sooner than he had hoped, Ron had played it pretty cool with Astoria during their chance meeting. Short and to the point, nothing dumb or embarrassing said. His most successful interaction at Harvard to date.

While he was congratulating himself, a severe looking older woman walked purposefully to the front of the classroom and cleared her throat.

“Welcome to the start of your legal education,” she said. “I’m Professor McGonagall.”

As the professor began to speak about the syllabus, Ron allowed his mind to wander back to Astoria. She hadn’t looked upset or angry to see him, merely surprised. Maybe a bit uncomfortable, which was understandable. She also looked phenomenal. It had been way too long since they had been together and he had almost forgotten how stunning she was.

“Can you tell us about Gordon v. Steele?”

Ron looked up with a start. “Huh?”

Professor McGonagall was standing right in front of him, looking annoyed. “Can you tell us about Gordon v. Steele as it relates to subject matter jurisdiction?”

“Uh…” Ron said, shocked. “It’s the first day of class.”

The classroom was now silently watching him.

“Did you not read the first fifty pages of the assigned text?” McGonagall asked.

“I didn’t realize there was an assignment,” Ron said nervously. He heard a snort behind him and his head whipped around to look at the source.

Professor McGonagall seemed to hear the snort too and shifted her focus. “And you, young man? You could answer my question?”

“Of course,” the smartass snorter said. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair.

Oh, thought Ron. This guy is the worst.

“So would you support my decision to ask this student to remove himself from class until he’s prepared?”

Ron froze.

“Yes Professor,” said the cocky douchebag.

Professor McGonagall motioned to Ron. “Once you’re prepared, you will be welcomed back to class. Until then…”

Ron packed up his laptop, completely stunned. He gave a hard stare at the messy haired jerk, who smirked back at him as he stomped out of the room.

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

“You have to be fucking kidding me. Where the fuck does she get the right… and that fucking douchebag,” Ron muttered.

“Excuse me,” a voice rang out from behind him. “That’s more profanity than I care to hear in a week, let alone at 8:30 on a Monday.”

Ron looked up, irritated by the interruption to his own self pity. The reprimand came from a pretty curly haired brunette perched on a neighboring bench, a giant stack of books beside her. Despite her scolding words, she had a hint of a smile. A smile that actually looked friendly.

“Sorry,” he said, ears turning red. “I just… are they always that mean?”

“Mean?”

“Yeah, like, call you out like that. My professors have always liked me all right,” Ron replied, feeling quite embarrassed to explain this to her.

“Yes, they tend to do that. Socratic method,” said the woman.

“Ah,” he responded. He knew the name Socrates thanks to his philosophy major ex, but nothing of the method.

“Were you with McGonagall?”

“Yeah. She kicked me out!”

The brunette made a sympathetic noise.

“She ever kick you out?”

The woman now looked scandalized. “Never! But I had nightmares about her my whole first week. Who else do you have?”

“Uh, Sprout, Slughorn, Umbridge…”

“Umbridge likes when you speak up in class but make sure you always concede to her in the end. Slughorn’s kind of pretentious but if you make good use of your thesaurus for his papers, he’s easy to please.”

“Nice, thanks,” Ron said, nodding his head with a slight smile. She grinned back at him.

“This place is tough; don’t let one setback your first day throw you off,” she urged.

“I’m glad I picked this bench. So what year are - ”

“Ron? Can we talk?” Astoria was standing in front of him, looking a bit nervous.

“If you want,” he said carefully.

“Please,” she said, taking a few steps back. Ron lifted a hand in goodbye to the girl on the bench before approaching Astoria.

“So… you’re at Harvard,” she said nervously, rubbing her right hand over her left.

“I am,” he confirmed.

“And… you got into Harvard,” Astoria said.

“Clearly,” he answered, a bit irritated by her tone. She didn’t really think he was an idiot, did she?

“How was your first class? “

“It could have been better,” Ron admitted.

“That’s because you-you don’t belong here,” Astoria said. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t, but I’m trusting that you’re not here to, like stalk me or hurt me or something. Regardless, this just isn’t something you can do. The people that are going to be successful here… they’re like, bred for this. And it’s not you. I didn’t break up with you to be a bitch. This just isn’t something you’re cut out for.”

“Stori - ” he tried to interrupt.

“And Ron, it costs a fortune to go here! How are you even covering this? I still care about you. Please, just cut your losses now,” she pleaded.

“No way,” said Ron, feeling the fire to prove himself ignite. “Look, my first class was rough but it’s because I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand how all of this works. Now I do. Frankly, that asshole that got me kicked out did me a favor because - ”

“Stori, there you are.” Out of nowhere, the aforementioned asshole from class appeared and slung a possessive arm around Astoria’s shoulder.

“Oh, hi,” she said, biting her lower lip and no longer meeting Ron’s eyes.

“We haven’t properly met although, after that disaster in class, maybe it’s pointless,” chuckled the douchebag.

“Ron, this is Harry Potter… my fiancé.”

Ron clenched his jaw but he knew his ears were reddening in a dead giveaway. “Really?”

“Harry was my high school boyfriend. We reconnected this spring and it just felt… right,” Astoria answered awkwardly.

“Well… congratulations.”

“Thanks buddy,” Harry said, voice dripping in mock sincerity.

“I, uh, I’ve got to go,” Ron said. Summoning every ounce of self control he had, he quickly walked in the direction of his residence hall, Astoria calling after him.

#au romione #romionecom #romione fanfic #ron x hermione #ron weasley #ron and hermione #hp fanfic #harry potter au

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trillian-anders · 4 years

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suspect - ii

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: descriptive violence, graphic descriptions of crime scenes, angst, slow burn

word count: 3.7k

description: au detective!bucky barnes x investigative journalist!reader;

still wet behind his ears, detective barnes is given his very first homicide case, a woman no one seems to care about had been murdered. it’s only when investigative journalist reader brings the small details to his attention that he realizes there’s a bigger problem. a serial killer no one was paying attention to.

He’d passed this diner a million times and had never gone inside. It was tightly packed between two buildings almost like it didn’t really belong. The bright neon sign above the door lit him blue as he stepped into the diner, eyes scanning the room until he found what he was looking for. Your back to the brick, typing away on your laptop. Coffee and an untouched slice of blueberry pie going cold next to you.

He didn’t know why he was here. Maybe he shouldn’t be. But how did you know? How did you know that Cheryl’s ring finger was taken? He had to at least absolve that, and then he could go. He could leave. That’s all he is here for. In the moments before you realized he was even there, before he takes a seat across from you, he takes in your appearance.

Windswept hair and wrinkled clothes he was sure were your ‘business casual’ a bare requirement for the office you worked in. But he knew you were attractive. Brock didn’t have to tell him that, he has eyes. The warning in the back of his head, he needed to keep his distance from you. He knows that. But he just must know.

You look up at him as he approaches, sitting back in the booth as he takes a seat across from you. “Hi.” He folds his hands in front of him,

“Hi.” You slip the laptop off to the side as the server approaches.

“Can I grab you anything?” Sweet and polite, giving you a questioning look. He wondered if you had much company here. Marie, on her name tag, seemed to know you.

“Just a coffee, please.” A nod and she was gone.

“So what did you have to talk to me about?” As you took a sip of yours. He sighs, back against the booth.

“How did you know she was missing her ring finger?” Blunt and to the point, he watched your mouth part and then close.

“Because that’s what he does.” You say simply.

“That’s what who does?” You stare at him for a moment more,

“The Boston Butcher.” A pause while Marie set the coffee mug on the table, pouring him fresh coffee and topping yours off. A gentle ‘thank-you’ from your lips before she walks away. The case Steve told him about. The guy who, from 89-99 murdered twenty sex workers in the Combat Zone, the red light district. But he had to admit it had markers of the case. “Detective… it’s the same MO, it’s the same process. The ring finger missing… she was strangled and when your toxicology report comes back from her autopsy, you’ll find ketamine in her system. It’s what he uses to subdue them.”

Bucky shakes his head, “The Boston Butcher is in jail, and has been for almost twenty years now.” He saw the mug shot. Nicholas Joseph Fury, his priors included drug possession and two misdemeanors. The man looked angry in his mug shot, is left eye milky and blue, half shut with a scar. He looked terrifying.

You sigh, tracing the rim of your coffee mug, thinking. “Okay well, it’s a copycat then.” You shrug, meeting his eyes. “Because that is the MO of the Boston Butcher and I wouldn’t be surprised if you find another girl six months from now.”

“We have a suspect for Cheryl’s murder.” He explains. A man who he had just interrogated not that long ago. A man who didn’t have an alibi. You laugh sarcastically,

“Then why are you here?” How could he answer that when he didn’t even know himself? Curiosity? Doubt? Steve had seemed pleased with him finding this lead, no one else bat an eyelash at him going for the ex-boyfriend. It’s more likely. Statistically speaking anyway.

“I don’t know.” He sighs, back hitting the booth. He runs his fingers through his hair and you flip through your notebook.

“First victim, Angela Price.” You swallow, “Twenty-four years old, mother of one, a little boy named Andrew.” You show him her picture. A beautiful young woman, big curly hair with mall bangs and blue eyeshadow. “She was a sex worker. Found on her back, spread eagle, drugged and strangled with her ring finger missing in February of 1989.” Another, “Second victim, Victoria Brown. Twenty-seven years old, mother of three, two girls Jessica and Michelle, and one boy Jason.” Another picture of a beautiful young woman, smiling with her kids, an Easter photo. “She was also a sex worker. Found in the same exact way, August of 1989.” And on, and on.

“Stop.” His hand lay over the pictures you’re laying before him. Okay. Okay. “So say we have a copycat.” He levels with you. “Right? But you think…”

“Fury is innocent.” You spit. “He was a good scapegoat for the police to appease the public.” He watches you reorganize the pictures you’d shown him, slipping them back into your notebook. “Whoever the Butcher is, he’s still out there. But if you’re not ready for that, then you need to go talk to Fury himself or try talking to the girls.” The girls still on the street, “I can help you.”

He sighs, his coffee grew cold. He believes her, some little part of him nagging at the back of his brain and telling him that it makes sense. The proof is all right there. It was at least a copycat. “Help me how?”

“I want this killer brought to justice,” You say, “And the girls are never going to talk to a cop, but they will talk to me.”

“Listen,” He sighs, “This is my first homicide as a detective and I appreciate your enthusiasm over this case and your concern, but I can’t in good conscience bring a civilian into an investigation.” A five-dollar bill down on the table. “Thank you for the information, I’ll keep it in mind while I explore different avenues.” How clinical, like he was giving a press conference on the news. He couldn’t believe what was coming out of your mouth. “If you’re looking for more information for your article, you know where to reach me.” Hands in his pockets he was gone.

A soft rain falling from the sky wet his head and shoulders as he reached his car, his eyes moving of their own volition back to the glass window of the diner. To you. He watched you with your head in your hands, still for a moment before pushing your hair back from your face and sitting back, rubbing your eyes and pulling your laptop back in front of you. And with the lit screen hitting your face he pulled off.

You watched his car leave, before focusing back on the screen. A new message from Wanda sitting in messenger.

GoFundMe is set up, have you talked to next of kin yet?

A quick reply, of ‘tomorrow’ and you shut the screen. Not able to deal with it anymore.

“Marie, I’ll take my check whenever you get time.” The pie boxed up and stuffed into your fridge, you lay on the bed in your studio apartment, staring at the light above the stove. The drip of the sink. The soft sound from the tv playing the evening news. Not a mention of the crime from yesterday. Because no one would care.

No one cares when a sex worker is murdered.

It’s a hazard of the job.

A hazard of the disgusting, degrading, job of a whore. But they weren’t. They were people with hopes and dreams and ideas that were crushed under the boot of people meant to protect them.

It made you so angry. Being treated like you were crazy. You knew that’s who you were to them, the police, that crazy reporter who’s trying to connect dots for a case that’s already been solved. Conspiracy theories about how there must have been someone in the force, there had to be someone in the force helping them. There had to be.

But police protect their own. And no one would believe that one of their own could have had something to do with this. But you knew, it felt like a cover up. But you didn’t know who they were trying to protect.

You just needed someone to take a chance on it. You needed someone to believe you. And you thought James Barnes would, but apparently you were wrong.

When you found the address for next of kin you realized it was familiar. The apartment complex you’d been in once before. A long time ago it feels now, but the memory was fresh. It was unsettling. But you weren’t here for you.

Sophie was a wreck. She had been shaking when she answered the door, pried open with a crying baby on her hip. “I’m here to help you.” You told her. “I run a victim relief charity.” You’d brought food. Put together by some of the others in your group. Ready to bake meals, groceries, and a check of first relief funds to help her with the burial.

“You do this for all of them?” She asked you. And you nod.

“We know how hard it is,” You try to comfort her, “Firsthand.” You helped her clean up the apartment. You helped her get the laundry together and clean out the fridge for space for the food you’d brought.

“I had to ID her body this morning.” Sophie cries. Baby Kayla toddling around and handing you blocks and various toys. Her older sister, Brielle was sitting not too far away watching cartoons. A sniffle, “I couldn’t believe it was her.” A shake of her head. “I can’t believe my baby is gone.”

How long would it be before the police didn’t care anymore? Until they were done with her? You were sure James had already talked to her. “Have they talked to you about getting custody transferred over and what to do with the girls?” This two-bedroom apartment was in Sophie’s name. Cheryl was supporting them on her income. Sophie is on disability and unable to work. The stress was clear. On top of losing her child, she had the fear of losing her grandchildren too.

She sighs, rubbing her eyes, “The detective said someone from the district attorney’s office would be by, but no one yet.” Because you’re on their time and they’re not on yours. A heavy sigh.

“Well we have a GoFundMe set up,” You rub her back, “We’ll do what we can, we also have resources for free counseling and we do meet ups once a month, there’s one in a couple of days and I know that it might be a little soon for you but we have a lot of people able to pool some resources and I know a couple people who run daycare services and might be able to help you with the legal side of this Pro-Bono.”

It’s funny how tragedy affects people. Some go on to find themselves in careers to help those who were once in their position. Some of those children left behind went into social work, became one became a lawyer, some grew up to become foster parents when they themselves used to be foster kids.

All the people you’ve met, the families left behind, you tried to help. It took years to form this organization, but you did. And you met every single person who had been left behind by those murdered. Some believed that Fury was the culprit, but the majority were in the same boat as you.

They feel like justice hadn’t been served.

“Here’s my number.” Your business card with your contact information handed over, your business card for the charity. “We meet at the rec center on Malcom on the fifteenth of each month. I know that it’s a little soon, but just think about it.”

Reusable tote in hand you step from the apartment building just in time to run into the stunning redhead from yesterday. Today her short hair was down and slightly curled. Her clothing less severe. She got dressed up to be more friendly and approachable.

“Funny running into you here.” Her voice smoky and smooth. You shrug, gesturing to the bag over your arm.

“Just dropping off some food, giving her some information about my victim’s relief aid.” The lawyer doesn’t react, a silent moment before she says,

“I hope you haven’t put any ideas into her head.” You were taken aback.

“I’m sorry?” You were sure she knew about your ‘conspiracy’; you’d seen her a couple times before talking to her yesterday just around the courthouse while you were working on other stories and cases.

“You need to be careful what you say to these women,” Her voice wasn’t betraying any emotion, “I wouldn’t directly tell them to look into those cases.” Walking by you and into the apartment building you wondered what she knew. Because if you don’t directly tell someone to investigate the Boston Butcher cases, you’re not liable for someone interfering in a police investigation. And if someone else were to interfere… you would be given more credibility.

“Hey,” You breathe, sinking into the driver’s seat of your car. “I just left Sophie Hansen’s, I’m on my way back.”

“How did it go?” You could hear the noise from the office, Sam never closed his door which you thought was equally good and bad. “How is she?” You sigh, sinking down into the seat a little bit.

“She’s a little bit of a mess,” You explain, “Understandably… you should see those little girls Sam.” Your eyes welling up, you place your hand over them. “They’re not even going to remember her.” A sniffle.

“You’re doing what you can for them,” He reasons, “There’s not much else—”

“I wish there was.” You lean back against the head rest, pulling a tissue from your pocket, sighing, “I’m gonna stop for coffee, do you want anything?”

“I told Riley that you’re coming for dinner tonight. I think you need to spend some time with your friends right now and you can’t back out because he’s at the store right now.” You laugh,

“You’re the worst.” Turning your key in the ignition he replies,

“I know, now go get my coffee and get back to work.”

…

Bucky didn’t sleep a lot last night. He spent most of it in the precinct and going over old files in the conference room. This old filing system from before everything went digital, he had to go to the records room and get the one box of information about the case. But it wasn’t making any sense.

Why would such a prolific killer not have more recorded information?

After a nap on the breakroom couch and hours reading every detail, he could he compiled his own file about the case and typed his notes.

“You alright pal?” It stunned him out of grogginess, half asleep over the manila folder on his desk. Looking up at his friend he accepted the cup of coffee from Steve’s hand. “Have you been here all night?” Bucky felt himself nod, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“I actually have to talk to you about something.” Steve takes a sip, furrowing his brow.

“Come talk to me in my office.” Steve’s office was always clean and well organized, just like everything else in his life. It made Bucky feel like he was sort of a mess. Where Steve’s hair was always perfectly combed to the side, his face clean shaven, his uniform always starched and pressed, Bucky was always sporting five o’clock shadow, bags under his eyes, and he was sure that he’d never even used an iron. He’d give it to Steve for being a military brat turned ex-military man. “What’s going on?”

Bucky shut the door behind him, slipping the file onto Steve’s desk and sitting heavily in the chair before it, taking a sip of his coffee as Steve opened the file. His brow furrowed and he looked up at his friend.

“You’re looking into the Boston Butcher?” Bucky nods,

“I think we’ve got a copycat, maybe…” He shrugs, “The MO matches perfectly and looking more into Michael Hale’s story… I’m going to keep up with it but I don’t think it was him.” Steve nods, sipping on his coffee before sighing.

“Listen, Buck.” Sitting back in his high-backed chair, “I think you should explore the Hale alibi before we jump to the conclusion that we have a copycat. It would be a very serious avenue to go down.” Steve firm and rational, “Rule out Hale first and then we can talk about a copycat, just to cover our bases.” Bucky nods, “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I took a nap on the couch.” A shrug. Steve sighs and rubs his eyes.

“You need to take better care of yourself.” The file slid back to him over the desk, “Check out Michael Hale, get some rest. Come see me tomorrow.”

Just another nap, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night. Groggy he woke up in the afternoon still tired, but a little more alive than he had been previously. He took a hot shower, changed into some fresh clothes and debated shaving but decided against it.

He’d be back at the precinct before the lunch hour was done.

He’d been thinking a lot about what you said to him the night before. If this guy was a copycat, then you had to expect for him to strike again. But how would they even prepare for that? Wait for another body to show up? He’s had to question people in the red-light district before. It wasn’t easy. He was sure that probably anything else would be easier. But it would need to be done anyway.

He wonders if maybe he should take you up on that offer, if it turns out to be a copycat. Maybe he answered a little hastily. He cringes at the way he’d spoken to you last, he sounded like some bureaucratic weirdo.

“Detective Barnes?” His eyes torn away from how he’d been blankly starting at his phone in the line for coffee. There you were, like a sign, holding a cardboard tray with three drinks in it. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect to run into you here and I wouldn’t have felt right not saying hello.” He understands,

“You’re fine,” He offers, “Really.” He wants to ask. His gut feeling is telling him to ask.

“Have you heard anything?” You sound hopeful, “I know it hasn’t been long, but…” He shakes his head.

“Not yet.” You nod. He should ask. “Listen, I know how I came across last night and I just want to say that if the situation plays out… the way that you’re expecting it to, I’ll be in contact.” The line moved forward and it was almost his turn. You nod, a swell in your chest seemingly from satisfaction.

“Okay, okay.” You give him a soft smile, “I’ll talk to you later then.” Confident and pleased.

“How can I help you?” The cheery barista pulled his eyes away from you, and when he turned back you were already gone.

“Americano please.”

…

A loud pounding on the door.

“Christine.” A call through the wood. The apartment’s lights were on. The TV still buzzing with a show no one was watching. More loud pounding. “Christine, I’m coming in!” The door unlocked and swung open. The man on the other side taking the state of the apartment. At first look it was a mess. There was trash strewn about and a rancid smell. As the man walked further into the apartment, he noticed the dishes in the sink and a plate on the counter. He gagged as he realized it was covered with maggots. A sick feeling in his stomach had him pulling his phone out, he continued into the living room.

On the coffee table was a discarded needle, a little foil wrapper opened with a ball of black tar. The smell growing stronger. He lifts his shirt to cover his nose. “Tina?” Hand on her bedroom door his heart began to race. The smell overpowering and turning his stomach as he pushes it open to reveal her body. Bloated with rot.

He vomits.

…

“He made you sound like a basket case.” You watch Riley glare at his husband, a laugh shared between the two of you as Sam rolls his eyes, forking more pasta into his mouth. “You need to give her more credit,” Looking at you, “You’ve come such a long way.” A sip of wine, Riley already had a lot which is why he’s being so loose lipped right now.

“Thank you, Riley.” You sip your wine, plates just about cleared and Sam was on his second serving. “I really love what you’ve done with the garden.” The night was warm and pleasant, the three of you were eating out on their patio to the light of citronella candles and soft music playing over the speakers Sam installed last year.

Riley worked from home and always claimed, “I need my environment to be beautiful for the sake of my mental health.” Which included plenty of plants and color coordinated desk supplies. He was on first name basis with the guy whose FedEx route was through his neighborhood, “Caleb loves me.” He would defend.

“When are you going to move out of that gross apartment and into something like this?” Riley asked. “He pays you enough.” You shrugged,

“It’s just me right now, I don’t think I really need much.” He sighs,

“I just don’t like you living in that neighborhood.” A defense, “I know you’re used to that area, but—”

“I’ll think about it.” To satisfy him. He smiles softly at you knowing you were just saying it to appease him, “I will.” Your phone rings and glancing down at it you see a number you don’t recognize. “Hold on.” Stepping from the table you hear Sam scold his husband for bringing up your apartment, but you can’t focus on that. “Hello?”

“It’s Barnes.” A sad tone in his voice and what he says next makes your stomach drop, “We found another body.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #detective!bucky barnes #detective!bucky #detective au #steve rogers #sebastian stan #chris evans #sam wilson #anthony mackie #captain america #the winter soldier #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

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until-theend-oftheline · 5 years

Text

Romantic Annoyance

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Squares Filled: Engagement for @marvelfluffbingo and “Come here and kiss me, Dummy” for @goodthingshappenbingo (mcu rpf)

Warnings: Traveling sucks. A jump scare.

Word Count: 2500ish

A/N: I was having Chris feels… And Scott stars a bit too cause why not!

Betaed by: @queen-of-the-avengers - Thank you Jordan!

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Normally, you loved your job. More than that, it was part of who you were. You loved telling people’s stories. You loved fighting with your words and laptop against the injustice of the world. You were opinionated and fiery, and you still had yet to come across a rich white guy or a politician that scared you. You were a reporter and you were damn proud of it.

Today, as you sat on the crowded plane flying business class to Spain where you were supposed to cover a political conference and interview a guy who supposedly had some big secrets to tell. Your boss had been vague and truthfully when it came to the really big stories that were usually the way that she was, but today it annoyed you.

You had dropped everything and jumped the plane because she asked you too, just like always. But this time it wasn’t completely without regret. Actually, it was with a lot of regret, and as the toddlers behind you threw the third toy to the back of your neck, you sighed wishing you were back in the Boston airport.

You loved your job, but it kept you apart from your boyfriend, who also had a job that took him all over the world, far too much. Chris Evans was an actor and had spent the past eight weeks in South Africa shooting his newest movie. You had spent most of those eight weeks at home in Boston following up on a few different stories for the Globe. Sometimes, you were able to do the job you were proud of and stay fairly close to home.

As soon as the plane touched the ground, you sighed deeply. Of course, the eight weeks where Chris was on another continent, was the eight weeks you had barely had to leave Boston, and the day he was due to return home had been the day you had been ordered to a third continent yourself. Sometimes you were wondering how the two of you had made it this far.

You knew those thoughts were only you missing him. Chris was an amazing man, and he always made sure the two of you spent time together. Even when he had to travel with you across the world when he finally had time off to relax. You had gotten better at saying no, and valuing your free time with both your families.

You sighed once more as you got into the taxi, heading towards the hotel your boss had booked for you. Traffic was awful, and you soon realize you’d probably had to spend a good few hours in the cab, especially since the driver didn’t seem to have a clue where he was going.

You groaned to yourself after trying to point him in the right direction a few times, but soon gave up when he rambled about short cuts and backroads. Deciding it was pointless, you leaned back and looked out the window, taking in the city. At least it was your boss paying the bills, and you didn’t have to cash out for the long way round cab ride.

You closed your eyes, trying to relax. It had been a stressful morning, to say the least. Your boss had called you early this morning, making you rush into the office hardly without getting your morning coffee. You had tried to vessel out of the assignment, but she had guilted you into taking it anyway which meant rushing back home to pack while trying to arrange a dog sitter for Dodger.

Chris had left his dog in your care these past few weeks, and up until now it had been absolutely no problem, but you didn’t want to leave the pupper alone for you didn’t know how many hours until Chris made it back home tonight. Finally, you had managed to get a hold of Scott, who for some reason always seemed incapable of hurrying up. He was an absolute sweetheart, but he was one of the most laid back while still peppy people you had ever met. You weren’t sure how that combination was possible within one personality but it was in Scott, who always managed to make you laugh but also even later than you already were as he kept trying to sneak fancy clothes and bikinis into your suitcase.

“Scotty! I’m going there to do actual work. Not to work on my tan,” you whined as you tried to regain control of your packing, but no such luck.

“Who knows, you might meet some hot guy over there,” Scott shrugged, and jumped when your fist landed against his upper arm. “Hey!”

“I’ve been dating your brother for three years now you idiot. We practically live together. I’m not gonna meet any hot guys,” you scolded, making Scott bend over laughing. You shook your head deciding Scott had to have lost his mind.

Somehow you managed to make it to the airport just in time, kissing Scott��s cheek and telling him thank you for the ride before ruffling Dodger’s head and rushing towards the terminal. You didn’t see Scott smirking after you or how he quickly fished his phone out of his pocket as you ran to the desk to get your passport stamped and board your plane.

All you could think about as the cab finally pulled up in front of the hotel was that you hadn’t been able to reach Chris all day or even tell Scott when you’d be back home. You’re already shitty mood hadn’t improved when the manager at the front desk told you no rooms had been booked, and they didn’t have any rooms available. You had been on the verge of tears, which was not like you at all when he told you all the hotels in town were booked for the political convention, you were there to cover. Being this emotional over something as stupid as an overbooked city and a fault in your booking wasn’t normally something that would get to you. You were a practical person, and usually, you’d have gone into problem-solving mode and figure something out. Right then, however, it was all you could do to keep your tears at bay as you thought about Chris’ comfortable huge bed and his arms that could have been wrapped around you for the first time in weeks had you just stood your ground this morning and said no.

The manager at the hotel looked almost panicked when they realized yours were fighting back your tears. He quickly told you he had a friend that might be able to help. He rented outhouses by the beach, and there was a chance he had something available.

You thanked him profusely as he hung up the phone, scribbling down an address for you before handing it over. You had tried to pay him, but the man had refused, telling you his friend would drop by within a day or two to sort it all out with you. It was incredibly generous, and you knew you should be happy, but you weren’t. You just wanted to fly back home. You wanted to see your boyfriend and cuddling bed, and not on some stupid assignment in an overpacked big European city.

You drew a sigh of relief when the cab pulled up in front of the beach house. It was secluded and kinda perfect for when you had to write up your article or just go through whatever research you’d end up doing. You paid the cabby and thanked him before throwing your backpack over your shoulder and dragging your suitcase behind you. You never packed this heavy normally, but thanks to Scott you didn’t pack like a reporter going on assignment, but as a girl going to a sunny beach or honeymoon with her hot husband.

You groaned in annoyance as you managed to drag the bags up the stairs before dropping them inside the door. You closed your eyes, leaning against the hallway and letting out a deep breath as you wished you could just go to sleep rather than starting prepping for the convention you knew nothing about and were going to attend tomorrow.

Suddenly, your heart stopped in your chest as you noticed a flicker of light from the private beach across the hallway and dark living room. Maybe someone was still here and the guy had given you the wrong house number? Or maybe someone had just decided to squat in the empty vacation home?

You felt your stomach do a flip as panic started to settle in you. You looked around the dark house, but there was no indication anyone was here except for the flickering lights on the beach. You took a deep breath, slowly moving towards the patio doors.

You froze when you heard ruffling outside. Someone was definitely here. You weren’t sure what possessed you to bend over and take off one of your shoes, raising it over your head as a weapon as you slowly pushed the door open.

Before you had a chance to comprehend what was going on, a man jumped away from the door to prevent being hit by it. You screamed in surprise by the sudden movement and flung your shoe at his face before he could say anything. You turned around, ready to run for safety before stopping after only a few steps.

“Ow! Fuck!” the man grumbled, making you freeze and slowly turn back around.

“Chris! What the hell are you doing here?” you scolded, still not over your shook as you quickly approached him. You reached up and removed his hand from the side of his face where you assumed your shoe must have hit him. An angry red mark was forming, but thankfully, you hadn’t broken the skin.

“A shoe, Baby? Really? Suddenly, I’m worried about you traveling alone so much,” Chris joked, clearly not mad about you almost taking out his eye. Lucky for him, you always traveled in flats.

“Well strange men don’t usually show up at the places I rent,” you rolled your eyes before realizing how strange it really was that he was here.

“How did you even know? The travel was last second, and the hotel was fully booked. No one knows I am here, not even my boss…” you ranted, stopping when you saw the smirk on Chris’ face. Before he had the chance to say anything, you felt the anger build inside you. You weren’t sure if it was from being scared shitless not a moment ago or from the stressful day you had getting here.

“There is no job is there?” you hissed, ignoring the surprise on Chris’ face with how harsh your tone had grown. “I haven’t been able to reach you all day because you made my boss fake a job so I would get on a plane, battle the Spanish traffic to a hotel only to be told they were fully booked which I am sure wasn’t true either was it?”

You only stopped long enough for Chris to shake his head. You didn’t take in how mortified and apologetic he looked before you continued your rant. “And then I get here, and I think there is a burglar or squatter or something in the house, which is in the middle of nowhere I might add, and I have zero clue who to call to not get killed. Chris have you lost...”

You suddenly spotted the beach behind Chris, and you stopped with a gasp. The flicker of lights you had seen had been candles. Candles that spelled out the words “Marry Me?” Suddenly all the emotions from stress, to fear, to sorrow to anger to happiness, you had been feeling throughout the day, became too much as tears started flowing down your cheeks.

A look of absolute panic appeared on Chris’ face when he saw you start to cry. He quickly took a step towards you, fiddling with his hands, clearly not sure if it was okay for him to touch you with how angry you had just been with him a second ago.

“Y/N/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for the day to be this stressful for you. I didn’t think… I just wanted to surprise you. I’m so sorry,” Chris ranted before a single word from you made him stop.

“Yes,” you whispered, not really paying attention to Chris’ stream of words as you just looked at the beach behind him.

“What?”

You slowly turned to Chris’, laughing at the look of absolute confusion and disbelief on his face. “Yes. I’ll marry you. Come here and kiss me, dummy.”

“You…” Chris blinked and shook his head as if he was trying to comprehend what had just happened and then he started laughing himself. He stepped towards you, wrapping you in his arms and pressing a tender kiss to your lips, before pulling back to fish a small black velvet box out of his pocket.

“This is really not how I pictured this,” Chris mumbled, lowering himself down to one knee, causing you to laugh again.

“I already said I’ll marry you, you goof,” you teased and Chris’ pulled a face at you.

“Just let me do this woman,” he playfully growled, and you bit your lip, trying to hold back your laughter as happiness bubbled in your chest.

“I know being with me is not always easy. I’m spontaneous, and I, in some ways, stopped maturing past twelve,” Chris confessed, and you could no longer hold back your laughter as you ran your fingers through his long hair.

“Only in the best ways,” you interrupted him, biting your lip, not looking the least bit apologetic when he sent you a playful glare.

“You’re infuriating and stubborn. I’m annoying constantly wanting to surprise you. Our jobs make everything seem impossible at times, but this still works. I love you and I feel whole when I’m with you. You’re my missing piece Baby, and nothing would make me happier than if you’d be my wife?” Chris’ opened the box and showed you a simple silver diamond ring.

You felt yourself tear up again and the sight of him holding it, looking up at you with so much hope and love in those beautiful blue eyes of his. You nodded, sniffling and quickly drying your eyes with the back of your one hand and offering him the other.

“Yes. I’ll be your wife,” you smiled, and Chris quickly put the ring on your finger as if he was scared you’d regret your words if he didn’t seal them quickly.

You laughed as Chris jumped to his feet, wrapping you in his strong arms. He lifted you off the ground and spun you around laughing, as you squealed with equal amounts of surprise and happiness. He gently lowered you back to your feet, kissing you passionately. The world around you stopped turning. In that moment, all that mattered was Chris and his silent promise of an amazing life together.

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Chris Evans Tag Team

@feelmyroarrrr @princess-evans-addict @roxyspearing @jewels2876 @girl-next-door-writes @hellaqueerangelofthelord @danijimenezv @becs-bunker @smoothdogsgirl @blacktithe7 @grace-for-sale @averyrogers83 @sorenmarie87 @docharleythegeekqueen @erosbellarke @the-wayward-robot @super100012 @myfanficlibrarium @awkwardfangirl2014 @dottirose @panicatttckiss @kimmiestrawberrykiwi

#Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x you #chris x reader #chris x you #mcu rpf

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sapphiclecterarchive · 5 years

Text

the 1:30 train - fic

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Steve/Bucky Desc.: Before We Go AU. In which Steve is a trumpet player avoiding his ex, and Bucky is stuck in Manhattan for the night. Warnings: Mention of domestic violence (no graphic descriptions, just a brief mention) Words: 11k A/N: I posted this fic on my AO3 last year, before my account was deleted for no reason. I thought all my fics were gone for good until yesterday, when I found that they’d all just been orphaned! Anyway, I thought I’d re-edit this and post it again here. Enjoy :)

There was a man playing the trumpet in Grand Central Terminal. He had been there for a few days, filling the hours between opening and closing with music. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people had passed by him in this time; some would drop money into his open case, others would pass without acknowledgment, others would give him a smile and a “sorry, no change”. Over the course of these days, he saw engagements and break ups and first kisses, he experienced anniversaries and provided the soundtrack to reunions, and those things alone were enough to make up for those who didn’t give him the time of day.

As the station began to quieten, the regular flow of people dwindling down to late-night commuters and cleaning staff, the trumpet player reclined against the wall. His legs had started protesting against standing all day almost two hours ago. Sitting, even on the hard floor of the station, was a relief.

His phone rang, and he placed his trumpet next to him on the floor to answer it.

“Steve’s phone."

“Man, you know you don’t have to say that every time?”

Steve chuckled at his best friend, “What’s up, Sam?”

“I just wanted to know if you were coming downtown. Where are you?”

By the sounds of it, he was still downtown; Steve could hear the muffled sound of music and talking on his end. It had just passed 1:30 in the morning, so he really wasn’t surprised the party was still in full swing. It was a Tony Stark party, after all.

“I’m still at Grand Central.” Steve rolled his head back against the wall, averting the gaze of the cleaner who’d been staring at him for a while. “Is she there?”

There was silence for a few moments. “She’s here. I’m sorry, man. You should still come down, though.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah, I don’t know...”

“Okay,” Sam said, resigned. “I’ll text you the address anyway, you should come.”

Sam had just hung up when a number of things happened all at once.

A dark haired man came reeling through the station like a whirlwind, flying past Steve in his expensive shoes and catching himself on the trumpet case still lying on the floor. The money inside of it scattered across the marble, and the guy just about managed to stay on his feet as he sprinted towards one of the terminals and disappeared from view.

Steve didn’t have a chance to be angry about the case, as he quickly noticed something the guy had left behind.

A black iPhone was lying face-down on the floor a few feet away from Steve. He reached forward to pick it up and inspect it. It had shattered pretty badly, and when he pressed the power button the screen gave one, pathetic flicker of light before dying.

The guy came back around the corner a minute or so later, and Steve watched –while packing away his trumpet and pocketing the money – as he approached a worker, who looked like she was on her way home.

“Can I use this ticket for another train?” He desperately showed his ticket to her. “I missed it and I really have to get home.”

The woman shook her head. “No more trains tonight, love, anywhere. We have a cab rank outside.”

She was about ready to move on, but he stepped in her way, “I can’t get a cab, I have to get home and I don’t have enough to get a cab back to Boston. Please, my wallet –”

Before he could say anything else, and without acknowledging him further, she walked away.

He huffed, his shoe squeaking on the floor as he kicked it petulantly and turned to leave.

“Hey!” Steve yelled to catch the guy’s attention.

He didn’t look exactly happy to be talking to Steve, and probably thought he was going to ask for money. Most people assumed that, so he didn’t mind.

Steve held out the phone, “I thought you might want this back.”

The guy glanced at Steve’s face, then at the phone, and then back at his face again, as if he didn't believe that he was real, and then he took the phone and slid it into his pocket. He seemed like he wanted to smile but couldn’t bring himself to, only achieving a slight twitch of one side of his mouth.

“Thanks, I wouldn’t have got very far without that.”

Steve smiled, “Don’t worry about it.”

The guy just nodded, and then did another twitch-smile before turning and heading out of the station.

By the time he'd packed away his stuff completely, Steve felt a bit like he'd overstayed his welcome. He smiled at the worker, anyway, before leaving. It was never particularly warm in New York at this time of year, but tonight seemed especially biting, so he did up the buttons on his coat to avoid the cold.

There was an agitated sigh from his right, and Steve turned to see the dark-haired man slam his phone against the wall of the station, as if breaking it more would somehow fix it.

“Can I ask why you’re standing outside?” Steve asked, like he hadn’t heard the entire conversation with the worker.

“They closed the station.”

He gave no further explanation, so Steve continued, “You plannin’ on standing out here all night?”

The man glared at him. “My wallet was stolen. All I have is a useless thirty dollar train ticket, a broken phone, a lighter and exactly two dollars fifty in cash.” Steve frowned, and held up his hand. “Don’t. I’ll figure something out, I don’t need your pity.”

His breath was visible in the air. There was no possible way Steve could leave this guy alone in Manhattan with so little money and nowhere to sleep.

“Look,” Steve said. “I’ve got about eighty bucks. Take it, buy yourself a room somewhere for the night so that you’re not sleeping on the street.”

He held out the cash, and the guy shook his head.

“I told you, I don’t need charity.” He turned away and sighed hard. “God, I need a cigarette.”

“At least let me help you with that.” He had to do something to help this guy; he wouldn’t sleep if he didn’t. He pulled a ten dollar bill out from his wallet and held it between them, “Please.”

It took a moment of staring at each other before the guy snatched the bill out of his hand.

“Fine. But this is only because I’m a filthy addict on the verge of a panic attack and not because I want your help, right?”

He was using the note to point at Steve, who couldn’t help but laugh. “Right.”

Steve decided that it was probably best if he leave him alone and just get into a cab, now. As much as he wanted to help, he didn’t want to bother him any more than he already had. “Good luck.”

The guy’s tone was sharp, “Thanks.”

Steve had just started to walk towards the cab rank when the guy called out for him.

“Changed your mind?” Steve said as the man came rushing back up to him. His hand was shoved into the pocket of his pea coat to keep it warm.

“No. I - uh - I just realised that I don’t actually know where to buy anything here.”

This guy was still firmly standing his ground. It didn’t seem like he was going to let up anytime soon, although it was progressively becoming more and more obvious how much he needed Steve’s help. Of course, he wouldn’t admit that, but Steve didn’t think he would have, if their roles were reversed.

However stubborn he was, he let Steve take him to the nearest convenience store where he could pick up a pack of Marlboro Red – and reluctantly took the extra four dollars needed, because apparently cigarettes were just that expensive in Manhattan. He did seem to relax a little after silently making his way through one. As he lit his second, he side-eyed Steve.

“Why are you still here?” he asked.

“You don’t seem to have many other options right now.”

The guy chuckled, smoke rolling from his mouth as he did so, “You’re right. I don’t know anyone here, and I don’t have a cell phone or an ID or a wallet or a credit card anymore. I’m gonna need a little more than company, no offence.”

He cringed almost immediately after saying that. “I’m sorry, I just really don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Wanna go find your wallet?” The guy raised an eyebrow. “Hey, you never know how these guys work. Sometimes they take the cash and dump the bag, push comes to shove you can live off mints for a few days.”

The man didn’t laugh at his joke, but did reluctantly say; “I don’t have much else going for me. It’s worth a shot.”

“That’s the spirit,” Steve said, as the guy crushed his cigarette out on the wall behind him. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

The guy froze for a second, as if he’d forgotten his own name.

“Buchanan.”

The air around them felt less tense as they walked down the street, towards where Buchanan – as Steve now knew him – remembered last seeing his wallet.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Buchanan said.

Steve mirrored his tone, “You don’t need to keep rejecting my help."

They’d stopped outside the bar, now, and the cold was beginning to creep back to Steve’s skin. He just really hoped that it wouldn’t get cold enough that he’d have to get his inhaler out, because as much as he didn’t think his asthma was anything to be ashamed of, it would definitely just give Buchanan more reason to decline his help.

“Look,” Buchanan sighed. “I’m sure my husband would really appreciate you helping me, but I can look after myself. Being disabled doesn’t mean I can’t handle this on my own.”

Steve stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“The husband thing,” Steve replied. “I’m not trying to get you in my bed or anything. I’m not like that.”

“Not gay?” Buchanan snapped.

“Not an asshole,” Steve corrected, softer.

Buchanan sighed deeply and ran his hand over his face, “I’m sorry, I’m a dick. You just – you’re just being so nice to me! Why can’t you just try to fuck me so that I can have a reason to hate you?”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Steve said, slightly humoured. “I just don’t want you lost in Manhattan. Not because you’ve got one hand, or whatever; Manhattan’s confusing even if you know the place, so getting lost isn’t great for a first trip. Now, do you want to find your wallet or not?”

The bar was sort of the opposite of what Steve was expecting. It was dimly lit and sold craft beer. Considering how he looked, Steve hadn’t expected Buchanan to be a hipster.

The bartender was a fairly tall guy, with a thick ginger beard and round glasses that perfectly reflected the general vibe of the bar.

“Is there anything distinctive about the wallet?” he asked once Buchanan had told him what they were looking for.

Buchanan did an absolutely horrendous job at describing the wallet. Steve, however, could only fixate on the fact that he’d said it was authentic Louis Vuitton, and he started to wonder exactly how much money had been inside it. If he owned a Louis Vuitton wallet, he’d probably be worried about it, too.

The bartender’s expression didn’t change, “I’m gonna need more than that. Was there any ID in the wallet? A driver’s license or credit card?”

“My driver’s license was in there!” Buchanan suddenly exclaimed.

The bartender seemed happy with that, “Name?”

Buchanan glanced at Steve, and then sighed before looking back at the bartender, “James Barnes.”

Steve probably should have expected that.

The bartender wandered off into the back room, and Steve leaned his forearm on the bar, “Nice to meet you, James.”

James sighed, “You can’t blame me. I’m in the middle of Manhattan; it’s late; you’re a stranger. I panicked, okay?”

“Right,” Steve chuckled to himself.

Buchanan, fucking hell.

“Besides, it wasn’t really a lie. Buchanan’s my middle name.”

Steve found this whole situation highly amusing, “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really!” he said. “James Buchanan Barnes. Most people call me Bucky; ‘s less formal.”

“James Buchanan,” Steve repeated. “Like, President James Buchanan? 15th president of the United States, James Buchanan?”

Bucky shot him a cold look, and Steve held up his hands, “Hey, don’t worry, my birthday’s the fourth of July.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

The bartender chose that moment to come out of the back room. He told them that he hadn’t had any luck, although he didn’t seem too apologetic about it. Steve thanked him anyway before they headed back out of the bar. Bucky seemed vaguely grumpy about the whole situation. He tried to be nice about it, anyway, because he figured he’d been enough of a dick to Steve so far.

“Thanks for this, seriously, and sorry about the name thing,” he said as they stopped just outside the door.

“It’s fine; I can’t think of anything better I could be doing,” Steve replied.

They were walking again, but neither of them really had any idea where they were going. Or, at least, Bucky didn’t think either of them knew. For all he knew, Steve could be preparing to murder him and dump his body in a back alley somewhere, and at the moment he was going willingly.

He really needed to stop being so negative.

He studied Steve for a moment. “Are you... sure? I mean, anything would be better than walking aimlessly around Manhattan with a broke, one-armed guy who has to borrow your money to buy cigarettes.”

Steve shrugged. “I dunno. I was in town with my friend Sam for a thing which I didn’t go to, then I fly back to DC tomorrow. I was gonna go back to Brooklyn for a few days, but I didn’t think there was much to see.”

“You’re from Brooklyn, too?”

Bucky didn’t seem to know how to continue that string of the conversation when Steve nodded, so it died.

Steve managed to pick it back up by asking, “What about you? There must be something better you could be doing.”

There was a moment of pensive silence where Bucky seemed to think hard about that, and eventually he settled on an answer.

“Not really. I’m an art critic, I was just here to buy a piece.”

“Oh?” Steve said, interest piqued. Art was one thing he could talk about. “What was it?”

Bucky brushed him off. “You wouldn’t know it.”

“Try me, I went to the California Institute.”

Bucky stared at him blankly, and Steve nearly rolled his eyes. More lies, wow.

“You have no idea what that is, do you?”

After a few more seconds of indignant staring, Bucky groaned, “Fine, so I’m not an art critic. But I’m not lying about the husband thing; I have a husband.”

“Right,” Steve looked very pointedly at Bucky’s bare hand. He was definitely missing something vital which signified marriage, but Steve decided not to bring it up. “So, what are you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“A dancer.” That did surprise Steve a little. “Hey, don’t look so surprised. I was a principal performer at the American Ballet before...” He didn’t finish that thought. “I run my own classes back in Boston, now, for kids and teenagers, y’know. Occasionally do shows if someone asks, but I’m past my prime.”

Steve shouldn’t have been so quick to judge; the thought of Bucky teaching kids how to dance was pretty sweet.

“So, if you’re not buying art, what brought you to Manhattan?”

That apparently triggered something in Bucky that made him freeze where he stood. It took Steve a few seconds to realise, so he had to walk back a few steps so that they were beside each other again.

“Can I borrow your phone?”

“Not gonna steal it from me, are you?” Steve teased, but he was already reaching into his back pocket.

He handed the phone over, already unlocked, and Bucky wasted no time in dialling a number and turning away from Steve. For the sake of being polite, Steve took a few steps back so that he was a little more out of earshot. He couldn’t help but overhear, though, the street was so quiet it would be impossible for him not to hear what Bucky was saying.

“Hey, baby,” is what Bucky opened the conversation with.

Steve immediately guessed he was talking to his husband. And if he wasn’t, well, that was a situation Steve didn’t think he was qualified to address. He couldn’t hear the person on the other end of the call, but Bucky’s side of the conversation was pretty interesting.

“No, no, everything’s fine. I just wanted to tell you that I love you, ‘s all.”

There was some more talking from the other end that Steve couldn’t hear, and Bucky suddenly stiffened.

“What?” he all but choked. “You – you’re... No, that’s great, I’m happy! But, don’t you want to rest before you come home? I’m sure you’ve been working hard...”

More talking, and Bucky sighed deeply.

“Brock, don’t... Nothing’s going on, I just... Okay, of course. I’ll see you in the morning. Love you, too.”

He hung up, then, and handed the phone promptly back to Steve.

“Everything okay?”

“It’s over.” Bucky’s voice cracked on the last word. “It’s fucking over.”

Before Steve could say anything else, Bucky had started to cry. He’d pinched the bridge of his nose and his face was all screwed up, so it was difficult to see, but he was definitely crying.

Steve tried to make his voice as soft as possible, but he really had no idea what to do with a crying person, “Hey, hey, it’s alright. Come on.”

He led them to a step which was low down and less than comfortable, but it allowed Bucky a moment to sit down and collect himself. Steve just sat beside him, at a loss.

Once Bucky had calmed down a bit, Steve deemed it safe to continue, “What’s over?”

“My marriage.” Bucky said. “I had to be home before him.”

It didn’t exactly take Steve an age to fit the pieces together. Bucky was in Manhattan late at night; he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring; he had to be home before his husband... it finally made sense.

He must have made some sort of noise of revelation, because Bucky was looking at him with a confused stare. His eyelashes were still wet and clumped together, which softened the look a little.

“What was that supposed to mean?”

“Sorry,” Steve said. “I just... it makes sense now.”

Bucky’s stare and voice hardened, “Are you accusing me of having an affair?”

Steve probably should have denied that.

“I’m just calling it like I see it,” was what he decided to say instead. Because he was a big, stupid idiot.

“Asshole.”

Bucky pushed himself up from the step and started to walk away.

Steve didn’t really know what he was doing when he followed him, “Wait, Bucky, that’s not what I meant.”

Bucky turned sharply on his heel, “What did you mean, then?”

Steve couldn’t come up with a good answer to that. So, Bucky just shook his head and turned to carry on walking.

“Bucky!” Steve called after him.

He tried to follow him, but Bucky walked fast as hell and Steve was lumbered with a heavy trumpet case.

“Thanks for your help, but it’s over. Just go back to whatever you were doing before I ruined your night!” Bucky called over his shoulder.

He moved his hand to flip the middle finger at Steve, but as he raised it, Steve grabbed his wrist. It wasn’t a hard grip, and Bucky definitely could have shaken him off. But he didn’t. He just whipped around fast as anything and stared down at his wrist, and then up at Steve’s face.

“You didn’t ruin my night, okay? I was having a shitty night, and I was hiding out in Grand Central to avoid...” Steve stopped there, collected himself for a moment, and then said, “You didn’t ruin my night.”

Once Bucky didn’t look so much like he was going to run away, Steve let go of his wrist. Bucky left his hand there, elevated as if Steve was still holding it, for a moment before he dropped it back to his side.

“If it means anything, you didn’t ruin mine, either,” Bucky said. “But I’d like to be back in Boston before the sun comes up.”

“I think I can help you with that. I have a friend who might be able to help.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, “Are you fucking serious?”

His tone made Steve a little wary, one hand came up in front of him despite himself. “Are you gonna hit me?”

Bucky scoffed, “Of course I’m not gonna fucking hit you, Steve. This is awesome. Who’s your friend?”

“He’s at that thing I’m avoiding,” Steve said, and Bucky made a little hissing sound. “Yeah, I know. But, anything to be the hero of this story.”

“You’re a dick,” Bucky said, but it was somewhat fond.

They ended up on a bus to the other side of Manhattan, which Steve paid for with more of his eighty busking dollars that he was sure would be spent by the end of the night. He also called Sam, asked him to ask Tony for four-hundred and sixty dollars (because apparently that’s how much a cab to Boston would be, holy shit) and to text him where the party was.

Bucky wasted no time in getting comfortable – he took off his jacket and balled it up behind his head so that he could lean against the window, facing Steve with one knee pulled up to his chest, foot planted firmly on the seat and slightly tucked underneath Steve’s right thigh, the other on the ground.

“How long have you been playing trumpet for?” Bucky asked.

That was an odd question, but since they were getting to know each other...

“My whole life,” Steve replied. “It was harder when I was a kid, I was a scrawny little thing and deathly asthmatic, so for a couple years I just couldn’t get the breathing right, and my ma kept trying to convince me to give it up because I was having an attack every other day, but I wouldn’t because I was a stubborn little shit.”

Bucky laughed at that and he felt a little accomplished.

He continued, “My lungs got stronger as I grew up, and although I wasn’t gonna be playing Major League baseball anytime soon, I could get through a song without having to take a break. It’s always felt like the only thing I could do well. I couldn’t play football, but being head of the band suited me just fine.”

Bucky was staring at him, looking a little in awe, “Wow, Stevie. And to think I took you for a quarterback type.”

He couldn’t tell if Bucky was sincere or not, but it seemed like he was. Steve didn’t know how he felt about the nickname.

“Your turn,” Steve said. “I’m sure your story is far more interesting than mine.”

“My turn,” Bucky mouthed, and then thought for a moment before speaking. “I’m not that interesting. ‘m a normal kid from Brooklyn, with a twin sister and a husband who’s the head of security for an important politician.”

“That’s a pretty interesting job,” Steve said, and Bucky shrugged it off. “How’d you two meet?”

Bucky smiled slightly, “It was about six years ago, a year or so after my accident. I was feeling pretty lost, y’know, I was twenty-two and I finally had everything I dreamed of. My whole life had been devoted to dance, I felt like everything I ever did was leading up to that moment. And then, the second I get my dream and become a principal dancer, it’s over in the blink of an eye.”

He swallowed and looked down at his lap for a second, picking at the knee of his jeans until it didn’t feel like he was going to cry anymore. Crying in front of a stranger once was bad enough, but twice in one night? Fuck, Barnes, pull yourself together.

“Anyway, I was feeling lost and I didn’t want to be in America anymore because I felt like everything here was attached to bad memories, so I up and moved to London."

“Big step,” Steve said.

Bucky chuckled, “Yeah. Like I said, bad memories. Anyway, so I’m in London and I really hadn’t planned up to that point. I had an apartment and enough money off the back of ballet to live off of for a year, but I didn’t know where anything was, what to do with myself, how to make friends. Then, I met Brock and everything just... I dunno, clicked into place.” He looked up at Steve, “Is that cheesy?”

“A little,” Steve admitted.

“It wasn’t even him,” Bucky said, and he seemed sad. Not like he was going to cry again, but a different kind of sad. Worse, somehow. “It felt like we were in the same boat, y’know? Both of us were Americans in London who really didn’t know what we were doing, and it just felt right. I came back to America a couple months after he did. We found a place in Boston, because I wanted to be close to my ma but I didn’t want to be in Brooklyn, and, well, the rest is history.”

He was picking at the knee of his jeans again.

“Does it not feel right anymore?” Steve asked, probably prying too much.

Bucky’s expression closed, and then he furrowed his eyebrows and then sighed, “I don’t really know what right is. I don’t think I ever have. I just... you know when you meet someone, and you know they’re gonna play a major part in your life? You don’t even know if it’s good or bad, you just know they’re gonna be there?”

A number of people flashed through Steve’s mind and he really tried not to tack Bucky’s face onto the end of that list. He couldn’t help it, though, this coincidental meeting was something right out of a movie. It was too perfect to not mean something, right?

“But, it doesn’t matter anyway. We’re running out of time. If this thing with your friend doesn’t work out, I’m fucked,” Bucky sighed, leaning his head back against the window in a way that couldn’t have been at all comfortable.

Steve wasn’t going to let him give up that easily, “I’m sure there’s still something we can do.”

“We’ve done everything we can, Stevie.” There was that nickname again. “Apart from build a fucking time machine.”

That gave Steve an idea. “Well, maybe we can.”

Bucky looked at him like he was insane, because it definitely sounded it.

“Now would be a really good time to tell me if you’re delusional,” he said warily.

“Shut up.” Steve reached into his back pocket for his phone, and pretended to dial a number, then held it out to Bucky. “It’s you, from the past.”

The dark-haired man didn’t look impressed, but he went with it anyway. He grabbed the phone and, a little dubious, held it to his ear.

“Bucky? It’s you, from the future...” he said, slightly uncertain, and then looked up at Steve. “He doesn’t believe me.”

Steve raised his eyebrows as if it was oh-so-obvious. “Of course he doesn’t. You’ve gotta tell him something secret, something only you would know.”

Bucky met his eyes for a moment, wondering if Steve was serious about this stupid game, and then brought the phone back to his ear.

“Remember when dad was in the hospital? And you and Becca decided it would be really funny if you took off your shoes and slid over the polished floor of the ward,” he paused as if someone was answering. “Right, yeah. And you miscalculated how fast you were going, and ended up slamming into a trolley of medical equipment and had to get five stitches in your knee? See, I know that scar isn’t from rock climbing like you told everyone it was.”

Steve was laughing hard at that, and Bucky smiled, mouthing, “He believes me now.”

“Of course he does,” Steve mouthed back.

“Okay, listen to me now,” Bucky said into the phone. “Tomorrow, you’re gonna go to Manhattan. Whatever you do, don’t talk to any strangers in Grand Central.”

“Ouch,” Steve whispered.

Bucky shushed him. “In fact, skip New York altogether. Think about it first, decide against it, stay home, rent Mean Girls – because you are definitely that gay, even if you pretend not to be – get some takeout from that Thai place Brock doesn't like, and go to bed. Just relax, because everything will be fine in the morning.”

Steve didn’t know if Bucky thought that them meeting was a good thing or a bad thing, but he didn’t want to ask.

“Feel better?”

Bucky exhaled softly and handed the phone back, “Not really. I mean, I’m still fucked.”

“It may sound crazy,” Steve said, and Bucky made a face. “But why don’t you just call your husband and tell him you’re in Manhattan?”

Bucky scoffed, “Yeah, right. I hope you like domestic battery.”

That struck a chord in Steve that he hadn’t even known was there. “He hits you?”

Bucky was suddenly much more alert, having realised what he’d said.

“No! it’s not like that, that’s not why I...” he huffed. “He gets angry sometimes but that’s it, he’d never...” he pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Fucking hell, Steve. It was just a joke, okay? Drop it. God.”

“Consider it dropped,” Steve knew it would still play on his mind. “Why do you have to beat him home, though? I don’t get it.”

“There’s something I’ve gotta do,” Bucky said.

“Right, okay…” Steve said, just so that he could have an extra moment to think. “Well, can somebody else do it?”

Bucky straightened up at that, and his sudden springing to life made Steve smile a little. “Stevie, you’re a genius. Give me your phone.”

Steve handed it back over without question. Bucky dialled in a number and spent a few moments tapping his foot and anxiously waiting for the line to be picked up.

Once it rang through, Bucky was talking almost immediately, “Nat? It’s Bucky.”

Despite being considerably closer this time, Steve still couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end of the line. Bucky seemed to relax upon hearing the voice of whoever it was, though, so Steve was content to only hear one side.

“I need a huge favour, like, a ‘you’re definitely going to hate me afterwards because I woke you up at 2AM’ kind of favour.”

There was some talking from the other person, and then Bucky spoke again.

“Right, so I want you to go to the apartment and climb up the fire escape. Y’know the one I climbed out... yeah.”

Steve really didn’t want to think about what kind of situation meant that Bucky had to climb out of a fire escape, so he tried not to.

“Alright, there’s a key taped underneath the right windowsill. I need you to grab it and go in through the back door, on the bed there’s a letter addressed to Brock and I need you to take it and save it for when I get back. And, look, I know you’re a nosey bitch but promise me you won’t read it?”

Steve could vaguely make out laughing on the other end, and then Bucky relaxed again.

“You’re the best, Nat. I love you.”

‘Nat’ said something in response, and handed the phone back. Steve didn’t ask, but the relieved look on Bucky’s face did wonders at lightening the mood.

They found the building Sam had sent him the address for without much strife, which was quite surprising considering their track record. Steve couldn’t help the anxiety welling up in his chest when he pressed the button for the elevator and watched the numbers slowly decline.

“Is it really that bad?” Bucky asked.

That knocked Steve out of his trance.

“What?”

Bucky glanced at the elevator, “Whatever’s waiting for you up there. Is it that bad?”

“It’s nothing,” Steve said, flippantly, turning back to the elevator and watching as the numbers crawled down. “It’s an ex...” he eventually admitted. “...Ex-something.”

“Does this ex-something have a name?”

God, this was the slowest elevator Steve had ever seen.

“Peggy,” Steve said. “I... uh... it’s been a while, since I saw her.”

Bucky nodded, he seemed to understand, but was still staring at Steve inquisitively, “Was it a bad breakup?”

“I’m not sure there’s another kind.”

The elevator finally opened then, and it took about as long going up as it had coming down, and when they finally stepped out onto the floor, Steve felt his heart drop to his feet. There were maybe ten or fifteen people there, and all of them were far too old to be at the party that Steve had been told was happening.

“This isn’t the right place,” Steve groaned, patting Bucky’s shoulder to direct him back to the elevator.

So, there they were, back to walking the streets of Manhattan with nowhere to go and nothing to do and no money to do anything with.

“Your friend wasn’t there,” Bucky said.

Steve laughed humorlessly, “No. Sam gave me the wrong address, but it’s not his fault; his dyslexia is really bad when he’s been drinking.”

“Right,” Bucky said. “Well, are you gonna call him, get the right address?”

Steve kicked at a can on the sidewalk, “I don’t think it matters, I’m not gonna bother. Y’know, I hear Central Park’s really safe this time of night.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks, and Steve was a little scared he was going to start crying again. He didn’t, though, he just stared at Steve with a slightly shocked expression.

"Christ, it really is bad."

Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes, because he was sure if he did it again they’d roll right out of his head and down the street. “Maybe it is, but it doesn’t matter because I’m not going.”

He turned defiantly and started walking again.

“I think you should,” Bucky called.

“And why is that?” Steve asked, turning around. “What’s in it for me? Well, other than facing my ex and her new, much smarter, more talented and attractive, boyfriend."

“Well, I’d be on your arm, wouldn’t I?” Bucky said. “You might not swing that way, Stevie, but you can’t deny that I’m excellent arm-candy.”

As if to prove his point, he slid his arm through the crook in Steve’s elbow. He snuggled up into Steve’s side, and Steve would be lying if he said the warmth wasn’t comforting. “You helped me, let me help you.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Fine, I’ll be your fake boyfriend.”

Bucky made a point of melodramatically celebrating that, making Steve laugh.

“And, for the record,” he said. “I swing both ways. So, this isn’t that unexpected.”

Bucky stared at him with an unreadable expression for a moment, and then said, “Damn, I wanted to be the guy who turned you gay. Now, that would have been an excellent story.”

“I preferred moping Bucky,” Steve said, and Bucky bumped their hips together.

The place the party was actually in was much nicer than the hotel Steve had been sent to. It was a small bar with warm lighting, which was full of chatter and laughter when they opened the door. To Steve, it felt like entering a lion’s den, but it was a little easier with Bucky a warm, comforting, solid presence on his arm.

“Is this the right place?” Bucky said, as the door swung shut behind them.

Steve surveyed the party for anyone he recognised. He actually didn’t know that many people who were going to be there. Besides his childhood friends from Brooklyn, most of his friends were back in DC, not New York.

“Steve!” came a loud, drawn-out yell from somebody, which got closer and closer as his friend approached. He wrapped Steve in a bone-crushing hug, and Steve politely pushed him off.

“This is Sam?” Bucky eyed the guy up and down.

The man was pretty short, and the glaze over his eyes showed just how drunk he was.

“No, this is Tony. Tony, this is Bucky.” Steve lowered his voice a little to talk to Bucky. “It’s actually Tony’s engagement they’re celebrating tonight.”

Bucky made a quiet, “Oh,” sound, and Tony held out his hand for Bucky to shake. When Bucky just blinked at it, Tony realised he was holding out the wrong hand, laughed, dropped it and didn’t try again. He spoke to Steve, instead.

“I tried to get you the whole four hundred and sixty, but I only had two hundred on me and Sam had one and I wasn’t gonna go to an ATM, so we got, like, fifty dollars from Quill but that was all we could get because apparently I don’t have enough rich friends. So, you’ve got... what, three hundred and fifty?”

Bucky interjected, “It’s alright, we sorted it out. I don’t need the money anymore.”

Tony looked genuinely crestfallen for a moment, “But... I sold a kidney to get this.”

He was so sincere that there was a split second when Bucky was actually worried that this guy had sold a kidney. Steve just stared, unimpressed, at Tony, because he knew where this was going.

“I mean, it wasn’t my kidney. But what am I gonna tell the hooker when she wakes up?”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Tony clapped Bucky on the shoulder, “Don’t look so scared, Buckaroo, I’m joking. She’s not gonna wake up!”

Thankfully, Sam stepped into the conversation at that exact moment, so Bucky didn’t have to reply to him. Sam was tall, dark and extremely attractive. Before he got married, Sam would have been the exact type of guy Bucky would go for.

“Steve, man, I’m so glad you could make it!” he pulled Steve into a hug that was definitely more comfortable than Tony’s had been.

“Hey, man,” Steve said, just as Tony noticed somebody else and wandered off to talk to them.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, “Were you at Grand Central all day? I haven’t seen you since this morning.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. Bucky cleared his throat from beside him, catching the attention of both men, and Steve realised what he wanted when he looked at him, “Oh, yeah. Sam, this is Bucky. Buck, this is Sam.”

The nickname slipped out without Steve thinking about it, and Bucky stared at him for an extra second but didn’t say anything, instead he shook Sam’s hand and they slipped into an easy dialogue. Steve, zoning out on the conversation, caught sight of someone over Sam’s shoulder.

It was as if everything slowed to a halt when he saw Peggy, and the familiar curl of dark hair and the curve of her jaw made his heart seize. She turned and caught his eye. He quickly looked away back to Sam and Bucky, who were now talking about Sam’s VA work back in DC. Bucky seemed genuinely interested by it, which was a first for people listening to Sam’s work stories.

Steve didn’t even notice Peggy was coming over until he was all-encompassed by her smell and a light hand was on his elbow.

“Steve?”

He turned like he hadn’t noticed her yet, “Peggy!”

She pulled him into a hug, and Sam shared a look with Bucky before disappearing back into the crowd of people.

They stepped back from each other, and Steve remembered who was stood beside him. He gestured between Bucky and the woman, “Peggy Carter, James Barnes.”

“Steve, come on.” Bucky admonished gently, the back of his hand softly brushing Steve’s chest. Peggy followed the movement with careful eyes. “Call me Bucky, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Lovely to meet you, too, James,” Peggy said. She appeared to almost forget that Bucky was there after that, speaking to Steve again. “Sam told me that your flight got in late, I’ve been meaning to catch you all week so that we could chat, but I just keep missing you.”

Steve couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his tone, “Yeah, you do.”

It seemed like Peggy didn’t really know how to respond to that. She rolled her red-painted lips for a moment, tucked her hair behind her ear, shuffled her feet, until she decided that speaking to Bucky was probably the easiest route.

“So, do you know Pepper and Tony? I know they’ve been taking people on for the internship programme...” she asked.

Bucky laughed politely. He was charming as hell, no doubt about it. Even Peggy seemed impressed. “No, no, I wish I was young enough to still be an intern. I’m just here with Stevie tonight.”

The nickname warmed Steve’s chest a little, and Bucky slipped his hand around the crook of Steve’s elbow again, leaning in a bit. It was almost admirable how good he was at this.

“Oh,” Peggy looked between them. Steve could practically see her brain fitting the pieces together. “Right, so, you’re from DC?”

“No, Brooklyn. Me and Stevie met when we were kids, we ran into each other again when I was in DC for work, reconnected...”

He seemed a little lost, so Steve finished for him, “And the rest is history.”

There was a small smile on Peggy’s face, now. Steve felt bad. He felt really, really bad.

“And the rest is history,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Could I get you both a drink?”

Bucky looked like he was going to agree, but Steve interrupted before he could, “No. Thanks. We – uh – we actually have a thing... Bucky wanted to meet the gang, so that’s why we stopped by...”

“Have you been telling people about me, Rogers?” Peggy laughed.

“Always,” Steve said. "Well, we have to go. I'll see you around?"

“Bye, Steve,” she said, just as they left.

They found a bench to sit on a block away. Steve had seemed determined to carry on and get as far away as possible, but Bucky practically forced him to sit down. He stayed stood up, though, looking down at Steve and the self-pity that was coming off him in waves.

“Why did we have to run out of there?” Bucky asked.

Steve was bent almost completely forward, elbows resting on his knees and head in his hands so that Bucky couldn’t see his face. His voice was muffled. “I’m not running.”

“Really? Because, what you did back there definitely looked like running,” Bucky said. “Take it from me; I’m practically the poster boy for running from my problems.”

Steve didn’t reply, so Bucky kicked the toe of his shoe. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make Steve look at him. There was some silent confrontation between them that Bucky didn’t think either of them understood, and then Steve shook his head and chuckled breathily.

“I’m sorry you had to see that. You’d think after not seeing her for six years, rehearsing that moment in my head, I’d have had something more interesting to say,” Steve buried his face in his hands again.

“Hey,” Bucky said, softly, just as Steve had done earlier. He sat on Steve’s left side so that he could place his hand on Steve’s knee comfortingly. “I’m sure she felt the same.”

Steve murmured something that vaguely sounded like “I don’t think so,” and Bucky sighed, his breath visible in the cold air. He dropped his hand from Steve’s knee and ran his tongue over his dry bottom lip.

“Six years... How’d you meet?” he asked.

“The army, if you’d believe it.” Steve said, and Bucky whistled. “Yeah. I... uh, I enlisted a couple months after my mom died. She would never have approved me enlisting but, well, it was always just me and her, so when she died I didn’t have anything. Before me, she was an army nurse, and my dad died in Libya a couple months before I was born. A part of me always wanted to be like them, no matter how much my mom insisted that she would never let me enlist. I guess it was uh... a way to honour her, or something. Feel close to her and my dad when they were both gone,” he swallowed thickly and hoped Bucky didn’t notice.

Bucky had been listening intently, “I’m so sorry.”

Steve huffed out a breath, “Don’t be. That’s not the point, um... So, we were sent to the camp after our training, and I remember being all lined up in a row for briefing by Peggy – who was this officer, or agent or something. She was far more successful than any of us would ever be and she was only, what, twenty-two?”

“That’s amazing,” Bucky said, just so Steve knew he was still listening.

“She is,” Steve agreed. He cleared his throat, “I think a lot of the guys felt quite intimidated by her... So, we’re all lined up and one of the guys starts acting up. He’s, y’know, trying to flirt with her and grab at her and she’s not having it. Instead of calling over a superior officer like she should have done, she asks him to step forward – deadpan as anything – and punches him right in the face. Sends him to the ground, too. None of us tried to mess with her after that.”

Bucky laughed, “Oh, my god. That’s incredible.”

Steve had a fond, reminiscent smile on his face, “I know. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I think that was the moment I fell in love with her.”

He seemed to have perked up a little, telling that story, but Bucky was a little bit confused.

“I have one question...” he said. Steve glanced at him expectantly, “How did you get into the army if you have asthma?”

Steve chuckled like he’d been expecting that question, “Another reason I joined the army after my mom died is because nobody would be able to prove that I lied on the enlistment form.”

“You lied...” Bucky said, in disbelief. “I can’t believe you. Is that why you don’t serve anymore?”

Steve shook his head, “No, uh, I was discharged two years in after an evac mission went wrong. I... well, I was abducted and tortured and then sent home.”

He said it so casually, like it was every day you got kidnapped and tortured, and Bucky couldn’t help his eyebrows raising in shock. “Fuck...”

“It was fine, though. I met Sam at one of his VA meetings, he pushed me to pursue art, go to college – I’d spent the years after high school looking after my mom, so I’d never had the chance – and I started playing the trumpet again. It helped... uh... with the tremors.”

He looked down at his hands. They were shaking very minutely, and Bucky felt extremely ignorant, because all this time he’d thought that was because of the cold. The view he’d had of Steve had completely changed, now, he hadn’t thought this guy had that much to him. But there was so much lying under the surface that Bucky was happy he’d heard. He wanted to hear more but wasn’t sure if Steve wanted to tell him.

“So, what happened with Peggy?” he eventually asked.

“She stayed on for two years after I was discharged,” Steve said. “We stayed together, video called a lot, and one day she tells me that she’s got big news that she wants to tell me when she gets home – she tried to come home as much as she could, a day or two here and there. For months, I’d been planning on proposing to her on her next visit.”

“Oh, no...” Bucky couldn’t help from saying.

Steve looked like he wanted to laugh but didn’t, “So I wait for her at the airport, and I’d been thinking about doing it there, but I knew she hated attention like that. So, I brought her home, where I’d set up the apartment all romantic. She walked in, saw the rose petals, I got down on one knee, and she told me that she’d been offered a position at MI6, and was moving back to London.”

“Steve...” Bucky exhaled.

Closing his eyes, Steve nodded once, “She wanted me to go with her, but I’d spent the last two years building a life for myself in DC, and I couldn’t let that go. She didn’t want a long-distance relationship again, which I understood, so we broke it off. The last time I saw her she was packing up her stuff and moving out. Until tonight.”

There was something in Steve’s expression that Bucky knew too well, from first-hand experience. He put his arm around Steve and pulled him close just so that he didn’t have to see it anymore, but the guy was far too broad for Bucky to hold properly, so he just buried his own face into the crook of Steve’s neck and hoped it was comforting.

“I’m sorry...” he said into Steve’s jacket.

“About what?” Steve asked, and Bucky felt the rumble of his voice.

“For letting you sit here and talk about it and not making you go back.”

Steve jumped back at that, immediately standing up and breaking their embrace.

“No,” Steve said. “That’s not happening.”

Bucky groaned inwardly, “Steve, you didn’t come all the way to New York to do nothing.”

“I didn’t come all the way to New York to get my ass kicked, either,” Steve said, because yeah, he was sure if he tried anything with Peggy she’d kick his ass. That would definitely happen. He could see it.

Bucky pushed himself up from the bench, “I’m not letting you leave without trying. I swear.”

“I hate you,” Steve said, but there was no heat behind his words, which Bucky took as a good thing.

He held out his hand toward Steve, “Come on.”

Steve couldn’t quite believe he was doing this, as he took Bucky’s hand and let himself be led back towards the bar. He saw Peggy the moment they walked in, and nearly turned around and walked back out. Bucky pushed back against him though, forcing him inside.

“I can’t do this,” Steve said, through gritted teeth.

“Yes, you can,” Bucky insisted. “Go.”

Letting Steve’s hand go felt a lot like watching a child take their first steps. Steve was unsure as he stepped into the crowd, but once he was a few feet away from Peggy, who was facing the bar, he took a deep breath, set his shoulders and strode confidently towards her. Watching him talk easily to her, Bucky felt full of pride, and a little bit of something he didn’t quite want to address.

He stepped outside so that he didn’t have to, and leaned up against the wall of the bar. He blindly flicked open the cigarette box where it was at the bottom of the deep pocket in his coat, placed one in his mouth and tried to light it.

It was really just his luck that his lighter chose that moment to not work. No matter how many times he tried, it would only give him a pathetic little spark and nothing more. He groaned, dropping his head back against the wall.

“Need a light?” someone asked.

Bucky opened his eyes to see Steve’s friend from earlier. Not the short one with the hooker, but the handsome one... Sam.

He took the cigarette out of his mouth so that he could answer, “Could I?”

Sam held out his lighter, and Bucky placed the cigarette back in his mouth to light it. The relief that hit him the moment he took the first drag was just what he’d needed. He handed the lighter back, and Sam lit his own cigarette.

“Your boy’s in there,” Sam said, nodding to the bar.

“I know,” Bucky replied, smoke coming out of his nose as he did so.

“You not worried he’s gonna talk to his ex?” Sam asked.

“I told him to,” Bucky said, flicking off the ash and putting it back in his mouth.

Sam looked confused but didn’t pry. “Steve hasn’t mentioned you before.”

Bucky glanced at his feet, “We didn’t want to rush into anything. We, uh, we haven’t been together that long. Since I live in New York, it's, uh, difficult.”

“Right,” Sam said, and Bucky was slightly worried that he didn’t believe him.

Then again, it didn’t really matter if Sam believed him or not. It wasn’t him Steve wanted to make jealous.

“He really cares about you,” Sam said, after a moment.

Bucky glanced at him, humored, “He tell you that?”

He wondered if Steve had put Sam up to this so that Bucky wouldn’t be alone. If he’d actually convinced his best friend like that, this lie really had gone too far.

Sam shook his head, “I can tell. Steve’s been my best friend for the best part of ten years. When you’re close to someone like that, you just know. It’s in the eyes.”

He made a weird gesture around his eyes, and Bucky laughed.

“Sure it is,” he took another drag.

“Hey!” Sam pointed at Bucky with his cigarette. “Don’t try and be smart. I know Steve, alright? The guy doesn’t have a poker face. Also, nobody calls him Stevie and gets away with it.”

Bucky really didn’t know how to process this information. A couple of hours wasn’t enough for Steve to actually start caring about him so much that even his best friend could tell, right? Besides, he was still hung up on Peggy. He was just good at keeping up the act.

There wasn’t time to dwell on it, though, because before they could talk any more the door slammed open – so hard Bucky was surprised the glass didn’t shatter – and Steve was storming past them. Bucky shared an apologetic look with Sam, stubbed out his cigarette and chased Steve around the corner.

“Steve? How did it go?”

He had a pretty good idea of how it went. Like Sam said, Steve didn’t exactly have a poker face.

“She’s happy I came back, we’re going to lunch tomorrow,” Steve said.

It was Bucky’s turn to race to keep up. Steve was walking seriously fast. Surely lunch was a good thing, though?

“I told you!”

“The three of us,” Steve said.

“She invited me?” Bucky asked.

He wasn’t surprised but did feel a little bad, since he wasn’t going to be here tomorrow. He didn’t want to fuck this up for Steve.

Steve shook his head, “No.”

“Another guy?”

Steve had crossed his arms, now, “Nope.”

Who else could she have possibly invited that Steve could feel so mad about?

“Steve, who the hell did she -?”

Steve suddenly stopped, almost making Bucky run right into the back of him, and turned around.

“She’s pregnant,” he said.

Bucky’s face fell, “Steve... I’m...”

“If you’re gonna say you’re sorry, save it,” Steve said. “I’m fine, probably the most fine I’ve been in six years. Because at least I finally know something. I finally know it’s over. So, I guess I should thank you for that.”

There was nothing Bucky could do but wait for the other shoe to drop, because surely that wasn’t all Steve had to say. If he was Steve right now, he’d probably have punched Bucky and yelled in his face and gotten angry at him for ruining his life. At least, that’s what Bucky had wanted to do to himself a few hours ago. He guessed Steve would feel somewhat the same. He kind of hoped he did, because then at least he had a chance at understanding.

“She said she’s never been so happy,” Steve said, voice breaking, and he turned and ran a hand over his face to stop himself from crying. He wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t. “I guess I’ve gotta be okay with not being okay. Grow up a bit. So... thanks for that, too.”

Bucky was at a loss. Steve had all but accused him of ruining his life, but somehow, he was still being chivalrous about it.

“What do you want to do now?” was all Bucky could think to ask.

“Walk,” Steve said. “Think.”

Bucky nodded silently, and he felt helpless as walked by Steve’s side, unsure whether they should talk about it or not. He didn’t know whether to touch Steve, put his arm around him and hug him or bump their shoulders together to remind him he was there, or if he should just leave him alone.

He did an excellent job at leaving him alone until they reached the riverside, where the silence had become too stifling and Bucky couldn’t handle it anymore.

“I understand, y’know,” he said.

Steve looked at him for the first time in almost half an hour, and Bucky didn’t know where he was going with this.

“What it feels like when they love somebody else. I get it.” Bucky continued.

Steve scoffed, “Sure you do, Buck. You, with your marriage and your rich husband and your ballet. I’m sure you understand exactly how I feel.”

“I never said he was rich,” Bucky said, because apparently he couldn’t help but jump on the defensive rather than try to diffuse the situation. Good job, Barnes.

“You didn’t need to,” Steve said, and he was so fucking angry, and Bucky wished he wasn’t, but he really understood. He would be too. “You’ve run off to Manhattan in a peacoat and red bottom shoes and a Louis Vuitton wallet, and I’m pretty sure kids’ ballet coaching doesn’t pay that much. You don’t get it, Buck, you never will.”

“But I do!” Bucky hated how pathetic he sounded. “I fucking get it, Steve, okay? Other people have problems too. If you got off your fucking high horse for once you might actually realise that.”

The sudden anger from Bucky seemed to knock Steve down a peg. He chewed on his bottom lip, and then dropped down onto a bench. Bucky sat beside him.

“My anniversary with Brock is July 20th,” he said.

Steve cocked his head a little to the side, seeming confused why Bucky was bringing this up, so he took it as his cue to continue.

“He spends a lot of time in DC, because of his work. This year, he was gonna be there on our anniversary, so I wanted to surprise him. I went into his emails and, as I was looking for his schedule, a notification popped up. The subject was just ‘the 20th’. I thought maybe he’d planned something romantic for us, for our anniversary. I hate surprises, though, so I had to look. It was definitely a date. But not for us. It was at some fancy hotel in DC, signed off with ‘S.’.”

“He was...” Steve muttered.

Bucky nodded as if he couldn’t stand to hear Steve say it, “Yeah... He has the same password for everything, always has, so I signed into his email on my phone and put on alerts for that address. Over the next couple of months they emailed back and forth, he would call her Susan and she would sign back ‘Suzie’.”

He took a deep breath.

“I was so fucking angry. I couldn’t stop thinking about every time he’d pushed me around, taken out his anger on me, told me I wasn’t good enough, and...” He cleared his throat because fuck was somebody choking him right now? “I wondered why she was getting the best side of him, and I wasn’t.”

Steve seemed to be processing what Bucky was telling him, “What’d you do?”

“Nothing.” Bucky’s mouth was dry. “Until yesterday. He was going back to DC, and I saw the email where he told her that he was gonna be back in town and I wanted to fucking rip out his eyes. So, when he left, I wrote him a letter. I told him everything I knew and everything I wanted to say. And then, I took my ring and I put it in the envelope, put it on the bed where I knew he’d see it, and left.”

“Why Manhattan?” Steve asked.

Bucky shrugged, “I thought about going to Nat and Clint’s but I knew that would be the first place he’d check, so I was gonna go back to Brooklyn and stay with my ma, but I chickened out when I reached Grand Central. So, I got off the train, found a bar and spent a couple of hours feeling sorry for myself because I thought my marriage was over...”

“But now he’s coming home instead of seeing her,” Steve guessed. His eyes hadn’t moved from Bucky the entire story.

Tears stinging his eyes, all Bucky could do was nod.

“Sat in that bar, I realised all the moments that we shared and would share and everything that’s ever happened between us and I realised that I’d thrown away my one chance at happiness,” Bucky said, voice threatening to break.

Steve seemed sure of himself, his voice was soft, and his hand was grazing Bucky’s shoulder blade, “I don’t think you’ve thrown anything away. I think you deserve something much better than someone who is gonna cheat and lie and break your heart.”

Bucky smiled through his tears, which he hadn’t even realised had happened, “That’s nice, Stevie, but Brock is all I have.”

“Look at me, Buck,” Steve said, shifting slightly so that he was facing Bucky directly, “That’s him talking. He’s convinced you that you have no other option, that he is the only person who is ever gonna love you but it’s not true, okay? You have so many more people than that. Don’t let him trap you.”

Now Bucky really was crying. An ugly, painful sobbing sound that he couldn’t stop coming from the back of his throat, and he covered his face with his hand to try and calm himself down. He didn’t want Steve to see him cry, not again, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. Steve inched forward so that he could wrap his arms around Bucky and hold him close to his chest.

“I have a hotel room,” Steve said against Bucky’s hair, because he really didn’t know what else to suggest. “I’m sharing with Sam but I’m about eighty percent sure he’s gonna go home with Maria, so it should be free.”

Bucky laughed, and the movement was nice against Steve’s chest.

“I’m not trying anything, we just need somewhere warm.”

Bucky leaned back a little, hand lingering on Steve’s chest. “I know.”

Steve could have sworn, for a moment, Bucky’s eyes flicked to his lips. He didn’t mention it, though, and instead stood up and offered his arm.

The hotel wasn’t exactly the Ritz, and Steve was sure it was much shabbier than what Bucky was used to. He didn’t seem to mind, though, and Sam wasn’t there when they got there.

“Room service?” Steve asked, as Bucky took off his coat and scarf.

“I’m starving,” Bucky replied.

Steve nodded towards the bathroom, “You go first.”

Bucky thanked him quietly and disappeared into the bathroom. Steve waited until he could hear the shower running to order the food – the cheapest thing on the menu, because he only had about twenty dollars left.

Steve was stood in the middle of the room when Bucky came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a white hotel towel, wrapped around his waist. Steve couldn’t help it when his eyes were immediately drawn to Bucky’s left side.

Bucky’s arm stopped just below the shoulder, and there was puckered skin and scar tissue most of the way across his chest and partly up his neck. Steve wasn’t disgusted by it, or anything, because it wasn’t disgusting, but all he could think about was how much that must have hurt, and how it must have happened.

“Like what you see?” Bucky grinned, and he had stepped forward so that he was in Steve’s personal space.

“Could use a little work,” Steve teased.

Bucky made an offended scoffing sound and smacked Steve on the arm, “Asshole!”

His hand stayed on Steve’s arm, and fuck, okay, now he was definitely staring at Steve’s lips. He wasn’t doing anything about it, either, wasn’t moving away. If anything, he was moving closer. It could have just been Steve’s mind playing tricks on him, but Bucky’s face was getting closer and closer to his.

Before he knew it, Bucky’s mouth was pressed softly against his, and his hand had moved from Steve’s arm to the nape of his neck to hold him there. It took Steve’s body a moment to catch up with his mind, but when it did, his hands immediately moved to frame Bucky’s face.

They kissed like that, softly and close-mouthed, until Steve moved his hands again and pushed Bucky softly backwards.

“Buck,” he said gently, Bucky still looked like he wanted to pounce on Steve, so he made sure to hold him back a little. “Not that I don’t want this, but you need to be sure.”

Bucky’s mouth was slightly open, and his gaze flicked from Steve’s eyes to his lips to just past his shoulder. Then, he pushed Steve away and stepped backwards until he was sat on the bed.

“I’m not sure.” He looked like he’d just been slapped.

Steve tried to be reassuring, “That’s okay.” He sat down beside him. “It’s okay if you don’t know. You’re confused and upset, and I understand.”

Bucky ran his hand through his hair, “Why are you so nice, Steve? You’re just... like, absolutely fucking perfect, but you’re so perfect that it makes you an asshole because you don’t know when to stop being nice.”

“I think you’re just not used to being treated right,” Steve replied.

Bucky called him an asshole again, but it wasn’t biting.

“Do you think we met for a reason, Stevie?” he asked after a beat of silence.

“I think we were meant to find each other,” Steve replied truthfully. “I think you were meant to miss that train, that your phone was meant to be broken and I think that we both have things we’ve been putting off for way too long. I think we’ve both realised that it’s time to stop running, and we were meant to meet so that we could learn that.”

Bucky’s eyebrows drew together for a moment, and he nodded once. He slipped his hand down Steve’s arm to until their palms were pressed flat together, and then laced their fingers.

“We can run later,” Bucky said, eventually. “For now, let’s just enjoy this.”

A few hours later, they were in a cab on their way back to Grand Central. They were both exhausted, their meeting – only five and a half hours before – felt like days ago. The cab ride was painfully quiet, with Bucky spending a large part of it anxiously picking at the knee of his jeans and repeatedly checking that he had his ticket.

Eventually, Steve placed his hand over Bucky’s to stop the fidgeting. Bucky stared at their hands, and then twisted his wrist so that he could link their fingers together again, much like he had the previous night. He smiled up at Steve, and Steve just smiled back.

Bucky didn’t let go of his hand as they got out of the cab, and as they walked into the station. He only let go when they reached a payphone which Steve insisted on picking up. Bucky couldn’t help but smile when he realised what Steve was doing.

“Steve? Hey, buddy, it’s you from the future.”

He covered the receiver with his hand and stage-whispered, “He bought it, sucker.” to Bucky, who laughed – a little teary, and then he put the phone back to his ear.

“I just wanted to give you a piece of advice. You’re gonna be playing one night, in Grand Central Terminal in Manhattan, thinking of every reason in the world to not go see the girl who broke your heart. Then, you’re gonna meet somebody. At first, he’s gonna seem cold, and you’ll know right away that he’s trouble. He’s gonna take all your money, lie to you, keep you awake and walking around Manhattan all night, you might even get punched, but... stick with him; you’re gonna end up needing him a lot more than he needs you.”

He locked eyes with Bucky as he spoke, and his voice wobbled a little bit, but he tried to control it as much as he could. They both had cried far too much over the past few hours. Bucky didn’t seem to have even noticed that a tear had slipped down his cheek.

“At the end of the night, when you’re seeing him off at Grand Central, you’re gonna wanna say some things. But, don’t. It’s nothing he doesn’t already know.”

Bucky wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand and Steve carried on talking.

“Just give him a kiss, wish him good luck, and say thank you. Because he taught you something you would never have been able to teach yourself.”

As soon as he said that, Bucky surged forward, grabbed the lapel of Steve’s coat and kissed him. Steve dropped the phone in shock. The kiss was wet from tears, and Steve couldn’t tell if they were his or Bucky’s. Both of them, he thought, when Bucky moved back again. They kept their foreheads pressed together for a few more moments.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, quietly.

Then, he stepped back and walked away.

Steve was frozen in place. All he could do was watch Bucky as he walked down onto the platform. And, if Bucky glanced back at Steve a few times, nobody had to know.

There was a man playing the trumpet in Grand Central Terminal. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people passed by him while he played. Some would drop money into his open case, others would pass without acknowledgment, another would enter and leave his life in the same night.

The night would be insignificant in the grander scheme of things, and, in the time after, he would meet so many more people. They would laugh and cry and have weekly poker nights, and he wouldn’t think about Peggy no matter how much it hurt. He would go on trips to Las Vegas and California and he’d go back to Brooklyn, visit his mom’s grave and spend hours talking to her as if she could hear. His hands would still shake, but he would spend hours mapping out long, dark hair and a sharply curved jaw in his sketchbook.

He would be back at Grand Central Terminal before he’d even realised that he’d left, and he would be knocked off his feet by a man in a hurry.

The man would turn around to help him up, and he’d look up into grey eyes flashing with recognition, and the man would exhale, “Steve.” and Steve would chuckle out a “Buck.”, and it was as if they had never left at all.

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madcapmoon · 5 years

Text

Highway to Hell: My Life on the Road with the Dead Kennedys

by Amy Linden

In 1981 I moved back to New York City after spending four years in San Francisco. I was 22, and a childhood friend and I shared a two bedroom apartment—rent $300 and change—on East 4th Street, just off Avenue A, kitty-corner to the building where Madonna lived back before she actually was Madonna.

One day, I got a phone call from my friend Klaus Fluoride, the bass player for the seminal punk group the Dead Kennedys. During my last 18 months in SF, Klaus, his girlfriend, three other roommates, my boyfriend/we-got married-for-his-green-card husband, and I shared a huge flat in the Mission District. I wasn’t as close to the other members as I was to Klaus; I had spent a decent amount of time with Darren, (a.k.a. DH Peligro), East Bay Ray, and the inimitable Jello Biafra. It was great to hear from Klaus, especially since he had good news—the Dead Kennedys were embarking on their first East Coast tour.

“We’re coming to New York!” Klaus exclaimed. “You should come out on the road with us!” And why not? I could drink all the band’s beer! I could go backstage. And most of all, I could meet cute punk rock boys! Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about giving my boss notice because I barely had a job.

After arriving in NYC, the band took the Amtrak down to Washington, D.C., where the mini-tour was going to kick off. On the ride down, Klaus raised the possibility of my helping out in some way. Maybe I could write up setlists, maybe arrange the guest list, maybe help move equipment, or maybe I could get up on stage and do “security,” which consisted of grabbing the mic back whenever singer Jello Biafra propelled himself into the audience, keeping the flow of stage divers moving at a brisk pace, and tossing—or more specifically shoving—anyone who climbed up on stage and showed little inclination to move.

That I was totally ill-suited to do security for anyone at anytime, least of all for a high-energy aggressive band with high-energy aggressive fans, should have been obvious. Clearly, none of this mattered. Just like that, I was on stage at the legendary 9:30 Club, wearing a short kilt, beat up cowboy boots, and bandanas wrapped around my wrists, looking out at a packed house of pumped up fans, and trying my best to look butch. Pushing sweat-soaked twenty-year-olds off the stage was not my idea of meeting cute punk rock guys.

Arguably, punk rock’s birthplace was New York. However in 1981, D.C. was the epicenter of the East Coast hardcore scene, with much of the momentum coming from a tight knit, committed crew—many just out of their teens or still living at home—who adhered to a DIY philosophy/lifestyle known as “straight edge.” Being down with straight edge meant just saying “no” to liquor, cigarettes and drugs, which at the time were three of my four basic food groups.

The leading lights of the straight edge crew were Ian MacKaye and Henry Garfield. Ian’s resume included Teen Idles, Minor Threat, and later Fugazi, in addition to founding the influential indie label Dischord Records. Garfield, who worked at a Häagen-Dazs in Georgetown, was the front man for S.O.A. In time, he would change his surname to Rollins, join Black Flag, and become a heavily tattooed, singer/spoken word artist and actor. Henry and Ian looked a bit scary, but like most of the D.C. crew, were as sweet and courteous as their music was aggressive. When they weren’t following me around like I was Bo Peep and they were lost skinhead sheep, Henry and Ian took it upon themselves to protect me from whatever it was they thought I needed to be protected from.

By the time the Dead Kennedys finished up the first of two D.C. shows, I was a cross between big sister and mascot, the affection strictly platonic. There may have been lots of unity, but not many of the D.C. kids were coupled up. All of the passion was directed at the “cause.” It was as though sex, like drugs and alcohol, indicated a lack of discipline.

I remember an odd but telling conversation with Henry. He had invited his friends, the DKs, and me to his small apartment in Alexandria, Virginia. He asked me to come to the kitchen. With utmost sincerity Henry, who was at most two years my junior, said that he really didn’t like girls, but he liked me because to him I wasn’t really a girl. If memory serves, it was then that he opened the freezer and showed me a dead rat. Touched as I was by Henry’s attempt to let me into his world, I let him know that I was enough of a girl to find a rat-cicle kind of gross. Bless his heart, but this whole meeting cute punk boys was clearly not in the cards.

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Ian on stage 3:28

Ian, Henry, and my new skinhead besties travelled to the Baltimore show where they stood in front of the stage, their arms reaching up towards me and sang, “Amy, dance with us!” I might not have been the best security detail but I sure was the most popular. Such displays of affection only served to make my already rocky relationship with Biafra even worse. It was bad enough that Klaus had brought me along, but to Biafra my being serenaded undermined his punk cred, not to mention that he had no interest in sharing the spotlight, especially with some girl in a miniskirt and cowboy boots.

Oddly enough, Biafra’s ire grew even more pronounced when I developed a nasty cough and took to swilling cheap, high-octane cough syrup. Convinced that I would get him sick and that my fits of coughing somehow made the band look lame, Biafra turned mean. He decided that part of my job description involved looking after the equipment, and therefore I had to sleep in the van parked on the streets of the nation’s then-murder capital. This edict was quickly and angrily squashed by Darren, Klaus and guitarist East Bay Ray, who generally paid me no mind, instead concentrating on picking up women. For the remainder of the tour, Klaus and Darren chipped in for a hotel room and kept Biafra off my case. He was a charismatic front man, but Biafra’s actions further convinced me that he was a dick.

Before heading down to Charm City, we drove out to a farm in Virginia to meet the Bad Brain’s explosive lead singer H.R. The Bad Brains were and remain a sheer force of nature, but H.R. could be, shall we say, strange. His home was a punk rock crash pad/Rasta commune filled with kids, women, the other three-quarters of the Bad Brains and the ever-present smell of weed. The Kennedys were there to finalize plans for the punk pioneers to open up at the first of two upcoming NYC dates. Unbeknownst to us, H.R. was in the midst of a verbal fast, something that he did to cleanse himself of negative energy. Instead of talking, he gestured wildly and occasionally scribbled down notes. The next time we saw H.R. and the Bad Brains, they came “this close” to blowing the Dead Kennedys off stage. In fact, they just might have done so.

We encountered a bit of drama in Boston. The concert tickets and local advertising said “DKs” rather than the “Dead Kennedys.” Was it censorship? Maybe. It wasn’t uncommon to shorten the group’s name, yet it wasn’t lost on anyone that the name change had happened in the home of the actual Kennedys. Looking back, I think that Ray, Klaus, and Darren knew that taking umbrage over the promoter’s decision was not worth the energy. But with his customary lack of concern for anything but his own agenda, Biafra became furious.

Adding insult to perceived injury, Biafra began the set ranting and making snarky comments about imprisoned IRA martyr Bobby Sands, who had either just died or was dying as a result of a prolonged hunger strike. It was not one of Biafra’s most sensitive moments. It was also in Boston that the band picked up Microwave, a good natured, muscley young fan who approached them after the show. Microwave was a far better fit for tossing skinheads and guarding amps than a sleep-deprived and tubercular girl. Much to Biafra’s delight, Microwave took over most of the heavy lifting. Literally.

After six cities in two weeks, the traveling circus ended at NYC’s Irving Plaza. An old Ukrainian theater, Irving Plaza was largest venue, and that night it was packed with hundreds of bodies, including the D.C. Straight Edge Boy’s Choir/Amy Appreciation Society. Even though Microwave was now head punk-in-charge, I was in my customary spot off to the right of the bass amp, poised to help out if needed. The energy level was off the charts and the crowd roared, sang along and danced as the Kennedys tore through songs like “California Über Alles,” “Kill the Poor,” and “Holiday in Cambodia.”

youtube

Ian and Henry Rollins dancing onstage during Too Drunk To Fuck

By now I was so in sync with the band’s rhythm that I could almost predict when Biafra would dive into the crowd. And when he did, I ran to the front of the stage to reel him in. Suddenly an over-eager fan grabbed the mic and refused to loosen up his grip. Biafra was floating on top of a sea of bodies, and I had lost control of the mic. A tug of war ensued, and the next thing I knew, the fan got a hold of the mic stand and clonked me. Unfortunately, I was a little drunk; having hit the end of the already-frayed rope, I lost it and tried to kick the fan in the head. Before I could make shoe-to-forehead contact, my opponent put his hands around my left foot and twisted it.

Microwave sprung into action, secured the stand, got the mic and brought Biafra back to the stage as Klaus pushed me behind an amp. The skirmish took less than a minute. As soon as the show ended and the band headed to the dressing room, I became acutely aware of a nagging, swelling sensation radiating from the side of my foot. The pain was intense, so I kept drinking in the hopes that beer would make it all better. I didn’t want to look like a baby or miss the fun—Saturday Night Live’s John Belushi and Mr. Bill were there!

When I was unable to move my toes, it was clear that something really bad had happened. I needed to get it checked out immediately. Ever the gentlemen, Henry and Ian carried me ten blocks down 14th Street to St. Vincent’s Hospital and stayed in the waiting room while I was examined. By now, my foot was completely swollen, and the only way to take x-rays was to cut the boot off, which I begged the doctor not to do. Turned out that I had a severely broken left toe. I was given something a bit stronger than cough syrup, a pair of crutches, and just like that my road trip was over. The Dead Kennedys went back home. I’d had fun. I was littered with bruises but I’d had fun. I never did meet any cute punk rock boys...

*Both videos seem to be from the same 1981 Irving Plaza show but they are dated wrong*

#dead kennedys #ian mackaye #henry rollins

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let-it-raines · 6 years

Text

Betting on the Bullseye (Part 5)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.

Rating: Mature (particularly this chapter if you know what I mean)

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Found on Tumblr: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Clarifying that there are MORE than five parts so no one freak out :D

A/N: I just wanted to add the gif because it’s relevant to this chapter.

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic@profdanglaisstuff @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld@jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog

Killian: Do you want to go out tonight?

Emma: Where?

Killian: I mean, I was thinking a casual night out. We grab something to eat, go to a quiet pub, have a nice time outside of the house for your last night.

Emma: Are you going to be too tired?

Killian: No. You’re going back to Boston tomorrow. I can sleep when you’re gone.

Emma: Alright, see you at home, I guess?

Killian: Yeah, see you at home, love.

She falls back against her bed, stretching out on the mattress and closing her eyes as she smiles and her phone falls against the sheets. God, she’s dreaming. She has to be dreaming because she just doesn’t have things like this happen to her. Or maybe she’s simply in that new relationship (is that what this is?) stage where she’s giddy and happy and things are full of possibility. It’s like she’s walking on some kind of cloud, but really, she’s very solidly on the ground.

Mostly, she’s happy.

So damn happy.

Her phone goes off again, and she fumbles around on the mattress until she finds it.

Ruby: Work is miserable without you. Please come home.

Emma: Miss me, did ya?

Ruby: Terribly. I’m never letting you leave again.

Emma: Pretty sure that’s kidnapping and is illegal.

Ruby: Yeah, well, I’m also going to murder Kathryn. I can’t handle her without you.

Emma: That’s illegal too.

Emma: I’ll be home soon. I promise.

And there’s the kicker to her happiness. She has to go home. It’s not that she doesn’t want to go home. She does. She misses her shit-hole of an apartment, her friends, and even her job, but when she goes home, she’s going to miss Killian. Especially now that she’s been with him, talked to him, kissed him…it’s…there’s pros and cons either way.

But right now, she really doesn’t want to leave. She wants to stay, to make out with Killian some more, and maybe go back to that café and get more waffles. They were damn good waffles, he’s a damn good kisser, and this has been a damn good trip, better than she ever imagined really. Time is winding down and somehow speeding up, and she wants it all to stop for just a moment.

Or maybe just a night.

Or maybe just tonight.

She wanders down to the Santa Monica Pier that day, figuring she can’t very well be visiting there and not go to one of the most iconic sites in the city. It’s packed, people milling about everywhere, but she can’t complain, especially as the smells of salt and sand invade her senses. She’s a tourist just like everyone else, and she most definitely pays the nine bucks to ride on the ferris wheel and get views of the beach and the pier from above, taking pictures on her phone from her view up above. It’s beautiful, so different from Boston even with their similarities. Her friends would love this. Ruby would want to go shopping at all of the boutiques, Mary Margaret would want to take Leo on the rides even though he’s too small and take pictures of him holding a giant thing of cotton candy, and David would complain while secretly enjoying it.

She wonders if Killian has ever been down here. She should have asked when he mentioned it as something for her to do, but she just kind of assumed that he had. But now that she thinks about it, he might have just been listing things in the area. He’d like the views of the ocean, the way the water stretches out further than the eye can see, and she really hopes that one day he’ll get to do this if he hasn’t already.

When she comes back down to the ground, she finds something to eat, munching on a hot dog as she wanders further away from the pier and to all of the small boutiques, her eyes widening at the price range of all of these shirts. Hell, how do people buy any of this stuff? But then she finds a little place, kind of shabby from the outside, and it’s full of small antiques and knick knacks, all cheap and probably fake, but she’s kind of in love with the homemade jewelry and scarves.

So she buys a few long gold chains with pendants at the end, folding them away into her purse, and feeling like it’s been a good day in her adventures.

Even if she’s kind of regretting getting a hot dog when she could have literally eaten anything else.

Killian gets home from set around nine, charging into the house and pressing a quick kiss against her lips that leaves her reeling almost as much as him running upstairs to take a shower, yelling as he goes about her needing to be ready to go in twenty minutes. He just…he kissed her in greeting when he got home from work. That may very well be the most normal, boring thing that could have happened, but it’s not. She can’t remember the last time she had someone like that, and she’s not even sure that she has him now. She doesn’t know because they haven’t talked about it. Everything has just kind of happened.

But maybe that makes it better, more natural. Things have always felt so forced with guys in the past.

Pushing these thoughts down, she heads upstairs to her room and changes into some skinny jeans and a black tank top, the shirt flowing around her waist while the lace or her mustard bralette shows through the top. The ocean air has been helping to curl her hair while she’s been here, almost completely changing the texture of it, so she doesn’t bother doing anything to it. She simply flicks on some eyeliner and mascara before taking one last look in the mirror and heading out into the hallway only to collide with Killian, their bodies crashing together until her hands grab onto his biceps and his grab onto her sides right over her jeans.

“Hi.” His eyes are blown wide and always so blue. “You, uh, you ready to go?”

She nibbles on her bottom lip, and she smiles when Killian’s eyes flicker down to her lips. She presses up on her toes and moves her arms to wrap around his neck, their bodies coming together while her lips press against his for a lingering moment. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

He takes a moment too long to respond, his tan cheeks suddenly becoming flushed, and a sense of pride settles in her stomach. She did that to him with just a kiss. She has that kind of effect on him. This isn’t a one-sided thing. Not at all.

“Good,” he finally responds, pulling back and holding his arm out until she loops hers through his. “Let’s go then.”

Their Uber takes them to a bar downtown. It’s crowded, but she can already tell that it’s a relaxed place. The lights are dim, almost too dark, and a band plays in the corner of the room with plenty of tables filled with people listening along. She moves to sit at one of those tables when Killian shakes his head, the baseball cap he’s got on pulled low nearly hiding his eyes, and guides her to a table off in the corner of the room.

“You know, if you wanted to get me alone all you had to do was ask.”

He snickers under his breath before pulling her chair out for her and waiting for her to sit down. She does, scooting in while Killian moves to sit on the other side. “As much as I’d love to be there in the midst of the crowd, it’s just not a good idea for me.”

“Oh. I didn’t…I forgot for a minute.”

“Tis nothing, Swan. Maybe a bit later in the night, when everyone’s had a few more drinks we can go over there. There’s usually good bands here.”

“Yeah? You come here often.”

“Your pick-up lines are so original, love.”

“I mean, you took me out of the crowded bar and got me alone, so you’re not exactly super original.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flashing her a smile and waving her away. “Can I buy you a drink?”

He waggles his eyebrows as he says it, and she throws her head back in laughter while her cheeks flush. “So original. Um, I think I just want a beer. I don’t care what kind.”

“Perfect.” He stands from his chair and leans down to press a kiss against her temple. “I’ll be right back.”

She watches as he walks away, her eyes flickering over his body as he slyly moves the crowd, not a person looking his way. She wonders what it’s like being such an expert at having to actively blend in like that. In almost record time, she sees him leave the bar with two beer bottles and a basket of…onion rings.

Bless him.

“Milady,” he greets, bowing down and placing the basket in front of her. “I may have swindled you some food.”

“Trying to buy my affection then?”

“Well of course.” He winks before sitting down, his chair noticeably being pulled closer to hers so that they’re right next to each other, and she pops a ring in her mouth, chewing on the fried dough. “I saw them on the menu and knew you love them. There were cheeseburgers too, but I’ve had one of those here before and it was bloody awful.”

“How often do you come here? Like, legitimately, no cheesy pick-up lines involved.”

Killian shrugs before leaning back into his chair and pulling his arms above his head until his hands land on his hat, tipping the bill up. “Occasionally. I don’t get out of the house a lot to be honest. I’m usually not even home. Last year, God, I was never home last year. You never know how much you miss your bed until you haven’t slept in it for four months.”

“Where were you?”

“Filming in Australia for The Artist. It was beautiful out there, but I did miss this place.”

She takes a sip of her beer, watching Killian watch her over the bottle. “So does that happen a lot? The travel?”

“It depends. Though this show is the first time I’ve worked from home in a long time. I’ve never had a lot to tie me down, if I’m honest, so I’ve never minded the travel too much. I do miss my family, though, but before Aiden, Liam and Elsa would come visit wherever I was when they could.”

Her heart begins racing in her chest, the thoughts she’s been pushing down all night, all week really, of her never really being near Killian start crashing down around her while the band plays a slow song in the background.

Those two things just don’t seem to mix.

Suddenly there’s a hand over hers on the table, warm fingers twining together with hers, and when she looks away from them, she can see his blue eyes staring right at her while a soft smile graces his lips. “I always come home, though, Emma. The people around me are far more important than any role. I love it, but it’s just a job.”

She knows he’s talking about his friends and family, but a part of her believes he’s talking about her. It’s too much, and she needs to change the subject before she does something like cry in the middle of this bar. That would be ridiculous.

“Hey, there’s a dart board over there. You want to play?”

Killian hums next to her, leaning in a bit too close while his thumb rubs back and forth over her knuckles. “You’ve only had the one drink. And if how we met tells me anything, it’s not to play darts against Emma Swan when she’s sober.”

“You’re not being any fun. Come on.” She gets up from her chair, letting Killian’s fingers fall from hand only to be replaced by his fingers grabbing onto her wrist and her waist, a thumb snaking beneath her tank top and looping through her belt loop to tug her closer. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and she swears his cheeks blush under the dim lights in the bar. She also sure that she just set a record for going from terrified to kind of turned on in the fastest amount of time possible.

“How so, love?”

“You’ll have to come play to find out.”

She walks away knowing that he’s going to follow, and maybe she slips a little bit of extra sway into her hips. They should go slow, take these things step by step, but honestly, she doesn’t know when she’ll see him again and she really, really wants to sleep with him.

It’s bad.

And this is totally, like, their tenth date, so really, what’s the point in waiting some more? The fact that they didn’t jump each other last night is a miracle. She likes him. A lot. And that’s not going to change just because she’s got a few reservations about him…or his job…or both really. But that doesn’t matter tonight. None of it does, not anymore. This is supposed to be fun and like she thought earlier…natural. She’s going to take things as they happen.

She picks up the darts, ones with red tips, before handing Killian, who is sure enough right behind her, the other set.

“Game on?” she questions, quirking her eyebrow and smirking, using his own moves against him.

“Game on.”

Killian dips his head down and captures her lips in a kiss that she was in no way expecting. She gasps when he tugs on her upper lip, and he takes it as encouragement, his hands dipping into her back pockets and palming her ass while her arms wrap around his neck. It’s intoxicating, much more than the beer had been, but then she can suddenly feel the darts in her hand poking her skin and remembers what they were about to do.

“Hey,” she gasps when she pulls back, putting space between them, “you’re trying to throw me off my game.”

“Swan, I’d do no such thing.”

“Liar.”

He leans down to kiss her again, and she has to keep herself from smiling into it. “Did it work?”

She turns then, gathering her darts before aligning her stance and throwing, the dart landing almost directly on the bullseye.

“I guess not.”

“Well, we’ll just have to work on that.”

“I guess so.”

Killian waggles his eyebrows, and she laughs at how ridiculous this entire situation is. They’re really challenging each other to some kind of sexual dart throwing contest, and she is here for it. She’s also got to tell Ruby about this later and thank her again for that stupid bet, even if that will inflate her ego.

It may be worth it.

He takes a step up to the faded line on the floor, bumping her hip and making her scoot over before lining up his arm and tossing the dart, the pointed end landing just above hers.

“You’re not the only one with skills, Swan.”

He accentuates the word skills, his voice deepening in timber, and she feels it against every inch of her skin, heat pooling in her belly. God, this was a dumb idea. She should have thought this one through.

“Yeah, well, that was a one-time thing obviously. It’s not going to happen again.”

It goes on like that for awhile, the two of them teasing each other while playing two different kinds of games. The tension in the air is palpable, and it takes everything in her not to smile or laugh or break down into a fit of giggles. When did she lose the ability to flirt in a bar?

“So, darling, I’m still wondering how exactly you plan on making this game worth my while. I remember a promise like that.”

She hums, stepping in front of him and brushing her hand over the front of his jeans where there’s a noticeable bulge, causing Killian to hiss and visibly clench his teeth. Gotcha. “You want to make a wager?”

“Depends,” he dips his head down and growls into her ear, “what do I get when I win?”

“You’re not going to win.”

“So confident.” He bites down on her ear. Hard. And she whimpers, her entire body shaking. “But you’ve lost a bet like this before.”

“True, but I think it’s worked out pretty well.”

His whiskers brush against her cheek while his hands find the skin at her waist, thumbs inching up to brush under her breasts, and her hands find their way to his back pockets, yanking his hips into hers and feeling his growing erection against her. Yeah, totally natural the way that this is progressing.

“It has, but we’re supposed to be making a bet here. If I hit the bullseye first, you come home with me.”

So they’re betting on the bullseye then.

“And if I hit it first?”

“You come home with me.”

She barks out a laugh, some of the tension breaking between them, and she pulls back to look in his face, seeing the total seriousness there except for the smallest uptick of his lips.

“And what will we do while at your home?” “Whatever the hell you want.”

“You need to work on your negotiating skills because I could want to sit on the couch and eat with nothing else.”

“Aye.” He releases her, separating them and grabbing onto his dart from the stool. “But I think this works out for both of us, and those are the best kind of bets.”

Without any preamble, he throws his dart, the small arrow landing with a thud on an outer circle. He’s been throwing nearly perfect throws all night, and she knows that he did that on purpose. Yeah, even if they made the stupidest bet of all time, they’re both winning.

But she’s still going to brag about it regardless. For an indeterminate amount of time.

She lines herself up, making sure her elbow is straight, and throws, the dart landing directly in the bullseye.

“Killian, take me home.”

He kisses her the moment they get back into his side door, the lock clicking into place as his lips move over hers and his hands find their way into her hair. He’s gentle, the fire from earlier simmering instead of burning, and she sighs into the kiss, letting her lips slowly move over his. In the back of her mind she knows they’re moving, her legs walking backward while Killian guides her, but it’s not until her back hits against a wall and his hips rut into hers that she realizes they’re next to the staircase.

His fingers tangle further into her hair, yanking a bit at the roots, and when she bites down on his bottom lip, he makes a muffled groan, his hips stopping in their movements while he just holds her there.

“Emma,” he breathes out on a shuddered breath, the air hot between them. “Emma, you want this right?”

She nods against him and tucks her fingers into his beltloops, pulling him back against her while her lips start moving against his jaw, kissing the whiskers and tasting the salt on his skin. “I want you.”

“Bloody hell do I want you, love.”

He devours her with a kiss that’s deep and hot, commanding really, and she lets him, titling her head to let their tongues tangle together while his hips rut into hers. It becomes messy, tongues wet and warm mixing together while she holds onto his jeans for dear life, not letting go until she can’t breathe.

“Bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

Killian practically bounds up the stairs, taking two at a time, and when he reaches the top while she’s still only halfway up, he turns around with flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile, his hand immediately tugging on his hair. It’s only then that she realizes he’s lost his hat somewhere along the way, and she breaks out into giggles while hurrying up the stairs.

“What’s so funny, love?”

He sounds breathless, broken, his voice husky, and it almost fully brings her back to realizing how aroused she is.

Almost.

“You lost your hat,” she whispers, finally reaching the top of the stairs and wrapping her arms around his neck so she can play with his flattened hair, “and I don’t remember when that happened.”

“I don’t either.”

They both laugh into the kiss, and when they begin moving down the hallway this time, she’s aware of every step and every movement. She’s aware of the way her shirt is somewhere near the bookshelf that houses his photo albums, and she’s aware that his t-shirt is right next to it. She almost keeps going, heading to her room, but Killian turns into his, the unfamiliar surroundings taking a moment to get used to before the back of her knees hit a mattress and she falls backwards onto it with Killian hovering over her, caging her in, invading her space (always).

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and she yanks him closer so that she can taste it again herself, salt and beer on his tongue, and when she nibbles on it, she’s not disappointed by the way he groans into her mouth. She wants to keep going, to keep kissing him, but he drags his tongue against her jaw and traces down the lines of her neck until he’s worrying a bruise into her collarbone and she’s arching her back off the mattress.

Her hands find his bare back, nails digging into the skin, and she urges him closer so that his chest hair brushes against her breasts. But he doesn’t let her do that. Instead his hand that’s not in her hair finds her lace covered nipple, brushing over it and kneading into her skin.

“That,” she gasps, pushing her head into the mattress and fisting the comforter, “keeping doing that.”

He chuckles against her neck while his finger continues to rub against her breast. But then he’s moving, kissing down her chest and on the swell of her breasts until his thumb flicks her bralette down and the cool air of the bedroom hits her nipples.

“Bloody glorious,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against each nipple before his tongue circles her right breast and she has to close her eyes to try to deal with the sensations. “So beautiful.”

He bites down then, and she moans, the sound almost unfamiliar to her. In the background, she swears she can hear the ocean outside, but she doesn’t care. All she can focus on is Killian and how he’d feel inside of her, the two of them coming together completely. His lips leave her breasts and kiss down her stomach while her chest heaves, hooded eyes watching his black mop of hair moving down her body until he gets to her jeans. He looks up at her then through his lashes, and before he can even ask the question, she nods, giving him permission.

The buttons on her jeans are popped and the zipper unzipped, her legs quickly bared of anything and everything. His whiskers brush against her inner thighs, and a bead of sweat forms at her temple, falling across her skin.

She doesn’t know what he’s going to do until his fingers brush through her folds, feeling the wetness that’s pooled there. She gasps, the warmness and roughness of his fingers shocking her, and he looks up at her with a smirk and a chuckle.

“It’s nice to know I’ve had such an effect on you.”

He thrusts a finger into her then, and her back arches off the mattress, much higher than a few moments ago. He takes a few minutes to explore her, quickly learning things she likes as he toys with her, whispering encouragements and asking subtle questions that she tries to answer all while the pleasure is far too much. She’s almost there, her entire body primed to fall apart when he pulls back and she’s left wanting so much.

“What the fuck, dude?”

He snickers against her thighs before kissing back up her body, paying special attention to her breasts, before slanting his lips over hers. “I couldn’t take not being inside of you any longer. I’m but a man, love, and I’ve wanted you for what feels like a long time.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Aye.”

He rolls off of her until he’s shucking his jeans and his boxers down his legs, his cock, full and thick, suddenly on display to her. She gulps, thinking about what’s about to happen, and she absolutely cannot wait. She watches as Killian finds a condom, opening the package and rolling it down his length while she fumbles with her bra, letting it fall onto the bed.

When he’s finished, he takes a step back over to her, grabbing onto her ankles and pulling her forward until her ass hangs off the edge of the bed. He doesn’t say anything else, but he looks at her and smiles while he slides into her in one quick slide, full and heavy and thick, the both of them groaning at finally being connected. He’s…perfect inside of her, and while it takes a few thrusts to really get into a rhythm, he finally does. Her legs wrap around his waist, hooking together at his ass, and he leans over her, making sure that his lips are always against some part of her body while he moves inside with slow, leisurely pumps that drag against her walls and drive her insane.

“This is – it’s good,” she mumbles, adjusting herself and tightening her legs around his back while he leans down and hovers over her, kissing at her chin.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he mutters as he pumps himself into her, nibbling on her skin as she tries to breathe, her entire body moving under his and her head buried against his side. “So glorious. Everything about you is glorious.”

It’s all too much. She wants him too much, her words broken as his thrusts into her, somehow making his way further inside with every push and pull. But then she looks up at him and can clearly see that he’s just as overwhelmed as she is, that he’s feeling all of this too.

“Fuck, love. I – ”

“I know. Me, too.”

She comes with a shudder, her nails leaving crescent moons in the muscles of his skin as heat flutters within her and around her, and he doesn’t take too long to follow her, her name broken on his tongue. That was…that was perfect and not at all what she was expecting. She doesn’t know what exactly that was she’d dreamed about, but this was better in its simplicity and its passion.

Later, she curls up against him, craving the affection and comfort of being in his arms, and even if she wasn’t completely sure of him earlier, her past demons nipping at her heels, she’s feeling sure of him now. His lips brush against her forehead, and she looks up at him and those ridiculous blue eyes.

“I’m glad you came to visit me, sweetheart.”

A tear escapes her eye, unwarranted and unwanted with the realization that tomorrow is goodbye for an unknown amount of time coming back to her with new meaning. He wipes it away with his thumb before kissing his finger and the tear away.

“It’s been one of the best weeks of my life, Killian. I – thank you.”

He smiles softly down at her before pulling her closer, her leg hooking over his. “It’s definitely been the best week of mine.”

They fall asleep, but they also fall into each other in the middle of the night, each time better than the one before as they learn more of each other’s bodies, the newness fading into experience. When she wakes in the morning, the night comes back to her in the soreness of her body and the way that Killian’s wrapped around her, his body hot against hers. This morning she knows she can hear the ocean outside, waves crashing into the shore, and she smiles as she listens to it mixed in with the rhythm of Killian’s heartbeat beside her, two steady beats that calm her.

She stays that way for awhile until her stomach growls and her head begins to throb, the call of coffee almost as strong as the call of nature, and she very carefully tries to get out of bed without waking Killian. she thinks she’s success, her body almost completely off the bed when Killian speaks.

“Hey,” Killian mumbles, rolling in bed and grasping at the back of her bare thigh, skin still unbelievably warm compared to the house, “where are you going?”

“Downstairs for coffee,” she answers, trying not to whimper as Killian’s fingers move up and down her leg like he’s trying to coax her back into bed, “but I need something to wear because your house is freezing.”

“I think your jeans are somehow over by the balcony door.” “Yeah, that’s not happening. Those are like wearing spanx over my entire body. Where’s your closet?”

“In the bathroom, on the right.”

She hums before walking that way, putting an extra sway in her hips like last night. Just naked. She knows Killian’s staring at her ass, and, well, she can’t help herself. She also still can’t get over how nice his bathroom is, white marble and warm chestnut cabinets everywhere, and when she opens his closet, she’s in no way surprised by the size or the fact that everything is organized by color. Most everything is in blacks and dark grays, the occasional blue or deep purple shirt, but what catches her attention is the bright green sweater with garland and bright ornaments draped across it.

“No way,” she laughs, walking over to it and pulling the ugly Christmas sweater off the hanger. It’s the one he wore in his response video, the same one she has in her closet. “I can’t believe he kept this.”

She throws it on, the material falling just above her mid-thigh, and uses the bathroom before finding her way back out into the bedroom where Killian’s fiddling with his phone. She coughs, very loudly and extremely fake, and he looks up, his face impartial until he catches a glimpse at what she’s wearing. His lips tick up while his eyes crinkle, and he laughs, a full belly one, while she sways toward him, the garland of the sweater moving with her.

“Bloody hell, darling, what possessed you to put that on?”

“What possessed you to keep it?”

His right eyebrow ticks up, and his hands find their way to her hips under the sweater, pulling her down on top of him so that she’s straddling his hips, his skin warm against hers.

“What? You’re telling me you didn’t keep yours?”

“Only because we have a tacky Christmas sweater party at the office every year.”

He hums as his hands run up her sides over the sweater, finding their way to rest at her neck. “You know, the first time I ever saw you, you were wearing this sweater. I was actually in this very bed and thought you were beautiful.”

“That sounds a little pervy, Killian.”

His eyes roll, and he leans forward to press a quick kiss against her cheek. “Shut it, Swan. That’s not what I meant. Robin showed me your little video, and he found you to be positively charming just as I did.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like that video to be purged from the internet.” His eyebrow quirks again, and she swears her heartbeat flutters. “Not that I’m not glad I’m here. I am. I know I said that last night but – I really…I really like you.”

His thumb moves against her cheek, affection absolutely brimming in his eyes. “I like you, too, darling. You need not worry about those affections being returned.” He rolls his hips to make a point, and she scoffs, laughter making its way in somewhere while she tries to keep heat from pooling between her thighs, hunger more important than anything right now. “Obviously. I’d also really like that breakfast you were talking about before I see you off, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

“You have to stop saying that.”

“Never.”

She climbs off his lap, adjusting the sweater and leaving the bedroom while Killian gets dressed behind her. She’s absolutely giddy (God, when was the last time she was like this?), and she jogs down the stairs, practically sliding into the kitchen and making her way to the pantry, grabbing the bisquick for waffles. She hears a door slam while she’s shuffling through his syrup, trying to find one that’s not sugar free or gross, and when she leaves the room expecting to find Killian waiting for her, he’s not.

His brother is.

“Why the bloody hell are you in my brother’s house?”

#betting on the bullseye #captain swan #cs fic #cs ff

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hockeygods14 · 6 years

Text

Tyler Seguin - Boston to Dallas

Masterlist

Word count: 1,389

Requested: May you please write an imagine of Segs? Maybe you're buddies with Julian Edelman and he introduced you guys? Thank you!

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to write this. I’m not a fan of the New England Patriots. I’m a Buffalo Bills fan so it was kinda hard for me to write Julian Edelman because he’s on the Patriots. I have rewritten this so many times. I hope you like it.

Walking the cold streets of Boston. I hug my jacket tight around my body. I should have worn something warmer but I didn’t have much time to pick something to wear when Julian calls and asked if I wanted to meet him for dinner. It was very last minute like always with him during the offseason.

Once I walked into the restaurant Julian said he was going to meet me at. I looked around trying to him could find him. I was about to call him when I heard my name being called I looked up and saw Julian stand up waving at me. I smiled and made my way over to him.

“Hey sorry I’m late you didn’t give me much time to get ready.” I hugged him and noticed we weren’t alone. I turned to the man that was now standing too. “Hi,” I look up at the stranger and give him a small smile.

“Y/N this is Tyler, he’s in town for a day and a half. I thought I would invite him here too. Plus I have been wanted you both to meet for a while now but it seems you both are never here at the same time.”

“In my defense, I am here maybe two times a year.” I looked over at Tyler trying to figure out why he looks so familiar and why he was only in town two times a year.

“Well you both are here now I guess that’s all that matters.” Julian had a huge smile on his face. I could tell that something was going on.

“So Tyler why are you only here times a year?” I was curious.

Tyler looked over at Julian. Maybe to see if I was serious. I was being dead serious. I’m still trying to figure out where I know him from.

“She doesn’t really watch hockey she’s more a baseball girl.”

“I play for the Dallas Stars, a hockey team. So I come here to play the Bruins a couple times a year.” I have seen people wear Bruins gear but I have never watched a game.

Dallas. I haven’t told Julian yet but I’m moving to Dallas for a job, it a great opportunity. I know he’s going to be happy for me but Julian has been there for me through so much. He has helped so many times. I meet him my first week living alone after I just moved into my place. This might be the best time to tell him since Tyler brought up Dallas.

“Oh okay, that’s cool.” I looked down at my menu looking for something to eat.

“That’s it?” I looked up at Julian. “When I told you I played football I got bombed with questions. Tyler tells you he plays hockey and all he gets is that’s cool? I wanted him to see what I went through a little.” I looked down at my lap. It's now or never I guess.

“I have other things on my mind Julian I’m sorry. Plus I really don’t know anything about hockey. When you told me you played football I knew things about football I watch it. I don’t watch hockey.” But that was kinda a lie. Something I haven’t told Julian yet.

“What’s on your mind then Y/N?” I took a deep breath.

“You know that job interview I had?”

“The one that you had to do a video chat?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Well, I got that job.”

“Y/N that’s great we should celebrate,” Julian called our waiter over and order three drinks. I’m not sure what he ordered I just kept quiet.

“Are someone that got a new job you don’t seem too happy.” I looked up at Tyler. He could tell there was something else.

“There’s more.” Julian looked back at me waiting for me to say something. “I’m moving to Texas.” Tyler’s eyes went wide and Julian’s smiled faded.

“What team? Houston Astros? Texas Rangers?” I knew he was going to guess Baseball teams because I working on the marketing team for the Boston Red Sox’s.

“It’s not a baseball team.”

“Then who? The Houston Texans? Dallas Cowboys?” Julian went on before I was able to tell him. I looked over at Tyler and I think he figured out where I was going to be working now. I saw a smile on his face. I wasn’t the only one that saw the smile. “And what are you smiling at?”

“Just shut up and let her tell you where she is going to be working.” I gave Tyler a smile and looked at Julian.

“I’m going to to be working with the Dallas Stars.”

“But you don’t watch hockey.”

“Well, I have been lately since I had the interview I wanted to be prepared so I started watching it and learning the rules and such. After the interview I continued to watch it just in case I got it. Truth be told I actually kinda liked watching it.”

“So you're moving to Dallas?” I nodded my head. “Well this sucks but we should still celebrate.” The waiter set our drinks down in front of us. “At least you will know someone when you move to Dallas.” Julian looked over to Tyler.

“Don’t worry I will look after her.”

“I bet you will.” Tyler gave Julian as look which made Julian laugh. I was confused but didn’t ask about it I was just happy that Julian was okay with me moving.

I have been in Dallas for about a week and a half now. Right now I am walking into day two of my new job with the Dallas Stars. I haven’t seen Tyler the whole time since benign here. I was kinda hoping to see him because I advent been able to get him off my mind since I had dinner with him and Julian. That night after dinner Tyler and I exchanged number and would text ever so often. When moving I really didn’t really pick up my phone or even look at it. I was too busy packing.

I was sitting at my desk doing some paperwork when I looked at the time and noticed it was almost lunchtime. I googled to see what there was around here to eat since I haven’t been able to look around yet. With unpacking and the new job, there just hasn’t been any time.

I jumped at the sounds of a knock at my door.

“Come in,” I wait for them to walk in. The door slowly opens. The first thing I see is an arm with tattoos all over. They come in fully and I see Tyler walk in with a smile on his face.

“Lunch break?” It’s almost like he read my mind.

“You have perfect timing. I was just looking at didn’t place around here to go eat.”

“Well good thing I couldn’t let you go eat lunch all by yourself. I told someone I would look at for you.” I walked around my desk and grabbed my purse.

“Oh, you're looking out for me? There is no other reason for you taking me to lunch?” Julian told me a little secret before I left and I was actually really happy about.

“Did Julian say something?”

“Don’t worry Tyler because I feel the same way so why don’t we get lunch I only have an hour.” I walked passed him and went to the elevator.

I glanced behind me to see if Tyler was coming and I saw him walking out my office smiling. Once the doors opened I got in along with Tyler and some of my other coworkers. Tyler was standing behind me but I could feel his body right behind mine. I felt his warm breath against my ear.

“Glad to know you feel the same way. Remind me to thank Julian later.” Tyler whispered in my ear and leaned forward a bit to kiss my cheek. I could already feel my cheeks start to blush.

Once the elevator doors opened I wanted for mostly everyone to get out and once I started walking I felt a hand go on my lower back. I looked up and saw Tyler next to me but he wasn’t looking at me he was just looking straight ahead smiling.

#Tyler Seguin #tyler seguin fanfiction #tyler seguin imagines #dallas stars #nhl #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #hockey #hockey imagines #Hockey Fanfiction

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virtual-crisis · 5 years

Text

⭐Alpha Centauri⭐, Part Eleven

What blasphemy? Two parts within three months of eachother? This must be the apocalypse.

Previous Part

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I effectively went on autopilot until the Friday for my date with Robbie. We went to a nicer sit-down restaurant than last time, and he took no lip over footing the bill, despite my eating habits. Three courses with an appetizer and dessert, and he had barely a third as much as I did.

He commented on the smell of weed about me this time. I was about to get annoyed, until he told me his uncle loved the stuff, though he personally wasn’t interested in trying it. I remarked how he always wore really tight skinny jeans, despite otherwise looking the image of ‘poindexter’.

“...Yeah, my legs are prosthetic.”

“Seriously? How are you on the football team then?”

He started into a story of getting caught up in a parole case for a mentally unstable man when he was young. Not ‘has trouble functioning in everyday society’ unstable, ‘assaults people with deadly force at little provocation’ unstable.

“...Why were you anywhere near him?”

“Some jackass told him some bullshit lie about me. Was stuck in a wheelchair for six years.”

“Yikes.”

I goaded him about the legs. With the school he was in, he was able to sell school supplies and toys to classmates for profit, getting his hands on a lot of stuff a kid shouldn’t. I struggled to believe it, but the mental images were fun.

“...But I’ll tell you the best part later.”

I raised a brow.

He smiled slyly, clasping his hands together. “Wanted to show you a nice view of the ocean after dinner. Cozy spot away from all the skyscrapers.”

I nodded along. Could easily be a trap. Scape could’ve been too, but I couldn’t just drop my guard after holding it up so firmly before. But for now, dinner was over, and I’d already packed a to-go box.

“Where, exactly?”

“Salem. It’s not a long drive, and I can get you back to your dorm in good time.”

I chuckled awkwardly. Asmodeus mandated early in the 1900s that demons weren’t to drive. Too easy and tempting to start running things over with reckless abandon. “Hey, long’s I’ll be back by eleven.”

“Man, and it’s nine thirty! We oughta get going then, right?”

I hesitated, but agreed to get up and go.

He took me out among the hills. An airport was a few miles away, and a major street sat just over the crest. The ocean was distant, but still glistened prettily, taking up more than half the distance to the horizon.

“...So, where are you from?”

I blinked, glancing over. Robbie was straightening out his polo, sitting on the grass nearby. Were his legs weapons? Was he marking me for some kind of sniper? Maybe he was sizing me up for weak spots lower on my body.

“Brazil.”

“Man, Brazil? They speak Portugese, right? Only ever heard you speak English.”

I scanned the skyline. “Mom started teaching us early.”

“Nice.”

There was silence for a bit as the breeze rustled the grass.

“I’ve never been, but my uncle’s had a few pretty good jobs there.”

“You live with him or something?”

“My parents are fine,” he said flatly, then turned his head away for several moments. “He’s… Important. Told me to come here in the first place. That it’d be good for my career.”

“Accounting, right?”

He sighed. “...Your roomie jokes about it, but yeah. Mercantile, selling things…. Acquiring things for people.”

My mouth twitched. “Like what for who?”

I heard a rustling behind me. My breath hilted, but I didn’t turn around, not yet.

“...Like textbooks for classmates that can’t… Afford them, and…”

I quickly looked over. His voice was wavering, and he was shaking. I was, too, but I wasn’t sat on my ass pretending to count points on my fingers.

Robbie gulped. Out of nowhere, he pulled off his shirt and threw it aside. On the front of his torso, there was a golden pentagram branded into his flesh.

“You…”

“I work for Mammon, okay? The prince of Greed,” he said shakily. “He came to pick me up as a thrall when I was eighteen. Something about a ‘natural gift’ for getting things.”

“A thrall?”

“He told me last weekend about your deal with the devil. I never knew there were actual demons here in Boston, I just…”

I knelt in front of him. “I’m not some murderous abomination, jeez…” I said, grabbing his wrists. He took a deep, shaky breath, avoiding eye contact.

“I know, I just… Haven’t met one besides him. He said… To offer you service. Selling things you can’t safely acquire yourself.”

“Like what?” I asked, turning my head to the side.

“Rides, for one. I know how you guys aren’t allowed to drive. And also… Pretty much unlimited money. Any payment method I use channels power straight from him, and… Hah… Wow.”

I perked up a bit. “So that’s…. You bought me dinner to show off, basically?”

“No! I mean yes, I… It was to make sure you wouldn’t be like, in a bad mood when I got myself to tell you…”

“That you’re basically an imp?”

He swallowed awkwardly. “...More like a mortal servant to a demon prince, it’s pretty literal… But, yeah, that you can come to me for… things.

“It’s like Amazon or Uber… You contact me, order something or ask for a lift somewhere, and I’ll see what I can do.”

I stared at him. Still shaking, and so was I. I looked to the side briefly… Then went right in for a kiss. At this point, I didn’t really know what else to do.

It lasted a good long minute, as a deep, awkward smooch. When I moved back and opened my eyes, Robbie gasped for air, blushing bright red and having to realign his glasses. “I, uh…. Thanks…?”

I gulped. “I’m… Like one tenth succubus. The rest’s sloth.”

“And I get called Bob by a lot of people, but… Just call me Monty if we’re talking… Business.”

We stared awkwardly at eachother again. I broke away in thought shortly before Monty put a hand on my shoulder.

“...If you’ve got friends that…”

“Uh, my siblings and roommate.”

“Yeah, them, just… Have them lemme know you sent them if they want… It’ll be… helpful. Mutually. I hope.”

I squinched my eyes shut for a moment, then smiled. “They’ll say Centauri sent them. Stars for Monty, huh?”

Monty chuckled. “Oughta adapt that into a business name sometime, heh…”

#Alpha Centauri #no you're not dreaming

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spaz8550 · 5 years

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Stay

Ch 22

When Severus returned to Hogwarts he took to wandering the castle. Dolores Umbridge as Headmaster of Hogwarts was not something Severus or any of the other staff members wanted. He had taken some delight when she discovered Potter and the other students breaking the rules but Albus had taken the fall for Dumbledore's Army. Severus had already arranged for Professor Vector to watch over his house and Minerva agreed to take his patrols and he would take hers the following week. Dolores Umbridge often called upon him for Veritaserum to question students but he had been asked by Albus not to make any more and find a suitable excuse as to why he could not make any more.

The days passed and soon it was the night before he and Sinead were to leave for the conference. He had written a brief letter assuring her he would arrive at her house the next day. Severus stood outside the Headmasters office after making sure the Hogwarts Express had left the station.

"Enter!" Severus walked into the office to see Dolores seated at Albus's desk looking over some papers. "What do you need Professor Snape?" She asked with a toad-like smile.

"Headmaster, I am here to tell you I will be leaving the castle for the annual Potions conference in Brussels." Her eyes widened.

"Since when are you attending?" She asked.

"I attend every year. It is a tradition, I know it is written in on the school calendar. Professor Vector will be watching over Slytherin House and Minerva is taking over my two patrols."

"Hmm... is there no other option. I would prefer to keep you on hand incase I need any potions."

"I have seen to it that the hospital wing is well stocked."

"When will you be leaving?"

"As soon as possible. I need to check in on my house before I leave."

"How long is the conference?"

"The conference is two days and I am allowed tomorrow and the day after the conference to travel."

"All of the other conferences are not during the school year. This is very much an inconvenience for not only myself but the other staff members. I shall write to the organizers and let them know. Since your travel arrangements are already made you are allowed to attend but from now on I think it is not a good idea unless I specifically ask you to attend. You may go." She said with a wave of her hand.

Severus walked quickly to the dungeons were his things were already packed. He quickly checked in on the few students who remained in his house and then he headed to the edge of the grounds to apparate to Spinners End. When he arrived he was in shock that Dolores Umbridge did not put up more of a fight. He looked around and saw the dust and after a few quick cleaning spells he decided to go to Sinead's house just incase Dolores changed her mind. He put his wards back up and apparated to the woods behind Sinead's home. Sinead's wards were strong but she had let him know which wards she had put up. Severus made his way across the backyard to see Sinead in the yard on a broomstick with Caleb sitting in front of her.

"Auntie!" He said pulling on her arm as Sinead landed.

"Severus-"

"I know I'm a day early but I didn't want to risk Dolores Umbridge changing her mind."

"Come on in, Trent and Maggie are just dropping off some deliveries for me and then everyone is done for the day."

"Severus, Auntie and I made homemade peanut butter cups for snack. Auntie, are they ready yet?"

"Yes, I think they should be ready. Maybe we can show Severus around first."

"A tour?" Caleb said hurrying to the door.

"I'm glad you’re here. I was a bit worried you wouldn't be able to make it."

"I would have found a way." Severus said following Sinead into the house.

The house looked small on the outside but inside it was very open. Sinead showed him around the first floor which was made up of the kitchen, dining room, family room, half bathroom, and a large library. In the basement was a rather large Potions lab that had five workstations and a good side storage closet. The third floor was a huge master bedroom with its own bathroom, and three bedrooms that shared a bathroom.

"I'm impressed, it's a lovely house."

"This is my bedroom for when I sleep over but mommy said I can't too often since Auntie is busy." Caleb said with a small pout. Trent arrived back a few minutes later since he was going to Hogsmeade, he handed Sinead a list of items the shop requested for the following week.

"Trent, you remember I'm off to the conference tomorrow so you'll be handling this order on your own. The shops in Salem and Boston know their orders will be sent out after I return."

"I remember." He said with a slight eye roll. "At least you don't nag as much as my wife." He mumbled as Sinead gave him a glare.

"I wonder what Sophia would say to that." Trent's eyes widened as Sinead started to laugh.

"Enjoy your trip. See you later." Trent headed over to the floo and gave his address as the green flames took him away. Maggie returned 5 minutes later to see Sinead cleaning Caleb's face.

"You got into the snacks again?"

"Auntie let me have some, I did help make them." Caleb said as Maggie nodded with a smile.

"Everything was shipped and here's the confirmation. Come on Cal, we're going to meet up with Bill for dinner." Maggie said as Sinead smirked, since she had moved out Bill had been spending quite a bit of time with Maggie and Caleb. He was dating a woman who worked at Gringotts but Maggie had mentioned that it didn't work out. Sinead was still surprised by the unlikely pair, she was sure Maggie liked Sirius but his being confined to Grimmauld Place might have put a damper on her feelings.

"Have fun at the conference." Maggie said picking up Caleb's bag and jacket.

"Bye Auntie." Caleb said giving Sinead a hug and he paused at Severus. "Bye Severus."

"Have fun with Bill." Sinead said as Maggie blushed. They flooed back to their flat and Sinead leaned against the counter. "What do you think?" She asked pointing to the peanut butter cups.

"They are good."

Sinead smiled.

"Good, glad you like them. They're my favorite, I got the recipe from my cousin's wife."

Sinead started on dinner, she had started a pasta sauce earlier in the day and used it to make chicken parmesan. During dinner Severus went over the apparition schedule he had planned. After dinner Severus flicked his wand and the dishes began to wash themselves. Sinead went to go make sure she had everything packed when Albus showed up in the living room wanting to speak to Severus privately.

#spazie85 #stay #severus snape fan fiction #severus snape x ofc #severus snape #severus x ofcs #severus #harry potter fan fiction

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faeofgallifrey · 4 years

Text

B.C. (before covid)

The alarm buzzed for the 5th time in a row and once again I reached through my blankets aimlessly until my hand came into contact with the hard glass surface that was my phone. I turned off the alarm before lazily tugging at my lime green curtain near my head until sunlight started streaming through it. My small bedroom was instantly ten times brighter.

Rubbing my eyes, I realized that I slept in way later than planned. Every time I woke up earlier I checked for a message from my boyfriend. When it didn’t arrive, I assumed he slept in after working late closing the bar we both worked at. Now it was almost noon though and if one of us didn’t make some sort of effort to communicate we might waste the entire day. It’d been a while since we shared a day off and the quality time was overdue. I quickly texted him: “Hey handsome.”

Rolling out of bed in my oversized Bernie Sanders shirt, I walked towards the living room. My mom had the nicest bed in the whole house but she never slept in it, always claiming the smaller couch in the living room as her bed each night. I think the California King in her room was too big for her— made her feel alone. “Morning.” I mumbled, pausing to praise and pet our small dog. Dahlia looked like a puppy still but it was just her breed, being part Chihuahua made her naturally tiny.

“Hey. What’re your plans today?” My mom inquired, looking away from Lost to greet me with a smile. Mom was always watching something new TV, it amazed me that she never ran out of shows or movies to explore. She lost her job several years ago and never quite got back on her feet; My older sister and I have been handling the bills and counting our blessings that the mortgage of our house has been paid off. Mainly I counted my blessings for my sister; when everything first happened she’d moved several hours away from home for work and I’d been the main person responsible for looking after everything. We pulled it off for several years but it was stressful- the relief I felt for having her home knew no bounds.

Glancing at my phone and frowning to see no response, I replied: “Zack and I talked about going to the beach but I kinda thought he’d text by now.” Shrugging, I go back to petting Dahlia. “Who knows.”

We were smoking weed on the back porch a bit later when there was a knock on the front door. We both frowned at each other, Mom asked: “Are you expecting anyone?”

It was Zack. He woke up and headed straight over- as was our plan. What kind of millennial doesn’t text when they’re on the way though? I smiled, loving the fact that he managed to surprise me even when we had definitive plans.

We ended up leaving pretty late as I hadn’t been expecting him and needed to get ready still. Me changing into my bathing suit turned into us pausing to have sex and cuddling before finally dragging our lazy asses towards his car. “Let me drive!” I insist, pausing at my black sedan and frowning in advance. If I knew him he’d insist otherwise… despite having just driven over an hour to meet me at my place. The least I could do was drive the hour to the beach.

Shaking his head and continuing to his car without pausing, he dismissed that idea quickly. “Nah, I already have the cooler and beach stuff in here. C’mon.” I caved quickly. I’m a sucker for when he actually plans ahead and makes a decision when I can’t seem to. Plus, knowing us we’d end up arguing at some point in the day. Might as well dismiss the little stuff.

NPR started as his car did, the monotone speaker going on about how the coronavirus had reached the US and numbers continued to climb. Worries were increasing. Zack cut the radio, sighing heavily as I pointed him in the right direction. “I’m never going to get that job now.” His frustration was apparent. He’d been hoping to get a full time gig at his big brothers company. The past few months he’d been working part time, helping them run booths at conventions throughout the country. While the work was long and laborious, he always came back from the trips excited to tell me all about it. It seemed obvious to me that he really liked the work.

After returning home from a convention in Boston the week prior, he told me confidently that he was hoping to quit our mutual bartending job to work there full time instead. He seemed so excited about the possibility- now a few days later the idea seemed like a whisper of a dream.

I didn’t know what to say. He was right, there was no way their business was going to be hiring anytime in the next few months. Despite that, the pandemic didn’t feel real to me. I wonder if it did to him at that point.

It was a gorgeous day under the sun. As we pulled up to the entrance of the beach, I couldn’t contain myself: “I hope it’s empty. God, I really hope it’s empty.” I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to be empty because I liked the personal space or because I was worried. I think the former more so.

Glad to get my wish, we set up camp at a good distance from anyone else. It was a gorgeous day without a cloud in the sky. The breeze was cold but the sun was hot, Zack had beer and I smoked several bowls. It was beautiful.

As I regained phone service I began searching for places to eat. Although we were at my favorite beach, it was a rare occasion that I actually went out to dinner after visiting it. As we were traveling over the overpass that got us to the beach, I frowned in surprise. “There’s a little place right under this bridge.”

Zack looked at me skeptically but followed instructions to turn almost immediately, going on a small road that lead to a little place directly under the bridge we just traveled over. The place was packed with live music and dinner tables on the pier overlooking the water. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.” I marveled as Zack maneuvered the parking lot and took one of the last open spots.

We got a table on the water and ate way too much food. I had a few margaritas and Zack a few beers. I tried mussels for the first time.

We pulled over at my favorite hiking spot on the way home just so I could pee, both of us squinting on the dark country road as we attempted to find an appropriate spot to pull over. I remember feeling light and happy and careless when I walked into my house that night, only to be hit with the most serious and somber atmosphere. “Did you hear the news?” My big sister Emily asked, her eyes large and alert.

Having spent most of the day without cell phone service, I genuinely hadn’t heard and told her that much. Zack wandered off to go pee and I braced myself for the news. “Disney is closing on Sunday night.”

“What?” I asked, not really able to comprehend the news. Disney never closes. Still, the scale of the situation didn’t quite hit. “Maybe we’ll get busy then!” I bartended at a resort on Disney property and it had been ridiculously slow as of late.

Emily shrugged. “All of the movie releases pulled out. Maybe you will be but…” She trailed off. Her face was pale. It still hadn’t hit me that life as we know it was going to change for the foreseeable future.

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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New Netflix Christmas Movies in 2020 Ranked from Best to Worst

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Netflix is doing its level best to eat everyone else’s entertainment lunch, and the holiday movie game is no exception. Just a few short years after planting the flag that was the cult megahit A Christmas Prince, the streamer has more offerings than ever, including some sequels to their top-notch 2018 productions. We break down some of this winter’s already released heavy hitters so you know what to watch and what to skip.

Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey

Available Now

This star-studded Christmas musical is the most magical of the bunch. Picture The Wiz meets Willy Wonka, with John Legend as a producer. Forest Whitaker stars as a down-and-out toymaker who has lost his touch and everything else that makes life special: his wife (Sharon Rose) has passed and his daughter (Tony winner Anika Noni Rose, Little Fires Everywhere, The Princess and the Frog) moved away, estranged. Years earlier he created a unique matador toy that comes to life (voiced by a delightfully villainous Ricky Martin, who has a lot of fun with a wandering accent). The naughty toy and the toymaker’s apprentice (Kegan-Michael Key) left with the toymaker’s book of ideas, putting him out of business and making themselves mega-rich.

Things really get going when the toymaker’s granddaughter (bonafide star Madalen Mills, who I can’t believe is a newcomer) comes to town and she, along with a neighborhood boy with aspirations of being a great toy inventor, try to save the toymaker from himself. There’s singing, dancing, baroque steampunk galore, earnest lessons learned, and magic that’s something like science. It’s the kind of movie the phrase “family fun adventure” was invented to describe.

Clocking in at more than two hours, this one could tighten up the runtime a bit, but that just means there are plenty of safe opportunities to refill your eggnog or run to the restroom. I dare you to watch this movie and not feel the holiday spirit.

Operation Christmas Drop

Available Now

In order to protect her boss’ interests, congressional aide Erica (our girl Kat Graham/Bonnie Bennet from Vampire Diaries!) is sent to a military base in the Pacific over Christmas to find excess spending in order to justify budget cuts. Her biggest target is Operation Christmas Drop, a real-life program where service members from the U.S., Japan, and Australia drop presents (and life-saving supplies) to remote surrounding islands. Hyper-focused Erica knows there’s a possible promotion on the line and she has to work harder than a bunch of white dudes named Matt back in DC in order to get it, putting her at odds with the base’s own Santa, Capt. Andrew Jantz (Andrew Ludwid, Vikings, The Hunger Games).

Any time one of these movies has a protagonist of color, it’s unfortunately notable, though Netflix (with the exception of the Christmas Prince franchise) creates more diverse offerings than just about anyone else. In addition to directly engaging with how much harder the Ericas of the world have to work to get their due, Operation Christmas Drop also highlights the people who live on Guam and the surrounding islands, as the first full-length major studio movie filmed there.

Featuring the old favorite romance trope “enemies to lovers,” a tropical Christmas, and some of the real-life people who make the actual Christmas Drop possible, Operation Christmas Drop is an ideal holiday romcom. It’s still goofy at times and heart-fluttery at others, and of course everything will work out in the end, but it’s better written than most of what’s on TV and casting Kat Graham is always a good choice.

The Princess Switch, Switched Again

Available Now

It’s not Christmas until you’ve seen Vanessa Hudgens chloroform herself. The sequel to 2018’s The Princess Switch, The Princess Switch, Switched Again, rightly knows that Kevin (Nick Sagar) is a better leading man than the walking melba toast that is Prince Edward (Sam Palladio). When we last saw the sous chef dad with the six-pack abs who likes sappy Christmas movies and wearing the hell out of sweaters, he was making out with Lady Margaret. In the two years since then, they’ve split up, the king of Montenaro has passed away, and Margaret’s cousin who was next in line for the throne has abdicated, which means Lady Margaret will be crowned on Christmas. Naturally.

The Princess Switch franchise has found the sweet spot between “painfully bad” and “so bad it’s good.” The latest iteration adds what the first lacked – a worthy villain. Vanessa Hudgens gleefully vamps around as a Kardashian-esque cousin of Lady Margaret’s who goes after the Montenaran crown. It’s fun to watch Hudgens be bad, and it adds a requisite layer of novelty to the proceedings.

There’s also a little crossover moment from the Christmas Prince franchise. It’s very quick and I don’t think anyone even says a word, but it’s a fun one for fans. It also probably means that in the world of the NCCU (Netflix Christmas Cinematic Universe), The Christmas Prince movies are documentaries, which is more than I can handle.

It’s a rarity, but with The Princes Switch, the sequel is even better than the original. The Princess Switch 2 knows exactly what kind of movie it is – fun, silly, romantic, distracting, a purveyor of both great and terrible fashion, and maybe a little eye roll-inducing. Perfection.

Holidate

Available Now

If you like a little spice with your sugar, Holidate is the right holiday rom-com. Netflix is already the anti-Hallmark in this category, trading judgey and Jesus-y for a sense of humor and soundtracks worth bookmarking on Spotify. And Holidate doubles down on the snark and PG-13-ness of it all.

Emma Roberts and Luke Bracey star as Sloane and Jackson, two singles sick of shrugging off a million questions and setups throughout the holiday season. The cast is rounded out with Frances Fisher (Watchmen, Titanic), Jessica Capshaw from Grey’s Anatomy, SNL’s Alex Moffat, Jake Manley from The Order, and Manish Dayal of Halt and Catch Fire and The Hundred-Foot Journey, proving he deserves to play a romantic lead.

Taking inspiration from Sloane’s perpetually single Aunt Susan (Kristin Chenoweth, who gets away with being so much weirder than anyone else ever could thanks to her many charms), Luke and Sloane go out as platonic dates to a year’s worth of holidays, starting with New Year’s. That also means that while we see two Christmas’, the movie spends a large chunk of time on the other holidays – St. Patrick’s Day, the Fourth of July, Halloween, etc – so this one doesn’t always feel the most Christmas-y.

Christmas Movies and TV Specials: Full 2020 Schedule

By Den of Geek Staff

Movies

The Best Alternative Christmas movies

By Mark Harrison

This flick may end up being too tart (or just plain awkward) for some, and the repeated use of the word “pussy” during what’s ostensibly a Christmas movie is not for everyone. But if all the sappiness of the season is feeling too saccharine and you’re sick of being seated at the kids table or getting grilled about when you’ll finally get married, Holidate might just hit the spot.

The Christmas Chronicles 2

Available Now

The follow-up to one of Netflix’s best family holiday offerings, The Christmas Chronicles 2 brings back Kurt Russell’s cool Santa for a sequel that has 100 percent more wormholes and time travel than fun side characters and snappy jokes. There’s a much larger role for Goldie Hawn’s Mrs. Claus, who is something of a kind-hearted Christmas sorceress. Kate (Darby Camp, Big Little Lies) is now staring down the barrel of teenagerhood and spending Christmas in Cancun while her mom makes heart-eyes at a new guy, who brings with him his 10 year-old son, Jack (Jahzir Bruno).

Big brother Teddy (Judah Lewis) moves into the backdrop as Kate and Jack go on an adventure in the North Pole, squaring off with one of Santa’s former elves, Belsnickel (Julian Dennison, Hunt for the Wilderpeople, Deadpool 2).

While it’s always nice to revisit a favorite – and Christmas Chronicles is so much about the best aspects of a family movie – the sequel loses a lot of that appeal. Without a clear and compelling story to drive the plot forward like the original had, Christmas Chronicles 2 lags significantly throughout and it’s unclear when the adventure starts, what it’s goals are, and then the movie even struggles to wrap up as a result.

It doesn’t help that this movie is bogged down by some convoluted mythology tying the elves to Christianity via the Star of Bethlehem that low-key paints Santa as a Moses-like figure.

The musical number does bring things back to life for a while. This time it’s in a 1990-era Logan airport in Boston with Darlene Love singing a duet with Santa instead of Stevie Van Zandt, though they are singing his song, “The Spirit of Christmas.”

This makes for Darlene Love’s second appearance in the NCCU; The first was Holiday Rush, where she played Rush’s Aunt Jo. I’m ignoring the fact that she’s credited as “Denise” in Christmas Chronicles 2 and choosing to believe that Aunt Jo worked a desk for Pan Am, TSA or whoever in the ‘90s to pay the bills while waiting for her true calling as a singer to take off.

Dolly Parton’s Christmas on the Square

Available Now

In between funding a possible cure for the coronavirus and trying to solve illiteracy, Dolly Parton found time to star in and write 14 original songs for a Christmas special. The great Debbie Allen of Fame fame (more recently, Dr. Catherine Avery on Grey’s Anatomy) directs this all-singing, all-dancing Christmas musical, bringing her multi-talented prowess to bear. That means this thing follows the musical tropes more closely than those of a typical Christmas TV movie, even though it also falls into the Hallmark penchant for religiosity that feels a bit off.

The best parts of Christmas on the Square are all the toe-tapping small-town songs about the townsfolk banding together to stop local Scrooge named Regina (played with adroit dry wit by Christine Baranski) from selling off their town. There’s a pastor named Christian (obviously) and a cute kid who gets hurt but only in a way that’s dramatic and leaves her still very cute and able to join in the final town celebration. That’s the kind of silly holiday fun we all signed up for.

Regina’s best friend Margeline (Jenifer Lewis, The Princess and The Frog, Black-ish) is a scene-stealer and the back half of the movie is lesser for her relative absence. The numbers get a little less zippy and the movie feels a lot longer than roughly an hour and a half. Somewhere along the way, we get the sort of slutshame-y backstory of Baranski’s character, whose first-ever high school dance resulted in a pregnancy which she (obviously) carried to term. Her father took her baby away from her while she was crying in the delivery room, giving it up for adoption. Pretty intense for the genre!

It’s not like the movie becomes a portrait of gritty realism from there–Dolly Parton is definitely a floating, glowing, rhinestone-encrusted angel, although that’s closer to what folks come for. An underutilized Jeanine Mason (Roswell, NM) and Matthew Johnson (Songland) – whose voice is arresting – add to the fun, but there’s no two ways around it: It’s an odd little movie.

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charis-chan · 7 years

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Nerd Sisters

Beta love to @reinakonanofate. She’s the one that makes everyone able to read my stuff 💕💕💕.

After the last one.. y’all deserved some love between the sisters.

Read on Ao3

“If you touch that, you will die.”

Your hand stops, just an inch from its destination, frozen.

You turn back to Alex and gape.

And you frown.

“Alex!” you whine.

Because your dummy sister is wearing her ‘I gotcha’ smirk.

“Sorry, Kar, sorry,” she chuckles. “You’re just too easy sometimes.”

You pout. You’d like to point out that if Eliza were around she would smack Alex’s head upside down for making Kara panic. But, you have been living with the Danvers for a year now, you have learnt that bringing up Eliza will make Alex shut down.

Even when it’s thanks to Eliza that you are here in the first place.

“You are mean,” you chose to say instead, turning your nose up to her.

Alex sticks her tongue out to you. “Come, Alf,” she says with that little grin that’s reserved just your you. “Let’s buy our tickets and then you can touch anything you’d like.”

You let Alex tug at your interwoven hands towards the Museum’s entrance. Eliza is busy all day with lectures down at Boston University and she gave Alex enough money to last you for a day of activities, even when the money came with a firm reminder that Alex is to take good care of you and to make sure you don’t stand out that much.

You still don’t get why Eliza insists on ‘reminding’ Alex to care for you. Alex cares for you a plenty already… she no longer hangs around with her friends, she doesn’t go surfing as much as she used to, she feeds you breakfast every morning and makes sure to pack your lunch for school, she sits with you every night to do homework and she’s always there to tuck you in at night.

Since Jeremiah’s death, it feels like all of Alex’s free time is spent making sure you’re well taken care of… and most of her not-so-free time too.

She always does everything in her power to teach you and care for you, so, when Eliza’s busy work landed the three of you in Boston for two weeks, Alex decided that the first stop you needed to make is the Museum of Science.

“It’ll be fun. You can see how some things work here and it is child-friendly, so you won’t get bored,” Alex said the night before, once Eliza was asleep on one of the room’s bed and you two were huddled together in the other, under the covers.

“I’m not a child anymore,” you protested.

Alex smiled. “You are to me, little alien.”

So, that’s how you find yourselves at the Museum’s entrance a minute after they open their doors.

“Two full-price tickets, please,” Alex asks politely to the old man at the booth. “Oh, and add the planetarium entrance cost too, please.”

He looks at you two and smiles with a little mischievous glint to his eye as he readies the tickets. “Aren’t you two supposed to be at school?”

You frown. Yeah, it’s Monday and it’s the middle of the semester, but why would he care?

“Oh, no, sir,” Alex says, ever so politely, giving him the necessary money. You know she is annoyed, though, with how her hand is clenching yours. “Mom has work and we had to tag along for the ride. We’re not from around here.”

The old man nods. “Well, have fun you two,” he says handing the tickets and change to your sister. “The planetarium’s shows are listed in there.”

“Thank you, sir,” Alex says and with a little squeeze of your hand, you’re reminded you have to speak to him too.

“Thank you, sir,” you parrot. “Have a lovely day.”

Social cues, just like this one, are still hard to follow. Back at home one didn’t really speak with anyone if they were strangers and interactions like the one with the booth man were strictly business-like. No greetings, no goodbyes, no good manners as Alex puts it.

It’s weird having to be nice to people you don’t know.

“Do you want to hold onto this?” Alex asks you once you have passed the entrance point. She is offering the change the man gave her. “You can buy us a drink later.”

You are not allowed to use money yet. Understanding how it works is still hard for you and you have come close to losing what Eliza called a fortune twice already. Alex said it was closer to a hundred, but you still don’t get if a hundred is much or not. You are not used to carrying coins and bills around. Besides, only Alex has the patience to let you sort out the numbers and the exchange values in your head before you try paying for something …vendors at Midvale are too impatient and too baffled by your inability to use money that they refuse to sell you anything unless you have come with the exact amount of your purchase already counted.

But, Alex insists the more you use money the easier it will get. So, you put your palm up and receive the money. “You will help, right?” You ask her, just to be sure.

Alex rolls her eyes and the familiar sight of it it’s so comforting. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I’ll help. I can’t have you buying me Coke.”

You smile, wide, warmed by her teasing. “Pepsi is nasty.”

“Says the girl that puts pineapple on her pizza.”

“Says the girl who puts Nutella on her bacon.”

“Touché.” Alex laughs, tugging you deeper into the building. “Come on, Kar, we have much to see and so little time to do it.”

“...we have all day?”

“Ah, you, innocent girl… we’ll be spending at least two days here.”

“Oh.”

XxXxX

The exhibits are amazing and you have so much fun interacting with everything that you could get close to. You liked the Hall of Human Life, but sadly you couldn’t contribute any data to it.

You made Alex donate, though, so at least that’s that.

Learning all about the transportation systems and machines humans have had over the years, was amazing. Alex drives, yes, and she’s teaching you how to behind Eliza’s back, but a car is so complicated and so, so, so, frail… seeing all the ancestors of Alex’s beaten up truck made you have a better idea of how far humans have really come.

Similar to it, Mathematica helped you understand a little bit more of the rudimentary thought process humans have in order to explain science. One of the easier subjects for you to learn, but at the same time one of the more complex to wrap your head around, math is the one subject that Alex spends the most time teaching you. The exhibition was a nice way of re-learning some things Alex has shown you already and it’s always nice to

The Natural Mysteries exhibit was fun too. Playing with rocks, sand and dirt made you remember Krypton and, while it was really different, it made you feel at home for a little bit.

But, seeing Alex making a face at having to drink from your shared Coke, maybe feeling like home wasn’t due to the sand and rocks, but due the girl sitting across you.

“What?” she asks. “Do I have something on my face?”

If she were any other person, you would be a little taken aback by her comment. You have come to learn that particular phrase is mocking and meant to make you feel bad. It’s used by the kids at school to sneer at how you often get lost in thought and how, just as often, you end up staring at someone during one of your daydreams.

Like now.

But, this is Alex.

Alex who is your best friend, your sister. Who enjoys being with you and who loves teaching you.

Alex, who is your protector, and your rock.

Alex, who also always manages to stain her face with anything and everything …and, yep, she is sporting an ink line on her left cheek, probably made by the pen she used to submit her information at the Hall of Human Life.

Hence the question. She always asks you that specific question with honesty.

“A little bit of ink,” you say, pointing to your own cheek. “Right here.”

“Damn.” She rubs at her cheek and she only manages to get her skin red with the friction. “Did I take if off?”

She looks ridiculous. The long hours walking around and her engagement in every activity you have done, has made a mess of her ponytail and her cheek is as red as the sweater she is wearing. And she didn’t manage to erase the ink.

“Yeah, it’s gone.”

Alex sighs and takes another sip of the Coke. “Ugh. Nasty.”

“You don’t have to drink it, you know?”

“And have you drink it all? No. Remember the last time you had that much sugar.”

You shiver. Yeah, you remember.

“C’mon, Alf. The planetarium show is gonna start soon.”

You nod, eager, and take her offered hand. You’ve been sitting and resting – in Alex’s case – for the last twenty minutes and you are getting a little bored.

“Just remember, we can leave at any time. Okay?”

You nod, this time solemn. Alex always reminds you that she won’t get mad if you decide to leave or stop doing something suddenly. You fidget with your glasses. “I’ll be fine, Lexie. Don’t worry.”

She scrunches up her nose. Uh, she has some ink there too. “Don’t call me that.”

You smirk, letting your sister present your tickets. You wait until you’ve entered the space to answer. “But I love Lexie!”

“Don’t, Kara.”

You’re about to pout at her and make your eyes water and tease her some more when you discover what’s a planetarium. ~Oh, Rao…~

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

“This… This…”

“Come, little alien. The show will start in five minutes. We need to find seats.”

You let her lead you around, but your eyes can’t leave the images that are shown above you.

You feel your eyes water, but these are no fake tears. Not like the ones you were ready to pour for Alex a moment before.

“We can leave whenever you want.”

“I-I know…”

XxXxX

Alex’s arms are around you as they have been for most of the last hour. The tears are still dripping down and you sniffle pathetically, your eyes still fixated to the images around you.

She doesn’t talk, she doesn’t try to move. She simply hugs you and combs your hair with her fingers, bearing all your weight on her chest.

In moments like this, you are so grateful she’s taller than you, you can easily against her and she doesn’t mind it one bit.

“Alex?” your voice is rough. Your throat hurts.

“Yes, little alien?”

“… can we come back tomorrow?”

You feel her smile against your temple. “We have two weeks, Kara… we can come back every day if you want. We can come back next summer too. And next winter… and every long weekend if you want.”

You take a deep breath and finally tear your eyes away from the stars and planets above you, and you fix them on Alex. On Alex’s honest smile and shiny eyes.

On the understanding reflected in them… on the care… on the love.

“I love you, Alex,” you whisper against her neck, closing your eyes. This is the first time you’ve voiced this.

Alex tensed under you and you’re ready to pull away, to apologize. It’s too soon, you’re still a stranger. You’re still that brat that came into her life and turned it upside down.

But.

Her arms squeeze you tight, tighter than they’ve ever hugged you. “And I love you too, Kara. I love you too.”

#DanversSistersWeek #day 3 #nerd sisters #alex danvers #kara danvers #museums #bonding time

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unlikelydreamlandcreation-blog · 6 years

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