#there's just lots more to the story than steve has fathomed

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Part 1 sorry this took so long, the heatwave melted my brain

It took far longer than either of them intended to make it to breakfast, mainly because once Eddie had finished making a mess of the both of them, he had insisted on washing Steve's hair for him, which honestly was the most blissful out-of-body thing that he'd ever experienced; but as the two of them walked down the boulevard together, brushing shoulders and for a lack of a better word, giggling, Steve couldn't remember feeling happier. 

Eddie had the most gorgeous smile and every time he directed it at Steve, god! he felt… lighter, like he could float away any second, but at the same time, just by that same smile, he knew without a doubt that Eddie had him tethered safely to the ground. 

And holy fuck if it wasn't just the best feeling! It wasn't something Steve had ever experienced before, because yeah, he's got Robin, but she's a steady kind of safety, he knows beyond doubt that they're two halves of a whole, she's his rock as much as he's hers and the day they met something just fell into place for both of them. And he has his little found family, he knows he can go home to them (or they'll come to him) any time, he knows he's safe in their embrace, like they're his shelter in a storm. 

But this is different, he barely knows Eddie, hasn't spent more than a few hours with him, but it's like Eddie has this protective bubble around them both, like they're floating along together in this impenetrable shield and the outside world means nothing when he's held in Eddie's gaze, and he just knows he's safe, he can feel it deep in his bones.

And jesus! when they kiss! He's never felt anything like it. It’s like he's filled with bubbles that not only pop but fizzle, like someone's dropped a bathbomb into his chest, letting it froth and effervesce, like it's rolling and twirling around churning up his insides in the most spectacular way, and he almost can't breathe because of it. 

It's fucking weird and glorious all at once. 

Too much and not enough and he never wants it to stop because he knows he's never felt this way about anyone before, hell he hadn't even known it could feel this way and it's kinda scaring the living shit out of him because what if the last few hours were all Eddie wanted, what if Eddie's here for a fun time and not a long time and Steve has to go back home and learn to live without feeling like this.

Eddie nudged him gently, snapping him out of his spiral into the abyss, his eyes landing on Eddie's warm affectionate grin, following his pointing arm to where Robin and Chris were in the cafe across the street, sitting in a booth by the window, leaning into one another across the table, deep in conversation and grinning brighter than the Nevada sun. 

Robin blushed deeply as Chris tucked a stray piece of her hair behind her ear, and Steve had seen that look before (usually aimed at him) but he'd never seen her look like that before, not with Jamie or Izzy and certainly not with Sammi ("Sammi with an 'i'", god he'd really hated her), because yeah she was blushing, that was nothing new, but she looked comfortable! She wasn't ducking her head, becoming all flustered and shy, no, she looked relaxed, confident even, like she'd known her forever. 

The pair were so engrossed in each other that neither of them even glanced up as the bell above the door jingled when he and Eddie entered. Robin completely missing the way Eddie’s hand fit so naturally into the small of his back as he guided him gently over to their table. Steve felt giddy from it, like he was floating on air! It was so incredibly intimate and a little bit possessive, like Eddie couldn't keep his hands off of him and Steve just knew it was going to be his main topic of conversation for at least the next century. 

Honestly, he couldn't even be that mad that she'd missed it, not when he saw how content and engrossed she was with Chris. He hadn't seen her smile that much since Vickie, which now that he thought about it was far too long ago for his liking. Normally on first dates she went for this cool, aloof thing, trying to push her real personality down for reasons Steve had never understood, but Robin was genuinely smiling, her real toothy, goofy grin as she chatted animatedly. 

And Chris seemed equally spellbound, eyes wide and nodding, giggly and captivated. Not that it was surprising to Steve, Robin had always had this otherworldly quality about her; his best friend was beautiful, anyone could see that, but if she was passionate enough about a topic, she seemed to glow and her voice alone became sort of mesmerising.

Like the one time they’d actually got to work early, during a particularly cold snap, and while they were waiting for Jeremy to open up, Robin had started to tell Steve all about Yetis and the difference between Bigfoot and the Abominable Snowman. Only what neither of them realised was that instead of having a ten-minute chat, they’d actually sat there for three hours. Unfortunately, they were already on their last warning for being late, so it had got them fired, but they weren't too bothered, the worst thing about it was trying to find a new job in below-freezing weather.

The girls only really looked away from one another when he and Eddie slid into the booth next to their respective best friends, both still dressed up to the nines, Robin's mascara all but gone, bits all down her cheeks from where she'd rubbed at it. But it was her beaming smile told Steve all he needed to know, she was elated, she'd had a brilliant night, she couldn't wait to relay every detail to him later, and oh my god, Evie, she's amazing, I think I'm in love!

That sent Steve's attention across the table, the two best friends seemed to be having a similarly telepathic conversation, their attention quickly turning away from each other back to Steve and Robin. But it was funny how Chris and Robin had almost precisely timed Steve and Eddie’s arrival because no sooner had Steve been reintroduced to Chrissy, "Eds' BFF, platonic soulmate and personal cheerleader!", the waitress arrived with food for the four of them.

Steve was kind of glad for the distraction of plates and cutlery and condiments because shaking Chrissy's hand had sent another vision into Steve's mind of meeting her and Eddie the night before and as far as he could remember he was being so embarrassingly obvious in his attraction to Eddie, that he'd barely taken his eyes off of him long enough to have the common decency to even glance in her direction. 

Being pathetically obsessed within the first five minutes, real smooth Steve!

They ate silently to begin with, happily just enjoying their meals; the food was delicious, and it had been far too long since any of them had had any proper nourishment. And Robin, his heavenly, wondrous Robin, had ordered his favourite dish, which with every mouthful was soothing the lingering aches of his hangover and given the blissed-out little moans slipping out of Eddie every now and again, he was clearly enjoying whatever meaty, eggy, goodness Chrissy had ordered for him.

Eventually though, sitting across from Eddie started to become just a tiny bit tortuous, especially when one particular groan, resonating from the back of his throat, brought forth a very clear vision of Eddie on his back in bed, making that very same sound as Steve kissed his way down his body. Fucking hell! 

Suddenly Steve wasn't all that embarrassed about whatever he'd done that'd attracted Eddie to him because he truly was a sight to behold, in bed or otherwise.

Steve's attention was snapped away from thoughts of naked-Eddie back to the cafe when Chrissy giggled, at what he wasn't sure, he could only assume it was an inside joke when Eddie elbowed her playfully, snorting and mumbling a whined "shut. up!" even though she hadn't said a word. His pretty dimples coming out as he shoved more food in his mouth, keeping his gaze on his meal and smiling reluctantly around his fork as she cackled beside him.

Robin nudged him under the table with her foot and gave him a look that said "this dork, really?" And Steve couldn't help but grin because yes this dork and his adorable cheerleader, if it were up to him they'd keep the pair of them forever because watching the two best friends tease each other was just too fucking cute! Almost like looking through a picture book filled with their rich history, their deep adoration etched into the smiles on every page.

Steve didn't know what it was about them, they just both had that something; Robin would call it an aura, but it just felt good to be around them. The happiness they shared together exuded, pulling you in rather than pushing you out and Steve just wanted to bask in it, like he was Yurtle and Eddie and Chrissy were the heat lamp.

Steve knew he hadn't always been the best judge of character, he'd been duped a time or two, but he trusted Robin's instincts, if she thought Chrissy was a good person, good enough to spend all night with, good enough to maybe be in love with, then Steve believed it unquestionably, because in all the time he'd known her she'd never been wrong about someone. 

She'd never liked Ashley and quite right too given the little rat was the one who'd been feeding HR all the reports that'd got them both fired. She'd hated Billy from the minute she met him, and well the less he thought about that the better. She’d felt the same abhorration for Carl, the electrician who as it turned out was wanted in several states for crimes he didn't like to think too closely about, given he'd left Robin alone with him. 

When, in a fit of desperation, Steve had joined a dating service and met Angel (or SheDevil as Robin liked to refer to her as) who as it turned out was one of his dads "business associates" who (for some sick reason neither of them could fathom) had wanted to sleep with Steve; Robin had gone berserk, they’d had a massive fight before he’d left for his date but even when he came back shaken and tempestuous, she never said I told you so, she just wrapped him up in a blanket, made him a hot chocolate and let him cry into her shoulder until he felt better. 

That was the day he decided he was always going to trust her gut unconditionally because it was clear she would always just know better than he did.

So Steve knew Eddie and Chrissy must be something truly special for Robin to be so comfortable around them, for her to let Steve get married because as much as she claimed she was powerless against his determination, they both knew that wasn't true. He was well and truly wrapped around her little finger and if she'd said no and meant it he would've trusted her intuition implicitly. She was his soulmate for a reason, not only because he wasn't entirely sure he could survive without her, but because she was the brains of the pairing; he still wasn't entirely sure how he’d managed to stay alive for the first two decades of his life without her.

He'd been so deep in thought that he started when Robin began chatting perpetually again; it was uncanny how she always did that, like she could almost sense that was thinking about her, so she’d just start talking, about anything and everything. He'd missed the white noise of her voice, like he always did when she was quiet, mainly because if her voice wasn't filling the space, his mind just had this tendency to run away with him, like a train on a track heading downhill. 

Although, he could’ve lived happily without the vicariously embarrassing blow-by-blow of the night before.

Apparently, the four of them had met each other in the third club Steve and Robin had been in, Steve had spotted Eddie across the room and immediately started his five-drink-Steve ritual of making it his mission to keep Eddie forever. 

No-one was more surprised than Robin when Steve's tactics had actually worked, her and Chrissy clicking over their mutual love and mortification they felt for their, platonic with a capital p, soulmates.

Apparently, nine-drink-Eddie had decided to ask twelve-drink-Steve to marry him, Steve, somewhat unsurprisingly, gave him a teary yes before he'd really had the chance to finish asking.

They were married by a man Robin was convinced was actually Elvis (nobody had the heart to correct her).

No-one could decide who should hold the bouquet, so they had one each, both girls caught Eddie's, whereas Steve, for all his sporting prowess, managed to hit the receptionist in the face with his, getting them promptly thrown out of the chapel.

Steve was already half naked before they'd even made it back to the hotel, it was undecided who'd undressed him. A mystery only Vegas knew the answer to. They’d made it across the hotel lobby by the grace of god and because Chrissy had played her "help the pretty blonde card" with the guy at the front desk as a distraction. 

Robin had no more details for their night, but Steve was pretty sure he could piece the rest of that together himself, he was just glad the lift had been empty after all. 

And the girls had had a whale of a time after they'd ushered the newly-weds off to bed, they'd carried on to several venues, including a drag show, another wedding (one that was actually planned for longer than five minutes!) a concert, three more bars, and finally headed back to the hotel.

"And then Chrissy rang Nancy! Oh my god, Steve! It's such a small world, right, 'cause Eds and Chris are from Indy too. It's crazy we've never met, huh? But anyway, we were thinking how funny would it be if Eds' dickhead ex opened the paper this morning to find out he's already moved on, and not only that, moved on with the King of Hawkins High himself! 'Cause Eds' ex is from Hawkins, like you! I bet you knew him! But yeah, turns out Chris knows Nancy, you know, your Nancy and well..."

Robin was definitely still speaking, but Steve's ears had started to ring again, not because his head was hurting but because he was pretty sure he was about to throw up! Nancy had put their wedding announcement in the Indy Independent, the very paper everyone he'd ever known read, including his parents! Not that he cared what they thought, but going from fired to married in a little over a week was a twist even for him. And Hop and Claudia! They were going to go absolutely mental! And the kids! At least they’d probably find it a little funny, unlike Hop who’d blow his top for sure.

Well, that's one way for everyone to find out! And no doubt Nancy found it beyond hilarious.

He and Nancy hadn't parted on the best terms. They'd broken up during a massive argument two days before their first anniversary, apparently he'd wanted more than she could possibly give him because she "just couldn't imagine staying with the same guy forever", only for her then to start up with her photographer boyfriend a few weeks later and as far as Steve knew they were still together all these years later, so that was obviously utter bullshit. 

When Steve had continued babysitting the kids they'd tried to be friends, well given how little time they ever spent in the same room together, he supposed that classed as them trying to be civil, mainly for Will and Mike's sake, but Steve was grateful when Jon and Nancy had moved away after graduation.

And Steve didn't see them again for a long time, it was just sods fucking law that he happened to bump into them right after everything had imploded with Billy. 

Robin had finally convinced him to go with her to a club she knew, he hadn't really wanted to be there in the first place and seeing Nancy again was the last thing he needed, feeling far too sore for the pitying look she gave him, he'd kicked off big time, trying to get her to admit that the real reason she'd left him was because he was just unlovable.

It wasn't his best night, and given she'd left in tears, it probably wasn't hers either. So he's no doubt she found it laugh-out-loud pathetic that the only way he'd eventually got married was to a total stranger while off his tits on holiday.

Steve glanced over at Eddie to see he'd gone white as a sheet, he gently called his name a couple of times, but he seemed to be in a world all of his own. Steve wanted to reach for his hand, but he wasn't sure how Eddie would react to that, and he didn't want to freak him out more, so he left his hand palm up on the tabletop next to Eddie’s hoping it was enough, leaving him a clear indicator that his comfort was there if he wanted it.

Eddie stayed in his trance for a few more minutes before a car drove past the restaurant, bouncing light through the window, causing Steve's ring to glint in his vision. That seemed to snap him out of it, Eddie all but throwing his hand into Steve's, gripping it tightly.

"Dan knows?" Eddie's voice shook with what sounded like disbelief. Steve, worrying he might burst into tears any second, started rubbing his thumb soothingly along Eddie’s knuckles.

Steve thought back to all the Daniel's he'd known in high school, couldn't think of a single one of them good enough for Eddie, and although King Steve wasn't good enough for Eddie either, at least he'd made the effort to become a better person.

A person who could maybe be good enough for someone like Eddie, with his resplendent smile and his inspirational laugh, his wondrous voice and wicked tongue. But clearly Dan hadn't bothered to grow, he'd stayed the same small town jumped-up dickhead that thought he was too good for the remarkable man in front of him.

More fool him! 

Dan's loss and hopefully, if he played his cards right, Steve's gain.

Steve brought his other hand up to join the first, so he was cradling Eddie's hand in both of his, trying to be as comforting as he could from across the table, but then Eddie had started to laugh, deep and brilliant and merry, as though it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"Oh, ho, ho! I wish I could've seen his face! I wonder if Jason took a picture? We could get it framed! OH! Album cover!" Eddie was practically vibrating in his seat, Chrissy joining in with his raucous laughter.

Steve looked at Robin, she looked equally baffled, oh good it's not just me! 

As much as Steve wished he had a clue, it was nice to see how easily Chrissy matched Eddie's energy, bouncing up and down next to him, waving her arm frantically, "Oh, no, no, no! Stage backdrop!" she managed between peels of laughter, making Eddie laugh so hard he started banging the table with his free hand, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Chrissy looked across the booth, quickly catching his and Robin's confusion, sucking in a deep breath and jumping right into regaling them with stories of Eddie's early music career. Of Corroded Coffins' humble beginnings, practising in Jeff's garage and playing to disinterested patrons of their local bar. How they'd caught a break getting a regular gig in Indy, how they'd been discovered by a scout who just happened to be passing through. How they'd been on the edge of stardom, only for Eddie to have his dreams squashed with the promise of forever that never came to fruition, no matter how much Eddie conformed to Dan's every demand.

Steve listened in awe, Chrissy was an excellent storyteller and Eddie turned a beautiful shade of crimson whenever his best friend praised him, but Eddie's demeanour changed as the story became heartbreaking and all Steve could do was squeeze Eddie’s hand tighter; he knew what it was like to live with a dream squasher, someone who wanted to mould you into what they wanted you to be, instead of loving you for who you are. Not that he could understand how anyone would want to try to change Eddie, or how anyone could want to take anything away from him; or how anyone could see how happy his dreams made him and not want to do everything in their power to make them come true.

He could tell Robin was equally fascinated, but Vegas was clearly catching up with her, she was desperately trying to fight sleep, nodding off and shifting, staying awake for a few minutes to keep listening to Chris' stories but nodding off again. When Robin nearly face-planted her empty plate, Chrissy interrupted herself to suggest they head back to the hotel. 

Not that Robin wanted to leave their company, she whined and protested, but quickly settled as soon as Eddie suggested they all meet up in the evening to go to a concert. Steve didn't quite catch the name of the artist, but from the way Robin bounced on the balls of her feet, he could tell she was excited about them. Steve didn't care if they were going to see the Queen of England's attempt at a comedy gig, Rick Astley repeat Never Gonna Give You Up for two hours straight or an elderly man give a talk about growing tomatoes, he was just happy to be spending more time with them.

It was hot out on The Strip, the sun high in the sky, bathing them in light and making Eddie look almost ethereal as he walked quietly by Steve's side. Eddie wasn't looking at him like he had been when they'd set off to the restaurant, he was glancing around at all the sights of Vegas, so Steve felt free to really look. Even looking at Eddie's profile knocked the breath out of Steve like a smack to the chest, he was just so beautiful, Steve felt more like he was looking at a piece of art than a human being. 

Eddie’s hair wasn't just brown, in the sunlight Steve could see it was a mix of every colour, blondes and reds and browns all intermingled in his little ringlets. Neither were his eyes, they were speckled with gold and amber flecks that shone and sparkled as the light reflected from them. His pale skin was slowly turning pink in the midday heat, making a multitude of tiny scars on his face and neck shimmer. Steve wanted to kiss every one, he wanted to know the stories behind each mark, wanted to heal the past hurts with gentle caresses. 

How could anyone ever want to hurt you?

With that thought, Steve's mind couldn't help but wander to Eddie and Dan's relationship, he just couldn't get over how endlessly unfair it was that Eddie had had to go through a relationship like that. Being in love with someone who didn't love you back was terrible enough, but being with someone willing to manipulate you into giving up your dreams, into becoming a whole other person out of desperation to be a good partner then to have the nerve to publicly blame you for the demise of the relationship, was just horrific. 

Eddie didn't deserve that, he deserved someone willing to hang the moon and the stars for him.

And as much as a sick part of Steve understood the desire to want to keep Eddie all to himself, to keep his voice all for himself because when he thought back to the way Eddie had drawn him in without even making a true effort, Steve knew that if Eddie sang with intent the whole world would want a piece. But he supposed the difference was, he understood how selfish it would be to do that, to stand in Eddie's way of making his dreams come true, to not actively help him to actualize those dreams, to stop him from sharing his gifts with the world! 

Eddie drew him out of his musings by bumping his shoulder into Steve's, a warm, playful smile on his face that Steve couldn't help but respond to, gesturing behind them with his eyes. Eddie seemed delighted when Steve snuck a glance over his shoulder at Chrissy and Robin; they were holding hands, Robin, getting more drowsy with every step they took in the intense heat, was practically being held up by Chrissy, not that it had any effect on the dopey smiles they were directing at each other. 

"Adorable" Eddie mouthed when Steve's gaze flicked back to him, he couldn't help but agree, even if he did feel that little twinge of jealousy that the two of them could be so freely wrapped up in one another. Apart from when he was dating a girl, Steve never felt confident being openly affectionate in public, he always felt like it needed a big conversation about what the other person was comfortable with, and then he was accused of overthinking everything and making it weird.

He knew it was down to the way Billy had treated him and the thing was it made sense back in Hawkins but when they'd moved to Indy they lived in a safe part of town, he saw couples just being themselves all the time but the one time he accidentally grabbed Billy's hand during a thriller at the cinema, he'd acted like it was the end of the world, like Steve had doomed them somehow and when something so small causes your partner to temporarily move out it's bound to make you self-conscious.

Steve was glad when they arrived back at the hotel, he was fine in the sunshine, other than the time when he was fifteen and he'd fallen asleep in one of his sun loungers for eight or so hours, he never burned, but Eddie's cheeks already had a permanent pinkening and Robin may as well be a vampire she burned so easily, Chrissy had rosy cheeks now too, but he wasn't sure whether that was down to the sun or Robin's affection. 

The lobby air conditioning had perked Robin up like a slap to the face, she was back to chattering easily with Eddie, telling elaborate stories of her marching band days, waving not only her own hands about but Chrissy's too where she hadn't realised she hadn't let go, not that Chris seemed to mind. Steve couldn't help but smile at them, they were too cute; even Vickie eventually became tired of Robin's rambling, she’d learned ways to discreetly quieten her, but Robin noticed, of course she did, it was the reason for the first time he'd ever seen Robin cry, but Chris just seemed enchanted, it made Steve's heart happy.

Steve was trying to keep track of their conversation, but his brain was blanking, now they were back in the midst of the hotel he was suddenly uneasy, every second that ticked by, every step they took was one closer to having to part, but they couldn’t linger, it was check-in time so reception was manic with pushing and shoving and people vying for attention. Steve was glad when the lift dinged so they could be away from the hubbub, the doors sliding open like a welcoming embrace. 

Seeming to sense his change in mood, Eddie snuck his hand into the small of his back to guide him into the lift, immediately calming Steve; Robin noticed, falling silent halfway through her sentence to poke Steve hard in the ribs, smirking and mouthing, "adorable" at him. 

Steve let out a breathy laugh and blushed deeply, melting further when the doors slid closed and Eddie snaked his arms around Steve's waist, propping his chin on Steve's shoulder. It warmed his heart to have him so close, to think that maybe he was equally anxious to be apart. Eddie snapping out of his contemplation by laughing heartily when Robin looked at the two of them with feigned disgust, but it didn't take long for her to turn into an adorably blushing mess as soon as Chrissy did the same thing to her.

With two floors separating them, the foursome found it incredibly difficult to part from one another, Chrissy wouldn’t let go of Robin’s hand and Steve was leaning against the doors forcing them to stay open for as long as possible while they checked and double-checked and triple-checked the arrangements for meeting up later in the evening. It was only when an elderly couple wanted to use the elevator that Steve reluctantly let it go, he and Robin staring forlornly at the closed doors for several moments before sighing heavily and turning to head to their room.

Robin headed straight to the bathroom for a shower, muttering under her breath about everything being wet. What could he say? They’d had fun! He knew she didn't really care about the state of the bathroom from the amount of times she'd showered with the door open in her apartment so they could continue their conversation, she was just filling the space to ease him.

Steve flopped down on his unmade bed, sucking in a relaxing breath, thinking about how brilliantly fucked up his life had become, and half listening to Robin's grumbling, letting it soothe him. Then when he felt brave enough, he put the phone on speaker and let the messages play.

Beep. "My Little Bobbin, you forgot to call! Give us a ring before your mother has an aneurysm! We love you!" Beep.

Steve could hear Robin creasing up in the bathroom, he felt guilty that he'd forgotten to remind her but her parents knew her too well, they’d only start to really worry if they didn't hear anything after a couple of days but they’d know from the fact that they could leave a message that they'd checked in and now she'd been reminded Robin would call them back when she was done in the shower.

Beep. "Steve, honey, Dustin’s driving me insane, will you please remember to bring him that book he wanted? I can't remember the name. Earthshaker! call him, will you? he misses you. Okay, love you, bye." Beep.

Beep. "Steven. Darrrling. Having fun in Vegas? Dad's got you a lawyer all set up, so don't worry! Call us back so we can start proceedings." Beep.

Beep. "Steve, it's Hop. *sigh* Is that Steve? No, he's not there. Call me, we love you." Beep.

Beep. "Steve, honey, we saw your announcement. I'm glad you're having fun but maybe give Hop a call? El says he's pacing! Don't forget my book! Dustin! Have fun with your husband! Send our love to Bobby, bye!" Beep.

If there were more messages Steve didn't hear them, between Robin chattering over the sound of the shower and listening to the messages from his family, Steve nodded off with a contented smile plastered to his face.

Part 3

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[rebeliz7]

AUGUST - DRABBLE #10

10. Wanda and Natasha

…

The mission is not a complicated one, you’re to infiltrate a military base, hack into a computer, copy the drive and go back home. 

Wanda isn’t worried, no one really is, you’re a specialist and working on your own is what you do best. Still, she’s in the room on coms next to your girlfriend as you infiltrate the base just so she can keep an eye on you. 

You’re in, you have the drive and you’re on your way out when you go radio silent. 

Daisy frantically hacks into the systems again but Wanda---Wanda leaves the Compound immediately. 

…

Later, when it’s all said and done, she can’t stop shaking as the doctors take you away on a gurney. She’s terrified.

Rhodey is facing martial court for keeping an open line with the Avengers, and Ross is hellbent on gaining the upper hand, and it’s all because Wanda destroyed a military base in search of you. 

She found you unconscious, two bullet wounds on your body and she lost it. No, she didn’t kill anyone but she could have--she certainly wanted to. 

Her hands are shaking, even as Natasha drags her away and gets her to gently enter the shower in their room. Blood and water mix together on the white marble floor of the shower and her hands shake harder. There was so much blood---you were bleeding so much. 

…

She sits outside of your room in the Medbay after you come out of surgery for the rest of the night. Natasha, Steve and Tony are gone, trying to contain the mess she made but she can barely think about any of that. 

You could have died. 

You could have died before she found you, and you could have died on that operating table. 

You could have died, and she can’t even fathom a universe where you don’t exist. 

She has to watch Daisy lay beside you through the large glass window, but she swallows down that pain because she’s aware of the pain she could be feeling right now and how much worse it’d be. 

You wake up around eleven am the next morning, and Wanda can finally breathe. She retreats to her bedroom and finally cries, although she refuses to truly let it all out. 

Tears roll down her cheeks as she pases back and forth, while flashbacks of you in this same room keep swirling through her mind. 

…

Natasha gets back after midnight, feeling exhausted and uncertain still. She’s not sure if they managed to appease Ross, but a ceasefire was called and they were let go. 

Logically she knows that someone’s head will roll for the destruction of that military base, and Ross will not rest until it’s done, but she’ll destroy him before letting him touch a hair on Wanda’s head.  

She stops by your room first, talks to Daisy about your progress and even sits with you for a little while. You’re sleeping, the white sheets somehow swallowing your battered body and she feels her shoulders tensing. 

You shouldn’t be on this bed, that mission was not supposed to put you on this bed. You were set up, which means Sam’s informant was followed, and she’ll have to tie a lot more loose ends than she anticipated. 

…

Wanda is sitting on the couch when Natasha walks inside their bedroom. The large glass of red wine and the glistening eyes on her wife’s face tell Natasha everything she needs to know. 

“Can I have one of those?” Natasha asks as she takes off her jacket, and Wanda moves to grab the almost empty bottle from the center table. 

“Yes.” She drunkenly smiles as she stands up to retrieve another glass and bottle, as Natasha sits down in the loveseat. 

Wanda is only wearing an oversized military green hoodie that isn’t hers, her hair is down and her face tells the story of a woman who’s been in agony for the last several hours. 

“Here.” Wanda offers her a glass with a smile, that only accentuates the pain she’s feeling. 

Natasha tries to swallow the heartbreak with a sip of wine, but the task is impossible. Wanda looks like she’s about to burst into tears, and Natasha finally remembers where she’s seen that hoodie before. 

The hoodie is yours, you usually wore it when it was particularly cold, but she hasn’t seen you wear it since August. 

“How did it go?” Wanda asks, her voice breaking at the end of her question and Natasha downs the rest of her wine before taking a deep breath.

“Ross was a pain, but we’ll get it settled. We always do.” She clears her throat when Wanda turns to look at her. 

They’ve always shared this silent connection, and Natasha’s loved it until this very moment. The dam is broken, and the waves that take it down drown Natasha along with it. 

“Are we finally gonna talk about this?” Wanda asks, her chin trembling and tears softly sliding down her pale cheeks. 

The pain hits Natasha in the stomach first, and she can’t help but compare it to an actual punch, since the similarity is uncanny. But the pain slowly travels upwards to her chest and throat---she looks away. 

Her eyes fall on their bed, the same bed that you probably became very familiarized with during August. She looks back at her wife, and reaches for the bottle on the table to fill her glass one more time. 

“Where did you keep the hoodie?” She asks and Wanda lets out a little laugh, that resembles a howl of pain and that hits Natasha with the intensity of a second punch to the gut. 

“I went and got it earlier---from the cottage.” Wanda says, and Natasha nods in understanding. She suspected, but the cottage was a sacred place for their marriage, and a part of her didn’t want to believe it if she’s being honest. 

She downs the rest of her wine again, and sets the glass down. Wanda’s tears continue to silently roll down her face, but she sets her glass down as well. They look at each other, and Natasha knows that this is not the end. 

“Do you want a divorce?” She still asks, and Wanda gives her a look that Nat knows well. 

“Never.” Wanda says. 

“Do you need space?” She asks next, and Wanda shakes her head. 

“Not from you.” Wanda says, her chin continues to tremble---she’s scared. 

Natasha knows where the fear is coming from, and she’s scared too. Wanda’s powers are still a mystery to her, but Wanda’s always learning, growing and that’s not a mystery either. 

“What do you want then?” She asks gently, and Wanda takes in a deep breath that seems to break her. 

A beat passes and then another, they don’t break eye contact and the silence stretches, embracing them in it until time itself seems to come to a halt. 

“You know.” Wanda breaks the spell, and Natasha limits herself to nod her head once. 

The sound of silence is now replaced by Wanda’s elaborate breathing, and Natasha welcomes the rare pressure on the back of her skull with a grimace. She’s not a stranger to headaches, but she’s been hurting for quite some time now, what’s a headache on top of it all?

Still, Wanda’s tears are gone and something else has settled on her shoulders--something that Natasha can’t quite define. 

“Remember the day I asked you to marry me?” Natasha asks, her eyes still on Wanda and the nervous way in which she keeps playing with the glass in her hands. 

“Yes.” Wanda clears her throat, decisively swallowing down more tears and refusing to break eye contact, stubborn as always. 

“I knew we were doomed from the start,” Natasha says and this time Wanda’s interest becomes more real. “Not because love was running out, no, lack of love has never been our problem. I can safely admit that I love you now with the same intensity that I loved you back then, and it wouldn’t be a lie.”

“I wasn’t aware that we had problems.” Wanda says and Natasha allows  herself to smile, however sardonic it might seem. 

“Before August, you mean.” She says it softly, voice low and tranquil. The blow is not gentle though and it doesn’t lessen the hurt, hurt that reflects in Wanda’s expression without an ounce of regret. 

“Are we gonna do this?.” Wanda frowns, the tone of her voice becoming hostile and Natasha doubts for a moment. 

Does she want to humor her wife, and enter an argument that will definitely break her? The answer is no, the answer is a howling no. 

“I don’t want to fight.” She deflates slightly, which only spurs Wanda into action. 

Natasha observes her in silence and with a sinking feeling on the pit of her stomach, but Wanda stands from the couch, and begins pacing their bedroom like a caged animal in a rage. 

Hands in her hair, on her waist, anger lacing every expression of her face that does nothing to hide the pain that is so obvious and that pokes at Natasha’s heart just as cruelly. 

“Wanda.” Natasha calls her, still holding onto the hope that this won’t escalate. 

“I can do anything I want. Anything!” Wanda’s voice echoes in Natasha’s ears, but Wanda’s pain stabs her mercilessly. 

“And what do you want?” Natasha asks, her question hangs in the air for a few very tense seconds before Wanda turns to look at her. 

That look on her face is devastatingly obvious but Natasha’s never been one to shy away from pain, not even when the pain is new. 

You--your name is everything she can hear although neither one of them speaks it. 

“Well, you can’t have that.” Natasha says, perhaps coldly but she’s only human, and she’s already taken more than she should have. 

“I could.” Wanda says, stubborn as always, doubtful as always. Natasha almost recognizes the girl she married years ago in those scared, terrified eyes.

She’s always known, perhaps since the first time they met, that Wanda resembles a ticking bomb. Perhaps that’s what Natasha fell in love with in the first place.   

“You could.” She concedes, because it’s the truth. Wanda could have you back just as easily as she erased herself from your memory. She knows it and Natasha knows it, but she’s learnt more than the proper way to throw a punch in the Compound as well. 

“I won’t.” She shakes her head, a little taken aback from her own head, her own thoughts. Natasha knows her, she’s not scared.  “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m pissed.” Natasha admits, as a raw and unpleasant feeling washes over her. “The thought that you would throw away years of our marriage and betray me like you have, is sickening.”

Her words bring Wanda to a stop, the night becomes darker and Natasha stands up too, she’s not done.

“The thought that you, my wife, would seek out the person I care for the most, the person I protected as if they were my family---”

Running out of breath and hands trembling, Natasha stops for a moment and Wanda can do nothing but wait. 

“I’ve thought about what I’d say and what I’d do,” Natasha continues. “When we finally talk about it, but now that we’re here all that comes to my mind is the fact that I don’t really know you. Not completely, and not like you had me believe that I do.” 

“I didn’t plan for this to happen.” Wanda says, and it might be the weakness of the excuse that makes Natasha’s anger die down. 

“But you did it anyway.” Natasha concludes as tears begin to roll down her cheeks, finally unable to contain them like she has for the last several months. 

“I’m sorry.” Wanda says, but it doesn’t take much for Natasha to realize that she’s not exactly apologizing for the right reasons. 

When Wanda kisses her, it takes Natasha by surprise. There are lines that they haven’t crossed and Natasha respects those lines, lives by them. Wanda kissing her into silence is a clear sign that she no longer cares for those lines. 

Wanda kneeling on the ground, taking down Natasha’s pants and underwear along with her means that she’d do anything, anything to leave those lines behind. 

Later, as she lays on her bed with her wife cuddling up next to her, Natasha can’t sleep. She doesn’t know what’s worse, that she let Wanda take her to bed after months of no sex or that she’s willing to play along. 

…

[steddiebang]

Steddie Bigbang 2023 Weekly Round-up: October 1 - October 7

From Hell and Back (October 1) Author: @rindecisions / Artists | @lady-lostmind & @feralsteddie One Halloween, years after the fall of Hawkins, Steve and Robin end up summoning Eddie from the depths of Hell. Steve, not knowing the ways of the occult, accidentally frees him and has to deal with a mischievous demon on the loose. Eddie drives Steve insane with various shapeshifting antics, both in and out of the bedroom, while Robin tries to find a way to send him back to hell. But, when faced with the opportunity to return his life to normal, will Steve even want to go through with it?

OR

Lots of supernatural, hentai-esque smut with a playful, romantic plot.

Steddie’s Anatomy (October 1) Author: uhhhhjhfrogs on tumblr, tttrash666 on A03 / Artist: BrainyArts on Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, Tumblr Steve was not going to leave Eddie to die in the Upside Down, no fucking way. He didn’t know what compelled him to give every last ounce of strength to rescue him but being confined to a hospital room together was about to make him figure it out.

Made of Light (October 3) Author: @hitlikehammers / Artist: @becomingfoxes​ Soulmates are anything but de rigueur in polite society—more like foolish nonsense, fairytale child’s play: embarrassments. Inconvenient, at best. But the people who have them, and still seek them out; who believe despite the odds, who still commit to finding them and binding their souls to them despite the naysaying and the backlash? Those people know the truth.

Because Soulmates? Don’t force love. Aren’t bound without choice. Are built instead on pure potential, of proportions never fathomed—and certainly never found—outside those so-called ‘old fashioned’ Bonds. They are the potential to protect love. To save love. To save the lives that kind of ineffable love holds more than just dear; the kind it holds as essential. Some people even say Soulbonds can almost change the whole world, defy the laws of physics and nature, but then—even among the believers: those stories are relegated to legend. At best. And so: this is the story of two boys from Indiana who—dodging dangers and demons and near-death experiences—wind up in a love never seen before, somehow writing out the kind of legend no one ever dared to dream.

(You got me) in the palm of your hand (October 4) Author: just-my-latest-hyperfixation (tumblr) / just_my_latest_hyperfixation (AO3) / Artists: xgumiho (tumblr) / xgumiho (instagram) / jul2ja (twitter), peachypurr (tumblr) / peachypurr (linktree) “Fortunes told, futures unfold.”

The sign at the local ren faire looks tempting. After all, Steve is one year out of high school and has no idea where his life is going. Sometimes he wishes someone could just gaze into the future and figure it out for him. 

In the fortune teller’s tent, Steve has a run-in with his past. And if he doesn’t turn on his heel and leave, it has absolutely nothing to do with how pretty Eddie Munson looks in his costume, all gleaming jewelry and dark tendrils of hair spilling out from under a patterned headscarf. He lets Eddie read his palm, because why the hell not? It’s all bogus anyway! 

Except, as the summer goes on, Steve finds that Eddie’s cryptic predictions somehow, inexplicably keep coming true. As they keep running into each other, almost as if orchestrated by an invisible force, Steve can’t help but be intrigued with the other boy. He also can’t seem to forget how pretty Eddie’s eyes look in black liner, or the way his fingers feel on his skin, but that is an entirely different problem. 

11 upcoming projects to be posted next week (Oct 8 - 14).

*To keep up with all the Steddie Bigbang 2023 posting, be sure to follow us @steddiebang or track tags like #steddiebang23, #steddiebang23 masterposts, #steddiebang23 project promo, and #steddiebang23 upcoming projects.

[thestobingirlie]

THANK YOU. Robin and Nancy’s incompatibility aside, Robin and Steve’s soulmatism is one of the unshakable dynamics in the show and Robin Buckley would just never. I read fanfics for most ships, and the story you linked is the first r//nance story I’ve seen that doesn’t have a Steve with zero issues just giggling while his best friend in the universe gets with the person who canonically hurt him the most/he’s still in love with. R//nance usually goes hand in hand with having to ignore how significant Nancy and Steve are to each other, which reminds me of the…

The Vickie erasure. The fanon of bi Nancy while fandom totally ignores Vickie is not surprising considering there’s so much automatic hatred of canon. Robin calls Vickie the girl of her dreams! I also hoped for more Vickie in season 4, but Vickie as the embodiment of Robin’s peace at home is perfect. Rosie! That Vickie is too much of a side-character to ship with Robin is ridiculous when I’ve accidentally seen so many fics including Gareth. For real, who the fuck is Gareth.

Nancy still needing to learn how to process her emotions is why I think any Stancy endgame would be a denouement situation. The execution of the matchmaker trope was unnecessary. Three whole characters weighing in on that relationship? One of which was a stranger? Why.

maybe it’s just because i love stobin so much, but it is literally one of the best and strongest dynamics in the show, and i just can’t fathom needing characters to be in a romantic relationship so badly, that people just cast aside how important robin and steve are to each other.

and yeah, i avoid all r//nance fics, like even if they’re just a background ship. because i know that that background ship will be a throwaway line, and still manage to destroy stobin. like, you can’t just have causal r//nance in the background because by it’s very nature, it would tear the characters apart.

in canon, steve still has feelings for nancy. now you can decide if that’s just because he’s clinging to this ideal of life that he isn’t ready to let go of, or because he actually is in love with her, but to disregard their relationship entirely is dumb. like, in their first s4 scene together, nancy spots steve’s car and just instantly calms. like, whether they’re romantic or platonic, steve and nancy are really important to each other.

i honestly just cannot see nancy being queer at all, but i know that’s just my personal opinion. but the fact that people will totally erase vickie, and then get annoyed at the duffers for having minimal gay characters, or for not making r//nance canon. like, there is a bi women right there! stop ignoring her! and yeah, i think the excuse that vickie is just a side character is such bullshit, because she is spoken about a lot, we see her in multiple scenes. she’s more important than gareth, but somehow he pops up everywhere? and a lot of people who hate vickie will then ship buckingham (which i have nothing against!) but it’s like, how are you gonna pretend chrissy has more personality then vickie?

yeah, i hate matchmaking, but the duffers seem incapable of writing a romance without using it. honestly, the reason why i hated murray so much is because of that. like, some random middle aged man got two teens drunk and told them to fuck in his house, and i’m supposed to think that’s the height of romance?! ew. and yeah, i can see robin talking to steve about nancy, because they obviously talk about their loves lives to each other. and dustin is incapable of not inserting himself into steve’s life, but eddie? what does he know about the situation? it’s just so weird.

also, i actually find stancy interesting, at least, i’ve always enjoyed watching their scenes more than nancy and jonathan, but i just don’t think that nancy will be able to get enough development in time for her to end the show in a healthy relationship. though, i do kinda want stancy to be endgame just because i know how much steve antis will hate it. and i think that’s funny.

but honestly, when it comes to endgames i just don’t care. what ships the duffers decide to end on mean nothing to me. i will read whatever fanfics i want when the show ends, and who’s gonna stop me. “oh it’s not canon.” don’t care, didn’t ask.

[onelilhippie]

OUTCAST: chapter three

story masterlist

MY HANDS were shaking and it was hard to focus. i was dizzy. my anxiety attacks stopped when i was fifteen, but they were making an appearance again. fiery panic burned hot in my lungs as everything sunk in. chrissy was dead. eddie was accused for murdering her. i was in this now, in between the two of them, people knew me as chrissy's best friend, as eddie's ex girlfriend, and they'd have questions. there was some... other dimension, and monsters were actually real, and they have almost killed my friends, my family. it was impossible to fathom just how much the people around me had been through, and how blind i'd been stumbling through it all.

my chest was tight, like someone was pressing down on it, and sweat stuck my shirt to the skin of my back. i was burning up, like fire licking against the surface of my body.

"marnie?" a voice grabbed me from my trance. it was steve, his voice streaming through the door. i moved away from it, letting him outside and into my personal space.

"yeah?" i said, more like a whisper than anything else. i felt a pressure on my face, and realized steve was wiping away tears that i didn't know i had cried. i sniffled and looked up at him, hoping he'd be able to ground me from these feelings, hot on on my heels like hell was after me, crawling up the back of my neck and into my scattered brain.

"you alright? it's not safe to be alone." he asked me, concern prominent in his voice. i didn't know why he cared so much. maybe it was because i'm dustin's sister. i barely knew him. there were fleeting moments of hellos and my first day at the video store, but other than that i hadn't spoken to him. in high school i despised him, when he had smashed jonathan's camera to the ground i vowed to never even look in his direction, but here i was, being comforted by the very guy i used to hate. steve was kind, and a bit shaky himself. it was difficult to see him this way, when all i knew was the person who made fun of nancy wheeler for hanging around jonathan. his personality was designed for cockiness and teasing, but he was worried for me, someone he barely knew.

"yeah, i just panicked. today has been... a lot. i didn't want anyone to see me like this." i chuckled, lightly gesturing to my tear stained face. i never cried a lot before today. i've never been an emotional person but my life has quite literally been turned upside down in a matter of hours. the seething panic died and the heat of my anxiety no longer corroded my consciousness.

"alright, let's get inside. don't want you to get... vecna'd?" steve laughed to himself. i shook my head and went inside before him, just so i didn't hear anymore of his bad jokes. as soon as steve and i were back inside, everyone decided it was time to leave. dustin said we'd come back in the morning with supplies for eddie. but i didn't want to leave him alone again.

"you want him to stay here by himself?" i questioned my brother, arms crossed over my chest.

"uh yeah, he's pretty capable." dustin countered back at me. i rolled my eyes and sat myself down in the old, beat up boat.

"yeah, no. i'll stay with him. just in case something happens. i'm not sure anyone should be alone after what happened to- you know. chrissy." i offered, avoiding eddie's confused gaze. dustin blanched, obviously not expecting me to say something like that. i had decided that talking to eddie might do me some good, and i really didn't want him to be alone with everything happening, no one having a clue of what we're up against, just some creature comprable to a d&d character.

"wh- you know what? okay." dustin shrugged, turning and walking out. everyone said their goodbyes and be-safes and took off in steve's car. eddie and i were silent for a moment before he turned to face me, his expression hard to read. he had a soft face, his resting features so pretty and tinged pink.

"why are you here?" he asked, voice quiet. i couldn't quite tell what emotion he was feeling. like i said, he was hard to read sometimes. eddie had always been someone i admired, for being so himself unapologetically, for being mysterious in a way that was uniquely his.

"i didn't want you to be alone, eddie. not when people are getting killed b-by some, like, dark wizard or whatever." i stuttered out. i wasn't sure my mind would ever wrap around the concept of interdimensional monsters and fourteen year-old girls with superpowers.

"since when did you worry about me?" he questioned, arms folded. i scoffed loudly, rolling my eyes yet again. it seemed like that's all i was doing the past twenty-four hours.

"just because we aren't together doesn't mean i don't care about you."

"that's not how it seemed the past, i don't know, six fucking months." eddie spat, sitting across the room from me on the dirty wood floor. it was then that i realized how much my leaving affected him. seeing his eyes glassy, unable to look at me, spitting at me like he hated me. maybe he did. my heartstrings pulled, a flame burned in his eyes.

"eddie... i do. i really do."

"then why did you leave?"

"i had to. i was gonna lose chrissy. now i know i would've lost her either way." i was crying, again. for the third time.

"what do you mean?"

"she was... was fucking worried for her reputation. i never really cared for it. i obviously wasn't popular and i never wanted to be. school popularity has always been pointless. but she was so into it, and she wanted to stay that way. chrissy knew that if i was seen with you, her image would crumble by association with me. she said she wouldn't talk to me again if i stayed with you. and i had known her since second grade. i couldn't let a boy get between us. but then i realized just how fucking stupid it was that she was worried over her position on the cheer team and how many people loved her. but i had already left you. then she started getting cozy with jason, and he made her cut me off anyways. so any ending would've resulted in me losing someone i thought was my best friend. and i realize now that i should've done what i wanted instead of blindly following her but i can't change that. and i know you hate me for it. probably even more so now that i've told you what really happened, actually." i admitted, staring up at the ceiling to avoid him. it was dark and cold in the boathouse, and i was shivering with exhaustion.

"i don't hate you." eddie said in a low voice. i removed my eyes from the ceiling and settled on him. he was sitting with his knees to his chest, eyes trained on the floor. i felt bad for telling him, for reopening a wound, but he needed to know the truth about everything.

"you don't have to lie to me."

"why would i lie to you? what's the point? i don't hate you. i never have. not when we'd fight, not when you accidentally threw away my d&d notes, not when you left me that night in the rain under that streetlight next to my trailer. not when you wouldn't even let me kiss you goodbye. i was angry, but i've never hated you. not for a second." my mind flipped through those memories, each one he mentioned bright in my mind like they had just happened. i wanted to be my old self again, but i was still searching for her in those late nights without him. i'd tangle myself in my cold bedsheets, remembering the feeling of him beside me, and crying in the emptiness i'd caused. i felt all those emotions again at once and shrunk in on myself, hugging myself in that worn down rotten boat.

"i'm sorry." i muttered, tucking my head between my knees. i heard the floor creak as he walked towards me, the feeling of the boat rocking as he got into it beside me.

"i know. i am too." eddie said back, hand running through my hair in a comforting motion. his touch made me shiver. no one ever treated me the way he did. he treated me with respect. he never yelled, never even made me think he'd lay a hand on me. he was the most beautiful man i'd ever met, and i was so privileged to have loved him, to have experienced his personality in such an intimate way.

"so," he spoke again, "since when were you and harrington together?"

now that made me laugh.

"what?" i sputtered, lifting my head up to look at him, to my right.

"you and harrington?"

"oh my god. in his dreams. steve and i are definitely not a thing." i laughed loud. eddie looked seriously confused though. did he really somehow get the impression that steve and i were... a thing?

"you two aren't together?" eddie raised an eyebrow, actually, truly confused.

"no? what even made you think that, eddie? gross."

"he was all touchy with you, a-and when you went outside he rushed after you. i- i dont know, henderson." eddie blushed, shaking his head. i just laughed for a moment. yeah, steve had comforted me, but, not in that way. not in the way eddie ever had.

"yeah, absolutely not. he's just a friend. actually, i hadn't even had a conversation with him til yesterday, when i started working at the video store." i told him, watching the expressions and realization rolled across his features.

"why? you jealous?" i teased him.

"oh, shut up." eddie was beet red, and everything felt normal again. he was back, even if he wasn't mine anymore. my mind calmed down for the first time that day. after a few minutes of silence, my eyelids began to feel heavy.

"tired, marn?" eddie whispered. i nodded, breathing slow.

"c'mon, lay down." he took his jacket off and splayed it over my figure as i laid beside that awful tarp. the thing was itchy. i snuggled into the smell of him, weed, cologne, and a little bit of beer. and for the first time in a while, i was content. he laid beside me, a considerable distance away.

"night, henderson."

"night, eds." i whispered back, eyes falling closed.

˚◞♡ ⃗*ೃ༄

i was woken by eddie rocking the boat, jumping up, ring-clad hand wrapped around a bright red, rusted wrench.

"ed-"

"shhhh!" he pressed a finger to his lips, creeping up from the boat and peering through the boathouse windows. he must've heard something outside. he was panting heavy like he had just ran a mile, standing as still as he could.

"shit." he whispered, eyes glued to the view outside. then, the door blew open, making me squeak and eddie yell.

"jesus!"

luckily, it was dustin and his friends, plastic bags in hand.

"delivery service!" my brother grinned. eddie exhaled.

steve laid eyes on me and wiggled his fingers in a wave. i smiled back, and waved to everyone. they handed eddie some snacks and i got out of the boat, sliding my arms into eddie's coat. his cologne wafted into my senses again and i remembered times in his arms.

"munson's jacket, huh?" steve asked, eyebrows raised, as i stood between him and max. i smacked him on the arm and he faked injury. eddie was shoving cereal in his mouth, glancing at me and steve then back at dustin.

"so we got some good news and some bad news. how do you prefer it?" my brother asked.

"bad news first, always." eddie chased cereal down with some bottled drink. i turned my gaze to my brother.

"alright, bad news. we tapped into the hawkins pd dispatch with our cerebro, and they're definitely looking for you. also, they're uh, pretty convinced you killed chrissy." i sighed and eddie's face dropped. i went over and sat next to him.

"like. 100% kinda convinced." max added.

"and they're looking for marnie too. since you were close with both of them. or. were. they have questions. intense questions." dustin looked at his sister, a frown settled on his face.

"and the good news?" eddie asked, looking at everyone.

"your names haven't gone public yet. but if we found out about you, it's only a matter of time before others do too. and once that gets out, everyone and their shallow minded mother is gonna be gunning for you both." robin chimed in. my stomach churned at eddie's worried expression.

"hunt the freaks, right?"

"exactly."

"shit." i muttered, tucking my face into the palms of my hands.

"so, before that happens, we need to find vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence."

"that's all, dustin? that's all?" said eddie, exasperated.

"yeah, no, that's pretty much it."

"listen, eddie, marnie, i know everything dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we've actually been through this kinda thing before." robin reassured me and him.

"i mean, they have a-a few times. and i have once. mine was more human flesh based, and theirs was more smoke related, but bottom line is, collectively, i really think we got this."

"but, uh," steve started. "we usually rely on this girl, that has superpowers, but those went bye-bye, so, uh-"

"what we're technically in is more of the-"

"kinda..."

"brainstorming phase." max finished.

"brainstorming!"

"there-there's nothing to worry about." said dustin, but his voice was pitched higher. eddie and i looked at each other and we both realized, we were fucked.

police sirens jolted us from the conversation, and steve shushed us. eddie and i crouched down into the boat once again.

"tarp!" robin pointed, repeating herself. eddie threw the tarp over the both of us and i screwed my eyes shut, huddling into his chest. the sirens kept going and i opened my eyes, looking up at eddie. he was already staring at me.

"it's okay." he whispered as low as possible, fingertips running up and down my back in a soothing motion. i inhaled as hard as i could, and exhaled.

"this sucks."

"i know."

[sttngfashion]

5.26 and 6.1 - Time’s Arrow

Oh my god. Y’all. It’s a new Fashion It So post. In the year of our Picard 2020. Yes.

For literal years, Charlie and I have been like UGH WE NEED TO DO TIME’S ARROW PARTS 1 AND 2 BUT IT’S JUST SUCH A MONSTER.

Well, I’m doing a complete rewatch of the series with my partner and we just got to these two, so IT IS TIME. 

We open in a cave in San Francisco, where Data and Picard are checking something out:

Rent for the cave is $6,000 per month

Showing them around is this guy in a Science Outfit:

He’s ready to go night biking

We’ve seen this look before in both Silicon Avatar and Devil’s Due, and it’s functional, yet cute. Basically a windbreaker in jumpsuit form. 

They find a couple of items in the cave, including a pocket watch from 1889 and also:

I left my head in San Francisco

IT’S DATA’S HEAD!!! And it’s been there for FIVE HUNDRED YEARS. What could have caused this? And why is Data’s head so absolutely terrifying?

Is that fondant

This head is, in a word, haunting. The 2020 of heads. 

Data and Geordi chat in Ten-Forward about what the presence of Data’s head in the cave means. Data says it means he’s mortal; that someday he will die, and that’s comforting. Spoiler alert: that’s not what it means. But it’s a nice conversation.

Also, Guinan is here!!!

Merlot My God!! 

Or maybe: Burgundy-lightful!! Or perhaps: De-Crimson-alize Sex Work!! Okay that last one was a stretch but I really think I missed my calling as a nail polish shade namer. 

Anyway, she’s here in her classic look of a pizza-sized hat and a flowing gown/coat/top/robe. The collar here is a little too close to a mock turtleneck for my liking and honestly - this is a little staid for our friend Guinan. I want a TEXTURE or a SWEEP or some WIDE RIBBING or some PLEATS. Don’t worry, though...she will get plenty more later.

Then there’s some plot which frankly we DO NOT HAVE TIME to get into but let’s just say: the away team goes to a planet, there’s a temporal disturbance, and Data ends up here:

Huge mood

Where are we? Or should I say WHEN are we??

Well that old-timey font is a good clue...also the horse

Are we in the Old West land of an off-brand Disneyworld? Are we going to ride something called Large Lightning Mesa Train Tracks? What colorful characters will we meet here?

Winner of 1893’s Mustache Medal

This type of ‘stache is called a Fu Manchu, after the character Dr. Fu Manchu. It’s not...a great look? But it is memorable, which is sometimes enough. He’s also wearing a simple black cap, probably made of silk. He’s keeping it cazh.

So where are we?

SAN FRANCISCO, OPEN YOUR GOLDEN GATE / YOU’LL LET NOBODY WAIT / OUTSIDE YOUR DOOR

Yes, it’s San Francisco. And it’s *eyes popping out of head like a cartoon wolf seeing a busty babe* 1893!!!! That temporal disturbance was...disturbing.

So who else do we have hanging out?

Please check out our Vaudeville act, Knit Cap ‘n’ Bowly

These dudes understand those famous Bay Area MICROCLIMATES, amirite? We’ve got a Henley. We’ve got a buttondown. We’ve got a vest. We’ve got a coat. No matter which way the thermometer decides to go, THEY ARE READY. Also loving the pop of forest green on Knit Cap’s knit cap. 

We also have a 49er:

No, it’s not Steve Young. I googled “famous 49ers” to complete this joke so if there is a more famous 49er please let me know

It’s a literal 49er. Since it’s 1893, this guy’s been hanging around in town for a while, and he’s also familiar with the layering techniques one must master if one is to conquer the Bay Area’s climate. He also has a kicky Colonel Sanders-type tie. He asks Data for money and gives him a few panhandling tips. He’s chill. We like him. But don’t get too attached if you know what I mean!!!!

Data decides he needs somewhere to stay, so he finds a hotel:

Brian.

Why is this so funny to me. Brian. Why would you name your hotel Brian. Brian!!!! I know it’s a last name but like...Brian. HOTEL BRIAN. 

This bellhop’s name is not Brian:

Where’s your hat, bro

He’s giving us a classic bellhop look, complete with too many buttons. He gives Data the very important information that there’s a poker game happening in the back of the hotel, which means: Data is about to be RICH rich. 

The poker game includes a few good looks:

Louie Anderson IS Wolverine IN a Lands’ End barn coat

Two plaids? Sir...I salute you

Colonel Sanders Goes to Carnaval

Data, of course, wipes the floor with them so hard that he wins their clothes:

Didn’t get that barn coat tho

Yes, that’s the actual vest and the actual hat of those guys from the previous scene. Oh, I love it. I love Data in a vest over his uniform and I love Data with a feather in his cap. Let’s call it macaroni.

Meanwhile, out on the street, the plot is happening:

Beige: inescapable

This is our first taste of the decadent 1890’s sleeves that appear in this episode, and these aren’t even the best sleeves!! These are an amuse-bouche of sleeves. An armuse-bouche, if you will. 

Anyway, these two are aliens disguised as humans who are here to steal the 49er’s life energy. 

Pew pew pew

I told you not to get attached!!!

Back on the Enterprise, Guinan is doing mixology:

She would never call it something as stupid as mixology though

She tells Picard that he needs to go check out the temporal disturbance, too, even though captains don’t normally go on away missions, and then she gives him this look:

It’s that serious

When Guinan looks at you like this, you do what she says. 

Now this outfit is much better than the earlier one. We have some pleated sleeves, which I didn’t even think was a thing you could DO. We have some sort of functional(?) strap(??) across the front. We even have matching fingerless gloves which always make a look A LOOK. And if Picard wasn’t sure whether he needed to go on this away mission, she then gives him THIS look:

Okay now it’s REALLY serious

Back in 1893, Data is making something:

It’s actually just a really complicated and large music box that plays “I Left My Head in San Francisco”

He’s gotten his hands on some more period-appropriate clothing, including a bow tie and a vest. Since he’s not wearing arm garters and his sleeves appear to be the correct length for his arms, we can conclude that the shirt was custom-made, not ready-made, because Data is now a baller due to his poker earnings. 

Then, Data sees this in the paper:

I know her!! From work!!!!

Yes, it’s Guinan. In 1893. In a hat!!!!

We cut to the literary reception, which is honestly not as well-attended as I thought it would be, considering it got a GIANT photo of Guinan on page THREE of the paper, but okay. And who should we spy there but:

You’ll love my secret blend of 11 herbs and spices

No, it’s not Colonel Sanders. (Sorry, I really have Colonel Sanders on the brain because of that Lifetime movie.) It’s Samuel Clements, AKA Mark Twain. I had an English teacher in high school who explained the origin of his pseudonym (it indicates a mark of two fathoms, aka twelve feet, on a steamboat) and for some reason she shouted MAAAARK TWAAAAAIN when she told us that story so now her delivery of that line is in my head until I die I guess.

Anyway, it’s Mark Twain.

He’s wearing his iconic white linen suit with a black bow tie, and he’s also wearing a lot of prosthetics, because the actor playing him (Jerry Hardin, AKA Deep Throat from The X-Files AKA Melora Hardin AKA Jan Levinson-Gould’s dad) (was that too many AKAs) (you get it, right?) didn’t look enough like Mark Twain, I guess? In conclusion: what if eyebrow wigs were a thing?

Twain is having a chit chat with “Madame Guinan,” who is wearing what can only be called a sumptuous gown:

It’s 11:30 and the gown is sumptin’ sumptin’

There are so many ELEMENTS to this look! First of all: the color. Royal purple. Fit for a queen. Appropriate. 

Then: those sleeves! These sleeves are known as “leg of mutton sleeves” because they KIND OF look like a leg of mutton. Have you ever seen a leg of mutton? I haven’t. I’ve only seen these sleeves. Plus they have a stripe?? No, I don’t know why, but I LOVE IT.

The cuffs and the cravat bring this from “dress” to “lewk.” Top it all off with this hat and you have a true 1893 mood.

What bird is that feather even from

We get a few good extra looks in this scene as well:

Pink Lady is NOT wearing a corset

Look, sometimes you don’t have enough period-appropriate undergarments for all the background people and that’s fine. But I WILL notice.

Is that Loretta Lynn

I am loving all of this! That purple dress is fantastic, those stripes? I die. Military man has some fun flair on his shoulder, and there is a dude in a beautiful turban back there. Plus, another Black lady in addition to Guinan and That One Ensign Who Is On The Bridge Sometimes.

Data rolls in to the literary event in a different suit with a CRAVAT:

Craving a cravat

Data is like “we serve together on the same starship in the 24th century” and Guinan is like “huh” but then she’s like “okay” which...I’m not sure if I would believe that? But let’s just say it’s fine. 

Over in the 24th century, the literal entire bridge crew is checking out the temporal disturbance and I DON’T LIKE THIS AT ALL:

Blue Man Group...on ACID

These beings are like ghosts but also like Dr. Manhattan but also like pure energy. 

Then everyone goes through the temporal disturbance AND THE SEASON ENDS. 

Fortunately for you, this post will continue...right now.

Okay, so we’re back in San Francisco in 1893. You can tell by the horses:

Also the fruit carts

Samuel Clemens is strolling around with a reporter, telling him that he has a great story for him that involves time travelers and, like, protecting the nation.

Here’s the thing about this episode’s version of Mark Twain: he’s kind of a dick. Was the real Mark Twain kind of a dick? I just feel like Mark Twain should be JAZZED about meeting time travelers and not acting like a fuckin’ time cop* and trying to put the Enterprise crew on blast. 

Anyway I love his double-breasted vest.

See my vest

The reporter’s hat is technically period-accurate, but that style is SO associated with the 1930s-1950s that I would have gone with something else. He looks cute though.

Meanwhile, Data is wearing a three-piece suit:

My positronic olfactory synapses are interpreting something as...a fart

I hate brown, but this is fine.

Additionally, the beige baddies from before are back and this time, they’ve got a SNAKE CANE:

Love the snake cane, hate how they suck the life out of people

But we are not here for them, we are here to see our faves in period clothing. Our first look is at Riker, who is dressed as an actual cop, not a time cop like Mark Twain:

The past just had...so many buttons

I guess if you’re a time-traveling white man there are worse disguises than a cop. But WHERE DID HE GET THIS UNIFORM? I choose to believe that he found a cop with a similar large handsome body to his own and beat the shit out of him and stole his clothes. Now we can all enjoy imagining a cop being beat up.

The badge that Riker is wearing is a great historical detail; the SFPD started wearing them in 1886 and are reportedly the first law enforcement agency to have worn the seven-pointed star, which is now a common shape among sheriff’s departments across the United States.

But let’s move on to a better look: Dr. Beverly Crusher:

Curlz MT

Okay, now I have more questions. Beverly obviously wouldn’t beat someone up for their clothes, so where did SHE get HER outfit? And who did her hair? Did she do her OWN hair? Where did she get a curling iron? Does she know how to use a curling iron? Was it one of those ones that’s actually made of iron that you have to heat up in a fireplace? 

We will get answers to zero (0) of these questions.

We actually get a much better look at her dress later, so let’s focus on that cloak!!! I love it and I also love her hat. Okay, I guess I had less to say about those than I thought.

Bev and Will, along with the rest of the officers, have somehow procured a room/apartment in some lady’s lodging house. It’s cute!

They gave it 5 stars on AirBnB

This also raises questions. How did they get this room? How many bedrooms does it have? Are they sharing one large bed? If so, who has to sleep crossways at the foot of the bed and why is it Geordi? We will get zero answers to these questions as well, so let’s move on to arguably the hottest costume in this two-parter:

I’ll be in Holodeck 4

Whewwwwwww. He’s giving us a rolled sleeve. He’s giving us a casual tweed vest. The pants? They’re perfect. And he KNOWS how that slouch is working. It’s working VERY well. But the Irish landlady? She’s having NONE OF IT.

Absolutely NO nonsense

She needs the rent, but Picard charms her and she leaves. So I guess that’s how they got the room. Her look is knitwear-forward:

Eileen Fisher does sound like an Irish name

She’s got a shawl AND a cardigan! The cozy factor is OFF THE CHARTS. She also has a brooch, because a touch of fancy is always welcome. I will say that her hair is a little more fashion-forward than I’d expect for a woman of her age and station. This is straight up 1890s hair, and she would probably still be rocking an 1860s look, which isn’t as sweepy and would likely involve more braids. Still, she looks lovely. 

Geordi is also here looking dapper:

Make the collar as high as you can. I want to be sliced open by my own collar

You CAN go wrong with a three-piece suit, but it’s difficult to. He can’t wear his visor, so he has some kicky shades which we’ll get a better look at in a sec.

Back at the Hotel Brian (lol), the bellboy (who we learn in this scene is Jack London, inspired to be a writer by Mark Twain [citation needed]) lets Mark Twain into Data’s room and allows him to look around unsupervised. This is very bad hotel management. 

Great Scott

Then Data and Guinan show back up, and Mark Twain hides in an armoire.

One short day in the emerald brocade

I think one reason I love Guinan’s looks so much, both in the 24th and the 19th century, is that our color palette is very similar. We’re both winters. Bold jewel tones are the vibe. This one is in a beautiful deep green fabric with what looks like a velvet flocking pattern on it. The collar is also velvet, and I love that sleeve with a flounce on top like there wasn’t already enough fucking fabric on the sleeve so they just added a random piece to be like “yes, bitch. I’m a sleeve.”

Naturally, the hat is also jaunty af:

San Francisco’s hottest milliner is: Madame Guinan

This hat has everything: feathers, netting, a brim, an angle that makes you think it’s going to fall off but it doesn’t. We stan.

Meanwhile, Picard is setting up a sensor in a hospital while wearing a hat:

I’m bowled over

We haven’t even asked where Picard got these clothes, but I would like to point out that he’s dressed as a lower-class guy, while Riker is a cop, and Geordi looks like a gentleman. Was there even a discussion they all had about how they would disguise themselves? Was Picard like “I just really want to wear a beat-up bowler hat” and since he’s the captain, they extrapolated from there? This episode is NOT CONCERNED about any of this. They all have clothes, end of story. 

Bev even has TWO outfits!!

Hello nurse!!!!

I love this look. She still has her unlikely hairstyle happening, which means her nurse’s cap is sitting atop her voluminous hairstyle. (Not very practical, but realistic!) She’s sporting a simple striped dress and a button-on apron. (Look closely and you can see the two buttons holding the apron to the dress.) The fabric underneath might be cotton seersucker, but it’s likely a lightweight cotton or linen twill. You can see how closely her look matches these nurses from a similar time period:

Hello nurses!!!!

Deanna is also in this scene and this episode, but you wouldn’t know it from what she’s given to do. HUGE SHOCKER: TROI NOT GIVEN ENOUGH TO DO IN AN EPISODE. 🙃

She still looks beautiful:

Why aren’t capelets more popular

We never get a really GREAT look at her whole outfit, but I can tell you that it has a capelet, it’s in the red family, and the hat has a lot of business going on. For those reasons: approved. It has a flounce in the back too:

More fabric = more wealth

Sometimes I think about just how much fabric it took to make these old-timey dresses and I’m like...how did anyone get anything done?? It takes me like 4 weeks to finish a pair of leggings and those have like 5 seams and I own a serger. These historical bitches were sewing whole ass dresses in no time at all. 

Okay, so Bev is in this hospital and here come some more energy-stealing aliens, disguised as healthcare professionals this time:

I cannot take a medical professional wearing a LIGHT BROWN TOP HAT seriously, sorry

Bev AND this energy-stealing alien have BOTH managed to get their hands on the SAME nurse’s uniform?? I guess in the case of the alien, she is a shape-shifter, so she got her clothes from...that. And her hair. 

I hate this light brown top hat. If you’re going to wear a top hat, don’t DISRESPECT IT by making it BROWN, but if you’re going to make it brown, make it a good brown, like chocolate. Stupid energy-stealing aliens.

There’s a skirmish, the energy-stealing aliens disappear, and the real cops show up:

MOUSTACHE

Of course, the cops showing up is bad, because when has a cop showing up ever made a bad situation better? Never. Defund the police, but don’t defund handlebar mustaches. Those can stay.

Fortunately, Data has gotten a ping on that machine he was building before and shows up on a motherfucking HORSE:

Brent just wanted to show off

He’s back in his brown striped suit and red tie. Okay.

Everyone returns to the boarding house to suss out the situation, and we get a look at what Riker is rocking underneath his cop jacket:

Suspend me daddy

You can see very clearly here how the collar is not actually attached to the shirt. This was a thing people in the olden days did so they could wear their shirt for multiple days in a row and just switch out the collar and cuffs so they looked clean. As someone who is wearing the same sweatshirt for the third day in a row, I support this method. (If you’re interested on more info about collars, here is a very enjoyable article about them.)

We are also blessed with a better look at Deanna’s sleeves and bodice:

Black lace cuffs? Decadent!!!

You can also see Geordi’s shades, which suit him really nicely. One thing I’ve been enjoying on this rewatch is just how well LeVar Burton can act without having his eyes visible. He’s great. Let’s just all think about how great LeVar Burton is for a second

And also Bev’s dress:

I legitimately want this dress

I don’t think those buttons are functional. Can you imagine how annoying THAT would be? But I am absolutely in love with this dress. Two paisleys, Beverly???? A goddess. I’m also dying for that brooch with the chain. A+ look all around, great work.

Finally, FINALLY, Guinan meets the rest of the crew:

When you meet someone you won’t actually know for 500 years

She is wearing a hat that looks like a toilet paper cozy. Did your grandma have one of these? They’re so stupid and I love them so much. 

Picard and Guinan meet for what is the first time for her, but not the first time for him, and honestly it is...sensual?????

If I got a m’lady from P. Stew I wouldn’t even mind

Patrick and Whoopi truly do some nice work in this ep. But we are here to yell about clothes, so: LOOK AT THIS DRESS ON AN EXTRA:

Gimme dat dress

I just want that dress to wear around my house. I legitimately bought an 18th century costume dress to do just that, so don’t think I won’t literally do this.

OKAY, WE ARE ALMOST TO THE END. 

The crew, plus Guinan, go back to the cave where this all started:

Cave Club, the only club that meets in a cave

We get a nice look at the bodice of Guinan’s dress here and guess what: MORE BUTTONS. Buttons on the lapels, and also buttons on the front panel with the pointy top. I wonder if she has multiple front panels for that dress in different colors, like a Swatch watch. 

Unbeknownst to them, Mark Twain followed them!! Then there’s a scuffle with the energy-stealing aliens during which a few things happen:

Data’s head flies off

Mark Twain gets sucked into the temporal disturbance

Guinan gets hurt

Picard stays behind to make sure Guinan is okay

So we end up with Mark Twain on the Enterprise, where he sees Worf, and he’s like:

Buh-WHAT

Worf is also confused:

This is...extremely perplexing

We have a few more looks back on the Enterprise, including Regular Guinan:

ShoulderSpreads™: The Bed Spread for Your Shoulders

I love love LOVE this outfit. The color is perfect, the shoulderspreads are perfect, the front draping is perfect. It looks like a velvet housedress from the 1960s except FANCY which is kind of my ideal aesthetic. And it’s red (my fave). 

We get a quick glimpse at the barber uniform:

Bitch let me pass, idc if you wrote Huck Finn

This barber does. not. give. a. fuck!!!! 

Geordi reattaches Data’s head, the one they already had, which means this whole thing was a ding dang closed loop. The reattachment also kind of diminishes the whole conversation they had earlier about how Data’s head in the cave meant that Data could die someday, because...he didn’t. He still might, but his head is back and he’s fine now.

Meanwhile, Picard is still back in 1893 and they have to go get him, but only one person can come back through the temporal disturbance, so Mark Twain is like “duh I’ll go get him.” 

And finally Guinan and Picard can talk about how their friendship spans 500 years!!!!

Hey girl

Hey

YOU’RE WELCOME

*abolish the police

[sineala]

Captain America: The Great Gold Steal

I wrote this up last week because I did not have access to my usual comics files but I figured I could review something that was just a book. So here is a review of the 1968 Captain America novel Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White, with an introduction by Stan Lee. I really liked it, actually! It was surprisingly good!

This novel features: Cover art of Captain America holding his shield in one hand and a very large gun in the other! A scene where the villains dramatically unmask Captain America and have absolutely no idea who he is! Captain America being extremely, extremely depressed about being in the future! Captain America dropping acid!

(I'm not kidding about the last part. In this novel there is a lot of LSD use. By Captain America. Talk about something the Comics Code wouldn't ever let you put in a comic book. Thank you, 1968.)

Faithful readers may remember that some time ago I posted reviews of Marvel prose novels from the 1970s. There was a line of prose novels featuring everyone's favorite Marvel superheroes, published by Pocket Books in the late 70s; I have reviews of the Iron Man, Captain America, and Avengers entries in the series; I liked the Iron Man one best, and I also have a Doctor Strange one I have not yet read. They're all short and action-packed paperback reads, of varying quality; the only one by anyone you might have heard of is the Avengers one, which was written by David Michelinie, who was actually writing the Avengers run at the time. That one was, um. An experience. 

(Yes, it's "prose novel" because otherwise the assumption is "graphic novel.")

Marvel still publishes prose novels now, of course, also of varying quality; some are new plots and some are straight-up novelizations of comics arcs, which I guess is useful if you want to, say, read Civil War and not look at pictures at the same time. I also have a bunch of those that I could probably review if anyone wants. But, anyway, I personally am particularly intrigued by the older Marvel prose novels, both because the stories are all original and not retellings, and also because I often prefer the characterization found in older comics. And the older prose novels of course use the then-current characterization. So reading a Marvel prose novel from 1979 is like getting to read a brand-new comic from 1979, and that's a whole lot of fun for a nerd like me. Also do you know what's not subject to the Comics Code? Prose novels. So things can happen in these that definitely could not happen in comics of the same era.

This brings me to my current prose novel, which is something else entirely. I mean, okay, not really, it's still a Marvel prose novel. But it's not part of the same line. It's actually a lot older.

Bantam Books actually published Marvel prose novels in the late 60s. Yep, a full decade earlier. They published exactly two, so I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that they were probably not bestsellers. The first one, which I do not own and now sort of want to track down, was an Avengers novel in 1967, The Avengers Battle the Earth-Wrecker. And then in 1968 they published the novel I am currently holding in my hands, Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White.

(I am still not sure why no one involved in titling this book thought of the word "theft.")

Judging by the back copy, it appears to be about Captain America foiling the villains' dastardly plan to steal gold from the Federal Reserve. Oh boy. Fun.

So this book is from 1968. The modern Marvel universe had kicked off just a few short years ago! Captain America was just getting his own solo book after the end of Tales of Suspense! And here's a novel about him, back when certain elements of his characterization were perhaps a little more flexible than they are today, by which I mean that the cover art -- which the internet informs me was painted by Mitchell Hooks -- is a striking full-body portrait of Captain America, head held high, shield in one hand... and a very large gun in the other. Hell, yeah. Not gonna see that in today's Cap comics, are you? It's amazing and I love it.

(Okay, you might see that in Ults. I'm pretty sure I have seen that in Ults, actually. But this is still cool.)

So the cover art is a definite plus, and apparently it's one of the few reasons anyone has ever heard of this novel. The other reason -- and the reason this is more expensive than the later novels, I assume -- is that Stan Lee's name is slapped on the cover, because he wrote an introduction. (I think I paid about $30 for this. The others were definitely under $20.)

All right. Here we go.

The first page is actually a brief summary of Steve's origin story, but not a version I was familiar with. Steve was born July 9, 1917 (yes, I was surprised too), was orphaned at a young age, and was a student at Columbia University (!) before Rebirth, which in this version is a gradual process that is also extremely body-horror. Steel tubing was inserted into the marrows of his bones. He was fed "high-protein compounds." Then they gave him a chemical that "gave him complete control over every nerve, muscle, and cell in his now-magnificent body." Sweet. Where can I get some of that?

The blurb also confirms his control over his own metabolism as well as his healing factor ("wounds would heal in half the normal time"), which is nice, because sometimes I wonder if canon even remembers the healing factor.

(I don't know why Marvel has this kink for filling people's bones with metal, though. It's not actually empty in there, guys! You need your bone marrow! How else do you want people to make new blood cells?)

The book is dedicated to "Jack Kirby and Stan Lee, without whom there would be no Captain America." Hey, Marvel, Joe Simon would like a word with you. I'm just saying.

The Stan Lee introduction is three paragraphs written in Stan Lee's, um, inimitable, distinctive and extremely florid narrative style -- if you've read any of his work, you know what I mean -- and making the point that Captain America is incredible and you will like him. If you are just discovering him for the first time, you will definitely like him. Okay. Thanks. I guess.

Oddly, the writing style here is substantially different than any of the other Marvel prose novels I've read; it doesn't immediately front-load you with exposition and a cast of colorful superheroes. It opens with a sort of James Bond spy-novel feel, running through a series of unnamed villains and bystanders, and a man who wants nothing more than to talk to Captain America but is killed before he can. Steve comes in halfway through the chapter, and he seems to be written for a reader who doesn't necessarily know who he is, and he isn't introduced as Captain America with his shield flying ahead of him to smite evildoers, or anything like that. He's just a tall, handsome blond guy who is reading a bunch of novels and is unsatisfied by all of them because all he can think of is the past. It's definitely an attitude I would expect from Steve in this era -- he is very much a Man Out Of Time here -- but it's also not how I expected the book to introduce him. You wouldn't even know he was Captain America by the end of the opening chapter, which then ends with a digression about the history of NYC subway tunnels. It's like it wants to appeal to someone who has watched a bunch of Man from UNCLE and just wants to read a cool thriller. Which is not at all what I was expecting.

By the beginning of the second chapter, of course, we discover that Steve is Captain America, as he changes into his uniform. The narration refers to him as Rogers when it's in his POV, if anyone is curious. He apparently keeps the cowl off in the mansion, because the cowl annoys him.

It was not so much that he needed to conceal his identity these days, because for all intents and purposes he had no other identity. Steve Rogers was officially dead, and had been for almost twenty years. Captain America *was* his identity. It was only when he donned the tight-fitting blue uniform with its shield chest-emblem, the red snug-fitting leather boots, and the heavy, yet pressure-sensitive red-leather gauntlets, that he began to feel real -- a complete human being.

Steve? Buddy, are you okay there? You're really not okay, are you, huh?

You see what I mean? They're really hitting the early-canon angst. Hard.

(Also it sounds like his uniform is a few sizes too small.)

We then get an expanded version of the backstory from the beginning excerpt. In this version of canon, Steve actually has an older brother, Alan, who is handsome and athletic and basically amazing, and when they are orphaned they are raised by their aunt and uncle. Steve gets TB twice as a kid, nearly dies from it, and when the stock market crashes, ends up separated from his brother and in an orphanage after his uncle loses everything.

(Honestly if I were writing this book, his brother would be the secret villain. Chekhov's Gun!)

Steve has glasses, gets bullied, is a nerd and an honor student, and studies law at Columbia because he wants to help stop fraudulent business practices and also fight organized crime. Legally, I mean. In a manner relating to law. I guess he's sort of like Daredevil. The lawyer part of Daredevil.

And then he joins Rebirth, and this is the part where I had to put the book down for several minutes, because Erskine's secret chemical, the key to making super-soldiers... is LSD.

Oh my God. You should see my face right now. My expression is, I am sure, indescribable. I'm trying not to wake the dog up laughing.

I just. Holy shit. This book is from 1968 in a way I definitely was not expecting. What the fuck, Marvel?

This project was headed by the brilliant biochemist, Dr. Erskine. His work with the endocrine system, and chemical body control, was well beyond that of his contemporaries. Only he, of all his colleagues, had fathomed the secrets of the Swiss Dr. Hoffman's 1938 discovery -- the mind-controlling LSD-25.

Let's just pause here for a few minutes and contemplate this.

I will point out that Albert Hofmann (yes, the book spelled his name wrong) didn't actually discover that LSD was a hallucinogen until 1943 when he accidentally tried it, but I am positive that 1968 here was a time when Some People were convinced LSD was a wonder drug. I'm still laughing. As far as I can tell, legal manufacturing of it stopped in 1965 so I am pretty sure that the author did not just decide to name a drug that had an ostensible legal therapeutic use, because it wouldn't have still had one by '68.

Anyway, in this version of events, Rebirth is a month-long process that involves a lot of vitamins, physical conditioning and training, and, yes, putting metal in his bones like he's the next Wolverine. They're filling his bones with stainless steel rods to make him stronger. That doesn't seem like a great idea to me, but I am also not sure about dropping acid to gain superpowers. Clearly I am not a genius scientist. Also Erskine knows what DNA is, apparently, because he's just that great. Anyway. Other than the metal, those all seem like relatively normal interventions. So far.

Now Steve has become fairly big and strong (and I guess he still has metal in his bones? this concerns me!) but they need to make him superhuman, so, yes, really, it's time to drop acid. Several pages of this book are devoted to describing Steve's acid trip. His acid trip is amazing and he discovers that he has conscious control of his entire body down to the cellular level. He can control the adrenaline in his bloodstream! He can tighten his muscle fibers! And when he's done tripping he still remembers how to do this, if not exactly on a conscious level, but he can still access the abilities. And that is how you make a super-soldier. It's LSD. Remember, kids, drugs are awesome! Do drugs!

Let's maybe take a few more minutes to think about this.

I just. I have no words. How did anyone at Marvel agree to print this?

I think for the most part superhero origin stories tend not to involve real drugs because people are generally aware that drugs they've heard of won't make you into a superhero. I guess this is what it looks like when you invoke the names of real drugs. They probably wanted something that sounded more realistic but somehow I don't think this was the best way to go. (Radiation, of course, will definitely make you into a superhero but I feel like most people have accepted that as one of the conventions of the genre.)

Anyway, after that Erskine gets killed by Nazis, of course, and Steve goes to war, and for some reason this book contains footnotes by Stan Lee himself listing the comics you can read all of this in. Just like the actual comics do!

We are introduced to Bucky, who for some reason is also from the LES in this version, although not anyone Steve knew before the war, and there is of course a description of Bucky's tragic death and Steve's subsequent icing.

They are really, really stressing the Man Out Of Time thing here:

No other man could have survived so fantastic a voyage through time. And no other man could feel so displaced by time.

He was a man twenty years in his own future. By rights, he should be nearly fifty years old -- nearly twice the age of his fellow Avengers. Yet his mind and his body were not yet thirty.

When the Avengers had brought him back to New York with them and insisted that, as an honored hero of the past, he join them, he felt a sort of melancholy homesickness for his own time and world.

We then get a few paragraphs with the usual being sad that he let Bucky down and got him killed, and also that he misses his family, and that Steve Rogers doesn't exist anymore, and that nobody is alive who remembers him, and that war is hell.

Hey, Steve, maybe the drugs you should do are antidepressants. Just a thought.

Also, this book is 118 pages and we're not out of the origin story flashback until page 34. I think there are some pacing issues here.

Actually, I lied, the flashback keeps going, but now we're up to the Avengers finding him, and I have to say that the list of things Steve finds strange about the future is kind of charming when the future is 1968. Men have long hair! Women have shorter skirts! Everyone is kind of blasé about rocket launches because there have been so many space missions now. (Oh, come on, you haven't even landed on the moon yet, 1968! You're not that blasé.) Color TV! And, excitingly, LPs! You can now listen to 36 minutes of consecutive music. (I actually don't know what previous standard he's describing that is a ten-inch record that holds six minutes a side because I don't think 45s are that big. Yeah, no, I just checked and 45s are seven inches in diameter. Hmm. Oh, never mind. He means 78 rpm, doesn't he? In my defense, the record player my family had when I was a kid didn't play those.)

The description of Steve coming into New York for the first time is definitely written by someone who knows New York, which is fun. There is generally a lot of local flavor to the setting of this book. That’s one of the best parts.

There is a brief summary of Steve's feelings about all the Avengers -- he is most impressed by Thor, which, I mean, fair, he's an actual god -- and Hank telling him all about how he can live in Tony's mansion. With Jarvis. Who Hank says is actually from Flatbush. Apparently Steve spent a lot of time at the NYPL branch at 5th and 42nd trying to catch up on history. And then of course the Avengers ditched him and gave him the Kooky Quartet, and for some reason they're not here right now either so it's just Steve being sad and alone and dealing with this mysterious dead guy. I think probably the book is also done explaining fiat currency now. This is definitely the weirdest Marvel novel I've read.

Anyway, we have now returned to what is ostensibly the actual plot. Steve shows up at the New York Federal Reserve Bank (I guess the theft is happening here and not, like, at Fort Knox) with the gold bullion that the dead guy from the beginning of the book had on him -- I think I got distracted by the LSD bit and forgot to mention that part, but the dead guy was carrying some US government gold -- because the actual plot is that villains are trying to tunnel into the bank vault and steal gold. Steve discovers this after he gets the bank manager to give him a tour. The bank manager tries to refuse, citing security concerns -- Captain America could be anyone under that mask, after all! Steve just smiles and says, "If I removed my mask, would you have any better idea of who I am?" and I guess that's a flawless argument because he gets his tour.

(I'm sorry, all I can think of is that one gif from the JLA cartoon where Lex Luthor bodyswaps with the Flash, announces that now that he's in the Flash's body he's going to discover the Flash's secret identity, then pulls off his own mask, stares at himself in the mirror, and says, "I have no idea who this is.")

Given that the theme of Steve's interior life in this novel is "Steve Rogers died twenty years ago" it seems even more sad that Steve is just walking around basically saying, yeah, well, I'm nobody. And apparently that is being reaffirmed for him by the narrative.

So Steve goes down the tunnels, takes out some of the bad guys, and gets himself knocked out and buried in a collapsing tunnel. Don't worry, he's gonna be fine.

A lot of this book, by the way, is from the POV of random people, like this bank guard who went with Steve into the tunnels:

He had wondered, briefly, if a man like Captain America ever knew the pinch of too many bills, had ever felt desperate over the arrival of yet another mouth to feed. But, of course, Captain America had no family, and would hardly concern himself with such matters. It didn't occur to Thompson to wonder if this in itself might not be something for which to pity Captain America.

Rude. I mean, come on, do we really need random characters telling us Steve is a sad sack whom nobody loves? Steve's already got that covered!  (Also, how does this guy know Captain America has no family?)

Anyway, thanks to the power of LSD, Steve is going into a trance, amping up his metabolism (he loses "several pounds" in a few minutes), and making himself super-strong so he can dig himself out. Hooray. This is definitely how human bodies work. Also LSD. This is definitely how LSD works. Yes.

Steve then finds out that a couple of the guards who were with him in the tunnels died down there and he goes home and eats dinner while stewing in miserable guilt because he was responsible for their deaths. He's really not okay. I'm not sure the book actually understands how not okay they have made him. Then someone from SHIELD is on the phone for him and he is briefly cheered up by the thought that it might be Sharon although I think we should also note that the narrative makes it clear that at this point in canon Steve still doesn't know her name. Remember when that was a thing?

Alas, it is not Sharon; it's just a random SHIELD agent who happens to have information about the plot and asks to meet. Then, as Steve leaves to go to the meeting, we get two pages of exhaustive description about the mansion layout and how it's built relative to the surrounding buildings. It feels like this book was written by a frustrated city planner. But anyway, the meeting is a setup and the villains capture Steve.

They knock Steve out, drug him, take him to their hideout, and tie him to a chair. Except, once again thanks to the power of LSD, the tranquilizer they're using wears off way sooner than they expected and so Steve feigns unconsciousness and listens to them discuss their evil plans.

And then the villains unmask him and I swear it's exactly like that JLA gif:

Rogers heard footsteps scuffing across a thick carpet, and then Sparrow's voice again, almost directly over him. His ears still buzzed, but he fought to catch the elusive familiarity of the man's tone. He wished he dared open his eyes.

"This is a moment which I, personally, have long awaited," Sparrow said, his voice rising in triumph. "*The unmasking of Captain America!*"

Then, his nails scraping along Rogers' face, Sparrow dug his fingers under his cowl, and ripped it back. Rogers felt air strike his exposed cheeks and forehead. Then fingers clutched his blond hair and pulled his head back. "Behold!" Sparrow said.

Raven was first to speak. "Well, I dunno about you, Sparrow, but it rings no bells with me. I never seen him before."

Starling agreed. "His face means nothing to me."

"He could be anybody," said Robin. "What good does this do?"

Sparrow let Rogers' head fall back to his chest, and his voice when he spoke was defeated. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess. I always wondered. I felt, if these guys -- these costumed heroes -- wore masks, it must mean something."

"Captain America was missing for twenty years," Starling said. "That could mean the first one died, and this one took his place. He looks awfully young."

"Perhaps. It doesn't really matter. Let's get going."

(Yes, the villains all have bird-themed codenames. I have no idea why.)

This scene just makes my day. I love dramatic unmaskings. I bet they'd have been a lot happier unmasking Iron Man.

The villains then leave Steve and go to a power plant, where we switch POVs to one of the plant employees and get two entirely unnecessary paragraphs about his racist and anti-Semitic thoughts about his coworkers before the villains murder him. Great. Thanks.

Anyway, the villains cause a blackout, while meanwhile they've left Steve alone with the girl villain, and Steve is busy trying to persuade her that crime doesn't pay. He's moved from the "do you know what they'll do to you in prison?" theme onto "how exactly are you going to spend a billion dollars in gold bullion when it's illegal for civilians to possess? who are you going to do business with?" and then points out that gold is heavy and hard to transport, which is when she gets out a a knife.

The bad guys are off to steal the gold, and Steve has now successfully turned the girl they left him with, because she frees him. Of course, the first thing he does is put the cowl back on.

"Why do you wear that?" she asked.

"The mask?" He smiled. "It gives people something external to concentrate upon."

"But..."

"Without it, I'm just another ordinary-looking man. With it, I become a symbol. For some people it creates awe; for others, fear. Look at me. I'm different now, aren't I? With the mask on."

"Yes," she nodded. "You look -- bigger, somehow. Stronger. Fierce, implacable. You look a little scary."

"Exactly. You no longer see me as a person, but as a thing -- an Avenger. It can be a potent psychological weapon."

"They were so disappointed, when they took your mask off. As though underneath they'd find a famous person."

"Maybe that goes on TV -- handsome playboys, and all that. But I've been anonymous all my life. Even my real name would be meaningless to you, to them. No, the mask is part of the uniform, a psychological device. That's the whole story.

Now: let's get out of here. You have a good deal more to tell me yet, and we can't waste more time."

Bwahaha. In a few years, Steve's going to be pretty surprised about who superheroes are, I think.

STEVE, now: Superheroes definitely aren't secretly handsome playboys! That would be silly! STEVE, after Molecule Man: fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK I'm such an idiot

I'm definitely looking forward to that.

Also, not that the issue of Steve's psyche actually recurs after this, but he's once again having the narrative vindicate his belief that Steve Rogers is dead and whoever he is under the cowl doesn't matter. Steve, I don't think this is very healthy.

Steve then tracks down the villains stealing the gold, has some geopolitical thoughts about where the gold could be going (he thinks either South Africa or Russia for the best laundering potential) and then hides himself in the villains' trunk while they drive to Staten Island, which is where they're taking the gold out of the country from.

During the final confrontation, Steve finally gets to see the villains, and he discovers that the one in charge is in fact the director of the Federal Reserve Bank who Steve met at the beginning of this book. Gasp. But that's not all! He's also... the Red Skull!

Honestly, I was kind of surprised; I didn't think this was the kind of book where we'd get any known comic villains, but I guess it's always gotta be the Red Skull. I think he's the only one of Steve's big villains who likes to disguise himself; Zemo has obvious disguise issues and I imagine it's also hard to cover up Zola's Teletubby-esque television body.

Steve shoots one of the villains, because I guess that's what he does in this era of canon.

So the plot wraps up in, like, two pages, because for some reason all these early Marvel novels wrap up very fast. Red Skull, of course, attempts to escape and then disappears and his body is never found. The end.

Well.

That was definitely a book. That I read. Believe it or not, I actually think it was the best of these early Marvel prose novels that I've read so far, even if it was also the absolute weirdest; I thought the thriller-style plot was entertaining, I liked Steve and his Extremely Sad characterization, I obviously enjoy all the identity themes, I liked how very detailed the New York setting was, and I do like how they tried to treat it all seriously. I mean, sure, this did lead to LSD in the super-soldier serum in presumably the name of realism, but I felt like the book was trying to present superheroes in a way that didn't feel silly and also didn't really take for granted that the reader would automatically accept superheroes.

It felt like a book that was written hoping that people who weren't superhero fans would read it, if that makes any sense. And I thought that was interesting, because most modern superhero work that I can think of assumes they've got complete audience buy-in and everyone is willing to suspend their disbelief and we all know the genre conventions and are expecting people running around in brightly-colored spandex. Whereas this is more like a James Bond novel if for some reason James Bond were called upon to defend his decision to wear brightly-colored spandex instead of bespoke suits. But I assume no one read it, because Bantam never published a Marvel book after this one.

If you can actually find a copy of this one for a price you're willing to pay. I recommend it. It was delightful and way more solid than I thought it was going to be.

Also, come on, you know you want to read about Captain America's acid trip.

[amythedvdhoarder]

Stockholm Syndrome - Two

Pairings: Dark Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 2K

Summary: You would make the perfect wife for Bucky and Steve. A perfect mother to their children. They have dreamt of this, of you, for so long now. You just have no idea that they exist or how badly they want you for themselves.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Stalking, NonCon, Swearing, Smut,  NSFW. 18+ only

A/N: Sorry it has taken forever to get the update out for this. Not my usual fluff and is a little bit of a slow burn but the next chapter we’re going to ramp it up a notch. Feedback always welcome, interested to hear what people think to this x

Masterlist

Part 1

xxx

When you arrived at work the next day you reached the conclusion that your weird day was turning into a weird week. Last night sleep hadn’t come easily, you felt like you had tossed and turned and finally when you did drift off, it felt like your alarm went off 5 minutes later. You weren’t sure if it was your tiredness that was fuelling your paranoia, but yet again as you exited your apartment and walked to work you had that familiar feeling of being watched.

After quickly inhaling a couple of cups of coffee you started sifting through your emails already looking forward to going home and the impending weekend. The list of tasks you had to complete was growing by the second and you could tell the day was going to be a struggle. You didn’t think your morning could get any worse until you saw your boss striding towards your desk.

“Y/N, do you know where Joel is?” She sounded irritated, as if having to talk to you was too much effort.

Odds were he was still in bed with whomever he had met after he ditched you. “No sorry, is there something wrong?”

She raised her eyebrow at you but didn’t argue. “He hasn’t shown up nor has he phoned in sick. I know the two of you went out last night so thought you would know, but I guess not.” You just shrugged and smiled politely before she turned and walked away.

At the end of the day there was still no word from Joel which wasn’t like him at all. You were starting to get worried, maybe something had happened to him. He wasn’t that drunk when he headed to the bathroom to be at home sleeping off a hangover and if he was sick then he would have called. So, you made the decision to call in on him on the way home. After all, you had been planning on sleeping with him last night, it seemed like the least you could do.

xxx

It took a couple of minutes for Joel to come to his door. When he opened the door, you gasped. He was barely recognisable; his nose had clearly been smashed, one of his eyes was nearly closed from all the swelling and bruising and the way he was holding himself also made you think he had at least a couple of broken ribs. He didn’t look happy to see you, in fact he looked scared.

“Shit, Joel what happened?” you stammered.

“Um nothing, I fell. You shouldn’t be here Y/N.”

You went to move closer to him but he started to close the door on you, leaving it open only just a fraction. “Joel come on, you clearly didn’t fall.”

“I’m fine. You should go Y/N. Thanks for checking on me,” he mumbled as he closed the door on you.

Too stunned to response you just stood there staring that the door. Your brows furrowed together as you tried to fathom what had actually happened to Joel and why he lied about it. You had come to check on him and the least he could do was tell you the truth.

“Hey asshole, open up,” you thumped your fist into his door.

You could hear him on the other side of the door. “Y/N please just go, I’m begging you.”

“No Joel. Tell me what fuck happened and then I’ll go,” you tried to sound assertive but you were getting worried now. What was he trying to hide?

“I fell, okay? Nothing else. Now go away Y/N.” You heard him groan as he shuffled away from the door.

Deciding that hanging around any longer was pointless you left. He clearly wasn’t going to tell you the real story. What you couldn’t understand was why he couldn’t get rid of you quick enough. You had always been friendly, in fact it had only been last night that you were dancing up against one another. The sudden 360 didn’t make any sense. All you knew was that he hadn’t fallen, someone had done this to him last night after you had agreed to go home with him. But why? What had made Joel the target?

All these questions were still running through your head as you entered your apartment. You went to switch on the light but nothing happened. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and tried the switch again. Nothing. Fucking brilliant. You walked across to the kitchen and opened the fridge to check it was working, which of course it wasn’t. You pulled out your phone and called your landlord.

“Hey it’s Y/N. My electrics are out. Is the building out?” The landlord informed you that it was only a problem with your flat and she would send someone over as quickly as she could.  All you could do was wait. But it wasn’t a long wait, you had only just flopped onto your sofa and kicked off your shoes when there was a loud knock on your door.

When you opened the door, you were met with an impossibly tall man in dark blue overalls which clung to his muscular frame, the top buttons undone showing a hint of a tight white t-shirt below. The man didn’t speak straight away put just pulled of his cap and smoothed back his dirty blonde hair and flashed you a smile. He looked vaguely familiar but you just couldn’t quite place him.

“I’m here to look at your electrics Ma’am?” His prompted, his blue eyes flickered with amusement as he caught you staring at him.

“Um yeah of course, come in,” you mumbled in your embarrassment as you stepped aside to let him in.

“Is the fuse box in the kitchen?” he paused right in front of you and you suddenly lost your ability to speak, your bodies so close you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Wh- what?” you breathed quietly.

He chuckled down at you. “The fuse box doll, is it in the kitchen?”  all you could do was nod at him.

As soon as he stepped away and into the hallway and towards the kitchen, you felt more in control. You closed the front door and followed him down the hall to the kitchen. He looked at you for direction and you gestured to the cupboard in front of him. Determined to keep your distance you sat on the sofa again and left the man to it.

“Y/N, I’m afraid this is going to take a while. I’m going to have to rewire part of your fuse box,” he was stood leaning over your kitchen counter.

“Ok,” you said slowly, a cold realisation hitting you as you got to your feet. “How do you know my name?”

The man scratched at his beard but didn’t look perturbed by your question. “Your landlord told me when she called. Sorry didn’t mean to worry you.”

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, sighing at your stupidity. “Sorry I didn’t mean to accuse you of being a stalker or something.”

The man’s eyes flashed with something quickly but then he just laughed. “No need to apologise. I’m Grant by the way.”

“I would offer to make you a cup of tea whilst you work Grant, but unfortunately my kettle isn’t working,” you laughed nervously.

Grant stood up and bent down to get something out of his bag. A heavy metal flask clunked onto the counter. “I always come prepared doll. Do you want a cup?” he grinned at you.

“Oh no, I couldn’t, it’s yours.” You had to admit you there was nothing you wanted more than to curl up on the sofa with a cuppa but you couldn’t take advantage of Grants kindness. After all he was the one working right now.

“No offence, you look like you could do with one. Why don’t you get us a couple of cups?” he didn’t leave much room for argument as he started unscrewing the lid and looked at you expectantly.

You pulled the cups up out the cupboard and handed them to Grant who poured out the steaming liquid.

“Thanks,” you said, wrapping your fingers around the cup and bringing it up to your face so you could blow on it lightly.

“No problem Y/N. Should take me about an hour to sort this out,” he lifted his own cup to his lips quickly before placing it back on the counter and getting back to work. You walked back over to the sofa and sipped at your tea and flicked through the magazine that was on your coffee table.

By the time you finished the cup you were beginning to feel sleepy, the last couple of days clearly getting the better of you. Dragging yourself up the sofa you swayed a little on your feet, you mind fogging over.

“Grant, I’m going to go and lie down. Just shout if you need anything,” you fought to get the words out and took a few shuffling steps forwards.

“Doll?” you could hear a faint concerned voice in the distance. You battled to stay awake now and make it to your bedroom but it was a battle you were losing rapidly. As the blackness descended your body began to fall. A strong pair of arms wrapped around you and caught you before you thudded to the floor.

Grant settled you on the sofa and looked down at you. “Y/N? Doll?” He gently shook your shoulders. There was no response. He pulled out the phone from his pocket and dialled quickly.

“She’s out, you better get up here quick, we don’t have a lot of time. Need to get on the road within the hour if we want to make it to house before she wakes up.” He paused to let Bucky respond. “I’ll start packing up some of her stuff. This is it Buck, she’s finally ours.”

xxx

Bucky at your building within 5 minutes, he had been sat in the van parked around the corner. Of course, Steve had planned it all out to perfection. Whilst he had followed you on your way to work, Steve had tampered with the electric in your apartment to ensure they had access to you. Even your minor detour to visit that punk from last night worked in their favour. Thankfully Joel had learnt his lesson, Bucky thought as he picked at the small cuts on his knuckles. 

When he entered he spotted that Steve had already packed several bags of your stuff. You were laid out on the couch, looking so peaceful and perfect. Bucky and Steve had been watching you for a while now and they just knew you had been the one they had been looking for. You were going to make the best mother to their children. All the missions they had been on had taken their toll, they craved a normal life. They were going to have one with you. Sure, it wasn’t conventional but they were going to look after you, love you and keep you safe. In time you would learn to love and care for them in return.

“Hey Buck, you gonna give me a hand? You’ll have plenty of time to admire our beautiful girl soon,” Steve teased.

“Shut up Punk,” he shot back.

“Jerk,” Steve punched him in the arm.

“We good to go, you got all the cameras and wiped up?” Bucky asked as he checked out the window down to the street below.

Steve rolled his eyes at his best friend, “Seriously you have to ask?”

Bucky just shrugged and went to pick up the bags before heading to the door. He turned and watched as Steve scooped you into his arms.

“You ready Steve?” Steve looked down at you in his arms and smiled.

“Let’s go and start our lives.”

Taglist is open so let me know if you want in or out

Taglist: @stargazingfangirl18 ,  @silentcoyotesong, @queenofstarliqht​, @buckys-henley​, @lonelyheartsm​ @alexa-lightwood-blog​, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​, @fandomfic-galore​, @holypicklelightnickel​, @dragon-of-dreams, @drabblewithfrannybarnes

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Better Late Than Never

Characters: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff

Word Count: 2.4k 

Warnings: angst, fluff at the end, reunion

Request by anon: Hi there!! Just curious, would you ever make a one shot to the avengers reunion for your story pick a side?

Summary: After years apart from your dad, you come face to face with him. Will he hate you for leaving? Will he resent you even more? Or will he accept you back into his life?

sam’s wings for @star-spangled-bingo

tears of joy for @foundfamilybingo

Part One

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in! This is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

You’re good at your job, but you’re not that good. You take after your father--working on things building big projects, and always innovating new ideas. You’re not as good as he is, but you try to do your best. Sam managed to break his wings, so you tried fixing it on your own. He gave you enough time to come up with a plan and execute it, but as soon as that time was up, he needed to move on to someone slightly better than you.

After all, you have the Captain America serum in your body, so you’re more useful out in the field than behind a welding mask. Sam needed an expert to fix his wings, and you were slightly offended that it wasn’t going to be you. All he said is that he found someone to do the job, but he never said who. Even Steve, Wanda, and Natasha were very quiet about it, but you kind of brushed it off.

“Give me another chance, okay? I think I can fix it,” you beg Sam as you follow him around the Quinjet.

“Major, you’ve done enough,” he laughs.

“My name is Y/N,” you pout.

“You’re just below Cap. You’re Major.”

“Fine, but you need to give me another chance. I have a better understanding of it now!”

“No.”

You don’t take no for an answer and head over to his wings that are on the table in the middle of the jet. You whip off the blanket that is covering them only to have him drag it back on.

“Sam!”

“I said no. I found a guy.”

“Steve!”

“Y/N, I love you, but you’re a crappy welder and an even more crappy engineer.”

“Language,” you gasp teasingly, and he rolls his eyes slightly.

“We’re approaching our destination,” Natasha calls from the driver’s seat.

“Where are we going?” you ask and bounce to the window.

“Y/N, wait--”

Steve’s warning is cut off when you reach the window. The clouds clear to reveal the new Avengers facility that your dad had built in upstate New York. Your blood runs cold and you freeze in your spot at the thought of running into him. It’s been three years since you two last saw each other--after he made no moe to contact you. The last thing you heard from him was him accusing you of picking Steve’s side because you were “fucking” him.

He’s never made any effort to call you after you left with Steve.

“Y/N, we were going to tell you, but he’s the only one who can fix this,” Steve whispers.

You hear him, but your brain doesn’t register the words that are coming out of his mouth. All you can think about was the fight that happened at the airport in Germany. When you got in line with Steve and his team, your dad gave you the coldest look you’ve ever seen. He was so angry at you for not picking his side that he didn’t care why you did it or what you believed in. All he saw was betrayal, and all you saw was hatred and disappointment.

When the fight started, he tried his best not to fight you because even though he was mad, he didn’t know if he could hurt you. Then, the unthinkable happened. Steve and Bucky were racing to the jet to get to the place where the other winter soldiers were when you stood between them and your dad. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he couldn’t let them get away.

He ended up hurting you in more ways than just physical. Physically, you only had a bruised stomach and some cuts on your face. However, emotionally, there was a gaping hole left in your chest. Your dad saw the damage he did to you and he just left without another word or a glance in your direction. He just took off, and that was the last time you ever saw him.

The months rolled by, and you thought he was going to call you, but he never did. Those months turned to years, and you lost all hope of seeing your dad. It crossed your mind that you should be the one to go after him, but he hurt you a lot more than you hurt him. You couldn’t put yourself through that embarrassment and torture of seeing how you made him disappointed by coming back.

So, you never did.

Fighting with Steve made you happy--at least, that’s what you tell yourself. In reality, it provided you with a distraction long enough to keep thoughts of your dad out of your mind. Then, when the distraction subsided, Steve had already found another case to be on. It’s been a few years, and you’ve been everything related to misery. You miss him so much, but he clearly doesn’t miss you. So, seeing his new Avengers facility brought all those unwanted feelings back to the surface--the ones you tried so hard burying.

“You know, you could have told me,” you sigh and look away from the window.

“I didn’t know how.”

Steve thought about calling Tony plenty of times just to kick his ass into being with you, but he always thought twice about it. You were at a point in your life where you were almost at the peak of getting over it, so he couldn’t possibly let you bring all those feelings back into the light. You were just so sad and you cried almost every night for a long time because all you needed was your dad. He couldn’t give you the comfort you needed, and because there was a small possibility that Tony would reject you once again, he just couldn’t make that call. It breaks his heart to see you so sad.

When Sam’s wings broke, and no one in his group could fix them, he knew that it was time to go see Tony once again. There was no way you would be staying on your own, and he couldn’t think of a good enough reason to keep you away, so you joined them without a hint of where you were going. Ever since the big fight happened, they’ve all been looking at you like you’re going to explode at any given moment. They’ve been hovering to catch you despite you telling them that you’re okay.

But you’re not okay.

How can you just worry everyone like that when there is no fixing it? There is nothing they can do, so why bother them with it in the first place? Everything you’ve ever mashed down inside you started to inflate the minute the Quinjet landed. As soon as the doors opened, you became frozen where you stood. Natasha and Sam left the bird first with his wings in hand, leaving you, Steve, and Wanda left inside.

“I can take away your fear if you want me to,” Wanda whispers.

“No, it’s okay,” you whisper back. “Go on, I’ll be there in a minute.”

All you see is pity on her face, but she leaves your side nonetheless.

“Are you sure you can do this? You don’t have to go in there,” Steve supports.

“I do. He left, not me. I shouldn’t be scared to walk in there, he should be scared that I’m here. Does he know I’m coming?”

“No, I didn’t tell him. I was afraid he would say no to fixing Sam’s wings. Listen, he sounded pretty miserable on the phone. I think he’ll be happy to see you.”

“He was so mad at me,” you remember your last conversation that actually mattered, “like he couldn’t fathom the thought that I would pick your side over his. I just did what I thought was right—I still think that. He always taught me to stand up for what I believe in, and I did just that. I’m just scared he’ll hate me all over again. I don’t think I’ll survive that again.”

“Then stay in here. We’ll be in and out. I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” you sigh sadly.

You look down at the ground just as two tears left your eyes. Steve looks at you, and he just cups your chin with two fingers and lifts your head so you’re staring at him. He wipes the tears away with his thumbs as gently as he can.

“Don’t be. You’re not ready. That’s okay. I have to go inside now, but I promise we will be back before you know it.”

He leans down and kisses you tenderly, keeping it short. The feel of his lips on yours help keep you grounded, and you hold onto that comfort even when he pulls away from you. You keep your eyes closed for a few more minutes as if it would shield you from the fear. If you can’t see your dad’s place, then you’re not really there. However, just as soon as you open them, you miss the comfort from Steve immediately.

Why should you be the one who fears this place? It should be your dad that fears you coming here. He was the one who broke things off with you, so why do you feel like it’s your fault? You’re his daughter, and he is supposed to treat you as such. You’re not one of his friends that pissed him off--he doesn’t get to cut you out of his life like you mean nothing. You’re his fucking daughter; he is supposed to love you no matter what. It’s what a parent does for their children. Yeah, they are supposed to make you mad and get on your nerves, but you don’t get to cut them out of your life like that.

Why should you just stand here while everyone else gets to be inside? Maybe seeing your dad’s new place is giving you the courage you never had. It’s giving you a sense of what’s right and wrong in this situation. Fuck this, you’re not going to wait out here like some scared little girl afraid she is going to get grounded by her dad. You’re an adult, so he can’t punish you anymore--not like this.

You leave the Quinjet and head inside the place, impressed how it turned out. Your dad is an arrogant ass sometimes, but he sure doesn’t know how to build a beautiful building. Jarvis is no longer with your dad, so he had a new system put in place: Friday. The only thing different about her is that she has an Irish accent while Jarvis had a British one. Since your face is known on every server that your dad has, Friday doesn’t announce your presence. Jarvis did that with strangers, and you think that it’s the same thing with Friday.

This place is huge on the inside as much as it is on the outside, but you don’t have any trouble going where you need to go. The main room is close to the entrance of the place, so just as soon as you enter, you hear everyone’s voice come from the room. Despite being angry and pissed at your dad for treating you this way, there is something inside of you--no matter how small--that tells you he is going to hate you when he sees you.

You freeze right before you can turn the corner. The doors are open, so you can hear everything clearly, but you’re completely out of sight. Will he stare at you with disgust and disappointment? Will he yell? Throw you out? Tell you that he never wants to see you again?

“Thanks for doing this, Tony,” Steve says as Sam hands over his wings to the billionaire.

“First time you called in, what, years, and this is what you asked me?” Tony says and glances at Steve.

He noticed immediately that you weren't in the room.

“Is it safe to come home yet?”

“No.”

“Then, yes, it’s what I asked you to do.”

“Where is she?” your dad asks as he inspects the wings.

“Do you care?”

“Do I care? Of course I fucking care, Rogers. How can you ask that?” your dad hisses.

“You haven’t called in, what, years?” Steve throws that comment back in your dad’s face.

“Is she at least here?”

“I’m not going to answer that. What needs to be done is fixing these wings so we can be on our way.”

Tony looks at everyone’s faces and knows immediately what they are saying. You are here, probably on the Quinjet that just flew in, and there is a reason why you’re not coming in. He really fucked up big time. All Tony has ever done for the past few years is regret yelling at you in the first place. All he wants now is his daughter, and you can’t even come inside.

“I’m right here,” you say and reveal yourself.

Hearing your dad ask those questions pushed the doubt to the back of your mind and brought back the courage. Every single person turned to look at you, but you’re only looking at your dad. He seems frozen where he stands, unable to do anything but just look at you. You’re really here no thanks to him. He grips Sam’s wings tightly in his hands, wincing when one of the parts dig into his palm. Feeling that pain brings him back to reality.

He sets the wings on the table right in front of him before marching over to you. You honestly think he is going to yell at you or do something mean, but instead, he just brings you into a tight hug. Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, and you find yourself sinking into his body.

“I missed you so fucing much,” your dad says emotionally.

“I’m so sorry,” you cry into his neck.

He pulls away and makes sure you’re staring into his eyes when he speaks.

“No, you don’t get to be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have yelled at you or made you feel like what you did was wrong. I’m the one who fucked up. You’re my daughter, and I shouldn’t have ever let you go.”

He brings you back into a hug, and you squeeze him tightly to remind yourself that this is really happening. You look at Steve from over your dad’s shoulder, and he smiles proudly because this is the moment he has been waiting for. This is the moment that should have happened years ago. Well, better late than never is what everyone always says.

You and your dad have grown separately, but it’s time you grow together. You’ve lost precious years without him, and you’re not going to waste another over something stupid like last time.

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[kayteewritessteve]

Perfectly Perfect

Description: After a long few days at work, the love of your life helps you unwind. (A slightly Modern Office AU)

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 7,780 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: 18+ (is smut)

Warnings: Horrible smut. Be warned. No minors allow. Keep scrolling if you aren’t 18 years or older. Oh, and ‘unprotected’ sex, though reader has an IUD and mentions it. So you’ve now been warned.

Requested: Nah, this is my first ever attempt at smut. It’s long-winded and cringey as hell. Soooooo read it if you want, but be aware that it’s not very good at all. But I’m trying, and slowly learning, and the fact I finally managed to actually write any smut at all, even horrible smut, is huge for me. Baby steps.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

Final warning y’all. Turn back now. This isn’t good. It’s basically horribly written, long-winded, comfortable fluff with a slight hard fucking, if you reeeeally squint. So yeah. Ugh. I’m so damn awkward. Aaaanywho! Good luck! May the odd be ever in your favour, and all that jazz!

You released a deep, exhausted breath as your eyes dropped down to read the time on the bottom right hand corner of your monitor's screen. 7:02pm. Only 2 hours passed your ‘normal’ end time, though over the last few months, you’d been putting in a lot of overtime. Far more than was normal, and it seemed lately, like 7 was the new 5.

You sigh as you lean back in your chair, bringing your hands up to rub the heels of them into your eyes. No longer worried about your mascara, as it was probably long gone by now, what with how many times you’d rubbed your tired eyes today, already. You decided it was probably time to head home, your brain was done for the day, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything more tonight. At least not without lots of errors, and then having to just waste more time tomorrow redoing most of that very same work. Work smarter, not harder. That was the motto you lived by.

So with that last thought, you leaned forward and powered down your computer, clicking the soft button on the side of your monitor to put it to rest as well. Then you pulled open the bottom drawer of your desk, retrieving your purse from within and placing it on the top of your desk, as you slipped back into your heels. The ones you’d removed hours ago to give your poor feet a much needed reprieve.

Once they were firmly, and achingly, back in place, you stood up and removed your jacket from the back of your chair. Slipping it on and pulling your hair out from within it, before hitting the forward to voicemail button on your desk phone. If anyone were to phone after you left, it would go straight to voicemail now, saving them the moment or two of just useless ringing.

You then grabbed your purse and phone off your desk, and made your way towards the office door. Opening it once you reached it and flicking off the overhead lights, as you slipped into the hallway. Promptly closing the door behind you once you fully reached the hall. Your eyes instinctively glanced across the corridor, seeing that Steve’s door was slightly ajar, and his lights were still on, so clearly he’d been working late, just as you had been. But that was nothing new.

If you had to pick any words to describe yourself, hard-working would be near the top of that list, if not at the very top. You always took your job seriously, and did everything in your power to be efficient, reliable and focused. But yet, that man, he always seemed to one up you. You thought you were a crazy workaholic. Ha! Perish the thought! That man, he was the very definition of the words. You’d never met anyone more hardworking than yourself, until you walked through these office doors for the first time, and were introduced to the enigmatic Steven Grant Rogers.

Though he didn’t stay a mystery for long, after only a week, you had him pretty much entirely figured out. Or so you thought at the time, at least. Sweet, thoughtful, charming, hard-working to a fault, intensely intelligent with a quick wit and the deep voice of an angel, all things that had made your knees weak and your heart flutter just from being in the same room as him. But then having his full attention on you, and only you, made your whole body heat up, your mind turn to mush, and your palms clam up, instantly. Every time.

It took a few more weeks after that to level yourself out around him, to just acclimatize yourself to the sheer force of being in the presence of this perfect specimen of a man. And you hadn’t even mentioned his exterior yet, you’d only vaguely touched on what he was packing on the inside. His outside was, well shit, it was also sheer perfection in and of itself.

He was all hard lines of pure stone wrapped deliciously in tantalizingly unmarred golden skin. He was a beautiful tall, broad and rippling form to behold. What with his wide shoulders, trim waist, and thighs that could draw most people's eyes and keep them trapped for eternity. You being the owner of one of those mentioned set of eyes.

So yeah, he was utter perfection in a lovely and large package. It was wholly unfair, if anyone asked you, that a man could look, act and just be that flawless, that sublime. You instantly needed to find some fault in him, you begged the God’s above to have given him some sort of flaw, there was just no way anyone could be that unequaled. That utterly perfect. It was not fair to the rest of the human population. Not even a little bit.

No one could, or should, be that glorious. But over the last 5 years of working here, with him, you’d learned early on that he was perfection in the human form. And even when you did finally track down his faults, his ‘flaws’, they weren’t even that bad. They didn’t even nick the lovely shell around him, they couldn’t even scrape or mar his lovely exterior, in any way, shape or form.

The contradiction of that, if you’re honest. His flaws made him even more perfect to you, made him even more sublime than he’d originally appeared at first glance. Because they made him more relatable, more human, just all around more. And knowing he had a few little flaws did nothing to quell your thoughts towards the man. They stood to only heightened them actually.

You shake your head, banishing the warm belly and heart pace inducing thoughts, knowing you couldn’t walk into his office to say your daily goodbyes, with the dang heart eyes your latest thoughts had evoked in you. That man could read anyone like a dang book, and after 5 years of being his personal assistant, you couldn’t hide a single thing from his all-seeing eyes. He just knew you too well now, too fully and completely.

You venture across the hall, towards his slightly ajar door and knock lightly as you push it open. And the heart eyes nearly returned as you are graced with the image of his large form wrapped to perfection in his dark grey suit. The suit appearing as if it was a second skin, tailored to his whole form perfectly. And damn, you sure do use that word, in all its forms, a lot in regards to him. But he is ‘Perfect’, and there just isn’t any better word to use in his case. There is no other words better suited to him, then just pure perfection.

He sits behind his large dark wood desk, reading glasses rested effortlessly upon the straight bridge of his perfect nose. His brows furrowed just so, in perfectly focused thought, as he types rapidly upon his keyboards keys. Most likely finishing up a report, or replying to an urgent email, either or, it doesn’t really matter. Nor does it take away from, or effect, the beauty of the image before you.

The first time you ever saw him with his black framed reading glasses on, you damn near swooned yourself into a puddle on his office floor. Something about a handsome man of his caliber, wearing glasses as he focused his attention on a computer monitor or the papers clasped within his large, tanned and veiny hands, just did things to you. Made you a fluttery and warm mess of a thing.

Ugh, you really need to focus here. You came in here to say your goodbyes, not eye fuck your oblivious boss from the shadows of his doorway.

“Hey,” you softly say, not wanting to startle him as you take a small step further into the room. “I’m heading out now, did you need anything else before I leave for the day?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and he gives you that gloriously perfect half smile he’s become so famous for. It isn’t a broad or large smile, by any means, it’s subdued and just a quirk up of the corners of his perfect lips. Did you forget to mention his pump and pillowy lips in your rambling internal exposé on the man before you? Oh, well, that was your bad entirely, as his lips were the second best feature upon his perfect face.

They were only second to those stunning deep blue eyes, the ones that currently held you trapped, and showed more emotion and compassion within them than you ever thought possible. You’d always heard or read about being able to read one's true feelings through their eyes, but you’d never been able to relate to those sentiments before, at least not until you met the Adonis before you. He didn’t hide a thing, and you believed he had not one damn thing to hide, even if he’d wanted to. He left it all out in the open where his eyes were concerned, it made it all the more easier to get to know him. To figure out his true being and personality. To determine what he liked, disliked, and found amusing. His eyes told every tale, used more words then his lips could even fathom. Everything personal you knew of this man, you’d learned from the beautiful blue gateways to his soul.

“Uh,” he hummed thoughtfully as he glanced down at his watch momentarily, and you didn’t miss the slight widening of his perfect blues when he realized the time. His eyes flicked back up to trap you once more as he leaned back on his seat and gave you his full and undivided attention. Just as he always did with everyone. He always made his employees and coworkers feel like the center of his little world, for however long they were gifted the pleasure of being in his presence. “I didn’t even realize how late it was,” he said before he bestowed upon you a small taste of his gloriously deep chuckle. “I’ll be heading out shortly myself, so everything else can wait till tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you nodded, a small chuckle leaving your lips now, “try not to overwork yourself too much. You need to eat and get at least a few hours of sleep tonight, as you have an 8:30 am conference call tomorrow.”

His smile grew just a fraction, as he crossed his large arms over his broad chest. He always got a small kick out of you mothering him. “I know, and don’t worry, I’ll set an alarm for myself and leave the second it goes off.”

“Please ensure that you do,” you smiled sweetly to offset the slight commanding tone that you’d just used on your boss. “You can’t push yourself too hard, or you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow. And then you’ll be no use to any of us.”

He chuckled again, a little louder this time, and your mind tried desperately to lock the lovely sound away for your enjoyment for all of eternity. Then he unfolded his arms, picked his phone up off the desk and gave it a few moments attention, before you heard the distinct click of it being locked, and then he placed it back down on the desk and glanced up at you once again. “There, the alarm is all set.”

You valiantly fought the giant grin that wanted to show itself to the cheeky but perfect man before you, however you only managed to contain it to the form of a small uptick of the corners of your mouth. “Good. I swear you work too hard sometimes. You make the rest of us look bad.”

He mimicked your small smile, “I don’t think I could ever do that.” His words made your heart flutter, but only just a little, and you’d never admit it aloud. A soft ping sounded around the quiet room and his eyes drifted back to the monitor’s screen for a few seconds before looking back to you. “Okay, get outta here before we both start living in this office,” he said sweetly, with a slightly stern edge. You both knew far too well how easily you could lose track of time and space, and end up here till midnight, or even later, before either of you even realized it. “And thanks for staying so late again, Y/N.” His smile turned slightly knowing, “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than be here finishing off reports for me.”

You swatted away his concerned words as if they were a pesky fly in the air. “It’s fine. Really. All I have scheduled for tonight is making dinner for the man I love, and then I plan to happily sleep the night away.”

He nodded, a small smile upon his lips once again as he leaned forward and his eyes focused back on his monitor. “Sounds like a lovely night. He’s a lucky guy.”

“That he is,” you hummed in agreement, biting your lip to suppress your chuckle. With one nod of your head, you turned and stepped back towards the door to the hallway, “Goodnight, Boss.”

And just as you reached the door, his voice drifted into your eyes once more. “Goodnight, PA.”

Those were the two nicknames you both joking called each other. The nicknames you’d started using years ago, after he’d insisted on you calling him Steve early on in your job, but calling him by his first name just hadn’t seemed appropriate at the time. You couldn’t get over the unprofessional feel of using his first name as if you were his friend, or something of the like. He was your boss, but he hated being called ‘Mr. Rogers’. He said it made him feel like an older man in a sweater, talking to dolls on a train.

So, you’d jokingly called him Bossman one day years ago, and over time it shortened to just ‘Boss’. But he wasn’t really a fan of that either, so in return, just to joke back with you, he’d referred to you as ‘PA’, and that nickname had just sort of stuck as well. Though he only ever used it in reply to your use of ‘Boss’.

You giggled quietly to yourself as you exited the office, pulling the door back to it’s slightly ajar spot as you did.

You step through the front door into your quiet apartment, the one you share with the only man you’ve ever truly loved. The lights are all off, and there isn’t a sound anywhere within the still space. But you knew he wasn’t home yet, and you preferred it that way. It gave you a moment of quiet time to yourself, to get out of your tight work clothes and start in on dinner before he walked through the very same door you were closing softly with a click of the lock.

After removing your coat and hanging it on the hooks beside the door, you remove your heels to allow your achy feet a much needed break from their confines.

You wiggled your toes, and stretched your feet out before planting them upon the cold hardwood floors and making your way through the quiet apartment. Reveling in the few moments of peace it awarded your mind, before your love got home. As once he did, he’d fill the quiet space with his soft recounts of his day, the goings on in his little world, and his inquisitive questions about your own day.

Moving into the kitchen, you flick on the soft pendant lights above the island and place your purse atop it, before turning to set the stove to begin warming it to the proper temp. Then you move to the fridge and pull out the premade meal from within, the one you’d put together at the beginning of the week for this exact day. Pre-prepped meals at the beginning of every week, usually made on lazy Sunday afternoons, was the only way you’d ever be able to continue to eat properly, and not just succumb to quick junk food on the fly.

Your work hours, just as your boyfriends, were always a little crazy and long, and so spending hours prepping a meal every night was not an option for either of you. Instead, you both picked a few meal ideas on Sunday, and then together you’d get everything prepped and packaged and put away in the fridge, before spending the evening cuddled up on the couch and watching a movie with a glass or two of wine. Needing that relaxing few hours to prepare you both for the craziness of the work week ahead.

After placing the packages for tonight's dinner on the counter, you quickly send off a text to your boyfriend, to inform him of your safe arrival home. Then you made your way to the bedroom to change into something more comfortable and wash off any remaining makeup. Whatever was even still left after the countless rubs and presses of your hands throughout the day.

You pulled out a pair of comfy pj shorts and a fitted tank top from your dresser drawer, placing them on the made up bed before moving into the bathroom. You quickly took a makeup removing wipe to your skin, thoroughly cleansing the surface before lathering on your nightly moisturizer and heading back into the bedroom. You pulled the dress shirt up and out from the waist of your pencil skirt and started in on the buttons, going from top to bottom in an effortless and perfected way. One that could only come from years of doing this exact action, over and over and over again.

Once the shirt was open, you slipped it down your arms and placed it neatly atop the bed, before moving on to the zipper on the back of your dark grey fitted pencil skirt. But just as your nimble fingers grasped the dainty zipper, two large warm hands met yours and you jumped a little at the contact.

But then a soft and soothingly deep voice whispered into your ear, warm breath caressing the cooled skin of your neck as it washed over you. “Here, let me.”

You smiled as you glanced over your shoulder at the beautiful man behind you, the one you loved more than anything or anyone else. And the very one that despite his sheer size, always managed to sneak up on you. You hadn’t even heard the door unlock, nor it being opened and closed to allow him entry into the suite. Nor the sounds of him removing his jacket and shoes, or even hearing the telltale sounds of his keys and wallet meeting the bowl on the entryway table.

He was always a damn ninja, and you really shouldn’t have even jumped at the initial contact. You should be entirely used to him sneaking up on you by now, but yet, you weren’t, and you believed you never would be.

You nod your approval of his offer, as your eyes drink him in, in all his end of the busy work day glory. His deft fingers make short work of the task, and you realize that he is just as familiar and perfected in the action of undressing you, as you are. Maybe he is even a little better at it than you, having found yourself at the mercy of his lustful and enraptured hands many times. All the times he’d expertly and delicately—though sometimes, on special occasions, they were fumbly and forceful as they—removed every article of clothing keeping your full form hidden from his heated gaze.

Once the zipper met the end of it’s line, his fingers hooked into the waistband and slowly pushed the stretchy material down your hips where it then plummeted unchallenged to the floor below. Leaving you just in your matching black lace bustier and panties, only a few small areas of your body still hidden from his view. But as his large, warm hands found your hips and turned you to meet his intense eyes fully, you instantly realized those small areas wouldn’t be hidden for much longer. Not if the hungry twinkle in his eyes was anything to go off of at the moment.

His hands slipped behind you, his arms encompassing your waist as his gaze drifted down and back up, before he pulled you towards him, and gently crushed your small body into his much larger, more robust one. “New?” He asked in a deep and curious tone.

You smirked knowingly up at him, “they are. What do you think?”

He leaned back a little, just enough to check out the newly acquired delicate lace set once more. And as he did, your hands landed on his pecs, loving the warmth of him and using it to take the chill out of your fingers. Once his eyes had finished their thorough re-inspection, they flicked up to meet yours and you nearly shivered at the immense desire pooling within them now. “I think you should never wear anything else, ever again.”

You chuckled, your hands sliding up his chest to delve into his lusciously soft locks. “I don’t think my boss would approve of this as appropriate work attire around the office.”

He smirked down at you, nodding slowly, “mmm, you’re probably right about that. I’m sure he wouldn’t approve at all. Especially with all the people you have to meet with throughout the day.”

“Yes, and he’d probably even force me to remain hidden away in my office, the whole entire day,” you gasp playfully. “How will I live without being able to get a coffee from the break room?!”

He chuckles, “I’m sure he’d willingly bring you a coffee whenever you needed one, if it meant he could witness the masterpiece that is you in this damn set.” His finger hooked into the elastic waist of your panties and pulled it away from your skin slightly before he released it, causing a gentle snapping sound to play out in your ears. As if the noise was to affirm the words he just spoke.

“No, he isn’t like that. He’s a completely respectful and professional man,” you grin up at him. “I’m more willing to bet he’d offer me his suit jacket, just to ensure my modesty stayed at least slightly intact.”

“I dunno, that might make it worse,” he hums, as a small smirk plays on his lips now. “I’m picturing you in just this and a large suit jacket, and the image alone is killing me. He’d probably die on the spot.”

“Should we find out?” You playfully question as your hands slip from his hair and back down his chest, moving under the edges of your boyfriend's suit jacket and slowly slipping the material off his broad shoulders and down his arms. He assists you as you go, helping to fully remove the jacket and then you take it in one hand and step back, his hands reluctantly drifting from your skin as you go. Then you flip the jacket around you, and slide the sleeves onto your arms, before settling the jacket on your shoulders and gripping the lapels to adjust the placement.

Once it’s all set in place, your eyes flick back up to meet his from below your lashes and find they aren’t looking into yours anymore. His eyes are hungrily roving over your entire form, and that fact alone causes your belly to warm up and your heart to pick up its pace. The things just having this man's eyes on you, can do to you, is wholly unfair.

His eyes finally meet yours, and you notice instantly that they have darkened dramatically now. Looking more black than their usual perfect colour at the moment. “Yup, just as I thought,” he nods, and you don’t miss his thick swallow, his Adam's Apple bobbing from the sheer force of it. “This is much, much worse. He’d never be able to keep his hands off of you, and then we’d really have a problem.”

You glance down at the floor between you both, tucking a few errant strands of hair behind your ear coyly, as you whisper, “maybe I don’t want him to keep his hands off me.” Your eyes flick back up to his, giving him the best doe-eyed look you can muster, as your voice comes out a little louder, but yet, just as soft, just as sultry as before, “maybe I want him to touch me, everywhere. Anywhere.”

A soft groan echoes in your boyfriend's solid chest, so soft you almost didn’t catch it. And at that sound, he surges forward, his hands pushing the jacket from your shoulders before they find your hips again, as he effortlessly lifts you off your feet. Your legs quickly go around his waist, to rest on his narrow hips and your arms encircle his neck, just to help him hold you up. Though it’s not like he actually needs the help.

His lips crash into yours, and you couldn’t miss the neediness of the action, even if you tried. You meet his need head on, returning it in full force to show you are feeling the exact same way he is at the moment.

He takes a few stumbly and blind steps to the bed, and before you know it, you're being deposited upon the pillowy surface with a small gasp. He chuckles quietly at your reaction, and then his large hands grip your waist and pull you forcefully towards the edge, before he places a knee between your legs and leans over you just enough to slip one large hand behind your back. As the other presses into the bed beside your head. His deft fingers make short work of your bustiers clasps, thanks to you arching your back to help his hasty endeavour.

His hand slips around to the front of you, his fingers caressing your ribs as they go, before he grabs the front of the only thing covering your upper half, and pulls it away from your chest and down your arms, then discards it somewhere over his shoulder. It’s final resting place being the very last thing your mind cares about in this moment. As now his hands are moving down your sides, his fingers slipping into the waistband of your panties and helping them go the same way as the bustier; slipped from your form and flung carelessly over his shoulder to the floor behind.

Once you are fully bared to his intense gaze, he stands back up and gives your whole body another once over. His eyes only darken more as he goes, and you didn’t even think that was possible. He keeps his eyes slowly moving over you, as his fingers undo the belt around his waist, then the button and zipper of his suit trousers. And once that is accomplished he pulls the white shirt out, and you prop yourself up on your elbows for a better view of what’s about to come.

You only catch a small glimpse of the smirk on his lips, before your hungry eyes are all too focused on the slow movements of his masterful fingers. Oh the glorious things those thick digits can do. You know first hand how truly spectacular they really are, at both unraveling clothes, and you.

Just as he finishes off the last button, you can’t hold yourself back any more. Just watching him, as he undresses before you with his eyes locked on your naked body is driving you insane. He is just taking too damn long, he is thoroughly teasing you right now, and the smirk still on his lips tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You push up off the bed and move to the edge, grabbing the waist of his pants and yanking him forcefully towards you, mumbling, “get over here already,” as you do.

He chuckles and obliges to your hasty demand, but you only know that because if he didn’t want to move, there is nothing you could do or say to change that. He is like a damn brick wall when he wants to be. Your fingers take no time at all to slip into the waistband of his pants and boxers, grasping them both and pulling them down to free him from their confines. He barely manages to get his dress shirt off his upper half, before you’ve completely exposed his entire lower half.

Your eyes drink in his newly naked form, starting from his face, moving down his broad shoulders, his defined chest, his chiseled abs, the glorious V lines leading directly to his—you gasp quietly the second your eyes land on his perfect cock, all hard, upright and entirely ready for you. Yes, you’ve seen it hundreds of times before, but yet you always manage to forget just how large and intimidating it truly is. Even after many, many times of having it deep within your walls, you still have a slight moment of hesitation at the sight of it. Fear that maybe this time, it won’t actually fit.

But you know it will, you tell yourself it will at least, and that it will feel heavenly as it does. You swear, up and down, that he was made to fit you perfectly. In every single way.

You quickly stand, grabbing his hips and spinning him before you push him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Exactly where you just were, and once he is settled down, you drop down to your knees and rest your hands upon his. Your eyes finally, reluctantly, leave the impressive appendage between his thick thighs, as they flick them up to lock with his. You hold the direct contact as you slowly, so damn slowly, move your hands up his powerful thighs, to his hips, then inwards and slowly up his rock solid stomach, over the groves of his abs, to his defined pecs and then to around his neck.

You slip your fingers into his hair again and pull him down to you, molding your lips to his, perfectly. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you are all too willing to grant him access to any part of you that he so wishes. You part your lips and his tongue delves into your mouth, causing a soft moan to echo in your throat. And the sound only stands to spur him onwards.

His arms wrap around you, and you had planned to taste him, to get him entirely ready for you using just your mouth alone, but his patience seems to be gone now. He doesn’t want to wait any longer as he pulls you up to straddle his waist. One of his large hands grabs the back of your neck, to keep your lips glued to his, while the other splays out on your lower back, pressing your aching and needy core down onto the solid and hot product of his arousal. The very reason you’re core is even needy to begin with.

You grin into the kiss as you get a wicked idea, and begin to move yourself against him. Which causes him to inhale sharply, before groaning out at the delicious feel of you rubbing yourself thoroughly along his entire length.

“Fuck,” he breaths out, gripping your hair a little tighter, and helping your movements with strategic presses on your lower back. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to do this all day, today.”

“Oh?” You question innocently, as you pull back enough to look down at him. “Thought about this a few times today, did you?”

He gives you a pointed, but still completely heated look. One that reads of his need to have you, his need to claim you entirely for himself. His craving to make you his once again, just as he has many, many times before. The same craving needs you are all too aware are probably playing upon your features, as well. Mirroring his deep desires right back at him.

“You know I did,” he says in such a throaty tone, it sends a shiver down your spin, as he shakes his head. “You wore that damn pencil skirt today to tease me, didn’t you?”

You fight the smirk begging to form and shrug your shoulders instead, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But you do, you totally do. Because you totally did wear it to tease him.

He narrows his eyes knowingly at you, and before you can even comprehend what is going on, your entire world flips and you find yourself pinned to the bed. The larger than life form of your boyfriend hovering over you now.

“I’m sure you don’t,” he hums lowly as he grinds himself roughly against you, ripping a loud moan from deep within you; about as deep as you’re hoping he’ll be soon enough, if he would just hurry the hell up already.

“Steve,” you whine breathlessly.

And that is met with that damn smirk again, the ass. “Yes, my love?”

“Hurry it up already, I still have to put dinner,” your words abruptly end there when he grinds the length of him against you once more.

He chuckles, but then one large hand cradles the back of your head, gripping your hair tightly, as the fingers of the other dig deliciously into your hip. But only for a moment, before his fingertips slide delicately down your thigh, to grip the back of your knee, and pull your leg up to hook onto his hip. And then in one smooth, but hasty movement, he thrusts himself deep within you.

And you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the overwhelming feeling of being entirely too full and filled. A glorious shiver rips up your spin, as he stays perfectly still for a moment, giving you a chance to settle around him, around his sheer size. Your mind reminds you that your earlier fears were, once again, entirely wrong. Of course he’d fit within you perfectly, he always did. You were made to fit him, just as he was made to fill you.

“Fuck. You feel so fucking good,” he praises, his voice hoarse and thick with his desire.

Your arms wrap around him, as your hands grip tightly to his shoulder blades. And when you can’t take the lack of movement any longer, you begin to rock your hips against him in any effort to increase the pleasure you’re currently feeling. He gets the hint quickly, and pulls back, almost leaving you entirely, before he snaps his hips forward and buries himself deep within you once again.

You clench your eyes shut and moan at the delicious sensations starting to take over your entire body from his knowing and thoroughly practised and perfected movements, and before long he is picking up his pace. Driving into you at an alarming rate, but it’s exactly the way you like it. And with every tantalizing drag of his hard cock along your inner walls, every delicious push and pull of his long and girthy length, the coil deep within your lower half begins to tighten. His hand grips your thigh, searching for any purchase he can find, and alternating between forcefully firm squeezes and gentle caresses of his fingertips along your flushed and heated skin.

“Open your eyes, Doll. Look at me,” he commands.

And he doesn’t have to tell you twice, your eyes snap open and lock with his, as you scrap your nails down his back, before your hands settle on his perfectly round ass. Gripping the plump globes firmly on every inward thrust, helping to push him deeper within you with each one. You want more—no, you need more.

“Faster, baby,” you plead, smacking his ass just enough to create one sharp cracking sound to echo around the room, and to help spur him on further. He loves when you do that, almost as much as you do.

His lips crash into yours, now claiming every part of you that he can with his hand, his lips and his cock. Turns out the smack worked exactly as you’d hoped it would, as he picks up his pace even further. Slamming into you relentlessly now, and causing your muscles to begin to tighten up as you near your first peak, and the free fall to follow it.

He groans, as his lips leave yours and begin to travel down to your jaw, then to your neck, leaving a hot trail of marks in their wake. And you are so close now, so fucking close.

“Oh God, almost there,” you mutter breathlessly, the words barely above a whisper. Even in your hazy mind, you know there is no point in telling him that. He knows your body well enough by now to know how truly close you actually are.

With a few more powerful thrusts, you are sent tumbling over the edge as your entire body locks up and you let out a loud moan followed by just muttering his name, over and over and over again. As if he’s fucked you so good, so thoroughly, that it’s the only word you know now, the only one you will ever say again.

“Fuck,” he groans, as he continues to pound into you mercilessly throughout your release, shaking slightly as he battles to fight himself from joining you over the cliff’s edge. And you know as your walls flutter and squeeze around him, fully and entirely, that he has to put a solid effort into fighting the urge to finish with you. But his continued movements only stand to drag this all out for you even longer, only stands to make this all that much better just for you. And as you finally start to come down for the high of the feelings he just instilled within you, you instantly feel empty, and cold.

You almost whine until he presses one more deep kiss on your lips and then you feel him forcefully flip your dazed form onto your stomach. Gripping your hips and pulling them up into the air, as he positions himself behind you. He rubs himself against your folds a few times, teasing you just a little before he slides fully back in, in another quick thrust.

And before you know it, he’s picked up the pace once more. You thought he was relentless before, but oh boy, how wrong you were, that was nothing compared to his forceful movements now. Your hands grip the bedding as you bounce yourself back into him, matching him thrust for thrust.

“Oh shit, Steve,” you gasp. “Right there. Right fucking there.”

His fingers dig into your hips, as he leans forward over you, and kisses between your shoulder blades. The action not hindering his pace in any way, shape or form. “God,” he groans again. “The things you fucking do to me.”

“The feelings fucking mutual,” you quickly say between shaky breaths, and you meant every damn word. The things this man does to you, the feelings he evokes within you, it’s all too much and yet, not enough. You feel that delicious coil deep within you start to tighten up once more, and you can’t wait for it to snap all over again.

His thrusts start to get a little sloppier, as his fingers dig further into the skin of your hip, and you’re positive there will be marks there for at least the next few days. But you don’t care. You can’t bring yourself to give a single fuck at the moment. You just want to feel his release, to experience your second one of the night.

One of his hands leaves your hip, and slips between your legs, his experienced fingers locating your little bundle of nerves, and making quick work of finding the perfect pace that gets you every damn time. Then with a few more powerful and deep drags of his full length along your walls, partnered with the delightful circles on your clit, you are shoved off the cliff's edge once again.

A loud cry rips from your lips as you feel him release along with you, filling you up so damn perfectly, and sending a shutter through you at the feeling of his hot spurts deep within you. Thank God for your IUD, as this is one of your favourite feelings in the world and you can’t do the condom thing with him anymore. You just can’t. Nothing beats the feel of his bare skin within yours, or of his warm release filling you so fully and completely. Just as his cock always does.

He groans deeply in your ear before he slumps to his side, bringing you along with him as he stays buried deep inside your core. His arms wrapping around you and cuddling you up against the heated and tacky skin of his chest. You both take a moment to come back down, allowing your heart rate and breathing to slow.

After a few moments his hand moves the disheveled hair from your shoulder, and his plump lips meet the soft skin below your ear. “You aren’t allowed to wear that damn skirt to work ever again,” he whispers against your skin.

“Oh, and why not, Boss?” You ask innocently, knowing full well exactly why, but wanting to hear him say the words.

He nips your skin lightly at the use of that silly nickname, “because I can’t handle the way it fits you like a second skin. Every time you enter my office, all I want to do is rip the damn thing off you, and take you on my desk, but I know I can’t.”

“You can’t?” You inquire playfully, turning to glance over your shoulder at him. But you know full well that you both agreed to keep your relationship entirely out of the office. From an outside and unknowing eye, no one would be able to tell you both had been together for years. You agreed in the very beginning to keep your relationship to non-work hours only, and being the workaholics you both are, it’s worked perfectly for you ever since. Most of your coworkers don’t even know you are a couple, or that you live together, and let alone that you own this apartment together for the last year and a half.

“You know exactly why I can’t,” he says knowingly behind you. Then he slips out from within you, leaving you with that depressingly empty and cold feeling once again, but you ignore it as you shift to turn around and face him. Pressing a soft kiss against his lips once you do.

You hum, nodding, “that I do, but don’t expect me to never wear that skirt again.” You pull back and grin up at him cheekily, “It’s one of my favourites, and the way you look at me when I’m wearing it is just far too enjoyable to stop.”

He groans, playfully, shaking his head, “tease.”

“I may be a tease,” you agree, shrugging as nonchalantly as you can, but the growing grin on your lips gives away your cheeky next words, “but I always make up for it after hours.”

“You do have a point there,” he agrees and gives you a beautiful smile, before leaning in to kiss you once again.

But just as his lips meet yours, a loud buzzer goes off and you jerk away from him. “What the hell was that?”

He chuckles as he pecks your lips once more and reluctantly pulls himself out of the bed. “Dinner. I put it in when I first got home and set the timer.”

You chuckle at the knowledge that you’d missed a bunch more noises upon his arrival home. How the hell hadn’t you heard any of that? Damn, might be time to get your ears checked out soon. You glance up at him, “you’re utter perfection, you know that?”

“I know,” he smirks smugly, before he laughs at himself, shaking his head at his antics as he picks up his discarded boxers and heads towards the bathroom to clean himself up.

“And oh so very humble too,” you playfully reply with an eye roll, before you watch his glorious ass move into the small room, not missing the light red outline of four little fingers on his right cheek. You giggle softly to yourself before you release a deep contented sigh as you just continue to lay there, in perfect after sex bliss.

When he reemerges, only wearing low sitting boxers, you almost drool all over yourself. He walks over to the dresser, grabbing a fresh pair of panties for you, and then collects your discarded pjs off the floor near the end of the bed, before he heads to your side and places them down next to you. He leans over you, kissing you sweetly and then whispers, “though if either of us is utter perfection here, it’s definitely you.”

You giggle again, gently pushing him away by his shoulders, “flatterer.”

“I only speak the truth,” he hums and quickly pecks your lips once more, then he takes your hands and gently helps you out of bed. “I’ll go deal with dinner while you get cleaned up.”

“Sounds perfect,” you smile, stealing one more kiss before you collect your clothes and head for the bathroom, desperately needing an after sex pee. Because, ya know, nobody wants a UTI. You laugh to yourself softly at that last thought as you slip into the bathroom, your eyes glancing over your shoulder to catch one more glimpse of the perfect man you love. And your breath hitches at just the mere sight of him half naked, just like it has many, many times before. And probably will many, many more times in the future.

Because regardless of what he says or believes, he is the true perfection within this relationship. Even with his flaws, faults and blemishes, you wouldn’t change a damn thing about him.

Because he is just so Perfectly Perfect.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tagging my errythang list, not sure if all of you will be interested in this. So just ignore this is you aren’t down for horrible smut 🤣🤦🏻‍♀️

@caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tfandtws @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @strawberry-gothchild @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @steeeeverogers @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature @viarogers @pixieferry @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original @badassbeckettswan @heyiamthatbitch @zlixlle @capsicledoll @givemehopenfandoms @pretendingandpreposterous @frozen-phoenix17 @emotionallysalty @saturngirlz @atomicsludgedonutbiscuit @ivannagotthebeat @bohemian-barbie @marvelous-capsicle @steverogersxreader @cjhorseback @jasminecalia @secondstar2disney @jessiedaeum @betsynodak @capricornprince118 @just-ladyme @pinkleopardss @drayshadow @sister-of-stars @wiserebelpartypie @dark-night-sky-99​ @patzammit​ @cs-please @troublermalik @bratstopmom @anika-ann @wxstedhexrt​ @rynabarnesrogers @ab-baybay @scentedsongrebel @captainchrisstan @kelbabyblue @fckdeusername @murdermornings @dreamlesswonder86 @intricate-melody @fiannaofficial @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @nomadics-stuff @hufflepuffvs

[loquaciousquark]

Cut for talk of COVID and irresponsible failure to social distance (my own). Also, some updates on what’s been going on here for the last month or so.

part one:

Very very long story that I am truncating as much as possible. As you all know, I am an optometrist and professor. When we shut down in March, our university made a huge, painful shift to remote learning and our student clinic ceased operations altogether. Neither students nor faculty saw patients from March 15 - the the middle of May. At the end of May, faculty began seeing patients directly in an extremely reduced schedule, and at the beginning of June, we began adding in very limited numbers of students in a rolling schedule that minimized exposure to all involved.

Three weeks ago, my dear friend Jasper contacted me and said that an old friend of hers, whom I will call Carol, was in dire straits after losing her job overseas. Carol has an extremely rocky history: a terrible car accident that left her legs and feet permanently damaged which directly led to a very bad divorce, significant student loan debt (just shy of six digits I think, compounded from the accident, since she used her student loans to pay her medical bills--for anyone reading this, do not EVER EVER EVER DO THIS--student loans are never touched by bankruptcy declarations and you will owe them until you die), and something of an inability to put down roots. She is an English teacher who has taught and traveled all over the world: Prague, Bahrain, Czech Republic, Los Angeles, Rio, etc.

When I first met her about ten years ago, she had come back to Alabama from Prague because a job had fallen through. She was completely broke and living out of two suitcases and a carry-on. She lived with us for three months for free, sleeping in Jasper’s bed because we had no other room for her, and eventually got a job in Boston and moved on. She lasted--I think--about two months in Boston before quitting and taking a job in the Middle East.

On top of her student loan debt, Carol also has significant IRS debt and is in debt to several of her friends. Over the last few years, she took several ill-advised positions overseas back to back without ever consulting a lawyer on her contracts, and did not realize until recently that one of her positions classified her as an independent contractor instead of an employee, so she owed US taxes on all her income for that period of time. Her most recent job in Prague she lost in February because she filed her visa (again, without a lawyer) incorrectly, and what should have been a brief three-week stay outside of the country became a six week stay on the couch of strangers in the Czech Republic while she waited for her visa reapplication to process. However, it was denied, and then COVID hit, and she returned to Alabama with only a portion of her possessions and tons of important paperwork left behind in her Prague apartment. She then unfortunately had two emergency surgeries on her stomach for an acute, unpredictable medical issue, and while she is well healing now, it also added on another forty thousand dollars of medical debt to what she already owed.

She stayed with her mother and sister while she was recovering from the emergency surgeries, but her family is emotionally abusive and very unkind to her, and after a few weeks she left their home and went to stay with Jasper. However, Jasper is also 8 months pregnant with her fourth child, and they both knew it was a temporary thing. Jasper knows that I have a large home with several spare bedrooms, and asked if I would be willing to host Carol for a period of time while she got back on her feet. I knew what I was agreeing to when I said yes, and Carol and I settled on a period of two months. She has now been here almost three weeks.

Frankly, I do not like Carol very much. We are unbelievably different people in every way--personality, temperament, proclivity to crying in front of other people, hobbies, interests, religion, all of it. She is a very nice person, and I think she truly does mean well. But she is the most emotionally needy and energy-sapping person I have ever met, and I cannot tolerate her company in more than small chunks. It is not possible to hold a conversation with her about any subject tangentially related to her difficulties; if I try to sympathize with her loans by mentioning my own, she shuts me down by saying at least I will have the chance to ever pay them back. If I just try to listen without commentary, she’ll wrap herself up in her own stories and talk for hours without ever needing more than “mm”s and “hm”s and my undivided attention the entire time.

She will often work herself up into sobbing tears over her situation(s), and she always informs me immediately of any new development in any of her numerous trials: which are usually negative, considering the situation, and usually resulting in more tears. She has cried on me probably more than a dozen times since she moved in, and she wields “I love you” like a weapon, more to hear the validation of the response than to truly express the sentiment. She constantly asks for advice on her situation but does not listen to any of it--seems more to just want to relive each tragic detail of her life over and over again with an audience, wondering why she’s continually “screwed over in her life.” (Really, really poor financial decisions and constantly trusting her own “intuition” over getting competent legal advice before signing contracts, are I think the biggest contributors.) She has told me so many private details about her personal views, relationships with her ex-husband and mother and sister, her financial choices, and her extensive travel and job history over the last few years that I probably know her history better than my own at this point.

I think she thinks by sharing so much that she is justifying to me her need to stay with me. What is actually happening is that I am forced to help shoulder this enormous emotional load that compounds my own mental health problems I’ve been having since all this started. I have told her more than once that she does not need to justify herself to me and that my home is open to her for two months, no strings attached. I believe she is making all the steps she needs to and do not need reports on her daily activities to “pay” for her lodging or electricity or internet or whatever. This has changed the behavior a little for the better but not stopped it.

There are moments that are not bad. As I have mentioned, she does mean well and want well for most people. She likes Hamlet and loves Jasper, who is extremely important to me. But she is extremely difficult to be around in so many other ways, and the way she constantly exclaims over how we basically think alike on all things (absolutely untrue) makes me think she either will not or cannot read my reluctance to engage on any of these topics.

(An example: I was watching footage of the SpaceX launch and despite my feelings on Elon Musk, really excited about the implications for space travel. She came in, and after misunderstanding for some time that I was not watching Space Force with Steve Carell, decided that the SpaceX program was morally bankrupt, obviously borne of shady backroom government deals, and everyone involved should have used the money to solve world hunger instead. For the record, she had not heard of the shuttle launch, SpaceX, or Elon Musk at all before the seeing the footage.)

(She also until last week had not heard of Playstation, Xbox, streaming as a concept, or any game more modern than the original Mario. Trying to order a grocery delivery online was an excruciating torment for her [took her over four days to get through selecting the items, selecting allowable replacements, and actually paying] and I will not ask her to do it again. She frequently makes comments about video games being a waste of time, and when she sees children playing outside, comments on how glad she is they are not inside playing video games. She doesn’t seem to realize her comments are a direct commentary on me; I think she genuinely does not understand that those games are what I am playing most of my free time.)

Right now, everything seems to hinge on her passing some teacher recertification tests next week and the week after. She spent $150 to give herself less than a week to study from scratch for a test she described as the hardest she’d ever taken. There were several other dates later in the summer she could have chosen, and her deadline is December, but she picked the soonest option for reasons I can’t fathom. She is also in the process of trying to get a car--right now I’m driving her everywhere--and she was ready to hand over $3800 yesterday for a ten-year-old Hyundai with a check-engine light on without even thinking of getting any kind of inspection. She is far more concerned with the color and “energy” of the car than its function, and would not have even checked the headlights and blinkers if I hadn’t prompted it.

She will be here another five weeks or so. We move around each other now better than we did before, and I hope it will continue to improve. But it’s a lot like a rock grinding a groove in the streambed from the repetitive friction, and it’s not the struggle I wanted to be having right now.

part two:

As I mentioned above, Jasper is having her fourth child in a month or so. One of her friends, someone I don’t know, contacted me and said she wanted to do a drive-by “baby sprinkle,” where no one gets out of their cars. You drop off the gifts, talk to the recipient a few minutes from the car window, and move on. I told her that I work in health care and am exposed to patients, so that sounded good to me.

The shower was this morning. Carol and I got up and drove the thirty minutes to Jasper’s house. There were four other families in cars right around the corner, and the “hostess” gave us all balloons to tie on our side mirrors. She told us we would drive around the corner, drop off the gifts, and loop around. Jasper’s husband would arrange for her to be in the front yard at the right time.

Cute enough. We go around the corner with little honks and Jasper sees us and starts crying, and it’s all wonderful and emotional and a fabulous surprise and I’m genuinely excited about it. And then people start parking and getting out of their cars, and Carol and I start looking at each other. They’re full families, too--three of the other moms brought all their kids, and soon enough they’re playing with Jasper’s three boys in the front yard and coming up asking to pet Hamlet through the car window. No one was wearing masks.

And what’s worse, when they all started looking at us expectantly through the car window, we didn’t know what to do. They were handing Jasper her gifts and obviously settling in for a good long chat; the women were hugging, talking about how they are “so over this COVID stuff, please come visit soon,” and Hamlet of course recognizes his original owners in Jasper and her husband so he’s freaking out, and after a few moments, we decided to just get out of the car.

It was the first time I really felt the social pressure to participate in an event I wasn’t comfortable with. I have no issue maintaining my social distance and my mask and my handwashing at work because that is where I have the position of authority, and I have the responsibility to model it for the students and patients--but here, I was a guest at someone else’s house at someone else’s event, and I really, really felt how they might perceive me as rude. While I didn’t know the other women, my relationship with Jasper is extremely important to me, and I didn’t want to make this special event for her difficult in any way.

So we got out of the car and joined the group. I tried to keep my distance as much as possible, especially since I had Hamlet on the leash and there were a half-dozen small children around, but at least twice I looked up and there was someone right at my elbow, and we made small talk for five minutes or so before either she drifted back to the group or I moved Hamlet into the shade away from the rest.

Cars drove by and slowed down more than once to look at us. Jasper’s husband made a comment about rolling his eyes if he saw their family on Facebook that evening. The women planned play dates, all standing very close together, and Jasper opened her gifts (that part was excellent). All in all we were probably there about twenty minutes. 

I should mention that on the drive there, we passed a public park that has a very pretty waterfall right next to the road, and there were probably a dozen families out playing. There was a festival/outdoor market right outside the the park that had a sign up about social distancing, but the fifty or so people we saw shopping there were not adhering in any meaningful way. No one wore a mask.

And what annoys the bejeezus out of me is that I didn’t either. I didn’t even think about it until after we finally got back in the car to drive away. This is the first social event I’ve gone to since the first week of March, and while I wear masks for eight+ hours every day I go in to work, it didn’t occur to me even a single time to put on even my little cloth one that I keep in the car until we were driving away afterwards. I was so flummoxed by every little thing happening differently than I expected--people getting out of cars, how surprised I was by my own susceptibility to not rocking the boat, how normal everyone else made it to stand so close they could bump elbows so that Carol and I became almost excluded from the circle--that it never once crossed my mind. I know masks are more for the protection of those around you, not to keep you from catching what other people are carrying, but I could have set an example. I could have been the health professional I should have been in the moment.

I’m just so disappointed in myself. Disappointed in my own carelessness, irritated that I didn’t say anything, continually frustrated in a deep, gut-wrenching way by the whole situation that requires this in the first place. Bewildered that so many people are “back to normal” while this thing is still spreading, and in brutal honesty wishing I could be like them and just give up the fight myself. I’m not even mad at them. I WANT TO BE THEM. Why am I continually bothering to care and sanitize and mask and stay at home when no one else is? Literally no one would judge me in this state for it more than I’m already being judged (in most cases impersonally, though I felt the potential for it today in specific) for still watching the recommended guidelines.

I am really, really sick of this. I am so sick of feeling alone in this (of being alone in this, and Carol doesn’t count). Hearing other people saying “there there, you’re doing the right thing” honestly makes it even worse. I want people to stop patronizingly telling me to do things I already know are the right thing to do. I want other people as mad as I am that I can’t do the things I want to and need to do instead of being endlessly patient and noble about all the lives they’re saving by staying home. I’m top-of-my-head-blowing-off furious that so many people are shrugging and saying “well this is just the way it will be forever and alas, so it goes” and acting like those of us who did the right thing and cancelled our plans and our trips and our visits to dear friends but who are mad about having to do it are overreacting. I’m so fucking mad about it. I’ve stayed home for two months and I’ve isolated and I’ve quarantined and my hands are cracking from the constant sanitizer/washing at work and except for today I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do for this, and I don’t want to do it. And seeing people be so heroically virtuous and longsuffering on Facebook feels as alien and upsetting to me as the people who go to the beaches with a hundred of their closest friends.

That’s probably unfair in myriad ways. I’m really too angry, including at myelf, to soften it right now.

I want a vaccine and I want to be back in my classroom teaching to fifty faces instead of a screen in my living room, and I’m honestly freaking sick of waiting at home for them to figure this out. And watching everyone else move on with their lives back to the normal I would kill to have is just one more crack in the dike.

[the-mighty-jellybean]

Till The Final Bullet

Series Summary: “In a place where they won't let us feel, In a place where nothing seems real. I will hold you. In a world that’s moving too fast. In a world where nothing can last. I will hold you.”-Last Night of The World- Miss Saigon

From the age of twelve, Y/N Y/L/N, has been trained by Hydra, and used as an assailant for a number of years. She’s been taught not to feel, but when she’s put in a kill squad with the Winter Solider, their partnership is deadly, as their motivation becomes more than just keeping themselves alive.  

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Series Warning: Angst, Fluff, Strong Language, Eventual Smut, Dark!Bucky (I think??) (18+ Only)

Part One// Part Two// Part Three// Part Four// Part Five Part Six// Part Seven// Part Eight// Part Nine// Part Ten//

Part Eleven: Parent Trap

Chapter Warnings: Violence, Strong Language 

Word Count: 4k

You had been in the air for a few hours, James and you now sat in two seats, behind Steve, who was piloting the aircraft. Most of the journey had been made in silence, just the occasional exchange of words, such as; “how far out are we? Have you heard anything from Sam?”. However, other than that, the journey had been pretty quiet.

Finally, the snow of the mountains clears slightly, and you can see the reminisce of the base, you’d hoped was far behind you.  Shivering, James’ hand reached for yours and you gladly let him take it. He brought it to his lips, before looking back at your eyes, you nod at him, so he knows that you’re okay.

“We’re coming into land, so brace yourselves.” Steve told you both, as he flipped a few switches above his head. You let go of James’ hand, so you could grip the sides of your chair, as you began your decent.

It was a gentle jolt, when the wheels of the jet touched the frozen floor, the wind around the aircraft picking up, as the jet’s thrusters were still engaged.

“Grab a weapon.” Steve showed you and James the lock up of weapons the jet supplied, and you and James goggled at the room, before you headed towards a particular locker labelled, ‘Romanoff’.

“She won’t mind if we borrow this.” You shrugged, selecting two of the assault rifles, throwing one to James, which he caught easily in his metal grip.

You walked out of the lockup, meeting with Steve, the three of you waiting for the door of the jet opened.

“Remember that time we had to ride from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?” Steve suddenly asked James. You flicked your eyes to James, and it warmed your heart, when you saw him smiling.

“Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?” James chuckled, and Steve smirked, nodding in agreement.

“You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead.” Steve joked.

“What was her name, again?” James tilted his head, as he tried to remember.

“Dolores. You called her Dot.” Steve reminded him.

“She’s gotta be a hundred years old by now.” James shook his head, as he struggled to fathom the idea.

“So are you pal.” You slapped his shoulder, and laughed at him, “And don’t go getting any ideas about redheads. I’m the only hair color you should be thinking about.” you raised your eyebrows at him, James just beamed at you.

“Right, are we going to go stop some crazy doctor, trying to unleash an army of supersoldiers, or are we gonna stand around and keep reminiscing about the old day?” you looked between Steve and James, before stepping off the jet, the two men quickly hurry to keep up with you.

Approaching the doors, you could see that they had been broken into, the entrance wide open. Peering in, it appears to just be an empty cave of darkness.

“He can’t have been here more than a few hours.” Steve insisted.

You look at James, he gives you the same look of apprehension, “long enough to wake them up.” You point out, moving towards the doors, the men following closely behind you.

Walking in, it was like you had never been away, the same old crusty elevator laid at the end of a dark corridor. The three of you made your way down the long hallway, you try not to look at the walls, or ceiling, that have long and dark stains across them.

Once in the elevator, it began to descend, you stuck closely to James, being back here was going to be stressful for both of you. The light in the elevator, flickered and buzzed, struggling to cope with its basic task.

Stopping with a sudden jolt, you stumble a little, James steadying you, as the doors peel open, revealing another abandoned corridor. This one had windows in some of the doors, thankfully you were able to restrain yourself from looking in them, keeping your eyes in front of you.

You and James led the charge, whilst Steve kept your back covered. You made your way up one of the narrow stairways. Jumping when a loud crash came from behind you.

James whips around, you follow suit, guns held high, as you wait for whatever was about to come through a doorway.

“You ready?” Steve asked you both.

James’ eyes darted to you, and you nodded, his eyes going back to the metal doors, “yeah.”

Even once the doors were pulled open, and the familiar iron suit of Tony Stark, strides into the base, you and James didn’t lower your weapons.

Tony removes his helmet, as he begins to walk towards the group of you, Steve walks to meet him in the middle, “you seem a little defensive.” Tony points out, mainly to you and James, who were yet to lower your guns.

“It’s been a long day.” Steve reasoned, still walking towards Stark.

“At ease soldiers, I’m not currently looking for you.” You look at James, unsure of Tony’s words, when you see James tighten his grip on the rifle, you follow.

“Then why are you here?” Steve asks Tony in disbelief.

“Could be your story’s not so crazy.” Tony comes to a stop, a short distance away from Steve.

“Maybe.” Steve does the same and hold back a few feet away.

“Ross has no idea I’m here and I’d like to keep it that way.” You were confused by who this Ross person was, but you held your position, your scope was focused on Tony’s forehead, “otherwise, I’ve got to arrest myself.”

“Well, that sounds like a lot of paperwork.” Steve sassed; his shield still remained in its defensive position, “It’s good to see you, Tony.” Steve finally puts his shield down.

“You too, Cap.”

“Hey, Manchurian Candidates, you’re killing me,” Tony says, now looking to you and James, “there’s a truce here. You can drop…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, and Steve waves at James to put his gun down, you copy James, and cautiously lower your weapon.

“We need to head this way.” You jut your head backwards to emphasises where you needed to go, and the men nodded, following once again behind you.

You led them to a collection of cells, all of which were now empty, the door flung wide, there was smashed windows, of observation rooms, and broken tables and chairs.

“I’m going to need some light?” you turn to the walking glowstick that was Tony, he nodded stepping in front, using one of his Repulsors on his hand as a light source.

“I got heat signatures.” Tony informed all of you, when you turned into your third corridor, only this one was more like a tunnel.

“How many?” Steve asked, as he brought up the tail end.

“Uh, one.” Tony said unsure.

Eventually the tunnel came to the end, and you could hear the quick intake of breath from James, as the very recognisable room came into view. The tall pods, in which James was stored in for so many years, came into view. They looked aged, and dusty.

Suddenly the lights within the pods turned their ominous yellow, and began to hum, as they kicked into life. Frost clouds billowed from the top of them, as the temperature within the room dropped significantly. The doorways to the chambers began to open, and floods of liquid nitrogen come rolling out, settling on the floor by your feet.

You and James wondered towards the ice chambers, and saw the winter soldiers, sitting in their chairs. You lifted your gun, taking a closer look at the assailants, only to lower it again, when you noticed the bullet wounds in their heads.

“Er guys…” you tried to them, but you were interrupted by an unknown voice.

“If it’s any comfort. They died in their sleep.” The voice echoed off the frozen walls, and you looked around desperately looking for the source.

“Did you really think I wanted more of you?” The voice continued to goad you and James, you both darting around the room, looking for the doctor.

“What the hell?” James whispered, becoming frustrated.

“I’m grateful to them though. They brought you here.” A light flicked on at the far end of the room, Tony raised his arm missile, while Steve flung his shield, but it just bounced off of whatever, transparent barrier, the man was standing behind, “please, Captain. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 Rockets.”

The group of you began to make your way towards the bunker.

“I’m betting I could beat that.” Tony boasts.

“Oh, I’m sure you could, Mr Stark. Given time. But then you’d never know why you came.” The man teases.

“You killed innocent people in Vienna just to bring us here.” Steve reiterates, coming to a stop, right in front of the small window, in the bunker.

“I’ve thought about nothing else for over a year. I studied you. I followed you. But now that you’re standing here, I just realised, there’s a bit of green in the blue of your eyes. How nice to find a flaw.” The more he talked, the more freaked out you got.

“You’re Sokovian. Is that what this is about?” Steve realises.

“Sokovia was a failed state, long before you blew it to hell. No, I’m here because I made a promise.” The man’s voice cracked slightly.

“You lost someone?” Steve asks, tentatively.

“I lost everyone. And so, will you.”

The man turned away, pressing a button, which turned a small TV screen on, the date of the video flashed onto the screen.

16 декабрь, 1991

Your head snaps to James, who’s eyes are glued to the static screen, already glazing over, his gun lowering.

“An empire toppled by its enemies can rise again. But one which crumbles from within? That’s dead. Forever.” The man concludes, ominously.

Steve and Tony gather around the small screen, but you and James hang back, moving closer together. You can just see between Steve and Tony’s shoulders, the faded colour of the CCTV footage.

“I know that road.” Tony realises, “What is this?” he calls to the man in the bunker, but he doesn’t respond, leaving Tony to just look back at the footage.

All at once, the screen goes from being rather dull, to a flurry of activity, when a car comes careering into view, and collides into a tree. The bonnet is crumpled badly, and jets of smoke come flooding out the engine.

There’s a moving bright light, that does a circle around the car, before somebody dismounts the source, which pixelates into a motorcycle. Youe breathing hitches, when you immediately recognise the owner of the bike, the shine of the metal catching on the street lamp. You look to James, who is looking towards you, and shaking his head. Your brow furrows, but you reach your hand up to his face, to try and tell him that it’s okay, but he pulls away, catching your hand, shaking his head.

“Sargent Barnes.” James’ name pulls you back to the screen, and you watch as James’ figure was now in full view, he was gripping the back of a man’s head making him kneel. You flinch, when James’ raises his fist, pounding it into the man’s face. The voice of a woman, can be heard faintly in the background, calling out the man’s name, and James strikes him.

You swallow thickly, managing to grasp James’ hand this time, it is clammy, and you can tell that it was trembling. You squeeze it tight, trying desperately to telepathically tell him that it’s alright, and that you still love him. However, his deep breathing was telling you he wasn’t quite getting the message.

James drags the man back to the car, and hoists him back into the driver’s seat, watching in horror as James walks to the other side of the car, his flesh hand travels below the roof of the car, and out of sight. You can’t see what he’s doing, all sorts of images of horror, flash through your mind. You had seen what James was capable of doing first-hand, so you knew what ever was happening in that car, was nothing short of horrific.

James then walks towards the camera, and raises his gun, before discharging a bullet directly into the lens, causing the screen to go blank.

You step in front of James instantly; the moment Tony makes a move of aggression towards him. James’ fingers ghost your hip, but you don’t stand aside, holding your weapon in front of you, shielding James.

“No, Tony.” Steve grabs hold of Tony’s armor. Stark now turned to him and looked to Steve in shock.

“Did you know?” Tony whispers.

“I didn’t know it was him.” Steve lies.

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. Did you know?” Tony seethes through his teeth.

“Yes.” Is all Steve can utter. You tense, when Tony breaks free of Steve’s hold.

You push James back, when Tony knocks Steve aside with the back of his arm, and Steve goes tumbling to the ground. You raise your gun, but it’s knocked from your grasp, James pushes you behind him, but his weapon is also removed from his hands, with one of Tony’s blasts.

Their fists meet, in a clash of metals. Titanium meeting Iron.

Tony engages his feet thrusters, and carriers James into the air, by his neck, you shout after him; “Tony don’t, please. He wasn’t in control!”

Tony doesn’t listen to you, plunging into the ground, James’ scalp bouncing off the floor, James tries to use his arm to break free, but Tony steps on it.

Steve throws his shield knocking Tony off balance, freeing James momentarily. Long enough for you to reach him, and pulling him up, whilst Tony and Steve battle. Steve is thrown to the ground, and his legs trapped in metal restraints.

Just before, Tony is able to get to James, you land an upper cup to Tony’s chin, but you are unable to land anymore, as Tony grabs hold of the front of your suit, and picks you up, throwing you against the wall.

The sound of high-pitched whistling fills your ears, and you know that’s the sound of one of his Repulsors firing up. You grasp his hand in yours, squeezing hard. The bend of metal is heard, before the small sound of shattering glass, halts the whistling completely, as you shatter the Repulsor. Changing tactics, Tony tries to fire a missile in your face, but your able to direct it away from your face, and to an opposing wall, which soon exploded into a bright orange, and a cloud of flames.

The collapsing monument has Tony throwing you to one side, and you collide with James, tumbling onto the floor, as wall meets wall, debris and rubble flying everywhere.

“Get out of here!” Steve yells to you and James, before you can process what he’s said, James is gripping your hand, and pulling you with him.

James manages to pull you down some stairs, just as a blast from near your head, has you screaming slightly. You spot a familiar button, and jam it with your fist, the sound of the gears in the roof, begin cranking into life, and slowly begin opening.

“Come on, baby.” James calls to you, lifting you up onto the ledge, you hold your hand out to him, as he uses it to join you on the platform. You begin running in a spiral, as you head towards where you could see the daylight.

Your attention is drawn downwards, when the sound of familiar electrical whirring echoes around the side. Tony is spluttering his way towards you and James. You leap onto a ledge, only just making it; once you had pulled yourself up, you waited for James. He makes it on, but only by his fingers, you scream as Tony kicks to the side, and he lands on one of the platforms below.

The sound of Tony’s blasters recharging makes your heart pound, but you almost cry out in relief, when Steve leaps in front of James, deflecting the ball of light with his shield. Ricocheting off of Steve’s shield, it hits Tony making him collapse onto one of the grates below.

Steve pulls James up onto his feet: “he’s not going to stop. Go.”

James runs towards you once again, leaping onto your platform, and you grasp both his arms, heaving him up.

“We’re almost there, sweetheart. Keep going.” James encouraged you, as your arms began to grow tired from lifting yourself up.

“I can’t, Jay.” You huff, hand clutching at your chest, your heart hammering against your ribs, making you wheeze.

“Yes, you can, baby. Yes, you can.” James holds your face, and you look into his deep blue eyes, and you can see the fear in his eyes, but something told you, it wasn’t fear for himself.

You swallow thickly, before nodding, jumping onto another platform, James following closely behind you.

Finally, you reach a ladder, you push James up it first.

“No, Y/N, you go first.” James tries to be chivalrous.

“No, you, I’m gonna need you to pull me up.” You breathe, and James doesn’t want to argue, knowing you haven’t got much time.

His feet had barely touched the ladder, before a mass explosion knocked you both backward, the roof hatch slamming shut, James lands flat on a ledge, whereas you miss it.

Plummeting towards the floor.

“Y/N!” James calls after you, reaching hopelessly for you, but it’s too late as you plunge back to the ground. You drift slightly, and some of the ledges break your fall, slowing you down, however; ultimately you still hit the ground hard.

For a moment you black out, the only sound you can hear, is the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. You can look up and just see explosions of red and orange, and vaguely two figures fighting above you.

Suddenly they all fall from the sky, Steve and Tony rolling past you, whilst James stopped on a platform just above you.

He pushes himself up, and runs to you, crashing onto his knees, as he held your head.

“Baby, baby.” He strokes at your hair, and your cheeks, trying to rouse a response from you, “are you okay? Can you move, sweetheart?”

You just groan, turning your head to the side, and see Steve going head to head with Tony, and you lull your head back to looking at James.

“Help him.” You rasp, clutching at James’ hands on your face.

“What…no sweetheart, I’m not leaving you.” James shook his head, but you reach up to caress his face.

“Help him, Jay.”

“Remember what I said; if I had to pick between you or him, I’d always choose you.” James’ voice cracks at the end of his statement, but you shook your head at his words, pulling his face towards you.

Silencing him with you lips, before pulling back.

“He’s chosen you.” Your eyes flutter closed, dark spots clouding your vision, and you go limb in James’ arms.

The next time you spring back to consciousness, you roll your head to the side, and see Steve and Tony still punching the hell out of each other, but you look down to see James’ sprawled out body. The threads of his arms still glowed from what remained of his prosthetic.

You clawed your way towards him, every fibre of your being hurt, but all that was driving you now, was the need to be near James.

Once you were close enough, you pulled on James’ body, to bring him closer to you, and you laid your hand on his cheek.

“Jay baby, can you hear me?” James grabbed your wrist, turning his head so he could kiss the skin. He was beaten pretty badly, but at least he was conscious.

You looked back to the fight occurring between Steve and Tony. Tony stepped backwards, and you grabbed at his foot, only to be kicked in the face, knocking you out for a third time. You blackout on James’ chest.

For the third time, you stirred awake, you were startled when you found that you weren’t in the base anymore, but you settled once you realised you were sat in somebody’s lap.

That somebody was James, who looked down at you, when he saw you began to wake.

“Hey, baby.” He cooed, pushing some hair from your face, “How do you feel?”

“Like I just got hit by a truck.” You grumble rubbing at your forehead, you move your hands so that they were braced on James’ shoulders, but when you went to rub along them you felt a dip, where usually there would be cold steel. That’s when you remembered James had lost his arm during the fight. You look up at James, his eyes hadn’t left you.

“Did we win?” you asked. James’ faced dropped slightly.

“In some ways.” James responded, he nodded his head towards Steve, who looked very glum, sat in one of the spare seats, his head in his hands.

“Wait, if he’s there, who’s flying the jet?” you furrowed your brow.

“Ever been to Africa, baby?” James nuzzled his nose with yours, as you shook your head, “We’re going to Wakanda.”

~~~~

“Sure, about this?” Steve asked, James as the Doctor finished bandaging his hand. James let out a puff of air.

“I can’t trust my own mind, so until they figure out, how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing. For everybody.” James explained.

“Not for me it’s not.” You appeared from behind one of the large computer screens, dressed in similar white clothing to James.

“What are you doing?” James asked you, as you sat on the bed next to you.

“You didn’t think you were going to be leaving me here to grow old, whilst you get to stay young and beautiful, did you?” you joke, James still looks a little shocked.

“You can’t.”

“I can.” You retort, “and it’s happening, so no more arguments. They’re gonna see if they can fix me up to.” You say patting your stomach, where the scar from the graduation ceremony remained.

“You mean…” James’ face lit up and his hand moved on top of your hand.

“I can’t live without you, Jay.” Your eyes tearing up a little, “and my life isn’t worth living, if I can’t give us one.”

“You are always enough.” James kisses your forehead, and you press your head to his lips.

You smile at him, and he takes your hand, squeezing it hard.  

“I’m with you till the end of line, baby.” You squeeze his hand back just as hard, and you feel Steve take a quick breath, when you say those words.

“Till the final bullet, sweetheart.” James kisses your forehead, and you lift his hand to your lips, kissing the back of it.

“We’re ready for you now.” One of the doctors tell you. You nod to her, before you jump down from the table, James does the same, he pulls Steve into a bear hug.

You smile as you watch them embrace, after so long, before James breaks away, and takes your hand.

You walk to the pods, that looked a lot less intimidating than the HYDRA ones, and you climb in. Just before James gets in his, he kisses your lips.

“I love you, baby.” He says against your lips.

“I love you too.”

James moves out of your pod, and climbs into the one next to you, as your doors seal closed you look to him, and he’s already looking at you.

“See you in a minute.” You joke, the last image you have is of James’ smile, before you fall into a deep sleep.

A/N: Unfortunately guys we’ve reached the end of the line!!! I thought it would be good to end it there. 

I’ve got a question now, for all of you:

Should I do either: Prompt list, and you guys can send me your requests, and I’ll do some prompts for a little while, or a pregnancy series for this book?

What do you think? Let me know, I’ll close the...vote I guess...on the 12th JUNE 2020. 

Taglist:

@amanda-the-fangirl​​ @winchester-wifey​​ @lemonadygirl​​ @lunagrangerweasley​​ @omfgforthelordalmighty​​ @hhxppyyy​​ @furioustrashprofessorneck​​ @sznri​​ @mugscraps @colourforanamee​​​ @grav3dollie-666 @purneetk​​​ @buckystories-3​​​​ @foxybisexual​​​​ @sadbaby02 @sebastianstansqueen​​​​

[buckys-estrella]

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆

Forge of the Heart 

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: The year is 1774 and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the British army has been sent to Boston, Massachusetts in the thirteen colonies. The Quartering Act has just been put in place and he along with two other soldiers will be staying in the house of a colonist. He expected resistance but he never thought that he would find the eldest daughter of the household to be so intriguing.

Warnings (for this chapter): guilty feelings, uh frustration(?), fluff (two people in love), very mild language. Overuse of some words and italics cuz I wrote this at like 1-4am so... sorry if it’s actually bad :))

   You originally went to see the sergeant to check up on his stitches and give him some food. Nothing more. You felt guilty and somewhat responsible for his injuries. That it was your fault he was hurt. He didn’t deserve to be in pain just because he was trying to help you. But the more time you spent by his side, the more you wanted to be there just for him. Even Charlotte noticed. You were in the middle of one of her lessons when she confronted you about it. 

   “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Lottie’s words caught you by surprise, and you tried to brush it off. 

   “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She just rolled her eyes at you and gave you a look that said: ‘you know what I’m talking about.’

   “The sergeant. You go to see him every day after you finish lessons with me. I think you like him.” If you had been drinking water, you probably would have spit it out. No words were coming to you yet, so you just sat there, looking at your younger sister until you found your composure. 

   “Don’t be ridiculous Lottie, I don’t have feelings for that man! I’m simply making sure he’s well taken care of. I don’t think the British infantry would take kindly to one of their men dying while under our care.” Charlotte didn’t press further, but it was obvious that she didn’t believe you. Lottie was a hopeless romantic, of course she would assume you had feelings. The girl had always been trying to meddle in your love life, not that Barnes was a part of your love life; he wasn’t.

   Although, you couldn’t deny that he was starting to grow on you, especially having spent time with him while he was on bed rest. He was sweet, too kind for his own good; he made you feel like you were worth something. Which, in a way, made your guilt worsen. To ease the feeling, you were by his side more often than not. You believe he began to see you as a friend or at least someone he could trust. He told you that you could call him ‘Bucky’ because that’s what all his friends called him. He even started to open up to you, telling you about his life back home and childhood stories involving the captain that’s also residing in your home. 

   Out of all the times you went to see him, one thing never changed: he always asked if you were okay. He seemed genuinely concerned every time he asked, it was almost as if he could sense that you felt guilt-ridden or that you still needed time to come to terms with what happened to you. However, you never truly divulged how you felt, and he never pried; he seemed to respect you, which was rare in your experience with men.

   On the last day of his doctor-instructed bed rest, when he asked if you were okay, something inside you broke. You expressed how you really felt, the guilt and pain you were going through. Bucky kept his eyes on you, he was silent until you finished, then he spoke up. 

   “Y/n…please listen to what I’m saying, what happened was not your fault. I, in no way, regret what I did for you, and know that I would do it again if I had to.” Heavy emotion coated Bucky’s voice. Your heart squeezed at his words. Everything about he seemed so genuine. It had been years since a man has made you feel this way, and it scared you how quickly you began to feel for him. 

   You locked gazes with him, looking into his beautiful blue eyes that seemed to change shades just based on his emotions. You tried reminding yourself of what he was, who’s side he was on. He was a redcoat for crying out loud! All of the ones you had encountered had been a bastard or caused you some sort of pain. None of them ever showed you kindness. 

   Except Bucky.

   He was still staring deep into your eyes, no doubt trying to get a sense of what you were thinking, what you were feeling. You still had yet to respond to what he had said earlier. He started to reach for your hand, a comforting squeeze shook you out of your thoughts. You couldn’t be here anymore, he was clouding your thoughts, he was all you could think of anymore. Maybe Charlotte was right. You had to leave. You had to get out of the room.

   “I-I’m sorry,” You pulled your hand away, trying to regain some control, “I need to go.”

   You were out of the room before Bucky could even process what happened. The rest of the day, he lay in bed, dumbfounded. Wondering if he said or done something wrong. The one thing he looked forward to was spending time with you, and he had ruined it.  

   Bucky was almost certain that you were avoiding him. It had been nearly a month now since the last day he was on bed rest, and you hadn’t spoken a single word to him since. He tried to confront you at first, but that didn’t go as planned. Now he’s chosen to give you space, to wait until you felt like talking to him again. If you ever felt like talking to him again. Bucky couldn’t stop replaying your last conversation together in his head. Maybe he did something wrong, he had to have done something wrong because everything was great until that day. 

   You came to see him every day, you checked up on him, made sure he was healing properly, that he was eating, that he was sleeping. You felt like his own personal nurse, but you were more than that. Ever since he laid eyes on you, Bucky has been falling in love. It was slow at first, but those days you spent at his side magnified his feelings beyond what he could fathom.

   Bucky has never felt this way before. He always wanted to fall in love, to has a sweetheart he could come home to. He’s almost positive he’s found his sweetheart in you. But he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself; besides, you aren’t even speaking to him anymore. It’s starting to take a toll on him. Buck always believed he was good at masking his feelings, but Steve could see right through him. One on of the days they were on patrol, Steve finally gave in to his curiosity and asked Buck what’s been on his mind. 

   “Nothing has been on my mind.” Bucky gave a gruff response, hoping Steve would just drop it.

   “Come on Buck, I know you, and something’s bugging you.” When no response came back, Steve prompted, “It doesn’t have to do with Y/n, does it.” A silencing glare was sent in Steve’s direction, but he kept pushing.

   “Bloody hell, don’t tell me you actually like this girl? She’s a colonist, nothing can happen between you two.” He knew Steve had a point, but their situation didn’t change the feelings he was developing for her. Bucky just had to make it clear that what he felt was real and pure. 

   The rest of the patrol consisted of the two best friends arguing about Bucky’s hopeful love life. Nearing the end of their patrol, it finally clicked with Steve. He’s never seen Bucky talk this way about a girl before. In all the time Steve has known him, Buck has never been in love. But the way his eyes light up when he talks about you, like you’re the light of his life, he recognizes that. It’s the same way Steve acts when he talks about Peggy. 

   Bucky Barnes was in love.

   Bucky was still talking, saying something about the way hands fit just perfectly in his when Steve cut him off. 

   “You love her don’t you? You stupid punk, you fell in love with her, didn’t you?” Bucky stared back blankly, trying to process the words that came out of his friends’ mouth. He had feelings for you, yes, that was true. But he never fully processed the idea that he could’ve fallen in love with you. The more he entertained the idea, the more he believed it to be true. In the short time that he’s known you, he’s fallen in love. Steve’s eyes were still on him, expectant. He knew, but he needed Bucky to say it to erase any doubt. 

   “You’re right Stevie, I’m in love with her.” Those words hung in the air between them all the way until they reached the house. 

   It’s been two months now, and you still have yet to speak to Bucky. He’s noticed that most definitely you are avoiding him. It’s gotten to the point where you leave the house if he has a day off duty. It’s really taking a toll on him now; everything was fine until that one day. He needed to take his mind off of you, even if it’s just for a moment. The only company he has now is Charlotte; she’s a sweet girl, reminds him a lot of his own sister, Becca. 

   Your avoidance of him was not only taking its toll on him but on Charlotte too. The days you were away, you couldn’t teach her, and Bucky started to feel responsible for her education. He didn’t want Charlotte to be denied knowledge just because you were avoiding him. So, Bucky took matters into his own hands. It started casual enough, he would just drop random facts about science or astronomy that he had learned. Soon, she began to ask questions that Bucky was happy to answer. And not long after, they would have their own small lessons at the kitchen table. He would ramble about Newton, Da Vinci, and Galileo. Lottie listened very attentively, wanting to know just about everything she could. 

   When he finally ran out of things to say, he finally asked the question that’s been on his mind for three months: “Why is Y/n avoiding me?”

   As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he regretted them. It was low of him to come to your sister for information. But Lottie’s eyes seemed to glow at his question.

   “She loves you, that’s why.” Her answer made no sense to him. You love him? You’re avoiding him because you love him?

   “You love her too, right? I mean that’s why you’re asking because you love her too. Please tell me you do otherwise Y/n might just kill me for telling you.” Bucky was at a loss of words. His mind was still trying to process the shipload of information it just received. He could only breathe out two words: 

   “I do.” Two simple words that confirmed everything Lottie suspected. As sisters, you two were close, you told her everything and vice versa. Lottie knows how you feel about the sergeant, she also knows that you’re scared because you haven’t felt this way since Peter. Charlotte has seen you heartbroken and hurt, but now she sees you have another chance at love. 

   If anything was going to happen between you and Bucky, Lottie knew she had to take matters into her own hands. And that’s precisely what she did. There was a warning in the back of her mind that said it wasn’t her place to interfere, but she just couldn’t help herself. She needed to see you happy again, and she believed that Bucky played a key part in your future happiness. Lottie started in the beginning, talking about when you met Peter, how he had courted you, and you had fallen in love. She also told him that Peter was killed in the Boston Massacre at the hands of British troops. She told him how you blamed the British for so much because of the pain you were in.

   But Lottie also told Bucky about how you feel about him now. How you started to fall for him. It scared you, it scared you so much that you could feel such affection for a man on the opposite side of a war. Bucky knew the struggle you were going through because he felt it too. How it seemed like the universe made you destined to be but to pit your worlds against each other. It reminded him of Romeo and Juliet. However, he hoped that your love story would not end with both of you dead. When Lottie was done telling him all that she thought he needed to know, Bucky thanked her and excused himself. 

   There was so much to think about, all of it swirling around his mind. The last words Lottie said to him were to pursue you; to court you. That whatever conflict in the world could be worked out, that you two must be “meant to be”. He needed to collect his thoughts and plan how he wanted to proceed. On his way out the door to clear his mind, he passed you on your way back home. He now knew that you loved him in return and couldn’t help but send a charming smile in your direction.

   You noticed his love-struck smile before you locked eyes, just the sight of him made your heart flutter, and for the first time in three months; you smiled back.

A/N: IM SO SORRY THAT THIS WAS LATE!! I was having a hard time just writing it down yknow. ANYWAYS! I think you guys are gonna like the next few chapters and I hope y’all are enjoying the story so far!! Also I started a couple one shots that I want to post eventually so let me know if you wanna be on my permantent taglist and be tagged in those!! ALSO, I’m going to change my username to one of three options, most likely it’ll be: buckys-estrella. If you scroll down a bit you should probs be able to see the options. okay im gonna stop now, love you all! <333

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[nev3rfound]

an old friend : b.b

brief summary: after the events of endgame, bucky feels lost until he meets you, someone who feels strangely familiar for a complete stranger.

word count: 2.2k (I went a bit ham, but I loved it) requested: nope, I had this idea today at work as I’ve not written much post endgame, and kinda wanted to explore it.  warnings: endgame spoilers

* masterlistin’ 

* commissions

Ever since Tony’s funeral, Steve had been unheard of. All he left Bucky with was a small piece of information, that he had family out there and wanted to spend time with them. Bucky nodded, accepting the fact Steve had found a whole life in the space of three minutes he was gone.

Beside Bucky, everyone else had found a way to move on. Sam was the new Captain, a natural leader. Clint and Scott had returned to their families with heavy hearts knowing those they lost in the process. Wanda moved away, Thor went back to his town of Asgard. Everyone else was never around, not that Bucky socialised with them often. 

It had been months, and Bucky still felt lost in the current situation. He began to speak to the kid more if he was around. Peter still couldn’t fathom Bucky’s metal arm, still thinking its awesome. 

Peter was apart of the snap with Bucky, and despite them having few memories inside they do remember being there together. “You gotta get out, Sir.” Peter told Bucky, quickly receiving a look and clearing his throat. “Bucky.” Peter corrects himself, and Bucky nods weakly.

“Where’d I even go? I’m over a hundred years old with not a single friend at my side.” Bucky painfully admits, lightening it with a short laugh. 

Shuffling on the edge of the roof, Peter shrugs his shoulders. “Get out there, just go for a coffee in the morning or something, Bucky.” Peter tells Bucky, his voice faltering as he realises he’s enforcing a decision on a man older than anyone he’s ever met. “It, it’s what Steve would want, right?” He weakly questions and watches as Bucky lowers his head.

“Yeah,” He comments quietly. “yeah, Steve would’ve wanted this.” 

*

Since his conversation with Spidey, Bucky was determined to start living. He wasn't sure what living was in modern society, but he found comfort in one small spot hidden away downtown.

It was tucked away alongside a large wall of purple flowers that clung to the old brick building. He’d wandered past countless times, his eyes fixated on the ground as opposed to the sights surrounding him. But now he couldn’t stop his feet drawing him closer to the flowers, following their path toward a wooden sign. 

The pale blue sign, scuffed wood as a chalkboard sat outside with fancy writing. It wasn’t trying too hard, but it was sweet. 

Bucky took a deep breath before he pushed open the door, and that’s when his routine began. Silently, each day he’d walk out of the empty compound, FRIDAY being the only one to greet him with each passing as he went straight to this new spot. 

Your coffee shop, ‘Old Times.’ 

The name was inspired by your family, their old nature and ways of being. Sometimes you thought you lived in the wrong era as pictures lined the walls of times before you were even a thought. You had listened to the stories your Grandparents told you. How they met in the war in differing circumstances, ones you admired and loved to listen to. 

You knew your regulars, the pensioners and the veterans who wanted to talk about the weather or the weird bird they saw outside. Bucky watched quietly as you spoke to every single person with as much love as the previous. He was enchanted by your goodwill, something that glimmers in your eyes much like Steve’s. 

*

Outside winter was creeping into the air, Bucky could tell. 

As he walks down the route he can take with his eyes closed, he can see the flowers starting to dry up. He lets out a soft sigh before pushing the door open and giving you a half-smile as you greet him. 

“How you doin’ today?” You ask him, still not having the courage to ask his name. 

Bucky shrugs his shoulder as you work on his order, always the same cappuccino with a biscuit on the side. Sometimes if he felt like it, he’d point to a slice of cake, just so he could stay a little longer and admire you from afar. 

“I saw the flowers are dying.” Bucky speaks up, finally feeling like he has the nerve to talk to you. 

You glance over your shoulder, partly surprised to hear him talking back. “Yeah,” You mutter before clearing your throat as you nearly scold your hand. “they erm, they die during the winter, but as soon as Spring appears they thrive.” You explain, letting out a soft sigh as you dream of the warmer weather returning. “Can’t say I love winter.” 

“Why’s that?” Bucky asks, despite his drink being in front of him along with the biscuit, for once he’s not inclined to walk away immediately. For the first time, he has the courage to stay. God, Steve would be proud. 

Focusing on his bright blue eyes, you can see several stories beneath the surface. “It’s too cold, too dark and depressing. I always feel that no one shines in Winter. We all retreat.” You tell him, watching as Bucky leans against the counter giving you his full attention. “And it’s harder for most of my customers to come. They don’t have the strength to get here as it is, but add the cold and potential ice.” You wince at the thought. “It’s just too quiet.” 

“I’ll still come, doll.” The name slips out of his lips too soon, and Bucky mentally swears to himself for messing it up. Yet, much to his surprise, you laugh lightly.

“Good to know.” You comment as you lean down, cutting a piece of cake and placing it on a tray. Bucky raises an eyebrow to you, and you smile softly. “On the house for the customer who’ll still visit in the dead of winter.” 

Bucky smiles. “It’s Bucky.” He tells you, watching as you whisper his name, feeling it sounding as natural as you anticipated.

“Y/n. But you probably knew that considering my name is literally on the counter.” You chuckle to yourself before helping Bucky with his drink to his usual seat by the window. 

In this one spot, some of the flowers overhang the small lane. He can hear the faint noises of the city, but also zone out from everything. 

Sitting down, Bucky thanks you. “Can I ask you something, Y/n?” Bucky swallows the dread in his throat as you smile to him, wiping your hands across your apron. 

“Anything you want, Bucky.” You respond and Bucky shuffles in his seat, motioning to the series of photos that are behind him, covering the wall. 

“Where’d you get these?” Bucky turns to look at the photos he’d seen countless times. 

Each photo contains a different regiment from the second world war, the war Bucky was a part of. The photos contain men, boys he once knew and witnessed die by his side. He knows he isn’t in any of them, his regiment went missing before they were offered the chance to have an honourary photo for their families back home. 

You pause, looking at every photo. You know each of their names, most of their stories. When you bought the shop, you wanted to honour your families history. Your grandpa helped along with your grandmother before her memory became too unreliable to help. It left you with your Grandpa, his blonde hair becoming whiter with each passing day, but wit still as sharp as his younger days.

“My Grandpa served in the war. He, he knew a lot of the men photographed. He helped me get a lot of the stuff I’ve displayed.” You motion to a series of things you have. 

Bucky looks at the old propaganda on display, the posters of the moon landing, the cold war, the turn of the century, and so much more. Seeing all of it makes him realise just how much he missed out on. He lost so much, he missed out on a world of firsts for everyone alive. But he was lost, a forgotten soul. 

“What’s he like?” Bucky changes the subject. 

He watches as a heartfelt smile forms on your face. You glance around, seeing an elderly couple and beside them, there isn’t anyone else in the shop. Bucky watches hesitantly as you place your hand on the back of a chair before pulling it out and taking a seat opposite Bucky. 

“He’s probably the most amazing man I’ve ever met.” You tell him, and Bucky can see your eyes lighting up. “I, I lost my parents when I was a teenager. No siblings to be with so my grandparents took care of me.” 

Wishing he could reach out and take a hold of your hand, Bucky simply nods in condolence. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” Bucky sincerely mutters, feeling his heart drop at the sight of sadness building in your expression. 

“It’s okay. My grandparents moulded me into the woman I am today and I couldn’t be more grateful.” 

The two of you sit together, discussing life for hours until the darkness closes in outside. Bucky feels like you’re an old friend, and as you glance to the clock with a gasp, he realises just how much time has passed you both by. He helps you close up, clear everything away. Secretly he doesn’t want the day to end, he wishes he could keep the shop open with you just a little while longer. 

As you stand outside of the shop, you grab your helmet before walking toward your Vespa. “Guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Bucky?” You ask him hopefully as you put your helmet on. 

Bucky stands with his hands in his pocket, a small smile on his face as he nods. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything doll.” He tells you and watches as you smile wholeheartedly before shutting your helmet and driving off out of sight.

Leaning against the flowers, Bucky lets out a sigh of content. Maybe things won’t be so bad after all. Maybe this is what moving on feels like. 

*

For two months Bucky visits Old Times every single day without fail. He began to help out, working alongside you and opening up to customers who came in. You both would listen to their compliments on you making a lovely couple and shrugging it off despite the feeling lurking deep down. 

Peter begins to see less of Bucky with each week passing by. He starts phoning him, checking he’s not died on him. Thanks to his Spidey senses, Peter can hear you in the background, your voice filling a room as Bucky’s hushed sentences become rushed. Despite him having more of a solid love life than him, Peter feels like a proud Dad. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Peter jokes on the phone.

“Peter, you’re 16.” Bucky reminds Peter, scolding him like a parent and Peter clears his throat as Bucky hangs up, turning back to you as you stand with Mr and Mrs Jacobs breakfast. 

In the evenings, Bucky helps you lock up and you wander the city together. Sometimes your hand slips in his, other times his arm rests around your waist, holding you close. And on the odd occasion, he whispers something he’s too afraid to admit in pure daylight. 

Your joy is waking up knowing you’ll be seeing the brunette with bright blue eyes. Bucky has become someone you never anticipated meeting, but are thankful you have. With each day, you can feel your heart binding with his. 

Sitting in Central Park, looking up at the sky you’re resting your head across Bucky’s chest. “How’d you feel about meeting my Grandpa?” You ask him, trying to hold back your smile. 

At this point, Bucky had nothing to hide anymore. You sat a month ago and listened to all of the stories Bucky had to share. He told you about his past, about the horrible person he was and how he’s still healing. 

As he finished, you leaned closer and kissed him. “That isn’t who you are now, Bucky. People change, they learn and grow. We can’t help what happens when we’re forced to be someone else.” You told him with a full heart, and Bucky kissed you once more, not wanting to forget a single second. 

Bucky glances down, raising an eyebrow as his hand remains on your upper back, fingers twirling your hair. “Really?” He sounds surprised, almost too surprised for your comfort.

“I mean, why not?” You reply, raising an eyebrow to him. “Is it too soon for that?” Doubt clouds your mind as you shut your eyes tightly, regretting suggesting it at all.

“Hey,” Bucky whispers, sensing you tensing up under his arm. “I’m just surprised you want me to.” He laughs uneasily. “Can’t say I’m the usual guy you’d go for, considering I’m over one hundred years old.” 

You roll your eyes at him. “You may be, but you’re young at heart Buck, and physically so that’s all that matters.” You laugh lightly, and Bucky joins in, your laugh always has been contagious. 

“Do you think he’ll like me?” Bucky questions as you relax back into his embrace.

Unable to stop your smile from growing, you nod to him. “I think you’ll get on like old friends.” You reassure him, knowing it’s a moment your Grandpa has been waiting for since you first told him about the handsome stranger with the metal arm. His oldest friend he grew up alongside, finally living the life he deserves to have.

[biillyhargroves]

re: this ask, I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of Billy as a parent and more specifically Billy and Steve as parents and boy howdy do I have some Thoughts to share with y’all. 

like, how Steve has probably always wanted a family in the general “it’s what you’re supposed to do” kind of sense, because it’s what his parents did, and what their parents did, and so on and so forth and to him that’s just the natural progression. you get older. you get married. you buy a nice house and have some kids and complain about taxes. 

and Billy. well, he just doesn’t think that’s the right thing for him. because, sure, his parents did it and their parents did it, but god isn’t his whole family more than a little fucked up? he can’t fathom doing any better than his parents, he thinks his whole bloodline is cursed- or it might as well be -and that maybe the Hargrove name is better off dying with him. 

oh, but then they fall in love. slowly, and then all at once, if you’ll forgive me for quoting John Green. and Billy keeps telling himself that this won’t last, that it’ll end eventually, that Steve should be with someone more his speed (read: his status, because Billy’s family is not what you’d call wealthy and even sans-small-town-homophobia, he can’t picture Steve’s parents being all too thrilled with Steve shacking up with the likes of him). but it doesn’t end. they even move out of Hawkins, find a tiny apartment in Chicago. the rent is too high and the heat doesn’t always work but they each find jobs and they make it work. they use the birthday and Christmas checks from Steve’s parents, and the ones that Susan sends when she has the money (because she’s divorced from Neil now, filed the papers after Max went off to college because, with both kids out of the house, she felt safer, like she wasn’t putting them in danger if she pissed Neil off). Max goes to school nearby, visits them frequently, even helps them decorate because, let’s face it, they have terrible taste. years go by and that little apartment becomes cozy, starts to feel like home, and one night- after they’ve been drinking, of course, when their inhibitions are lowered and their tongues a bit looser -Steve starts to talk about starting a family. and Billy freaks out. changes the subject and hopes that Steve is drunk enough to forget ever having brought it up. 

he can’t stop thinking about it, though. he talks to Max about it- she admits that she never saw him as a family man, not until she saw him with Steve, and after they talk she starts asking when he’s going to make her an aunt; he talks to Heather- who has been his best friend since the summer of ‘85 and who gushes at the idea of him being father, of him and Steve being fathers. and Steve doesn’t forget. he just doesn’t bring up because he’s afraid it’ll scare Billy off for good, so imagine his surprise when they’ve laying all tangled and sweaty and messy in bed and Billy softly murmurs that maybe, just maybe, having a baby isn’t the worst thing they could do. 

they have to think about their options, of course. a surrogate? if so, who should it be? Max? Billy is uncomfortable with that. they could ask Robin, they think. perhaps Heather? they bring it up to her and she’s head over fucking heels. hell, she’ll give them an egg if they want it. and so it’s decided. and, of course, they keep telling themselves not to get their hopes up, because this is still a new science and it might not take, the doctors have told them this through every step- from the consults, to the check-ups, to the moment they handed over the check and Heather made the appointment. I mean, Steve’s hopes are definitely up. that’s how he is. and Billy knows it. he doesn’t sleep for a whole week, because he’s so scared of what might happen, he’s so scared of Steve being disappointed. Steve wants this. Billy knows how badly, but he doesn’t realize how much he wants it himself until he’s sitting outside the bathroom door waiting for Heather to take the pregnancy test. his heart is in. his fucking gut until she comes out absolutely beaming because it worked!!! she’s pregnant!!!

and, of course, Steve and Billy treat her like a goddamn queen throughout the pregnancy. she stays with them for a few nights a week; they get to feel the baby kick for the first time, they help her through morning sickness (which is, unfortunately, all-hours-of-the-day sickness for her). Heather officially moves in, and Susan and Max come to visit, in the last few weeks. they’re all there in the hospital when Heather gives birth, and my god, does she have the most beautiful baby girl you could ever imagine. Steve is the one to cut the cord, the first one to hold the baby; Billy is too scared to hold her, she’s so tiny, she fits right in the palm of Steve’s hand, and Billy is terrified of hurting her. it takes a lot of encouragement from both Heather and Steve for him to finally pick her up, feed her, burp her, change her. 

they hyphenate her last name; Hargrove-Harrington (her middle name is Holloway, because they wanted to include Heather- they wouldn’t have their baby without her, of course) (her full name is Rosanna Holloway Hargrove-Harrington, because of course Billy wanted a musical name, and maybe Heather was playing Toto a lot while pregnant, and maybe Steve mentioned that he liked the song) (they call her Rosie and Rosa as a child, but she goes by Ro when she’s older) (yes, I’ve thought about this in too much detail). 

Robin and Dustin road trip it to Chicago and decorate the apartment- they put up a big banner that says “Welcome Home Triple-H”, because that’s the name that Billy and Steve kept throwing around when trying to decided what to about the baby’s last name ( “Come on,” Steve said, “all three of us? Baby Girl Hargrove-Harrington-Holloway.”, to which Billy replied, “That’s too fucking long. Imagine a five year old learning how to write that fucking nightmare of a name.”, and Steve said, “Fine. A new last name: Triple H.” and Billy would just walk out of the room.)

the first few months are bumpy, but the six month check-up they’ve really gotten the hang of it. Billy isn’t scared to hold her anymore. Steve often finds them asleep on the couch together, or hears Billy singing to her in the next room (and, okay, he’s prefer that Billy didn’t sing fucking Motley Crue to her, but she likes it, and it’s so goddamn sweet that Steve can’t be mad). 

and Max loves being an aunt. she is with that little girl all. the. time. (and, yes, Aunt Max is totally there when her niece goes through her first breakup, and yes she absolutely brings her to the mall (Aunt El in tow, of course) to get her mind off, and I quote, “stupid boys”). Heather and Robin are wonderful aunts, too. Heather showers the baby with so much love. she lives with Steve and Billy until the baby is weaned from breastfeeding, and she drops by for visits every week. Robin is the baby’s favorite, though. she’s the one who never fails to get down on the ground and play with her, to wrestle with her, to teach her three different languages so that they can have secret conversations without the dads knowing (it’s all innocent, usually talking about Father’s Day plans or what Ro wants to get her dads for Christmas, but boy does it drive Billy up a wall - Steve thinks it’s funny, of course). 

and eventually they’re in a good enough spot to move into a house, and it has a white fence and Billy builds and swingset in the backyard and, god, how did this become his life??? when Steve casually mentions, one night after putting their daughter to bed, that maybe they should have another kid, Billy is surprised when he says yes. even more surprised that he’s the one that suggests adopting, because maybe there’s some kid out there like him, some kid that just needs some help. they know it’ll be hard, that adoption is already a difficult process without being a same-sex couple, but they go for it. Max, Robin, and Heather all write them recommendations, and Susan and Steve’s mother both vouch for them (they want more grandbabies, okay?). it takes time, so much time, but eventually they get a little boy. a little brother for their daughter, a new son, and they can’t wait to get him home. 

he’s a baby, just a few months old, and they name him James (James William Hargrove-Harrington, at Steve’s insistence, because “he’s going to be just like you. trust me. I can tell.”) after the police chief that helped them so much back in Hawkins- because you can’t tell me that, even Upside Down shit aside, Hopper wouldn’t have protected those boys if he could) their daughter loves her new brother. she dotes on him constantly, always wants to hold him, is the Best Big Sister. 

and Steve is so stupid happy. he thinks about how crazy, insane, stupid happy he is every night when he sees Billy sitting on the floor, the kids at his sides, reading them bedtime stories or playing them music, whenever he sees those kids look at Billy like he hung the goddamn moon, because, yeah, he always figured that a family was in the future, because it was supposed to be in his future, be never thought it could be this good. that it could be this perfect, that he would love it this much.

and Billy? he knew that Steve would be a natural. he’s proven right every time he finds Steve awkwardly folded up in one of the kid’s beds, having been dragged there to protect them from a nightmare; every time he sees Steve helping with homework, or tying a shoe, or when Steve becomes a nervous wreck when it’s time for them to learn to drive. but he never expected to fall so head over heels in love with his children, never imagined that he’d have a family, let alone that he’d stick around to watch it grow. he struggles. he struggles a lot. he still has a temper that takes a lot to control, and there are bumps in the road, but he has his family now- he has Steve, and he has their kids, and my god, if he isn’t the luckiest man in the world. 

anyway that’s what I've been think about lately, hbu. 

[mychemicalrachel]

The Color Of Blood

Stucky Soulmate AU

Read on Ao3!

Part 1/8

There was so much that science couldn’t explain-- no one knew how Matches were chosen. It was just some innate thing that everyone was born with. Some people developed the ability to see color while others never did. All that was truly known was that it created some kind of special bond between the people it affected. Romantic, sexual, platonic… the bonds were limitless. In Bucky’s case, the bond with Steve was nothing short of complex.

Part One; Color

The first color Bucky ever saw was blood.

It didn’t have a name then, not that he knew anyway, but he knew instantly it was different.

From childhood, they tell stories-- fact and fairy tale-- about what happens when you meet your Match. Teachers drone on about the science of it; something about how seeing a certain person for the first time triggers part of the occipital lobe of the brain, allowing color to be perceived where it wasn’t able to be before. Parents tell stories about soulmates; eyes meeting across the room, love at first sight, literally blooming with color.

Bucky always thought it was kind of stupid, until he saw the blood.

It was smeared across a smaller boy’s cheek, his knuckles, his shirt. And in that instant it was all Bucky could see.

It took him only a few seconds to put together exactly what was happening-- this small, bloody boy with his fists raised, and a bigger kid who looked murderous. Not much of a choice, Bucky decided, and then pounced onto the kid who was almost twice the size of him. When the bigger kid realized what was happening, he took off, not wanting much of a fight after all.

When he turned back to the small boy, he was frowning at Bucky. “I could have handled it on my own.” His voice wobbled and so did his wrists. He looked fragile, like a strong breeze could knock him down.

But Bucky smiled at him. “I know. I’m Bucky.”

The boy finally dropped his fists, appraising Bucky with his bright eyes-- another nameless color Bucky had never seen before. He must have deemed Bucky as a non-threat because he stuck out his little hand and said, “I’m Steve Rogers.”

They didn’t talk about the color for a long time, though Bucky knew Steve must have seen it, too. It was a lot to wrap his head around after the initial shock of seeing the blood. Bucky wasn’t stupid. He knew what the colors were supposed to mean. He just wasn’t sure what they meant for him and Steve.

There was so much that science couldn’t explain-- no one knew how Matches were chosen. It was just some innate thing that everyone was born with. Some people developed the ability to see color while others never did. All that was truly known was that it created some kind of special bond between the people it affected. Romantic, sexual, platonic… the bonds were limitless. In Bucky’s case, the bond with Steve was nothing short of complex.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to fall completely in love with Steve. But loving Steve Rogers, Bucky grew to realize, was not an easy thing.

As they grew older, Bucky hit growth spurts and puberty and Steve… didn’t. He stayed small. One doctor said that his small stature was what caused his myriad of health problems, while another doctor said it was his health that kept him small. Whatever the cause and effect, it didn’t change that Steve was a spitfire; regardless of his size, Steve was made up of all heart and stupidity. He liked to pick fights, for reasons Bucky could not fathom, and refused to run away when the fight got too big for him to handle.

That’s where Bucky stepped in. He knew Steve could carry his own, but sometimes Bucky just wanted to carry him instead.

It was in the winter of 1933, as Steve battled another bout of pneumonia, when they first spoke of the colors. Bucky sat next to a bedridden Steve-- he didn’t like to call it babysitting, but someone had to make sure Steve didn’t die while his mother was away at work--when Steve woke up in a coughing fit.

By then, it was pretty much routine to help Steve into a sitting position, hold the cup to his lips for him to drink. They’d been through this so many times before, but it felt different when they locked eyes over the brim of the mug. Bucky lowered the cup, setting it back on the nightstand. He tossed a crooked smile in Steve’s direction, though it hurt his face to do so. He didn’t feel like smiling.

He was so pale, seeming to disappear into the white sheets. Cheeks hollow, collar bones sticking out of the stretched neck of the oversized T-shirt. He was still the most beautiful creature Bucky had ever laid eyes on.

They sat there, watching each other, for an indefinite amount of time. Hours could have passed, or seconds, or years. Steve’s eyes were easy to get lost in.

Slowly, Steve lifted a hand to point a fragile finger at Bucky’s face. “Blue,” he said.

And the word, it sounded short and simple, but as Bucky repeated it back, it tasted foreign on his tongue. Something scratched at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it before. “What does that mean?”

“Your eyes,” Steve said. He dropped his hand, falling back against the pillows, and let an easy smile stretch across his chapped lips. “Your eyes are blue.”

Bucky jolted as if shocked. That’s where he’s heard that word before; blue is a color.

“They have classes down at the rec center,” Steve said, not acknowledging Bucky’s shock in the slightest. “They’re for pairs only, so I hid behind the bleachers to listen--” He paused here to cough some more, shaking his head when Bucky offered him water. With a soft sigh, he said, “They teach all about colors. They have different names. And there’s so many of them. Blue is my favorite. Just like your eyes.”

A lump settled in Bucky’s throat and he cleared it a couple of times. He can’t seem to look directly at Steve. He knew he needed to say something, but his heart felt like it was beating too fast, too slow, stopping and restarting instantaneously.

A small wheeze escaped Steve, not sounding like the laugh it was intended to be. “Geez, Buck. I’m kind of pouring my heart out over here. You should say something.”

Bucky’s mouth felt dry. “What do you want me to say?”

“Say that you see it, too.” Steve’s voice sounded smaller than normal, but when Bucky cast a glance at him, his expression was steady, intent and focused. “Say that I’m not crazy. Say you can feel it, like I can.”

Bucky thought back to the moment he first saw Steve, the color that overwhelmed him, but more than that, the feeling. The warmth that rushed through his veins when he saw the scrawny kid with blood smeared on his face. He felt it presently, too, that warmth, and realized it’s the feeling he always gets when he looks at Steve. 

“What is blood?” Bucky asked quietly. “It has a name, right? The color of blood?”

“Red,” Steve said too quickly-- Bucky almost rolled his eyes. Steve had seen a lot of blood in his fifteen years of life, mostly his own. Of course he’s familiar with it.

“Red,” Bucky repeats. It tastes heavy on his tongue, like copper, but right. A word he would want to say over and over again. “Red. That’s the first one I saw. That one is my favorite.”

Steve beamed up at him, his cheeks lighting up the color of blood. Red. Bucky couldn’t contain himself. He leaned over and pressed his lips against Steve’s. It lasted less than a second, barely even a brush of skin against skin, because Steve started coughing again.

They smiled at each other. Steve scooted over on the bed and lifted the blanket. He didn’t use words, but Bucky understood the question. He climbed in next to Steve, their noses just inches apart, their legs pressed together.

“Get some sleep, punk,” Bucky said, and placed a gentle kiss on Steve’s forehead.

“Not tired,” Steve said. His eyes were half-lidded, looking on the verge of sleep or death. Bucky didn’t want to think about that, about Steve dying. This wasn’t the first time Steve got sick and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. His body was kind of frail, but Steve had always been one hell of a fighter.