#while sketchbook is trying so hard to help tony feel better but . in the process . also hiding his own feelings and troubles –

[spookythesillyfella]

four unrecoverable hours down the drain ....

★ song : "Gehenna" – Nightcord at 25:00 cover

[hddnone]

for the birthday prompts, nsfw stuckony college au? a get together perhaps? please! I love your writing 😍

“I was never meant to learn Russian. I’m so behind.  I’m going to fail,” Bucky whined as he collapsed at Steve’s table. 

Steve barely afforded him a glance, as Steve continued working furiously in his sketchbook. 

“You should buy me a coffee. My life is over,” Bucky pressed, crossing his arms. 

“You’re lucky you even have a seat.”

Steve wasn’t wrong. The cafe was full to bursting with so many students needing their mid-afternoon caffeine hit. Bucky was surprised Steve even managed to score a table, not to mention an extra chair. 

Steve continued, “And even if you were going to actually fail, which I doubt, failing your Russian class isn’t that big of a deal.”

“It is if I want to be on track to go abroad next year, and I need a good grade or Professor Shostakov won’t approve my application.” Bucky slumped.

Steve hummed but didn’t reply, his pencil zipping across the paper. 

Bucky sighed and watched the line for coffee lengthen. He needed the boost, but he didn’t have the energy to stand in that line. He wanted Steve to do it for him, but Steve wasn’t even paying attention to Bucky’s woes anymore - 

“Done,” Steve declared and slammed his pencil on the table. He slapped his sketchbook closed and slipped it back into his backpack. “Well, for now, anyway. It’s not terrible progress to show at class,” he explained. 

“Why aren’t I an art major?” Bucky sighed.

“Because you’d be terrible at it,” Steve answered dryly. “Now, Russian. Are you actually failing?” 

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe, I don’t know. It’s these stupid exams. I can stay on top of the history readings or the language but not both at the same time, and I’m so behind on vocab it’s not even-”

He’d lost Steve’s attention again. Steve was on his phone, texting, and it was probably his boyfriend with that kind of smile on his face. 

Bucky sighed. He was happy that Steve was happy, Steve and Tony had never made Bucky feel like the third wheel, and it should’ve been much more awkward then it was when they all hung out, but Bucky was having a crisis here. He should go complain to Nat, since she was the one who had forced him to join her in those classes back when they were freshmen. 

Steve turned back to Bucky with a smug grin on his face. “Tony knows Russian, and he’ll tutor you.”

“Tony knows Russian?”

Steve shrugged. “Ask him. But come on, he’s at the apartment now.” Steve cleared the rest of his stuff from the table. 

“But -” 

“I’ll make you coffee at his place,” Steve conceded. 

“Done,” Bucky said cheerfully and got to his feet. 

Tony’s apartment was just off-campus. The place was better than a dorm, though not by much, and Bucky thought the price exorbitant, but Tony was willing to pay for the convenience and he was happy to have Steve and Bucky and whoever stop by whenever they wanted. 

And, Tony had a coffee maker that took up a full half of his counter space, but it was great and he would provide free coffee to anyone as long as he didn’t have to make it. Which was fine, because Steve was more than willing to make Bucky’s coffee. 

“Here’s the thing,” Steve said as they walked to Tony’s apartment, fidgeting with his backpack. “Tony helped me with some of those stat classes for poly sci, right? So I know he’s a good tutor, either way you want him, okay?”

“What are you trying to say?” Bucky pressed, rolling his eyes. 

Steve explained Tony’s process for tutoring, his voice going husky. 

“And you’re fine with…?” 

“Yup.” Steve gave Bucky a bright grin. “I promise it works.”

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about Steve’s explanation the entire time. Or really, Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about Steve practically dirty talking to him while they walked down the sidewalk. 

When they made it to Tony’s apartment, Tony greeted them with a knowing smile. 

“So, Russian lessons,” Tony said. “I learned because of my Dad’s business connections. Boring story, and I know the weirdest mix of words, but I’m sure I can help.”

Bucky couldn’t help it. His gaze dropped to Tony’s lips, watching them form the words. Then watched those lips form a smirk. 

“I see Steve already told you about my methods,” Tony purred. 

Bucky nodded, and Steve patted him on the back. 

“I’ll go make that coffee,” Steve said. He kissed Tony as he walked by. “For you both, don’t worry.”

“Thanks babe,” Tony said with a smile. 

“Are you sure…?” Bucky asked. He’d asked Steve that too, along with a couple of what the fuck?s and why the hell?s around Steve’s explanation.

“Oh, yes,” Tony declared so strongly that it startled Bucky. “Steve said you guys were super close and shared everything. I’ve been dreaming of this since I met you.”  Tony’s gaze obviously dropped to Bucky’s lips. “Haven’t you?” 

Bucky cleared his throat. “I plead the Fifth.”

Tony laughed. “Steve explained the tiers, right? I’ll drill you - verbally, with questions, at first,” he said with a wink. “You get enough answers right, and you earn a kiss. Then, I start stripping. Then, you get a blow job and if you get an 85 or better on this next exam…” 

Tony slung his arms around Bucky’s neck and pulled him close. 

Bucky cautiously let his hands settle on Tony’s waist, his fingers just starting to touch that swell of Tony’s ass. 

“I’ll rim you until you cry,” Tony promised. 

Bucky swallowed a whine. 

“Or I will,” Steve said as he held out two coffees, one for Bucky and one for Tony. “If you wanted to blow Tony for all his hard work in getting you to pass.”

Steve winked and Bucky swore. 

“You’ve talked about this,” Bucky said, his throat dry. He stepped away from Tony so he could take the coffee and down a huge gulp. 

He wondered how obvious his growing erection was in his jeans right now. 

“A lot,” Steve said with an awkward smile. 

“Steve is really great at dirty talk, and if you don’t fuck as well as Steve thinks you can then I think my heart will break,” Tony said. 

Bucky swallowed. He considered all his possible answers, and finally settled on one. The one he wanted, desperately, but had been trying not to think about ever since Steve had started dating Tony and Bucky had realized how much he was attracted to both of them. 

“You want a trial run? Right now?” Bucky asked. He set the coffee aside. He was suddenly wide awake. 

“I have class…” Steve chewed on his lip. 

“You’re going to be late,” Tony said, and then dragged the both of them to the bedroom. 

[har-rison-s]

teenage dirtbag

request: Can you make a thor oneshot where the reader is teen and has a big crush on him and she or he is always trying to impress with modern culture but one day he reads i dunno her diary and finds loads of pictures ( that he didn’t even knew existed)of him and writings and he confronts the reader

A/N: This is so cute! And I hope I made it as cute as I hoped to. Really interesting to write Thor. I've never done that before. And I love Thor. He was the reason I even started to watch Marvel movies. And I love him. Many injustices were done to his character arc and development, but um... TAIKA WAITITI PLEASE DIRECT THOR 4. I love Thor Odinson. PLEASE SEND MORE REQUESTS WITH HIM!!! Happy reading!

main masterlist

mcu masterlist

Dear diary,

why do I even start my writings like this? It's stupid and sounds like I'm a helpless romantic girl in some movie. But if I would be in a movie, maybe my dreams would come true...

Yesterday I told Thor about Youtube and he couldn't understand it, not at first. But, when I showed him a couple of cat and fail videos, he found them amusing, and so the idea of using Youtube. He even asked me to help him set up an account. He said he wanted to “capture” the team training or having a fight. A succesful lesson of modern culture for him, that.

Said I'd help him do it tomorrow, which is today and I'm bound to help him whenever he asks. Now I'm going to have a shower and then join the others for breakfast. After that, me and Thor will make him an account on Youtube. I can't wait. Finally, for the first time, I'm going to be alone with him. Me and Thor. Only us two. I can't wait. I already said that. Well, whatever. 

Okay, then. I'll return to you later. Hopefully, after a succesful time-spending with Thor. 

Thor looks up from the notebook he was reading. His eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes squinted. “So, is she just writing here whatever she thinks? Is that what it's for? And why is almost everything about me?” He thinks.

Thor looked so good today. - June 15th

I miss Thor's long hair, so beautiful. Especially when he tied half of it behind his head. Maybe I should ask him for his hair routine, it's always shiny and flawless... - April 30th

Told Thor about 'yeet' today, in front of others. They made fun of me. And they always do. It's started to get on my nerves. I'm just a kid. Maybe that's exactly why they make fun of me. But Thor didn't. He thanked me for teaching him Earth's modern language. - November 16th

Training with Thor. First time for me. And I couldn't concentrate. One of the most stupid moments in my life. Couldn't stop staring at his muscles that were about to burst from underneath his Tony-given tank. Christ, I still see them now. - March 7th

We had Netflix & Chill today, with the whole crew. My idea again. We started watching Stranger Things, season one. Thor was silent through the episodes. Did he not like it? Was it confusing him? Too colorful? Strange things, if I must say so myself. - July 12th

So many mentions of his name. It seemed weird. And what was even weirder than that were pictures of him. Ones he didn't know were taken. But then again, he never knew when pictures are taken of him. But these ones... These were not taken in public.

One was of Thor in the kitchen, talking with Tony. He remembers that. They were still talking about what's worthy enough to hold Mjolnir. Steve Rogers came into the room later.

Another picture was of Thor smiling, surprisingly, sitting in the sofa, a drink in hand. Thor was remembering another childhood prank he played on Loki to get back at him.

There were some group pictures, with some small doodles around Thor's head. Hearts? Butts? A picture of Y/N and Natasha, a picture of Y/N and Steve. A picture where Y/N is photographed by someone else. And, taking the words underneath the picture, it was Sam Wilson who took the picture.

Then, there are some pictures of Thor in the gym and some with him just practicing with Mjolnir, some with him talking to Vision. Lots of different ones, but mainly with Thor in them. 

Some of the pictures looked like... printed chap-snats? Chat-snaps? Snapchats. Yeah. An application in the cellphones that Y/N showed him one day. Thor liked the funny effects the application put on his face.

What was this all about? The pictures, the writings, the doodles? Some sort of... obsession maybe? Or, maybe she's a big fan of him. Either way, the pictures were disturbing Thor only a little bit. So he had to ask her what's that about. They've got to stop, whatever it is. Secretly taking pictures is clearly a violation of privacy, even to a self-loving and loathing god like Thor.

Thor puts the notebook back down on the desk it was laying on before he picked it up. He was actually waiting for Y/N in her room so they could set up the “You-tube” account. Thor was actually excited for that, but what he'd found in the notebook lessened his good mood a bit.

He leans, slightly sitting down, against the desk and waits for Y/N to come in. She will be, he knows that. Thor only left breakfast early cause he wanted to see Y/N's room for himself first. He was afraid, though, so he didn't want to freak the kid out with his reaction. Anything could be in a teenager's room, it could look like a portal to the Dark dimension or just look like a battleground.

But her room is nice, very pretty, fitting to herself. Soft tones, black bed sheets, pretty curtains, shelves full of books and sketchbooks, flowers by her bed and on the desk. There's even a small plush bunny on her bed. Very cute. Thor smiles when he notices it. She must have had it from her childhood. 

Y/N walks into the room and stops dead in her tracks. “Thor.” She mumbles, eyes wide. She's actually eating some nuts she took from the kitchen, they scrunch beneath her teeth as she looks at Thor, eyes frozen on his. She's practically hypnotized. 

“Y/N.” Thor greets, nodding. “Still enjoying earthly breakfast?” Y/N nods. “Some foods here are good, but nothing like Asgard's was, I have to admit. But,  still, you people eat it and you're not dead yet.” 

Y/N laughs. Something no one else would do at Thor's strange comments, and it makes him glad someone appreciates his thoughts, someone hears them and doesn't think them weird. Well, at least that's what he thinks she's reacting like. 

“God, I always forget to give you Belgian waffles or French Crepes. They're the best, honestly.” She says and walks past him, her posture a bit strange. “You taste them and you have no doubt about our food being at small bit bad.” Thor hums. “So, you came here to set up your Youtube account?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I was waiting for you, lady Y/N.” He responds. “But I, uh, well, I have many questions on my mind, but one of them is uh...”

“Ask away.” Y/N says, opening her laptop. Her eyes are trying not to look at Thor every once in a while. Though, it's very hard. 

“What is your blue book for?” He asks, turning slightly to the young girl. She glances at him briefly. 

“What? This one?” She points at her diary on the desk next to her laptop. Thor nods. “Oh, it's um, it's only for... Well, not only, I... I leave pictures there and uh, write down whatever I want to. Nothing interesting, really.”

“Nothing interesting? There were some things that intrigued me there, I must admit.” Thor says, boldly, without faltering. 

Y/N hums, and only a second later does she realise what his words mean. “Wait, you went through my diary?” She asks, voice full of shock.

“A diary?” Thor echoes. “Yes, well, I did. I thought it... Well, I didn't really think anything, I was just interested cause it... looked pretty.”

Y/N chuckles, but quietly. “Wh-what did you, exactly, see—uh—read in there?” She stumbles over words. Her crush on Thor is about to become very evident, if it wasn't already.

“Oh, uh, your writings and pictures,” Thor says, “May I ask some more questions?”

“Uh-huh.” Y/N says, her voice high-pitched and worry-laced. 

“Why do you have pictures of me in your, uh, diary?” He asks and Y/N's entire being freezes. “I assume you're the one taking them.”

Y/N clears her throat. “I, uh, yes, I... I like to take pictures of, uh, of everyone.” She gives her best white lie. 

“Do you have, maybe, pictures of others? Like, Captain Rogers or Stark or Natasha? Just them?” 

“Natasha, some of her.” Y/N squeals. “The others, I don't... I don't find quite interesting.”

“Not as interesting as me?” Thor clarifies. “I'm flattered, Lady Y/N. But... why draw hearts around me? Do you draw them because you think I'm more interesting?”

“Oh, no,” Thor hears Y/N mumble as she throws her head in her hands. He looks at her with concern, worried if she's sad or anxious, “okay, I'm just gonna tell you and embarrass myself in the process, but at least I'll get it over with now and quick.” She rambles, looking into Thor's eyes. The god nods. “I, uh, I just... I kinda... Well, I like you more than the others. We call it a crush between teenagers. It's when you...”

“Oh, I understand.” Thor says, nodding. He looks away and Y/N anxiously watches him think it over, what she said. Oh, crap, he's going to laugh at her. He's going to laugh and then tell everyone else. Maybe she should not have said anything at all. “That's completely okay, Lady Y/N. Thank you for telling me.” He says. “It's all okay, but... you're just young. And returning those feelings wouldn't be right.”

Y/N nods. 

“You look sad, miss Y/N.” Thor says after they both nod in silence to each other. “Let me give you an embrace.” He opens his arms to Y/N and she nods once again before letting herself fall into the god's embrace. He rubs her back comfortably, but finding it strange that she's quiet, not saying anything. He has to make her feel better. “Can we watch the cats dancing again?” Thor asks and hears the familiar sound of Y/N's giggle.

Permanent taglist: @v0idbella @inlovewithmiddleagedcelebs @works-of-fanfiction @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @stfxlou @ur-gunna-h8-ths @one-taylor-one-vision@empressdreams @betweenloveandfire @but-legendsneverdie @deardeacy @fvckyeahbenhardy @thewinchesterchronicles @mavieesttriste16 @mrsmazzello @benhardyseyes @langdonzvoid @intrrverted @the-freak-cassie-131

[musicalluna]

nice, a sequel

this is a commission for @ishipallthings who requested a sequel to nice

--

It's late spring in Manhattan and the weather's perfect when Steve leaves S.H.I.E.L.D. The sun is warm, but the breeze is cool, and Steve takes a deep breath as he starts toward the bus stop that will take him back toward the Tower. Days like this he likes to stay above ground where he can see the world go by. Today he doesn't pay as much attention to the trip as he normally might—his mind's somewhere else. On someone else.

He and Tony had sat in the kitchen for hours talking and passing the spoon back and forth while they made a considerable dent in the carton of ice cream the night before. With the cat out of the bag, Tony had wanted to know everything about the little gifts, details about the classes Steve was signing up for, which edits he'd liked best. Now that Steve was watching for it, he could see Tony taking mental notes of their conversation. More gifts would come out of it, Steve could feel it to his bones. He'd gone to bed feeling lighter than he had in years. Even now, in the searing spring sunshine, the memory hasn't tarnished. Without asking for anything in return, and without any recognition at all, Tony has been making Steve's life more bearable. Something he's realized as he thought about it is that no one does that for Tony. They ask him for things and thank him when he does them (it's fifty-fifty odds as to whether or not they also give him a hard time). Tony doesn't seem bothered by it or inclined to stop, but it bothers Steve. Now that he's paying attention, he knows he's been less gracious than Tony deserves for all he's done. Ma would be disappointed. Which is why Steve stops by a place on his walk from the stop to pick up a burger and fries. It's not unusual for Tony to show up in the kitchen ravenous because he's forgotten to eat. Bringing him something before he gets to that point isn't much, but it's something Steve can do. He pauses at the door to the workshop and says, “JARVIS, can you ask Tony if I can come in?” JARVIS doesn't respond, but inside the shop, Tony cocks his head and then glances back over his shoulder. Steve waves. Tony says something, and the door opens with a hiss. “To what do I owe the honor?” Tony asks and the question is casual, but there's something guarded in the way Tony looks Steve over. It makes Steve feel worse. Tony does all these nice things for Steve, but he still doesn't trust him. Pushing the thought aside, Steve holds up the bag. “I stopped for lunch, and I thought you might be hungry.” Tony stares in surprise for a moment. Then he gathers himself and says, “Yeah, I could eat.” To say the meal is awkward would be an understatement. Steve doesn't know where the easy conversation from the night before has gone, but he feels like a dolt as they stagger their way through. “Well, I'll see you later,” he says, when they've both finished, and Tony's eyes keep sliding over to the holographic displays nearby. “Oh,” Tony says, a mishmash of emotions crossing his face, “yeah, sure, okay. Thanks for lunch.” “Anytime,” Steve says and then makes a not-too-hasty retreat. That had been a disaster. Steve can't understand it, and he wants to, so he goes to the gym and starts going through his routine with the bag, trying to break things down like he would after a battle. He's nearly thirty minutes in when it hits him—Steve had come in the afternoon after finding out Tony's been giving him all these gifts and immediately given something to Tony and stood right there. Steve had liked that he didn't feel pressured to react in a certain way or to reciprocate the mystery nice person's gestures. Maybe that's why Tony had done it that way in the first place, and Steve's gone and put that exact pressure on him. “I have to be more subtle,” he realizes aloud. “Aim for the stars, Cap,” Clint calls from across the room. Steve swipes a wrist across his forehead and shoots Clint a dirty look. “I didn't ask the peanut gallery.” Clint grins toothily at him. “I offer my nuggets of wisdom freely.” “Let me offer you a nugget,” Steve retorts. “Don't.” – Before Steve gets a chance to try again, Tony beats him to the punch. Steve has an appointment with S.H.I.E.L.D. medical. He despises medical, but he recognizes that it's necessary to do regular checkups to be sure he's recovered from old injuries and to make sure he's healthy. Anything he might catch could easily kill the other Avengers. Better safe than sorry. He's not sure how Tony finds him, but he strides out of a hallway Steve passes on his way to medical and falls into step with Steve. His eyes are hidden behind a dark pair of sunglasses, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Hey, there, Cap. Where you headed?” “Medical.” Tony glances over at him, sunglasses glinting under the fluorescents. “Care for some company?” It's embarrassing, but Steve does. The idea of Tony watching on while the doctors poke and prod at him relaxes the knot in his belly. Tony won't let them do anything they shouldn't. “I'd like that,” he says, and Tony's mouth curls slightly at the corners. “You got it, Cap.” Tony talks the whole way to the medbay and hardly lets up once they get there. He talks about his projects and asks Steve questions to help him with the new advanced helmet he's working on for Steve. He wants to put a heads-up display into the eye holes. While the doctors put him through the shoulder maneuvers for the physical exam inspecting his muscles and joints, Steve tells Tony what kinds of information would be useful in a HUD and what would just be a distraction. Tony keeps trying to talk him into adding things, and Steve keeps patiently reminding him that as smart as the serum made him, he's still no Tony Stark. It makes Tony look quietly pleased. “Come on, Cap, I think you're underestimating the amount of data you can process.” Steve chuckles. “No, you're overestimating it, Smart Guy.” Tony's presence makes the appointment go by that much faster, and it should be uncomfortable doing all this in his skivvies while Tony watches on, but Tony keeps his eyes firmly on Steve's face and at this point, the more naked he is, the more comfortable he is with Tony there. He knows Tony will have his back. It's a funny, warm realization. – Steve's next attempt to be nice is less showy. Tony doesn't even see him doing it, because what he does is guard the coffee pot so there are still a couple mugs worth of Tony's favorite in the carafe when he comes to the kitchen. It takes a week worth of watching Tony to see what coffee types he likes best, JARVIS' help keeping track of his movements, and Clint being annoyed with him, but he does it. It makes him proud, and the satisfaction of watching Tony's contented expression as he takes his first sip motivates him to think of more things he can do to make Tony happy. Once he remembers Tony saying that's why he started doing it, that makes it much more comfortable. He's beginning to recognize what Tony looks like when he's happy and starts scribbling notes in his sketchbook alongside his doodles whenever he notices something in particular. Tony always seems pleased by gifts, even when they're stupid things like Natasha giving him a sauce packet from a restaurant with Iron Man on it, so Steve keeps his eyes peeled when he goes out and picks things out occasionally. A scarf with gold flecks that reminds him of Tony's eyes, an itty bitty Iron Man figurine, a pack of his favorite snack, anything that makes him think of Tony. Once he buys Tony a piece of art—a painting of the reflection of a chrome bumper—and Tony's face when he presents it to him makes him flush and start to draw back. “NO,” Tony says loudly, and grabs hold of one edge of the painting. “It's mine now. Thank you.” Steve swallows, his heart pounding at the base of his throat. Tony's fingers are touching his, and he feels completely unmoored. “You're welcome,” he finally manages. – It doesn't occur to him how much things have changed between him and Tony until he goes to the SI R&D department to deliver fifteen bags of take out because Tony had told him his team was working sixteen hour days trying to fix something that had gone wrong. Tony smiles as he watches the team dig into the bags, but it's heavy on his face, his eyes lined and his face a little gray. Steve curls a hand around the back of his neck and says, “Hey. You all right?” Tony looks at him and sighs. “As all right as I can be. My back hurts, and it feels like my brain's bleeding, but sure.” Steve squeezes his neck lightly. “Well, I can't do anything about the brain bleed, but I could rub your back?” He realizes immediately how intimate what he's proposing is, but before he can think better of it, Tony says, “Could you really? I might die.” That settles it and Steve nods. “Of course. It may not be very good, but I've got strong hands.” “You've got strong everything,” Tony mutters. “Come on.” He leads Steve over to one of the conference rooms and slumps down on to the nearest armless chair backward, pressing his face into the leather back. Steve puts his hands on Tony's shoulders but doesn't start in intense right away. He rubs his palms slowly over Tony's back, kneading lightly with his fingers, but not using too much pressure. He drags the tips of his fingers across Tony's shoulders and then down either side of his spine, just getting him used to the touch. After maybe five minutes, Tony's posture softens, and he leans heavily into the chair back, the tension slowly easing out of his shoulders. That's when Steve starts massaging more deeply, using his whole hands to squeeze the muscles and pressing harder. Tony groans. It gives Steve an immense sense of satisfaction to see Tony come apart like that, bit by bit.  There's something about it that just makes him feel accomplished, like he's done something that really needed doing. He keeps at it for the better part of half an hour. By that time Tony's slumped against the chair back, his face mashed into the leather, arms dangling loosely at his sides. Steve's pretty sure there's drool on the chair. “Ngh,” Tony finally grunts. “'f I don't go back I never will.” Steve slows his hands, kneading more lightly at Tony's shoulders. “All right. Let me know if there's anything else I can do.” “Help me up?” Tony asks. Steve helps him find his feet, steadying Tony when he wobbles precariously. Tony's face is right there, his eyes hooded and his breath warm on Steve's jaw. Steve freezes, staring directly into Tony's eyes and he watches them widen the slightest bit, Tony's breathing suddenly stuttering. His skin is warm under Steve's hand where he's still touching him, lingering on his skin because Tony's shirt is unbuttoned halfway and his collar's open and he smells like espresso and sweat and the lotion Steve had grabbed off a nearby counter at some point. Steve's heart is beating so hard in his chest it feels like being small and weak again, it feels like tachycardia, it feels like panic and anticipation and an urgency he hasn't felt for anyone since he said goodbye to Peggy seventy years ago. Realization takes his breath away. Oh. Oh. That's why he wanted so badly to give back to Tony. Why he wanted to see him happy. It's not gratitude, and it's not teambuilding, or it is, but it's all buried under the need to see Tony happy, thriving. He's in love with Tony. He doesn't know when exactly it happened but now that he's staring at it—Tony—straight in the face, he knows that's exactly what this is. At his back, the door opens, and panic lurches up Steve's throat. He steps back, letting go of Tony so fast he tips forward a little. Steve turns his head enough to see Pepper peering around the door. “Tony?” she says. “Here you are, they've been looking for you. Oh, Steve. Hello.” Steve reacts on pure habit and nods his head. “Ma'am.” He winces the minute it's out of his mouth because Pepper told him a long time ago that she didn't want him calling her ma'am or Miss Potts unless they worked together which they did not. She doesn't seem to notice though, busy approaching Tony who's trying to get his shirt back in order. Steve flushes as he watches them, suddenly all too aware of how this must look, him and Tony squirreled away in a conference room, Tony looking mussed and dopey. With an intensity that surprises him, Steve finds himself wishing that was precisely what had happened, and that Pepper knew it. “...lost track of time,” Tony is saying. “Captain America gave me a massage.” He sounds smug, and Pepper smiles indulgently at him. “Well, that was very nice of him, you needed something like that. Unfortunately, we need you back out there being brilliant now.” “Story of my life,” Tony sighs, but it's in good humor. “I should go,” Steve blurts, “let you get back to work.” “Hey, thanks, Steve. I feel a million times better.” Steve nods and smiles and flees. – Steve goes out to a coffee shop where he can get some distance and think. He does this often enough that he has a usual spot and one of the baristas smiles at him from where they're wiping down the other tables as he sits down. He sketches while he considers the piano that fell on his head while he was with Tony. He's interested in Tony as more than a friend. This isn't the first time he's felt something like this, and it's not even the first time he's taken a shine to another man, but. Well, he'd been aware of it then, it hadn't hit him like Thor's hammer out of seemingly nowhere. He feels guilty for it because if he'd only been doing nice things for Tony out of some kind of attempt to get Tony's attention that was wrong. As his sketch of the shop storefront develops though, the guilt fades. He hadn't been doing them to get Tony's attention, he'd been doing it to see Tony happy. As happy as Tony had made him. Steve's breath catches and his pencil stills on the page. Was that why Tony had done it? “You deserve to be happy, Steve.” The thought that Tony might reciprocate Steve's feelings fills him with a giddy bubble of happiness. When Tony has some time, Steve will talk to him and find out if he's right. – When he gets home, it's early evening, and Steve is feeling loose and contented, still warm with the thought that there may be something between him and Tony they can explore. He brightens when he walks into the kitchen to find Tony in his rumpled dress shirt leaning against the island countertop. He's grinning across it at Clint who has his hands thrown up in the air. “A dog park!” “Yes,” Tony says, voice thick with amusement. He takes a bite of the breadstick in his hand. “In the Tower!” “Where else would I put it?” Tony asks. “Lucky should be able to run around with his friends.” “You're unbelievable,” Clint says, which is his way of saying thank you. Tony grins. “I know.” Clint throws a wadded up napkin at Tony's head as he leaves. “Send pictures!” Tony yells after him. Then he catches sight of Steve and his smile widens. “Steve, hey. Thanks again for earlier.” Steve shrugs. “You needed it. What was Clint all worked up about?” Tony returns his shrug. “I had a dog park installed on the fifteenth floor. A high-rise isn't the best environment for a dog, you know? Clint doesn't get up early enough to take Lucky to Central for the off-leash hours, and SI's got plenty of employees with dogs—I figured why not?” “That's awfully nice of you, Tony,” Steve says, feeling his heart sink to his feet. Maybe he's not so special to Tony after all. – Steve feels like a heel for his reaction to discovering Tony does nice things for the others. He should be happy that Tony is a good, kind person who does stuff like this for no reason. It's part of what Steve loves about him after all. Despite the logic of that, he's jealous. He wanted to mean something more to Tony, that's all. It's embarrassing, how badly he misinterpreted things. More than ever, he owes Tony repayment for all the good things he's done. He just...can't quite face Tony with how foolish he's been, so he does his best to repay Tony's kindness without interacting with him directly. Natasha watches him enter the kitchen one morning just after Tony's left—Steve had waited in the hallway until he'd heard him leave. “Steve,” she says tone heavy with unspoken words. Steve grimaces at the coffee pot. “What's going on with you and Tony?” she asks, and he sighs. Of course she knows. “Nothing,” he says, knowing it's a feeble denial at best. “Mhm.” She sips her tea judgmentally. “Did he—say something?” Steve asks, voice getting stuck part way through the question. “Why, what would he say, Steve?” Steve shakes his head, feeling the back of his neck grow hot. “Nothing. That I know of.” “Which is why you waited in the hall until he left.” Steve's heart throbs, caught out. Natasha sighs. Steve slinks back out of the kitchen with his coffee, feeling guilty. Later, he's in the gym (after making sure Tony isn't, of course) and Clint strides in with a sigh. “Steve, man, I love you, but what the hell did you do?” Steve pauses his workout, wiping a hand across his sweaty forehead. “Uhh…?” Clint throws something at him—a small piece of paper that Steve catches against his chest. When he lowers his hand to see what it is, the paper drifts into his palm and Steve's throat goes tight. “Where did you get this?” he rasps. “Tony gave it to me and told me to give it to you.” Tony. The small paper is a photograph. He doesn't know who took it or where or how, but it's a photo of him and Peggy. There's a hand on Steve's shoulder in the picture that he's almost positive is Bucky. “Why's Tony giving things to me to give to you instead of giving them to you himself.” “What?” Steve says and tears his gaze away from the photo. “He made me an errand boy. Whatever you did, fix it, Steve.” Clint kicks him in the ankle, none too gently, and leaves. Steve looks at the photograph again, his heart clenching like a fist in his chest. He's never seen this one before, and Peggy looks… For a moment, the loss yawns so wide and dark inside him it feels inescapable. Then he remembers why he has this photo, and he swallows down his embarrassment and disappointment and heads down to Tony's workshop. Tony is sitting at his workbench working with a screwdriver and some kind of electronic with a hologram hovering close by feeding him readouts. “Tony,” he calls, “I can't...I can't accept this.” Tony pauses in his work and then turns slowly, one eyebrow rising up his forehead. “What exactly do you think I'm going to do with it?” Steve doesn't know how to answer that. Tony planned this he realizes when he meets Tony's eye. Tony's lips press into a thin line, and he whaps the screwdriver against the meat of his palm. “Why'd you stop talking to me, Steve?” Steve swallows, pulling the photo back in toward his body. Miserably, he says, “I'm sorry, Tony. I keep trying to fix this, and I just keep making it worse. I thought if I got some distance I could stop myself.” Tony frowns. “Stop yourself from what?” Steve closes his eyes, chin dropping. “Stop myself from being a jealous jackass.” He sighs. “Obviously I'm not doing a very good job.” “Jealous?” Tony echoes. “Jealous of what?” Steve scrubs his face with his hands. The sweat from his workout has dried, itchy and uncomfortable on the back of his neck. “I thought… I thought I was special. That maybe...you were doing these things—” He holds up the photo. “—because you—” Steve trails off, grimacing. “But then you gave Clint the dog park and—” He sighs again. “It's nothing you did, Tony, honest.” “Hang on—you're jealous because I gave Clint the dog park?” “I shouldn't be upset that you're a good guy, Tony, but—” “But you are.” “That's not why I'm upset!” Tony gives him a profoundly skeptical look. “I'm upset because I thought it—meant something.” Steve is mortified when Tony stares at him. He starts backing toward the door, hands raised. “I'm sorry—Tony, I'm sorry, I am. I'm going to—stop, I promise.” “Hang on,” Tony says, raising his voice, and Steve freezes. Then, very carefully, Tony says, “Steve, how many dog park-like things have I done for you?” Steve shrugs, uncomfortable. “Dozens, maybe?” “And do you know how many I've done for Barton?” Steve shakes his head. “One,” Tony says. Then after a beat, “Okay maybe two or three. A handful. But nowhere near the dozens I've done for you. Do you know why that is?” Steve swallows, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest. Tony's eyes are intense, his lips trembling ever-so-slightly. “Because you're different, Steve.” Steve can't find his voice around his pounding heart. He's special to Tony and Tony's a good, kind person. “You're...something else, Tony,” he finally croaks. “I hope someday I can be half the man that you are.” Tony's eyes go wide, his tongue darting out nervously over his bottom lip. He gives Steve an uncertain, puzzled smile. “You're Captain America,” he says like that's half as important as Tony constantly working himself to the bone to make the people around him happy and, not only that, to keep the world around him safe. Steve is just a sickly kid from Brooklyn with something to prove. He shakes his head. “Tony, you fight the little everyday battles alongside the world-changing ones. You're the reason I can keep fighting at all.” “I think you're underselling yourself.” “I think you're underselling yourself.” Tony's mouth twitches upward on one side, and he twists the screwdriver between his hands. “So...you think I'm pretty great. And I think you get where I'm coming from now. So.” His eyes flicker to Steve's. “What now?” “Well,” Steve says, taking a slow step forward. “My last good kiss was in 1945.” A grin blooms over Tony's face, brightening until Steve feels like he's going to burst with the warmth filling him up.

[sebseyesandbuckysthighs]

For You, From Me

summary: As far as second chances go, Steve Rogers has had a few of them. With you, he finally found a chance to settle down and build a future with some semblance of peace. But life can change in an instant and it’s not always fair.

pairing: steve x reader wc: 3.7k warnings: none. fluff and angst a/c: alright so here’s my entry for Kait’s aka @bionic-buckyb 8k Celebration/Angst Challenge! Congratulations again, sweetie, and I hope you have a happy birthday tomorrow! My prompt will be in bold. Also, this is not canon-compliant, but it’s loosely based sometime after CATWS.

*really hope the keep reading insert is functional/isn’t a buttcheek* **if not, i’m sorry for the long ass post!**

“What ya drawing there, Stevie?” you asked, taking a seat next to him on the couch and nuzzling into his side. The sun was setting through the picturesque windows of the Compound's living quarters casting warm tones of orange and purple around the room. Training was finished for the day and while the rest of the team was out enjoying some free time, Steve was in here drawing.

Now that you sat next to him he dropped his pen and handed you the sketchbook, blushing slightly when you reached up to kiss his cheek in thanks. As you took the book from his hands, Steve lifted your legs and placed them over his lap to massage your calves. You hummed gratefully and started sifting through the pages. “What are these?” you asked after a few pages.

He shrugged and continued to rub your legs. “Just some plans I had.”

“What, are you putting down the shield and becoming an architect or something?” You giggled when he tickled your feet in response, but he still didn't answer the question.

Steve always shared his sketches with you. He was never ashamed or embarrassed to show you the things he came up with and loved the way you looked at each drawing with admiration. Although, it did take months to get used to the fact that a lot of his work was focused on you. There were still plenty of pages filled with random still lifes and even some portraits of his teammates, but most of his books were candid sketches of you. Apparently it was his favorite past-time to draw you while you weren't paying attention. You always looked so effortlessly beautiful to him and he couldn't help but capture the moment as best as he could. When he would finally show you a new piece, the look on your face was always so rewarding, your sweet smile always shined for him. The man loved making you smile like that.

Looking through these pages you noticed that they were not filled with his usual artwork, but instead held outlines and blueprints of what looked to be a house. There were floor plans and layouts of various rooms, even some outdoor perspectives that made it look like this place was out in the country. As curious as you were, you knew Steve would tell you about them when he was ready.

It was a little over two years now since you and Steve started dating, having met only a few months after he came out of the ice. Back then, you were a new agent at S.H.I.E.L.D. and he was still adjusting to his new place in time. You were tasked with helping him acclimatize to this new environment and somewhere along the line the two of you became good friends. Trust was tough at first, but after so much time spent together and growing comfortable, you were soon confiding in one another about everything. It wasn't long before you started harboring feelings for each other, but life wasn't easy for Steve back then.

He was still haunted by the memories of his former life. Last moments that were so marred with grief, heartache, and loss. From watching his best friend fall to the cold abyss to then making the devastating decision to plunge into the ice himself, sacrificing his own life and leaving behind the woman he loved. All this only to wake up decades later in a strange time and place, completely alone with no idea how he could possibly fit in with this new world. A man out of his time with only ghosts to keep him company. Until the day you asked to sit beside him and gave him his first sketchbook, hoping an artistic outlet would help him cope.

“Steve?” Your concerned voice jolted him from his thoughts. “You kind of spaced out on me there.”

“Sorry, love. I just got a little distracted, but I'm good,” he said, shifting closer to you.

He reached for the sketchbook resting on your lap and started thumbing through the pages. His voice sounded soft and quiet as he finally spoke. “There's this place a little further upstate from here. Not a lot of stores or people around, but there's plants and flowers everywhere you look. It even has a small lake that stretches out towards the horizon with trees all along the edges.” He paused and smiled, sounding more upbeat as he went on. “There's this big empty plot of land right in the middle of all of that with plenty of open space, but I could cut down a few trees to expand it. Except for this one huge willow tree that's gotta be 100 years old at least. It's so quiet and peaceful out there. You'd love it. It's beautiful.”

The entire time he spoke, you were listening with an adoring smile on your face. You loved the way one corner of his lips would curl into a smirk as he described everything in detail or how his eyes would sparkle as he pictured you being there too. “It sounds like an amazing place, Steve, but what does all of that have to do with this?” You poked at the book.

Silently he turned the pages until he found the one he was looking for. The image was of a two-story house in the center with trees far in the background and a path leading out to water near the edge of the page. There was even a big willow tree close-by. Steve bit his lip nervously and turned to look at you for a moment before staring back at the image. “Well, I was just...I know it would take some time and a lot of hard work, but this is something I've been thinking about for a long time.”

Your brow was still creased in confusion as you pointed to the center of the sketch. “So wait, you want to build this? You want to build a house?”

“A home,” he corrected, lacing his long fingers through yours. “For us.”

Your eyes shot up to look into his blue ones staring right back, seeing nothing but sincerity and adoration.

“When I picked up the shield again, I resigned myself to the fact that that was all my life could ever be. Being a symbol for the nation. Being Captain America. Protecting and serving my country. Fighting against any and every threat that came along and I knew where that road would take me.” He paused as his mind flashed with the faces of all those he'd lost and all those that he still stood to lose. Every muscle in his body grew tense, his chest tightened in a painful vice when your smiling face came into view. Before his mind could drag him any deeper he felt you squeezing his hand, applying the right amount of pressure to help him focus and caressing his knuckles once he had. Supporting him and keeping him grounded was only one of things he loved you for and he was thankful for you in this moment. As his mind cleared, he listened to the sounds of your steady, even breaths and followed the rhythm until he felt the tension slip away. He raised your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles in thanks before continuing.

“When you came into my life, you changed everything,” he said confidently. “You helped me feel like I could belong again, like I was more than just the uniform and the shield. I want to have a life with you. Away from the compound, away from the chaos and threats. I want to build a home with you.”

The tears falling from your eyes didn’t get the chance to roll down your cheeks before Steve was wiping them away with his thumbs. He pulled you into his arms, kissing you until you were both delirious from the overwhelming joy that you had found only with each other. He whispered against your lips, “I love you so much.”

This wonderful man meant the world to you and knowing now that you meant the same to him was an almost indescribable euphoria. “I love you too, Steve.”

*     *     *

“Shit! We have 10 minutes on the clock, people!” Tony exclaimed. The sounds of his repulsor beams firing off and the clash of falling rubble could be heard through your earpiece.

The team was on a mission trying to defuse a biochemical threat in a heavily populated city in Europe where an advanced medical research center had been infiltrated by HYDRA and hostages were taken. A large chemical bomb was set to detonate and the blast radius had the potential to level the entire building and surrounding area, killing a lot of people in the process. Having trained with the EOD for a number of years, you could have handled this situation easily while the others worked securing the hostages and capturing the bad guys. Unfortunately, HYDRA has never been known to fight clean. Their agents had strategically placed the bomb in the building's radiation lab. All they had to do was disable a few safety protocols so that if anyone attempted to enter the room, they would be dead from radiation poisoning within minutes.

“Romanoff, Barton. What’s the status on evac?” Steve’s voice came through somewhat strained. He was still fighting through a large group of hostiles on the upper levels.

Clint answered first, “Our sector is clear. We're on our way out with the hostages, but bomb squad is still setting up in there.”

“Steve, we still have a lot of people out here. Those guys better disable that thing in time or else we're looking at a long list of casualties.” Natasha added, but left out the part that they were on that list too.

“Alright, you two get out there and help clear the perimeter. Tony’s got aerial cover, he’ll assist with evac,” The Captain relayed orders and the team confirmed.

“Shit,” Sam mumbled. He had just reached the last floor to confirm everyone was out when he saw something that complicated things.

“What is it?” Steve asked, still fighting.

“We still have civilians in the building, guys. A lot of ‘em too.” Sam looked around the open lab area to see at least a dozen doctors and researchers cowering behind equipment.

“How is that possible? Stark, you said the lower levels were all clear!” Steve shouted.

“The radiation lab is right above that floor, it’s affecting the readings! You need me back there?” The panicked sounds of the crowd outside could be heard in the background.

“No. Keep your focus out there,” Steve ordered. “Sam and Y/N can clear them out.”

“Ugh, Cap...” Sam trailed off, sounding nervous as he started directing people out the doors.

In an instant, Steve felt his breath leave his body while fear built in the pit of his belly. There were still a lot of hostiles trying to take him down, but he managed to dive into a nearby room, slam the door shut and block it off as best he could. It took a second for him to find his voice before he called for you through the mic. “Y/N, where are you?” He pressed down on his earpiece, desperately waiting to hear the sound of your voice.

“Almost at the radiation lab,” you answered as you continued to run.

Steve felt his stomach drop. He didn’t have time to fully wrap his mind around what was happening before the door burst open and he was throwing punches again. “What the hell do you think you're doing, Y/N?”

“There’s no way we’ll clear the area in time and the bomb techs are still suiting up. By the time they're ready, it'll be too late. It's now or never,” you replied just as you reached your destination.

“Are you insane?” Sam sounded out of breath as he ran up the stairs trying to get to you before you could do anything stupid. “Those guys can handle it!”

“They've already taken too long trying to reverse the tampering done to the safety measures. I just need to override the sequence for the second door to stay closed long enough for me to slip in through the first. Then I can get in there and disarm the damn thing.” The sound of your fingers working rapidly on the console pinged through the comms. The bomb just beyond the doors was almost less of a threat because by now the lab had already flooded with radiation. You looked over at the small group of techs still trying to fit one of their guys in a radiation suit. Time was running short.

Steve was struggling with the last group of agents not because they were actually putting up any sort of challenge to him, but because he was desperate to get down to where you were. “Y/N, please. Just stay where you are. Do not go in that room,” he pleaded.

An alarm echoed throughout the building signaling that the lab had been breached. Steve knocked out the last guy with a deafening blow from his shield. “Tell me you didn't do it.” His voice cracked. “Please say it wasn't you.” The comms were silent.

Before the last body hit the ground, Steve was running. The thunderous beating of his heart was drowning out the sound of his heavy footfalls as he stormed through the building. He was practically flying through the halls and leaping down entire staircases, but no matter how hard he pushed forward he felt like he was running through water. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He needed to get to you. Couldn’t let anything happen to you, promised to protect you, to love you, to be with you.

At one point the alarm stopped wailing, but Steve was too focused to register it's silence. When he finally reached the right floor, he burst through the doors with such force that they flew off their hinges and were catapulted forward in a shower of splintered wood. What he saw next made his blood run cold.

You were on the other side of the door laying on the ground with your upper body leaning against the glass. The radiation was quick to start breaking down your cells. Your eyes were bloodshot and beads of sweat dripped from your forehead as your body shook from the chills. Your cheeks were stained with tears when you looked at him through the glass, but you still managed a small smile. He didn’t even realize that he was moving until he was only inches away. His voice sounded low and rough when he said, “Open the door.”

Sam was off to the side, staring at him in defeat. “It won’t open. She disarmed the bomb, but the doors won’t open until the decontamination is complete.”

Steve felt his world crashing down around him and let out a gut-wrenching cry before he started punching the glass, desperately trying to break down the barrier that kept him separated from you.

“Steve, it’s okay. It’s almost done.” Your voice sounded too hollow, too distant. It made his heart ache.

“It’s not okay!” he screamed. He kept wailing and punching, but the glass only echoed his cries back in his face, taunting him. His knuckles were bleeding and tears burned trails down his cheeks. Finally, his knees buckled and he collapsed on the ground in front of you, clenching his jaw almost to the point of pain. “Why?”

“I’m sorry, my love,” you whispered. There was nothing more you could say to make either of you feel better about your decision. You made your choice and you knew he would have done the same, but saying it now would have just wasted the little time you had.

The instant the door hissed open, Steve had you in his arms. Cradling your steadily weakening body close to him and rocking you gently. Any remaining strength you had was used to hold his face close to yours, keeping your eyes locked to each other.

You muttered your final apologies and words of love before letting your eyes fall shut. Regretting that you wouldn't be in his life, but grateful that he was here for the rest of yours.

*     *     *

A chorus of rhythmic beeping was the first thing you heard. It wasn't what woke you, though. The smell of anti-septic invaded your senses, but there were other scents you were able to focus on. Was that honeysuckle? The lavender and roses were unmistakable and there was even a trace of heavenly caffeine still steaming nearby. You tried to move, but your body felt like it was being weighed down by a thick wet blanket. Everything was heavy. Too heavy. The beeping noise picked up pace and you groaned in pain. It started to feel like someone was sitting on your chest. Before the panic really had a chance to dig in, you felt a calloused hand touch your cheek. A familiar voice softly urged you to calm down, telling you that you were going to be okay and to just focus on breathing. You followed along with him until the knot in your chest loosened before finally opening your eyes.

Steve's eyes were rimmed in red and glistening from the threat of unshed tears, but he was smiling. It was the brightest most beautiful smile you had ever seen. Almost made you want to shut your eyes again from the intensity, but you wouldn't dare. You wanted to run your fingers along his chiseled jaw and wipe away any traces of sadness from his face, yet all you could manage was to clench your fist.

“Don't move too much, love. Your body is still recovering from the transfusion.” He reached out to swipe away a few strands of hair on your forehead before gently pressing his lips to your skin. The gentle touch made you feel safe.

Now that your eyes didn't feel like they were ready to pop out of your skull, you took a moment to look around the room, thankful that the lights were dim enough not to cause any strain or discomfort. It took a moment to inspect your surroundings before you came to a realization that didn't make any sense. You recognized this place. This was one of the private rooms set up for any team injuries in the Compound's med-bay. Before you could voice your confusion, an irritated cough erupted from your dry throat. As soon as the fit stopped, Steve held a straw up to your parched lips allowing you to take eager sips of water. The cool liquid went a long way to soothing your throat, but you still needed answers. Looking to Steve expectantly you saw that he was already looking back at you affectionately.

“Did you really think I would let you go without a fight? That I wouldn't do everything I possibly could to save you?” He cradled the side of your face, sighing happily when you nuzzled into his large palm.

Before anything else could be said you were eager to feel that your body still worked. With a little help from him, you eased yourself into an upright position. Steve was unsurprisingly stubborn when you asked him to take the space beside you, but he quickly relented and joined you on the soft mattress.

“What did you do? How is this even possible?” you asked quietly, settling into his side and relishing in his warmth.

With you safely wrapped in his arms and finally conscious after so many days, Steve felt an overwhelming relief. He started telling you what happened after your world went dark. With the bomb threat neutralized and all hostiles downed, they had to move fast. He refused to give up on you, refused to accept this as the end. The building was a mess from all the panic and fighting, but this was still a highly equipped medical research facility. There had to be something they could do. A plan formulated quickly as the team outside rushed to find the group of doctors that were escorted out last, bringing them back in while Steve carried your limp body to their medical floor where they could treat you for radiation poisoning. You looked so fragile and weak lying there with the tubes and wires connected to your body.

“A blood transfusion?” Your voice pulled him back into the present. It was still a little hoarse and quiet, but it was yours and he was elated to hear it again. Rolling up his sleeve, he showed you the fading mark where the needle had punctured his skin for so many hours. “Like I said, I would do anything for you.”

The process was slow and you were out for nearly sixteen days, but Steve was at your side the entire time. Once all the toxic blood was replaced and you were stable enough, arrangements were made to fly you back home for the remainder of your recovery.

“Docs were a little worried about the effects the serum could have on you, but we had Helen Cho check you out in case the techs over there missed anything. Everything came back perfect. You're going to be okay.” He kissed your temple while rubbing his hand up and down your arm, needing to feel that you were really there with him.

The serum. The same that Steve was injected with all those years ago now flowed through your veins. When you first woke, you were able to pick up on the various scents around the room, something you were never sensitive to before. The bundles of flowers blooming in jars across the room and the now cooled coffee Steve had been sipping to keep him alert. Whatever that all meant, you would deal with it later. At this moment, all that mattered was that you were alive, wrapped in the arms of the man you loved.

Placing your hand over his heart, you looked up at him before saying, “Steve, about that place out in the country?”

That was all you needed to say before he finally leaned forward to connect your lips in a gentle, yet passion-filled kiss. He couldn't wait to take you home and build his forever with you.

K so this was a far cry from the other Steve fic I wrote huh? I don’t dabble in angst too often, but I gave it a shot and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Originally the ending was a lot sooner, but I just couldn’t leave it like that! I need a fluffy ending, alright?! I’m here to heal, not to feel. Any Star Trek: Into Darkness fans out there cause that ending was thick with reference to it. The song “To Build a Home” by The Cinematic Orchestra was also an inspiration for this so yeah, there’s that. 

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[tasharii]

Say Yes: Part 1

Summary: Fate brought you together but that doesn’t mean anything is ever guaranteed. There are a lot of reasons that it shouldn’t work out. People from different worlds usually don’t. But every time you say yes, it gets harder to imagine ever telling him no.

A/N: This has been bouncing around in my head after some badly timed song inspiration. There should be about 5 parts, at least that’s how it’s currently planned out. Should have known I couldn’t just do a Steve Rogers oneshot....

Pairing: Reader x Steve Rogers

Warnings: fluff, some language

Word Count: 4K

Masterlist

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

****

Steve frowned down at his phone as it vibrated on the kitchen counter. It shook the salt and pepper shakers, making them clink together obnoxiously. He took another sip of his black coffee, debating on answering or not. It wasn’t often that he got calls from numbers he didn’t recognize. The liquid burned down his throat, warming him up from the inside.

Bucky glanced over and raised his eyebrows. Seeing Steve’s intense stare at the buzzing object, he took a half step turn and leaned his hip against the counter beside the stove, "You gonna get that?" He waved his spatula at it. Pancakes sizzled on the pan behind him, his voice barely loud enough to carry over the hissing of the oil. 

Making up his mind, Steve nodded, and sat down his hot mug. It had the Captain America shield boldly stamped on it. A gift from Tony. Water dripped down his ears, hair still wet from his post-workout shower. His thumb brushed across the screen and he pressed the phone to his ear, "Steve Rogers."  Words calm and firm, his ‘Captain America’ tone. At least that’s what Bucky called it. Hazy morning light glowed across the kitchen counter above the sink and refracted off the multicolored granite.

Seconds passed before you piped up over the line, sounding nervous but still clear, "Oh um I'm sorry but I'm looking for a Steven Barnes?" A crease formed between his eyebrows, and he tapped his socked foot against the lower support rail of the stool he occupied. Elbows on the counter, his fingers pushed the coffee mug around in front of him, thinking.

Several months had passed since he used that identity. It was the name on his lease from the last apartment he stayed at. Back before Bucky returned from the dead. Before he finally gave in and moved into the Tower where his best friend would he safer. 

"That's me. What can I help you with?" He lifted his mug back up, hiding a smile behind it. Steve hoped to ease some of your tension with his friendlier tone. Bucky kept glancing at him from the stove, obviously eavesdropping, he ignored him.

"Well you see, I got this number from the landlord. I moved into your old apartment. Found some stuff in the closet that you might want. A shoebox? It's got some old pictures, sketchbook, and dog tags in it." You explained, noticeably sorting through the stuff as you went. The sound of shuffling paper and metallic jingling floated through, far away from the phone’s receiver.

Steve tensed, surprised. Bucky plopped a plate of steaming pancakes in front of him with a questioning stare. Concerned about the tension curling up in Steve's muscles. The smell made his mouth water, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat yet. Not while trying to figure out what he was going to do. Blankly, he stared down at his coffee, like it could answer all his problems. Fingers loosely gripping the handle, he took a drink, buying himself a few seconds.

He hadn't entirely unpacked since moving into the new apartment. There were boxes still filling up his closet that he had yet to go through. A lot had happened in the short time since they both started living in Stark Tower. He just hadn't gotten to it. But he never imagined he left anything behind in his hurry. Especially not his old dog tags or a sketchbook.

"Hello?" You asked, worried from the long silence. 

"Ya. Ya sorry." Steve cleared his throat, pinching the bridge of his nose, "If it's alright, I could come get the box later today."

A minute passed before you finally answered, "My last class is over at 1. Can you come around 2?"

Steve nodded and then realized you couldn't see that, so he quickly replied, "Sure! I'll see you then." Then he hung up. Only to wince and realize he never actually asked for your name.

Bucky sat down beside him at the kitchen island, propped on a stool. They never used the table. He took a bite of his pancakes, dripping in syrup and smirked over at Steve, "Got a date?" His mouth was full when he spoke, making Steve grimace in disgust. Then the words fully processed in his brain.

So, he blushed at the implication and scowled stubbornly down at his food, "Course not. I just gotta get some stuff I left at my apartment." He shrugged nonchalantly, and Bucky hummed in the annoying way that meant he was reading far more into it.

"She sounded cute." He started but then barked a laugh when Steve elbowed him in the ribs. Hard. Bucky slung a bit of syrup across the counter, fork swinging as he tried to fight off Steve’s elbow.

"You're the worst." Steve rolled his eyes, stopping his assault, and focused back on his food. It looked really good, like most of Bucky’s meals. He was mid-chew when he felt Bucky staring at him again. Pointedly, he ignored him, cutting aggressively into a piece of sausage.

"And you're blushing." Bucky grinned and Steve dropped his fork. It clanked loudly against the plate and he threw up his hands in frustration.

"Fuck you Barnes."

****

The firm knock on your door had you jumping off your worn-out couch. Book you were reading forgotten, you stumbled over thin air and caught yourself on the couch’s armrest. Undeterred, you hurried to answer it only to pause short of opening it. It didn’t make much sense that you were nervous. Still, you smoothed out your t-shirt, tugged down your black jean shorts and ran your fingers through your hair.

Even after all that, you still felt like a hot mess. Annoyed with yourself, you finally reached for the door. One heavy bolt lock later, and it swung open. Your worst fear stood just across the threshold.

In the form of a very tall, very strong, and very handsome blond.

Steve smiled sweetly at you and offered a small wave. On its own, his smile had your throat closing up. The cute little wave filled your mouth with dust bunnies. Still, determined, you beamed at him and took a step back, "Wanna come in?" You waved back towards your apartment, swallowing the lump in your throat. The blinds were cracked, letting in strips of golden afternoon light. Quiet music played from your radio and everything smelt faintly of coffee from earlier that morning.

He seemed surprised at the offer, eyes wide and hesitating for a second, but then he nodded. Slightly self-conscious, you wondered if it was weird that you were inviting him in. Too late now. As he stepped through he politely removed his cap and ran a hand through his soft dandelion hair, tussling it, "This place looks so much better than when I lived here." Steve chuckled, taking it in.

There were still some boxes in a few corners, but you had all the furniture situated. Several bookshelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with books, movies, and games. A large entertainment center with different gaming systems sat against one wall, and a couch with a miss-matched recliner circled around it. Pictures hung along the walls, and knickknacks covered most of the surfaces. 

It felt lived in. And warm.

"I doubt that," You shook your head, "I'm still settling in." After he stepped through, you kicked the door shut with your bare heel, and stood next to him, watching him as he looked around.

Steve shrugged, "Still, it looks good. Homey."

Unable to help it, you blushed under the praise. Then shifted your weight nervously from foot to foot. Before remembering, eyes wide, "Oh um. I'm Y/N. By the way." You offered out your hand. He was so much taller than you that you had to elevate your hand up a little, rather than straight out.

Steve took it and sheepishly ducked his head as you shook, "Sorry about that." His hand was rough and warm. Made you feel warmer just from holding it for a second.

You shook your head, dropping your hand and subtly flexing your fingers. Those were definitely sparks making your heart race, "Its ok. Not every day a stranger calls saying they got your stuff." His eyes were still roaming your apartment and you didn’t really mind. Part of you was happy that he liked what you did with the place. The dark wooden floor was cool under your feet and his heels clicked against it as he took a few steps further into your living room.

Steve's mouth closed, reply forgotten, and he suddenly went still. His eyes were trained on something above your head. Slowly, you turned and followed his line of sight to one of the paintings on your wall. Still silent, he walked closer to inspect it.

It was a skyline of Brooklyn. You could tell that much from some of the buildings, but it wasn’t an exact skyline you ever recognized here. Ever since you found the painting in the back of your closet, you had tried to find the view, but with no luck.

"Oh um..." You followed him over to the painting. It was hung across the room above one of your shorter bookshelves, "That was in the closet too. I hope you don’t mind. It was just so pretty." Crossing your arms, you studied the painting for the millionth time.

Steve shook his head, smiling reluctantly, "You think so?" A light blush covered his cheeks and you stared at him curiously. Wondering what he was blushing for. Butterflies fluttered through your stomach at the sight of the pretty pink across the bridge of his nose.

"Definitely. You can tell that skyline is special to the painter. It's a little sad but sweet too." You confided, hoping that your words made sense. Sometimes, you couldn’t explain yourself too well. Your eyes flicked from the painting to his face.

Eyes round with surprise, Steve stared down at you. He swallowed and tucked his hands into the pockets of his brown jacket. After studying you a second longer than appropriate, he finally managed, "You can keep it." To be fair, you had been watching in right back. Lost in the peculiar expression on his face.

Your eyes widened, and you smiled, a wave of appreciation swept through you, "Really? Are you sure?" 

"Ya. You appreciate it more than I do." Steve nonchalantly shrugged, shuffling his feet and appeared a smidge uncomfortable with your gratitude.

Despite that, you continued to grin, "Thank you." You turned back to it for a second and took a step closer. Leaning up above the bookshelf, you tapped at the little signature at the bottom, "Do you know who the artist is? I'd like to see more of their work. Maybe get another to go with this one." Eyebrows raised, you turned and peered back over at him.

Somehow, Steve blushed more and cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "Well um... I actually painted it." Two seconds ago, you couldn’t have imagined finding him anymore attractive but here you were.

You stared at him, obviously not believing him for a second but then your mouth dropped in surprise. It took you a minute to form words and you covered your face when a giggle escaped, "Oh geeze... well I'm glad I didn’t say anything stupid." You snickered and shook your head, backing away from him and the painting. As if attempting to escape the awkward situation.

Shoulders shaking, Steve laughed at how flustered you were, "It’s alright. Really. I'm happy someone likes my work." He paused, as if considering something as he gazed at it, “I painted this from memory. From when I was younger. I used to sit on the fire escape and watch the sunset. Didn’t have much better to do.” Steve exhaled loudly, “I was sick all the time. So, I stayed home a lot, even when I got older.”

You listened attentively as he talked and when he trailed off you nodded in understanding. Not surprised, you had been right about it being sad, “It’s kinda dumb but I’ve been trying to find where you got this skyline. I wanted to see the real thing.” There was a theory bouncing through your head about why you couldn’t find it. Steve confirmed it when his face pinched in thought. Uncomfortable again.

“The apartment I painted this from got torn down a while ago. Remodeled.” Steve stepped away from the painting and over to another one a foot away. He brushed you off, vague with his reply, but you didn’t really mind. Weren’t even all that surprised. His eyes took in the details easily, and he even started looking through your collections of books, movies, and games.

Still apprehensive about the situation, you walked over to the small kitchen. The kitchenette and living room were only separated by a counter that doubled as your table. Along with the floor shifting from wood to tile. Head ducked, you pulled a coke out of the fridge. Busy hands helped distract you. Took your mind off the ridiculously attractive man browsing through your things.

"Want one?" You asked, holding up your drink to draw his attention to it.

Distracted, Steve nodded, and you brought one over for him before sitting down on the couch. Slowly, he turned, and his eyes fell on you. Then the table in front of you. The shoebox of his things was on the coffee table. Steve sat down beside you, a polite distance away, and his eyes fell on the shoebox, "Thanks for not just throwing this stuff out." He pulled it over to him and started sorting through it.

A fond smile made his features soften. You leaned closer, sipping on your drink. Earlier, you had gone through it yourself. There were some pictures of the Howling Commandoes. Dogtags with Steve Rogers’ name and identification number. And a lone sketchbook.

"I could tell this wasn’t just some junk left behind." You shrugged, combing your fingers through your hair so it fell over one shoulder. It most definitely, was not junk. Especially considering it was obviously Captain America memorabilia. That stuff could go for quite a bit of money. More importantly, it was clear that someone cared a great deal about this stuff. Now you knew who.

Steve opened the sketchbook and started flipping through it. It was newer, but the edges were frayed and worn. Every single page filled with something. Mostly random drawing. Objects, buildings, parts of Brooklyn, and people. All done in an impressive amount of detail. You watched him sort through the pages quietly. Baby blues far away in the memories it brought back.

"You're really talented." You offered, fingers curled around your drink. Legs crossed on the cushion furthest from him, you leaned forward on your elbows, so you could take in the drawings for probably the third time.

A moment passed before Steve glanced curiously over at you. There was a dawning expression of realization blooming across his features. He met your eyes, hesitating on a drawing of Loki and his scepter. Realization transitioned to confusion within a second. You weren't treating him differently. In fact, you were doing your best to treat him like the person he was. Not the icon from history. His suit wasn’t anywhere in sight, and he wasn’t demanding your admiration.

So, you quietly waited for him to say something. You weren’t sure if you would rather him admit to being Captain America or continue to let you get to know Steve. Like a deer in headlights, Steve just eyed you, eyebrows furrowed. Unsure and nervous. His fingers fussed with the corner of the pages, ruffling them. He didn’t move a muscle. Stayed leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, sketchbook in his hands.

Another minute passed before you looked down at the drawing and smiled, "His helmet is ridiculous. Did he really make it that big?" Changing the subject seemed like the best course of action. Hopefully, it would combat the awkward tension that had started to build up.

Steve jerked, surprised yet again, his eyes tracked your finger tracing the horns and smiled, "Ya, he was a little full of himself." You were leaning forward just a bit further, so you could lightly touch the page.

A hum of understanding left your throat and you nodded, "Maybe he was overcompensating for something." Your eyes met his again and you leaned back. Setting your drink back on the coffee table, you gave him a suggestive smirk.

It was like an anchor slipped off Steve’s shoulders. Ankle crossed over his knee, he relaxed back against the couch and snorted, "Ya, it's hard to live up to Thor. It's still a running joke that Loki is a puny god." His voice grew lighter as he kept talking and it made you relax in return.

It felt like an unspoken promise blossomed between you two. Connected you.

The Captain America thing just didn’t matter.

  Conversation flowed easily after that. It didn’t stay on the topic of the Avengers for long. In fact, you asked him more questions about his hobbies and likes. While he asked about your job and your life. Strangely enough, it was like you two were old friends, just catching up.

Before you realized it, the hour had drifted to dinner time. The light from you living room window stretched gold and warm across your floor. You pulled your phone out of your back pocket and sighed, “It’s getting late.”

Legs tucked up on the couch, you were turned to face Steve, arm propped up under your head. His thigh touched your bare knees and he was comfortably nestled back against the couch, face close to yours. Cheek pressed against your hand, you frowned down at your phone. As if it was the reason for the way your heart was being constricted like a python got ahold of it. Irrational, unabashed disappointment seeped into your skin.

Steve frowned too and pressed his lips together in a firm line, “Ya I’ve probably stayed way longer than I should’ve.” It was amazing how quickly 4 hours could drift by. Despite saying that, he didn’t make a move to get up. Just continued to study you, hands clenched into fists in his lap. Behind his eyes, you could see the gear turning. Like he was working out some sort of problem.

Not an inch of you even feigned to get off the couch before him. Instead, you held his gaze and bit your bottom lip. If you were being honest, you were starving. Too late to catch breakfast that morning, and too nervous to eat much before he arrived. Now it felt like your insides were going cannibalistic and eating your stomach. Still, you didn’t want him to leave. So, you refused to be the first to get up and show him the door.

Finally, Steve asked, “Do you think I could see you again?” His voice was quiet, hesitant, and his face betrayed how nervous he was. Hands squeezed together, he ducked his head down and then swallowed and stared up at you with a new kind of resolve. Like he was a knight and you were the princess he wanted to win favor from.

It felt like your heart skipped three beats and stopped all at once, “Ya, I’d like that a lot.” Blushing, you carded your fingers through your hair and pushed it back out of your eyes. Nervously twisting it in your fingers. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. Your body was too light and fluttery.

A grin made Steve’s face light up like a summer morning, “How ‘bout right now?” Your eyebrows inched up to your hairline, and he chuckled, “I mean, if you’re hungry. I’d love to buy you dinner.”

Unable to think of anything else to say, you nodded and stood up. Steve followed you and picked up his jacket from where he had discarded it on the armrest of the couch. Shrugging it back onto his shoulders, he pulled on his shoes while you slipped on your own. You grabbed a denim jacket and tugged it on.

Outside, it was late summer, slipping into fall. Cool enough that a light jacket was acceptable but warm enough that it wasn’t entirely necessary. If you had time, you would have done something different than shorts with a jacket, but you didn’t want to make him wait. Wallet in hand, you tucked your phone into your back pocket.

“Wanna split the cab?” You asked, nervous anticipation growing in your stomach. This was really happening.

Steve shook his head, “Actually, I’ve got a motorcycle.” You paused, door to your apartment open and lights flicked off, “If that’s ok! I mean, we could take a taxi if you’d rather.” He held up his hands and rubbed the back of his neck. It made you feel better knowing he was willing to do what you wanted, even if it wasn’t the easier option.

“No!” You blushed at how enthusiastic you sounded and continued quieter, “No, I mean. I would love to ride on your motorcycle.” You bit your bottom lip and turned away from him to lock up. The door shut quietly behind you and you tucked your keys in the inside pocket of your jacket, along with your wallet. When you glanced back up at him, he was grinning.

“Good to know.” He mused and wrapped an arm over your shoulder. Like it was an old habit. His hand squeezed your shoulder and you leaned into him, enjoying his cologne. It was so easy to fall into step with him as he guided you down the dimly lit hall. Comfortable silence filled the air and he pressed the button to call the elevator.

As you waited, you quietly asked, “Steve?” He looked down at you with a half-smile and raised his eyebrows. Chickening out, you shrugged, “Just wanted to know where you wanted to go to dinner.” The elevator dinged to announce its arrival, and Steve swept you inside. His fingers played with a lock of your hair as the elevator started its decent.

“There’s a really nice family owned Italian place I’ve been to. It’s not well known but the foods good.” Steve offered and paused, fingers still in your hair, he chuckled sheepishly, “Sorry, does that bother you?” He tugged gently on one strand, “It’s just… pretty.” It was easy to imagine the blush across his face went all the way down to his toes.

Shaking your head, you brought your hand up to cover his, “I don’t mind. I actually love it when people play with my hair.” You admitted, and he grinned, squeezing your fingers in his.

“Off to a good start already.” Every smile he gave you and every compliment made you feel more alive than you thought you could. Steve made you feel things you’d never experienced before. It amazed you that one person could make you so flustered with a single word.

Seconds passed, and the incredibly old, crawling elevator took its time going down 10 floors. The question from before bubbled back onto your tongue and Steve threaded his fingers with yours. Hand lifted to your shoulder, you ran your thumb up against his palm, tracing random designs. Steve tilted his head and hesitantly pressed a feather light kiss against your temple. It made your heart swell so much and it hurt.

Part of you was scared. Scared to care so much already.

“Steve.” You started again, catching his attention.

“Ya?” He asked, pulling back just enough so he could meet your eyes when you looked up at him.

“Do you believe in fate?” It was such a childlike question, but it felt so important to you right then. Fate had never crossed your mind before. Not till now. In this dingy elevator with two lights out overhead and water stains on the floor. Somehow, fate was stitched into the very fabric of this moment.

Even the smallest smile made him shine and had you feeling warm all over, “Yes.” Soft blue eyes held your own with intense sincerity. It was a simple answer, but it meant everything.

“Me too.”

Next Part

[novarainart]

Made for Each Other (Chapter 1)

Like any other day at the tower, when the fate of the world wasn’t being threatened by some villain of the week, the Avengers were making use of their down time by resting, training, or in Tony’s case, fixing.

Today, Steve decided to accompany Tony in the workshop as the genius finished repairing his once mangled motorcycle (thanks a lot, Loki). Steve was capable of making basic repairs, but the damage to his Street 750 during their last battle was too much for simple elbow grease. The frame itself had been crushed and needed someone with additional know-how. And there was no one with more mechanical know-how than Tony.  

While lounging on the worn down couch, sketchbook in hand, Steve watched Tony work his magic. It was like watching an interpretative dancer: a study in movement. Tony filled the room with life, with energy; he bobbed his head to the beat of the ambient music, hips swaying him between holo-screens and machinery, hands moving with methodical grace. Steve was always inspired to sketch when Tony worked, a fact which prompted him to smile at the irony.  

Their friendship had evolved so much since their fateful meeting in Germany, feeling like ages ago, but really only a little over a year. Despite a rocky start, Steve and Tony developed a grudging respect for one another, eventually learning to appreciate their differences. Differences that complemented more than contradicted each other in battle and in life. They grew to trust each other; they cared about each other.

They became family.

The last time Steve felt this close to someone was with Bu-

No.

Shutting the memory away in a forgotten corner, Steve forced his attention back onto his sketchbook, pencil poised over a half-finished line. Thankfully, Tony was too busy to notice anything was amiss with his back towards Steve, now crouched at the front end of the motorcycle. 

It wasn’t about Steve being distrustful of Tony with his vulnerabilities. It was for the simple fact he already tried processing the losses he suffered after the ice. Steve was tired of repeating the same vicious cycle: chasing after lost scraps of his past, letting memories fester like a cancer, then insisting to anyone willing to humor him that he was “fine,” always “fine.” In reality, he felt primed to shatter at any moment.

It took Steve longer than he liked to admit, but he learned to accept that living in the past was not healing. Finding Peggy and clinging onto her every lucid moment, obsessively touring the Smithsonian museum, visiting and revisiting Brooklyn for any shred of familiarity...he wasn’t cherishing memories; he was torturing himself. 

When that epiphany struck, Steve made a conscious choice: to live. He wanted to be more than “fine.” He wanted to be happy.

But sometimes, it was still hard.  

“Mute.”

The quiet left by the absent music was jarring, breaking Steve’s reverie, eased only by the sounds of Tony tinkering.

“Something wrong, Tony?” Steve asked, curiously.

“Not wrong, per se,” Tony hedged, still working. “I just wanted to get your feedback.”

“Feedback on what?” Puzzled, Steve didn’t understand why Tony was suddenly tip-toeing. Normally, when the genius wanted an answer he’d simply ask. Or demanded. Tony was flexible like that.  

“How would you feel about a once in a lifetime offer?”

“I guess it’d depend on the offer,” said Steve, uncertain where the conversation was going, but setting aside his sketchbook to give Tony his full attention.

“How about having your best friend back? You know. Bucky.”

The world seemed to haze around Steve as if submerged in water, his lungs stopped working, his heart caught in a vice. He felt blindsided. All the while Tony rambled, gesticulating with tools in his hands as Steve relearned to breathe.   

“I mean, I can’t give you Bucky-Bucky, you know? But I can give you the next best thing: a JARVIS, but a Bucky. Of course, I’d need your help with coding the AI just right ‘cause research isn’t going to cut it by itself. You know his personality, mannerisms--all the important stuff.” Tony tightened the last bolt to the front fender before tossing the wrench aside, then grabbed a stained rag to rub at his grimy hands. Completely oblivious to Steve’s inner crisis.

“I’ve been working on a side project for, well, for personal reasons--actually, no, nevermind the reasons. But! It’ll help you show me what I’ll need for inputting the correct data so the AI can perform as accurately as the real deal.” Tony turned to face Steve with a small, genuine smile. “What do you say?”

“I…” Steve had to clear his throat, words escaping him. “I don’t know what to say, Tony.”

“That’s easy, Cap. Say ‘yes,’” said Tony, softening his next words. “Frankly, I think it’s long overdue.”

Steve promptly stood from the couch, his posture stiff, hands flexing at his sides. Whether to punch or strangle something Tony wasn’t sure, either way, a prickle of alarm traveled up his spine.

 “Um...or not?” Tony took a tentative half-step back before Steve suddenly lunged at him. “Ste-!”

Tony felt his feet leave the workshop floor, his very breath crushed out of his lungs as he was bear-hugged by an overgrown super-soldier. He wriggled in Steve’s unyielding arms, trying to find purchase to escape, but his arms were pinned to his sides. Noticing a dull pain start to throb in his chest, the arc reactor aggravated by the tight embrace, he winced and finally managed to pipe up.

“OK, big guy,” Tony wheezed out, “less huggy, more breathy.”  

Steve flinched, realizing just now how hard he was hugging Tony, before carefully setting the other back down on his feet. He gave the shorter man the most sincere expression he could muster.

“Sorry, Tony, I’m just...” Tony noticed Steve’s blue eyes take on a dangerous sheen, “I’m just reminded of how thankful I am to have you as my friend.”

“Yeah, well, being my friend always deserves some type of recompense,” said Tony, shrugging off Steve’s gratitude with a flippant air.

Steve frowned disapprovingly at Tony, wanting to argue the self-deprecating jab, but experience taught him the stubborn man would just dig his heels in further. He’d have to express his appreciation in another way because praise to Tony was just lip service. A lifetime in the spotlight while surrounded by sycophants will do that to a person. And that’s not even touching on the betrayals. Knowing that, however, didn’t lessen Steve’s frustration.

For a genius, Tony could be downright clueless when it came to heartfelt sentiment. Gestures were more his speed, a language he understood and practiced fluently, but complicated by how much Tony repelled gratitude like a cat to water. Steve knew it was better to meet Tony where he was at than to force the issue by doing it his way and risk arguing like in their “I’m right and you’re wrong” heyday.

This “thank you” mission was going to require finesse.

Meanwhile, Tony was staring at him expectantly.

“Yea or nay, Cap? The choice is yours.”

A part of Steve pointed out the obvious conundrum: wouldn’t crafting a substitute for his dead best friend be the very antithesis of moving forward? Wouldn’t it prevent him from embracing his second chance? The other part of Steve wondered if this was his opportunity to finally break the chains tethering him to the past. To rid the constant weight of grief from his heart that he merely learned to shift away, rather than truly lift.    

Memories flashed bright and merciless in his mind’s eye. Memories of Bucky, his face solemn and a hand gently resting on Steve’s shoulder, their clothes soaked through by the rain as they stood at Sarah Rogers’ grave. Bucky grinning ear-to-ear, eyes sparkling with mischief, dragging Steve along to meet a couple of dames for a double date at Coney Island. Bucky dressed in his army uniform, glaring down at Steve, and cursing his stupidity and dogged attempts to enlist. Bucky half-dead, strapped tight to a laboratory chair, muttering nonsense and caked in sweat, dirt, and blood.   

Bucky with his face contorted in a terrified scream, drowned out by the roar of the train hurtling across the cliffside tracks, plummeting into an all consuming white void of death.  

This was his second chance.

“When can we start?”