#@womenarethesequel

[captainjimothycarter]

Soft steggy prompt: the first time Steve gets flowers for Peggy

Soooo not what you wanted but ??? this is what came out.

--

Steve took in a deep breath as he looked down at the rows and rows of flowers, all arranged in beautiful bunches. Around him, there were a few people still in the store in the late evening. He knew the owner was getting ready to close soon, he had to make his choice and go.

But what was the perfect choice then? 

This was Peggy they were talking about. She would know the language of flowers because she taught him. He understood the basics and didn’t want to show up with a bouquet that said ‘i hate your guts.’ He wanted to show up with the perfect one that said everything he couldn’t.

That would take the words right out of his mouth. He wanted Peggy to just know exactly how he felt.

When he chose the flowers, the florist simply stared at him for the longest second of his life, looking thoroughly annoyed. Maybe it was because Steve had been over here for an hour and he chose some of the most awkward looking flowers for any bouquet that made no sense.

“Special night?” he asked, using scissors to cut the flower stems and neatly arrange them in a bouquet. 

“Yeah, actually. It’s our anniversary,” Steve laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “First time getting her flowers too.”

The man blinked, trying to connect the two before his shrug told Steve it wasn’t his problem. “Well good luck with that. Here we go.” 

Steve got the sense he wanted him out of there. Thanking him and taking the bouquet underarm, the blonde found himself stepping outside the shop in the brisk, cold air. The sun had long set, making the walk down the street cold and empty.

The flowers seemed to be the only thing of color in this place. The only thing that brought joy to an otherwise dreary neighborhood. 

Kneeling by the gravestone, his fingertips brushed the fallen leaves off and set the bouquet in their spot. His eyes fell onto Peggy’s name, tracing over it before a shuddering sigh left his chest.

“Seems to be that I’m always late, darling,” he whispered, bending down to press his forehead to the cold marble. Just a year too late for her, just a year too late to tell her he was alive so she could go in peace. 

She died, believing he was dead and Steve didn’t know which was worst.

Peggy didn’t deserve to die at all. She deserved to be immortal. To live a long, healthy life, not to die in her sleep.

“Hey, Pegs,” he breathed, sitting up to look down at the white marble again. “Things are-are going okay, I guess. SHIELD is working me pretty hard, but it keeps me busy. Don’t get much time to think about anything, so I suppose that’s good. Looked up Bucky’s family - his sister is still alive. Just barely, she’s a fighter, like she’s always been. She’s been telling me about all that you did for her after...after the war ended. They wouldn’t have survived without your help.”

The marble is cold to touch, the sun has done nothing to warm it. The evening wind and the threat of snow sap any warmth that should’ve been there. 

“Looked into the-the Howlies. They’re all gone, Pegs. Dugan died shortly after you did, ole fucker didn’t want to...to be the last, I bet. Hurts like hell, but I-I suppose that’s life. People grow old and die and forget and...and…” His breath hitched and he bit the inside of his lip, trying his best not to cry. 

“I shoulda told you I loved you from the start. Or maybe it’s best I didn’t, maybe it’s best the way this happened, me crashing the plane and waking up here and wondering what could’ve been. Not leaving you with the reality that I-I said I loved you. Would that had been harder to move on from? Hell if I know. Feels like anything I know is taken from me. The whole world knows me and yet I don’t know a damn thing about it. Truth is…”

He adjusted the purple bow and stroked over the soft material before dropping his hands. 

“Truth is, Pegs, I do love you. I ain’t gonna stop loving you. Been goin’ to therapy cause I know that’s what you’d want of me, to get better for myself, to stop this moping. Ain’t much but a bunch of us veterans sitting around in a circle. They do most of the talking. I can sympathize with them, but I don’t know much of what they went through. Found a few World War II veterans and we’ve been talking it’s...so odd to see faces I barely remember in the 107th...they can relate more.”

The tears are the only thing warm on him, not for long. They dry and nearly freeze to his skin. He’s not even aware he’s crying right now. He doesn’t want to cry. There’s no point in crying.

“I don’t know what to say, what I-I should say. There’s so much I want to say but I can’t find the words. So much I wanna ask about you, about your life. Did you know Howard has a son? Of course, you do...you were on top of him. Or-or...that I love you. Gods, Pegs, I love you. I think about you far too much and yet not enough. I think about what could’ve been. Our dance. I would step on your shoes. You would laugh. Our life. Working together to make a better future. Peggy, I...am so proud of your work…”

The bouquet bristled in the wind and Steve sniffled, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. Right, the bouquet. He nearly forgot about that.

“I gotcha a bouquet. Promised you I’d get you flowers back in the war, but they were...never right for you. It’s got daisies, means innocence, right? Sunflowers cause you said my hair reminded you of sunflowers, but-but it means loyalty, adoration. Tulips they-they means love too and oh roses because you...you deserve the best. Shoulda saw me, Pegs, I was helpless choosing…”

Steve could sleep here. He had before when he first woke up. Slept right on top of her grave, didn’t mean to either, his body just felt too exhausted to walk home. He’d taken the time the next day to clean hers and his ma’s, even take time to clean Bucky’s. He carefully avoided his own. It felt wrong to look at when he stood outside of it here.

The moon was high above them by the time Steve left, nose dripping with snot and eyes burning with tears as he stumbled out of the graveyard. Too dark to try to see around him, too much into his head to check his surroundings.

He didn’t see the figure that stepped out from the trees or watch it approach the newly laid bouquet. Later that night, he would be fast asleep, unknowingly aware that someone was in his room. Fingernails that were painted red would stroke through his blonde hair before adjusting the sheets around him. They will lay the rose and bow on the bedside table, directly over the compass.

A soft kiss, the barest of touches would be laid on his temple, and for once, Steve’s face smoothed out of all wrinkles, for once he looked so at peace.

[beautifulwhensarcastic]

Peggy/Steve + musical AU for @womenarethesequel

At 40 Margaret Carter is already a renowned choreographer with a shelf of awards, who can be picky about the projects she takes on. When her dear friend, Abraham Erskine, asks her to work on his newest musical Peggy says yes almost immediately. Perhaps she shouldn’t have. Abraham’s choice for the lead role is a completely unknown newbie - which in itself isn’t bad, Steve Rogers has a handsome face that could take over a silver screen and a powerful voice (with a warm timbre that sends a pleasant thrill down Peggy’s spine). But he’s the worst dancer Peggy has ever worked with. Erskine won’t change his mind, Peggy made a promise, and Steve is so eager to learn she has no other choice but to make it work. Aside directing choreography for the whole show, Peggy spends extra hours on solo dance lessons with Steve. 

P.S. Yes, this story has a cougar Peggy and younger Steve.

[teaandatale]

For the fanfic writer questions, #1 & #13!

Thanks for asking! :D

1. has a comment someone left on a fic of your ever made you laugh out loud?

Answered here. But I found another classic @geekynerddemon comment on my fic Comforts of Home: I thought this was a TEAANDATALE STORY? False advertisement much??? What is this 2k story? Where is the 10k+ story this was meant to be????? I'm joking... kinda

13. do you make playlists for when you write? If so, share!

YES I sure do! I have a general “Writing” playlist of mostly instrumental music, but I will typically make a specific playlist for a fic if I really want to boost my focus. Typically these are short and consist of songs that either helped prompt the fic or helped flesh out it’s mood, and I listen to it on repeat.

A short example is my playlist for “Play Like a Girl”:

Do It by Rae Morris

Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer

L-O-V-E by Nat King Cole

Isn’t She Lovely by Frank Sinatra

Paper Airplanes by Canyon City

Man! I Feel Like A Woman! By Shania Twain

Saturday in the Park by Chicago

[3pirouette]

Okay but now after that (incredible!!!) Thanksgiving fic for Dissent Speaks I'm really curious as to how/when the public finds out about Steve and Peggy's relationship

Since I don’t think I’m going to write more in that universe (it seems to be contained, and once Jan 20th hits, I kinda want to put all those emotions behind me, you know?) I’ll give you the DVD extra here. 

~*~

Peggy and Steve manage to keep things under wraps for a while, until Peter accidentally starts a livestream instead of uploading the latest Rappin’ with Cap. While Peter talks with Tony about how they’re going to focus their messages for the holidays, the phone, from Peter’s back pocket, catches Steve in full costume and Peggy in jeans and a sweater, arms wrapped around each other in the corner. The moment of her pulling off his helmet, gently and lovingly, goes viral. 

But the kissing, oh the kissing. The kissing is what takes the internet by storm and winds up on morning talk shows because good lord is it not by the book or simple or even gentle. The audio doesn’t pick up what Peggy whispers in his ear right before he takes her mouth, but people speculate. The Memes, oh the memes are born of what she might have said. It’s the way he takes her mouth, confidently and passionately, the way he tangles his hand in her hair and the way she takes two fist fulls of of his uniform while he grabs her ass with his other hand that gets people thinking that she must have said something absolutely filthy. Fans all over the internet make videos proclaiming they wish they were Peggy to the part of the video where Steve lifts her from the ground with almost no effort at all, her legs wrapping around his waist. 

But the best part of the video is the last part. The part where Tony finally notices them and yells “Rogers! Go get yourself a room. There are children in here!” and they stop kissing, faces turning to the camera, surprised and embarrassed, before Peter’s voice squeaks out, “Mr. Stark, I am not a-” followed by a comical gasp and the video cutting to Tony Stark’s thigh as Peter turns around to see Cap and Peggy. 

Peter immediately turns back around, mumbling he’s sorry as the video shows Steve placing Peggy down gently, the two of them flustered and rearranging their clothes.The video gets wild then as Stark pulls the phone from Peter’s back pocket, his hand covering the camera to blackness before his voice is heard booming. “Well, you’re going to be a lot sorrier in a minute, young man. How do I turn this thing off?”

The video, no matter how many times Tony tries to erase it, continues to pop up all over social media, and Steve and Peggy are forced to revel their relationship. 

Al Roker brings it up at least once a week on Good Morning America. 

[doctorhelena]

Eee happy birthday sweet fellow libra!! 🥳♎️

Thank you! 🥰 And happy birthday (sometime around now) to you too! ❤️

[behindthelabels]

Wrapped in Red

On bad advice from his best friend Bucky, Steve Rogers decides to find out how the other side lives by using a photoshopped picture on his online dating profile. A modern Skinny Steve and Peggy AU loosely inspired by Love Hard.

Happy Holidays @womenarethesequel I have been so so excited to be your @steggyfanevents Secret Santa! I am going to be away without wifi until January 4th so I’m posting the intro to your fic now so you have something before the 1st. I will start posting the fic to AO3 on the 5th. Hope you like it!

It’s hard being demi-sexual and trying to navigate online dating. It is even harder being demi-sexual and trying to navigate the wide, superficial world of online dating as a five-three 95 pound asthmatic.

Steve Rogers often wonders why he even bothers trying, but time and again he is brought back to these apps in hope that someone will give him a chance.

It’s usually after a particularly poignant romance novel that he meanders back, left the right combination of desperate and hopeful. He is nothing like the romance heroes, but he longs for the kind of love he has only ever read about.

His longest relationship lasted a mere three months, and the loss of it more than the loss of her gutted him. Dottie had been mean, was using him to get back at her ex, and Steve was just lonely enough to revel in any form of attention, negative or not. It really wasn’t a surprise when she returned to her taller, beefier, and she was sure to throw in, manlier ex-boyfriend.

Ever since it’s been a few blind dates arranged by his roommate Bucky for which he is always a disappointment. One disastrous online date where she thought he would be taller, and multiple times being stood up.

So Tinder, yet again. He doubts he will get any matches, he never does, but scrolling through and swiping is one way to kill a Friday night while his roommate is out at a bar picking up women.

[cafecitowriter]

username change

womenarethesequel --> cafecitowriter

I’ve been wanting to change it for months now and was going to do so last year until I realized I signed up for Steggy Secret Santa with the old one, so I’m finally doing it now

[roboticonography]

Steggy + 24 & 49?

24 - Soulmate AU

49 - Fake married

I don't know a lot about soulmate AUs (I have read two?) but now I'm picturing a scenario where, in the process of having to pretend to be soulmates, Steve and Peggy discover that they actually are.

Steve has a soulmark, but it doesn't become fully-formed until after he takes the serum. Peggy has seen his medical records from before the procedure, but has no reason to suspect he might be her match. (I can't take credit for this idea - I'm cribbing from both @formerlyir and @womenarethesequel here.)

In the middle of Steve's USO tour, Peggy turns up - the SSR has received intel that HYDRA is going to attempt to kill or kidnap Steve. Peggy has been assigned to protect him, and her cover for joining the tour is that she's Mrs. America.

Despite the fact that they haven't spent much time together before this, they both slip into the roles with remarkable ease.

While they're changing clothes in their tiny hotel room (the tour's accommodations hadn't been planned with a married couple in mind), Steve happens to glance over at Peggy just in time to see the mark on her shoulder... a compass, matching the one on his thigh. Dramatic tension ensues!

That's all I got.

(Seriously though, go read like the way you burn and The Untamed, as they are both far better than anything I've managed here.)

[ethvn-torchio]

Favorite steggy fic writers? Mama needs some recs!

@captainjimothycarter @babylawyeroq @womenarethesequel @starmxras @shadydigress

For actual fics, I'd rec:

(some of these refuse to link)

Comfort and Joy by @doctorhelena

A 1940s Englishwoman in Modern NYC by @steverogersandpeggycarter

I could honest to god go on and on, but please go ahead and follow these people and read their stuff 😌✨ thanks for the ask!

[emilybluntt]

People when talking about their favourite place would mention a place that they loved to go. Whether it be their home or a building. Peggy had very quickly realised that her favourite place wasn’t a building or even a location. Her favourite place was Steve wrapped in his arms; a feeling of safety and love. So no, Peggy’s favourite place wasn’t a location, but a person.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS @womenarethesequel and I hope that you enjoy this!

[captainjimothycarter]

Steggy prompt: Peggy recently moved to Brooklyn after her divorce, and now Steve is her daughter's first grade teacher

 I don’t even know if this is what you had in mind buuuut it’s what I came up with and kinda love it. 2.7k too --

Jack was a good father, but not a good husband. That was a lie Peggy told herself ever since her daughter was born. Sure, he didn’t change the diaper, he had something against the infant sleeping in their bed, and wasn’t there when she had to have an emergency c-section but he was an okay father.

This was her lying to herself, not for the sake of saving the embarrassment of a divorce or because of money or a job, or any of the bullshit people were speculating, but because she knew what it was like to grow up without a father and she didn’t want that for her daughter. Until she saw Jack was not the father that Sarah needed.

Jack was no father at all, he didn’t even qualify to be a husband. He was a presence in the house, a burden. She made more money than him and paid all the bills. She was the one who read stories to Sarah every night, who did her hair, made her breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and took her to swimming practice. In fact, she did everything for Sarah, doctor appointments, homework, parent-teacher meetings, last-minute bake-sales.

What in the hell did she marry Jack for then other than an accidental one night stand and at the insistence of her mother?

Perhaps that was it. Marrying this sexist idiot who thought of himself above others because of the tool between his legs. Because her mother had once again gotten into her head and forced her hand. Michael would be ashamed of their mother – never of Peggy. He would’ve loved Sarah.

“I’m leaving him, mother.” Peggy had called her late one evening after Sarah was put to bed when the clock struck ten and Jack still hasn’t home. Most likely out drinking once again. She could hear her mother’s breath hitch on the other end.

“Of course you’re not, dear.” She always had a way of speaking to Peggy that spoke down to her like she was still Sarah’s age. “This is just a momentarily hitch, you two will get over it. You just have to please him more. Make sure the baby is sated so he doesn’t have to listen to her cries.”

“Sarah is not an infant, mother! She’s seven and is starting first grade come this fall. And I’ll have you know that Jack is not the husband that you say he is. He doesn’t take care of Sarah. He doesn’t do a damn thing but go to work, come home drunk, and make a mess of a home that I spent all day cleaning after I worked all day. Sarah doesn’t deserve to be raised in a household with a man who won’t even recognize her existence.”

“Well, clearly you’re not doing something right, Margaret. Have you-”

Peggy didn’t even hear the end of the sentence, hanging up on her mother with a roll of her eyes. It was a mistake to call her but she had to tell someone and since it was just her and Sarah and she wasn’t putting this on her, it was her mother. Clearly, that was a mistake.

--

Brooklyn was the right choice. It was friendly, open, and a hell of a lot better in some ways than Washington. First off, it didn’t have Jack’s stench all over it. Anywhere she’d turn, there was someplace tainted with his memory and she wanted to escape that. Moving Sarah to Brooklyn Elementary had been made easy by the Principal and Vice-Principal’s assistance and she was grateful, dreading that.

She’d told Jack that night that she was leaving him, divorcing him. He’d turned a strange shade of red and dared to try to take a swing at her before she threw a right hook into his jawline that sent him spiraling backward into the alcohol cabinet that he was so fond of.

“Don’t you ever think about touching me or Sarah like that again, do you understand me?” Her voice was hard and low, dangerous. Her brown eyes intense as they glared down at him as if to burn holes into his skull. “I’ve let you walk all over me long enough until I got some sense about me because I wanted you to be there for Sarah and clearly you’d rather spent time with Belinda at the bar.”

“You won’t find better than me,” Jack insisted, voice slurred as he forced himself off and out of the glass. “You won’t find anyone like me! Do you think I wanted you? I only hitched you because you were pregnant and felt sorry for you! No one is going to put up with you, Carter. Do you hear me? No one!”

Peggy wasn’t listening to Jack, not right off. She was focused on Sarah who’d heard the crash and ran straight into her arms. Her pigtails shimmering as Peggy picked her up and wrapped her in a blanket, glaring at Jack over her daughter’s shoulders. “That’s the point, Jack. I’d rather be alone and caring for my daughter than to deal with the likes of you or my mother. I know what I’m worth and my time isn’t worth staying here with the likes of you. You’ll find the paperwork on the counter. Good day.”

Fall was coming into Brooklyn and Peggy was grateful, tired of the heat. She was British at heart, no matter how long she lived in America, she did not handle the heat well.

“Alright,” she sighed at her daughter, taking her hand as they crossed the last street. “The Principal promised us that we can have a private tour of the school so you’re familiar. We’ll be meeting your teacher today too. Then you start classes next week.”

Sarah was a quiet thing until she was rightfully upset. She spoke her mind and got into loads of trouble. She didn’t like bullies and certainly knew how to defend herself especially from teachers. She was her mother’s child through and through and damn Peggy was grateful Jack never had a hand raising her. To think of the damage he’d do…

The school was large for an elementary school, if you asked Peggy. Large classrooms, gym class, gymnastics, computer classes, and not to mention the hundreds of different sports and after school programs. It would be good to sign Sarah up for some, given Peggy’s work schedule would run over some.

“Library!” Sarah gasped at the heavy oak doors propped open by a stack of books, practically bouncing up and down. Peggy had no hope of calming her down when she saw the rows and rows of books. Sarah had grown up in the library, knew the Dewy Decimal System by heart – or at least more so than other kids her age. Read well beyond her grade level and could comprehend most subjects adults rolled their eyes at.

Still, Sarah’s love was sci-fi and mystery novels.

“Darling …” And, she was gone, Sarah bounded off into the library, making Peggy laugh and lightly jog after her. “I am so sorry,” she told the young librarian as Sarah bounded between the aisles. My, it was large. Two stories actually with stairs and elevators. She was on some hand jealous here.

The young librarian, a man with blonde hair and purple hearing aids just laughed. “She’s no problem. I’m just glad to see someone loving books for once instead of groaning when their teachers drag them in here. She’s gonna be a feisty one, I can tell, but don’t you worry I’ll keep an eye on her.”

They chatted lightly about books while Sarah weaved in between them, pressing book after book onto the counter. The librarian, a man named Clint laughed at her selection varying between a murder mystery, a historic novelization on King Author, deep-sea extraditions, and facts about dogs.

“I should go get her before she checks out the whole library.” Rolling her eyes fondly, Peggy went to search through the isles. “Sarah!”

There was no callback, so she found herself upstairs. She could hear Sarah chatting away to someone. Odd, she was normally so reserved and quiet unless she knew someone. Who did she find so soon to talk to?

Founding the corner, Peggy found herself staring at the side profile of a man with broad shoulders, wearing a tweet jacket, olive green sweater, and thick-rimmed glasses on the tip of his freckled nose. He had a thick beard coming in and his blonde hair swept out of his face. He didn’t look like he belonged in some elementary school, if anything he should be teaching psychology or history at the local university, not elementary subjects. He was quite handsome and that smile, the way his lips caught in his teeth, made Peggy’s heart lurch.

Sarah was in the midst of conversation, doing all the talking as she rambled on and on about a book in her hand about superheroes. The guy was sitting criss-cross on the floor, adjacent his daughter, nodding along. He laughed at something she said, head thrown back, holding onto his chest. A full belly laugh. He wasn’t downplaying her, he was talking to her, listening to her. Not many grown adults did that.

“Hello,” Peggy mused when her daughter decided to pause for a breath. She knelt down beside Sarah, adjusting the flow of her flowered day dress. She smoothed the wrinkles from Sarah’s shoulders and brushed her hair back. “Did you find someone to talk to?”

Sarah’s head bobbed up and down excitedly, missing the way the two adults looked over one another. “Uh-huh! This is Mr. Rogers! He teaches first grade! His favorite subject is history and art – he draws lots too. I was telling him about how we moved here from Washington because Jack was an asshole.”

Peggy’s face flushed a bright shade of pink while Steve laughed, the woman burying her face into her hands. “Sarah, I’ve told you not to say that word. Yes, I will admit he was that, but we do not say that around other people. Only at home.” She was only human and Peggy cursed. Lots. She tried not to around Sarah but became fully aware that Sarah would grow up around that language at any rate. Sarah knew better than most to curse like that.

“Well, he is,” Sarah pouted. “He called you yesterday and said that I was a mistake.”

Oh, that look on Sarah’s face and the anger residing in Peggy. She picked Sarah up and cradled her in her lap. A glance over to Mr. Rogers’ face showed the same anger but better hidden.

“You must be Peggy – she’s told me all about you,” Steve said in a soft tone, setting his book aside and scooting closer so he could gently touch Sarah’s arm. “It’s Sarah, right?”

The little girl nodded and Steve smiled brightly, all white teeth that stood out amongst the beard.

“Only the best and bravest of people are named Sarah. My ma’s name is Sarah and she’s the bravest, smartest person, I know!” His voice was soft as he met Sarah’s chocolate eyes, that mirrored her mother’s and gently rubbed his thumb along her arm. “You are not a mistake, never. Ever. Don’t believe what that a-idiot says, okay?”

The little girl smiled brightly despite the flushed cheeks and Peggy’s arms tighter around her. “Like mama! Mama’s smart and brave! She punched Jack in the face when he tried to hurt her! And this morning she took down a guy who stole an old lady’s purse!”

Steve’s brow disappeared into his hairline, his hair flopping against his forehead as he looked up at Peggy. Peggy’s cheeks flushed a brighter warm again, resisting the urge to fix his hair. “What I would give to be a fly on that wall,” he muttered.

“Sarah has a way of painting tales to make them seem more…exciting than they are,” she sighed, rolling her eyes with a fond smile. “But Mr. Rogers is right. You are not a mistake, little one. You are my sunshine and I will not have you believe a single word that man says. We’re getting my number changed and he will no longer be able to contact either of us, okay?”

“So,” Steve breathed once Sarah had calmed down enough to believe their words and were now taking her last two books to the counter and talking to Barton. He stood beside Peggy, towering over her, even in heels, his hands shoved into his pocket. He still didn’t look like a teacher but he had the natural attitude and calming demeanor of one. “How hard did you punch him – your ex-husband?”

Peggy giggled at that. A giggle of all things! Her. She never giggled. Or she never found the right person to giggle with. “Hard enough to knock some sense into him, though I’m afraid it leaked out.”

Steve gave a soft whistle that was just loud enough for her to hear, Peggy, rolling her eyes again. “And this morning with your thief?”

“Oh, that? That was nothing more than the right place at the right time. He snatched her purse and tried to bolt soon as the train doors opened, I merely grabbed him by his hair and put him into a chokehold to bring him down until he was sobbing.” Steve at least looked impressed and she liked that.

“Remind me to call you when I’m in trouble. And to never get on your bad side.” His hand lingered just a moment on her arm, giving a squeeze before he was stepping up to the counter to talk to a troubled looking Clint.

Peggy could hear the ends of the conversation – something about Sarah not having her student ID but it was fine because Mr. Rogers was going to check out all these books for her on the promise he gets to hear about each one. Ten minutes later they were standing outside of a bland-looking classroom with no decorations or furniture even and Mr. Rogers was rocking on his heels with a nervous look.

“I think it’s a good thing that you’re my student, Miss Sarah, because then I get to hear all about the books.” The way he spoke to her daughter, Peggy knew Steve was sincere about it too. He wanted to hear about the books and all that Sarah had learned. “And I uh, should apologize about this…” He waved his hand at the empty classroom, cheeks flushing a soft pink under his beard. “I promise it’s going to look amazing when you two are here for opening day. I just got everything out and deep cleaned it all, you won’t believe how much stuff the other teachers hoard in those closets. I found a textbook from 1912! It’s actually in the library right now.”

Peggy gave an impressed whistle that just made Steve flush all the darker, their eyes boring straight into one another. Her hand on Sarah’s shoulder, thumb rubbing against the sweater. “Well, I think I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Rogers. I know Sarah is going to be incapable of hands this year. What do we say to Mr. Rogers about the books, Sarah?”

“Thank you!” The little girl hugged the stack stuffed into a tote against her chest with an ear-to-ear grin. “Thank you so much! But Mr. Rogers, you should ask my mama out so you two can talk more about art! Mr. Clint said I am always welcome at the library and I can stay with him!”

Both adults flushed and Peggy suddenly found her watch very interesting while Steve cleared his throat. “Darling,” she finally sighed, shaking her head. “I love you but do not try to set me up on dates and I am sure Mr. Clint doesn’t live at the library and needs to go home sometime too. I think we should get going, Mr. Rogers. We’ll see you at eight o’clock on the dot Monday morning.”

Steve was still blushing as he waved goodbye to an overexcited Sarah before his eyes fell to the well put-together mother who’d been through too much. “Don’t you dare be late.”

It was Peggy’s turn to grin as she hoisted her daughter up and with the other arm, carried what had to be over fifteen pounds of books. “I wouldn’t dream of it, I think Sarah will kill me if I made us late for her first day of school.”

[beautifulwhensarcastic]

For the WIP guessing game: breath

You get a piece of a sort of steggy AU set in Snowpiercer universe created by @indiefic - Curtis and Anna (who have the faces of Steve and Peggy)

She felt relieved to be away from him, though she wasn't sure if it's her father's schemes that bothered her, or the unexpected presence of a man who just with his entrance stole her breath.

______________________________

work in progress guessing game

[teaandatale]

I just want you to know I read your summary/description for your WIP Steggy Diplomats AU last night and I'm still thinking about it!! Like holy cow it just sounds like an epic saga, and I love that it's got a dark vibe to it. 10/10

Aw thanks pal! What a compliment for just some snippets!

Tbh I forgot just how dark a vibe I had running through this one. I don’t quite exactly remember how the idea came to me, but a lot of it, full scenes fleshed out quickly. There’s a lot I have in mind for this one, but I’m keeping a few of the plot twists and turns close to the chest right now ;)

And truly, thanks for your interest! Sometimes writing is super lonely & disheartening, and hearing people interested definitely makes me want to write faster!

[3pirouette]

Modern au where Peggy is a new professor at the university that Steve also teaches at

WTF. This turned into a whole fic. Like a legit whole fic with potentially more? WHAT? (Also, I went to a small liberal arts college that used to put professor’s offices in the most ridiculous places. My dance professors had their offices int he science building 🤷🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️) 

He had a reputation. 

Well, based on gossip it seemed all of the teachers had some sort of reputation. It was a small liberal arts college and it seemed their gossip mill was worse than her high school’s. She was sure she’d have her own reputation in days, if she didn’t have one already.

It seemed asinine that as their criminal justice professor her office was in the arts building and not the humanities building, but she was new, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

The first time she passed his classroom all she saw was a mess. There were tarps and boxes and colors everywhere and little to no organization. Her office was right across from the disaster he called a classroom, and for the two weeks leading up to classes she didn’t manage to catch a glimpse of him. 

She’d been warned he was quiet and elusive. One professor warned he bordered on antisocial. According to RateMyProfessor.com he was listed as a fairly easy good grade, helpful, always at his office hours, and finally, overwhelmingly by the female students, listed at good looking. 

The classroom took shape over the few weeks before students arrived. Slowly supplies were put away and tarps revealed easels and pottery wheels. By the time classes started there was an ordered chaos and she looked forward to peeking through the window of her small, drab office to see the bright colors of his studio. 

He was, she discovered very quickly, incredibly good looking. He had a painting class during her Tuesday office hours. It was the only time during the first semester she ever caught a glimpse of him. She’d watch as he taught through both her window and his open door when she had blessed little to do. She’d watch him walk from student to student, catching glimpses of him here and there. She became bold, eventually, and under the guise of being more approachable during her office hours started propping her door open, as well.

She could hear his beautiful tenor talking about impressionists and brush strokes with her door open. She daydreamed to his lectures on color theory and doodled when he explained chiaroscuro. She loved that when the students were given free time to work on their projects he played music that fit the assignment: classical for replicating the Greco-Roman style, jazz for Picasso inspired pieces, ambient sounds for still life. She was starting to wonder, as winter break drew closer, how she could ever find a way to introduce herself after spying on him for what felt like so long. 

It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving break when she found herself headed back to her office early. They’d suffered an early snowstorm and only half her class, the half that lived on campus she noted, had made it to class. She was already tired and cranky and sore from digging her own car out of the snow in order to make it to class this morning. She’d taken pity on the kids, answered questions about the homework, and dismissed them early. 

She fairly skated down the sidewalks, only half shoveled and slick under her dress shoes. She was desperate to impress, hoping to keep this job into next year, and had opted for business casual flats instead of the even more sensible snow boots. 

She arrived at the arts building earlier than she ever had on a Tuesday, and she was so surprised to see him standing there, in a paint stained polo and slacks, locking up his classroom, that she forgot to pay attention to where she was stepping. As soon as she put her slick dress shoes on the wet tile, she went sliding. In her effort to regain her balance she twisted and felt an all too familiar sensation. 

She couldn’t quite remember if she cried out as she was going down, or after she landed hard on her tailbone, but she did remember that the words that came out of her mouth were not to be said in polite company. 

Peggy sat up, reaching for her bag as he rushed to her side, slipping a little himself even though he had on rubber soled sneakers. “Are you ok?” She opened her mouth to reply, but he shook his head and continued before she could. “No, not ok. Here.” He reached out, helping her up. “I’ve told them a thousand times they need to put one of those all-weather rugs in here. I can’t tell you how many times kids have wiped out after a snow fall like this.” 

Peggy got to her feet, her hands still in his as she smiled at him. “Thank you. I suppose it does make me feel a little better that I’m not the only one.”

He laughed nervously. “No, not at all.” He noticed they were still holding hands and pulled his back, rubbing his together nervously. “Oh!” he bent and started picking up the papers that fell out of her messenger bag when she’d hit the floor, nervously trying to straighten them. “I’m sorry, they’re a little wet. And crinkled.”

Peggy smiled, limping around and grabbing the rest. “No worries, only my notes. I can print them out again if need be.” 

He stopped, watching her limp around. “You’re hurt!”

She stopped and realized how she was walking. “Oh, it’s nothing.” She tried to put her full weight on her leg in the next step, but it nearly collapsed under her.

He was by her side, holding her up with a hand on her elbow and one around her hip, before she could hit the floor. “That’s not nothing.”

“Had surgery on that ACL more than once,” she murmured. “If it’s torn again, I swear…”

Her face was close to his as he held her up. She’d had her balance for long moments now, but neither moved away. All at once Peggy realized that while she was standing here, enjoying the feel of his arm around her waist and wondering if he’d run if she kissed him, that there was a very real possibility that he had no idea who she was. “Good lord! I’ve forgotten myself. I’m Peggy.”

Steve smiled at her. “Professor Carter.” He nodded. “Your office is across from my studio.” He cleared his throat and stepped away, holding out his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

~*~ He had a reputation. 

He knew it, he just didn’t care. 

He wasn’t one to attend big college functions or even little faculty meetings. He just wanted to teach art. He’d had trouble, at first, navigating the social aspect of the small college, he wanted nothing to do with happy hours and socializing outside, but after a while they’d started to leave him alone, and the head of his department had come to see him as competent and dependable. 

He still had the errant new teacher, or old professor, try to get him to go out for drinks, or even the odd invitation for a date, but he always declined. 

He liked to keep his personal life personal and his professional life professional.

He didn’t squash any of the rumors, but never gave credence to any of them, either. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t like to know what was going on around the school, or things that were happening. He was just quiet about it. 

Even after years at the school, his office was still in the theater building. Though he still oversaw the construction and painting of most of the scenery for the theater’s shows, his heart was in the fine art classes he taught: the pottery and painting and drawing. There was an empty office right across from that studio, and he’d been asking for almost two years to move there. 

He was gutted when he heard it was going to belong to the new Criminal Justice teacher. 

It took weeks for him to get a glimpse of her. Her name plate went up by the door, along with a small plant and a coffee mug on her desk.

He couldn’t find any Professor Peggy Carter anywhere, but he did find a mention of an Agent Peggy Carter, formerly of Shield, who had been honored after a career ending injury during the takedown of a terrorist organization known as Hydra.  

That shifted him from angry to intensely curious. 

As soon as her office hours went up next to her name on the door he knew he was going to have a hard time finding an excuse to meet her. If she was in her office, he was either teaching his scene shop class or in his own office hours halfway across campus. Except for the day he taught his advanced techniques class. Her office hours were smack in the middle of the class, but it was something. 

From the middle of the room, where he often taught, he could see right into her office. Most days he was looking at inky blackness of the empty room. But on Wednesdays… 

The first time he saw her he didn’t think it was her. It couldn’t have been, not based on the things the article said she did. He’d been imagining someone large, muscular… someone who did Crossfit and MMA and who looked like a badass. She was gorgeous. She was soft and curvy and had luscious bright red lips and long brown hair and she wore heels and skirts and there was no way she could have been the woman who took down fifteen highly trained terrorists with just a knife and three feet of rope with a torn ACL. 

And then he saw her with Tompkins. 

Brad Tompkins was a notorious junior who thought his father’s influence and enough money could pass any class for him. He was rude and indignant and there were rumors of harassment allegations against him from both students and professors. He’d taken a pottery class thinking it would be an easy A. Steve had taken great delight in failing him after he’d done nothing but play with clay in class and refused to show up to the final. 

Steve had grown used to seeing Peggy’s calm, serene face as she did work, her look of concentration as she graded papers or prepped classes, and her soft, understanding face when she helped upset or confused students maneuver her class. 

There was a moment, though, where Peggy was talking with Tompkins, and she looked at the boy. Steve had been in the perfect spot, at the perfect time, to see this look. And without a doubt he knew this woman could take out a squad of trained killers. He didn’t need to hear her voice to tell the tone she was taking, or to read her lips to feel the importance of her words. Steve found reasons to hover by the window next to the door and watch as she took the boy to task. The young man slinked away from her office, and the next day the teachers were discussing how he’d actually been in the library that night. 

He was impressed. 

And smitten. 

The nice thing about his advanced classes was that they rarely needed more than a little direction when working on their own projects. He was hands off with them, leaving them to explore and try new things but available to help when they needed or wanted more. This left him time during those classes to work on his own art.

Sometimes he would participate in whatever the lesson was, creating a Picasso style piece of his own room, or a still life of plastic fruit in red hues. Slowly, though, he found himself drawn to an even more interesting subject. 

He drew her profile first. She was working at her computer and they were working with charcoals. She didn’t need to look at her hands while she typed, and her profile was steady. It called to him to sketch as he stared at her, and he couldn’t ignore it. Light and shade on brown butcher paper did her little justice, even when he dipped into the pastels for a radiant red to bring her lips to life.

The next week they were working on line abstracts, and he called to mind the way he’d seen her leaning in her doorway once, talking to another teacher. He let the line move on, unbroken, outlining her hips and the long line of her calves, the sharpness of her heels and bounce of her hair, twisting as he crossed her arms over her chest and meandering through the gentle slope of her nose.  

The students were focusing on finding depth in two dimensions. He pulled out his sketch book and focused on her legs. She’d started keeping her door open, and his door was always open, and from his little desk he could see straight into her office and by god were her legs distracting. 

By November he had nearly a dozen drawings of her. Some from her sitting there, some from memory, and all both something he was proud of and something he found utterly embarrassing. He’d gotten to the point where he couldn’t just walk over and introduce himself- it had been too long, and he couldn’t quite come up with a good way for them to “accidently” meet. 

He was locking up his classroom for Thanksgiving break when he heard a bang followed by a string of curses in what he’d come to recognize as her perfect English accent. 

He didn’t think twice about running over to her aid, and managed to make an ass of himself trying to help her stand and pick up her papers. It wasn’t until her was holding her, quite a bit more intimately than barely colleagues should be touching and quite a bit less than he wanted to be touching her, that she actually introduced herself. 

“Can I help you to your office?” he asked, loathe to let this chance go by.

She smiled sadly. “No, I think it’s best I go home and ice my knee.” She shrugged, and he could almost imagine she was as nervous as he felt. “I wouldn’t mind a hand out to the car, though, if you don’t mind.”

Steve put his arm out and she threaded her hand through it. “Happy to help.” He pushed the door open and they were both hit by the bitter cold wind. “I’ll call maintenance in the morning, get one of those rugs out here.”

Peggy laughed as he helped her step down the curb into the parking lot. She pointed to the back corner where her car was. Usually she hated the far parking spot, but at the moment, on Steve’s arm, she wasn’t complaining. “Oh, I think I’ve learned my lesson. Rubber wellies from now on.” 

He chuckled with her. “I can’t say it’s a bad idea.” They were quiet as they navigated a particularly slick patch. “Gosh, I hate to sound overbearing, but are you sure you’re going to be alright getting home?”

Peggy stopped as they reached the back of her car. She smiled up, nodding. “It’s painful, but it’s been worse. I’m sure it just needs a little rest.” 

Steve bobbed his head, nodding and stepping back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Good, good.” He stepped back, giving her room to step between her car and the one next to it. “You know, I’d just…” He pulled out his phone, “Let me give you my phone number. Just, just call or text or something, when you get home. These roads get slick and…”

He hadn’t even looked up from his babbling with his phone vibrated that he’d received her airdropped contact information. He smiled, and wordlessly texted her a quick smile emoji, so she’d have his number, as well. 

She laughed when she got it, and waved her phone at him. “I’ll let you know when I’m home safe and sound, ok?”

“Good.” He watched her get in her car and start the engine. He shoved his hands and phone back in his pocket, picking across the parking lot to his own car. 

His phone vibrated with a message before he’d even gotten his key in the ignition. 

It was nice to finally meet you. I feel like I know you after listening to your class each week. 

He smiled. His heart leapt a little at the idea that this wasn’t once sided. 

Nice to meet you, finally, too. I’m sorry it took you falling for me to introduce myself. 

He started the car, but stopped short of pulling out as he got another text. 

Maybe we should get to know one another better? Then I can really fall for you.

He almost stopped breathing, then smiled as four more text came in hard and fast.

  Oh, I’m sorry. That was so inappropriate. We barely know each other and you were just being kind to me. I am so embarrassed. 

He laughed to himself. He didn’t know what she knew, or thought she knew about him based on his reputation, but this was going to be fun. He texted back: 

If you fall, I promise I’ll catch you. I can’t let a beautiful woman get hurt more than once on my watch. Get home. Text me when you’re there. 

He waited what seemed like forever but was only seconds before he got her reply. 

Will do. Drive safe.

[doctorhelena]

For the fic ask game: #20

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[laviejaguardia]

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Tagged by the lovelies @strangehighs and @gingerbreddiediaz <3 — Favorite color: greens and some turquoises

Currently reading: Diabolik #1 in the original Italian !!

Last series: oof Doctor Who, but also Love Life, Doom Patrol, Hawkeye and Lupin, i've been jumping from one to the other

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Currently working on: Allegedly academic writing, in reality, like 3 fics (F1 AU, BoN ficlet and Perú fic), and some gift exchanges/Secret Santa thingies

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