#(( steve are you SURE you wish to proceed my dude ARE YOU SURE?

[bullsh1tterz]

From Steve!

Bucky is very smugly looking at Adam like “I told you so”

Also the lighter blue ones are more situational based!

ARE YOU 🫵 ADAM'S TYPE!? : : @sioraiocht

The man was too stunned to speak. ONE box and he's literally ideal wtf, Steve Rogers, you poor poor soul!? Well, even poorer a soul since we're actually building up to something. I cannot.

"Still not infamous. Pass." The crude bitch that Adam is - at least he's actually making a joke this time.

"Fine, fine, Rogers. Hear ya loud 'n clear. I'm holdin' ya up ta that joint-sharin' tho, buckle up." ... Is that a smile on his face? Could be. Could be.

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.13

Olympus, The Tower and Other Off-Limits Places to Find Gods at

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)   x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 4280

Summary: Getting an appointment with Captain America isn’t exactly easy – especially when one looks like his deceased soulmate and his friends are very protective of his fragile heart. 

Warnings: mentions of violence, guns, amnesia, swearing, ‘science��

Story masterlist

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Hadn’t you had your nerves wrecked, you would have laughed your ass off when entering the Avengers Tower, the supposed residence of superheroes (besides other things, apparently).

The face of the receptionist upon your entrance was simply priceless.

You wished someone took a picture. Then again, her gaping lasted long enough for your trio to cross the better part of the lobby to her desk, her eyes nearly bulging still as you stopped in front of her, so you had enough time to feast your eyes – only to find yourself unable to indulge it fully. Clearly, you weren’t a diva type of person.

The woman behind the counter couldn’t form words, apparently. Neither were you, the lump in your throat simply too big. So it was left to the brothers.

“Yeah, we know what you want to say. She gets that a lot,” Dean announced brilliantly, smirking. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s behaviour and hurried to talk to the poor woman instead of him.

“Is there any chance we could talk to Captain Rogers?”

The receptionist gulped, clearly uncertain how to proceed. She frantically searched her desk as if she had some note to tell her what to do. In the end, she looked up back at you, blinking.

“I-I’ll see what I can do,” she stuttered as her shaking hands found a button to press and adjust the microphone on her headset. “There’s… there is a woman to see Captain Rogers.”

Low and very much annoyed female voice replied through the loose headphones.

“There are too many women to see Rogers these days. Why are you calling instead of following the protocol?”

The receptionist’s eyes never left your face, but she didn’t hold your gaze, as if shy or scared. You didn’t want to think about what it meant and prayed it was only shock showing. Seeing a supposedly dead person probably did that to people.

Also, really? Those nags whose posts (read: dirty suggestions) you had stumbled across when surfing the net actually came here?

“You might want to come see for yourself, madam.”

A short pause followed, causing your heart to nearly jump out of your chest as it hammered in anticipation.

“Fine. Send her to the conference room on the first floor, 1.03. I’ll be there in five.”

Dean sent the woman behind the counter a blinding smile and she reluctantly showed you towards the elevator. Sam had to nudge you slightly to follow; your feet felt like they had taken roots in the floor. It wasn’t just the receptionist staring now and you just wanted to turn invisible and run.

This had been a terrible idea. What happened to the Tinder one? It suddenly sounded more appealing.

The swift ride in the elevator that flipped over your stomach already floating as if was stuffed with cotton didn’t help at all.

Neither did the redhead who barged into the way too luxurious conference room (the door fucking opened itself), shooting you all three a quick glance that appeared like an assessment of weaponry (Dean did have a pocket knife, you thought, just like Sam, which probably wouldn’t help when fighting a superhero, but whatever) and froze when seeing you.

If she didn’t look so indescribably tough and badass, you would think her emerald eyes turned glassy; before they grew cold and calculating, her already tensed shoulders straightening even more.

“Who the hell are you?!” she barked out.

It was almost funny, seeing as there were two large men with you, that you had her undivided attention as if you were the threat to her.

“I… I’m not sure,” you stuttered, barely audible, your heart leaping into your throat.

Whatever she had expected you to say or do, this clearly wasn’t it. She looked gobsmacked and utterly taken aback by your response. Her stiff and delicately beautiful features twisted in a grimace of disbelief.

“What do you mean you’re not— what the hell is this?”

“You’re Black Widow,” Dean stated when the questioning look of the intimidating woman shifted to them. He looked… star-struck? You vaguely recalled reading that there was a woman on the… Avengers team. This was probably her. “Natasha Romanoff. Well, that would explain it.”

A metaphorical light-bulb flickered above your head.

Natasha. That couldn’t be coincidence, could it?

“The… the name I chose. You think it was because of her? Are we friends?”

“Are we—“ she parroted your apparently stupid question incredulously, measuring your trio from head to toe. “The name you chose? What does it even mean?”

“She’s amnesiac,” Sam enlightened her matter-of-factly, which caused her to snap her gaze back to you, eyes narrowed.

But there was a spark of something in her irises, more of an interest than suspicion now.

“Jarvis, is she wearing any tech that would disguise her voice or her face?”

Before you could question whom she was talking to, a voice with an accent answered her, making you jump.

“No, Agent Romanoff. There is no sign of a plastic surgery either.”

Sam and Dean seemed almost unfazed by an invisible person speaking up; thinking about it, they were probably used to it. But you weren’t, nearly going into a cardiac arrest.  

“Gotta love natural beauty,” Dean hummed teasingly, earning a glare from Sam that screamed hypocrite.

You suspected that the site named BustyAsianBeauties.com that popped out in the tablet’s history was Dean’s doing then and it eased the tension in your stomach for a bit. With those two, everything would be alright. Manageable, at least. The banter, it was the highlight of your days.

“And my recognition system involving body and gait analysis is finding 98% match,” the strange male voice continued and you couldn’t help but grimace.

Dude. That’s… creepy.

“Well, that’s just rude and invasive,” Dean voiced your thoughts and crossed his arms on his chest with a scolding look.

Natasha Romanoff was clearly having none of his shit as she mirrored his position. You noticed that while Dean’s arms were clutched tightly, hers weren’t. You had a funny hunch she wanted to be ready to punch someone. Namely you, Sam or Dean.

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. But then her eyes shifted towards the ceiling, her teeth grinding.

“Jarvis, why didn’t you inform anyone about a woman who matches you-know-who entering this building in the first place?” she hissed and you couldn’t say you minded her irritation being aimed at someone (?) else.

“…I simply thought there was a glitch in my system. I focused on finding the glitch causing my malfunction,” the ghost-like voice replied politely, though sounding guilty.

Everything was pointing the direction of Agent Romanoff finding the system – artificial intelligence, you finally realized, which what the hell was the world anymore – very much guilty. Or someone named Stark, because you would swear she had muttered ‘Fuck Stark’s inventions’ under her breath.

“You three. Start talking. Right now.”

“You might want to explain the frauds too,” the voice chimed in again and the brothers tensed.

“What frauds?” the woman demanded in a snarl, giving you an impression of wanting to bare her teeth like and animal.

“We’ll get to that,” Sam assured her, raising his hands in attempted ‘we-mean-no-harm’ gesture. “It’s just… how we get money, because our job doesn’t exactly pay great.”

“…and the murder.”

The movement was so fast you had no chance of seeing it. All of sudden, there was a gun aimed at Dean’s face, then moving to Sam’s and flickering to you as well, as Romanoff stood two steps farer than before.

“What murder?!”

Good question, not the point at the moment. There was a murder about to happen and sure as hell didn’t like it!

This time, Dean raised his hands in surrender. You mimicked him instantly.

“Alright. Who the hell is speaking and I said it and I’ll say it again; it was a shapeshifter-”

“What the hell is a shapeshifter?” the woman barked, clicking the safety lock.

Your head started swimming, the world muffled as blood pounded in your temples. Someone had you on gunpoint.

Shit, shit, shit, how is this my life? Whose life is this?

“Cas, we could really use your help-“ Dean called out to the ceiling and nothing happened.

You heard the shot before you saw the movement on your left.  It rang in your ears, echoing in your skull and making you crouch on instinct, your arms protectively wrapping around your head.

Two more shots were fired, but no pain came.

Fear squeezed your heart, your knees getting wobbly. Did that mean Sam and Dean got shot?

A gasp from the shooter picked up your curiosity and had you peek through your improvised protection.

“Oh. I think you’ll get along with her, Dean. Same manners. Summon, shoot first, ask questions later,” a familiar voice of an angel sounded from your left and you breathed in shakily, assessing the situation.

No one was hurt. Castiel seemed offended though, so you assumed he was the one being shot at. And he was unharmed. Jesus. They had forgotten to mention that he didn’t really mind bullets, but that was not the point.

There were no other shots and you slowly straightened back as Dean scolded the angel, almost annoyed.

“Cut the sass, Cas. Could you… explain miss- Agent Romanoff that there are monsters and you’re who you are?”

By the look Castiel gave him, he wasn’t happy. You weren’t surprised – his beige trenchcoat now had three bullet holes in it, Romanoff’s gun in his hand. Speaking of which…the agent was kinda frozen? Like, literally? It was freaking creepy, but it was probably the cause of you not bleeding to death momentarily, so you were grateful.

“Again?” Castiel whined and you pushed down the urge to label them ‘married couple after 20 years’. “We work really hard to keep supernatural world a secret! … but in this case, I guess I could make an exception.”

He sighed and flicked his hand, which caused the woman to start moving again, her face raining holy fire as she found herself… unarmed and clearly out of loop.

Castiel only smiled at her, welcoming, before she could jump him and strangle him to death – she seemed to be about to do so.

“Miss Romanoff, I’m an angel of the Lord. Pleasure to meet you.”

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Agent Natasha Romanoff was sitting with her elbows leaning onto her thighs, fingers interlaced between her knees. Her face wasn’t giving away much – only that she was… overwhelmed, if you could take a guess.

She believed you, you recognized as much. After everything Castiel had told her and showed her, which included an interior thunder and lightning, illuminating his figure only to project a shadow of freaking wings on the wall behind his back, and a hovering healing hand over her left knee, clearly working its magic, you weren’t too surprised about that.

Despite all of that though, her eyes were mostly on you, making you shift uncomfortably every now and then.

“I know it’s hard to believe,“ Sam spoke up when the silence stretched; with the angel of the Lord having nothing more to say and simply flying away, disappearing with a flutter of momentarily invisible wings, no one else had seemed inclined to talk.

The agent sighed and raised her head in the giant’s direction, eyebrow crooked up.

“I know a guy who was frozen for seventy years, I met two demigods from Asgard, there’s a man turning way greener and bigger and I fought an alien army. I’m not sure what ‘hard to believe’ means anymore, but seeing an… an angel or whatever he was and him getting me rid of pain that’s been bugging me for months helped too. But… it’s still a lot to chew,” she explained matter-of-factly and you couldn’t say you didn’t agree.

Also, you weren’t quite following her speech, assuming she was talking about her colleagues. You had registered the existence of Avengers, group of people and more-than-people, when searching the net, but your main focus had been aimed at Captain America; for obvious reasons.

“Well, why don’t we let Cap decide what he wants to believe?” Dean offered, tone light, but heavier than usual. “Captain Rogers, I mean.”

The woman eyed you again, clearly struggling with something she didn’t want to share. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

Romanoff snapped to Dean at the simple question and shot him an ugly look.

“He lost his soulmate few weeks ago in the most horrifying way and there’s a woman who looks just like her, not remembering a thing about them or herself for that matter, and I don’t even have a way of being hundred percent sure she is who I think she is. What do you think?” she finished, rising to her feet in a challenge.

Sam pouted shortly, as if wanting to say that she made a good point. “Touché. But I’m pretty sure she’s her.”

The Whatever-spider-she-was-called crossed her arms on her chest, her mind clearly preoccupied, squinting at you for a moment. You winced under the strict glare, lowering your gaze. She sighed at that and when you looked up again with reluctance, you noticed her features softened.

“Would you be willing to take a DNA test?”

“I… I guess,” you replied, a lump in your throat. You clenched your fist so it would stop tremble.

You weren’t scared of their probing. A DNA sounded rather innocent. No, you were worried about the results. The results that would lead to certain encounter you were once again not feeling ready for.

“Jarvis, get Tony’s ass to Bruce’s lab and open the private elevator for us. We’re coming up.”

After another nauseating elevator ride in a cabin that had no buttons to press, a retinal scan of the woman and a sacred promise you wouldn’t touch anything without permission, you were led to a room that was less strictly clinical than you expected – you only saw glass walls separating the white part of another lab in the corner of the room.

The welcome was about as warm as with Lady Spy though.

“What the hell?!” two men cried out in unison, looking up from some sort of a robotic… thing, matching shocked and exasperated expressions on their faces.

One of them was in a lab coat, wearing seeing glasses, suntanned skin and dark curls wild around his head, while the other seemed more caring about his looks with short hair and a goatee; he was wearing a plain dark long-sleeved t-shirt and grey sweats.

“Yeah, I know,” the woman who had brought you in said, not quite elaborating. It didn’t go unnoticed by the goatee man.

“Who the fuck is that?!”

“Cap’s soulmate. Probably,” Dean responded dryly, smiling tightly.

The guy was having none of it as he probably should. Still, you winced when he threw up his arm towards you, brown fire in his eyes – partly directed at you, partly at the redhead woman. He paced towards your group rapidly.

“What? And who the hell are you? Romanoff? Who are these people? Where did you get them? Is that another stunt of yours? Is that what that Wilson therapist told you to do?”

Romanoff’s eyes narrowed, her forehead crooking. “How do you even know about- no, don’t tell me. But don’t look at me, they came on their own.”

“To this lab?” the man sassed her. She clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, okay, that’s on me.”

“You trust them enough to bring them here?” the lab-coat man spoke up for the first time and shifted his weight from one leg to another, fiddling with his fingers nervously. You would swear you saw a hint of green on the side of his neck, but it must have been a trick of light.

“Long story. Wanna run some tests?” she offered, sounding rather commanding.

The goatee man narrowed his eyes, but quickly caught up, a flash of recognition on his face. “Good plan. Want Jarvis to update the security protocols?”

“Good plan. Though I don’t think it will do any good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he hissed, while the curled-hair man hesitantly beckoned you to follow him to the white part of the laboratory. You gulped at the sight, but hoped it didn’t show on your face much.

“Thanks,” you quipped up shyly, your fingers fiddling with the loose end of your plaid shirt. “Good afternoon. Sorry for barging in and interrupting your work.”

You didn’t know what possessed you to say that – perhaps you were wishing to smoothen the messy and rather hostile situation. To be fair, you were sorry; whatever they had been doing when you stumbled in looked important.

“Just… ask Jarvis later,” you heard behind your back and then the glass doors fallen shut behind you.

The man in the glasses observed you with brilliant eyes, curiosity, a hint of anger, confusion and a spark of hope written all over his face.

“We’ll see if it’s a problem. Who are you? Why are you here?”

You slowly climbed to the examining table, waiting for instructions, not sure what exactly he was about to perform. His questions were good ones, but there was a tiny catch.

“I really wish I knew answers to at least one of these questions, sir,” you whispered honestly, the pool of chocolate in his irises softening a fraction at your admission.

“You don’t know who you are?”

The velvet of his voice, soft question and gentle movements of his hands as he prepared your arm to take your blood summoned tears to well up in your eyes and you only shook your head, not wanting for your voice to break.

“But you’re here willingly, right? These men out there – they can’t hear you, don’t worry – they didn’t force you to come here, did they?” he continued kindly, a worried crinkle on his forehead now.

You were quick to understand that he worried whether two random fellas didn’t take an advantage of your visible similarity to Captain’s soulmate.

The shook of your head was more rapid this time, especially as you noticed the green patch of skin on his neck again. You understood finally that this was whom Natasha Romanoff was talking about – ‘greener and bigger’, she had said. You didn’t want to upset him, more so with a syringe in his hand.

“No. They have been helping me from the moment I woke up with no memory. They are very kind to me. We didn’t know to come here until we walked into a café and people were staring at me.”

As you explained it quietly, you barely noticed the pinch and the vial filling with your blood. He disinfected the puncture then, wordlessly instructing you to keep the pressure on it.

“Well. We’ll see if this can help us at all,” he offered as he placed the vial to a machine you had never seen before. “But if you are, in some impossible way, the person you are scarily similar to, we’re about to have a very long chat.”

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The chat wasn’t long at all in fact. The machine spitted out a result within five minutes in which you had returned to the cosier laboratory to witness the trio of Sam, Dean and Romanoff explaining to the goatee man how supernatural world worked.

He appeared sceptical, but Doctor Banner – as you learned – supported the spy when she pointed out her chronic pain in her knee that she now claimed to vanish.

Mr. Stark, aka the goatee man, seemed very relieved at the ping that sounded from his computer, an excuse to pause the weird conversation. Seeing the window instantly pop out in the air in front of his face, little lights drew some kind of results you couldn’t read.

You could read the actual text though. There was your supposed name, a series of lighter and darker bands, and next to it, a tested subject (actual you) with matching set of bands.

The match: 100%.

Stark’s head snapped to you along with Romanoff’s and Banner’s. They all stared at you speechless, disbelief at something beyond their comprehension clearly on display on their faces.

You shuffled uncomfortably, your gaze falling to the floor. You could still sense Dean’s and Sam’s satisfaction as they stood by your side. You, on the other hand, felt like you couldn’t quite breathe in, your chest too heavy and constricted.

“Well,” Stark broke the ominous silence, voice with a barely audible tremble in it. “Either you’re good, like really fucking good, or… you’re actually her, which… what the hell. People don’t just come back from death.”

Yeah, no shit. Tell me about it. And they told me that people actually do.

Too sheepish and not knowing what was a proper thing to say to that (was there even such thing?), you remained in your position and quiet.

Dean was kind enough to voice your thoughts though.

“Well, all of us, including the angel Ms. Scarily Pretty and Pretty Scary here met, did. That’s our world,” he stated, moving closer to your side as if he wanted to comfort you as he sensed your discomfort. Which probably wasn’t that hard. “I’m not saying it happens every day, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t happen here and there.”

“In the end, I don’t think it matters,” Romanoff sighed and you finally found courage to look up as her words shocked you.

What did that mean?

“Why?” Stark questioned.

“Because she’s already here. They should talk.”

“Why? That’s gotta hurt like hell if nothing comes out of it, Natasha. You saw how he’s coping. Or, you know, not coping,” Banner reasoned this time and you bit your lip, glancing away at the thought of hurting your supposed soulmate.

“What he said. But I wouldn’t say ‘hell’,” Stark supported him and then added for a good measure: “I’d say ‘fuck’.”

The woman huffed exasperatedly.

“Yeah, guys, I’ve been there for the past weeks. You said it yourself, Tony, I did look for a therapist. But cut Steve some slack, he’s trying. More importantly, this can’t be a coincidence. I don’t believe in those.”

Your heart fluttered at the mention of his name and you weren’t sure you wanted to probe at why. Having the picture of him in your head, his voice caressing your ears, then pleading desperately as he had tried to save you – and there was no questioning it anymore, was there, even the DNA had confirmed you were she and she was you – made one hell of a mess of you.

As if you hadn’t been one already.

“Explain.”

“When I told her… that I might have sent Steve her way the first time, you know what she told me?” Romanoff reacted to Stark’s blunt request and all eyes shifted to you once more and you panicked.

“I have no idea what she’s talking about, I clearly didn’t!”

“Enlighten us then?” Banner sighed, tilting his head to side curiously, glancing back at the other woman in the room.

“That it was okay. That either way, it was meant to happen exactly like it happened, because why else the words would have already been on their skin? Exactly those words?”

You blinked in surprise, taken aback at how much the words resonated with you. You could hear yourself say that and it probably shouldn’t shock you since you had your identity confirmed now, but… still.

When the spy spoke the words out loud, they made perfect sense.

“Wanna go all ‘you can’t escape the fate’ on me?”

Or maybe they didn’t, you thought grimly as Stark’s voice turned sceptical.

“Well, she wasn’t wrong, was she?” the redhead opposed him dryly, raising a challenging eyebrow.

The doctor grimaced, probably wanting to say something, but not having a counterargument.  

“That’s fair. But that was different. There are no words-“

“There are. Steve… he’s got a new set of words.”

“Aha!” Sam and Dean called out in unison, pointing their index fingers to accent Romanoff’s words, once again in creepy sync.

You, on the other hand, were less confident.

“Really?” you whispered, relief washing over you like a tide wave. You hadn’t been aware of how much the possibility of everyone being wrong weighted you down until now. What were the chances Steve Rogers wasn’t your soulmate – again and still – after this revelation?

The spy only nodded, sending an approximation of a smile in your direction.

“Wait, really? Son of a bitch.” - “What does it say?” Banner asked at the same time as Stark and you bit your lip.

Should you even know that? Would they tell you? If they would, you could say them to the captain and call it a day – but that wasn’t how it worked, right?

Should you like… cover your ears?

“He wouldn’t tell me,” Romanoff sighed, solving your moral dilemma for you. You were glad, not caring whether she was making it up, because she didn’t want to tell you or whether it was the truth. “To be fair, maybe he would have done it, but I tranquillized him about thirty seconds after he told me about them, so I understand he didn’t feel like sharing after that.”

Yeah, you could see that happening. She seemed to be one for a quick and radical solutions, which tranquillizing someone – like drugging him to fall asleep, right? – definitely was.

“Fair enough,” Stark hummed and then turned to you with curiosity in his eyes. His whole stance seemed to change though upon the mention of Steve Rogers having new words. He believed you now and it caused him – just like everyone else you had met in this strange Tower – to treat you… kinder. “Do you have two sets of words?”

“I… I do.”

With a deep inhale and painfully slow exhale, you started to unbutton your shirt, revealing both of your sets of words. The shock and something indescribable in the air was almost palpable as there were no doubts left in anyone’s head.

The silence was weighting a ton and you were immensely grateful to Banner for breaking it – until you heard his words that scared you as much as they excited you.

“Yeah, they should probably talk.”

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Part 14

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The we-shall-protect-Steve-at-any-cost squad in action. Then again, it’s hard to argue with angels and scientific evidence when they team up.

Sorry it took long, glad if you waited :-* Thanks for reading!

[harringtonheartache]

Daybreak | Part Six

Part Seven

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Lab Escapee! Reader?

Summary: Part six of this fic. What will the two do with a morning void of urgency? Did someone say... breakfast in bed? 

Word Count: 2,200 +

Warning(s): Mild cussing

A/N: Ch-chapter six anyone? Is anyone still here? Sorry for the wait. It becomes obvious in this chapter that I changed the timeline of events as they happen in the show, although I assume this isn’t much of a shock considering the fic’s entire concept derails from the show’s plot. Enjoy (-:

Awakening from sleep was more gentle the second morning without Steve’s clumsy efforts in getting ready for school filling the room with noise. Because of this lack of the boy’s undeniably loud movement, however, when she awoke, Nine sat up to make sure he was still there. And he was. He still laid facing her on the floor, only now his eyes were closed, his mouth was slightly agape, and his hair had been thrown over his face at some point in the night. The blanket he had taken from his closet fell from its place against his shoulders and now wrapped itself loosely around his waist, just as much a victim of his sleepy tosses and turns as his hair had been. 

It was now raining, too. Lightly pattering against the roof, nice background noise it made. Nine let him sleep, and let herself observe him in such a tender state for a moment before falling back against the mattress to focus her vision on the ceiling. She happily welcomed the serene environment brought to the bedroom by the soft beam of light leaking through the curtains (and right across the patch of floor Steve laid across, but he didn’t notice) and the sleepy boy sprawled out across the floor. It was a kind of morning she favored over those she was used to. 

After ten or so minutes passed, Steve stirred awake, and sat up himself to see the girl lying calmly on her back in his bed. One of his eyes was still closed, as he could only adjust them to the light one at a time. “What time is it?” he asked, and her head popped up from against the pillow she was laying on. His one opened eye found the clock sitting on his nightstand and he answered the question for himself. “Ah,” he groaned, reaching to rub the eye he had yet to fully open. “I didn’t mean to sleep this late, I’m sorry. Have you been up long?” His voice was hoarse but still warmly familiar. 

Her response was soft but audible in the relaxed air of the bedroom. “No,” she said, sitting up on her elbows. He let himself fall back against the floor as she had against the mattress, closing both eyes again yet still awake. “That’s good”. 

He sat up again a few moments later, deciding that he was ready to wake up completely. Nine graduated from leaning against her elbows to sitting cross-legged when Steve stood up altogether, his blanket now falling to the ground as he did so. “I uh-” he began a sentence briefly before starting it over again. He ran a hand lazily through his hair as he spoke, taming it a little. “I’ll be right back, you can just stay here”. With that, he left the room, pulling the door almost shut (but not completely) as he did so. Slightly unsettled by this detail (but trustful), Nine stayed where she was as Steve told her she could. 

More time passed before he returned than she was comfortable with, but he did return nonetheless. He struggled, three plates of food balancing in his grip as he softly opened the door with a push of his foot. One plate almost fell from his hand as he entered, and a “shit” succeeded in falling from his mouth. He set the food down on his dresser, turning to Nine after he slid the last one atop the wooden surface. “I- uh,” he started his speech the same way he had earlier. “My parents aren’t home or anything, but I thought we could eat in here anyway. Like a breakfast in bed kinda thing, maybe? I mean it’s only toast, and some fruit - we don’t have much - and I might have burnt some of the toast, but-” 

His words were hurried, trying his best to communicate his intentions. Nine cut him off from his explanatory ramblings. “Yeah,” she said. “Breakfast in bed”. 

He smiled at her agreement, offering an airy “okay,” as he did so. He gathered the plates again, and she smoothed out the comforter in front of her. Steve set the plates on top one by one, then proceed to climb on the bed himself, the food now sitting between them like a picnic spread. “Again, it's not the greatest breakfast-” he started but was unable to finish. “Steve,” she stopped him. “It’s great. Thank you”. She smiled again, reaching to pluck a strawberry from the bowl sitting (slightly tilted, but not enough to spill) on the bed.

He grinned with a content sigh, deciding to take her word for it this time that she was okay with his perhaps mediocre preparations. His arm crossed with her’s as he reached for a piece of darkened toast. Biting into it, a loud crunch rang in the air as a few crumbs dropped from the bread. They both laughed before he spoke. “It’s not as bad as it sounds”. Depositing the calyx of her finished strawberry on the edge of her reserved plate, she now took her own piece of toast. She held it up, tapping it against Steve’s in a silent ‘cheers’. 

“So what do you want to do today?” Steve asked, breaking the not-so-silence of their toast chewing. Nine held a hand out underneath her mouth as she took a bite, catching crumbs from falling to the bed. She swallowed before speaking, and it gave her time to think. “Do you think-” she hesitated to voice her desires. “Do you think we can just stay here today?”.

“Yeah!” Steve’s voice was muffled behind his piece of toast as he took another bite. He was quick to answer, realizing the poor timing of his eating. “Yeah, we don’t have to go anywhere today,” he reassured her. “Do you want to watch movies? Have you seen-” he stopped himself this time, quick to pick up on his own mistake. “Wait, no you probably haven’t. That’s okay, I can show you all the best ones”. Another genuine smile flourished on her face. “Or I’m sure we have some games or something we can play,” he introduced another suggestion to the conversation. He felt responsible to entertain her, unaware that she was fully content with just about any activity (or lack thereof) she ended up participating in on this stay-at-home day, no matter the mundane normalcy. She was ready to experience such a thing for the first time. 

---

The two now shared the responsibility of carrying the plates, walking downstairs beside one another to put them in the kitchen. She handed hers to Steve and he placed it in the sink, then turning on his heels to lean against the counter as he faced her. “So, wanna see what movies we have?” he asked with a grin. He too was excited to spend the day leisurely, just the two of them with nothing existential to worry about. She gave him a happy nod, about to add speech to her response but the sound of a doorbell cut her short. She flinched. He did too.

She looked to the door. He did too. 

Turning his head away from the entryway that had stolen his attention away from Nine, he spoke up. “Hey,” he said gingerly, trying to break her worried gaze from the door as well with his calm reassurance. “I’ll just shoo em’ away. Then we can pick out a movie, okay?” he asked, raising both of his brows to give her a look of sincere consolation. She nodded again, but this time with hesitance. 

She chose a more concealed hiding spot than last time, ducking behind the kitchen island rather than only standing out of view. Steve opened the door, and she heard him sigh from her place in the other room. “Dustin? Really, again? Look, you know I love hanging out with you little dude, but I’m kinda busy right now”. Steve said to the boy. Nine stood from her spot but kept her feet in place, not as nervous about being seen considering that it was only Dustin. “Steve, this is important I-” he started to explain his position, why it was that he has appeared at Steve’s door for the second day in a row, but he wasn’t given enough time to squeeze out his reasoning. “Dustin, I know, I bet it is. I just can’t help you out today, okay? I have some important stuff going on, I-” Dustin interrupted him this time. “Steve-” 

“I’m sorry! I am, just- another day, okay?” 

“Steve!”

“What?!”

“Will’s missing!”

The shouting stopped with Dustin’s last sentence, Steve gone silent and Nine even rounding the corner, now insistent on joining the conversation despite it requiring her presence being known. “What?” Steve’s voice faded to that of a more benevolent tone. His hand dropped from its place against the open door, meeting his side to parallel the other. Nine’s face was decorated with worry. She remembered Will, ‘the smallest one’ in Steve’s words. She was present now besides Steve, but Dustin’s eyes were still trained on the tallest figure in the doorway. 

“What do you mean he’s missing?” Steve continued.

“Will is missing. Gone. Not here. We don’t know where he is.”

“That’s impossible, I dropped him off at his house last night. I watched him go inside. Where could he have gone?”

“I don’t know, but he wasn’t there in the morning,” 

Nine gives the hem of Steve’s shirt a gentle tug. It’s so gentle that she has to do it a second time with a little more force for the action to register to him. He tilts his head down to meet her eye, and she can see that his are filled with a very distinguishable concern. They falter for a moment, as if the realization of her presence momentarily shocked him out of it, but then the worry floods right back in. He gives her a questioning look rather than asking her what she wishes to tell him. Maybe he’s adopting some of her non-verbal cues. She doesn’t respond, but her eyes stare back at him wildly. They hold that same concern that Steve’s do, but there's a twinge of something else in there too. 

She gives her eyebrows a quick raise and tugs on his shirt for a third time. His gaze drifts to her hand that held the fabric of his shirt, then, as if someone pressed ‘resume’, he stepped to the side to allow her a more private word with him. She speaks in a hushed tone, and Dustin remains where he is. He watches them, only now realizing for himself that she hadn’t been there when Steve opened the door. 

“I can help,” she tells him. His shirt was still gripped between her forefinger and thumb, but neither of them noticed. Steve’s eyes remained the same, but his head tilted in confusion and his mouth twitched as it prepared words. “What do you mean you can help him?” he started with the only logical question. “Do you know where he is? Will?” he said. “No,” she spoke softer than he did. “But I can-” her fingers finally let go of his shirt and found those of her other hand as they intertwined nervously. “I think I can find him, maybe”. 

“What does that mean?” Steve asked another logical question.

“I can sometimes… see people. You just have to trust me.” Now his eyes changed; they got even wider. His voice got quieter, too. “You can see people? What the hell does-” She gave him another look, one that stopped him from finishing his sentence. “Powers - yup. Okay, got it.” 

He now stole a look at Dustin, who still stood in the doorway, as he had not invited himself inside. “How do you-” he started, looking back to Nine now. “How does this work? Where should we go? I don’t know how to keep Dustin out of this,” he rambled quietly. 

She looked over to him now too, noticing that he was wearing the same hat that was on top of his head yesterday. An unimportant detail, but for some reason it occurred to her anyways. He was a young kid, in middle school most likely (not that she would know that). She could tell he was fairly young though, and this alone was a comfort. Perhaps it stemmed from her upbringing. She had never trusted an adult, had yet to come across one that she could. She hadn’t seen much of other kids either (as she was more familiar with seclusion), but those she had managed to interact with at the lab, even if just for a minute or two, had been the only people she felt remotely comfortable with. There was a bond between them that manifested naturally. Shared trauma was powerful.

Dustin - all five-foot-three of him - was not an adult, and this was incentive to trust him in Nine’s eyes. She wasn’t very familiar with him, or trust as a concept in the first place, but there was one person who was the exception to both of those shortcomings. 

“Do you trust him?” she whispered, turning to face Steve after a pondering look to the doorway. She trusted Steve, and his approval of Dustin would be enough for her to grant him her own as well. Steve’s arms were crossed now, one hand grasping loosely onto his bicep. He had initiated this movement at some point in the conversation, perhaps when Nine’s grip had left his shirt. He nodded his head intensely. “Yeah! Totally, I mean he’s young, but he can keep a secret. Plus, he’s smart too. He’s got wisdom beyond his years... somehow,” he spoke.

She eyed him with sincerity. “Good. We’re going to need his help too”.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tag List: @ggclarissa @hyp-oh-critical @orchideax @we-are-band-sexuals @cpt-lamby @l0ve-0f-my-life @girlyisthatweirdkid  @easyvtohat @ireallylikerugby​ 

[supersoldiersruined-me]

Sinful Dance

A/N: This is my very belated challenge entry for @siren-kitten-his 2k followers challenge! Congrats again love! My prompt was the Lust sin. I took a different approach to my normal writing. The whole text is the same story, but cut into the five senses. Every other part changes pov between Bucky and reader.  Warnings: Pining? Dirty talk, swearing, implied sexual situations Word count: 3.7k Additional prompt: “Your lips are getting really close to mine.” from an ask.

Main Masterlist | Challenge Entries Masterlist

- Sight -

A squeaky door slides in front of him, indicating his arrival, fifteen minutes late to the monthly meeting. He grunts as he takes his place between Steve and Nat. A grumpy Tony sits at the end of the oval table, flipping through his binder, not paying any mind to the impatient crew around him. Neither Steve’s pen tapping nor Pepper’s shoulder nudge take him out of his focus. Focus that has the cold room feeling even more tense, and the people in it even more fed up of the eventful week behind them.

It’s a shy Peter Parker who breaks the silence, “Guys, I just really want to, um…”

“Queens, don’t sweat it.” With a captainesque smile, Steve proceeds to reassure him.

“We always have your back,” adds Carol over the hologram.

After a shared laugh over the poor boy’s mishap, the meeting goes on accordingly without too many interruptions. Notes over the new weapons and tech are handed, along with old-men jokes from Nat towards Steve and Bucky’s ever-so-astonished faces. The plans and maps from their regular intel seem to satisfy everyone; Bucky is the first up, ready to leave for a much needed shower and sleep. He stops short before Pepper can even begin to introduce what has a cold shiver running up his spine.

Standing there behind the glass doors, a young woman clothed of the prettiest silk blouse, tucked in a pencil skirt waits for her cue. She walks in, keeping her eyes on the ground as she takes a deep breath. He looks at her, at the way her hair waves over her shoulders. Preppy glasses frame her face and he’s ashamed to admit he wants to paint them with arousal. Weak in the knees, he retreats to his seat, the room suddenly closing on itself, becoming warmer by the second. Her shaking hands set a pile of paperwork in front of Tony for him to sign, then she straightens herself, hopeful eyes finally daring to look around the room. His insides shake; he wishes someone would strap him to the chair because he’s not sure how long he can handle himself before he’s gotta get his mouth on her. It’s grotesque. It’s new. He has no clue what took hold of him.

“This here is Y/N Y/L/N. Thank you, miss.” Tony nods her way as he flicks his pen open, his gaze running through the contracts. “If you have any orders to make for outfits, gear, what ever really, you go through her. And no funky shenanigans, please.” She smiles shyly and scans the room, brushing her nerves aside to make a good first impression. Bucky watches her wipe the palm of her hands over the jersey material of the skirt that’s so tightly hugging her bubbly behind. He wants them on his chest, his stomach, his thighs. He wants them around his d-

“James Barnes!” Nat whisper-screams into his ear, eyes shooting arrows at him. He has the nerve to look at her in wonder. Not concerned by the nature of her accusation. A chuckle on his left, the usual that comes before a snarky remark, finally has him realising something is genuinely wrong. 

“Thought your arm was the stiffest thing you owned. But dude,” Sam jokes around, his hand on his teammate’s shoulder as he slowly exits the room, saluting the young lady with a military wave.

Her eyes meet Bucky’s then, and she lets them fall down his features, until they grow wide at the bulge in his sweats. He’s ashamed, caught red handed as he flattens himself the best he can. He wants to run. But there’s a rope tying them together he just doesn’t know how to rip; doesn’t want to anyway. So he stays there in his chair, rolling so he’s at least facing the other way, and waits for everyone to leave before he can make a move.

- Smell -

The sun is down, enabling Y/N to relax and get ready for bed. She was given her room before they had finished renovating it, so apart from her bed sitting in a corner, she has to use the common facilities for another week or two. She walks out in nothing but a thick robe - a neat embroidery of her name sits over her left breast - and heads towards the gym’s bathroom with her toiletry bag. Her sleepiness has her walking through the wrong door and into the men’s room, which she only notices once she walks by the row of urinals against the left wall. She shrugs with a soft sigh, but proceeds. It’s late and who’d be around anyway?

The stalls are made of tall, expensive ceramic walls that even the supersoldiers can’t top. They have actual doors rather than cheap curtains. The only thing joining them is the small gap on the ground where the water runs to a single drain, and another about a foot down from the ceiling to allow the steam to dissipate. 

She turns the water on from the separate cubicle before taking off the robe and stepping in, letting the warmth soothe her tense muscles; she hadn’t thought this day would be as stressful as it has. She’s halfway through rinsing her hair when the door slams shut behind hurried footsteps. Her breath hitches in her throat. She freezes. It’s quiet for a minute until the water from the neighbour stall starts running. She stays under the stream, not saying a word and hopes she doesn’t get in trouble.

“Lavender?” His voice is deep and raspy. She’s not sure she heard this one yet. “Guess you forgot your stuff and had to take the samples, huh.” He adds a chuckle to his remark. She scuffs, thinking it would give her away if she laughed with him. 

The cap of his shampoo bottle snaps, and slowly the scent rushes through the room, through her senses, to finish its journey between her legs. It’s rich and spicy. A hint of teakwood lets her know this isn’t regular drugstore shampoo. He had it made for him. To fit his needs, to smell like the woods with a faint vintage charm. Only one man in the room earlier could enjoy such details.

Bucky. The man she had read about and researched. Twisted things about him she never understood seemed to be what fed her hunger. He had a je-ne-sais-quoi that drew her in. She’d managed to put it aside; closing books and web browsers was an easy task. Unlike her current situation.

Her body trembles at the scent. Her slick fingers begin to knead into her skin with a mighty need. He’d be the death of her if she didn’t leave the room quickly, but with her head resting on the wall between them, she lets her hand succumb to the craving. She focuses on the sound of his hands rubbing over his hard body. Of the soft hum of satisfaction when he passes over a sore spot. The image of his hard cock in his sweats surfaces. She had never seen something so big, never owned a toy that looked like him in the least. He’d be a new sensation she’d have to have once in her boring life.

She has to bite her cheek to stifle the moans that threaten to give her sinful actions away. Her fingers - now clean - squeeze into her core, pumping in sync with the motions of his hand on his dick that she pictures in her mind. She’s quickly building her orgasm; the inevitable cry of betrayal turning her on even more. She holds on as he turns the water off. As he ambles out of the room and she swears he’s trailing on purpose. When her thumb flicks over her clit just right, Bucky walks out (finally) and she falls to her knees, sitting on her feet with her forearm on the cold wall - her head rests on top of it as she bites down her climax. The soap makes it hard for her weak legs to keep steady as she attempts to get back up. Her hand reaches for the robe, too out of this world to care about drying first. She brings the thick material to her face, hiding her blush from herself as if it was going to erase what had just happened. She wouldn’t handle this much longer. What ever had her feeling this way needed to stop. Or did it?

- Hearing -

His heavy body drops to his bed, making the headboard smash onto the wall. A rather thin wall he shares with Steve - the poor boy. His mind fails to recall the last time he kept his friend from sleeping. Too long, he thinks. Much too long. Y/N comes to his mind then; her soft features and the faint darkening of her eyes at the sight of his appendage. The way her hair would feel between his fingers, bunched up as he had his way with her until they matted on her face. He knows he’ll never get a second chance with her. He’d blown it. So it’s him and his imagination against the odds, but tonight exhaustion has the best of him before he can venture his hand down his pants. He’d have a hard time rushing his blood to where he needs it anyway.

He’s up in a heartbeat the next morning, refreshed and feeling dapper. He walks out of his room covered in nothing but another pair of sinful sweatpants - commando, of course - and one of his tight sparring t-shirts. The smell of fresh coffee and burnt toast welcomes him into the kitchen area, where everyone seems to have settled for brunch. As usual, he’s the last to show up, but his serving along with his double mimosa wait in front of his assigned seat. Placed on its right is another flute of liquid sunshine, a small plate with a half-eaten croissant and a notebook stretched to its limit with notes and clippings and whatnot. He steps towards the table and sits. Y/N fills the seat beside him a minute later, acting casual with a little nod hello.

From the corner of his eye, Bucky notices the oversized white t-shirt she most likely wore to bed. He’s sure she’s wearing shorts but most of them are covered by her top, leaving her smooth legs on display. He’s salivating, and it has nothing to do with the thought of ravaging the pile of bacon. He dares turn around slightly. Just enough so to see her licking the excess chocolate that’s dribbling from the croissant onto her fingers. He forces his eyes shut, his fingers soon digging holes into the fabric of the chair. Then when he thinks he’s gained control, a whisper of a moan escapes her lips when the sweetness hits her tongue, proving once more his infuriating vulnerability. He grabs his plate and he’s up in a flash before his body betrays him again, almost knocking Wanda to the ground as he shuffles around the island. With a lamentable excuse, he disappears into the hall towards the living quarters.

The smell of barbeque lingers in the air as he steps onto the rooftop a couple hours later. He sets the yoga mat down by Bruce’s experimental garden; he had grown fond of this hideout over his healing process. He’s slowly winding down, breathing in and out like Nat had taught him. With a new draft of wind comes the scent of the flower pots that bathe in the sun next to him. He remembers the sweet smell of the flowers his mom kept around the yard; magnolia, lilac, lavender… Lavender?

His eyes scan the surroundings. Lavender doesn’t grow in pots, he reminds himself. He has a look around the yard, as if he didn’t know the place like the back of his hand. Curiosity has him on his feet and roaming around to find the source. He feels a pang to his guts when his sight falls onto Y/N. She’s sitting on a lounge chair, alone. Over the back of the chair he sees one of her legs folded over the armrest, the other is bent at the knee towards her chest. The same white shirt covers her top but her hair is now loose from the messy bun she sported earlier. He watches it dance as the wind carries through. He closes his eyes and it hits him; she was the mysterious man in the shower the night before.

His mind runs wild at the thought of her naked body. At the water running over her skin, tickling her every inch. Or the fact that she must have heard him relieve himself, the squishing of his movements unusually fast for someone who’s cleaning up. 

“Fuck,” he hears her clear as day; she just moaned the word out in the open. He’d walk closer if he didn’t have enhanced hearing. There’s another soft moan following and he’s going wild.

“B-Bu,” he shivers. “James, ah, please!” He stands there unable to move as he listens to her calling out his name. Her head falls back onto the chair and her other leg spreads out, mirroring the other. He curses himself because he can hear just how wet she is. He has to bite his lip to prevent his own begs from spilling out.

“So good,” she continues. Another finger slides by the others. He could tell she’s pumping fast with his eyes closed if he wanted, but seeing her shoulder bounce seems to prove he’s not so wicked after all. There is no mirage here and he’s on the verge of snapping his restraint. His sweats allow him extra room for his arousal but there’s no hiding it. His back rests on the brick wall of the staircase now. It’s cold and he needs it. Bad.

“I’m gonna,” No. Please don’t. “I’m gonna come Bucky,” she whimpers. It would be a lie to say he didn’t want her to. He also doesn’t want this to end. Until one of them makes the jump, they’d be dancing this agonizing dance and those little moments are all he’s going to get. She’s right there though, he hears her gush. He rushes into the stairwell. He doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to break the perfect bubble he’s put around her. There’s one way he’d let himself hear that and it’s if he’d be the cause of it. Literally.

- Touch -

She pulls her leggings up, hips swaying with the music on her TV. It’s late and she needs the extra motivation to get her ass to the gym. So she struts down the hall, waits for the elevator and makes her way to the basement. The gym’s door is ajar when she gets there, a stripe of light colours the linoleum floor at her feet. She shrugs it off; she made it this far, might as well go through with it. 

A tall, square figure gets up from a bench on the far end of the room. Hair well sorted in a bun. White tank-top snug against his back. He turns around and their eyes meet. Her hand reaches for the handle on her way to desertion; a reflex she would have later regretted.

But, “Wait!” He calls after her. The muscles in her arm become frail making her hand fall to her side. She looks at him again, taking longer this time. Allowing herself to indulge and he’s letting her. He wants to take a step forward but she waves him off.

“Bucky, I can’t…” Her words are weak.

“It’s okay. I’m not sure I can either,” he confesses. They sigh in sync. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She watches his expression of defeat and swallows the lump in her throat. She walks over to the mirror, keeping a safe distance between them. Her eyes meet themselves as she scans her face. They close with another sigh - her forehead leans against the mirror. Fists clench.

“I don’t know either, Bucky. All I know is whatever happens next scares the shit out of me. It’s like Schrodinger’s cat. Open the box. Taste the fruit, and you’ll know. But there’s an outcome I don’t want to face...” She hears Bucky’s shuffle. He’s right by her when she opens her eyes, startling her. She looks at his reflection now. Both of them silent as they go through each other’s doubled features. A wave of spice hits her nose just as she manages to steady her breathing. She bites her lip, eyes looking at his in the mirror. Her finger lifts until it reaches the image of his bicep. She slides it down, the soft squeak of her fingertip against the hard surface makes them shiver. He mimics her action and draws along the line of her hip. He’s bending so low she can feel his breath on her shoulder.

She grants herself to turn around, tired of faking. Tired of hiding her desire and whatever comes with it. He’s right there and accessible and she’s spiraling down a panic attack until he steps up and breaks the tension. His warm hands grab onto her forearms, effortlessly pulling her close to his chest. She’s putty. She’s everything but the confident and sexy woman she wants to be right at this moment. The speed of his heartbeat under her palm lets her know he’s not at his best either. The depth of his eyes sucks her in and heat travels through her, blushing her cheeks.

“Your lips are getting really close to mine,” he says with a cocky grin. It would be impossible to slide a sheet of paper between them. 

“Bucky, please,” she whimpers albeit the uncertainty of the moment. She smiles when the weight of her words makes him shiver.

“It’ll change everything.” His hands are on her cheeks now, ready.

“I damn well hope so.”

- Taste -

“I’m sorry Mr. Barnes. Mr. Stark has asked me to inform you that public facilities of the compound are secured with cameras. High definition cameras.” The AI blurts out through the intercom, and it’s as if it, too, doesn’t want to see the following scene unfold.

“Fucking kidding me,” Bucky grunts, eyes shooting to the ceiling.

He feels her giggle onto his chest. The proximity should be firing up his arousal, but the cute gesture hits a whole other cord. Maybe this is what she meant by ‘unbearable outcome’, he thinks. He shakes the thought away, not wanting to break his one and only chance.

“You know, there is one public place that definitely isn’t monitored,” she mentions, wiggling her brows at him. His furrow for a second before he catches her intention. He picks up an elastic band from the rack in the gym before they amble down the hall and back up into the living quarters. He’s first to peek around the corner that leads towards the bathrooms, her body following with a hand on his shoulder for balance. Once the coast is clear, he finds the back of her thighs and picks her up. With a sharp kick, the door opens before them, and to their benefit, the room seems deserted. He sets her down before securing the doors with the elastic; an extra security measure that he knows isn’t the strongest, but it eases his mind nonetheless.

“Go start the showers on the left, I’ll take care of the lights,” he asks. When he turns back around, she’s standing at the other end of the room, five meters or so, but it feels like the world. He looks at her. The tight material of her leggings against her legs. How it delicately rises into her lips. The tank top she sports lets him see the bumps of her breasts perfectly. He palms himself through his sweats, bead of precum already setting a visible round spot at the tip. She’s biting her lip and he wishes he had mind reading abilities. He’d know what she wanted. How she wanted it. He damn well knows what he wants, and he feels nauseous at the idea of finally obtaining it.

“What’s with the staring,” she jokes. He grunts and she smirks.

“You’ve had control over me ever since I laid eyes on you. This has never happened. You’re so fucking hot and I don’t want to ruin this,” he admits.

“Talking will get you nowhere, Barnes.” There’s a wink, followed by her hands reaching for the hem of her tank top - it’s on the ground as fast as Bucky can blink. He takes his own top off, the movement of his muscles making her whimper and he quivers through the steam that’s slowly filling the room. She takes her bra off as he begins to walk closer, only spurring his intentions.

“Jump,” he commands when he’s within reach, grabbing her legs and pushing her against the cold wall. Her legs fit perfectly around him, her short arms hold her steady onto his neck. Her moan when their groans grind together almost has him finishing in his pants.

“God the things you do to me,” he adds between pants. His eyes roam her face and land on her parted lips. He catches her doing the same when his eyes look into hers before giving in. They crash lips in a passionate kiss, making the world stop around them. The showers become distant waterfalls and the steam is nothing but a tropical weather. It’s as if he had just bitten into the sweetest peach. Soft and subtle. Her lips dance with his and it’s the best thing he’s ever lived. They part shortly, only to allow him to take her carefully into a stall.

“Bucky, our clothes,” she whines.

“Don’t fucking care sweetheart.” His lips are back on hers and she’s safely stuck between his broad chest and another ceramic wall. The stream of water glides over his body, matting his chest hair and making his skin glimmer. His tongue travels onto her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. It’s salty from her ever lasting arousal and he hums at the contrast. 

Before she can even understand the new dynamic, he’s got his fingers on her pussy through her leggings. It clings deliciously to her body and he needs it. Needs the taste, needs the feel. He has to hear the soft cries he can pull from her.

“You’re a sin, baby. You know that?” he adds in a growl.

[unadulteratedfandomtrash]

Loki Laufeyson x Reader ~ Rest Assured [Pt.2]

[My Marvel Masterlist]   [Previous Part]

Word Count: 1204

“I have returned bearing great news,” Thor announces loudly, his thunderous footsteps echoing throughout the kitchen and dining area where several Avengers are seated, eating their breakfast with groggy expressions.

“C’mon, dude, we just woke up,” Clint groans sleepily. “Give a man a warning.”

Having been accustomed to waking up early, Steve decides to direct the conversation away from his drowsy teammates.

“What’s up, Thor?”

“I do not understand…Surely, you must know that there is a ceiling above your heads.”

“No, no, Thor,” the captain chuckles with a hand clasping his left pectoral. He takes a moment to regain his composure before explaining to the god that the phrase is simply an expression used to casually inquire about a situation.

“Ah, I see. Well, I have gone to my father to discuss the proposition we conceived and after many arguments, he finally agreed to allow for us to execute our plan so long as we ensure his presence remains concealed from the commoners.”

“Great.” With a loud clap that startles the sleepy team to attention, Steve turns to face his friends, a determined smile resting on his face. “Avengers, we’re going to Asgard.”

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• 

Cursing angrily at JARVIS for setting an unwelcome morning alarm, Loki yanks the duvet over his head and curls into fetal position with every intention of ignoring the AI.

“Mr. Laufeyson, Captain Rogers had requested that I awaken you at exactly 0500 and ask that you dress in your armor.”

“Why would he ever ask for such a thing,” Loki hisses back. “The soldier has no reason nor right to demand my presence at such an ungodly hour.”

“I was told you are to appear in the common room by 0600, properly dressed and ready for departure with the Avengers. According to Captain Rogers, the team has been granted permission to escort you to a formal meeting.”

Dark eyebrows furrow together in confusion, for he has no recollection of his presence at any sort of gathering. Last he checked, Director Fury has been doing everything in his power to avoid involving Loki in any of the heroes’ business; he had overheard that when Fury learned of Loki’s sentence, the director was livid and took several months of convincing to allow the god to reside in Tony’s tower.

JARVIS interrupts Loki’s train of thought with a third reminder, so the god relents. He reluctantly leaves the warm comforts of the bed to prepare for the important meeting, trudging over by the closet to retrieve the hanger on which his dusty armor hangs. Ever since his arrival to Earth, Loki has found no particular reason to constantly wear all the armor, especially since all his time is spent inside the tower, sitting around with nothing important to do except staying hidden from the public’s view. However, even if he was given a chance to don the heavy attire, he would not willingly do so; many memories rise to the surface with each second of looking at the armor, and those memories cast Loki into a depressive state, so he avoids his usual outfit and prefers a simple set cotton clothing.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” JARVIS interrupts once again. “Would you like for me to request breakfastl to be prepared and sent up to your room?”

Loki is very intrigued by the intelligence of Tony’s creation. For a computer system to comprehend, understand and inquire as if it were another sentient being is an amazing feat. Sure, the god has found JARVIS bothersome and nosy nearly every time the AI spoke up to assist him or relay a message, but he has always found solace in knowledge and progression in one’s intelligence, so being around a system with access to a massive library of information that no physical library could ever hold definitely arouses his curiosity.

“No, but thank you,” the black-haired god replies with a slight hesitance. He has only ever shown a sliver of politeness to the AI, not the Avengers; a part of him worries that the team of heroes will discover his mannerly side and ridicule him or possibly demand for him to treat them with the same respect. “I would find it more helpful if you draw the bath with warm water.”

After hearing the acknowledgement of his demands, Loki retrieves a spare towel from the bathroom and soaks it in water. He rings the material to release as much liquid as possible before striding over to the bed where the armor has been disassembled into individual pieces. With a wave of his hand, a small flask appears in his hand. He pours a few droplets of the solution onto the metal and begins to wipe, removing the dust from its surface and polishing the muddied surface all the while.

Every piece of the armor shines brightly against the sunlight from the bedroom windows after a mere twenty minutes of cleaning. Loki congratulates himself for his work ethic and proceeds to wash his grimy hands in the sink. He watches pensively as the darkened water swirls down the drain, reflecting on how his emotions have felt similarly to the miniature whirlpool taking place in the basin.

“Mr. Laufeyson, Captain Rogers has already arrived at the common room and asked for me to update him on your current status. Do you wish for me to report to him that you are in the bath?”

“For goodness sakes, no! Just tell the soldier to have patience. I will be there momentarily.”

The god hastily scrubs at his skin with a loofah and manages to cleanse his skin within twenty minutes time. He is secretly thankful for Tony Stark’s innovative mind as he instructs JARVIS to drain the bath while the black-haired god dries his long locks.

With his hair damp, but not wet enough to drip water, Loki grabs the leather garments from his attire and slips into them with ease; he takes note that they fit loosely around his body, most likely due to weight loss. He thrusts each foot into their respective boot and proceeds to walk out of the room, curling his fingers in a beckoning motion as he leaves opens the door. A green, sparkling mist clouds around the metal segments of his armor before each piece flies across the room and attaches itself onto Loki with a resounding click.

Once the last piece has fastened onto his wrist, the god snags his helmet off the console by the door and twirls his raised finger in a circular motion, prompting the cape draped on his bedspread to levitate over to its owner. The emerald green fabric rustles in the quiet morning, seemingly dancing in the air until it settles daintily onto Loki’s shoulders, the metal clasps on the ends snapping snugly into place.

A fond, distant memory pops into Loki’s mind. He remembers executing the same trick many times in the past, and there would always be cheers and laughter each time a portion of the armor was attached. The god catches a tear racing to drip down his cheek and quickly wipes away the droplet before any witnesses could appear.

“Never mind that,” he whispers dejectedly to himself. “Time to see what the soldier suddenly needs from me.”

[Next Part]

Tag List

@wecantgiggleitsafandom  @drstrangesims  @tarynkauai

[quiche-pocket]

So You Think Your Boss Is A Cult Leader, Steve Harrington? Part 2

A/N: Thank you all so much for your positive feedback on the first part of this! I have had so much fun with this and I’m glad there are others that are enjoying it. As always please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list! This chapter is a bit shorter, but there is more coming I promise!

Disclaimer: I still do not own any of the characters or images in this story and make no profit off of them, this is simply for my enjoyment and yours. The Marco image below and the Steve image I do not have a source for, so please if it is yours let me know so I can give you credit!  

Warnings: This chapter includes underage drinking, mention of illicit drugs and sex among minors. This is not explicit but is mentioned so please proceed with caution if this is something you are uncomfortable with. There is also some language because it’s Steve and Marco.  

Previously in So You Think Your Boss Is A Cult Leader, Steve Harrington?:  

Steve watched them get out of the car and he rolled the windows down. He wished he could go in there with them, but it would have been too suspicious. Dustin seemed more confident so Steve should be too. When the boys got to the door and Marco opened it, Steve caught a glimpse of two girls just behind him, but then the door shut quickly. Now all he could do was wait.  

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

Steve had listened through both A and B side of the tape in his car and still hadn’t seen any sign of the boys. He supposed it was a good thing since there probably wasn’t any trouble, but he was getting antsy. What was going on in there? Every once in a while, a pair or small group would leave but nothing out of the ordinary. The street was quiet and none of the neighbors seemed concerned with the crowd of teens that were in Marco’s house.  

Suddenly the front door swung open and Steve saw familiar curls and his tall lanky friend coming out the door. Unfortunately they weren’t alone. It took everything in his power not to drive away when Steve saw Marco following after the boys. They didn’t look upset or concerned, but it was dark and they were moving fast.  

“Steve! Steve!” Dustin called as he got close enough to the car. He was waving his arms and motioning for Steve to get out of the car. Steve wasn’t an idiot so he stayed where he was and locked the doors in case they were brain washed.  

“What’s up, Dustin? You guys okay?” Steve called back and then he saw that Mike had a huge grin on his face and both he and Dustin were staggering a bit as they got closer. “Dustin? Mike? What’s going on?”  

Marco overtook them then and came up to the passenger side window, leaning in slightly and grinning.  

“Harrington, if you wanted to come to my house, you could have just asked.” He chuckled and both Dustin and Mike responded with giggles of their own. Steve whipped around and looked at them. He didn’t want to take his eyes off Marco, but he was worried about these two.  

“What the hell is going on? Are you guys drunk?!” He shrieked and all three outside the car shushed him.

“Yes.” Mike replied, dragging out the ‘s’ and starting to laugh again. He and Dustin sagged against the side of Steve’s car.  

“Harrington, just come inside. They’re fine. Come with us and when we get in I’ll explain everything. We just can’t talk about it on the street, dude.” Marco stepped back from the car and crossed his arms waiting for Steve to get out. The other two were leaning into each other and laughing again. He couldn’t very well take Mike home to his family or Dustin to his mom like this so going inside with them seemed like the only option. He cautiously rolled his windows up and got out of the car to follow slowly behind Marco and the boys were bringing up the rear.  

Steve didn’t know what he was expecting to see when the door opened, but a house full of high schoolers laughing and dancing and having a seemingly well controlled party was not it. As they walked through the house, each room had at least 5 kids in it playing video games or watching movies or playing drinking games. Everyone seemed safe and like they were having a great time. Steve glanced around and noticed that Dustin and Mike had disappeared into the movie room.  

“Come on, let’s sit on the porch,” Marco waved him over to the sliding door that Steve had been spying through just the other day. Looking to his left he saw the blankets that had made him so concerned from the outside and noticed that the kids were shockingly using the coasters. Marco grabbed two beers on his way out and handed one to Steve, ushering him out and closing the door. As soon as he sat down, Marco lit a cigarette and offered the pack to Steve with a raised eyebrow.

“Fuck it. Tonight is weird enough as it is, might as well smoke too.” Steve muttered and took one, closing his eyes in ecstasy when the first hit entered his lungs.  

“I have something stronger if you want, but I figured I should answer your questions before anything else. I know you have them or you wouldn’t have sent your friends in here to spy or gone snooping around my house the other day.” Marco smirked and Steve looked sheepish.  

“How did you hear about that?”

“Well you see, my neighbors, unlike you, think I’m the sweetest and most charming and responsible young man. So when three kids are climbing around digging through my trash and peeking in my windows? Someone lets me know right away. So, what do you want to know?”

“What’s your deal? You come into town out of nowhere, you buy a house and open the video store. You’re obviously not from here but you have all these connections...” Steve trailed off when Marco frowned at him. “I. Uh. May have overheard you on the phone the other day and Dustin and I translated what you said.” That made Marco smirk again and take another drink of beer. “And another thing! What is all this? Why do you have a house full of teenagers partying? Don’t you have better people to be hanging out with?”  

“Better people, like who?”

“Chicks! People your age. I don’t know!” Steve threw his hands in the air and took his own drink of beer waiting expectantly for Marco to give him something.  

“Okay, to start with, I overheard Dustin and Mike talking and rest assured I am not a cult leader or a mad scientist or anything like that. I’m Danish. Jeg taler dansk ikke kode.”  

“See that, right there. What is that?” Steve pointed at him with his cigarette.  

“It’s Danish, dude. I said ‘I speak Danish, not code’. It’s not made up and I’m not a spy or a double agent or any of that shit. I’m a regular guy who has family near here and this town is cheap to live. As far as why there are a bunch of high schoolers in my house?” He turned and looked in the window, waving when three girls crowded around to see what he was up to out there. When they giggled and moved on, he focused back on Steve. “You just graduated, right?” Steve nodded. “What were you like in high school? Did you drink? Did you smoke pot? Did you hook up with girls?”  

“I mean, yeah, but isn’t that what these guys are doing in there?”  

“Sure, but they’re under control. I moved to the states when I was in high school. I worked at a grocery shop and there were people that worked with me who were in their thirties. They would throw these wild parties, but everyone was always safe. They made sure we didn’t drink too much and that what we did drink was not cheap swill. They kept the drama and the angst out and we learned how to be safe and take care of ourselves and our friends we were with. It made me smarter and more responsible when I wasn’t underaged anymore.” Marco took the last drag of his cigarette and put it out in a bucket of sand between the chairs.

“So, you’re babysitting?”

“Kind of, if you want to put it like that. I’m making sure that kids who live in a town as fucked up as this one at least don’t have to worry about getting roofied at a party or getting picked up by the cops for doing something every high schooler does at one time or another. I take their keys and make sure they eat and drink water. Anyone that’s getting out of control I have rooms they can go in to just chill out. If they want to hook up they know they can’t do it here but I give them room to talk and get to know each other.”  

Steve took a drink of his beer as he let what Marco said sink in. So, he wasn’t a spy or a bad guy at all. He was looking out for kids just like Steve did only in a much more fun way. Marco wasn’t running around with chopped up cat and a bat full of nails, but he was still keeping the town safe.  

“You’re welcome to stay if you want, but I promise your friends are fine here. They’re drinking but I make sure everyone stays in the house, no one is even allowed out here because I don’t want it getting too loud and the cops being called. It’s up to you, man, but you can stay and hang out and help if you want. I could use an extra pair of eyes.” He chuckled and looked back in the house again, presumably making sure everything was still going smoothly.  

“I’ll check with Dustin and Mike, but if they’re cool then I’ll probably head home my parents are actually home tonight. How often do you do these?”

“Every few weeks. Sometimes less, but normally it’s every few weeks. I’m planning another one by the end of the month if you want to come back by. Like I said, I could use an extra pair of eyes and hands. These things got bigger than I expected and an extra body would help.” Marco stood and stretched. “Think about it, but come on inside and find your friends. I’ll see you at work next week Steve.”

They headed inside and Steve checked on Dustin and Mike before heading out. Tonight had not gone as he expected. It was almost a let down with how these things had been going lately, but he wasn’t complaining. One thing was for sure, he would be at the next party. 

@x-valhalla @athroatfullofglass @ainatirb-j @westcoastselkie @hissouthernprincess @lol-haha-joke @dagdrommers-blog

[creideamhgradochas]

Thanks to the lovely @aubzylynn for taking the time to answer these! Get to know more about lovely Aubrey, go give her a follow and then show her some love!

These questions are from this list. You should check it out, there’s 50 questions all together and they’d be great to ask your favorite fic writer!

1) How old were you when you first starting writing fan-fiction?

I think I was 12. My best friend at the time and I wrote Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings fanfic. We also put ourselves into the stories as OCs. I also wrote for Full Metal Alchemist, InuYasha, I also had my own HP fics, and I think I even had an Eregon oneshot at some point when I started lol. I’m confident there’s more, but it’s been such a long time.

2) Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer.

I actually really enjoy both. Like, with reader inserts, I can inject a lot of my (or my friends) quirks and fears and insecurities into the reader and get messages back from readers saying that they really connected with the story or the reader. And OC’s are always fun because they have their own personality and it’s fun for me to figure out who they are.

3) What is your favorite genre to write for?

Fluffffffff. Yall know I can’t write a story without a happy ending.

4) If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why?

Surprisingly, I don’t think I have one. They’re all fine. I wish I had time to go through and kind of update a few of them, but there’s not really any that I’m super embarrassed by.

5) When is your preferred time to write?

First thing in the morning. Right after I wake up. It doesn’t happen very often, but it’s easiest then. I’m not bogged down by my jobs or my brain. It’s easiest to get into a good headspace.

6) Where do you take your inspiration from?

Usually from Sarah or other friends–the stories they tell, the things I read or see.

7) What’s your favorite scene that you’ve written?

Hmm..there’s a scene in my 40’s series that I’m pretty proud of. The reader, Bucky, and Steve are all reunited at long last and it’s really sweet and I dunno I really just love it.

But, if we’re going off of fics that I’ve posted…this is probably going to sound so bad, but the Kennedy assassination in Control was interesting to write. I actually watched old news footage of it. The chaos, the panic, the craziness, and then having her reunite with the Soldier and there’s a little spark is just ugh. It’s one of my favorites.

8) Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

Not yet. Luckily, my followers and readers have been incredibly kind. I’ve never really had any hate or criticism for my stories.

9) Who is your favorite character to write for? Why?

This should be easy to tell, but it’s Bucky. Lol He’s got such an interesting depth and so many layers and I know I always write him so soft and loving but I also love to read fics where he’s the Soldier and the ones that explore the different sides of him. Someday I want to write those different shades of Bucky.

10) Who is your least favorite character to write for? Why?

I don’t have a whole lot of experience writing a lot of the characters, so I can’t really pick one. It feels unfair. I would like to write more for other characters to be a stronger author and to have some variety.

11) How do you come up with the titles for your stories?

I’m so unoriginal when it comes to titles, tbh. Like, my most creative one was Nomonakalo and that’s literally because I was looking for “apocalypse” in Xhosa. But I didn’t like any of the translations for “apocalypse” so I looked up synonyms until I landed on “devastation,” and here we are. The others, are song titles, like Control. And some are a word or two about the story, like Midnight Snack, or Partner.

12) What do you think is the best idea you’ve had for a story so far?

Nomonakalo is the best idea I’ve ever had. I hope to continue it someday even though it didn’t get a lot of love. I also have a Princess Bride au on ice in the back of my brain that I’m pretty sure is gonna be fantastic.

13) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

Oh god so many. My poor babies. I’m not inspired by the request or they’ve gotten to be too big for me to handle.

14) Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d really love to do a sequel to?

Maybe Partner or Blind Date. Or even a sequel to Cuddle Drabbles, but the focus would be on Steve instead. I’ve been playing with the ideas of a Steve Cuddle Drabbles for a really long time.

15) Are there any stories that you wished you’d ended differently?

Road to Schkeuditz. I hated that it ended so angsty. I wanted to do more, but I didn’t know the timeline and when Bucky would wake up. But I think I might write a little something someday about the reader visiting him in Wakanda after he’s healed.

16) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

I have so, so many, but I’m gonna do the first three that came to mind.

I admire @sarahwroteathing. I know she’s my best friend, but guys. G u y s. Sarah’s so talented. I admire her work ethic and how hard she works on her stories. Soundtrack has been giving her grief for over a year, and she’s still working on it. It’s still one of the best stories I’ve ever read and it amazes me how much care she puts into her writing.

@soldatbarnes is also another great friend and amazing author. I also love how she perseveres through her tough times. She amazes me. I’ll see her posts about not being inspired to write, or wishing she had more time to do so, and then she’ll come out with an amazing story that’s beautifully written. She’s incredible.

@bitsandbobsandstuff is fucking phenomenal. I love her writing. It’s so in depth and wonderfully crafted. I aspire to be as amazing as she is.

17) Do you have a story that you look back on and cringe when you reread it?

I’m probably gonna get hate for this, but i can’t reread the Cuddle Drabbles. It’s my first time writing and posting for the MCU and I can tell. It’s cringey to me. But I get such sweet messages about it every now and again, and I can’t bring myself to change it.

18) Do you prefer listening to music when you’re writing or do you need silence?

I do it both ways. Sometimes a focus playlist is needed and other times my brain can’t think if there’s any noise. Just depends on what it is.

19) Have you ever cried whilst writing a story?

Yep. Chin Up, Princess made me cry. It was what I needed someone to say to me, and having it come from Tony just made me more emotional than I had anticipated.

20) Which part of your fics have been the hardest to write?

I overthink action scenes. I struggle with thinking it sounds forced or unorganic, sometimes.

21) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

Umm both. I make an outline just to know where I’m going, but sometimes it diverges because it’ll flow a different way while I’m writing it.

22) What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fan-fiction?

How addicting the praise can be, and sometimes it doesn’t seem like enough. I love getting sweet messages more than I could ever attempt to tell you.

23) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

Yes. Nomonakalooooooooo. My poor baby. I worked the hardest on it and it has the least amount of notes of any of my fics.

24) In contrast to 23 is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

No, not really. Sometimes, I’ll see someone start the Cuddle Drabbles or Road to Schkeuditz and I’ll think “oh here we go, they’re gonna flood my notifications with likes” but I mean that’s the most that happens lol

25) Are any of your characters based on real people?

Um, a few. But, it’s pretty minor. The reader in A December Deception has some of Sarah’s mannerisms, and Morgan in Handsome Stranger is basically my friend Morgan. I have an OC in my 40’s series based on my friend Cassidy, and the reader’s best friend in a wedding fic is essentially Sarah. (I mean, she’s marrying Steve. How could I not make her the bride? Lol)

26) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

Sarah called Nomonakalo “emotionally excellent” and I still haven’t recovered from it. She sent me an email responding to everything. It was practically an essay. I still reread it when I feel like quitting.

27) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten?

“The reader says ‘dude’ too much,” and “focus more on Bucky’s feelings.” I don’t really get a whole lot of negative feedback.

28) Do you share your story ideas with anyone else or do you keep them close to your chest?

Sarah and Cassidy are pretty much the people I’ll run to. But, I will keep them close to my chest if I’m not sure I want to proceed with the story or not.

29) Do people know you write fan-fiction?

Some do, yeah. My friend Ashlee actually found some of my writing and actually read it. I wasn’t prepared for that. It’s unclear if my family knows that I still do, but they definitely knew that I did when I was a kid.

30) What’s your favorite minor character you’ve written?

Probably Sam in Road to Schkeuditz. I had a lot of fun with him!

31) What spurs you on during the writing process?

Feedback. It really does keep me going. Seeing others enjoying what I’m writing about keeps me motivated to finish a story.

32) What’s your favorite trope to write?

So, after deliberation with Sarah, I’ve realized that I don’t have a favorite to write. I haven’t written enough to really have a favorite!

33) Can you remember the first fic you read? What was it about?

The first fic ever? No. God no. I can’t remember. It was probably my friend’s HP fanfic. I can remember the first fic I read for supernatural was from Mimi, and the first from the MCU was from Tesla. But I don’t remember what the stories were.

34) If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

Fluff. Always fluff. I can’t have a story end on a sad or bad note. It always has to have a happy ending.

[stonegirl77]

For the Love of Dog, Pt. 3

A longer post today, mostly because I couldn’t bear to split these up!

Also, a reminder that this is also being posted on Ao3, if you’d prefer to read it that way (link here). Please let me know what you think!

“Jane, what is happening to me?” Darcy wailed over FaceTime. “The way he was with the dogs, with Joyce at the shelter - hell, he adopted the Irish Wolfhound they’ve had for a year - I told you about Merlin, right?”

“Yeah-“ Darcy’s best friend tried to speak, but Darcy kept going.

“And oh my god, his shoulders. And his eyes. And his stubble. It’s like someone Photoshopped my perfect guy together and dropped him in my general vicinity. It’s not fair!”

“Can I speak now?” Jane asked, once she was pretty certain Darcy had finished her rant.

“Proceed,” Darcy said, waving her hand in her best queenly manner. 

“So- what I’m getting from this is that you’re mad because you like the man you’re required to spend nine months pretending is your boyfriend?” Jane sounded legitimately confused.

“He was supposed to be a player! Flirts with everything that moves! Less built - I swear he was about half the size five years ago!” Darcy realised she was working herself up to a rant again and took a deep breath. Then another.  “This was supposed to be something I did grudgingly. Something I could lord over my dad for years. Not to mention getting over my stupid crush from undergrad. Not something where I want to jump my boyfriend’s bones every half-second.”

“I’m still not seeing the bad side here,” Jane said. “So you think he’s cute - you can still have your dad owe you into the next century.”

“Maybe,” Darcy agreed, grudgingly. “But I’m gonna catch Feelings. I swear. And then he’ll go off and do his thing, as agreed, and I’ll be stuck on my own, with Feelings. Which sucks.”

“And you don’t think he feels the same?”

Darcy’s eyebrows rose. “Have you seen him?”

“So?” Jane’s eyebrows rose to match. “Have you seen you? People would kill for your boobs. I’d kill for your boobs.” Jane looked down at her own, significantly flatter, chest. “Backless dresses just aren’t worth it. Besides. That doesn’t answer my question.”

Darcy sniffed. “It’s all going to end in tragedy. I just know it.”

“Sure,” Jane said, clearly not agreeing. “But you’re stuck now, Darce. Either figure out a way to dislike him as planned, or embrace the feelings. You can do it - be a real person, with real feelings! I have faith in you!” “Real feelings can suck my left big toe,” Darcy shot back. “There has to be something wrong with him. I just have to find it.”

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

“I swear, Steve, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“You’re smiling,” Steve said, “It’s weird.”

“I’m allowed to smile, you jerk,” Bucky said, even as Merlin shifted his head so it was resting more firmly on Bucky’s chest. 

“She coming over today?”

“Darcy? Nah. She’s got work - some think tank decided they needed her brain for the day. She’s coming to the premiere tomorrow, though.”

Steve looked like he was about to say something, then changed his mind. “Has she been to a premiere before?” he asked instead. 

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “You sure she’s prepared?”

It was Bucky’s turn to frown. “I think so - I know Nat talked to her.”

Steve just continued to frown. 

“You think I should talk to her?”

“She’s your girlfriend,” Steve said.

“PR girlfriend,” Bucky shot back, even as a sudden burn of emotion sank into his stomach. “Not the same thing.”

Steve raised a single eyebrow at him - the move that had won him the hearts of the American public and probably contributed to half of his award nominations. And as if that silent judgement wasn’t enough, he opened his mouth. “You wish she were, though.”

“Does it matter?” Bucky huffed and looked down at Merlin. “I swear she likes you more than me.” Not that she doesn't have every right to. Now that you're half a man. Can barely play a guitar anymore. 

“Does she text you?” Steve asked. 

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. We text.”

“Daily, right?”

Bucky glanced at his phone on the coffee table, containing the running conversation Darcy and he had been having about the merits of the various fake-cheese-in-a-can products. CheezWiz was the winner. Whatever Darcy thought. 

“What happens when you disagree on something?” Steve prodded again. 

“We don’t-“ Bucky started, then paused. “It’s stupid stuff,” he protested “Wendy’s or McDonalds,”

“Wendy’s, obviously,” Steve put in. 

“Right?” Bucky flailed, and Merlin made a noise of protest as his pillow shifted unexpectedly. “Sorry, buddy.” He looked back at Steve. “Stuff like that. Where to grab takeout, what movie to watch. Stupid stuff.”

“And, what happens?”

“We bicker, one of us gives in, end of story - we’re adults, Steve.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Steve said, pointing at the life-sized Storm Trooper amor that was sitting in the corner of the living room. 

“Hey, Troop is awesome, and you know it,” Bucky said. “So what?”

“And you go to her stuff, even though it’s not in the contract?”

“Some of it is,” Bucky protested, but it was just for show. He wanted to be around Darcy all the time. It wasn’t his crush they were questioning, after all. That was already established fact. 

Steve gave him the Judgemental Eyebrow of Doom again. 

“Ok, fine.” Bucky relented. “Yeah. I go with her to the shelter here every week. That’s not in the contract. We get takeout a few times a week. Also not in the contract.” He looked at Merlin, ruffling the dog’s ears almost desperately. “But that doesn’t mean anything, does it, buddy?” he asked the dog, who just stared back patiently. “Just because she likes to spend time with us doesn’t mean she likes me as anything more than your owner, huh?”

Bucky’s head hit the side of the couch, hard, as the foam football hit his ear. 

“Dude!” Merlin, affronted, almost kicked Bucky in the nuts trying to get up as Bucky threw himself at Steve. “What the hell?”

“You’re being an idiot.” Steve was already on the far side of the room, hands held up innocently. 

Innocent my ass.

“She obviously likes you,” Steve said. Behind Bucky, his phone buzzed. Bucky glanced behind him. “Out of curiosity,” Steve continued. “Will that be her?”

“Probably,” Bucky admitted. “Nat was going to take her for a pedicure. Or a manicure, or something.” He waved his arms helplessly. “You know - something.”

Steve shook his head. “You wouldn’t know a salon if it bit you in the head, would you?” He moved on. “So she’s texting you from the salon. What does she say?”

Bucky leaned over, picked up the phone and opened it to his texts. Sure enough, there was a text from Darcy. He started to grin.

‘I’m surrounded by shoes, every part of me smells amazing, and we’re about to go in for massages. If I never return, mourn, but know I made it to a better place.’

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Axis:Sova

Photo by Grant Engstrom

Axis: Sova has grown from a one-person operation to full-fledged heavy psych juggernaut with last year’s Motor Earth. In 2015, Ben Donnelly observed that, with Early Surf, “Axis: Sova make heavy psych that bears the traces of bedroom multi-tracking, epic and casual at the same time. Some more fidelity wouldn't hurt their fuzz forms, but the chunks of treble and simple beatbox steps give it an appealing down-to-earth quality.”  Founder Brett Sova contributes a list this week.   

ZZ TOP — “Under Pressure,” “Gimmie All Your Lovin’" and “Sharp Dressed Man” Live On The Tube 1983   

When it comes to the Little Ol’ Band from Texas, the first few records are undeniably hot and where it’s at. But Eliminator is mostly Billy Gibbons working with a drum machine if legend has it right, and top to bottom it delivers with extremely high impact. It’s a big commercial sound, for sure, but that type of ambition following a successful formula is a credit to Gibbons’ vision and willingness to morph and change creatively. BFG’s guitar tone here in particular is one I was after a little bit on Motor Earth — distorted amp saturation that feeds back whenever you’re not playing, bleeding. Something I always listen for with ZZ is the number of guitar tracks on each song — while they’re an exemplary power trio live, Billy tends to at least double track his guitar on a lot of recordings, and sometimes he’ll have two rhythm tracks panned to either side along with another track for the solo (check Tres Hombres, for example). Always pretty tasteful and subtle. (Axis: bandmate) Tim Kaiser and I set out to make our version of a boogie rock record with Motor Earth, and along with Beefheart’s Clear Spot, some Crazy Horse, and some requisite Stonesian scuzz, ZZ provide much blueprint for something of that nature for me, personally. All that aside, this footage of the band doing “Under Pressure” on 1980s British TV show The Tube is simply badass and I'd question the health of anyone who doesn't enjoy it.   

Les Rallizes Denudes  "Night of the Assassins" 3rd Sunset Festival Live 1976  

Been on a mild Japanese psych kick, and this is the original artifact: Les Rallizes Denudes playing one of their iconic songs live (of course) at a festival at dusk against a glorious, mountainous backdrop. Their noise comes atop something simple and repetitive to latch onto, which allows their feeding lead guitar squalor to fully envelop and carry me around as if strapped to a horse on a patient gallop. It's yearning for something, like anything FSA, if FSA was ever accompanied by Link Wray-ish, rhythmic progressions. Melody and groove on the foundation, a screech of feedback over the top: "I Will Follow Him," but decapitated. 

Electric Eels — “Splittery Splat”  

One of the interesting things about growing up in Ohio and then leaving at the age of 18, when your brain is still mushy, is slowly realizing, especially once outside of it, just how much great, fucked up music has come from the state. There are the obvious and hugely successful ones, like, say, Devo, and there are some like Thomas Jefferson Slave Apartments, a band I saw numerous times in high school and sorta just took for granted as simply being ‘the guy from Used Kids Records’ band.’ I just saw TJSA in September at Cropped Out Festival (a.k.a. the most important festival on the planet), in Louisville, KY, for the first time in 15+ years and they were phenomenal — they represent to me a lineage of Ohio punk/weirdo music that is entirely genius yet also entirely too out for a broader audience (major label support or no), much like V3 or Tommy Jay, or Electric Eels. This Electric Eels song was on a Scat Records cassette compilation that my friend discovered when we were teenagers in the late 1990s. Apparently I borrowed it and never gave it back, because I recently rediscovered it when going through a box of tapes not too long ago. It’s a perfectly fucked punk song, from composition to delivery to recording and mix. Seems like they’ve gotten a lot of reissue treatment, but I’ll always remember this song from the Scat tape.  

Fumio Miyashta (Far East Family Band) Live On Boffomundo 

Embedding is disabled but you can go here and watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHNLtEMl2dg

Killer live performance of mellow headtrips via one of Japan’s psych-rock purveyors in the proggiest sense, Fumio Miyashta (of Far East Family Band). These dudes he’s playing with really lock into it, with tasty, mellow guitar leads and a pulsing bass mingling with the space-synth sounds Miyashta is laying out there. A relaxing and deep listen, but also buoyant and light, at times reminiscent of Blackouts by Ashra, which came out three years prior to this performance on The Boffomundo show, an early cable TV show dedicated to progressive music.  

The Stooges — “My Girl Hates My Heroin” from My Girl Hates My Heroin 

Unmatched depravity — like The Stones recording at Nellcote to get that dusty, humid summer basement vibe for Exile, this jam/gem from a rehearsal around the Raw Power era comes from a neighborly basement with similarly thick air. I make no bones about worshiping at the house of Ron Asheton (Fun House forever), and therefore must point out his nimble and fluid bass playing on My Girl Hates My Heroin, pushing this grimy riff forward, but Williamson really had a gnarled, unhinged nastiness to his playing that’s immediately enjoyable, as well. Iggy sounds like hell, like he should. Bought this on CD at a record store in Paris when I was in high school, and listening to it made me feel like a tough dude for the rest of that year.

Alice Coltrane — Huntington Ashram Monastery  

Lacking depravity — empowering! Impossible to do a list without including Alice Coltrane. Journey to Satchidinanda is one of the few records I’ve ever bought new that I’ve truly worn out from excessive plays. Huntington Ashram Monastery might be more consistently played currently. It’s a power trio album, the Rashied Ali and Ron Carter rhythm section out to quake. Relatedly, last time I was in San Francisco I visited the Saint John Coltrane Church, where we listened to and meditated on A Love Supreme in its entirety. As a congregation — which didn’t consist of more than a handful of people — we collectively chanted/sang along when it was time, and otherwise actively listened free of distraction. The experience felt like an open window into the spirituality so prevalent in his and Alice’s music.

Royal Trux — Untitled (3rd album) 

“Your beautiful skin, your beautiful spine / You’re beautiful all the time.” Chunky acoustics, insulation, isolation and utter abandon in the form of serrated guitar squeals from the edges of Neil Hagerty’s torn up plectrum straight to your ears. The album begins as something earnest, almost pensive, a light haze akin to just waking up, and proceeds to slowly rise out of bed and begin to walk around, shaking out the legs and cracking the joints til the moss rolls off and the stimulant (or analgesic) hits the vein. From there, its loose openness stretches into a broad expanse, allowing for glorious feedback-laden solos to cover the sonic horizon, barely-there rhythm action holding it together by sheer will. Not much percussion, no bass? More room for what matters! Herrera’s voice right in the sweet spot with bad intent, “on top.”  The things I want and need from rock n' roll.  

Randy Holden — “Blue My Mind” from Population II

Randy Holden, the badass who spent a year and half an album in Blue Cheer, realized his vision with the unmatched velocity of his solo album, Population II. I was just hipped to one of his earliest bands, The Other Half, for whom Randy Holden played guitar prior to his stint in Blue Cheer, and the power and brilliance of his song construction is evident and completely identifiable even there— but Population II is the full realization of Holden’s six-string swagger damage, and “Blue My Mind” is the highlight for me. There’s barely a drop of effects (ok there are overdubs), it’s just the sound of one man blasting through a literal wall of 200 watt Sunn Amps (16 of ‘em?) with minimal bass and drum accompaniment. Sunn amps have a distinctive sound: their reverb isn’t close to sounding “sparkly” the way someone might describe a vintage Fender with admiration. Instead, when cranked, they sound kinda like a guitar being played through an overheated A/C window unit or maybe a tube-powered hairdryer in a tile bathroom that’s meticulously mic’d through a high powered PA System. It’s not for everybody, but that gnarled and blunt quality cannot be matched, requiring zero fuzz or distortion pedal whatsoever to achieve a gloriously saturated molten tone that somehow retains bell-like clarity. Early days for Axis: Sova was playing through a ’67 Sunn Sceptre exclusively. While that’s not the case anymore, it’s very present on songs from our previous album, Early Surf, especially the title track’s main riff. Guitars in front!  

Velvet Underground — “What Goes On”  Live at the Hilltop Festival 2nd August 1969  

Featuring Mo Tucker, the human metronome. I wish I could get a snare sound out of my drum machine like this. Its rhythmic simplicity set against skittering guitars produces counter beats and accents that start to feel like Terry Riley’s sat in — especially once the organ begins to fry. 

Sonny Sharrock — “Once Upon a Time” from Ask the Ages   

Stately and serene, a song beholden of wisdom and truth. You know, hopeful. The melody has a patient emotion that doesn’t force itself on the listener, but rather amplifies whatever feeling the listener has at that moment — be it upbeat, uplifting, or melancholy.  Especially gritty tone and saturation. Sonny Sharrock’s last album is amazing, with a killer band including Pharaoh Sanders and Elvin Jones.  

Steve Hillage — “Salmon Song” live in 1977   

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Hypnosis via riff-phrase, let it slip, put a driving, unwavering bass line underneath it, and soar towards a gassy nebula… its space-prog breakdowns and solos cascade and shimmer, and then the riff rises again. The whole album, Fish Rising, is cool, but not as tough to beat as this live performance of its best jam, "Salmon Song."

Rafael Toral — Wave Field   

Wave Field - Remastered by Rafael Toral =

Aside from Flying Saucer Attack, who regularly achieve something similar, there are few pieces of guitar music that convey as much emotional expression through feedback and drone as well as Wave Field by Portugal’s Rafael Toral.  It’s deep, theta brainwave meditation is enveloping and surreal — it drips and distorts reality like the best painters of the genre — to a liquid degree, akin to floating in a sensory deprivation tank. Having gone looking for it online, I just discovered that Rafael has remastered it to create what he feels is a more spacious sounding recording, more in line with his original vision. I’m not entirely sure which sounds better to me: both versions fit like a snug wetsuit in bath water. 

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.11

Persona

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)   x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 3400

Summary: Arrival to NYC is not what neither the Winchesters nor you expected. Like… not even in your wildest dreams.

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood and death, amnesia, swearing... that’s enough, I think, oh and confused Moose and Squirell (it’s a... reference)

Story masterlist

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Natasha slept like a baby – or like a dead. Sam didn’t find either of those options comforting. He couldn’t say he wasn’t glad Rowena had assisted them – but he would also be lying if he claimed to be happy about their particular ‘ally’ on this case.

While Dean’s eyes were glued to the road, Sam’s kept flickering between Natasha’s torso, always making sure she was still breathing, and his tablet, where he had started a search. Manhattan was surely a smaller place than the whole world, but it still had over million and half residents and finding Natasha’s soulmate wouldn’t be easy in the slightest.

He was still searching police databases for missing person cases and for house fires and gas explosions. The only problem was, he had no time frame to search – with Dean, it took three months for him to be resurrected and while his particular case had rather different circumstances (with angels having to fight their way through literal Hell and the whole Righteous Man versus apocalypse thing), Sam had no clue when exactly Natasha died.

It could have been the same day Castiel had brought her to them as well as months ago, years even. It wasn’t helping they still didn’t have her name and didn’t know the circumstances.

In other words, they didn’t have jack squat. Then again, Natasha believed her soulmate was a man, probably around her age – that would narrow down the search then. If they failed, they could always try to create her a tinder account and see who would super-like her.

Sam huffed in irritation and amusement, happy that Dean was pulling over. His legs might have been dying for the past few minutes.

“Where are we?” he hummed, cracking his neck.

Dean tuned down the volume before answering – and really, if the loud music hadn’t woken up Natasha, something must have been seriously wrong, Rowena’s magic messing her up on a level eleven on a ten points scale.

“Harrison, New Jersey. About an hour drive to Manhattan. Figured we would be no good in the overpriced hotels in the city, especially with her like this. Plus, I’m hungry,” Dean replied honestly and Sam raised one corner of his lips in a half-grin.

“Fair enough.” Dean opened the door, climbing up. Sam looked around, confused, not seeing any hotel, only a diner, and it got him get out of the car with an exasperated whisper-yell. “Where do you think you’re going? We can’t just leave her here!”

“Oh, we don’t. You’re staying, I’m getting food,” Dean grinned at him cockily, earning Sam’s famous ‘I’m-so-done-with-you-jerk’ face. “I might get you something too, Sammy.”

“Get something to Natasha too, in case she wakes up any time soon,” Sam growled, but obediently folded his long legs back to the car, casting a glance over his shoulder at their last passenger. “Jerk, isn’t he?”

Naturally, Natasha didn’t even stir, let alone reply.

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She didn’t regain consciousness until late night. When she did, she seemed to be convinced this was what hangover felt like – neither of the brothers opposed her. She ate two good portions of dinner, drank a litre of water and passed out again, absolutely exhausted.

“I don’t even wanna know what she would have looked like if Rowena drained her as much as she wanted to,” Dean noted darkly and Sam silently agreed, ready to hit the hay too.  

“You think she’s safe to be left on her own?”

“You mean if she dies in her sleep? I wouldn’t worry about that now,” Dean shrugged light-heartedly, patting her calf that slipped out from between the covers. She didn’t seem to mind – or notice for that matter. “We might leave the bathroom light on so she wouldn’t crash into something when waking up groggy like before, but I think she’s good now. Get some sleep.”

Sam casted a glance at Natasha’s peaceful face, watching her form moving ever so slightly as her chest was rising and falling regularly. He sighed and made his way to the bathroom, humming in vague agreement. He was still going to set an alarm for every two hours to check up on her.

Funnily enough, Dean’s phone woke him up sooner as they had got the same idea. Sam snorted in amusement as Dean seemed ashamed for being caught caring for their protégé.

The next time Sam woke up, it was only due to his alarm at four a.m. About an hour later, he was snapped from his dreams by Natasha’s loud cursing as her shin met the nightstand; they had forgotten to leave the light in the bathroom on.

Well. At least she was alive and clearly alright enough to walk and talk.

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“So… what happens now?” Natasha asked the burning question as she finished her croissant and fruit.

Sam had been the one to go grocery shopping this time, adding apples to the cart. Dean had been mockingly disgusted, but Natasha seemed ecstatic, discovering she liked red apples better then green ones. It was adorable and Sam felt an uncomfortable pang near his heart when he realized what a little thing like this meant to her, an amnesiac.

He truly wished he had better news for her in a form of some masterplan. The true was they weren’t sure about their next step.

“Now we go to explore the island of Manhattan,” Dean shrugged, causing Natasha to tilt her head and squint.

“Okay…? How is that going to help?”

Dean made a face. “You women are so hard to please sometimes…”

Sam snorted, but quickly fixed his expression when Natasha’s eyes fell on him. He smiled at her tightly with a bit of guilt.

“We’re not sure how to proceed to be honest. Police station is an option, but I searched their databases – they probably won’t have any more luck than I did.”

“Oh,” she said only, her voice sad, her hopeful expression falling. “Can’t you like… eh, post my face on the internet or something? Could that help?”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, the one ridiculous idea popping up in his head again. He glanced at the woman, her eyes full of steadfast trust in them.

Sam cleared his throat, uneasy sensation in his stomach.

“Well… I actually thought of creating you a Tinder account-“

“Dude!” Dean cried out, exasperated. “You don’t mean that!”

“I’m sorry, you have a better idea?” Sam demanded, irritated as he spun on his chair to face his brother.

Sam was aware it was a lame-ass plan, but there were kind of out of options.

“…what’s a Tinder?” Natasha asked cautiously and Dean answered her swiftly with the ominous words.

“It’s a fuck-app.”

“I’m sorry?”

Sam beat his brother to speaking this time. “It’s a form of a dating site – or better, a dating app for your phone. You create a profile and-“

“So it’s a dating side. Basically. What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s known for finding a quick lay,” Sam explained bluntly, making her eyes widen, blood rushing into her cheeks.

“Oh.”

Dean gestured towards her wildly as if wanting to scream ‘see?!’ when a mixture of emotions played on her face. Sam rolled his eyes and huffed.

Natasha, seeing their exchange, worried her teeth over her lower lip.

“Well… how about we have a trip to the city and if we don’t come up with anything better, we give this a go?” she offered, causing both brothers to look at her as if she had grown a second head. Frankly, Sam was pleased too, though.

“Seriously?” Dean questioned in disbelief.

“We don’t have a better plan, do we? Desperate times. Besides… I have two bodyguards if someone lures me out under false pretences, don’t I?” she asked innocently, an honest smile lighting up her face, her unshakable trust in them showing again.

It made Sam’s stomach flip and his heart melt like hot butter. His lips spread in a smile as well unwittingly and he exchanged a look with Dean, who shrugged.

“You got balls. Let’s go then.”

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It took them an hour to get to the city and find a spot and neither of them had a better plan. Which meant they wandered the streets – earning strange looks for some reason –, postponing the inevitable until they found a small homey café.

Sam gulped. “Well, looks like this is it. We’re gonna dive into the Tinder jungle…”

Dean scoffed as he entered the café, looking around for a free table in the friendly space. It was clear that this wasn’t a franchise type of thing and Sam couldn’t tell he minded.

What he did mind were several pairs of eyes falling on them – and few of them growing wide, having their owners nudge their mates and whisper.

The taller hunter glanced at his companions who seemed equally uncomfortable under the glares. Good, Sam wasn’t getting paranoid then.

The moment only lasted few second though, then an orange-haired barista making rounds approached them with a smile, pointing them towards the counter, breaking the spell.

“Welcome to MDDC. Order at the counter, please. Oh and I recommend our caramel latté. It’s known to be magical,” she winked at them and Sam winced, mentally pleading for no more magic.

Squinting at her nametag, he thanked her for the recommendation anyway.

“Thank you… Terri.”

She threw another wink over her shoulder as she spun on her heels and headed the same direction. Unlike some of the patrons she seemed unfazed by their presence as she should. Yet, Sam still caught some people watching them with interest and shuffled, uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Am I like… famous? Or are they staring at you?” Natasha whispered, cautiously walking to the line of customers.

“They are staring, aren’t they?” Sam agreed, his mind racing. Was it a good thing? What did it mean? Could Natasha be famous?

“Maybe they think we’re all in poly.”

“Dean,” Sam snapped instantly, not amused as much as his brother clearly was, judging by his smirk.

“What? They could,” Dean offered innocently, earning a curious glance from Natasha, followed by a shake of her head.

“I’m not even gonna ask.” Good choice. “Grab me the caramel latté, please? Maybe it won’t taste like coffee too much. I’m… ugh, I’m gonna…” she pointed towards the ladies room and Sam just nodded.

A quick scan of the room confirmed his suspicion – there were eyes following her. Whatever this was, it was about her, not them.

Good news: no one was about to call the police, recognizing them as criminals. Good news no.2: finding information about Natasha might not be as hard as they had thought. Might.

“So, what are we thinking?”

Dean joined him in the line, losing his carefree attitude. “I think it’s worth asking. This ain’t coincidence. I just don’t get it – if she is famous, how did you not find a match?”

Sam grimaced, wondering about the same thing.

“Maybe it’s her family – or her soulmate. They could be annoyed with people, wanting to have their peace. How much it can cost to have someone cover the digital trail? Or maybe they sued someone and it resulted in that.”

“Or we could be wrong and they’re just looking at her ‘cause she an eye-candy,” Dean hummed, sounding perfectly serious. Sam hoped that the look he sent him spoke volumes. “What? She’s cute, we’re both thinking it.”

Sam rolled his eyes , but didn’t protest. “Let’s hope that it’s not the case, otherwise we’re about to sign her up for a ‘fuck-app’.”

This time it was Dean who glared mocked murder. Sam grinned.

“So, guys, what can I get you?” Terri asked them cheerily, genuine smile on her face. It somehow made Sam smile back automatically.

“Flat white, medium for me. Americano, no sugar for him. Tall? Yeah. And one of those caramel lattés,” Sam ordered.

“Here or to go?”

“Here. Add one of those… cheesecakes or whatever it’s called,” Dean requested. Before Sam could ask, he explained. “She liked trying new stuff. And Rowena said she should eat a lot.”

“That’s surprisingly thoughtful of you,” Sam blurted out, not watching his mouth. It earned them a giggle from their barista.

“Shut up, Samantha. You’re paying.”

Sam snorted as his brother aimed for a free table in the back and he pulled out the cash.

“He looks like a piece of work,” Terri commented lightly. Sam silently agreed. “I’ll bring your order to the table, okay?”

“Thanks.”

The boot in a quiet corner was a good choice, though Sam felt a little sorry for Natasha, who would have to walk through the whole café and face the strangely curious eyes.

“Here we go. Enjoy,” the barista landed their coffees and dessert.

“Thank you. Uhm… Terri? Can I ask you something?” Sam asked and straightened in his seat, which earned him a suspicious look from the woman.

“I have a boyfriend.”

“What a shame for the rest of us…” Dean sighed, shooting Sam an amused look when he noticed how flustered he grew.

“Huh? No, that wasn’t what I was-! I mean, not that you weren’t- uh, I mean-“ Sam stuttered, horrified she came to such conclusion.

It was when she giggled, her eyes sparkling. “I’m messing with you. What is it?”

Sam huffed, but couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He even charmed a little smile, trying not to look too self-important and showing he was okay with her teasing him.

“This might sound strange but… I think… people are kinda staring? At our friend? Do you have any idea why?”

“Well… if I could take a guess… it’s… it’s just that she looks so much like her,” she said slowly, glancing around. No one paid them any mind as they lowered their voices.

Jackpot. Sam’s eyebrows jumped and he leaned in, intrigued. With the corner of his eye, he registered Dean doing the same.

“Like who?”

“Cap’s girl,” Terri said simply, her expression darkening and softening at the same time. “God give him strength and let her rest in peace.”

Millions of questions popped up in Sam’s head, mostly whirling about what, who, why, when. A tragedy had struck, that was nothing new, they expected as much, but not an event of public manner.  

“Cap?” Sam questioned, confused. What kind of a nickname-

“Do you live under a rock?” Terri asked with a strange expression on her face. She seemed… surprised and weirded out, honestly. Sam couldn’t help but be offended at such blunt and mean question. “Sorry. Not much of a patriot then? Not from around here?”

“Wait, you mean Cap as… Captain America?” Dean whispered, sounding excited and Sam felt his heart skip a beat.

No way. Sam wasn’t very patriotic, never felt it, but even he knew who Captain America was and what role he had played in history – and present. But… she had to be shitting them, right?

“Well… yeah.”

Apparently not.

“Captain America? The Avenger?” Sam checked, making sure there was no confusion between them.

“Sure thing.” Terri shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“And she looks like his-…?“ Sam hinted her, trying to mask his impatience and excitement, probably failing epically.

“Soulmate, yeah.”

“That’s…” The younger hunter jerked his head, exchanging a meaningful look with Dean. “…interesting. Can we find her picture online? What’s her name? You know… celebrity look alike game and all that…? They do say my brother here looks like Bradley James.”

Oh yeah, Sam was totally making this up as he went. Dean was going to murder him for that comparison, but sacrifices needed to be made in the name of their rescue case. Terri tilted her head to side, examining Dean’s face, her smile growing wider.

“Huh. You kinda do,” she concluded and smirked. “I always was a sucker for Arthur and Merlin bromance.”

Sam snorted. They had watched an episode of Merlin. Dean had been horrified.

“I hate you. But yeah, do tell us.”

“Sure. But you can just check out the church on West 59th Street,” their barista confided them in – except neither of the brother understand what it meant. Dean was the one to ask.

“Why?”

“It’s the closest church to the Tower,” Terri announced, seemingly bewildered as she looked between the two of them. “How did you miss all this? It was all over the news.”

“We’ve been… travelling a lot.”

“Oh. Okay. You can just check it out. Light a candle for her. She died so a lot of others could live,” Terri explained them softly, clearly about to make her leave.

Sam had one last question though – well, among like million others.

Light a candle for her? What the hell?

“Thanks. Just… how long has it been?”

“Not too long. Few weeks.”

The moment their barista was out of hearing rage, Sam turned to Dean, whose shocked expression matched his own, and started whispering hastily.

“What the hell?!”

“Yeah, I’m right there with you. But it sounds legit. You check it out?“

Sam glanced around before pulling out his tablet. He liked this option better than the Tinder one, but an anxious knot was tying up his stomach as Natasha still didn’t find them at their table. She sure was taking her time. Sam hoped she was okay and wasn’t having a panic attack or something. And that there were no windows she could climb through – because if she was Captain freaking America’s soulmate, she might as well be a superhero just like him.

Seriously – what the hell.

The amount of results for ‘Captain America soulmate’ search was ridiculous, climbing to astronomic numbers. Links to articles, pictures, videos… and lots of the links had only the headline and nothing more to it – they had been deleted.

Sam wasn’t surprised anymore. Once again, if Natasha – which wasn’t her name at all, of course, as he found out – was the one for the supersoldier, there was no wonder someone would want to protect her privacy.

Sam roamed through the links, finally finding a photo – a photo of an altar, a picture of what clearly was a woman of Natasha’s hair colour, though blurred via filter, surrounded by teddy bears, flowers and candles.

The younger hunter gulped, satisfaction at possibly solving the mystery mixing with nervousness and compassion.

“Got something,” he hummed, passing the device to Dean.

“Well, that’s not creepy at all. Found any picture of her that actually shows her?”

Sam glared at his brother. “I’m trying,” he hissed, returning to his search.

He clicked on several videos – it was no surprise they had all been removed. He grunted in frustration, trying out what could be twentieth link, some no-name person Tumblr blog who had reposted it about three minutes ago.

Bingo!

The blurry picture moved a little, showing a blond man standing up from a bed in a plain room, crackling sound in the background. Sam froze the frame, attaching headphones and pressed play again.

The camera finally cleared and… the frame split in two. In the other frame, a woman strapped to a chair appeared, causing Sam’s heart stop along with his breathing.

Holy shit.

Holy.

Shit.

“Dean, you have to see this,” Sam choked out, a lump growing in his throat as he pushed the tablet to sit at the table between them and passed one headphone to his brother. Dean’s eyes went wide upon seeing the people in the video.

“Life is full of hard choices, isn’t it, Captain?” a scratchy male voice mocked the desperate man in the picture and Sam’s shoulders tensed when he realized just how hard choice the soldier was given; two bombs showed in the frame.

Well, shit.

“Steve?” Oh yeah. This was definitely Natasha’s voice. This was hundred percent Natasha. Who wasn’t Natasha, but whatever. “It’s… it’s okay. Go. Go save lives. I… I knew I’d have to share you with the world. Frankly, I didn’t imagine it would be like this, but— you go and be hero. My life is nothing compared to thousands and we both know that.”

“Is that really-“ Dean questioned incredulously, eyes glued to the screen.

“Yeah. I… I think it is.”

They spoke no more, watching the video as if it was the most suspenseful thriller they had even seen. Which it was, because the plot was very much real and they had the main character in the near bathroom. Risen from death.

Someone should probably check up on her, but Sam couldn’t tear his gaze away. It was like watching a train wreck to happen; they knew how it must have ended. Thousands of people Nat in the video had mentioned got to live; because Captain’s soulmate was about to blow up.

Both brothers still winced when the explosion did end the video.

Christ.

Dean slowly pulled out the earplug and gulped, glancing at Sam.

“Well… son of a bitch.”

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Part 12

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Thank you for reading!

(I’m sorry for that GIF use, I had to)

I hope it’s clear enough now that there’s a slight time shift between reader chapters and Steve/Nat/Sam/Bucky chapters (theirs are earlier, while reader had been resurrected a few weeks after her death, about after Steve’s drinking night.) 

 P.S. – I couldn’t resist that little cameo :D If you know who I mean the better, if not, don’t worry about it, Terri is one of my OFCs ;)