#Comfort Bedding Frames Brooklyn New York

[furniturebyabd-blog]

Winning traditional styling and versatile design elements help this sectional recliner seating collection make a statement and create an exciting space for your living room, den or loft. This recliner sectional is offered in a warm "coffee" gel leather-look tone, which makes coordinating room décor uncomplicated and stress free.

https://furniturebyabd.com/whitline

[thewriterg]

𝐈𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

pairing(s); earth 42!miles morales × afab!reader, civilian! miles morales × spidey!reader

summary; Miles was a really sacred thing in your life which is why you hadn't told him about your other... acquaintance with a spider suit and web slingers so the gut wrenching feeling when you couldn't save him tore your world apart, until he's there to comfort you.

word count; 1.5k+

request; Hello, I hope everything is going well with you. I'd want to request 42 earth miles × reader, in which the reader is having an awful nightmare while sleeping in miles' bed, and they are sobbing and basically having a horrible nightmare, and miles is there to console them, wake them up, and make them feel better.

warning(s); Hurt/Comfort, mention of canon events, tears, mention of blood and violence, character death, miles isn't the prowler here, pet names, rusty Spanish, and language

A/n; —GIFs; @kombuuuu & @lekeyeh24– so we have a lot to talk about 🧍🏽

Dust, ruble, and debris is all over the Brooklyn bridge a centerpiece of the road absent causing a g a p leaving people stuck on either side but one side was worse than the other as you swung the last group of people that you had struggled saving off a falling bus on the safer side of the bridge screams and sound of people scurrying away doesn’t over power the ringing in your ears

You swing over the bridge with only your right hand your left web shooter being damaged while you clutch your side a deep graze causing blood to slowly seep out of the wound that had also cut through your not only skin abs tissue but your suit

Even though everything was ‘cleared’ as you circled the bridge for the fifth time your spider senses still tingled directing you to the same pile of ruble until you finally swung down next to it circling it at a distance slowly until you stopped abruptly a toffee colored hand staring back at you but what stuck out the most was the bracelet on it

The bracelet you had woven your boyfriend as one of his gifts for his birthday,

It took you too long to finally approach the pile your breath hitched in your throat maybe someone had woven the same pattern and used the same shades of purple you had maybe just maybe

You quickly pushed away the broken bits and chunks of concrete a small hiss dying in your throat as your wounds on your side protested your arms moving and stretching as harshly as they did finally enough of the fallen concrete was out of the way and you world stopped

You couldn’t breathe

Your ears rang

And your head spun

You dropped to your knees next to Miles a cry resting on your lips drowned out by the bustling streets of New York dragging his limp body into your arms his head pressed in your shoulder as you shook his after frame flinging off your mask with no regard for it

“Miles come on, get up please. Please get up baby, your my baby and I need you to get up okay?” You sniffled rambling to no active ears but your own as you gently laid him down on the cold concrete pressing down on his chest repeatedly trying, begging for that 100 to 120 rate the sickening crack of now broken ribs taking you out of your trance your breath caught in your throat

His usual neat twin braids were now shriveled and carried dust and debris from the rubble, The usual ironed clean clothes were now wrinkled and dirty with various cuts through them, and his usual smooth skin was jagged and bruised along with a cut seeping blood on his forehead and what stood out the most was his lifeless eyes staring back at you those beautiful eyes different shades of brown that you always adored held no life to them

“I swear I was going to tell you today” How were you going to tell Rio someone who represented a mother to you that her son found her husband in a place far from here? How were you going to sit through classes each day with an empty desk next to you, a reminder that nothing would fill the space? How were you going to hold the city up when you couldn’t even stand?

“I’m sorry I— I’m sorry I couldn’t save you Miles” You sobbed silently leaning down to press a delicate kiss on his forehead rocking you both back and forth your shoulders raking before a scream overcame your being your couldn’t shake the feeling of your chest tightening, your throat closing, and constant tears running down the scheduled tracks of previous ones your voices broken and hoarse when you whispered

“I just need five more minutes, please just five minutes”

💌💌💌💌

“Come on y/n, wake up mi vida” Miles shook you gently with an underlying firmness behind his movements as you sniffled and whimpered in your sleep his voice a bit rougher from his own unconscious state until your eye’s finally blinked open when your gaze fell on him you immediately through yourself onto him your arms wrapped around his neck tightly as you sniffled into his shoulder the tears seeping through his shirt

“Cálmate mami, I’m right here” The sleep slipped from his voice while he wrapped his arms around your waist as your breathing stuttered and slowed in your throat which caused him to shift taking your arms and pushing you back into his line of sight

“Come on breathe, uh uh come on” His hand was on your chin when your eyes were darted around to anything but him he took your palm resting it on his chest taking big deep breaths so you could feel the prominent of his heart beat which causes a snowball effect for you to follow your breathing not totally normal yet you got more air to your lungs so he would take it

Miles brought you back to your chest lying his chin against your forehead after pressing a chaste kiss to it the sound of your continuous sniffles and his the whispers of his sweet nothings

“I wish you would tell me what’s going on with you” He muttered into your hairline he hated that things like this kept happening and you wouldn’t tell him the exact reason why just feeding him pieces of crust to keep him quiet at the time

When you guys were in your beginning years of high school yeah you would run a little late here and there or he would have to cover for you when you left in the middle of class he still does or when you needed him to stitch a concerning gash on your side tilted to your back that you couldn’t quite reach or when he’s caught you wincing when you had to reach for something farther than eye level

He however sighed when you kept muttering things like

“I’m sorry Miles”

“I’ll do better next time”

“i promise I’ll save you”

With one final breath he flipped the two of you over you now below him while he lied his head on your chest grounding you with the pressure with the occasional jerk you body gave trying to regulate your breathing

“If I tell you something… you can’t look at me differently okay?” Miles looked up at you your first coherent sentence since you’d woken up you didn’t look at him opting for the ceiling with that numb look in your eyes he hated

“Talk to me princesa” His hand inched closer to yours his thumb brushing over your knuckles your breath hitched in your throat discarding the thought of introducing your second identity for the sake of your own selfish pleasure as you sat up causing him to do the same with a concerned look on his face as you got off his bed searching for something

“We have to break up, I can’t do this anymore” You said pulling on your shoes your senses overloaded buzzing even though there was no danger the definition of overstimulation

“¿Y/n De qué estás hablando? You’re not thinkin’ right just sit down and talk to me” Miles demanded blocking your exit to the window an alert window on his face as you breathed heavily the room was too stuffy and you couldn’t breathe

“Miles, get out of my way” you muttered

“No not until you talk to me, Y/n you can’t keep doing this shit man” He stressed a palm covering his forehead massaging at his temples

“Okay then I won’t” You started your eyes holding no life as images of him dead in you arm flashed through your mind something that would never go away you then started thinking about Miguel you hated him and the paranormal thoughts he put in you mind about “canon events” and you hated how right he was

“Being around you makes my head spin in the worst, overstimulating, way possible” You stared at him nothingness in your eyes as you lied through your teeth

What did he do wrong? Was he too overbearing? Maybe he shouldn’t have pestered you about your secrecy, but he just cares about you

“I can’t stand this, I can’t stand it, and I can’t stand you” You muttered swallowing the lump that formed in your throat keeping your voice steady

The fear that your love for him was dying rumbled in his chest as he stiffly stood never breaking eye contact

“I don’t love you anymore Miles” That was the last lie that slipped from your lips falling to the floor like a feather with the others

This was it, he wasn’t enough, you hated him, your love for him was dead.

Miles didn’t feel you slip past him, he didn’t hear his window shut, he didn’t hear you jumping from the fire escape with a ‘thwip’ of your webs, he just heard the repeating of you words ringing through his mind as he stared at them on the floor grouped together wispy and light looking like feathers even though they were dark and heavy like bricks

“I won’t”

“I can’t stand you”

“you make my head spin”

“I don’t love you anymore”

💌💌💌💌

Hey… hey, how y’all doing 🤧

Okay so basically I got shadowbanned on tumblr for like three ish weeks my fics weren’t popping up in tags I put them under when you searched my name it wouldn’t come up it was just a whole ordeal

But with back and forth emails, countless mental breakdowns we’re back now‼️

Also please stop writing our baby as a thug all the time 😭

he has feelings let him be a cry baby every once and a while

[writerlyhabits]

March 10th

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: You’ve got a surprise planned for the big day, and Bucky is anxious to get it out of you before you head back home to DC. 

Ch 13 of the Neighbors Series | Masterlist | Ch. 12 | Ch. 14

Warnings: mild language, AnGsT, pet names, make outs and lots of kisses to balance the angsty bits, Rebecca Barnes is a warning that’s all I’m legally allowed to say. 

AN:  I was crying while I wrote this so…. buckle up. If anyone thought New York was going to be anything but the chaos I have produced, you’re dead wrong 😂 I’d also like to make a public service announcement, because the next few chapters are going to be an adventure… and I think that’s all I can tell you without any spoilers 😬 Thank you @deceiverofgodss for reading through my nonsense as usual, ily 💛 

I have a couple links I found in my research for this chapter that I thought were really neat, so if you’re interested, take a look at these once you’re done reading: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 

Gif from @unearthlydust 🤍

Bucky stirred awake at the sound of laughter and began to stretch his limbs, managing to keep his large frame from rolling off of the twin mattress in the process. The sounds of commotion downstairs brought a smile to his face, the two voices managing to overpower the music playing from the radio in the living room as usual. He cracked his eyes open to confirm that his sister was one of them, finding her bed made and empty on the other side of their childhood bedroom, smiling to himself when he heard his mother’s amusement bubbling up through to their room. 

He preferred sleeping in his own bed in his Brooklyn apartment a few blocks away, but when his mother caught wind that Steve would be busy and he’d be alone on his birthday, Winnifred Barnes couldn’t be dissuaded from getting him to come home. 

“It’ll be good for you and your sister, you know she’ll be gone for school this time next year,” she had pleaded, the final push that had him agreeing and running back to his apartment to pack a bag. This was what had led him to sleeping on the spare mattress he’d helped push into the room – which was now only Becca’s – the night before, leaving him a little more achy than he would have liked. 

He forced himself up out of bed and stretched again when he was up on his feet, working out the kinks of his muscles, and rubbing the sleep from his tired eyes. And after throwing on a pair of slacks and a nice shirt while he had the chance, he made his way downstairs to greet the rest of the family. 

Bucky’s steps were damn near silent as he descended, always accused of sneaking up on people when he suddenly appeared behind them without a sound. While the Barnes were unaware, he saw his father propped up in his arm chair by the radio, his morning coffee replacing the tobacco pipe that usually occupied his hand. He’d gotten George the pipe for some birthday or fathers day once they were in a comfortable place after the depression, silencing the complaints about how much more sophisticated he would look holding a pipe instead of a commonplace cigarette. The rest of the family had rolled their eyes each time it left his mouth, and were equally relieved when the gift had silenced his complaints – one of them, at the very least. 

Turning to the kitchen he found the culprits, his mother was laughing as she turned eggs over in the pan, and his sister standing by the table entertaining herself with the piping bag full of chocolate in her hand. Becca’s brown curls bounced as she cracked herself up, no doubt having written something crude on the chocolate cake that sat on the cake display in front of her. 

He reached the bottom of the stairs as he watched them, and when Becca looked up to include George in her shenanigans, her matching blue eyes caught his and she scrunched up her face. 

“Bucky, what’re you standing there like a creep for?” she snarked, her cheeks already rosy with her own amusement. He rolled his eyes, only seeing his mother turn around to look at him out of his peripheral vision. 

“Geez, when did it become a crime to walk down the stairs?” he teased right back, and any further retaliation was cut off when Winnifred came gliding across the kitchen to greet her son. 

His mother was the picture of grace, at least he’d always thought so. She moved with a purpose, managing to be light on her feet while also being strong and sturdy; a Barnes family trait, she couldn’t be moved by anyone’s choice but her own. As always, she looked perfectly put together, even at early hours of the morning when the rest of the world should have been asleep. Her dark, auburn hair was pinned into neat rolls on top of her head and tied back with a yellow ribbon – her favorite color. 

“Oh James, look at you,” she gushed, brushing her hands on her skirt apron before they were reaching up to cup his face. “You’ve grown into such a handsome young man.” 

“Thanks Ma,” he smiled, leaning down as she engulfed him in a hug. He was almost sure these hugs got longer each year, but he always refused to be the first one to let go, letting his mom squeeze the life out of him until she got what she needed. He turned to give her a kiss on the cheek, and she pulled away with a smile and an extra glisten in her eye. So emotional…

“C’mon George, come help us light the candles,” she beckoned, turning to walk back towards the kitchen so it wasn’t obvious she was dabbing under her eyes to fix his makeup. 

“This is breakfast?” Bucky giggled, following his mom back up to the table and pulling out the chair his father always sat in, the older man hoisting himself up out of the cushioned arm chair and ignoring the limp in his right leg. “I mean… flour, milk, eggs, that’s a great breakfast.” 

He peeked up at his sister and saw her subtly shaking her head. Bucky groaned. 

“Did you make the mayo cake again?” He whined, and his mother turned around with furrowed brows. One look directed at Becca – a ‘you weren’t supposed to say anything’ glare – and one more back at him. 

“There is nothing wrong with that cake, you’ve been eating it for years.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Ma. You literally have eggs cooking on the stove.”

“And they’re still expensive!” She defended. “You try feeding four adults. If you want a cake for your birthday and a decent egg breakfast, then compromises have to be made,” she huffed, turning back to the stove and shutting off the burner before dividing the last of the eggs onto the plates she laid out on the counter. 

“She’s right, y’know,” his father said quietly as he approached, more than used to his wife’s passionate temper. Bucky looked at him for a moment and the two shared a look; they’d had this conversation before. ‘They’re always right. It’s easier to just agree with ‘em. When you have a lady of your own, you’ll understand.’ 

Bucky wasn’t sure how much his mother would agree with his thought process, but in this moment, his father was right. 

“You’re right, m’sorry.” Becca shot him a look, he shot one back at her. “The cake’s gonna be great, thanks Ma,” he offered. He watched her turn to look at him, her face softening. He gave her a small smile, and she returned it. 

“Alright alright, I don’t need to be the only one doing stuff. Becca, can you put the candles on for me?” 

Becca did as she was told, more than happy to place the handful of candles in just the right spot so that her drawing of a middle finger could be accentuated. Winnifred shook her head as if she was disappointed, but none of them were fooled. George lit the candles as the girls sang Bucky Happy Birthday, a perfect excuse for him not to have to join in himself. And after Bucky had blown out the candles, his father clapped him on the back and gave him a half hug. 

“Happy birthday, son,” he smiled.

“Thanks, Pop,” he returned, knowing his father well enough to see through the stoic expression, taking the veiled affection with a smile. His mother left nothing to be assumed, rushing to grab his face and plant lipstick-covered kisses on his cheeks before his sister tackled him from behind, and Bucky only staggered a little as she clung onto his back like she had since she was three years old. 

“So, Steve’s stuck in that class today… that means it’s just you and me for the movies right?” She asked excitedly, and his smile was easy to hide when she was on his back. He played the part of the annoying older brother, but he loved that his sister was still genuinely excited about spending time together.  

“Yeah. Why, you got a thing for Steve?” 

That didn’t mean he wasn’t still annoying. 

“No,” she shot back with no hesitation. 

“Aw c’mon, Steve’s a good egg,” Bucky defended. 

“Do you really want me dating Steve?” She snarked, and he made a face before he made a sound of disagreement. “That’s what I thought.” Their parents laughed as they settled at the table, digging into the breakfast their children were ignoring. “Besides, he’s too skinny. I can’t help that I like ‘em big and tall.” 

“You come by it naturally, you’re my daughter,” Winnifred smiled, and he felt Becca shrug her shoulders in agreement. Bucky watched his father smile sweetly at his wife, giving her hand a squeeze. Whenever he decided he was ready to settle down – which was not anytime soon – he wanted whatever his parents had. 

“What’s playing at the theaters?” George asked as Becca released Bucky’s shoulders, and he followed to sit next to her at the table. 

“Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm!” She pronounced dramatically. Bucky shook his head as he cut himself a slice of cake. 

“Of course… I thought we were going to watch the Donald Duck cartoon? Because it’s my birthday?” He whined.

“Well… we’ll watch that one too.” Another round of laughter followed her comment, the walls of their house no stranger to Becca’s quips. 

As they all started digging into their plates – the wacky cake tasting just as good as the real thing, his mother would be glad to hear – he heard someone whisper his name. Looking over at his sister, he found her snarking at their parents. He tried to pay attention to the conversation, but he heard his name whispered once again as their voices started to fade. 

Bucky closed his eyes to try and focus in on the voice, and the sounds of the Barnes family dining room were gone. All that was left was the back of his eyelids. 

“Bucky…” He heard his name in a whisper once again, and when his brows creased as he processed his surroundings, he heard a light hum of amusement that made him feel warm. 

Your lips ghosted over his cheeks, featherlight kisses against his skin as his body adjusted to being awake. He instinctively lifted the arm wrapped around you to run his hand soothingly against your lower back, causing you to giggle against his cheek while you were laying half on top of him. 

“Are you awake, birthday boy?” You asked quietly, your lips traveling to place kisses against his temple. 

“No,” he whispered back, just to feel your lips curl up at the corners. “M’dreaming.” 

“Ah shit, I tried to wait, I thought I was in the clear. I didn't mean to wake you up,” you pleaded, and he chuckled quietly as he shook his head. “What’d you dream about?”

“My birthday… in 1938.” He finally opened his eyes to see the sun filtering in through the large window, giving you a golden glow as you shielded him from its light. You looked ethereal, and he lifted his free hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, holding your face in his hands. Fucking beautiful.

“Oh yeah?” You asked in a sweet tone, which he knew by now meant ‘tell me more.’

“I took Becca to go see a Shirley Temple movie, and then I think we ended up just going back home to help Ma cook dinner,” he rambled, more focused on the way your eyes were dancing across his face, drinking him in. 

“Sounds like a fun time,” you smiled, but there was something you were hiding behind it he couldn’t quite place. “How’d you know it was that year specifically? Was there something special about it?” He took a breath before he answered. 

“That was uh… that was the last time we all spent my birthday together,” he admitted. And just like clockwork, your brows shot up in concern, your melancholy emotions written clearly on your face. “The year after that my sister was in Indiana for school, and two years later my parents died. It wasn’t much longer until I enlisted… and you know the rest.” 

Why did that realization hit him like a brick wall? It certainly wasn’t news to him that he hadn’t seen his family in eighty years, that he’d been alone. 

That part wasn’t true. He had you. 

“Sorry peach, I didn’t mean to put a damper on your morning,” he tried to smile, and you rolled your eyes at him while shaking your head. 

“You do that a lot,” you teased, grabbing his face so you could pull him closer, littering his cheek with kisses. “And it’s your birthday,” you stopped for a few more kisses at his temple. “If you wanna put a damper on it…” A kiss to the tip of his nose. “That’s up to you.” You shifted so that you could reach his opposite cheek, covering it in the same amount of your little pecks, balancing your enthusiastic affection. 

You pulled a chuckle from deep within his chest as you continued your barrage, and he wrapped his hands around your waist to encourage you to stay there, kissing every inch of his face but the one place he wanted you most. But he didn’t mind. He could get on board with spending his mornings lying underneath you in bed, being showered in your loving glow. 

“Well if it were up to me, we’d do this.” He gripped your waist a little tighter before he flipped you over on the bed, using his knee to make a spot for himself between your legs as he hovered over you. You giggled happily as he fitted himself to your body like a mold, one hand curving around your ass to bring your legs up around his waist, and the other grabbing your jaw to hold you still. 

When his lips hit home, all the tension in his body evaporated. Kissing you was like stepping into another world, his body lighting up when your hands found their way into his hair, his tongue slipping between your lips and dancing with yours. You traded pleasured groans and desperate whines, making music for your bodies to move together in perfect rhythm. 

When he reluctantly pulled away, your breathing was heavy as he traveled down to kiss your jaw – he didn’t have the power to stop himself, the need to have his lips attached to you anyway he could get it was all-consuming. It was hard to sift through everything in his brain to find any coherent thoughts outside of you… only you… 

“I’m having a pretty good time laying in bed with you,” he husked, dragging himself back up your skin to kiss your pretty lips once again. What started as a punctuation to his sentence quickly turned into a little more, being pulled back in by the sheer taste of you, encouraged by the needy whimper that escaped you. But he had a point he was trying to make. “Unless you’ve got any objections, how’s about we stay here and… enjoy the view,” he finished with a wiggle of his brow, hinting that the view he really wanted to enjoy was not the one outside the window. 

You hummed in amusement as he managed to only steal another chaste kiss from you, your hands sliding down to his shoulders as you came up with your answer. “Any other time, I’d love to take you up on that… but I do actually have a surprise planned for later today.” 

His interest was piqued.

“Really? What is it?” he asked excitedly, his previous intentions fading to the back of his mind as he shifted gears, caressing the side of your thighs as he waited for your response. 

“I think you’re missing the point of it being a surprise, Buck,” you laughed, and he only pouted. 

“Yeah, but… c’mon, you can tell me, what’d you plan?” He tried, and this time he heard the difference when a little bit more of his Brooklyn came out, hoping it was working to his advantage. You smiled bashfully, but you didn’t seem to budge any further than that. 

“I’m not gonna, you’ll find out when we get there.” 

“Okay, so it’s somewhere you’re taking me…” he mused, listing off the details as if you’d given him a puzzle to solve. You closed your eyes and scrunched up your face as you cringed, realizing you’d already revealed more than you wanted to. 

He could work with that. 

He nuzzled himself back into the crook of your neck to place kisses at your sweet spot, definitely not trying to weasel more answers out of you, he would never… “Aw baby, gimme another hint, I can’t stand the suspense,” he crooned, and when you were about to make a sound of rebuttal he poked a vibranium finger in your side, right where you were the most ticklish. 

You flinched against him as you tried to get out of his hold, managing to get his full name out through your laughter as you pleaded for reprieve. It was kind of cute, he had to admit, the way you were trying. But as strong as you were… his super soldier strength didn’t exactly make it a fair fight. You didn’t stand a chance.

“James please, I- I can’t breathe,” you laughed, and when he realized the attack hadn’t even moved you an inch, he let up, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Are you trying to suck up to me now?” You sassed. 

“Is it working?” he mused, earning a huff of amusement. “Alright, I won’t ask you anything else about what it is… but what else can you tell me? When are we going, how far away is it?” 

“It’s… well, it’s a little bit of a drive, so it’ll be the last thing we do today,” you answered, and he didn’t miss the way your demeanor shifted ever so slightly, like you were nervous. “We can go do anything else you want while we’re still in the city, this can wait until whenever you’re ready to go.” 

He observed you for a moment, studying your features. Mapped the curve of your cheeks, the softness of your lips, and was somehow able to keep himself from getting lost in those pretty eyes of yours. Whatever this was, it made you nervous, but you didn’t seem to be any less excited about him finding out. 

“Okay… then let’s get to it,” he smiled, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, slower and softer than all the ones before it. “I say we start with an easy morning. Take our time getting ready and getting out of the hotel, and we can meander through the rest of my stomping ground.” 

He felt your laugh rumble through your core as he continued to lay over you, settling himself down so he could gaze up at you from his spot on your chest. “I love it,” you sighed as rested one hand over his back, threading the other through his hair, and he closed his eyes as he enjoyed the feeling of it. 

“How does chocolate cake for breakfast sound?” you lilted, amused at the mere suggestion. When the words left your mouth there was a warmth that blossomed in his stomach, spreading out to the furthest points of his being. 

“Sounds perfect.” 

…

You were fucking nervous. Beyond nervous, borderline nauseous at the mere thought of what was coming.

The rest of the day had gone by smoothly, and you had actually been able to enjoy most of it. You had spent a blissful morning in the hotel room, half dressed as you basked in the golden light of the morning sun, and you watched in awe as Bucky packed away three quarters of the five inch cake from the bakery and damn near half of the loaf of banana bread. “S’not as good as yours,” he shrugged while shoving a fourth slice into his mouth. It was giggly and relaxed and wonderful, cuddling him close to your chest and listening to each other's heartbeats, and managing to sing him Happy Birthday despite his best efforts to kiss you quiet. 

After everything had been packed up and loaded into your car – having made it out with only seconds to spare before your check out time – you ventured into the heart of Brooklyn. He took you down to the pier and cornered you into the railing, keeping you close to his chest as you gazed out at the Statue of Liberty, enjoying the early spring breeze. You went as far as venturing into downtown Brooklyn, not surprised in the least when Bucky didn’t recognize a thing, but just as excited when he would point between a Macy’s and a Foot Locker to tell you what used to be there. 

The end of your day came sooner than expected, just after you’d finished the hot dogs from the park he’d justified as your afternoon snack. You shouldn’t have been surprised though, he was nearly bursting at the seams in anticipation for what you had waiting for him. While he was giddy, you were trying to keep your heart from coming up your throat. 

You had to give yourself credit though, because when you “accidentally” happened upon a cute little florists shop just outside of the city, he was either playing into your act or he actually believed you when you suggested getting a bunch for the drive home. “It’ll be dead before we get there,” he’d reasoned, but he caved when you whined about how pretty they were, acting as if you hadn’t messaged the shop and asked them to make it for you ahead of time. 

But now, with Bucky holding a prettily wrapped bouquet of daffodils while he sat in your passenger seat, you had no other distractions. 

You felt like you were going to be sick. 

“Apparently these are the flowers for March… did you know that?” he’d piped up, and you tore yourself away from your laser focus on the road to see him glancing at the information card placed inside the wrapping, detailing tidbits about the flowers included and what they meant. 

“I didn’t! No wonder I was drawn to them,” you winked, and he gave you a boyish grin before you turned back to the road. 

“It says that once daffodils bloom winter is over, so they’re supposed to be a sign of good news,” he continued reading. God you hoped that was true… “I wonder if my sister knew. I think I’ve told you that these used to be her favorite flowers.”

He had told you. 

“You know, that sounds vaguely familiar,” you tried to laugh, focusing back on the directions your car was displaying, not daring to look at him and put your composure at risk. 

You were almost there… not much longer… You didn’t know if that made you feel better or worse. 

“I’ve been out here before,” he muttered, and you realized he’d been studying you, glancing between your worried expression and the steps your map was giving you. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“We buried my parents out here.” 

You couldn’t look at him. 

Instead, you made a noise of interest, encouraging him to continue and hoping he would ignore that you were not yourself. “My sister was on her summer break, so she took the train out here from Indiana to help me sort everything out. They had everything laid out in the will. Apparently they’d picked out a place before the depression, and had enough money set aside to cover the funeral and all that.”  

You could see him out of your peripherals, his brows raised in concern as he watched you avoid him. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t have to talk about this. I don’t wanna ruin whatever you had planned,” he started, resting one of his hands against your thigh comfortingly. 

“No, no, I’m okay,” you managed, somehow finding it easier to reassure him than it was to do so for yourself. You turned to try and give him a smile, and when your eyes landed on his blue ones your resolve started to crack, resorting to a tight lipped grin instead. “Really, you know I want to hear everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly.” 

He gave you a soft chuckle and shook his head. “That’s a movie reference I’m not getting, isn’t it?” You managed to laugh. 

“Yeah… but it’s old, I think there’s a lot of people who probably don’t get it,” you shrugged, and he gave you one more bright smile before he turned back to the road, and you did the same. 

Not even five minutes later, you were there. 

Canarsie Cemetery. Est. 1843. 

You both saw it at the same time, but when he opened his mouth to speak you turned on your blinker, and he held his tongue. You were positive he could hear your heart beating through your chest as you turned into the drive and found a spot in the almost empty gravel lot just inside the gates. 

“Doll… I don’t…” He started, but he didn’t finish his statement, looking to you for an explanation instead. When you finally turned to face him, you knew he was already starting to piece everything together. 

“Just… just trust me,” you managed, the silence around you making it that much harder to formulate a sentence. 

He gave a small nod. “I always do.” 

You walked up hand in hand, Bucky insistent on holding the flowers in his other hand, your intentions with the flower shop no longer secret. Neither of you said anything as you walked through the tight rows of headstones, but everyone and then he would rub his thumb soothingly across your skin, and you would do that same in return. You were mostly following Bucky, trusting his perfect memory to lead you through the maze of names. 

Mostly. He hadn’t strayed too far from the path you had studied obsessively for the past week. 

He kept your hand interlaced in his while he walked in front of you down one of the rows, his steps slowing as he approached his destination. He came to a stop in front of a combined headstone slightly larger than those around them, and you followed his gaze to read the inscription.

Barnes

Loving parents, married 1914

George, 1889-1941

Winnifred, 1892-1941

“Not exactly how I imagined I’d be bringing a girl home to meet my folks,” he offered, no doubt trying to make light of the somber atmosphere. 

You cracked a smile and let out a huff of amusement, stepping closer and giving his hand a squeeze. He returned it before letting go, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you in to place a kiss on your forehead. You wrapped your arms around his middle and took a deep breath, the two of you standing like that for a few moments in silence. 

“They would’ve loved you,” Bucky admitted quietly, and you tilted your head up to look at him, his blue eyes trained ahead. “Pop wouldn’t have told you outright, he would have just started a conversation one day and never shut up. Ma would’ve gone crazy.” 

You turned to look back at the gravestone, smiling for a moment when you thought about how that scene might have played out. And then of course a wave of emotion hit you once again, your imagination conjuring up a picture of George Barnes shaking your hand before Winnifred took your face in her hands and wrapped her arms around you. 

“I’m sure I would have loved them, too,” you assured him. He kissed your hairline in response, pulling back just enough to give you a soft smile. 

Bucky looked back over at the headstone one last time before he made to step forward, raising the flowers up so that he could position them at the base. But before he could get too far you put a hand on his chest to stop him. He raised his brows in concern as he looked back at you. 

“Not yet,” you explained, using the distraction to slip out from under his arm. You laced your fingers with his once again and took one step back, a sign for him to follow you. “There’s someone else I want you to see.” 

The detour had been a welcome one, and although it put you a little bit more at ease, it did nothing to calm your racing heart as you led him back out of the row the way you came. Trying to take things slow, you kept glancing back over your shoulder to check on the man following behind you, and every time you did he gave your hand a squeeze as if he was trying to reassure you. 

Maybe you needed it. 

Using one of the names as a guide, you turned to walk along a path a few rows past his parents, your throat constricting as you approached the real reason you had brought him here. One … two… three more steps and you stopped, turning to Bucky to let him know you were here. 

And the second he looked at the gravestone ahead of him, you broke. 

In memory of a beloved sister, wife, and mother. 

Her friendship was an inspiration, her love a blessing. 

Rebecca Proctor, 1920-2012

You watched the confusion cross his features, his brows furrowing for half a second before realization dawned on him. His eyes darted across the epitaph, settling on the engraving of her name and swallowing hard. You felt a tear roll down your cheek as he turned to look at you, melting. 

“Sweetheart…” he cooed, and you shook your head at him to try and communicate ‘I’m okay.’ You weren’t, but this wasn’t about you, it was about him. It was about her. 

“You said you always spent your birthday with your sister, so…” you explained shakily, gesturing towards her as another tear threatened to spill over. 

Before you could try to get anything else out, Bucky took your hands in his large ones and gently wrapped them around his neck. His muscular body engulfed you in a hug, slipping his arms around your waist to hold you tight against him and burying his face into the crook of your neck. And only once you felt him settle did you release an uneven breath. 

“How long have you known?” he asked gently, tracing soothing patterns into your lower back, grounding himself. 

“Do you remember when I had a bad day at work last week, and you gave me a massage when I cam home?”

“Mhmm. You didn’t want to talk about what happened…” 

“I um, I had this idea. I thought that, if I could find her… I thought that you might be able to see her again.” You were audibly crying now, too far gone to even try and hide it. “I just got so swept up in this picture in my head, I forgot how old you are,” you managed, earning you a choked laugh. “I went looking for her while I was at work, and…” 

You didn’t have to say anything more. Bucky gripped you impossibly tighter, and you did the same, one hand on the back of his head as you clung to him. You tried to hold it in, you really did. But the moment you felt his quivered breath fan against your neck, a sob wracked through your body. 

There was nothing more you could do for a few minutes, holding each other while you let your emotions take over you. Your crying was much more audible than his. You couldn’t even be completely sure he was crying, but he was at least giving himself a chance to soak in his emotions with no thought to anyone else. 

By the time you had calmed down, he pulled back just enough to be able to look at you, bringing his thumb up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek. His eyes were noticeably bluer and slightly puffy, the only evidence tears had been shed. 

“I uh… I don’t know if this is overkill. Don’t feel like you have to read it right now,” you started sheepishly, resting your hands against his chest so that you could reach into the purse hanging off your shoulder. “When I was looking for her, I came across these and thought you might like to read ‘em. Just, sort of share a moment with her,” you rambled, fishing out a folded up piece of paper and handing it to him. 

He took it gingerly from you, and you took the bouquet of daffodils out of his hands so that he could focus his attention on unfolding it. And when he did, he took a sharp intake, coming face to face with the digital newspaper clippings you had found in your search. 

“Rebecca Barnes Graduates From Indiana State University. Distinguished as one of the top students of her class of 1943, Miss Barnes – from Brooklyn, New York – graduates with all honors, earning a Bachelor's degree in Nursing…” 

“Rebecca Barnes Completes Plans For Wedding. The marriage of Miss Rebecca Barnes and Mr. Lawrence Proctor will be an event for Sunday, June 15 1947. Miss Barnes’ dress will be…”

“Mr. And Mrs. Proctor Welcome First Child. Lawrence and Rebecca Proctor bring their first son, James Thomas Proctor, into the world…”

“Proctor Family Hosts A Lovely Party. Mr. Lawrence and Mrs. Rebecca Proctor hosted a wonderful garden party at their home this Saturday with their three children – James, Joann, and Jack – to kick off the summer festivities…” 

Her whole life… he had pieces of her entire life in his hands. Things he thought he’d never get to learn about his sister, things he thought would be lost to time. She graduated with honors, got married, had kids… Rebecca had gotten everything she’d ever wanted. 

“Thank you,” he managed, holding the paper like his life depended on it as he looked up at you, the tears already starting to well back up in your eyes. 

“Happy birthday, Bucky,” you said softly, resting your hand on his arm as you stood on your toes to kiss his cheek. You didn’t go far, linking your arm with his and resting your head on his shoulder. And while his eyes danced between Rebecca’s grave and the her children’s names on the paper in his hands, you stood together in silence, giving him a minute to sit with all of the emotions swimming through his head. 

He wasn’t even sure he knew how to make sense of it all. There were feelings leftover from when his parents had died in the accident, feelings he thought he wouldn’t be affected by so many years later. Though maybe he hadn’t had enough time to truly process it all before he was swept up in a war that changed his life far more than he could have ever guessed. 

Rebecca… he wasn’t quite sure he had even given himself the chance to grieve. Once he came out of Hydra’s hold, he assumed the only person he had left was Steve, and hadn’t let himself dwell on anyone else he’d lost. And while technically that was true, it wasn’t until his neighbor started asking about his sister that he let himself wonder about Rebecca and the life she had created. Until today, she had existed as very little but a fleeting memory in his mind. 

Now, she was a real person again. All grown up and happy, having left behind a legacy all her own. 

He had you to thank for that. 

You had brought his sister back to him. You and all the waves of emotions he felt when he thought of you. The way his skin anticipated your touch, longed for it. Your voice calmed the noise in his head, and his hands felt whole when you were in them. Your hearts reached for each other, pulling him to you by some invisible force… 

“Hey,” you whispered, pulling him out of his thoughts. He had no idea how long you two had been standing there; it could have been a few moments or a few hours, he wouldn’t have known. But when he met your gaze, your soft smile put him at ease. “I’m gonna go wait by the car, give you a minute alone with them.” You nodded towards Rebecca to illustrate your point as you rubbed gentle circles into his bicep. 

“M’kay… I won’t be long, I promise,” he assured you, his voice crackling with the lack of use. 

“I’m not rushing you, take your time,” you said warmly, and he nodded in acknowledgement. He folded up the page with all your clippings and tucked it into his back pocket as you stepped in front of him to slot yourself in his arms. You were gentle as you got up on your toes and lifted on arm around his neck, the flowers still secure in your other one as you went to give him a kiss. 

Bucky, however, was overtaken by his emotions the second your lips had met his in what was supposed to be a sweet kiss. He needed you under his skin, wrapping his arms around you to hold you firm to his body, pouring his soul into you as he kissed you back. It was hungry, desperate, but not in the same lustful way he had the day before. That was the last thing on his mind. He was consumed by his need for you in its most genuine form. 

You were both panting when he finally released you, resting your foreheads against each other as he came back down to earth. You tilted your head to nudge his nose with yours, giving him one more chaste kiss before stepping back. You squeezed his hand before removing it, placing the bouquet of daffodils there instead and removing a handful from the bunch. With one more reassuring smile, you were on your way. 

All he could do was watch you for a moment, walking gingerly through the rows of headstones and gracing each of them with a moment of your kind consideration, like you saw each name for the person it represented and their story. He should have been able to guess your intentions, but instead he watched in awe as you returned to his parents headstone, and – like the wonderful woman he knew you were – set the flowers you had taken below their names. 

You were speaking as you rested a hand gently over the tall stone, but he couldn’t hear you no matter how hard he tried. 

Which meant you wouldn’t be able to hear him either. 

“She’s really something, Becca,” he sighed, tearing his eyes away from you to look back down at his sister. 

Rebecca Proctor… he’d have to adjust to that. He spared a glance to the right to see her husband – Lawrence, apparently – beside her, the dates signifying that she had passed first. At least that was one more heartbreak she didn’t have to suffer through. 

Bucky crouched down to be eye level with her epitaph before he kept speaking, fiddling with the bundle of flowers in his hands. “You would’ve loved her, I know it. You would have done that thing where you tried to steal her away from me, claim that she was your new best friend. She asks about you so often, sometimes I think she might’ve let you,” he laughed, imagining you all dolled up while engaged in a sort of custody battle between the two of them. 

“You told me once, when you were being mean, that you didn’t think I could fall in love. And at the time, I didn’t care whether it was true or not. But after everything that’s happened… I started to think that you were right, maybe that just wasn’t in the cards for me.” He spared a glance back over to you, seeing you walk away from his parents and turn towards the entrance where you would wait for him, passing slowly to read names as you went. 

His heart shot up into his throat. 

“She proved us both wrong, Becca. I’m in love with her.” It felt right coming out of his mouth, wrapping him in a warmth he had yet to feel in years, a warmth he’d gotten glimpses of in the past few weeks with you. And as he set the bouquet of yellow flowers, ones you picked out specifically for this moment, he knew it was true. 

Bucky loved you. Wholly, profoundly, endlessly. 

He loved you when he walked back out the front gates to find you leaning against the car waiting for him. You hugged him tight and made no attempt to rush him away, almost hesitant to leave yourself. 

He loved you when you sang the wrong words to a song on the radio he’d never heard before. You lit up as you danced along the best you could while driving, and he knew it would become one of his favorites. 

He loved you when you were stopped in stand-still traffic, a slew of colorful expletives leaving your soft lips. He kissed the angry expression off your face when someone managed to cut you off in the slow moving chaos, and soaked up the bashful smile that replaced it. 

He loved you when he took your suitcase out of the car, and you fought him about carrying it inside. You didn’t win, he was far more stubborn than you were, but he chuckled to himself when you grumbled about “fairness” as you unlocked your apartment to let him in behind you. 

He loved you when your cold hands trailed up under the hem of his undershirt, giving him an innocent smile as you urged him to take it off so you could wear it to bed. That would be another one he would find “accidentally” placed in your pajama drawer instead of the one he’d started to fill with his own clothes. 

He loved you when you cuddled up close to him in bed, sharing soft kisses and quiet words in the darkness. Your legs tangled with his, cold feet tickling his skin while you informed him he ran hot like a furnace. 

And when you finally fell asleep, he watched contentedly as your pretty features relaxed and your breathing slowed. He was captivated by your very presence, awed by the hold you had on his heart. In that moment he knew that – if for no other reason – this was why he was here. You were his silver lining, the reason for this over-extended life he’d been given. This life with you, this love for you, made everything he’d ever gone through make sense. 

Bucky drifted off to sleep feeling lighter than he had in a long time, his entire world curled up peacefully on his chest. 

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

Masterlist | Ch. 12 | Ch. 14

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Congrats on 300 followers! And I’d be wild for a Sambucky story for #4: "We could practice kissing... if you want."

JULESSSSSSSS 💕 Ooh, what a fanstatic choice, @jules-of-the-crown! I hope you enjoy the drabble! 🥰

Prompt 8: “We could practice kissing... if you want.”

| 7 | Prompts | 9 |

"This feels like a date," Bucky said into his beer as he felt blush immediately creeping onto his face, down his neck, and past his shirt.

Bucky hadn't thought this through.

He really hadn't.

He hadn't thought about what it would mean to move to Delacroix after the Flag Smasher's incident in New York. He didn't think about what it would be like to spend a few weeks on the Wilson family's couch before Sam had rolled his eyes and invited Bucky to just share his bed, and then what sweet torture it would be to sleep next to Sam in his bed as very good buddies who happen to share a bed now.

Bucky hadn't thought about what it would mean to help Sam weekly with repairs on The Paul & Darlene and the comfortable silence of the few beers they usually had after their work was done.

He hadn't thought about what Sam would look like. Always. All the time. Just this gorgeous fella being smart and snarky and annoyingly funny near Bucky.

Sam now, in his sweat-drenched shirt that Bucky had stretched out a touch, bathed the ethereal glow of a Gulf coast sunset. How his gap-toothed smile made Bucky's heart stutter. How his warm, Reckless Abandon iris eyes made Bucky forget what words were when they turned Bucky's way. And those arms. Those thighs. That chest.

Why was Bucky's serum the imperfect one? Why was it that Stevie could drink everyone under the table, and yet Bucky was still the lightweight he always was?

Two drinks in and Bucky was already a goner. Just hanging on Sam's every word and saying ridiculous things like what he just said.

Why had Bucky said that?

"Not the most romantic date," Sam hummed, sounding amused because of course he was, "We're just doing the weekly repairs."

"Not like I've been on a lot of dates recently," said Bucky with a shrug, "I guess there was that one with Leah, but I don't know. We played Battleship. We exchanged an awkward goodbye hug."

"No kiss?" asked Sam as he took another sip of his own beer.

Bucky should be honest. Sam was his friend. His best friend. Sam would be... kind about it.

"I, um... I haven't kissed anyone," mumbled Bucky into his drink again, wondering if it'd be a good or a bad idea to down this third beer.

Sam blinked.

"... What do you mean by that?" asked Sam slowly.

No judgment. Just. A question. Bucky appreciated that.

"I used to smooch plenty of people back," Bucky explained, "It's just... ever since I woke up from my Winter Soldier programming..."

Sam... nodded.

"That was ten years ago. Almost eleven," Sam pointed out.

Bucky decided, yes, he would like to chug the rest of his third beer.

Sam looked... uncharacteristically nervous. Bucky watched Sam picking at his beer's label, thinking. Bucky was about to say something, make a joke or change the subject, but Sam said, "We could practice kissing... if you want."

"Yes!" blurted Bucky a little too fast, a little too into the idea, but Bucky didn't care, "Let's kiss. Practice. Kissing. Practice kisses. Let's practice kissing."

Bucky had the opportunity to kiss Sam Wilson. He was grabbing the bull by the horns.

Sam, for his part, chuckled a bit, not looking at all dissuaded by Bucky's enthusiasm. Sam placed his beer down before he walked over to Bucky. He framed Bucky's face with his hands, smiling up at Bucky.

"Okay, James. Let's practice kissing," said Sam softly.

Bucky was good at kissing.

He remembered being good. The kind of man who people whispered about, that rare dishes and dreamboats talked about in hidden corners of Brooklyn.

Bucky felt Sam's lips press on his own. Soft. Wonderful.

Muscle memory took over as Bucky pulled Sam close by the waist and dipped him. Bucky deepened his kiss with Sam. He felt the vibrations of Sam groaning in his teeth, the shiver of Sam's body in his bones.

That was Bucky's world. He. And Sam. On a boat. Sam melting into a puddle of moans as Bucky explored his mouth and under his shirt.

Bucky reluctantly moved his mouth away from Sam's, still keeping the fella in that dipped position. Bucky noticed that the sun had gone down.

When had the sun gone down?

"That was," Sam breathed, his mouth kiss swollen, "That was you without practice?"

Bucky smirked. Sam looked annoyed. It was very cute.

"Like riding a bike," Bucky started to say before Sam pulled Bucky's face back down for more kissing.

*****

This is for my 300 Followers Event! If you want to submit a prompt, check out the list and send in an ask!

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Nevada Ramirez:  Sweet Mercy, Part Two

Word Count:  4315

TW:  Mention of sexual situations; mention of drug usage (cocaine, marijuana); heavy angst; serious illness; technically, a kidnapping.

AN:  Part two of a six part series:  Part One, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

The best things for burying bad feelings were booze and drugs, and Nevada tried both in excess.  He drank, but drinking made him want to call you, his thumb hovering over your contact information a million times a night.  Pot locked him on his office couch, slouched and red-eyed and scrolling through your social media pages that you no longer updated.  Coke made him a jittery ball of optimism, made him hatch half-baked plans to win you back until he sobered up and realized that they’d never work.

Other women though?  Nevada tried to forget you in the arms of other women.  Other women helped, just a little.  It was a momentary release from the relentless ache he felt; they erased the pain and just left him comfortably anesthetized.  So he had a new woman every week, or thereabout.  For a month, there was one girlfriend, kinda, but she had just wanted him to spend his money on her.  When she whined about needing cash for something – earrings she really wanted, a new dress, ridiculously expensive shoes – Nevada remembered the horror on your face when he had tried to press his bankroll into your hand.  

Sometimes he had to tell the other women to shut up so that he could close his eyes and pretend it was you, but it was an exercise in futility.  They were never you.  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you behind his eyelids:  you curled up beside him in his bed, you smiling at him from across the counter of your coffee shop.  You, the last time he saw you.  Bewildered and in pain, and then angry as you’d thrown his cash at him and fled

He missed you, and he hated himself for what he’d done.  He questioned himself constantly.  He knew he’d done the safest thing for you, but he wondered if it had been the best thing – he hadn’t seen you after that night in his office.  You’d gone to your shared apartment and packed hastily – clothes, books, personal effects – and hadn’t been seen again.  You’d left behind so much.  The fuzzy blanket over his couch, the framed pictures you’d hung.  You’d left a note on the kitchen table that told him just to donate anything you’d abandoned because you wouldn’t be back for it.

That note was the first one you’d written him that hadn’t been signed with “love you.”  That cut worse than Nevada had anticipated when he saw it.

Nevada had put out some feelers to find out if you were okay.  He half-hoped that you’d left the city altogether and returned to your hometown in whatever Podunk backwater you’d come from, but he heard from people that you were still in New York.  It made sense.  You loved the city, and it would take more than an asshole like Nevada Ramirez to dislodge you from the place.  But he didn’t know where you were living or working.  

He had to assume you were doing well, after getting over him.  You probably moved to some trendy part of the city, maybe Brooklyn, with its artsy-asshole vibe that you probably loved.  You were smart and hard-working; you had probably graduated and gotten a great job.  Nevada could picture you charging through the work world, getting praise and making friends and going to happy hours.  Smiling over drinks at coworkers, maybe flirting.  He knew you were probably with someone new by now – you were too much of a catch to not be.  He tried not to imagine that life too much, but he wondered what man had been drawn in by your mega-watt smile and sunny demeanor.  

When Nevada was feeling especially maudlin and masochistic, he imagined you in bed with that anonymous boyfriend.  You had a way of squeezing your eyes shut tight when you came that was adorable.  Nevada wondered if you still did it.

If he could go back in time, he’d scrape together every cent he could and just kidnap you, make you start a new life with him somewhere else.  It wouldn’t have been perfect, but it’d be better than the half-life he was living now.

-----

Nevada and his cadre of lieutenants and associates were going out to celebrate.  One lieutenant was getting married in a month, another had a new baby on the way, and as for Nevada?  He’d finally rooted out the fucker who’d been threatening you.  It was some wannabe gangster, some low-level freelancer who was pushing ditch weed cut with oregano to rich white kids in Brooklyn who didn’t know any better.  

The wannabe gangster thought he could aim for the King of the Heights.  And now the wannabe was dumped in the East River, hopefully bobbing his way to the Atlantic.  It had been overkill, but Nevada had lost you over this guy.  A skinny white asshole who listened to enough rap to think he was street.  Fucking ridiculous.

Nevada flexed his swollen hands in the SUV as it crawled towards the gentlemen’s club in Clinton.  Diamond Dolls, it was called, but it was the least tacky place on the island that didn’t require a background check.  It wasn’t his thing, honestly, but he didn’t want to stay at his club.  Besides, his guys deserved a night off.  Part of his role of being el Jefe included employee morale.  If that meant paying for bottle service and a few girls to rub their tits on his guys, so be it.

Diamond Dolls was crowded, and one of the dolls was halfway through a routine on the main stage as Nevada and his men made their way to the VIP area he’d reserved.  This club did the same thing Nevada did at his place:  it relied on dark walls, dark carpet, and dim lights to hide the shabbiness.  Besides, none of the men in the room were concerned about the cracked leather seats or stains on the carpet.  Not when there was a svelte honey wrapping herself around the pole to some pulsing club song.

They settled in and ordered some bottles and some rounds.  Nevada lit his cigar and let the blue smoke plume around him.  He leaned back and surveyed the place.  Maybe he should have gotten a strip club instead of a night club.  He wondered what the nightly take was.  It was probably more drama than it was worth.  All those girls.  Fucking catty shit was bound to come up all the time.

And there were a lot of girls.  There was always one on the main stage, cycling out every three or four minutes.  There were two small side stages where two more girls swayed to the music.  Other dancers made their way through the crowd, looking for lonely men who wanted a little private company.  And there were the regular waitresses, sexy but overdressed by comparison in their uniforms of short black shorts and corseted vests, weaving through the crowd like shadows, bussing empty glasses and bringing new drinks.

Nevada slouched against his seat, just watching his men and the club in general.  It was a Thursday night.  Thursday night used to be the night when you’d come to his club to see him.  You were always so busy but you always made time for him.  Nevada thought about how your face always lit up when you saw him, your smile bright and your eyes crinkling as you grinned at him.  He wondered what you were doing tonight.  He was in a strip club, idly watching as some woman in a g-string did acrobatics on the pole.  Where were you?

His eyes drifted to the VIP area beside them.  Their waitress was bent and clearing off their table, and her hair hung down and hid her face.  Nevada watched her.  He watched her hands, elegant with long, tapered fingers, as they plucked the empty bottles and glasses and laid them on her tray.  Those hands…Nevada narrowed his eyes and squinted to study them as they moved with graceful efficiency.

How many times had those hands passed him a cup of coffee, or rested on his chest?  How many times had those shapely fingers raked through his hair, or wrapped around his cock?

How many times had he held those hands, grumbling but secretly loving the romantic gesture?

Nevada’s heart stopped as you straightened up, laden under the heavy tray.  You smiled at the men at your table, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes – it was pure artifice.  You turned and left, made your way to the bar.  Nevada watched you go, drinking you in.  It had been nearly a year since he’d seen you last.  You looked thinner, like you’d lost some of the soft curves he had loved grasping in his hands.

He lost sight of you for a bit while you worked other tables, and he gulped down a few shots in rapid succession to steady his nerves.  His hands shook slightly, and his heart was hammering in his chest.  What should he do?  Should he slip out and let his men party without him?  Should he try to talk to you?  What if you saw him first?  He felt the alcohol burning in his gut, and he chased it with another drink, waiting for some liquid calm to help guide his next move.

He caught sight of you again, this time delivering drinks to a table on the floor.  He studied you closer.  Even with the lost weight, you looked amazing in the dim light.  The standard issue black shorts hugged your ass perfectly, the corseted vest was low in the back and pushed your tits up into a swell that Nevada knew would be heaven to bury his face in.  Your hair felt in loose curls, swinging like a curtain as you dipped and weaved to deliver drinks and clear glasses and bend to listen to whatever fucking things the men you served were saying to you.

Nevada felt a wave of irritation as he watched the men watching you.  Why were you even here?  You had to be graduated by now, and you were too smart to not get a job in your field.  Marketing, or whatever it had been.  You were clever with designing shit; you’d even re-did the drink menus at his own club, making the place seem classier than it really was.  

So why were you gliding around the floor of a fucking titty bar, giving strange men a fake smile, and allowing them to slip cash into the pocket of your apron?

You were making your rounds, and when you drifted back to the VIP area beside his own, he leaned forward and willed you to see him.  But you didn’t – you only had eyes for the fucking assholes sitting beside him.  One man crooked a finger at you, and you obliged and leaned down, allowing him to whisper something in your ear.  You laughed – fake as hell – and the man reached out with a bill between his fingers.  Instead of slipping it into your apron, though, he tucked it into the hem of your too short shorts, his fingers grazing your upper thigh.  

It didn’t matter that you plucked his hand away with a frown, that you pulled the cash out of your shorts and handed it back to him.  Nevada saw red, and before he could stop himself, he was over the short railing that separated the VIP areas.  His hands were on the fucking asshole, his already-swollen fist pounding the smirk off his fucking face.

There was a scuffle, yells, a scream.  Hands tugged him away.  Blood.  Maybe a tooth, spat onto the disgusting carpet.  Security was there in an instant, and a manager, Nevada guessed, judging by the asshole tie and earpiece.  

Nevada was being dragged out by a giant of a man, and his own men tried to follow, but Nevada waved them back.  This was their night, not his, and he didn’t want to ruin it for them.

And you were being marched out too, right alongside him.

*****

How much could a life change in ten months?  A lot, apparently.

You were dumped and essentially made homeless in one night.  You salvaged what you could from Nevada’s apartment, then landed in a short-term flophouse sublet for a month until you were able to scrape together enough cash for a deposit on a shitty studio in Fort George.  

You graduated with honors, and you got a job.  You were a contractor, technically, so your pay was low and you had no benefits, and when your six-month grace period was over on your school loans, you were in dire straits.  Your post-college life was remarkably similar to your college life:  a full-time job, part-time jobs, and side gigs just to barely make ends meet.  You were a graphic designer…and a barista, and a waitress at a strip club, and a tutor, and an errand girl.  

Your jobs were exhausting.  The commute was exhausting.  Your apartment smelled of mold, and the walls were thin, and the sole window looked out onto a brick wall.  You were tired all the time, sad all the time.  There was a persistent humming in your ears, like you were living next to a power generation station.  You were out of commission for a week when you came down with pneumonia.  You went back to work too soon and got double pneumonia.  You got better, slowly, but you still got winded when you got too worked up.  Your heart always felt like it was racing, along with your thoughts.

The one silver lining was that there was so much crushing stress that you didn’t have much spare energy to consider Nevada.  He’d broken your heart, fully and completely.  Your mind drifted to him every so often, and you imagined him off enjoying his life.  He definitely wasn’t falling asleep and then waking up gasping from stress-induced nightmares.  He probably didn’t think of you at all.

When you considered your future, you saw nothing worth looking forward to.  When you paid your bills each month and considered the balance on your school loans, a balance that barely shifted even after you sent in an exorbitant minimum payment every month, you felt nothing but empty.

Half of your student debt was with private lenders.  When you considered stepping off the platform into the path of an oncoming subway, you knew that those lenders would go after your parents, probably, so you persisted.  Exhausted, heart-sore….but persisting.

-----

You didn’t love your job at Diamond Dolls, but the fact was that three nights a week of smiling and hustling drinks there paid more than your full-time contractor job in midtown.  And honestly, the other waitresses were nice, the bartenders were nice, and the dancers kept you as a sort of mascot.  One taught you how to use highlighter properly to make your cheekbones stand out.

The manager, Daniel, was okay.  He kept you around because you always turned up on time and didn’t start drama with the customers, but he was always on your case to smile more at the patrons.  

Then, tonight happened.  

It had been a regular night.  Regular guys, with their regular stupid come-on’s, and their regular drifting hands.  Until you were in the VIP area, and a guy got handsy (as usual).  Suddenly, there was a blur of movement from behind you, and the handsy guy was on the ground, getting beaten by someone.

Not someone, though.  You’d recognize that stupid leather blazer anywhere.  Fucking Nevada Ramirez left the fucking Heights for the first time in your life, and he landed right in your fucking club.  And now he was beating a patron, and you tried to pull him away, but he had berserker-strength and you were so weak anyway.  

And Daniel came sprinting over to see you, a waitress, pleading with a patron to stop beating another patron.  A scene that Daniel had seen too many times.  So Nevada was frog-marched out of the club, and you were too – because if the dancers couldn’t bring boyfriend drama into the club, then neither could waitresses.

And it didn’t matter to Daniel that Nevada wasn’t your boyfriend, technically – drama was drama, you were caught in the middle of it, and a hundred girls with better smiles were waiting to take your job.

You stood on the pavement in the alley, refusing to look at Nevada, stunned at your awful luck.  The side door opened a moment later, and another waitress handed you your purse and coat, and she pressed your cut of the shared tips from the night into your hand too.  You could only nod your head mutely in thanks as she disappeared back inside, leaving you and him alone on the street.

At least he didn’t say anything.  He just stood there, his breath still puffing through his nostrils like he was some sort of fucking bull, but he didn’t open his mouth.  Which was wise, on his part.  

You pulled your coat on slowly and did the math in your head.  Without this job, you were in big trouble.  Another waitressing job couldn’t make up the loss – it was precisely because it was a strip club that you did so well.  Rent had just been paid, school loan payments too.  You had, at best, three or four weeks to make up the difference.  But how?  Your heart was racing again, and you felt the now-familiar panic rising in you.  

*****

One of Nevada’s less-charming character traits was that when he saw red, any intelligent thought left his head.  All he remembered was seeing some asshole’s hands on you, and then the darkly satisfying thrill of beating in the fucker’s face.  

Then, Nevada remembered nothing, until he calmed down and came back to himself to find himself standing in a dark side street, apparently evicted from the club.  And you, standing nearby.  The side door to the club opened and a girl handed you your stuff, and Nevada realized that you’d just been fired.

Because of him.

Good, Nevada thought bitterly.  You shouldn’t be working at a place like this, your ass hanging out and tempting any fucking asshole to grope you.

The feeling of selfish satisfaction was fleeting though.  Nevada watched you, not speaking.  You barely even seemed to notice him; you had a dazed look on your face that eventually segued to something like panic.  Or horror.  But not at him, from the look of it. You didn’t even look at him.

He watched you put your coat on.  He waited for you to turn and say something to him, but you just took a deep, shaky breath and started walking – slowly – towards the street.  Nevada followed.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low.  You ignored him, or, more precisely, didn’t seem to hear him.  He repeated himself louder.  “Hey.”

“Leave me alone,” you said, and it was so quiet that Nevada nearly missed it over the pounding of blood in his ears.

“Hey,” he said again, and he reached out to grab your arm.  You jerked away from him so hard that it threw you off balance on your high heels and you reeled as you tried to get your balance.  

“Leave me alone!” you yelled, and Nevada winced at the anguish in your voice.  “You just…just…”  You stammered, unable to complete the thought, and you shook your head violently back and forth.  “I needed that job!”

“The fuck you did!” Nevada yelled back.  “Not at a place like that!”

You stared at him hard a moment, your eyes glassy and crazed.  “It’s not your problem, remember?  It hasn’t been your problem for a long time.”  You turned away and kept walking.  

He followed behind you a step or two, uncertain at what to do or say.  He saw his driver idling the SUV nearby, and Nevada’s eyes swept the street.  It was dark, deserted….and you were rickety in heels, half-dressed, and looking like rape-bait.  Nevada didn’t know where you lived now, but you were walking towards the subway station, and his chest tightened in fear as he imagined you riding the subway to…wherever.  Alone.  Vulnerable.

“Let me drive you home,” he ventured.  “It’s the least I can - ”

You reeled back around at him, took a half-step towards him.  “I don’t want anything from you.  Not a ride.  Not a word.  Nothing.”

Nevada pointed helplessly to the street.  “The SUV is right there,” he offered.

You ignored him, marching in your heels towards the subway, and Nevada felt a rising terror at letting you out of his sight.  The SUV pulled up beside him as he trailed you, and in a night marked by bad decisions, he made one more:  he reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the SUV as you struggled against him.  He clamped a hand over your mouth, not rough but just enough to keep you from yelling for help.  Because you didn’t need help.  He was your help.  He was going to make sure you got home safely, even if you were too stubborn to accept it.

“Drive,” he ordered his guy, and the SUV sped away, towards the Heights.  

You fought against him like a wild cat, scrabbling at the door handle, so Nevada captured both of your wrists into one of his hands to still you.  He kept his other hand over your mouth, even though any yelling on your part was futile at this point.  You still pulled against him, struggling, so he pulled you onto his lap and held you tight against him, pinning your arms to your sides.

“Calm down,” he murmured in your ear.  “I’m just taking you home.  What’s your address?”  He removed his hand from your mouth, but you didn’t answer right away.  You just sat there, stock-still and tense as a steel cable in his arms.

Nevada should have felt a million different things – wonder at having you in his arms (albeit in a less than ideal situation), desire at having you perched on his lap in little-to-no clothes.  Happiness at having seen you again, even if it was at a strip club in one of the worse neighborhoods in Manhattan.

He felt none of those things.  Instead, he felt a rising concern that was turning to outright alarm.  You’d sat in his lap a hundred times in the club, so he knew what your comforting weight should feel like.  Now, you were barely there, a shadow of your former self.  Nevada tightened his arms around you, felt how much less of you there was.  He could swear that he could feel your individual ribs pressing back against him.  The dim lighting at the club had hidden an uncomfortable truth:  you’d lost weight – a lot of it – and it didn’t seem like it had been because of some new workout routine.

Your short few minutes of struggling against him had winded you, and again, it seemed like too much.  There was a reedy whine in your throat as you pulled in gasping breaths, and Nevada swore he could hear a rattle in your chest too, a phlegmy gurgle that made his heart stop every time he heard it.

And you were too warm.  Way, way too warm.  The girl who used to burrow her cold hands and feet against him for warmth was burning up like a fire in his arms.  Despite the waves of feverish heat that were cascading off of you, though, you shivered every few minutes, trembling against his body.

You were sick, Nevada realized.  He felt a stab of irritation at you – why in the fuck were you working at all, let alone at a place like that, if you were sick?  You should be home, resting, eating the piles of healthy shit you used to try to push on him.

He thought about what he should say, but you leaned forward to talk to his driver – in a quiet, resigned voice, you gave him your address.  Nevada caught it though.  He ran it though his mental map of New York.  You weren’t in some trendy loft at all – you were in Fort George, of all places.  Right next door to the Heights.  All those months, you were near him.

The SUV was silent as it made its way through traffic and traveled to Upper Manhattan.  It navigated past the Heights, and the driver turned down a series of streets with buildings that looked worse and worse.  He stopped in front of some pre-war death-trap that looked like it might crumble against a strong breeze.

“This is me,” was all you said, and Nevada was so surprised that he loosened his arms.  You took the opportunity to slide off of his lap and clamor out of the vehicle.  You hesitated on the sidewalk, your back to him.  Through the open car door, he could hear you jingling your keys, a nervous habit you hadn’t outgrown, apparently.

“Fuck,” Nevada said.  “You live here?”  You only nodded your head once, still not looking at him.  He looked the place over closer:  the security door had no handle, paint was peeling from the window casements, and one of the two visible lights over the outside steps had been smashed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.  The life he had pictured you having after he’d pushed you away wasn’t a reality at all.  You were waitressing at a shitty club, or had been.  You were living in an actual slum.  You were sick, maybe seriously, judging by the weight you’d lost and the fever you were obviously running.

You turned and looked at him, your eyes tired.  You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out.  Instead, you raised a shoulder in an exhausted, crooked sort of shrug, and then trudged inside your building.

[moldisgoodforyou]

you'd come with me?

wordcount: 1.5k

lol this picture just makes me laugh we love a mich ultra man

“How much longer?”

“Just a few…” Sophie answered Rafe absentmindedly, biting her bottom lip in concentration as she typed.

They’d assumed their usual positions while studying in her room - she was sprawled out on her bed, while he sat at her desk, concentrating on whatever homework he had for the day. She’d banned him from the bed during study time, much to his dismay, claiming he was far too distracting. (He still got away with distracting her half the time anyways, slinking over and tucking his large frame into her side like a dog that had overgrown its owner’s lap years ago.)

“Rafe?” She broke the silence after a while, punctuating her sentence with a firm shut of her laptop.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I just applied for a grad program.” She told him nervously, unsure of what his reaction might be.

He shrugged, not turning his attention to her. “Okay? I thought you applied to Ohio State’s, you’re basically in already.”

“Well, yeah. But, um - can you look at me, please?” Sophie bit at her bottom lip, anxious.

He glanced up and finally noticed her nervous energy, then came over to sit next to her on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just big news. Maybe. I don’t even know if I have news yet, really -”

“Spit it out, Soph.” He nudged his knee against hers, concerned.

She nodded, taking a breath. “Okay. I applied to three other places, too. Two are in New York, one’s in Texas. And I know, I should have told you, but I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to do it in the first place, I kind of applied on a whim - well, I’ve been perfecting the application essay for weeks, but -”

“Soph, hey, it’s okay.” He cut off her rambling and a broad grin spread across his face, completely surprising her. “New York and Texas, for real?”

She raised her eyebrows and fidgeted with her ring, glancing at him worriedly. “That doesn’t worry you at all? That we’d be apart?”

She’d thought about how to tell him, when to tell him, for weeks now. She’d been hiding that she was interested in applying to other schools since June and though she felt incredibly guilty, she kept thinking back to long distance and how sad he seemed sometimes. She couldn’t break him with the news again so soon, not when she saw the way he lit up when they were together again and how content he was. Not when she saw how hard it was for her to support him from thousands of miles away, knowing physical touch was a big thing he relied on for comfort in their relationship.

He interrupted her train of thought as he took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Sophie, baby, do you know how many jobs are in New York and Texas?”

“Wait, you’d come with me?” She stuck her bottom lip out a little, overwhelmed and almost near tears at his response.

“I was planning on following you no matter what.” Rafe smiled encouragingly, reaching out and stroking his thumb over her cheek. “If you’ll have me.”

“Oh.” She said softly, growing shy. “You’re sure? You could go wherever you wanted, I don’t want to hold you back -”

“Hey, hey, none of that. Where’d you apply, when do you hear back?”

“You’re sure this isn’t an issue.” She asked warily, not wanting to undermine his feelings.

“I’m positive.” He gave her a proud grin. “What schools?”

“Okay, um. Columbia -”

He let out a long low whistle, nodding. “Impressive.”

She blushed, finally grinning back. “Hush. Columbia, Syracuse and UT Austin. Isobel already got into Syracuse. Columbia’s my top choice, but that’ll probably never happen.”

“Of course it’ll happen, get out of your head.” He leaned down and kissed her, smiling against her lips. “Look at you, big shot, applying for an Ivy.”

She relaxed, her hands trailing along the hem of his shirt, and ducked her head to hide her grin. “Stop. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is that big of a deal. When do you find out?” He shifted to lay down by her, then tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Um…not for a couple months, I think. You’ll really follow me?”

“Course I will, if you’ll have me.” He nodded earnestly.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” She beamed, nudging her nose against his. “You’re my favorite.”

“Love you too.” He responded. “Wait, did you just apply? Like right now?”

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. “Just finished my Columbia essay, I did the rest last week. Now I wait.”

He smoothed his thumb over her cheek, making her relax again. “You’re so damn smart. Should we go celebrate?” Rafe gave her a cheeky grin. “Double scoop with sprinkles?”

She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t have the same effect now that you get it for free.” As a part of his internship program, he’d received a punch card for 25 free visits to Jeni’s, their favorite ice cream shop - they’d hardly made a dent in it since returning to school.

“No, I pay extra for the sprinkles and your waffle cone.” His grin gave way to a slow smirk and he kissed her neck, sucking gently for a moment. “We could celebrate other ways…”

“Wait, no, I actually do want the ice cream.” She pulled away before he could leave a mark, giving him a warning glance. “I gotta make up for what I missed over summer.”

He laughed, getting up and offering his hand. “Alright. C’mon, genius. Jeni’s is waiting for you.”

She took his hand, but didn’t stand. “Wait, Rafe. You’re sure, this is okay with you? I know you have your job lined up and all…”

Rafe paused, shrugging. “Yeah, well. Uh, Brooklyn got the job offer too, she’s already accepted it. So I wasn’t too psyched about it anyways.”

“Oh.” She nodded, thoughtful. “Have you been to New York? Or Austin?”

“I have. You haven’t? You want to go visit when you get in, so you can make your final decision?” He tugged on her hand, pulling her up into a hug and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Not sure I could afford that.” She mumbled, resting her head on his chest.

“Man, too bad you don’t have a boyfriend with money to pay for those trips.” He hooked a finger under her chin, tilted it up so he could look her in the eyes and see her scowl. “If you want to visit, we’ll go. Easy weekend trip.”

“Right.” Sophie nodded, unsure. “Maybe. I’m not even sure I’ll get in, I’ll probably be stuck here in Columbus for another year anyways.”

“Hey. Stop talking like that. You’ll help me look for jobs in New York and Texas, right?”

“Of course I will.” She confirmed. “You know, we could probably find something related to film in New York…”

He scoffed and looped his arm around her shoulders, steering her out of her room and down the stairs. “I think my dad might write me out of his will if I did anything adjacent to the film industry. Waste of my time, he says.”

She frowned, letting him usher her out to the car. “Maybe you should go talk with the career counselors, see if there’s options to combine both. You’re good at marketing too, maybe there’s something there?”

“Not sure. Haven’t really thought about any of that.” He dismissed her quickly, feeling uneasy like he did any time he thought about his future outside of school.

Sometimes he realized he was really good at absorbing other people’s interests, like he was able to always match his personality into a perfect mold to other people’s expectations. With Colin and James, and now Sophie, he was able to let his guard down a little and figure out who he was, who he wanted to be beyond his father’s expectations. He felt like he was thinking about this ten years too late - eleven year old Rafe had always written his ‘dream job’ in school as working for his dad. Now he was about to graduate, set to get a job, and wasn’t even sure if he could list his hobbies outside of hanging out with Sophie and his friends, and watching movies.

“Look, I just...I don’t want you to lose sight of what you’re actually interested in just because you need a job. You don’t have to hate your job.” She told him, carefully.

“I know.” He nodded, shutting down the conversation. “Today’s not about me, though, we gotta celebrate you, hotshot over here.” He grinned at her, leaning over to kiss her quick across the seat. “I think they have the chocolate cake back in stock, I’ve missed it.”

She picked up on his hesitation, but didn’t push it. “You’re such a creature of habit.”

“No, you’re just a psychopath picking a different flavor every time.” He shook his head as he reached his hand to rest behind her seat, turning around to back up. “Good thing I love you anyways, smart girl.”

“Love you too, sweet boy.” She replied with a smile.

taglist: @drewstarkey @lemur46 @jjmaybanksbaby @edgeofgr8 @quxxnxfhxll @obxtess @hoodpankow @vtgirl802 @outerbankies @messagesinthesky @nicolecarsley @svechnikolan @ilovejjmaybank @obxtess @abbyj1822 @oopsiedoopsie23 @g4bster @jjmaybankzz @freddymaybank @dontjinx-it @illbesafeforyou @moniamaybank @tovvaa @jailcalledlife @sunshineitsfine44 @randomficsandshit @outerbankspreferences @outerbanksbro @karsinner @kkmaybank @whoeveniskendall @lemur46

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 8: Old Friends, Not So New Tricks

Summary: When a familiar face turns up asking for Katie’s expertise, she finds herself confronted by another familiar face, this one being one she would rather never have had to see again.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Blood and SPOILERS if you haven’t seen Agents Of SHIELD….

A/N: Once again huge thanks to @angrybirdcr​ for her edit here, and the new banner for the next couple of sections of the story as we head forward through the next few parts of SSB...

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 7

O/S: Phobias

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

November 2013

There’s a fine line  between success and failure. And that last mission had well and truly teetered its way along the edge. The team had been split up after a catastrophic coms failure leaving Katie and Evans badly compromised.  They had just about got the situation under control after some quick thinking from Katie and very sharp shooting from Evans, when Steve had broken every protocol in place and run head first into a gun fire to get them out, putting himself in danger.

And Katie was livid at him.

“We had it under control!” she said, her voice raised as she stormed through the corridor away from the hangar, people turning to look. They’d been arguing about it all the way home.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t look like it from where I was standing!”

“Damned it Steve!” She spun to face him. “You weren’t standing anywhere, you were running, head first into the crossfire without even thinking about what was going on!”

“The last thing I heard was that you were surrounded-”

“This is EXACTLY what I don’t want you to do!” Katie groaned as she ran her hands over her face “Run in there without a second thought for your own damned safety or anyone else’s.”

“What do you mean anyone else?” Steve’s nostrils flared.

“You left Rumlow and Rollins completely uncovered,” Katie shook her head, “to come and save me. I’m not a fucking princess that needs rescuing Steve!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Steve’s voice was loud, displaying the anger he was feeling inside at her attitude. 

“I’ll talk to you how I want!” She snapped back. “You know everyone gossips enough about us as it is and we’re almost seven months down the fucking line…”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“…and yet you STILL give them fuel!” She threw her hands out to the side, bringing them back down to her combat outfit clad sides with a slap. “Oh look at Nova, needs her Super Soldier Boyfriend to bail her out!”

“For the last time…” Steve hissed between his teeth, but Katie completely ignored him.

“If you can’t remain objective when we work together then maybe we shouldn’t be on the same team.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t if that’s how you feel!” He practically snarled, as he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders back as his hands dropped to his belt buckle, eyes blazing. 

“Glad we understand one another.” Katie spat back, before turning on her heel and heading towards the armoury to change, ignoring his shouts.

****

After debrief, for the first time in ages Steve left work alone. He was in a foul mood, and practically wrenched his apartment door off its hinges. In part he was pissed at Katie’s attitude, but in others his anger was directed at himself because deep down he knew she was right. He’d utterly lost it when he’d heard she was in trouble and hadn’t been able to do anything else but rush in there to help get them out. It was ridiculous, she was a trained agent with a shot on her like you wouldn’t believe, and the amount of times they’d been in bad situations before…but something today, something about the way she’d sounded on the radio had gotten to him and he’d abandoned all thoughts of professionalism and gone after his girl.

Sighing he threw his keys down on the kitchen side and grabbed a beer from the fridge before making his way into the living room, toeing off his boots as he want. He dropped onto the sofa and let out a loud moan of frustration, his head lolling back against the cushions. He hated that they’d rowed, this was the first big argument they’d actually had. Sure they quibbled about small things, the fact he made her sleep on the right hand side of the bed at his because it was furthest away from the door (just in case anyone got in), the way he was a bit of a neat freak and when she did stay for more than a night his apartment looked like a whirlwind had been through it (Ok, he didn’t actually mind that so much in truth), the way she tried on every fucking outfit she owned before they went out (maybe not every outfit, but close enough…), the way he often went for a run first thing in the morning and she’d get pissed he wasn’t there when she woke up because…well, because….but all that was stuff he adored. The normal part of being with someone you were comfortable sharing your life with.

As he took a pull from his bottle his eyes rolled to the right and fell on the large photo frame on his wall. It was one she had made him for his birthday.

“Open the big one first…” She instructed, nodding to the gifts that were piled on his sofa.

He did as he was told without saying a word, picking it up and resting it on his lap. It felt like a photo frame. As he peeled back the wrapping paper he realised that’s exactly what it was. It was large with glossy pine edges to match the furniture in his apartment and filled with photos of him all from his life before the ice and his eyes grew large as he took in the faces that looked back up at him. There was a photo of him and Bucky as kids, another as teenagers, then one of them in the army- the one of them laughing that Katie had said she loved. His eyes began to mist over as he saw a few shots of his parents at their wedding in Ireland, on the steps of their tenement building at Brooklyn, one of him and his mom when he was a small boy, then he spotted one of him and Howard along with various shots of him with the Howling Commandos and finally one of him, Colonel Chester Phillips and Peggy. And at the bottom of the frame, on a silver plaque was engraved a quote from the Wizard of Oz- ”A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”

“I thought it was a shame to just keep them in a box.” Katie said gently as she sat next to him. “I wanted you to see them every day and remember you meant as much to them as they did or do to you.”

His fingers trailed over the various faces in the frame as the memories flooded his brain and he felt a lump in his throat at the wave of nostalgia crossing over him, and also at the utter thoughtfulness that had gone into her gift.

 “I picked what I thought were the nicest ones.” She continued and he was aware her tone was growing nervous. “But we can swap them if…”

“Katie,” his voice was croaky as he cut her off and looked up at her. He was right, she was biting her lip, worried that she had upset him but nothing could be further from the truth. He moved to take her face in his hands and he kissed her, hard. He pulled away and looked at her speaking with utter honesty and sincerity “This is amazing, Darlin’. Thank you so much.”

Letting out a sigh, Steve’s eyes dropped from the wall to a smaller frame on the sideboard, this one contained a photo of him and Katie a ‘selfie’ of the two of them at the Top of the Rock, taken when they had gone back to New York to visit Tony one weekend in October. He loved it, the pair of them grinning like idiots, Katie wearing a baby blue sparkly beany and matching scarf, her smile genuine and him looking like a loves-struck idiot, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he glanced at the camera. She had the same photo in her living room too.

No, he couldn’t go to bed without sorting this out. Abandoning his half-drunk bottle of Sam Adams, he shoved his shoes back on, grabbed his keys and headed out.

****

Katie didn’t even stay for debrief, more to piss Steve off than anything. It was petty, yes but she was absolutely raging at him. Their relationship had been the talk of the Triskelion for months, and for that reason, they had behaved nothing but professionally on missions, wanting to prove to not only everyone they worked with, but to themselves, that they could remain objective in their work and that them being together wouldn’t compromise the way they behaved in the field. 

And now he had fucked that.

She ignored his call which came just as she got home and throwing her phone onto the sofa she grabbed a glass of wine and ran herself a bath, turning her music up loud. She lay back under the bubbles, gently humming along to the music. Music was her thing to calm down to. She’d always played piano, right from the age of four when her mom had taught her, and she wasn’t bad at it either.

The mellow sounds of John Legend’s ‘Ordinary People’ faded into the opening notes of ‘Only One In Color’ by Trapt, and Katie paused, smiling. This song took her years back, to nights in London with colleagues in bars, and then a concert in Orlando in 2009…and Steve, it took her back to Steve and one rainy afternoon in August.

Katie shimmied around, folding laundry and dropping it into the basket as she sang, loudly. It had been ages since she’d done this, just danced around her apartment like an idiot. She turned round to grab the final load out of the machine and screamed as Steve was stood in the doorway, arms folded, leaning against the frame, that annoyingly cute smirk on his face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Jesus, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough” He grinned, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her. He nuzzled into her neck and the two of them stood there, still, listening to the song that was playing.

“What is it?” Steve asked, pressing a kiss to the spot just below her ear..

“It’s called Only One In Color, by a band called Trapt.” Katie replied, turning her head to look at him. “It kinda reminds me of you actually.”

Steve smiled as they listened for another second before he moved back, his hand taking hers as he raised it above their heads and spun her round, playfully as she laughed, before he pulled him to her.

“Dance with me.”

“What, here? In my apartment?”

“Our own private ballroom.”

“You’ve never danced before.” Katie looked up at him. “You told me.”

“I know, Peggy was right.” He took a deep breath and looked at her. “I was waiting for the right partner. So, what do you say? Teach me?”

“You know I don’t really know a lot of steps.” Katie felt a smile spread across her face as Steve placed his free hand on the curve of her waist and she began to lead them around on the spot, her right hand held in his left, her left curling up and over his right shoulder. She watched Steve, who was concentrating so hard that his brows pinched together slightly, a look that was incredibly endearing.

“Stop over thinking it.” She said gently, looking up at him. “Listen to the music and just let go.”

So he did. He let go, listening to the melody and the words, smiling a little as the lyrics hit home, really making him think about the woman in his arms. She had brought colour to his life, given him a reason to keep going in this world he had found so strange and, well, daunting. As he found his rhythm, he felt the smile pull even broader on his lips. He raised his head from where his eyes had been focussing on his feet and his girl beamed up at him, squeezing the hand that she held.

“See, it’s not that hard is it?” She giggled. Steve returned the grin and shook his head.

“Surprisingly not.” He admitted. They continued to revolve around the space in the doorway between her kitchen and laundry room and Katie lay her head on his chest, Steve’s face automatically turning down slightly so his cheek was resting against her hair. After a minute or so Katie felt him move and instinctively she looked up and could do nothing but smile as they stopped dancing and their mouths drifted closer together. Her hand slipped up, fingers stretching themselves into the short hair at the nape of his neck as his lips met hers, his hand creeping across her back, large palm pressed firmly against her spine. 

They never made it to the bedroom, they made it as far as the couch before they were both naked and going at it like a couple of horny fucking teenagers. And since then it had been ‘their’ song.

Katie sighed and drained her wine glass before she set about washing her hair and climbed out of the bath. She dressed in a pair of shorts and a hoodie before pulling her damp hair back into a French braid and had just settled on the sofa to watch TV when the buzzer to her apartment went. Picking up her phone to look at the security camera she took a deep breath and realised it was Steve.

“Sweetheart let me in. My key card is at home.”

She gave no response.

“I’m not going till you do, you know I could do this all day. Or all night.”

Still no response.

“I mean it’s a pretty interesting buzzer.”

With a groan, knowing full well the stubborn little shit in him would do just that, she pressed the button to let him in. Half a minute or so later the alert went again to signal he had requested access to her floor. Once more she tapped to accept and turned her attention back to the TV. She didn’t look up as the elevator door in the panel in her wall slid open, keeping her eyes focussed on the television as he strode into the room, heading straight for her once he’d hung his jacket up on the hooks to the right of the elevator.

“You were gonna watch this without me?” Hesaid gently, nodding to the episode of ‘Brooklyn Nine-Nine’ that was playing as he dropped down next to her.

“Yes.” She replied simply, her arms folded.

Steve fought the smile spreading across his face at her childishness. He knew if she was mad the worst thing he could do was laugh at her and make her think he wasn’t taking her seriously. So, he took a deep breath and turned so he was facing her on the couch, arm resting along the back.”

“I know you’re pissed at me.” He sighed. “But come on Doll, I hate fighting with you.”

“Then stop being a dick.” She snarked back. Steve took another deep breath and looked at her as she continued. “You know what it’s like at work, everyone has constantly analysed everything I do because, hello, Howard Stark’s daughter, and today…”

She trailed off and Steve looked down at his hands and shook his head. “I know. I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t handle yourself.”

They fell into silence and Katie exhaled sharply, deciding to meet him half way. She knew he hadn’t meant to make her feel like he had but, there was also a part of her that had been scared. Not just for her and Evans, but seeing Steve rush in, headfirst with no regard for his own safety just to get to her had really frightened her. Despite his enhanced nature, he wasn’t invincible.

“You need to trust me when I’m out there.” She spoke, her voice was softe.

“I do trust you, you know that.” He looked at her. “But I’m not gonna apologize for looking out for you, Sweetheart. It’s my job. Both as your Captain and your man.”

“I get that, I do.” Katie sighed. “But you put yourself in danger today, running straight into the middle of a fire fight…can you imagine what I’d have done if you’d have been…”

She trailed off, swallowing and took a deep breath before she continued and her words hit Steve. He hadn’t considered she had felt as worried about him as he had her.  

“We have to remain objective, and if that means you can’t just abandon the team for me.”

“I know, you’re right, I’m sorry.” He said finally.

She looked at him and took a deep breath, the anger dissipating at his apology and moved to give him a hug, her arms round his shoulders as he wrapped his around her back and pulled her clumsily into his lap.

 “I’m sorry for reacting the way I did.” She sighed as she lay her head against his.

“Forgiven?” He asked and she looked down at him, he was giving her his puppy dog eyes. She rolled her own, she couldn’t stay mad at him, especially when there was a small part of her that couldn’t help but adore the fact he cared so deeply for her that he’d rush in, head first with no regard for anything else.

“Captain Dumbass.” She grumbled, before giving him a soft kiss.

“Guess so.” He chuckled. And when she didn’t protest he gently tapped her thigh, and knowing what he wanted she shifted off his lap so he could lay down flat on the sofa, allowing her to drape herself over him like  blanket, head on his chest as his arms wrapped around her back, legs tangling together as they settled in to watch their programme.

*****

Katie hadn’t been in the office for five minutes the next morning when she got a message to say Fury wanted to see her. In the years she had known the director, she still found it hard to get a read on him and this time was no exception. She stepped into his office and he nodded to her, and without a word got straight to business, leading her over to the screen on the wall by the sofas.

“I was wondering what you made of this.” He said nodding to the large screen on the wall. The photo displayed was of a tree trunk, cut in half and running down the middle was a long, tube like shape, with some markings on it. The photo zoomed in and Katie frowned.

“These look like the markings on Thor’s hammer.” She looked at the Director.

“Funny you should say that.” Fury nodded. “Because the Spectrographic signatures match the readings from Thor’s hammer too.”

“So whatever was in that tree was Asgardian?”

Fury nodded. “It looks that way, Nova, yes.”

“Where was it found?”

“That’s a trunk from a Norwegian spruce in Trillmarka National Park, Norway.”

“Figures.” Katie bit her lip.

“How do you mean?” Fury looked at her.

“The legends of Thor, they all have origins in Norway. When I asked him about it, Thor explained that Asgardians visited Earth thousands of years ago.” She explained. “They roamed Norway, mingling with the old Norse people, but back then, because humans couldn’t understand the concept of people from another planet, these, well, these aliens were revered as Gods.”

Fury gave a noise of understanding.  

“So who took it?” She asked. “Has Thor been back since the whole incident in Greenwich or…”

“I wish he had, then I wouldn’t really give a shit.” Fury sighed. “This thing has gone AWOL. According to my team on the ground, it was taken by a woman and a man, very much of Earth”

“Great.”  Katie rolled her eyes, before she continued, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Because every time something alien lands in human hands that ends well.”  

Fury gave a snort and pressed a button on a remote and she turned her attention to the TV on the wall of the office. It was screening a news broadcast, footage of a riot. The runner on the bottom of the screen identified the location as Oslo.

“The rioting has left twenty injured and three in a critical condition. Reports indicate that the group of about a dozen was led by this man and woman.”

A picture of the culprits filled the screen. The man was tall, dark haired, dark eyed and had a short beard. The woman, in contrast was slight, blonde and with icy blue eyes.

“And although their motive was unclear, the message was spelled out on the streets of Oslo, for all to see”

“It looks like the item has given them powers beyond those of normal humans.” Fury spoke as the newscast panned over to a fire on the street, this time an aerial view. The fire spelt out the words “We are Gods”.

“So what do you need me to do?” Katie asked, looking at him.

“I’m gonna need you to work with one of my field teams.” Fury continued, looking at her. “My best field team, actually. I want you to help them track these guys down. You have a decent knowledge on Asgardian and Mythological history and the team could do with someone with a little background on the subject.”

“Sir, if these people are as powerful as this report is saying, shouldn’t we consider at least trying to contact Thor, possibly the rest of the Avengers?” Katie looked at him.

 “No.” Fury’s response was instantaneous. “I don’t want the Avengers involving. It would attract too much attention.”

“With all due respect, they just set a street on fire. I dare say it’s already attracting a fair amount of attention so whats-“ She trailed off as Fury looked at her, an expression on his face that Katie knew extremely well having seen it several times before. The expression he wore when he was about to drop a bombshell. “Oh, what are you hiding Nick?” She frowned.

“I want you to understand that you’ve been kept in the dark about this so far for a reason. And I know you’re going to get emotional, but if you could refrain from throwing that coffee you’re holding, Nova, I’d appreciate it.”

“Dark about what?” She pressed, her tone irritated. She didn’t have time for this bullshit.

Agent Fury pressed a button on his phone on his desk. “Alright, you’re up.” And with that the TV snapped onto a different channel and she turned to see a familiar man sat in a chair on the screen.

Katie didn’t throw the coffee, instead it slipped from her hands as her mouth dropped open and the entire room swam in front of her eyes.

“Sorry, boss. The God rabbited” 

“Just stay awake. EYES ON ME!” 

“No. I’m clocked out here.” 

“Not an option!” 

The room came back into focus again and she looked from the screen to Fury, then back. “This…this is impossible.” She stammered.

“I’d have said the same thing myself not long ago.” Phil Coulson gave a shy little smile.

Katie found herself floundering for words before the anger at the lies and deceit bubbled up.

“No, you…you died! I was there, I saw it!”

“Excellent medics.” Fury concluded.

“They took you away, in a body bag!” Katie’s voice rose to a yell as she ran her hands over her face, unable to believe what she was seeing. She’d cried, mourned the loss of one of her friends, a man who had been her mentor. She looked at Coulson on the screen, and then away again, her eyes misting up slightly.

“No one knew I’d pulled through until after New York.“ Coulson spoke softly “I spent months recovering in Tahiti. It’s a magical place.”

“I want your word that you will not reveal Agent Coulson is alive to anyone.” Fury spoke and Katie turned to look at him, her face curling up in an angry sneer. “I debated long and hard about pulling you into this but we need you.”

Katie eyed the director, chin jutting upwards as she glared at him. “Don’t you ever get tired of the lies?”

“I have no option.” Fury’s face was stern. “I can’t risk the Avengers falling apart.”

“I’m not lying to them for you.” She shook her head “No way. A team is built on trust. Without that you have nohing.”

Fury looked at her for a moment, before he sighed. “That wasn’t a request, Agent Stark. If you tell anyone I’ll remove you from service.”

“So now you’re blackmailing me?”

“I’m merely pointing out your options.” Fury replied simply.

“You are unbelievable.” She shook her head. “Fuck you. Fuck this.”

She turned to walk out of the door before Coulson’s voice rang across the room.

“Katie, please. We wouldn’t be asking this of you if it wasn’t urgent, but we really do need your help

The use of her first name, not her code name, made Katie stop in her tracks. Taking a deep breath she spun back, fire in her eyes as she glared at Coulson’s image on the screen. “Why should I?”

“Because, ” Coulson continued, “you’re the only one I trust enough with this.”

Katie ran her hands over her face, torn between wanting to leave and her desire, sorry, duty to help. In the end her duty won out and she felt her shoulders slump as she looked back towards the two men, giving them both a curt nod.

“Fine, but that does not mean that I’m happy about this. Any of it.”

“You’ll rendezvous with the Bus in Oslow.” Fury instructed, ignoring her emotion completely. “There’s a Jet being prepped to take the new shift of mobile STRIKE team members out as we speak. You can go with them.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged. With a final roll of her eyes she made to leave the room before Fury called after her.

“Agent Stark.”

“What?” she demanded as she spun round, fixing her eyes on his.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But I had to do it.”

She swallowed, before she turned and left, not trusting herself to respond.  

*****

Steve was looking for Katie, he knew she’d been to see Fury and was eager to find out what it was about. After asking a few agents if they’d seen her he finally tracked her to one of the kitchens where she was sat, hugging a cup of coffee like her life depended on it, staring down at the table. He frowned, she looked absolutely beat.

“Sweetheart?” He asked tentatively as she looked up at him. His frown deepened when he saw her face. She looked distraught. “Honey, what is it?”

One look in his eyes and Katie knew she couldn’t lie to him, she didn’t want to lie to him. Fuck Fury, fuck all of this.

“Coulson…he…” She stammered, looking up at Steve, her eyes wet.

“What about him?” Steve frowned.

She took a deep breath, tears now rolling down her face. “He’s alive, Steve, he’s fucking alive.”

And then the dam broke and she began to sob. Steve instantly went into autopilot, pulling out a spare chair and moving it close to her so he could wrap his arms around her as she cried into his tevlar clad chest, his own mind whirling at the news.

Eventually she calmed down to tell him everything. And Steve listened, not saying a word, simply holding her hand, his thumb skating over her knuckles as she spoke. He did, however, make an angry noise that was half way between a snort and a growl when she told him Fury had threatened to sack her if she told anyone.

“I honestly thought I’d seen it all, that nothing life threw up would ever surprise me again.” She sighed looking at Steve as she finished explaining.

“Ten bucks says you’re wrong.” He smiled softly and she spluttered a watery laugh through her tears, remembering what she’d said to him the first time they had met. “There’s my girl.” Steve reached over to gently brush her cheek with his hand. “I like it better when you smile.”

“Sorry, but I’m so angry. Fury is lying, again! Has he learnt nothing from everything that’s happened over the past few years?”

Steve didn’t say anything, merely studied her face for a moment and then both of them turned their attention to the door when one of the Junior Agents appeared.

“Agent Stark, Director Fury asked me to tell you we’re wheels up in an hour.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, sniffing before she looked at Steve. “I don’t even have time to pack.”

“You got some stuff in your locker, right?”

She nodded. She always had a few days’ worth of clothes in her locker and toiletries to hand, just in case. She ran her hands over her face and stood up. “You know, I don’t even know who I’m meeting!” She shook her head. “Other than Fitz and Simmons, I’ve no idea who Coulson has on The Bus.”

“Whoever it is I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Steve assured her. “And I know it’s shitty but they asked for you for a reason.”

“Suppose I best make the most of it, seeing as it will be my last mission, you know, on account of me telling you.”

“It won’t come to that.” Steve shook his head “I’m not gonna tell anyone I know.”

“Fury always finds out.” Katie sighed. “Tony is right about him. His spies have spies.”

Thirty minutes later she was walking to the hangar, suited in her SHIELD cat suit, Steve carrying her holdall for her as they walked. The Captain didn’t like this, he hated that she was effectively being manipulated and he would have loved nothing more than to give Fury a piece of his mind but he couldn’t, because he wasn’t supposed to know. They reached the bottom of the jet and Katie turned to him as he handed her bag to one of the agents who nodded to them both.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.” She promised as Steve looked down at her and nodded

“Make sure you do.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not sure how I’m gonna cope without my best girl.”

“Your best girl?” She teased. “How many others do you have?”

“One or two.” He shrugged. “But they’re in different states, so, they don’t count, right?”

She gave a laugh as she shook her head. “Jerk.”

Steve chuckled and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “You know you’re the only one for me, Doll.” He dropped a soft kiss to her lips. “Just go do what you gotta do. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He kissed her again, this time a little longer, although both still well aware that they were in the middle of a very busy hangar, surrounded by a lot of people. Sighing, Katie pulled back and allowed herself to melt into his arms for a quick hug before she stepped back.

“I love you.” She said gently.

“You too. Be careful.” He looked at her, his features verging on stern with his warning.

“I’m always careful.” She grinned, walking backwards up the ramp, wanting to look at him for as long as possible.

“Well that’s just an out and out lie.” He raised an eyebrow, hands dropping to the buckle of his belt.

She grinned, blew him a kiss and then disappeared into the main part of the jet. Steve watched for a second as the ramp shut before he turned and left the hangar.

*****

The flight over to Oslow wasn’t too long. Katie used the time to do as much reading up on the item they were tracking as possible, going through all the files that Coulson had sent her. Eventually they docked with The Bus and her and the other agents made their way to the Air Lock. The doors shut and the capsule took them down a level before the frosted glass doors opened and there, stood in front of her, was Phil Coulson. The other agents pushed past, clearly fine at the sight of a dead-not-dead man in front of them.

There was a moment’s hesitation, where Coulson and Katie simply looked at each other, and then Katie’s anger boiled over and she stepped forwards, slapping him, hard across the face. The agents who were milling around all paused as Coulson’s head snapped to the side.

“Guess I deserved that…” He said, turning his head back to look at her as everyone hastily carried on with their jobs.

As Katie stared at her old mentor, her anger melted away and with a little sigh she threw her arms around him.  Coulson squeezed her back, before Katie moved a little to look at him, before she spoke for the first time.

“Good to see you again. Not dead, I mean.”

Phil gave a chuckle. “You too Nova. Come on, the rest of the team are waiting in the lab.”

He led her down the hall, Katie following, her eyes taking in her surroundings before Coulson stopped at the end of a corridor, near a door to a room that she could see had a glass wall.

“Now, before you go in, there’s something else you should know.” Coulson turned to face her and she looked at him, letting out an angry groan.

“What now?”

“I want you to know, Fury didn’t want me to tell you as he didn’t think you would come, it wasn’t my decision to keep it from you.”

“Keep what from me?” Her temper was flaring again. “I swear to God AC I am this close…”she held her fingers an inch apart, “to losing my shit!”

Coulson hesitated for a moment and then opened the door to the lab. As they walked in six people all looked up from what they’d been watching and turned to face them. One of them was a dark haired girl she didn’t know and next to her were Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz who Katie knew from the labs when they had worked with Lawson. Then she spotted Melinda May, an agent only rivalled in fighting skills by Natasha.

And then a pair of familiar dark eyes met hers as another familiar face looked up from a tablet.

“Oh for fucks sake!” Katie muttered and she turned to Coulson who shrugged apologetically.

“Good to see you too.” Ward grinned as Katie folded her arms and glared at him.

There was a moment’s pause as the two simply stared at one another, Katie’s teeth grinding together in irritation, before the girl with the dark hair spoke. “Okay, so this is awkward…”

“And this is Skye.” Coulson spoke, breaking up the tension. “She’s a…”

“Hacker.” May supplied, at the same time Skye replied, “consultant”

Katie was really struggling to keep her temper under control now, so missed the irritated glare Skye shot at May. First Coulson, now this. Fury was going to absolutely get the full Stark-slash-Supernova explosion when she got back.

“So, shall we get down to business?” Coulson asked, spotting the look on Katie’s face, realising she needed to focus on something else. “What have you got?”

“We’ve managed to identify our thieves.” May spoke as Sky pressed something on the tablet she was holding. A close up of the woman’s face appeared on the holo-projector in the middle of the room.  “Her name is Petra Larson”

“And this is Jakob Nystrom, her boyfriend. Both thirty.  Leaders of a Norse Paganist hate group”

 “And their numbers are growing thanks to what happened in London and the internet” Sky scoffed. “Yay internet,”

“Norse Paganist?” Simmons questioned

“Obsessed with anything derived from Norse mythology, stories of Asgard, yada yada.” Skye explained. 

“And now a weapon.” Ward gestured to a long object on the table which Katie hadn’t noticed until that point.

“Is that a 3-d print?” She asked, instantly captivated by the item, looking at Fitz who nodded. “May I?”

“Of course…” He said. Katie picked it up and turned it over in her hands, testing the weight as she scanned it up and down. The detailing was exquisite.

“The scan accounted for only one side.” Fitz explained. “There was too much damage to the tree for a complete reproduction”.

“But, see here, it’s clearly broken on both ends.” Katie held it up. “So there are more pieces.”

“Yeah, two at least” Fitz responded, nodding.

“Which means Sid and Nancy may be looking for a complete set.” Ward spoke as Coulson turned to Katie.

“The markings. Just as you said on the call they’re Asgardian symbolism.”

She looked at the item in her hand and nodded. “Similar to Thor’s hammer.”

“Yeah, hard to translate with our limited knowledge.” Couslon shrugged.

“You should give your buddy the God of Thunder a shout.” Sky spoke “He gets his powers from his hammer, right? What if this is his nail to the hammer?”

“He’s off grid.” Coulson looked at her. “And if he has a cell-phone, we don’t have the number.

“I told to get him a pager.” Katie muttered as she peered at the rod and then something stirred in her mind, and she began racking her brains. There was something similar about this, something that she’d seen or read before, if she could only remember what.

“So,” May looked at Katie, “SHIELD’s investigations are on the trail of Nystrom and his followers.”

“We’re charged with identifying the object and finding any other pieces before they do.” Coulson finished.

Katie nodded, still thinking. “If this acts in the same way as Thor’s hammer then that’s a sensible task.”

And then she trailed off as it suddenly hit her exactly what it was she’d been trying to remember.

“No, it can’t be.” She muttered as Coulson looked at her questioningly. She nodded to the item in her hand and then looked back at him. “I could be wrong but this…this could be a piece of the Beserker Staff.”

“The what?”  Ward frowned.

“It’s from an old legend that a great warrior, from another world came to Earth” Katie spoke, recalling the research she’d done once upon a time. “He had in his possession a magical staff but he loved Earth so much he never left, and he broke the staff into pieces and hid them.”

“Any idea on where?” Coulson asked.  Katie shook her head.

 “Well our Pagan friends certainly seem to have some advantage on that front.” Ward sighed. “They found this thing in a hundred and fifty square kilometres of Norwegian forest.”

“Guys, what if it called to them with magic?” Sky asked, her eyes going large and excited.

“Called to them?” May shot her a ‘be real’ look in response.

“We know it’s Asgardian, so the rules are a little bendy here.” Skye pressed.

“Just because we don’t understand something yet doesn’t mean we should regress back to the dark ages, talking of magic and fairy tales” Simmons shook her head and Fitz scoffed his agreement.

“Actually, that’s exactly what we need to do.” Katie looked around as the idea came to her.

“Excuse me?” Simmons asked.

Ignoring him, Katie turned to Agent Coulson. “Remember when we first found the hammer in New Mexico, and I told Fury to consult with an expert on Norse Mythology to fill the gaps.”

“Elliot Randolph,” Phil nodded.

“We should speak to him, he’ll know more about it than me.”

“Alright.” Coulson nodded, looking at May. “He’s a professor at the University of Seville. Set the course, let’s pay him a visit.”

“Shouldn’t take us too long.” May shrugged “But it is getting kinda late. By the time we get there it will be past eight in the evening local time. Can I suggest we head out first thing tomorrow morning?”

Coulson nodded. “Alright. Sounds like a plan. Okay team, lets wrap it up here and get something to eat. Think we’ve earned it.” He then turned to Katie, gesturing with his head for her to follow him out of the room.

He led her down a few more corridors and to a flight of steps which led up to the upper deck of the large airship.

“The Accommodation is probably a bit smaller than you’re used to, but…”

 “If it’s that bad imma find a hotel.” She shrugged as she followed Coulson down the corridor.

“What and miss all the fun?” Phil looked over his shoulder. “I’ve had the gin bar stocked specially.”

“Yeah, for the record that isn’t going to take away from the fact that I’m utterly pissed at you and Fury”

“I know you well enough Nova to not even hope that would be the case” Coulson snorted as they turned right. Eventually they reached the living area and Coulson led her to one of the spare rooms.

It wasn’t as bad as Coulson made it out to be, a bed that was slightly bigger than a single but not a full double, with a small wardrobe and a small basin to the side.

“This isn’t so bad.” She turned to Phil who was watching her a little cautiously.

“Glad it meets your approval.” He nodded, leaning in the door way before he took a deep breath. “Look, I really am sorry about all of this. I wouldn’t have-“

“Let’s just find that thing and then I can go home.” Katie cut him off, not in the mood for anymore apologies or explanations. She had a job to do, and the sooner she did it, the sooner she could get back.

“That’s the plan.” Coulson nodded. “I’ll be in the bar in an hour or so, got a few things to sort out before but, well, it would be nice if we could catch up.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Katie replied. There was a pause before Coulson gave her another curt nod.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

With that he turned and left and Katie’s eyes fixed on the now empty doorway. With a purposeful stride, she moved forward and pressed her palm to the pad at the side, the door sliding shut with a slight click.

Katie turned around, looking at her bag which had been placed at the foot of her bed and with a loud, angry groan of frustration she flopped backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

***** Chapter 9

**Original Posting**

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (2)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.7k warnings: descriptions of a controlling relationship, bucky is undercover as james, a wild peter appears, brock is an asshole 🌹series masterlist 🌹

“I thought I told you to keep these out of sight.”

Brock held up a copy of Jane Eyre, waving it around impatiently as you crossed the room to take it off his hands. You held the book close to your chest, brushing your hands along the fabric of the aged binding and took in the comforting scent of the pressed paper and ink. There was a slight aroma of aged brandy that burned in your nose and you looked down at the book to find a splash of Brock’s drink seeping into the cover of the near two century year old novel.

“Sorry,” you muttered, thumb brushing against the stain, a slight tremor in your voice. You turned to leave the room but Brock’s hand caught on the edge of your dress, grabbing a firm hold of the fabric and you stilled instantly. Your grasp on the book ached in your hands.

“You forgot something, baby.”

Muscles tensing, body clenching, you took a deep breath and pushed out a smile as you turned around to face him, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. He tasted of cigar smoke and liquor despite the clear blue of the morning sky outside. You held onto the book pressed against your heart like it was a lifeline as he caged you with a hand gripped into your hair.

He let you go with a satisfied hum and you exhaled a breath of relief. He turned back to the papers on his lap without another thought to you and you quickly disappeared from the living room to return the book to its home.

Chills pressing bumps into your skin, you rushed down the hall until you found the sanctity of the library and closed the doors shut behind you. Leaning against the frame, you glanced down at the book, running a hand across the blue cover, tracing along silver lettering.

The stain had dried, a slight discoloration in the cover and you clenched your teeth so tightly it ached in the muscle. You set the book back on the shelve, squeezing it in amongst The Tales of Angria and Emma, your favorites in Bronte’s collection.

You stepped back from the shelf, admiring the precision of it, the colorings of the aged fabric of the covers and the intricately designed lettering on the bindings. It was beautiful; hundreds of years’ worth of knowledge and art and most brilliant creative works of humanity all gathered in a single room. Hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on these shelves. It was the only thing you put your time into these days; all that Brock would allow you access to the accounts for, so you didn’t get any… ideas.

You groaned, falling onto the couch and tucking your knees to your chest. A half empty cup of tea from the night before sat on the end table still seeping. There was a light ring forming under the cup, but you didn’t mind. It would add to the collection. Something about this place needed to feel imperfect and homey, unlike how polished and clinical as the rest of the mansion was.

It hadn’t always been this way, your relationship with Brock. You didn’t always feel so trapped in your own home, restricted to putting everything you had into a single outlet and spending your life locked away in a room your husband didn’t bother to ever step inside.

You had met Brock when you were a professor at Columbia in one of the cafes down by your office building. He had a charming kind of smile and was impossibly sweet for his stature and the scars littering his skin. He was easy to fall in love with and you supposed just about anyone would be if they were purposely catering every thought, feeling, and behavior to mold into what you wanted him to be.

He played the part of a loving boyfriend for nearly three years. You’d married quickly, with a short engagement, because he insisted he was just so in love that he couldn’t wait another second. You’d believed him because you were a girl who had grown up with an elusive father who spent more time in his office than at your recitals and scholarships ceremonies and poetry nights.

His disappointment in your love of the arts and literary fiction left a hole in your chest that Brock easily filled. Brock was the one who built the library in your shared home and encouraged you in your work at Columbia. He bragged incessantly about your accomplishments and joined you at every departmental fundraiser. He was perfect in every way, if only on paper.

Everything changed the night your father died and his millions were inherited to you, his only living child. Brock became distant and cold, and you had convinced yourself that he was grieving. He had been close with your father, after all, but the darkness never went away. He convinced you to transfer your inheritance to a joint account so he could take care of you, so you could take a step back and mourn without having to worry about paying bills and funeral costs and mortgages.

You never saw a penny of that money again.

It didn’t take long before you learned of Brock’s connections to Hydra, his apprenticeship under Alexander Pierce, and the crimes he committed in the dark cover of night when he slipped from your bed for nearly five years.

You supposed it was your own ignorance that let it go on for as long as it did or perhaps you were simply too naïve to see it, but Brock had held you down, tied and bound for years before you even felt the ropes.

You confronted him with the pieces you’d put together on his connection to the criminal world and he had threatened to turn you over to the police. It had been your money funneling Hydra and you were complicit, an accessory to every crime he’d committed and the blood money he’d made since.

He had you exactly where he wanted you; trapped, with nowhere to go, no friends or family to turn to. You hadn’t even realized how isolated you’d become until you were desperate to leave. He’d found a way to separate you from the last remaining friendships you’d had before you even knew they were gone.

So, you played the part of the doting wife. You did as he asked and kept up appearances when necessary. You went to his black tie events in expensive dresses and heels because it was what he demanded. You watched as he turned your father’s wealth into hundreds of millions of dollars through drug trafficking and weapons manufacturing, all while fighting off turf wars and ordering the executions of dozens of men.

He wanted you to conform to his life. He asked it of you every once in a while, for you to take your rightful place by his side and rule the city of New York together, but you told him to shove it. You wanted no part in the world he dragged you into, kept you locked away in by threat of extortion. He was a monster by your standards.

Your relationship with him was surface level. It was a political move to marry you, seeking out your father’s money. He’d forced you to step down from your position at Columbia, isolating you from the last remaining ties you had. He controlled every aspect of your life.

So, you kissed him when he asked, slept with him when he came onto you, because you were going through the motions. You kept yourself secluded to the one place that still managed to bring you joy; your library.

You were content. Numb, but content.

But something was different now. You couldn’t place what it was, but the unsettled need for more was returning to the surface and you were desperate to crawl your way out again.

A cool breeze swept in through the window, startling you out of your memories, and you shivered, turning to quickly close the draft as to not disturb the delicate temperatures needed to preserve the books. Locking the window shut, you turned and leaned against the wall, gazing out at the walled lined with countless novels, though your eyes kept falling back to a certain Bradbury novel with red flames intricately designed on the cover.

You sighed, grabbing your bag from the table and quickly made your way out to the car before Brock could notice you were gone.

***

You had the driver drop you off in Brooklyn, a few blocks off from the Queens border. It was part of your Sunday routine as much as you could manage to sneak away, to come into the softer side of the city and visit the shops and storefronts you’d frequented in your time before Brock.

You reveled in the feeling of the cold breeze against your every step, hands pressed into your pockets and nose tucking into a scarf when the chill started to bite.

You stopped in at your favorite bagel shop, the one with a few of the letters missing from the sign, and ordered your usual from the kind, middle-aged woman at the register. She smiled as she saw you, giving you a quick wave, as she finished up with the customer across the counter.

Stepping up to the counter, you took in a heavy breath of the fresh baked bread and the bacon sizzling on the table fryers. It was heaven in a shop.

“Hey, Mrs. Marselli,” you greeted, eyeing the order board though you had no intentions to change your mind, “I’ll take a—"

“Oh, don’t you worry, dear, I know it by heart,” she grinned, calling your order down to the last detail to her husband in the kitchen. You hadn’t changed your order in nearly three years and she winked at you. The bagel came only a few moments later wrapped up tight in tin foil.

“It smells amazing, as usual,” you grinned and slid a few extra dollars over the counter.

Mrs. Marselli picked up the cash and narrowed her eyes on it suspiciously. It wasn’t the first time you gave her more than what the bagel was worth. “This is too much, dear. I might need to send you back to school with my grandson!”

“Hmm, guess so,” you shrugged as you backed away, giving her no chance to hand you back the change and excess dollars. “Have a good day Mrs. Marselli! Tell Jim thanks for the bagel!”

“Will do, honey! Stay warm!

The next stop was down at the coffee joint on the corner of the block. It sat next to a Starbucks that usually had a line out the door, but you liked the family who ran Café Ramos and wanted to hear about whether Neftali’s son made the school musical.

The bell rang as you walked inside, a short blast of warm air pushing through the frame and you let out a sigh of relief and pulled the scarf down from your mouth. A messy mop of brown curls jumped up from the register where it looked like Mateo was trying to take a mid-morning nap.

“Y/n’s here!” Mateo shouted back to the kitchen, waving you over and quickly preparing your cup of hot warm. “What can I get you this time? We just got a gingerbread tea in time for the holidays? What about a chocolate lavender? Could always go apple caramel, too…”

“Whatever you think, Mateo,” you laughed, handing him the usual cost of the drink and told him to keep the change. He turned to grab a tea bag from the tin box with a small gingerbread drawing in brown crayon on the front label. “So, did you get the part of Bernardo or what? Don’t hold out on me, kid!”

“Who knows?” he sang with a huge grin, right in tune with the classic song ‘Something’s Coming’ straight from the West Side Story score. You squealed and gave him a high five, though he tried to play it cool. Most high school juniors did.

“That’s amazing, kid! I’m so happy for you,” you bit on your lip, trying to keep in your excitement. You’d known him since he was in elementary school and he talked nonstop of wanting to nab a lead in the high school play. This was his dream. “I want a ticket when you open, you hear me?”

Mateo’s cheeks flushed pink as he pressed the lid to your tea. “Bernardo doesn’t really sing a lot but I’ve got a lot of dance numbers and we all know the Sharks are way cooler than the Jets.”

“Well, count me in as team Shark,” you laughed, taking the tea as he handed it to you. It was piping hot but the smell was intoxicating. “Don’t forget to tell your mom I said thank you for the flowers she delivered to my aunt’s house last week. They were lovely.”

“Sure thing, Y/n!” Mateo called after you as you made your way to the door. He was a sweet kid.

There was as reason you looked forward to Sundays.

Most of the stops you made on your trips alone were filled with interactions like the sweet couple at the bagel joint and the Ramos family at the café, smiles and quick questions of how their day was going, but sometimes, you’d run into people on the street who recognized you for another reason, who knew of your connection to Rumlow and Hydra and they’d take one look at you before crossing the street or disappearing into an alleyway for an escape.

You clenched your jaw as it happened for the third time in only fifteen times.

This time, it was a young man, maybe in his college years with a dark purple bruise on his eye. He was walking with his head down, he almost didn’t notice you until he bumped hard enough into your shoulder to send you spiraling to the ground, trying to escape an oncoming biker who shouldn’t have been on the sidewalk in the first place.

The rest of your tea spilled to the sidewalk and the last bite of bagel was lost to the road. You only had a few sips of the tea anyway and it would give you a decent excuse to grab another on your way home, so it was no loss to you. Though, your tailbone would beg to differ.

“Oh shit! Sorry about tha–” The kid froze dead in his tracks when he finally got a look at you. He reached out quickly and pulled you to your feet, stepping away to give you distance.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” you said, trying to laugh it off but you recognized that petrified look in his eye. He almost certainly knew your husband you wondered what he part of Brock’s world he could possibly be involved in at an age so young. He didn’t seem to be hearing a word you said, so you tried again. “No harm done, kid. Really. I’m perfectly fi–”

“Please, ma’am, I wasn’t lookin’ where I was going,” he begged suddenly, hands shaking now as he glanced around the street nervously, like he was waiting for an attack. “Please, don’t tell Mr. Rumlow. I didn’t– I didn’t mean to–”

He didn’t even give you a chance to convince him that you’d never tell Brock something so trivial and that he had no reason to be afraid, but he bolted off before you could.

“Wait!” you called after him, but it was no use. He was already down the block, glancing back at you over his shoulder like he was running from enemy fire. A frown pushed at your lips, aching in your cheeks as you picked up the empty cup and the foil from the bagel.

Murmurs of bystanders hung in the air around you and you noticed an elderly couple whispering amongst themselves and pointing in your direction. They knew who you were and gossiped amongst themselves. You just hoped word didn’t get back to Brock, but still, these sorts of things always did.

***

When you finally made it to the bodega in Queens, you spotted your cousin sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, mindlessly scrolling through his phone, though his mess of brown hair popped up at every horn that blared in the streets, which was pretty often.

“Parker!”

Peter’s head snapped up in your direction, smiling bright in relief, and he jumped up from the sidewalk, rushing the rest of the way and crashing into you at the center of the crosswalk. His grip around you was tight and he nuzzled the cold of his nose into your shoulder.

“I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show,” he mumbled. Voice muffled as spoke against the lining of your coat. It was a rough time of year for the Parkers. The anniversary of his uncle’s death had just passed last week. You let him hang onto you longer than usual.

You chuckled, glancing around at the pedestrians as they sent you irritable glares in their efforts to step around the two of you. You ushered Peter back over to the sidewalk, not daring to pry his arms from around you.

“Come on, Pete, you know I’d call if I couldn’t come,” you reminded him. “Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you, huh?”

He laughed a little, pulling himself away from your embrace and nodded.

“What’s on our agenda for today?” you inquired, nudging his shoulder to pull that smile out of him again.

“Aunt May wanted me to deposit some checks,” Peter said, gesturing to the lump in his coat pocket. They must be condolences from the funeral. It was nearly five years ago now, but May had a hard time bringing herself to deposit them. Looked like Peter finally convinced her to let them go. “The banks out in Brooklyn though, and I know you just came from there so it’s okay if you don’t want to walk that f—”

“I don’t mind,” you replied with a shrug, hoping to ease some of his tension. “It’s a nice day and I’ve got time.”

That got him smiling, at least.

As you followed Peter along the sidewalks back to Brooklyn, you were relieved to find that he still had the energy to talk a mile a minute, telling you everything from how school has been, his progress on his latest project for the science fair, his escapades with his buddy Ned, and the kid named Flash who had some kind of vendetta against him.

“How’s Michelle?” you asked him suddenly. He nearly choked on air, coughing to alleviate his surprise and you laughed into your scarf, trying to hold it back for the sake of his ego.

“Oh, she’s—uh—she’s good,” he stuttered, chuckling nervously and running a hand through his hair. “I was thinking I might try and find this necklace for her, actually. She really likes the Black Dalilah. You know, like the murder?”

You raised an eyebrow, listening intently as Peter explained and you couldn’t help but feel grateful you weren’t in high school anymore. All these rules about how to interact with everyone and constant pressure to say the right thing. It was exhausting. Though, if you were honest with yourself, your life wasn’t much different now as it was then.

“What about you? How are things with Brock?”

You blinked a few times, surprised to look up and find you were a few blocks past where you’d last checked. You brushed a hand through your hair, shaking out the knots.

“Oh, you know, same as usual,” you said, not willing to give Peter any more detail than he needed. He knew nothing of the underground world your husband operated in and you planned to keep it that way. As far as Peter knew, Brock was the owner of a dance club in midtown. Nothing more.

There was an ache in your voice though, a slight sort of tremble that Peter usually picked up on though he didn’t force it. You felt his eyes as he glanced over at you, hands tucked into his pockets and shoulders hunched up by his ears to hide from the cold, trying to find evidence of your hurt upon your face. Your eyes were downcast, lips pressed to a frown.

He’d seen the change in you after your father died and he had thought it was grief, even for a man who wasn’t around much to begin with. He had tried to give you space but even you knew you had lost pieces of yourself that never healed again and it wasn’t because of your father.

“Come on, kid,” you huffed, swatting at his arm enough to trip him a few steps and get him laughing again, “I’ll race you to the bank.”

It was only two blocks away and you were on back alleys with minimal traffic anyway. It was something you used to do when you were younger and you’d be the one watching him after school. It was all you could do to get the energy out of the little pest.

“What do I get if I beat you?”

“Pride, Peter.”

“How about donuts from McQueen’s?” he pressed, grabbing tight to your elbow and bringing you to an abrupt stop. Alright – so he was serious now.

You narrowed your eyes. “Fine. When I win, I want churros from the street vender across the block.”

“Done.”

***

An hour later you dropped Peter off back at Aunt May’s there was sweet sticky residue of cinnamon sugar on your fingers as you waved goodbye. You pulled the second churro from your bag, half eaten, and bit down on it with a triumphant smile.

Peter laughed, shaking his head as he brushed past Aunt May and slipped inside the house. She waved at you, leaning against the frame, reminding you to not be such a stranger, before you made your way home.

It had been a while since you’d spent time with Aunt May, especially after Uncle Ben passed. Hell, it had been a while since you’d spent time with anyone, really. You worked hard to keep Peter and Aunt May out of Brock’s world.

You never told him when you met up with Peter on the Sundays you were able to slip out of the house, giving excuses of your errands in Brooklyn and spending time reading in the park. He never questioned you, never thought that you would lie to him because he thought you to be feeble and submissive.

He confused you for the character in which you played for him. You weren’t the only one who could be fooled by someone who was supposed to love them.

You sighed as you pushed your way into the front door of the home, the chill of the inside no warmer than the flutter of snow falling outside. You reluctantly unwrapped your scarf, hung your coat, and eyed the emptiness of the living room. There was a loneliness in this home you were never quite able to shake, even in the moments Brock was around. It was never his company you craved.

A chill swept up your spine and you tugged your cardigan across your chest. Hoping there might be something in the kitchen you could throw together to make soup, you kicked off your shoes by the door and scurried your way across the living room. Hell, you’d even settle for a cup of tea and a PB&J if it was all you had.

Humming to yourself, you didn’t notice the murmured voices beyond the door as you pushed your way inside.

You froze in your tracks, nearly stumbling over your feet to find Brock and a few men in suits you didn’t recognize sitting around the table, eyes all trained on you.

James stood in the corner of the room, observing, and if you hadn’t already known what he did for your husband, you would have thought he was out of place.

Even the limited interactions you had with him had been decent, kind almost, and certainly nothing like the rest of the men your husband kept under his payroll. He nodded at you in acknowledgement, hands clasped behind his back. It was subtle, but it was there. It was more than any other Hydra members offered you.

Brock’s jaw was clenched when you finally dared to look in his direction, a silent warning for you to leave the room, but you huffed, letting the door close behind you as you made your way to the stove and turned on the top right burner. You usually had a bit more defiance in you after your time with Peter. He reminded you of who you used to be.

“Gentlemen, this is my wife,” Brock announced, forced smile and tight in his tone. He never offered your name, like withholding it was another lock he kept you under; dehumanized and alone.

You could hear the murmurs of approval from his business associates as you put a pot on the stove. Just as you were reaching for a can of broth from the pantry, Brock cleared his throat. You gritted your teeth and turned to face him.

“Why don’t you let Clara make something for you, baby?”

He wasn’t asking to be kind. He wanted you gone.

Clara quickly stepped in from the adjoining room, a sweet woman in her early seventies who had been working for the Rumlow family for decades and put up with far more than she should. You shook your head at her, offering a small smile as you held up your hand.

“I can manage just fine, thanks,” you replied.

“Baby,” Brock urged, the threatening nature of his voice masked under the pet name you despised, “we’re in the middle of a very important meeting.”

“You’re also in the middle of the kitchen and I’m hungry,” you snapped back, pleased by the flash of shock on his face. “You have a thousand other rooms in this house, you can’t go anywhere else?”

You’d come to regret that jab later, but the satisfaction of the way his forced smile faded down into an aggravated frown was too sweet to resist. As you turned back to the stove, you spotted James in the corner attempting to suppress a smile, though he quickly pushed it aside when Brock called his name.

“Karpov, please escort my wife somewhere she’ll be more comfortable. I’ll have Clara bring her dinner when it’s ready.”

James nodded, stern features replacing the softness of the smile and he stepped forward, gesturing for you to follow.

“You can’t be serious,” you gaped, glancing at James before you turned back to Brock.

You weren’t a child and you didn’t need to be treated as such, but with the look on Brock’s face, the redness burning in patches on his neck and the glare in his eyes as he stared you down, warning you to shut your damn mouth, and you silenced immediately.

You’d seen that look before. It wasn’t one you enjoyed being on the receiving end of.

“Ma’am, please come with me,” James requested, voice low, soft, and he placed a hand on your arm to lead you away but you yanked it from his grasp harsher than you intended.

It wasn’t him you were angry with but he was just as much a part of Hydra’s world as your husband was. He chose this life. You were forced into it. It didn’t matter how sweet and gentle he was, or the fact that he seemed to care about your books or your wellbeing. He was still a man following orders.

Frustration was etching in your skin, leaving you feeling antsy and shaken, but you stood your ground. You met Brock’s eye from across the room, a challenge of wills between you.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Brock growled, slowly standing from his position.

It was then you felt another soft touch on the mid of your shoulder blades. Gentle, guiding, and entirely unlike the hands of his men before who had yanked you from the room with a firm grasp around your wrist that left red marks and aching. You turned to find James watching you carefully, offering a nod in encouragement, and you shivered away from his fingertips.

His hand fell immediately and he made no efforts to touch you again.

You glanced back at your husband, and then to Clara who had already starting preparing the soup with the ingredients you had taken out of the pantry. With a roll of your eyes, you turned on your heels and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Brock with a satisfied, prideful smirk you’d come to loath.

“Keep an eye on her, Karpov,” Brock called out to James and you turned your shoulder to find him following you into the living room.

There was an apologetic look about him, with his hands stuffed into his pockets and his hair falling down into his face. He offered you a tight-lipped smile despite the hardened frown on your face, and it only seemed to add to the confusion he elicited in you.

“I don’t need a babysitter, just so you know,” you said, arms folded over your chest as you leaned against the back of the couch.

“Oh, I am fully aware,” James nodded, a slight chuckle escaping him. “Think you can do me a favor and let me stick around for a bit though? Just so I don’t piss off the boss?”

You laughed despite yourself. The tension quickly fading from your shoulders and your arms unfolded from your chest. Hands gripping at the suede fabric of the couch, you turned to see James smiling at you. It was bright, leaving dimples on his cheeks and wrinkles by his eyes. He was really quite beautiful if you stopped and let yourself think so, which you did not.

“I suppose I can be fine with that.“

A silence took over for a moment and he shifted in his stance. He didn’t care for the quiet, you noticed, watching the way his eyes glanced down to his watch and he started to tap his toe against the hardwood floors. It took you a few years, but you’d come to savor the silent moment likes these. They meant you were alone, out of Brock and Hydra’s reach. They were a blanket of warmth and safety.

James seemed to find them unsettling.

“I actually have something for you,” he said suddenly, a slight jolt in his body as the realization came back to him and he quickly made his way to a black backpack sitting in the corner of the living room.

You narrowed your eyes on him, wondering what your husband’s enforcer could possibly have in that bag. You watched as he dug around the inside and tried to steal a glance over his shoulder when he stood up abruptly with a sudden nervous energy about him.

He didn’t say anything as he extended his hand to you; in his grasp was a copy of A Farewell to Arms.

You swallowed, stilling immediately, as you stared at it for a moment, giving yourself just a moment to process exactly what this was before your eyes trailed up to his.

He was swaying on his feet and it surprised you to watch a man who had been hired by your husband, to have dozens of pounds of muscle on his frame, and standing at six feet tall to be so nervous. You carefully took the book from his hands, running your fingers along the print of the title before you flipped through the pages.

It was faded on the cover and the binding was near in pieces from over stretching and cracking down the middle with use, but it was still readable, even with the ring of coffee stained on the first page of chapter one. The back cover had a high school library sticker adhered to the page that looked like it had been picked at relentlessly, though it won out in the end.

Worn over the years of being passed from student to student until ultimately James took it home and kept it more than a decade ago. It was a relic. A memory. It was perfect in every way and suddenly there was a lump in your throat you couldn’t quite explain. It had been years since you’d known kindness like this inside this home.

You had Peter and Aunt May, but they were like treasured secrets; ones you kept at the furthest distance from Brock as you could. This – this book in your hands – was something else entirely. You couldn’t remember the last time Brock brought you something simply because it reminded him of you.

James managed to make your heart ache and your stomach twist all at once, and you’d only known him a few weeks. You were at a complete loss.

“I know it’s not a first edition but,” he stumbled nervously, scratching at the back of his neck, “it was one of the few classics I liked back in high school. It’s, uh, seen some things… clearly.”

He chuckled anxiously, gesturing to the worn-down binding, and after a moment of what seemed to be pure shock, you tugged the book to your chest, hugging it close to your heart. A smile lit up your face, sparkling like gold and glitter and magic in your eyes. It was like a rush of heat in your veins and breath of fresh air.

“Do you want to see the library?” you asked suddenly and he seemed surprised by that as he raised an eyebrow, taking a step back. Now it was your turn to shift nervously on your feet as you stole a glance back over to the kitchen. “You know, if you’re stuck with me for a little while?”

James smiled, the corners of his lips curving slowly into his cheeks, and he nodded.

You grinned, turning on your heels and allowing him to follow you. You kept the Hemingway classic close to your chest the entire walk and tried not to think of the implications of it or the fact that Brock never once took any interest in your books or that you’d only known James a few weeks and he already seemed to be more interested in your love of fiction than your husband ever was.

You pushed all those thoughts aside. At least, you tried to. James wasn’t making it exceptionally easy with the way he was stunned into near silence as you pushed open the heavy oak doors and led him inside your sanctuary.

“I know you said you saw it before, but–”

“Not like this,” he said with a heavy sigh, shaking his head in disbelief as he stepped inside.

You knew a forced smile when you saw it and the way James walked around the room, his hand trailing along the shelf and closely examining the titles and the intricate detailing in the woodwork, every ounce of the bewilderment on his face seemed to be entirely genuine. He paused at the end of the first row, chuckling to himself as he pulled out a novel you quickly realized was among your Bradbury collection.

Fahrenheit 451. The book he asked you about the second time you ever spoke to him. There were smiles in between, careful glances and slight nods of acknowledgment in a way none of Brock’s men ever offered to you before, but the first time he talked to you, really talked to you, without the presence of your husband, was the first time you’d laughed in that home in a long time.

“You can borrow it, if you like,” you offered, leaning against the shelf as you watched him flip open the pages, studying the near translucency of the paper and the sculpted gold framing of the font on the cover.

“Think I might be a bit too rough around the edges for something as delicate as this,” he replied and it made your stomach twist in knots with the way he laughed to himself. The feeling was so foreign to you, you almost didn’t recognize it. It had been years since anyone brought those kinds of butteries around.

“I don’t believe that’s true,” you shrugged, stepping closer. “There’s no use in having a library full of books you can’t read. It’s what they’re here for.”

“Not sure that applies to ones worth thousands of dollars,” he mumbled awkwardly, though he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the first page, like he had already started reading. His eyes were scanning the page, a slight curve of his lips as he read, and you swore your heart fluttered, but you shoved the feeling deep down because it wasn’t one you were allowed to have.

“It does, actually,” you countered and he looked up from the page to find you standing just a few feet away.

He sighed, clearly reluctant. His eyes trailed from the pages to your face, and back to the pages again. “Only if you’re sure.”

“I insist.”

You smiled at him and he closed the book, letting his hand fall to the side with the novel pressed to his hip. He nodded in appreciation.

“Guess it’s the least you could do now that I’ve gifted you such a relic,” he grinned, nodding to the novel in your hands nearly torn at the seams, with pages bending in the corners from unwanted moisture and cracks in the cover.

“Hey!” you laughed, swatting his arm playfully, “don’t knock my new favorite book.”

“Favorite, huh?”

Your cheeks hurt. Blushing and heart pounding. It was suddenly five years earlier and you weren’t tied down by rope and duty and bound to a home and husband you wanted nothing to do with. It felt like, for a short impossible moment, that maybe you could start again, maybe want something for yourself.

But James was just as much a part of Hydra as Brock was; maybe even more so because it was his hands carrying out orders. It didn’t matter that the soft hue of bright blue eyes and the sweetness in his smile seemed to contradict everything you knew about him. He was still Hydra.

Realizing you had been staring too long, standing too close, you quickly cleared your throat, stepping back and James let out a heavy sigh, looking just about everywhere around the room but at you.

A sudden knock at the door made you flinch, hand darting to your heart to hold you steady.

“Miss Y/n?” a voice called. Clara. You could smell the homemade soup from across the room.

“Just a moment,” you called back.

You were hidden behind an aisle of books, shielded by the abundance of thick covers and pages, hiding this stolen moment – or whatever it was. You glanced back at James nervously, a silent apology in your eyes and he seemed to understand immediately. It was time for him to leave.

He offered you a short smile, holding up the Bradbury novel in his hand with a slight nod of appreciation, before he quietly slipped from the library. Clara eyed him as he left, keeping a careful distance as she usually did when Brock’s employees were around. When you emerged from behind the row of shelves, she had already set up your tray on the coffee table, folding the napkin into a beautiful design.

“That one’s new around here, isn’t he?” she asked, referring to James, a slight tremor in her voice that came with age. She smiled at you, saying more between the lines, but you knew what she meant.

James didn’t seem to be anything like the other men Rumlow kept company with. He was kind, with bright eyes and a warm smile. He cared about your library and your novels without forcing his way through a conversation for the sake of politeness.

He brought you a book, one from his own home, one he kept since his school days and must have dug through old boxes for, simply because he thought it might make you smile.

He was genuine. It had been a long time since you’d known anything like that within the walls of this home.

And it terrified you.

[whitewolfmoving]

Boston Burning Part One

Pressure

Summary: After the ceiling caves in leaving Nika Stan trapped and injured on an emergency call, she's ordered to take mandatory sick leave until her injuries heal. She can think of no better place to rest and recuperate than in Boston with her (and her brother's) best friend.

Warnings: very minor description of injuries

Word Count: 1459

A/N: Here's chapter one of part one of my two-part crossover series! For a setup chapter, I personally think it sucks a bit. But I hope you like it. This story was born of my love for firefighters, my need for d/Deaf representation, and dreams no one needs to know about but that I told one of my best friends of anyway (hehe). Happy reading!

New York born and raised, Nika Stan had always been her big brother's little shadow.

When 13-year-old Sebastian loudly declared one warm evening at the dinner table that he was going to grow up and be a firefighter like the one he'd seen on the way to school, a chubby-cheeked 4-year-old Nika proudly echoed, "Me, too!" And when her big brother leaned over with his dark ocean blue eyes to kiss her forehead and whispered gently in her ear, "Of course, you will, my little Sunspot!" Nika knew then that she was born for greatness.

For Nika, that greatness took the form of many things throughout her life; from saving kittens stuck in trees and helping her neighbor Mrs. Jenkins across the street after school, to following in her brother's footsteps all the way to the National Fire Academy. Sebastian always taught Nika that she could do and be anything she put her mind to, he was her number one fan and biggest supporter. Whenever she needed a little extra encouragement, he was right there to give it to her. Likewise, Nika did the same for him.

The call that changed their lives came just after 2 AM.

Sebastian was out of bed, dressed, in the car, and walking through the doors of Brooklyn General within the hour. It was late, the emergency room was empty save for the Squad, Engine, and Truck members huddled in the far corner of the waiting area. Before he could make his way to the reception desk to inquire about his sister's whereabouts, the Squad Lieutenant intercepted him.

"Hey, man. They're treating her now and Brooklyn PD is taking her statement. Chief's with her, but she's been asking for you. Straight back, first room on the left."

"Thanks. All of you, for being here. I'll update you when I know more."

The whitewashed walls of Brooklyn General were never Sebastian's thing; he belonged on the outside, keeping people from having to enter its doors. Now, though, he carefully wandered its hallways looking and listening for the one person he never wanted to see taking up residence in the massive building — Nika. The Chief had assured him that her injuries were minor but he wouldn't believe it until he could see her with his own eyes. He continued down the hall to the first door on his left, and knocked before heading in.

To Sebastian's surprise — and the credit of the doctors on call late that night — Nika didn't look too worse for wear. He breathed a sigh of relief and acknowledged Chief Jackson briefly, before he settled in the chair at Nika's bedside.

"Frate mai mare," she greeted softly. She looked up at him with glazed honey-colored eyes, no doubt a result of the mild sedative they'd given her to help with the pain. White gauze poked out from under the right shoulder of the clean hospital gown she wore, her wrist had been placed in a hard cast and propped up on a pillow in her lap. She looked so tiny beneath the blankets.

"Sora mai mică," Sebastian answered in kind. He gently pushed a hand through Nika's hair. watching closely as her eyes fluttered shut at the comforting contact. Once he was certain she'd fallen asleep, he turned to address the other men in the room. "Did she say what happened?"

"She was clearing the top floor, called out and received no response. When she turned to leave, the owner ambushed her from the next room. The ceiling came down on top of them," Chief Jackson told Sebastian calmly. "The only thing she remembers after that is waking up here."

Dr. Fuller handed Sebastian a copy of Nika's x-ray. He hated this part, they all did. Everyone loved the younger Stan sibling as much as Sebastian did, seeing her in any sort of discomfort put them all on edge. "She's got a broken radius and second degree burns on her shoulder and across part of her chest. We'll keep her overnight for observation, just as a precaution. She can go home tomorrow afternoon but it's in her best interest to keep her off duty until her wounds heal."

Sebastian chuckled. "She's not going to like that. Thanks, Doc, I appreciate it."

"Unfortunately, the owner of the house fled the scene before we got there. But from what Nika and a few of the guys were able to give us, we have enough for a rough sketch. I'll keep you updated when we have more information, Seb. We'll find out who did this." Detective Brighton firmly clapped Sebastian on the shoulder before following the doctor and chief from the room, leaving the siblings alone.

Nika slept soundly for three days which the doctors assured Sebastian was normal for the small amount of trauma her body had endured. On the fourth day, he was growing increasingly concerned for his sister's well-being. As he weighed the pros and cons of waiting it out against going to ask Dr. Fuller to recheck Nika's vitals, Sebastian paced back and forth at the foot of her bed.

"Bas, you're going to wear a hole in the floor," Nika said. Her voice sounded rough and scratchy from sleep, but at least she was talking.

Sebastian sighed, relieved. His fingers curled around the two small devices in his right jacket pocket, she wouldn't be able to hear him without them but maybe that was for the best right now. He withdrew his hands from the comfort of his jacket pockets, stood at the foot of Nika's hospital bed and braced himself for the flood of emotion and attitude that would soon pour from his sister like rolling thunder.

"Hey, Sunspot. Glad to see you're awake," Sebastian moved his hands with such a calm fluidity when he signed. He'd learned for Nika when no one else would, it often made moments like this a lot easier for them. "How do you feel?"

"My chest is sore, but it's not too bad. Ready to get the hell out of here, honestly. Hospitals wig me out."

"You're good to go today, but you're out of work until your wrist and burns heal."

Nika rolled her eyes and scoffed indignantly at her brother's instruction. Not working wasn't something she knew how to do, firefighting was in her veins. She sighed.

Sebastian chuckled. "Look, Nik, I know you don't want to hear this. But you need to take some time off, to rest, to heal. Do it for me. Please?" He knew he had her with those last five words; Nika would do anything for her brother.

Two days later, Nika stepped off the plane at Boston Logan International Airport.

She walked through the gate with the crowd, happy to be in a place where her brother wasn't for the time being. She loved Sebastian, loved that he wanted to protect her, but his concern lately had been stifling. Nika needed a break, needed a change of scene. As soon as they'd left the hospital, she called Chris and told him what happened. Without a second thought, he told her to come to Boston, said he'd be there when she landed.

She waded through the sea of people heading for baggage claim, keeping an eye out for Chris's tall frame. She was tired, sore, and just wanted to be somewhere she could relax without thinking of the accident for a while. She needed to take her medication, the dressing on her shoulder and chest needed to be changed, and she desperately needed a drink.

"C'mon, Evans. Where the hell are you?" Nika was just about to break down and call him, when she felt a strong hand wrap around her waist from behind.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to stand around by yourself in an airport?" Chris's smooth Boston accent said in her left ear. He had her backpack slung over his shoulder and her rolling suitcase in his hand. His bright blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. "Ready to go?"

She nodded, signed back, "Ready for the pressure to stop. Thanks for letting me stay with you for a few weeks."

Chris grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, then kissed the top of her head. His voice met her ear once again. "Ah, Nik. What are best friends for, huh?"

Nika hummed. She missed her brother, but she knew she'd be safe with Chris, too. Being out of the game wasn't going to be easy for the youngest Stan sibling, she was used to the fast pace of firefighting; she counted on it as much as she counted on her brother to have her back. Without it, Nika wasn't sure who she was or who she could be.

Till The End of All Things Taglist: @arrowsandmixtapes @pinknerdpanda

[furniturebyabd-blog]

Founded in 1996 by the enigmatic Paul Maitland Smith, an industry legend who has pioneered high end furniture production throughout Asia for the past 25 years, Theodore Alexander is now one of the largest furniture manufacturers in South East Asia. Our reach is global through a retailer network that spans far and wide.

https://furniturebyabd.com/theodore-alexander

[holy-stevie]

Next to you

Summary: Steve Rogers is your best friend. You had been by his side through everything, but what happens when he gets an oppurtunity to go back to the love of his life? 

Warnings: angst, Steve Rogers is an asshole. 

a/n: Just a little steve drabble i’ve had in mind for a while now 

Please do not post my work on any other sites 

You had been next to Steve Rogers side for as long as you could remember. You met him when you were both at the sweet age of sixteen, bumping into each other awkwardly in the art room at your high school. Ever since that encounter the two of you had been best friends, the skinny blonde man with the most endearing blue eyes and strongest will had become your family.

When Steve Rogers got into an alley fight, you were there to pick him up from the ground, to make sure his wounds were treated, and he was home safely. You would step in when the punches got too brutal, when Steve wasn’t able to get back up himself. As much as he would complain at the idea of you stepping into his fights, he couldn’t help the relief he held at the right hooks Bucky had taught you to throw, the move you had learned to complete expertly at this point. You would make a joke about him having them on the rails before pulling him up from the dirty sidewalk and taking him home, making sure he was fed, clean, and dozing off before leaving.

When Steve Rogers was finally accepted into the army, you were by his side. Erskine taking the deal to take you with them, knowing that Peggy Carter wouldn’t mind having another young lady to train on her army base. Steve didn’t like the idea of you going into a dangerous war, but after you gave him the challenging glare you had been giving him for years he just shook it off. You trained together, you slightly excelling under Peggy’s watch as she wanted to make a soldier out of you as an example to the ego fed men surrounding you both.

When Steve Rogers laid in the middle of a lab in Brooklyn about to go through his life changing moment, you were right by his side. You were there giving him a comforting smile and telling him that he could do this, and he did. You stood agape next to him when he was let down from the pod, now a six-foot hunk of muscles and tan skin. You were by his side when Erskine was shot, quickly pulled to stand behind him as two more shots were fired from Peggy before both of you rush to the scientists’ side. You were by his side when he was offered his stage gig as Captain America, unable to follow him on his tour you still stayed by his side through the form of letters you sent every week.

When Steve Rogers arrived at the camp of the 107th you ran into his arms the second you saw him, neither of you caring about the mud and blood on your uniform. You stood by his side when he confronted Phillips and stormed a hydra base to save your mutual best friend Bucky Barnes. You watched from his side as he stared after the beautiful Peggy Carter in the red dress, teasing him about his lack of flirting abilities. You drank bottles and bottles of alcohol from the destroyed bar after Bucky Barnes fell from the side of a cliff in the alps.

When Steve Rogers crashed the Valkyrie into the ice to save the world, you were right next to him. You were right next to him when they found the plane 70 years later, never leaving his side for a second in the crash. You put on a brave face for him when you were told that both of you were in the future, the world as you knew it, gone. You held his hand gently when you were both escorted to your new apartment, everything changed from what you remembered. You rested your cheek against the top of his head as he cried in private over the friends he had lost, over the love that he had lost.

When Steve Rogers and the other avengers faced the battle of New York, you were by his side. Fighting back to back with the new adjustments S.H.I.E.L.D had given you both, fighting the Chitauri together. You were quick to run to his aid when he was shot down past his limit, covering both of you as you held out a hand to help him up from the ground. You slumped next to him when you ate swarma with your teammates in a run-down shop, holding each other up through the exhaustion from the battle caused by the handsome Asgardian.

When Steve Rogers was on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D aka Hydra, you were running along with him. When the deadly assassin hunting both of you was revealed to be Bucky Barnes, you fought next to Steve to get your friend back. When Bucky aimed the gun at Steve you were the one to take the two shots, giving Steve the opportunity to change the chip. You were by his side on the riverbank after Bucky had pulled you both out, barely breathing but alive. When you awoke in a hospital bed, he was by your side quietly singing along with your new friend Sam Wilson.

When Steve Rogers was in a trance from the daydream the witch had put him in, you were there by his side, holding his hand reassuringly. Patiently waiting for him to come out of the trance, whether that be in a breakdown or a sudden surge of leadership with the team. You stood by his side as your team fought a team of feral robots, both of you jumping from the robot made asteroid with seconds before it dropped.

When Steve Rogers didn’t sign the accords you obediently stood by his side, arguing with the people you were starting to consider family. You helped him fight through a German police force to save Bucky, ending you both locked in the headquarters as Tony pleaded with you to sign the document. You stood next to him to fight against your team for the sake of your childhood best friend Bucky Barnes. You helped each other up off the ground after the power from Tony’s suit was cut, not saying a word as he drops the shield that Howard Stark had made for him.

When Steve Rogers stood in the outskirts of the legendary city Wakanda, you were right next to him as you always had been. You fought the hardest you ever had on that day, not stopping for even a minute to let the aliens surrounding you get the advantage over you. You faced the Titan together, getting knocked down together. You stood by his side while you both watched Bucky Barnes disappear.

When Steve Rogers lost all hope in himself, you were there by his side on the bedroom floor, holding him as he broke. You sat on the cold floor patiently for hours as he cried, what seemed like endless tears. You went to every support group with him and made sure he was fed, clean and asleep before taking care of yourself. You were there the countless nights he woke up screaming for his friends, his family.

When Steve Rogers and the remaining Avengers planned the time heist, you were by his side, watching the natural leader in him and Tony take over. When he stood a few feet from the love of his life you were standing by his side, lips pressed together as you watched the longing flash across his face. When he laid defeated on the ground you were by his side pulling him to his feet, “We’re soldiers Rogers, we die on our feet.” You were by his side as you both mourned the loss of Tony Stark.

Now you sit next to him, but you are not by his side. You sit with your hands clasped together, not daring to meet his eyes as you fight the tears from escaping your eyes. He was leaving, leaving Bucky and Sam, leaving you. You should have put the dots together when he was standing at the damn window, she was his everything.

“But what about us? Do we not matter anymore Steve?” You ask, you know your question wasn’t fair. He had been fighting his whole life and he wanted to settle down, have a family. With his true love, Peggy Carter. He stands, pacing in front of you as he scoffs.

“Of course you matter, but I finally have the chance to be with her. I can have everything I ever wanted, I can finally settle down and have my own family.” He says, your eyes flicker up to his in disbelief. The Steve Rogers in front of you is not one that you recognise, not the one you had spent your whole life protecting.

“And I’m supposed to do what? Forget you exist? Forget that you’re my best friend?” You ask, the tears no longer kept at bay as they flow freely down your cheeks. Steve swallows before turning away from your gaze, not man enough to meet your eyes as he says the next thing.

“Peggy is all that matters to me y/n. No one is as important to me as she is, not even you.” You blink numbly as your eyes meet the ground, unable to believe the words coming from his mouth. All these years of friendship for nothing? All the times you had laughed together over a stupid dad joke Sam would tell you, all the times you would cover each other’s backs in battle or stop to make sure the other was okay. All the times you held him as he broke down from the pressure being put on his shoulders.  

You don’t say anything more to him as you stand, ready to leave the room and scream. Your eyes meet his, yours filled with tears and rage, a hollow feeling passing through them as you look at the man that you had sacrificed everything for. He doesn’t look regretful in the slightest, his blue eyes just holding the determination that you had admired since you were sixteen.

That exact look is planted behind your own eyes as you watch Sam Wilson approach the bench with a now elderly Steve Rogers occupying it. Your own eyes are hollow and dead as you stare at the pair, the space beside you, although occupied by Bucky, was haunting you. You press your lips together tightly as you turn, not giving a single second of hesitation as you storm to your car. Driving recklessly, you arrive at your apartment in Brooklyn in record time, slamming the door shut behind you.

There’s an eerie silence before you explode, throwing picture frames, tearing old photos and new ones. Ripping apart clothes and over turning the bed. After hours of rage you sit in the centre of the destroyed apartment, listening to someone knock on the front door numbly. Bucky Barnes approaches you slowly, being careful to not hurt himself on the sharp objects and he gathers your broken form in his arms.

When Steve Rogers leaves his best friend behind with no care, she breaks down in Bucky Barnes arms. Crying and gasping for air for hours, clutching his shirt willing him not to leave her. Because Steve Rogers was no longer next to her, and he never will be again.  

taglist: @scarletsoldierrr​

[tomtenadia]

Island Dreams - Chapter 17

Chapter 17 for you all.

It's finally moving in day and they have some fun and their relationships takes another step forward.

Rowan gets into an accident and he finds himself married :)

I hope you will enjoy this.

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

Moving day had arrived and gone. Aelin had been sad about leaving her house but the idea of living with Rowan was far more exciting. In the end they did manage to move everything on the Saturday. After Lysandra had gone back to London, Aelin had asked her to ship all of her boxes there and that felt like the final step. She was definitely not going back. This was it. This was her new life. Hopefully with Rowan in it. Moving boxed had been exhausting and now it was Sunday and she was staring at the mess that was her bedroom and was trying to decide where to start to tackle the indecent amount of boxes.

Luckily Rowan had solved the book problem for her. Her thirty five boxes of books had joined his extra book storage in the attic. He had joked that he might eventually turn the place in a library and Aelin had responded telling him that it was a brilliant idea. She was busy unpacking her clothes when Rowan’s head popped in her room announcing that lunch was ready. “You are wonderful.” She joined him in the kitchen isle and was ready to tuck in in another one of his wonderful meals. “Did your aunt teach you to cook?” “She did.” He answered without elaborating any further. He had briefly mentioned once that he had lost his parents but never expanded on the subject and she was not going to press him on a topic that was clearly going to cause him pain. She ate the food with a happy face and Rowan thought he would be happy to cook for her forever just to watch the smile of satisfaction painted on her face. After they polished their meal, Aelin offered to help clean. It seemed only fair. Once done she went back to her room and deal with the boxes that were still staring at her. All of her clothes were spread on the bed and she was trying to divide them into categories. At the bottom of a box she had also found a couple of her old scrubs and nostalgia had hit her hard. One box was full of knick knacks and she pushed it aside. Definitely low priority. One last box had pictures frames to be hanged on the walls. Most of them were of her and Lysandra but at the bottom she had found one of her and Chaol that had survived the purge. She threw the thing on the bed and went back to her mission: organise her wardrobe. A few hours later she was half way through her boxes and she had not noticed Rowan leaning against the door staring at her with a half smile. Aelin was sitting on the floor and seemed defeated. “Unpacking not going well?” “I hate it. I never realised how much stuff I had. When I packed everything I had Aedion and Lysandra and all we did was just dump stuff in boxes. They were trying to get me out of that house as soon as possible. Rowan sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes caught the photo abandoned on it. He took it “Is this him?” “We took that the night we got engaged. I have scrubs on because he proposed at the hospital where we met. That photo survived the purge. It needs to be destroyed.” Rowan noticed the pain in her eyes. No matter how much she hated her ex husband, he could tell that whatever they had it had mattered to her and she was still hurting about it. He put the photo down and noticed a black dress. He leaned forward and grabbed it out of curiosity. “I bought for a charity event. Wore it once and never had the chance to use it again.” She explained when she saw him staring at it in curiosity. In reality Rowan was imagining her in that dress. All of a sudden he was glad he was sitting down. Aelin saw his stare and grabbed the dress from his hands, a wicked smile on her face “Stay there,” she told him, leaving him alone in the bedroom. When she came back ten minutes later Rowan noticed her and almost had a heart attack. She was stunning. The dress hugged her curves perfectly, it had a cut on one side exposing her leg up to the knee. It was sleeveless and the top of the corset reached just under her collarbone. She turned around and showed him the whole thing and Aelin noticed desire burning in his eyes. “What do you think?” He took a step to her and his hands were on her waist “That I don’t want you to wear this dress outside. I want this view all for myself.” His voice was rough and a bit breathless. Aelin laughed and kissed him and Rowan pushed her against the wardrobe and pinned her there. Her hands went to his butt and pushed him closer to her body. His hand sneaked through the cut of the dress and cupped her butt and gasped when he realised she was not wearing anything underneath. “You will be the death of me.” He breathed against her neck where he was depositing hot kisses making her shiver. “Against a wall is another one of my fantasies…” she whispered in his ear and she felt his hand move in between her legs. “Good.” He added locking his mouth on her “it’s another one of my special skills.” Rowan deepened the kiss, her mouth opening to him. Her tongue gently brushing against his. His fingers slipped between her legs and gently brushed her sensitive spot. Aelin moaned and arched her back against him. Then all of a sudden the magic broke as he pulled away from her, kissed her forehead and walked away. Aelin’s growl of frustration was loud “Whitethorn!” Aelin shouted following to the living room “You can’t.” She groaned, frustration now rising high. What was his problem? “You always do that, you tease me, you get me all hot and then you leave.” Rowan gave her a tight smile and took a step closer, his mouth to her ear “So that when I can finally have you it will be amazing.” “And very short.” She lashed back “Because I will be so horny that I will have an orgasm at your first touch and it will last seconds.” Her eyes now fixed on his. “Who said that we can’t have a second a third and why not a fourth time? I have stamina.” Aelin growled and ran back to her room and slammed the door quite hard. She groaned for another few minutes while she changed back in her comfortable clothes. “Damn he is infuriating.” She threw the dress in one of the drawers and lay down on the bed staring at the ceiling. She wanted him so badly that she was sure she was going to combust very soon. She took a deep breath and then got up again and finished to tidy up everything. An hour later the boxes were finally gone and she had finished decorating it with her stuff and the pictures and eventually it started to feel like her place. She looked at the place and smiled happily at the final job. She picked up the flattened boxes and left the room. Rowan was in the living room reading a book on the sofa and she ignored him as she passed behind him and headed outside to bin the boxes. When she came back Rowan was looking at her. “All done?” She stormed to her bedroom and slammed the door again. Later on when she was sitting on her bed reading, she heard a knock on the door and Rowan’s voice telling her that dinner was ready. She gave in and joined him in the kitchen not without giving him a cold stare. “I am sorry,” he said. She sighed “it’s okay.” He gave offered her a plate with some food “I didn’t mean to piss you off this much.” “I am not.” He scoffed “Yes, you are.” She slammed the fork on the table “Fine. I am. I am, because damn it but I want you, okay? It’s been driving me nuts.” She finally let out her frustration “And I get it, we have a promise and I will wait but this is new. Chaol never made me feel like this. None of the guys before him did. You do. You set my body on fire with just a touch and all I want is for you to slam me against a wall and fuck me so hard that I forget my name.” “I am really good at that…” he smirked and Aelin’s heart lightened. She could not be mad at him. Not when he smiled at her like that. “Someone has a high opinion of himself.” “I definitely can make you forget your name. To be honest, I am positive I can do that just with a kiss.” He kept eating never averting his gaze from her. “You can do that by just be beside me sometimes.” She admitted. That’s how mad about him she was. “Dinner is lovely, by the way. Thank you.” She finally conceded. He smiled at her warmly. And like that their little fight was over. “So, what do you do in the evening?” “Read mostly. As you can see I don’t have a tv.” “I have a laptop with Netflix.” Explained Aelin and he looked at her with confusion. “Netflix is a website where you can watch movies and series. I pay a small amount every month. They add loads of content very regularly.” She took a bite of the chocolate cake she was sure came from his aunt. “We can watch something together.” “I guess we can do that.” “Perfect.”

After dinner Aelin had offered to clean up the kitchen since he had cooked. Once she was done she joined him in the living room and brought her laptop with her. She sat beside him, a blanket on their legs and the pc on it. She snuggled close and started browsing Netflix. “We can watch Brooklyn nine nine. It’s one of my favourites. It’s a bunch of detectives in New York. It’s hilarious but has some great storylines as well.” “We can watch something new. You don’t have to rewatch it just for me.” Aelin turned to him “I rewatch it regularly. I love it so much.” “Okay.” He said kissing her head. Ten minutes later she noticed that Rowan was actually quite involved “I like her.” He said pointing at Detective Santiago. “She is awesome.” “Those two are ending up together. I bet on it.” He commented pointing at Santiago and Peralta and Aelin squeezed his hand. “I like the new captain.” Aelin looked at him but his stare was fixed on the screen and she loved his relaxed face. Her hand caressed his hair and his eyes closed at the contact. Then trailed down and traced his ear and finally placed a very brief kiss on his neck. “She is hot. Santiago I mean.” And Aelin laughed. They binged watched the first season that Aelin decided to call it a night. She was tired from all the moving. “We can continue tomorrow.” He nodded happily. “Good night, my heart.” She said kissing him.

Their home arrangements slowly set into a regular rhythm and Aelin adapted to his way of living. She still felt like a guest and she wanted to make sure she was not disrupting his life too much. He would cook and she would clean the kitchen. She would help him with chores around the house. In their free time Rowan took upon him the task of teaching her to cook. They began with something very simple. Aelin was a quick learner and she also managed to prepare lunch a couple of times without burning down the house.

One night he was in bed and sleep was evading her. She tossed a few times and then her arm extended to the empty side of her bed. She sighed. Since she and Rowan had gotten back from their little holiday she had missed his presence at her side at night. His arms around her and his warmth. She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep.. “Damn,” she groaned in frustration throwing the sheets at the bottom of the bed. She sat up and decided to get up. After pacing for a few minutes in her bedroom she walked out of the room and reached his. “Rowan?” “Are you okay?” He asked switching the light on and sitting up in his bed. His hair was tousled from sleep and she thought he looked sexy. “I can’t sleep.” She said not moving from her spot on the doorstep. She would not move until he gave her permission. “Come here.” He said patting the bed beside him. She smiled and joined him. He lay down again and she snuggled against him and smiled when she felt his arms wrap around her, one around her chest and the other lower around the waist. His head tucked in the crook of her neck. She turned to face him “Since our trip I miss not having you beside me at night.” “Do you now?” He huffed against her skin. Aelin nodded and squeezed closer. Gods it felt so good to be in his arms. Rowan sighed “Do you want to sleep with me?” Then he heard how his sentenced sounded like “I mean you can stay in my bed and sleep in here if you like it.” Aelin looked up at him and smiled “I’d love to.” A kiss on his nose “But I am leaving my stuff in my room. I can’t move my things again.” “It sounds like a plan.”

From that night Aelin had officially moved in his bedroom. She had finally started sleeping soundly again. They had added another milestone in their relationship.

It was of the weekly mornings when Rowan had gone to teach his swimming classes and she was in charge of the bookshop and she was loving it. Aelin looked at her watch for the billionth time in the past ten minutes. Rowan was late. He would always come back at the same time but that day he was late. Over an hour late now and panic began to settle in her. He hadn’t texted her and that was unusual as well. He had always texted even if he was going to be five minutes late to open the shop. Which he knew it was not going to be an issue since he had given her a set of keys a while ago. She paced and could not concentrate on anything. In the end she caved and phoned him. The phone rang a few times. She was about to hang up when he answered. “Rowan Whitethorn, were the fuck are you?” A woman’s voice replied at the other end and Aelin’s heart started racing. Why was another woman answering his phone? He would not cheat on her. “Hello?” Said the voice on the other side and Aelin woke up. “Yes, who are you? Where is Rowan?” “My name is Dr Jamieson. Are you a relative of Mr Whitethorn?” And she almost felt sick. She had done plenty of those phone calls to know that it was not a good sign. She sat down on the chair behind the counter and placed her free hand on her knee to stop it from shaking. “Mr Whitethorn has been admitted to the hospital following a car accident.” Aelin’s brain stopped working. She could not think and definitely she could not breath. “Is… he…” “We should discuss it here at the hospital. Are you a relative?” Aelin froze. She knew hospital policy and they were not allowed to disclose the situation of the patient to someone who was not family. And they weren’t and a roommate was not in the list of the people allowed. Fuck. Her brain was too shocked to think properly. “I am his wife.” Her mouth uttered and she froze “I am on my way there. Is he still in the A&E?” “He has been taken for a CT scan. When you arrive ask for me.” Aelin thanked the woman and took a deep breath and coerced her brain to start working again. Quickly she closed the shop and went back home to get her car. Within ten minutes she was at the hospital, dropped the car at the parking and ran as fast as she could to the A&E. At the reception she asked for Dr. Jamieson and to tell the woman that Mrs Whitethorn was here. She had to remember her act. Five minutes later the doctor arrived and shook her hand. “How is he? Can I see him? Is he out of the CT?” “Mrs Whitethorn, your husband will be back from the CT exam quite soon. He was involved in a frontal crash. The paramedics found him unconscious and his head took a hit. We believe it was from rebound from the seat belts. Very likely his head hit the window pretty hard, that’s why the CT scan. He has few bruises on his ribs and torso due to the seat belts. Nothing is broken but he will be sore for a while.” “Have you checked his abdomen for internal injuries? Are his legs fine?” Her A&E training kicked in and she went through all the possible injuries from such an accident. The woman in front of her looked at her with the type of look that Aelin used to give to family members that tried to tell her how to do her job. Aelin sighed “I am a cardio thoracic surgeon. I have worked in an A&E long enough and seen enough accidents…” “I had a feeling. You did not ask the usual questions family members ask.” The doctor gave her a faint smile “I guess he will be in his room by now. If the CT comes back clear you will be able to take him home tonight but he will need to be at rest for a while.” “Thank you.” The doctor accompanied her to his room and she stopped outside for a moment. She took a deep breath and finally opened the door of his room. A sigh of relief left her when she saw him awake. “Hey…” she ran to him and kissed him while tears ran down her cheeks. She had been terrified. He tried to hug her back but his body protested at the idea of him moving. “Don’t move. You bruised your chest and your ribs.” Then she looked at the cut on his head and noted that luckily was not deep enough to require stitches. Gently she kissed it “No stitches.” And she sat down on the bed beside him and took his hand in hers. Dr Jamieson entered the room while she was kissing his forehead. “Mrs Whitethorn, your husband’s CT is clear. He has a very mild concussion and might experience some headache. If…” “If he gets dizzy, has double vision, gets confused or struggles to stay awake bring him back to the A&E. I know the drill.” The woman smiled and nodded “I will have your discharge paper ready in an hour.” And she left and Rowan was staring at her with wide eyes. “I can explain,” she said knowing full well the reason of that stare “Hospital policy is that they can’t disclose information to non family members. So I had to lie. I couldn’t say I was your sister because well, it was not believable so… my only option was to say that I was your wife. I am sorry.” Rowan started laughing but he stopped when his ribs caused him pain “It’s fine, I think it’s cute.” “I think it’s the concussion speaking.” And she kissed him again “I was terrified.” She took a deep breath “although before that I was mad at you for being late and not telling me anything. Then I phoned you and a woman picked up. Until she told she was a doctor I thought you were cheating on me.” He leaned his forehead against hers “Never. I would never do such a horrible thing to you.” “We are going home soon, and once we do, you will have to listen to me.” He tried to reply but she put a finger on his lips “No. I don’t care. I am the doctor and you will do as I say. You will stay at home and rest. I will look after the bookshop. And this is not open for debate.” “Looks like I got myself a very stern wife.” He kissed her. “Jokes aside, how do you feel?” “A bit of a headache and very sore.” He leaned back on the pillow. “How did you get in an accident. You are such a careful driver.” He flinched “I left the school, at a roundabout an idiot with a van did not respect his turn and I drove straight into him. The car—” “Shh… we’ll deal with the car later.” An hour later the doctor came back with the discharge paper “I prescribed some painkillers. He will need rest. No work for at least three days.” “Thank you doctor.” And the woman left again. “Come, let’s get you back in your clothes.” Rowan pushed his legs off the bed and Aelin helped him remove his hospital gown. Of course he was naked under it and she almost gasped at his bare body. “Dear wife, never seen your husband naked?” He joked and she tried to keep her eyes up. As a doctor she had seen naked men plenty of times, but seeing him was different. “Ok, let’s try to put the t-shirt on. This may hurt.” And it did. Because of his bruises he was in pain and lifting his arms was not an easy task. “Slowly…” they finally managed and he decided to ignore the hoodie. It was not cold outside. Then she helped him with his underwear and trousers. He leaned against her and she tried to hide her massive blush when she caught a peek by mistake. Gods, the man was perfect. “How is your shoulder?” “It’s fine.” Aelin looked at him with the expression of a doctor who caught his patient lie. “Look.” He moved it in circles and she noticed that he was moving it easily and without discomfort. “If you are lying, your are dead, dear husband.” He kissed her “I love you, my dear wife.” Before heading home Aelin stopped at the pharmacy and got the medicines the doctor had prescribed. Once at home, she pushed Rowan to the bedroom. He protested saying that it was day and he could stay on the sofa but he discovered very quickly that Aelin in doctor mode was a bit of a despot. “Just for today. Tomorrow we’ll organise the living room so you can camp there during the day but today I am home and you will stay in bed.” “Fine.” He yielded. She went to his drawer and got some clean bed clothes. “Not again.” “You are not coming to bed with that t-shirt. First, there is blood on it. Second it’s dirty and I changed the sheets this morning.” “You are so mean.” He complained. Aelin grabbed a tube “wait.” She told him when she noticed he was about to try and put the t-shirt back on “This gel will help reduce the bruises and reduce the inflammation.” She spread a bit of the gel on his chest with circular motions being very careful not to cause any more pain. Once she was done she helped him put the t-shirt back on “We’ll put a bit more tonight before bed.” “I have my very own sexy personal nurse.” She grinned in response “Yes, and you’d better listen to her.” She helped him to get into bed and then left the room and came back with a glass of water and some pills “Take these, they will help the headache and reduce the pain in general.” Rowan followed orders and she then sat happily beside him on the bed. “Do you want me to get you a book?” Rowan shook his head “I don’t feel too great to read just now.” She caressed his head and kissed his forehead “just sleep a bit, then.” “We can watch one of your shows.” She grinned. Rowan did not have a tv but she had Netflix on her laptop so she had introduced him to some of her favourite series. At the moment they were to season two of Brooklyn nine nine and Rowan seemed to love it. “I’ll be back.” When she did she had a bed tray and her laptop. She made sure Rowan was comfortable and not in a position that would cause him pain. Then she placed the tray on the bed and her laptop on it. She put her pyjama on and snuggled under the blankets with him and curled up to his chest, and her arm around his waist. “Are you okay?” “Perfect.” He kissed the top of her head. “Are we continuing with Brooklyn nine nine?” He nodded and she started Netflix. A few hours later Aelin woke up and noticed they had both fallen asleep. She closed her laptop and placed on the floor on her side of her bed. Rowan woke in that instant. “Shhh go back to sleep.” She soothed. He lay down again and she snuggled against him. Her hand went gently on his chest and brushed it gently. She had been terrified when she was told he had been in an accident. Until she saw him in his room awake she could not push away the terror in her heart. She felt his heart beat steadily and she finally relaxed and eventually fell asleep as well.

[imaginationintowords]

Wanderlust Adventures

Chapter 16

Reader x Bucky!Travel Blogger; Social Media AU

Series Masterlist

[a/n: This will be the second to last chapter of the series. Thank you for supporting this series! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you reblog I will comment back. This is a sub-blog so I cannot reply back to replies. Again thank you for all the love on this series.]

Y/n arrives outside of Bucky's mom's house in Brooklyn. Steve was waiting for her outside, like he said he would. He helps her with her baggage.

"Thanks." She says.

"No, thank-you." Steve replies.

She notices his appearance, very different from how he looked in Europe. He was clearly trying not to break down himself. Y/n gave him a hug, he let out a short sigh and hugged back tightly.

"How is he?" Y/n asks.

"Not good. He hasn't eaten anything since we've been back. Sam and I have been taking turns keeping an eye on him." He tells her as they walk up the front steps of the house.

Steve abruptly stops right before the door.

"Just want to give you a heads up. It's a bit of a mess in there. He went on a bit of a rampage and broke a few things," He warns her, "And Bucky doesn't look how he left you."

She nods her head, understanding what he was telling her.

Y/n started to feel like maybe she shouldn't be here. Who is she to Bucky? Who is she to come in here and help a man she only met two weeks prior. But if the people closest o him thinks she can help, then it's worth the shot.

As they walk into the door she's greet with someone yelling and banging on a door. She and Steve move farther into the house, Steve placing her luggage in the living room. She quickly took a look around to notice the damage Bucky had done, trying not to step on broken cups, plates, or picture frames.

"Bucky, open the door!" Sam yelled, as they found him in the middle of the hallway outside a door.

"What happened?" Steve asked.

"He locked himself in there and refuses to let me in. Or answer me." Sam explains, finally noticing Y/n with Steve.

"Thank- you for coming." Sam greets her with a tight hug.

Steve looks at her with pleading eyes, then back towards the door.

"I can give it a try." She whispers.

"Thank-you." Sam says, "We'll give you two some space."

"We'll be cleaning up out there. Just yell." she nods.

Sam and Steve left her alone in the hallway. Y/n took a deep breath and knocked on the unknown door.

"Bucky. Hey it's Y/n." she said, pressed against the door.

On the other side of the door, sat Bucky frozen at the sound of Y/n's voice.

"Bet you weren't expecting to hear my voice." She tries to keep it lighthearted.

"Steve called me. He and Sam are really worried about you. He also told me what's going on. I am so sorry James. I can't even imagine what you could possibly be going through." She paused for a second, "I'm here if you want to talk, or you just need someone to sit with you."

She waits outside the door quietly for a minute, before she hears some quiet movements from the other side. Then she hears the unlocking of the door, and some more shuffling around.

She took another deep breath, before opening the door.

She walked in and softly closed the door behind her. She took a look around to discover that this must've been Bucky's childhood room. She then notices Bucky sat on his bed, facing the window, his back towards her.

She made her way towards him, and took a seat to his left.

"Hi." she softly said, looking at his side profile.

"Hi." He very quietly said, that she wasn't even sure if he said anything.

He looked at her. She finally understood what Steve meant. He looked so broken, clearly having not slept since arriving, the dark bags under his eyes letting her know that. The sight alone broke her heart. 

She slowly brought her hand up to his tear stained cheek. Gently caressing his cheek. Bucky closed his eyes at the gentle touch, leaning more into it as she softly rubbed it with her thumb.

No words being said, just a comforting silence enveloping them. Y/n not wanting to push him to talking when he clearly didn't want to.

Bucky stopped her hand, she was taken back until he rested his head on her shoulder. She relaxed at his touch, wrapping her arm around him as best as she could. Just holding him.

After a few minutes of silence she looked at her shoulder to find Bucky had fallen asleep.

She smiled, finally he'll get a moment of peace. She slowly moved his head off her shoulder, laying him down on the bed, then placing his feet up as well. She grabbed a blanket at the foot of his bed to cover him with. Placing a soft kiss to his forehead before walking away.

As she was starting to leave his side, she felt a hand grab her wrist, she looked down then back to the man it was connected to.

"Stay with me. Please." he sadly said looking up at her.

"Of course." she softly smiled at him.

Y/n took her shoes off and climbed in next to him, where he had scooted over making room for her. She laid with her back to him as he wrapped his arm around her, cuddling up against her.

"Thank-you for coming." he whispered against her neck.

"Anytime." she replied, lacing her fingers through the ones that held her.

[Social Media AU]: Y/n is a popular travel blogger, and a freelance travel writer for a magazine. She travels the world with her two best friends, Valkyrie who is a freelance graphic designer that the reader “drags” out of bed to see the world, and Carol who’s a new up and coming model. This is the first time in a year all three girls are traveling together due to Carol’s new busy career. A month long European excursion, that might end up being their last trip together due to their lives taking them elsewhere. Bucky Barnes used to be a model but now travels the world with his best friends. He has a hard time commiting to one thing, which is why he loves to travel so much. He travels the world with his two best friends, Steve who runs a gym in Brooklyn and Sam, who works for a popular food magazine where he gets to travel and eat all the food he wants. Bucky has once again convinced his childhood best friends to join him on a month long trip to escape the trapped feeling of being back in New York. Steve and Sam are worried about Bucky and his constant need to runaway from his issues, they’re hoping this trip will be an eye opener for their friend. Inspired by: @geosaurusrrex’s social media AUs.

To support my ko-fi

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[Permanent tagged: Permanent tagged: @definitelynotafangirl @1awesomeash @princess-evans-addict @geeksareunique @sebbbystaaan if you’d like to be removed just ask and I’d be happy to do so]

[domesticbucky]

Summer rain in Brooklyn

Pairings: Bucky x Female Reader (Y/N)

Words: 3.6 k

Warnings! 18+ : Smut (soft smut, face sitting, praise kink, kinda sub!Bucky, handjobs, blowjobs), a hint of angst, 1940s Bucky in love 🤧

Summary: Bucky and Y/N get caught in the summer rain on their way home from work.

AU where Bucky survived the train, and went on to live in Brooklyn and work at the docks.

Notes: Hi! This is the first fic that I post online and it is entirely self-indulgent (and also my first smut!). English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistakes. Please give me back some form of feedback if you feel like it! Or don’t, I’ll be around anyways (hopefully). If you are not 18+, go away now!!! Go have a juicebox, idk.

Enjoy!🥰

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪☻

June 1946

The smell of rain makes Bucky pick up his pace as he walks through the familiar streets of Brooklyn. It had been an exhausting day at the docks, carrying crates and moving boxes until his shoulder ached and his soul longed to come home. Breathing out the last sea and motor-oil scented air, he turned to 7th Avenue and smiled to himself; a few more blocks and he’d finally get to see her.

Y/N had taken a part-time job at a bakery in South Slope for the summer. It had been almost a year since the war had ended but the owner’s son still hadn’t returned. Bucky admired her for her diligence and compassion, the way she never hesitated to help others, simply because she believed it was the right thing to do. Her salary was meager at best, but the old baker would always give her whatever loaves and pastries didn’t sell that day to take home with her, and she liked listening to his stories from when he first came to New York, so many decades ago. Bucky liked to think of him as a father-figure of sorts, a man that gave away his little pieces of wisdom, acquired over the years, the same way he gave away misshapen loafs of bread to soldiers too beaten up by the world to make their own.

A draft of cold air goes through his sleeve and reminds him of how beaten up he is. Carved on his left shoulder is the physical reminder of what would have surely been a deadly drop into an icy ravine in Italy, had Steve not managed to grab his arm and pull him back into the train. His left shoulder had become one with the wrecked metal casing of the train for a few moments, but he was grateful and almost happy that he had lived to tell the tale, even if it meant that he would carry those metal fragments in him forever. The slight ringing in his ears, the underlying feeling of his body feeling unusually stronger, and the nightmares were a different story, though. He would have gladly left those things back in that war-ridden continent, instead of bringing them to his home, with the rusty fire-escapes and familiar faces and the smell of freshly-baked bread…

He is just outside the low bakery door when he sees her grabbing her bag and giving the old baker a kiss on his wrinkly forehead. He briefly wonders if she will one day get to kiss him as an old man, if whatever experiments that Swiss bastard run on him will ever let him grow old and wrinkly, but his mind never finishes that thought because she is suddenly throwing herself in his arms.

”Hey Sarge, missed you”. Bucky shivers, not from the cold breeze that promises gentle summer rain, but from the feeling of her in his arms, after being apart for the day. Y/N’s hair smells of fresh bread and sugar, and for the few seconds their embrace lasts, Bucky feels like he’s home already. They pull apart to gaze into each other’s eyes lovingly. Home, he thinks again, before tugging her close again and whispering his affections into her ear. It’s Y/N’s time to shiver, and Bucky, delighted in her reaction, gives a smile and a wave to the old baker, and tugs Y/N towards the direction of their small apartment.

”C’mon Sweets, we gotta hurry or else we’ll be soaked faster than Stevie finds trouble”, he says decisively, the countless times he’s saved his little (now enormous) friend flashing through his mind as Y/N giggles. She intertwines their fingers as they walk, her palm soft in the way hands get after kneading dough and mixing sugar with spices all day, his hand ragged but invitingly warm. She lifts their intertwined hands to place a loving kiss on his worn knuckles, bruised from the day’s work, and a wave of emotions hit him in the chest. He is now even more eager to reach their little home, where the cheap curtains shield them from nosy old ladies, where the pillow cases have their initials embroidered on the side, where he can love her all he wants and the way he wants, without shame or pretended innocence. Because at this moment, he is hungry for more than fresh bread.

The first drop catches him off-guard, thoughts of how he will love her once their rickety old door closes making him tune out everything that isn’t Y/N. The second and third come in quick succession, and Y/N notices too, pausing from telling him about the little joys of her day to let her eyes follow the path of a droplet as it travels from his high cheek bone to his strong jaw, then dipping low to continue on his pretty neck, and finally disappear on the hem of his worn shirt. There’s hunger in her eyes, but it quickly turns into surprise, as the next few drops bring a myriad more, until the droplets of water running down both of them become one with their skin and clothes.

”Dammit, I thought we were gonna make it home before it started”, Bucky says in mild annoyance, as Y/N lets out a giggle.

”Laugh it up doll, but I think we are gonna be soaked before even making it past the next corner. And then you might catch a cold, and I hate seeing you sick”.

Y/N pulls them in a back alley, underneath what looks like a homemade roof extension to the balcony above them, and pulls Bucky for a hungry kiss.

”But you’ll take care of me, right baby? Give me those special kisses and love me ‘till I get better, right Barnes?”

Her voice is low and dangerous, but there’s vulnerability in it too, and Bucky can’t help biting his lip to stifle a groan.

”I’ll do anything for ya, dahlin’, feed you, bathe you, carry you and kiss you until you feel good as new, better than ever before, and then I’ll kiss ya some more ”.

It’s Bucky’s turn to lean in for a kiss, and he tastes soft summer rain and longing for more on her lips, so he gently licks along her plump flesh, silently asking for more. Y/N gladly accepts his warm tongue, gliding hers along his and softly sucking the wet muscle until Bucky lets out a sound from somewhere deep in his chest, and his hips move forward to find her figure.

He pulls away to stare into her eyes, pupils blown wide, and the rain doesn’t matter anymore.

”Honey, doll, sweetheart, let me take ya home”.

He is panting like crazy, his voice desperate as Y/N places her hand on his jaw, squeezing his chin and dropping her gaze to his lips every few seconds.

”You’re gonna be a good boy for me, kid?” she responds, her hand on his chin gripping him steadily, as her other hand moves upward to brush back a few strands of wet hair sticking to his forehead.

He manages to utter ”yes, my love” through parted, kissed-out lips, and she drops the hand previously clutching his chin to pet his sternum.

”Then take us home, Barnes”.

Bucky lifts her on previously weak knees and throws her over his right shoulder, a day’s worth of strain doing nothing to spoil the moment, as he takes off in the rain to their direction of their tiny home, with her laugh echoing off the brick buildings of Brooklyn.

----

By the time he reaches their building he is laughing too, caught up in the euphoria of sharing such a special moment with her, free of worries and anxieties, free to be playful in the gentle summer rain.

He drops her on her feet, his hand rummaging through his worn-out trousers, looking for the key. Y/N’s eyes gaze at him appreciatively, from his long legs to his broad back, his plush lips and the gentle turn of his nose, down again to his pretty neck, the curve of his waist, his thick thighs and, finally, the strain of his arousal against the fly of his work pants, the outline of it visible as Bucky searches deep in his pockets. His hand emerges with the rusty old key and he lifts his gaze from their frayed doormat to focus on the next task at hand, getting them inside as fast as possible.

Y/N pulls him from the collar of his shirt as soon as the door is locked, and drags him to their bed, repaired over the decades to provide comfort to the newest generation of Barnes’, dressed in sheets his ma’ gave him a few days after he returned from the war, embroidered by Y/N to ”make this place feel like home”.

The moment his back hits the familiar sheets, his day of labour comes crashing on him, Y/N’s warm and wet figure providing comfort and security but not quite healing his tired body. Running through the dear-old streets of Brooklyn with her in his arms had been fun, but he is afraid that standing up again is an impossibility with every press of Y/N’s lips on his collarbone.

Y/N notices his tired demeanor and the way he doesn’t respond as enthusiastically to her ministrations as she’s used to. A look to his face and the dark circles framing his still hungry eyes tells her exactly what Bucky needs tonight.

Bucky still makes an effort to sit up and meet her lips, but her hand is quick to press against his chest, his shirt wet, still, with gentle summer rain, and stops him.

”Sit back baby, let me take care of you”.

Bucky plops back down on the bed and the old thing moans with the added strain of his weight. There’s appreciation in his eyes, and they have gone glossy with all the love and adoration he feels for her. She smooths her fingers over his dark circles, before her fingers slowly card through his messy wet hair. He visibly sudders and closes his eyes, content to have her touch him, even if he craves so much more.

Slowly, Y/N sits back on his lap and starts undoing the buttons of her dress. Bucky runs his hands over the sides of her thighs, feeling the goosebumps that rise on the wake of his touch. The summer heat combined with the shortage of nylon due to the newly-over war had left even some of the most conservative ladies in the streets of Brooklyn no choice but to forego stockings, and Bucky couldn’t help but appreciate the feel of Y/N’s skin underneath his fingertips.

Y/N tugs her dress over her head, and Bucky wastes no time to move his hands higher and squeeze her hips, as he takes in her figure, glistening with the remnants of the rain that soaked through her clothes. Her undergarments are worn and plain, but Bucky thinks that she looks like a dream, the weight of her resting on his hips, her most private parts wrapped in silk.

Y/N shifts to hold on Bucky’s forearms as they explore her, while she gazes down at him from her spot on his lap. Soft wisps of light brown hair peek from the unbuttoned collar of his work shirt, and the droplets of water that hadn’t been lapped up by her mouth make his neck and collarbone glisten. She moves her gaze to his mouth, so full and plump and rosy, and as he squeezes her hips again and subtly grinds his hips up on hers, and she is overwhelmed with the need to touch him. She grabs his chin, resting her thumb on the valley between the soft muscles and rubs it between her fingertips.

”How tired are you, baby? Ok with you if I ride that pretty mouth of yours?”.

Bucky’s lips part a little more, as he lets out a responding gasp at her foul words, not quite used to the things she says in moments like this, but loving it all the same. If he was honest with himself, he loved her filthy words almost as much as he loved her praises.

”Please” he manages to blurt out desperately, the sight of his upper lip, curving as he utters his plea, making her throb in her undergarments.

Y/N shifts until her knees rest on either side of Bucky’s head, his cold, wet hair contrasted by the way his eyes stay obediently fixed on hers, and the feel of his warm breath as it hits her core with every heavy exhale.

She examines the way the late afternoon light coming from their small bedroom window catches on his glistening lips and pretty eyelashes, before she tangles her hand through his messy hair and gives him a nod of approval.

Bucky follows her silent request, and places soft kisses on her covered mound as she lowers herself on his chin. His tongue darts out to taste her through her silk underwear, and soon his kisses turn sloppy. His teeth snag on the garment, wet with rain and her arousal, and he keeps it in place as she lifts her hips upwards in order to remove it. Once she’s out of it, she takes it from Bucky’s mouth and gives him a loud and sloppy kiss on his lips, before she resumes her previous position.

”Such a good boy for me”. Her hands run through his jaw one more time before she lowers herself on his mouth again, and Bucky groans as his cock throbs in his trousers at the first real taste of her. He’s spent many times between her legs like this over the past few months that they’ve been together, but there’s always something so thrilling to him about the way she reacts to his ministrations. He loves to please her, and takes pleasure in seeing her feel good. He loves the way she tastes, the way she moves and the sounds she makes, and he loves being good for her.

Y/N tugs at his hair harder, as his mouth grows bolder. His open-mouth kisses against her core have turned into full on french kissing, and she is left breathless as she recalls all the times he has kissed her mouth that way. He proceeds to suck her clit every once in a while, but focuses his efforts into getting his tongue lower, where her taste is stronger and her moans come out lower. He is now painfully hard in his confines, and there’s an embarrassing amount of precome on his underwear.

His nose bumps against her clit with every movement of her hips. Her climax fast approaching, Y/N grinds on Bucky’s mouth harder than before, as he lays obediently on their embroidered pillows, groaning and moaning, and takes it. His enthusiastic actions have ceased, as he opts to keep his mouth and tongue in the best position for her to get herself off. With a final tug at his locks, Y/N grinds down hard on his mouth, and Bucky feels her gush her warm release on his tongue. He laps at her gently, as she comes down from her high, holding her steady as she pants above him.

He places a final kiss on her mound as she pulls herself off him, and plops down on the bed next to him, spent and satisfied. She takes another minute to catch her breath, turning her head to look at the way his chin glistens as he licks his lips.

Y/N glances at his crotch, the bulge there prominent as ever, and feels a new wave of arousal at her lower stomach at the sight. She turns to her side and straddles him once more.

Bucky lets out a grasp as she presses down on his hips again, his cock finally receiving some sort of friction after a long time, and his hands fly to her bare hips again. Y/N is busy unbuttoning his shirt, the clarity provided after receiving a release allowing her to work on the buttons much faster than he would. He shivers as the shirt is removed from his torso, the late afternoon breeze, cooled by the ongoing rain, caressing his flushed skin. Y/N’s hands are appreciatively gliding up and down his chest, making him release high-pitched whines when she passes over his nipples, hard from arousal and the cold air of the room.

”So pretty...” Y/N mumbles before she leans down to capture his right peak into her warm mouth. Bucky’s responding moans grow louder as she moves to suck and gently bite the other nipple. He whines when she lifts her face from his chest, and Y/N places a finger on his pouting lips.

”Hush, kid, let me do this for ya”, she says while gazing at his pleading eyes. Y/N knows that Bucky must have reached his limit by now, so she deftly unbuttons his pants and reaches her hand inside his boxers, finding him hot, heavy and slick.

Bucky groans loudly at the feel of her hand on him, and throws his head back as she lazily strokes him a few times.

”So hard for me” she says appreciatively, her grip a little firmer.

”It’s all for ya, dahlin’, baby-” he gasps back, the ending of the word baby choked off as she squeezes his base, and Bucky almost panics, as he feels his climax just around the corner already.

”Sweetheart, my honey, love of my life, dearest girl, please-”. Bucky is incoherent at best, but Y/N is swift to hush him once again. She takes him out of his boxers completely, and expertly twists her wrist as Bucky’s slurry words escape his parted lips, deep red and chewed raw.

”It’s ok, baby, you can let go”. She picks up her pace, her other hand leaving it’s place on his abdomen to cup his balls and tug them in time with her twists.

Bucky’s hands desperately clutch the sheets, his groans and the slick sounds of Y/N’s hands on him drowning out the sound of the rain against the half-open window. The way he’s twitching on her hand tells Y/N that he is close, so she lets the hand working on his cock move to clasp one of his hands as her mouth takes over, the hand on his balls squeezing encouragingly.

Bucky gasps as his hips move from the bed to buck in her mouth, one hand grasping the sheets and the other holding on Y/N’s for dear life. She feels his balls tighten and his cock throb violently before his release floods her mouth in spurts. She savours the taste of his release on her tongue, sucking him dry gently before moving her mouth to leave kisses all over his spent member. She gently laps at his balls and leaves a few kisses on his thighs before moving higher up, to press her lips against his left shoulder, lovingly, conveying all the sweet emotions she feels for him. She finally lifts her mouth from the scars littering his left arm to press one final soft kiss over his heart, feeling the muscle beating wildly inside his chest.

”You were so good for me, baby” she whispers in his left ear, and feels him shiver as she presses a soft kiss there as well. She leans back to look at him, finding his flushed face, his cheekbones glowing from sweat, and finally his eyes, glossed over from both the events that took place moments ago, and his love for her. Lips parted, still fighting to find his breathing, expression relaxed but unreadable.

”You okay, kid ?” she asks, concern joining on the affection evident on her own features at his lack of answer.

”You make me feel like the luckiest damn fool on this planet, sweetheart. I love you so much.” he manages, his eyes holding her gaze as she breathes out a chuckle of relief.

”Wait ‘till I make you my famous cornmeal pancakes, you can shower me with compliments then!” she says through giggles. They are both too giddy to stay serious for long, but Y/N gives Bucky a smooch on the lips before taking his chin on her hand.

”And I love you, James Barnes.” she says, kissing the tip of his nose as he smiles, and climbs out of their bed to find one of Bucky’s shirts.

----

There are syrupy giggles and the smell of pancakes in the air of their cramped apartment half an hour later. Bucky is wearing his most comfortable pair of pants, one suspender on his right shoulder while the other sits bare in the remnants of the early evening light filtering through the living area balcony door. Loose, striped socks on his feet and a smear of syrup on his chin the only other things on his body, and Y/N thinks it just might be one of his best looks. His hair had been washed and combed hastily while Y/N was making the pancakes, and finds her fingers itching to mess it up again.

Bucky catches her staring, and gives her a shy smile, her intense gaze framed by the glow of the oil lamp on their coffee table. He is sometimes self-conscious of his scarred shoulder, his changed body, himself, but Y/N keeps looking at him like he is the sun itself. He disagrees of course, but he wants to do everything in his power to make himself worthy of her love. He knows, more than anyone, that life and love are precious things that can be taken from you in the blink of an eye. He knows that he will always doubt himself, but he wants to live, and love, with you.

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I don't own any of the characters in this fic!

Let me know what you think and don't hesitate to message me!

[itsagutthing]

Places Carrie Mathison Has Lived: New York City Edition

this installment of my carrie’s apartments series is close to my heart because i also live in brooklyn, though not close to carrie. the show actually filmed a scene just a block from my apartment, but for obvious reasons i’m not going to specify which scene. i know, season six is overall meh with the exception of carrie’s blazers, but my lizard brain still goes, “that’s where i live!” so i give it more leeway than i probably should. 

carrie lives in the bedford-stuyvesant neighborhood of brooklyn, which was once primarily home to black and latino families but unfortunately is in the process of gentrifying. some light googling tells me they filmed the interior apartment scenes on a soundstage in another brooklyn neighborhood called greenpoint, which begs the question: why didn’t they just make carrie live there? greenpoint has also been gentrified but is mostly home to eastern european immigrants, so the writers could have avoided the questionable racial implications of carrie living in bed-stuy, particularly when she’s working at a non-profit that promotes racial justice. and greenpoint is also more convenient to her office in williamsburg! i know the answer to this question is probably just “brownstones look pretty,” and there are lots of brownstones in bed-stuy but not in greenpoint, but i’ll still bitch about it.

anyway, we know from quinn’s escape to the bodega in 6.02 that carrie lives close to the intersection of throop avenue and halsey street, which means she lives off of the kingston-throop A and C trains and a sort-of far walk from the bedford-nostrand G. she probably takes the G to work in williamsburg. this is information that’s only important to me, but i love public transit. 

the bike lane sign in the screenshot above reminds me how much i loved seeing carrie biking around berlin. even though nyc isn’t nearly as bike-friendly, i hope she does the same in brooklyn. 

carrie appears to have free reign of the entire brownstone, which must have been two separate units at some point — both where she and franny live and the ~garden apartment~ on the basement level that has both a full bath and kitchen. she obviously can’t afford to rent out an entire brownstone in new york city, even in bed-stuy, so my headcanon is that otto bought it as an investment property and is letting carrie and franny stay in it at a heavily discounted rate.

brownstones are typically long and skinny, as we see here. there are really only two rooms on the first floor: the living room and the kitchen.

i love seeing all of franny’s drawings strung up on the living room wall and her chalkboard/easel in the corner. this fixes an issue i had with carrie’s berlin apartment, which was that there was a weird lack of kid stuff. i don’t think that means anything on its own — we see in 5.01 how devoted carrie was to her seemingly normal life as a mother — but it’s nice to see more little touches in her brooklyn apartment. 

i assume the fireplace in the left-hand corner isn’t actually usable, but it does make the living room look homier. i’m surprised there isn’t more carpeting, since carrie loves a patterned rug. the living room looks a little cold without it. maybe she isn’t done decorating yet, though i think we’re supposed to believe they’ve been in nyc for a few months.

there’s a tv next to the fireplace in 6.05 that isn’t there in 6.01, which is very strange placement. the only furniture opposite the tv is a desk and chair, so there’s nowhere to sit comfortably while watching. i don’t think carrie spends a lot of time watching tv, but that’s still a confusing choice. i do like franny’s fuzzy chair with bunny ears, though. carrie probably ordered it on amazon but i like to imagine her schlepping it in and out of a cab.

now for the kitchen:

one nice thing the show did to convince us that this is an apartment carrie could maybe afford is that it’s not newly renovated: all the kitchen appliances are basic and/or old, and the countertops look like plastic laminate and are chipped along the edges. and there’s no room for the nice cutting boards or espresso machine she had in germany! i always find barstools charming even if they’re just a cheat to make an efficient use of counter space.

my favorite detail in the kitchen is the trio of framed drawings done by franny. again, i love all the “carrie’s a mom, remember?” touches.

the curtains are a gold color and match the curtains in the living room! carrie learned some design lessons in berlin.

even in the daytime the whole first floor feels really dark, which makes me miss the floor-to-ceiling windows in berlin. i brightened the screenshots a lot to see the details, but especially in the living room, the sunlight just doesn’t reach all the way across the house. the lack of natural light (and the fact that they filmed during the late fall) does a lot of quick work to set the dreary tone that persists for the entire season. i can’t help but compare it to the americans, which also filmed in brooklyn in the fall/winter, but at least the indoor scenes in that show were well-lit and generally warmer in both color and tone. 

i associate the early seasons of homeland with warm yellows, probably because they filmed either in the desert or in charlotte in the summertime. the shift to gray winter skies and heavy coats is a little jarring, even with berlin in the middle as a transitional urban, cooler season. 

that door behind carrie goes out to a set of stairs and their little backyard/patio:

it’s common, if a little depressing, to have bars on first-floor windows as shown in the second shot above, both to child-proof an apartment from the inside and to prevent break-ins. our first view of franny for the season is through those bars, but i’m not entirely sure what the symbolism is supposed to be. carrie already feels a separation from franny, maybe? this shot especially feels super foreboding.

carrie continues her trend of killer outdoor lounge furniture (remember the multiple chaises on her DC patio?) with the wooden chair with blue cushions right outside the back door. there are also more potted plants than i believe carrie would purchase/remember to water, especially in the winter, but maybe she figures if they’re outside they’ll get enough rain to survive.

i don’t have a lot to say about the patio itself other than i’m jealous that carrie has outdoor space.

inside by the stairs/front entryway is a framed berlin jazz poster which makes me inexplicably happy, and follows the same trend with the jazz posters she had in her DC apartment. it’s hard to tell what’s in the photos, so i’m choosing to believe they’re pictures of places she and franny loved in berlin, including some of the two of them taken by jonas. there is absolutely a photo of franny and carrie at the birthday party we saw in 5.01 where carrie’s wearing that balloon hat.

we don’t get to see a lot of the second floor, but i’m going to assume it’s just franny’s room, carrie’s room, carrie’s weird conspiracy closet, and a bathroom.

franny’s room is very colorful, with the rainbow sheets and rainbow polka dot curtains. it makes up for the dreariness of the first floor. behind carrie in that second shot is franny’s star lamp, which i love but have many questions about. it’s obviously an allusion to brody, of which there are many in season 6, probably because they’re in new york city and brody would have never served/been captured/turned/bonded with carrie if not for 9/11. assuming that carrie purchased this lamp for franny with brody’s memory in mind, does franny have anything else that’s star themed? if not, why this lamp? did carrie explain to franny that stars make her think of franny’s father, or is it just a secret nod for carrie alone? how often does carrie talk to franny about brody, if at all?

now we move to carrie’s conspiracy closet:

i’ve been in enough brownstones to know that sometimes there are strange inexplicable tiny rooms, which is what we have here. i’m sure this would be advertised as an office space on streeteasy but it really looks like a glorified closet with a confusing number of doors leading off of it. i count three total including the one saul came in — what are all these doors? i think the one on saul’s right goes to franny’s room but i don’t have a great spatial brain and i’m not confident about that assessment.

this conspiracy board reveal was kinda anticlimactic since very little happens with it, but i still felt like i needed to include it as a separate room since carrie clearly spends a lot of time here. 

i wish we got to see carrie’s bedroom because i love to scrutinize the art she has, but sadly we’re limited to franny’s room. i’m going to assume there’s a full bath up here somewhere, and a half bath downstairs that we don’t see. 

finally, we have the basement apartment that carrie allegedly rents out on airbnb. in real life it likely would be marketed as an entire unit separate from the two floors above, but since otto owns the entire brownstone / is in love with carrie he’s just letting her do whatever she wants with it.

the full kitchen is what convinces me it was supposed to be an independent unit — no one has a stove and sink and lots of cabinets in their basement. like we saw in carrie’s kitchen, none of the appliances are fancy and the countertops are nothing special, which makes the room look kinda drab but does help sell the idea that carrie could actually live here. there’s also some water damage in the corner by the fridge. i’m not sure why they decided to be realistic in season 6 — can we all recall carrie’s unnecessary two-bedroom townhouse in DC? — and it’s not particularly fun to watch, but i’m not mad about it.

the living room area of this basement actually looks cozier than carrie’s living room, with all the pillows and the exposed brick wall. i have a weakness for exposed brick walls, as we know from carrie’s DC apartment, and here it goes pretty far to make the space look homey. the couch looks like it matches the chair on her patio (with the wood frame + blue cushions), so does that mean the patio chair is meant for normal indoor use? why is it outside?? 

as we know from her berlin apartment, carrie really loves a two-curtain combo with a sheer under layer. these are dark green, similar to the navy ones she loved in berlin but not the same. i do like the thought of carrie taking her navy curtains with her from germany and relegating them to the basement to avoid the constant reminder of her past life, but i also have no desire to think about what it would mean that quinn ends up living in the basement with her jonas curtains. so those must be new! 

in summary: musings about carrie’s role in gentrification, the color palette of the show, berlin jazz poster + photos, franny’s art on the walls, star lamp, a basement living room that’s cozier than carrie’s actual living room!

[totheendofthelinepal]

OLD DOG, NEW TRICKS (PART FIVE)

SUMMARY: Bucky may be from 1940, and he may be a bit out of practice, but his neighbor next door can show him a thing or two.

NOTE: Swearing, NSFW (18+)

Getting up early for work was not something anyone enjoyed - unless they were in a job they might’ve actually liked. But that wasn’t you. The only way you describe such a thing was you were the one to point out others flaws. In other words, you checked grammar for one of New York’s lesser known papers. It was such a shock to you when you had gotten this dull job, that papers were still running. Everything was digitalized these days, and in all honesty, you had not a clue why. There was an unbeatable joy everytime you got the daily paper. The smell, the way it felt in your hands. It gave you a fleeting feeling of happiness, which was quickly followed by despair with reading what the world had to offer. But nonetheless, you loved it, more than any computer screen. So here you were again, up exactly at five am - dragging your feet as you tried to get ready. There was, however, a sight that made the early morning better - your bed. Not because of the new sheets you had just purchased, or even the fact that you swore it was the comfiest bed in the whole world…It was the man that was in it. Before you could really get a good look, you had to prioritize coffee - which made it all the more relaxing when you made your way to him. Sound asleep, Bucky Barnes laid sprawled out in your sheets - his hands peacefully on his chest - his hair in a slight curl. The aroma of Coffee filled the apartment, and you swore that you were so much farther than cloud nine. He looked damn near like an angel, peaceful as ever - his chest rising and falling at a steady pace. Unable to hide it, you smiled - he looked comfortable, and he looked incredibly handsome as he slept. As much as you wanted to keep looking, you took a quick glance at your clock - knowing that you had to do your makeup for the day, because if you kept staring you wouldn’t get a thing done.

You thought to yourself every day why you put yourself through this, waking up earlier just so you can do your makeup - you wondered it every morning, why on earth you wouldn’t choose sleep over foundation. But then again, you knew that if you didn’t put a little something you’d look like a ghost. Lost in the routine of putting your face on - you almost didn’t hear it. You tried to withhold your giggle in that moment, hearing the soft music just outside of your bathroom - you quickly discovered that Bucky was a fan of David Bowie. It didn’t take long until you heard his feet shuffle across the apartment, you assumed to get coffee - that was another thing you learned, the man loved his coffee. He almost relied on it. You put it together in your mind suddenly, that this was the first time that Bucky had really stayed the night - which meant that this was now getting to a different level in your relationship, and that scared the hell out of you. As you lost yourself once again, you heard Bucky now approach the bathroom - and you tried to keep calm, but the fact that he stayed over…It was getting to you.

“Good morning.” Bucky’s voice rasped, “Why are you up so early?“

“I got work.” You sighed with a smile, “Trust me I’d rather stay home.”

“You don’t have work for another hour or so.” Bucky laughed, “You don’t need that you know.“

Right then and there, you felt the familiar flutter in your chest that he gave you - saying something that no man has ever said to you, he was constantly surprising you.

“Well thank you,” You chuckled, “But I do it for me. Promise.”

“Man-“ Bucky grinned, leaning back to the door frame, “Women still do that fancy makeup these days, huh?“

“Actually a lot of women are taking note from your generation.” You smirked, “All about the winged eyeliner.”

“May I make a suggestion?” He smirked, walking to your small makeup bag.

“Oh, a suggestion?” You teased, looking at him through the mirror, “Please, show me your makeup skills.“

“Hey now.” Bucky defended, “I think this would look real swell.”

You furrowed your brow, wondering why he gravitated to the small lipstick - and when you saw the color you looked at him in almost disbelief. Siren in Scarlet, the bright red lipstick that you only wore out to a fancy dinner.

“Really?” You giggled, “Red lipstick?“

“Aw, come on.” Bucky bit his lip, “Show me-”

“Okay.” You took it from his hands, “But it’s bright, Soldier.“

“That’s the whole point.” Bucky placed his hands on your waist, kissing your head as you applied the lipstick.

“How’s this?” You winked, and you watched his lips form in a soft smile - his eyes were full adoration.

“I’ll tell you right now, darlin-“ Bucky moved his hands to your shoulders, “If I had met you in 1942, I’d be in a lot of trouble.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, feeling his lips against your ear now - this was a moment to remember. Before you could say much else, his hands had turned you to face him completely. This happened often, all it took was one look - a look from his blue eyes and you knew what he wanted.

“Oh don’t do that.” You whispered, “I have work in-“

Before you could defend yourself, or even prevent him - his lips had already found you with a pleasured hum. You couldn’t help it, sighing into the kiss - your hands found their way to his chest. Wrapping in his touch you let go, he was warm - still from the bed, you could hardly stand how good he took care of you.

“Call in sick-“ Bucky mumbled to your lips, “Stay with me.”

“I can’t” You whispered back, pulling away gently - you ran your fingers through his hair, “As much as I want to.“

“Fine. You win.” Bucky chuckled, “But I need to ask you something.”

“What’s that?” You smirked, tracing your fingers over his scruff - god you appreciated that.

“Go to dinner with me.” He blurted out, his hands still on your hips.

“Dinner?” You questioned, feeling your heart rate pick up.

“Don’t freak out.” Bucky teased, “Just dinner. Food.“

You waited a moment, wondering if you could tell him no - but you made the mistake of looking into those generous eyes, there was no way you could deny that.

“Okay.” You whispered, reaching up to kiss his neck - this was it, you were really taking the step forward.

“I should go.” Bucky pressed one last kiss to your forehead, “Steve’s going to be wondering.”

“Do we tell him?” You questioned, knowing that if the two of you came forward with your relationship - you might be bombarded with questions.

“Let’s just-“ Bucky smirked, “Keep this to ourselves for awhile, makes it more fun.“

“Okay,” You giggled, “You got it, Sarge.”

The both of you finally got ready for the day, and even with the conversation of Bucky even keeping a toothbrush here - things were moving along, that was for sure. But even though a part of you was nervous, the other part - the part of your heart that longed to be more, it was more than happy to keep his toothbrush here. Bucky followed you to the door, and you opened it with a grin - hating to see him leave, and hating that you had to leave him. But as soon as the door opened, you felt your heart nearly stop - Steve was just across the hall. Thankfully he had his back turned, and before he could turn to you - you shoved Bucky back into your apartment in a panic.

“Good morning.” Steve finally turned around, just in time - Bucky was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey-“ You choked out, “G-Goodmorning.“

“Heading to work?” Steve questioned, motioning to the paper in your hands.

“Y-Yeah. Yes.” You coughed over the nerves, “Out and about this early in the morning?”

“Went for a run.” Steve half smiled, “Brooklyn in the early morning is the best part of any day.“

You nodded in agreement, still thinking that Bucky was stuck in your apartment.

“You seen Buck?” Steve furrowed his brow, “Didn’t come home last night.”

“Ah, no.” You swallowed, “Look at you Steve, always worrying about Barnes.“

“Well, he’s the only family I got.” He chuckled, “He was probably at some girls place.”

Your eyes went wide, “Yeah, that-that could be a possibility.“

“Anyways.” Steve sighed, “I’m off to shower. Have a good day at work.”

“Oh, thanks.” You laughed nervously, “Thank you.“

You carefully watched as Steve disappeared in his apartment, and you tried your best to withhold your laughter of the situation. Opening your own apartment door, Bucky nearly bolted from your place with a grin - he was right, this was fun. Nerve-wracking, but fun. Watching him flee from your place, he took you off guard with a hurried kiss - then started to open the handle to the place he shared with Steve.

“Have a good day.” Bucky turned back to you with a grin.

You shook your head, walking past him to the stairs - nearly yelping when you felt a playful smack on your ass.

“Excuse you?” You giggled, straightening your skirt.

“Hands got a mind of its own.” Bucky chuckled, and just like that - he was gone into his own apartment.

You felt as light as ever, knowing that just from this morning - today was going to be a good day.

You couldn’t have been more wrong. The only good thing in your life today was this morning, and the absolute downpour was the last thing that proved it. Work was more than stressful, the people you had crossed paths with were the definition of the scum of the earth - and to top it all off, there was the biggest coffee stain in the history of man along with your new shirt. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it was of color, but white - white with a huge brown stain. You were ready to give up, ready to hang the hat on the day. But you kept reminding yourself that there was one reason you were to go home, shower - and get ready for the date tonight. It was the only thing that kept you sane today. Making your way up the stairs, you felt your feet were heavy with each step - today was horrible, but tonight was going to be better. You were sure of it. But as fate slapped you in the face again, nearly to the top of your stairs - there stood Bucky.

“Goddamnit, Bucky.” You blurted out, you didn’t want him to see you like this - a hot mess, soaked and stained.

“I’m sure you’re right.” Bucky smirked, “But why goddamnit me?”

“You weren’t-“ You took a deep breath, “You weren’t supposed to be at the top of the stairs. You weren’t supposed to see me.“

Bucky laughed, his smile almost infectious you hardly fought the curve of your lips.

“You’re cute.” He grinned, “Why can’t I see you?”

“I look like a hot mess.” You sighed, stepping up the stairs - now walking to your apartment, “I got a coffee stain, I’m soaking wet-“

“And who on earth said that’s a bad thing?” Bucky smirked, and you heard his steps walk towards you.

“I just had a bad day.” You sighed, “I’m sorry I should like a whiny little-”

“Oh no.” Bucky’s hands reached to you, turning you to face him, “Don’t apologize. I get it.“

“You wouldn’t believe the horrid day I had.” You laughed lightly, trying to keep positive.

“Oh, you poor thing.” He tried to hold back his laugh, looking down to your shirt, “When did this happen?”

“When I was on the bus.” You took a deep breath, “I had to walk everywhere with this horrid-“

“I think you look great.” Bucky smiled, his eyes your frame - his hands pushing back the wet strands of your messy hair, “In fact, I’m ready to go out right now. I’d get a lot of jealous looks.”

You bit back a grin, “Smooth.“

“I’m sorry you had a bad day.” He kissed your forehead, “But I have an idea of how to help.”

“I can’t wait for dinner.” You smiled, “You have no idea how much that helped me today-“

You stopped, your eyes going wide as you felt his hands lead you to your apartment door - the look in his eyes was what you labeled the Barnes Bedroom eyes. You swallowed harshly, taken back by his hands now tugging up your skirt.

“Bucky-“ You whispered, “What the hell are you-”

“Never had sex on a door before.” He grinned, “Mind teaching me that?“

“Anyone could-“ Your mouth dropped, he took off your panties - he was being completely serious.

“I know.” Bucky whispered, “That’s why I can’t waste any time, Huh?”

“Buck-“ You were stopped once again, your legs squirming slightly - feeling him press against you, you could feel every last bit of him trying to get worked up against you.

“Good girl.” He whispered, dipping his hand between the both of you - swiping his fingers where you needed the most.

He was right, every single problem and horrible thing that happened today melted away - you were completely lost in the moment. Your eyes fluttered closed, focusing the feeling - his fingers focusing on the sensitive nerve that would send you to the heavens. Head falling back to the door, you felt him once again - this time he was completely hard, from just pleasuring you alone. As his hand pulled away, you were almost upset - but when you watched him fumble with his sweatpants, you were suddenly thankful that he let himself free. More than anything you wanted just him right now, no foreplay - no theatrics that the both of you were such a fan of, you just wanted him. In a matter of seconds, as if he read you mind, he had slipped himself in - the both of you sighed in unison as always, like you fit just right. It felt incredible. You gripped his shoulders, nodding to let him know it was okay to move. Normally you would hate such a slow pace, but right now it was just what you needed. Legs entangled around his waist, Bucky rocked back and forth - your body nearly rolling to the door behind you, the steady pace was feeling too damn good. Releasing a small moan, his hand had slowly placed over your mouth - just to keep wandering eyes away from the sounds the both of you made. He kept himself quiet by kissing along your neck, finding the perfect spot just beneath your ear - he bit soft to the skin as he kept the both of you steady. It took a moment, but your hands found their way to his head full of hair - running your fingers through his hair, this was not only his but your personal weakness. Bucky’s hands trailed to your thigh, lifting it slightly up to get better access - and as much as you hated it, your body started to tense. Fingers gripping much harder than before, you tugged at his hair - and that was it. Releasing in mere seconds, you felt the relaxation you craved all day - being tangled with Bucky was all you needed. He stilled just after your own high, a soft grunt leaving his lips when he caught his own finish. You sighed out, in a state of pure bliss - you heard once again his beautiful laugh in front of you.

“Better?” Bucky chuckled, kissing your cheek - you were still blissed out.

“Most definitely.” You whispered, letting your legs fall - they felt like jello, but you didn’t care.

“Buck, We’ve got a call in for a miss-“

You froze entirely, the two of you hurriedly pulling apart - and before you could see what he could’ve seen. There stood Steve, before the both of you - his eyes looking over the both of you, you could tell he was trying to figure out what he just saw.

“Right.” Bucky coughed, straightening himself out, “Mission?”

“Yeah-“ Steve spoke slow, “Better pack your bags. This is going to be a two week.“

“Two weeks?” You questioned, “T-Two weeks, really?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s gaze fell to you, and the fact that you were completely disheveled.

“Right.” Bucky repeated, “We should get ready then.“

“Yeah. We should.” Steve looked back to their apartment, and you swore in that moment you had gone white.

Steve just caught you. You had no idea how he was going to react.

There were times in your life where you would come to a stop.

A bright red, flashing, and horrid sign that told you to stop everything that you were doing and come to a halt. There were stop signs all over in your life, whether it be walking to work or deciding against the small sandwich shop that looked completely sketchy. Lately you hadn’t really paid attention to the programmed defense mechanism when it came to every day life, you had been completely thrown for a loop - and it was all his fault. You were to the very minute two weeks waiting, finally coming home after a long day of work - hoping somehow that Bucky would be back. It was impossible not to think of all thats happened so far, the fact that you were now in a full blown relationship terrified you. Although it wasn’t stamped quite yet with the words I love you, or the key to a shared apartment. But you were in a relationship, the kind where you would wait home alone why he was out saving the world - wishing and hoping he would walk through the door sooner than later. Your mind not only fixated to his smile, or the way he laughed when you said something completely ridiculous - which was often. No, it was the intimacy that caught you off guard with him. The conversation was more than anything you had ever had, which made it better in bed. It was a day much like this one in the cold New York rain, you wished you had time with him in bed - tangled within the sheets, seeing that charming smile above you. God, you wanted it, but yet you were home alone - waiting for him to come back. You had kept in touch in the days he was gone, mostly about the fact that Steve could or couldn’t have caught the two of you having sex in the apartment hallway. Midway through the two weeks, you learned to let that issue go - even if you were scared to death of what Steve might’ve thought, or how he would’ve reacted. After all, he was the one that told you from the very first day of how important it was for Bucky to heal properly. For some reason, Bucky thought that taking his pants off was the solution, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the thought - remembering just how much he tried to convince you that you were some kind of magic woman healing all his wounds. You somehow made it your apartment in one piece, still soaking wet from outside - like always you had forgotten your umbrella. Ready to relax for the rest of the evening, that’s when you heard the only sound that could make your heart stop.

There at the door, you heard it - flying open, there stood Bucky Barnes before you. Soaking wet. Unable to tear your eyes away from the sight, he was in full uniform - dripping from the rain. As he stood there with a grin, you wanted to say something - anything. But you almost forgot how much he affected you. You had spent so much time reimagining him in your mind, two weeks didn’t seem long when you said it out loud. But now that he was here, it seemed like centuries since you’ve seen that handsome face.

“Hi.” You finally choked out, your eyes moving across his uniform - he looked damn good.

“Hi.” Bucky took a deep breath, starting to rip away his gloves - you swallowed harsh, knowing that he wasn’t in the mood to play any games.

“I’ve missed you-“ You whispered, now watching his hands tear away his jacket - ferociously taking away each part of the uniform, he didn’t even need to say how much he missed you. You saw it in his lust filled eyes.

“You have no idea.” Bucky groaned, striding across the room - in mere seconds his lips crashed to your own.

You audibly moaned into his cold lips, still tasting as sweet as you remembered them. His hands found their way in your hair, entangling just rough enough to lead you throughout the apartment. Expecting the bedroom, you gasped when your back hit your apartment window - it was cold, but in that moment you didn’t care. Your body was providing the heat for you with every passing second of the kiss, he was being completely unfiltered. As your body pressed to the window pane, your hands had trailed to the button of his combat pants - they were soaked from the rain, and you tugged as hard as you possibly could. Bucky’s grin nearly caused your legs to give out, he knew that was a weakness whenever he kissed you - feeling his lips curve in a smile made your body tingle in ways you never felt before. You pulled away from the kiss just so you could properly undress him - and he did the very same, pulling and tugging at every bit of material until it left your body. The both of you were already breathless, mainly from the fact that it felt like years since you had touched each other. Finally, just enough to get the job done, Bucky had pulled up your skirt - groaning once again when he felt your skin.

“You know what these skirts do to me right?” Bucky whispered, “Especially those little pictures you sent me.“

“Welcome to the 21st century.” You chuckled, “You’re welcome.”

“God I’ve missed you-“ Bucky took a deep breath, “So goddamn much.“

Your eyes fluttered close, at his very words you felt him press just enough friction below your waist - rolling his hips he was giving you just a taste of what you had been vacant of. You wiggled from the rest of your clothing, tugging even more to his combat pants, exposing his cold backside you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know you want to-“ Bucky grinned, placing your hands to the small of his back - he was right. You enjoyed getting your hands full, every single time.

“Get on with the show,” You kissed his neck, “I don’t have time to waste, sergeant.”

“Yes ma’am” He chuckled, positioning the two of you - you felt his hands grip hard to your hips.

As many times the two of you had sex, there was something you never got used to - what rested beneath his waist. Your head hit the window, your hands gripped in the strands of his wet hair - you nodded in silence to give him the go ahead after you adjusted. The window sounded slightly behind you with his first thrust, but you didn’t care. You heard the hum of metal from his hand, and you knew he didn’t feel comfortable with this - but you laced your fingers in his replaced fingers. For the first time, he let you grip - and you did it just to keep him from breaking the window. You learned it early on that the metal hand had little to no control when he felt overwhelmed with pleasure. Bodies creating their own heat, you felt his hips work in time with your own - the cold skin now created a sweat as the friction between the two of you quickened.

“Fuck-“ You dipped your head to his shoulder, your fingers wringing out the rain from his hair - it felt too damn good.

“Filthy mouth.” Bucky groaned, and before he gave you a warning - you felt your frame being pulled from the window.

He carried you, keeping you steady and tangled in his touch - all the way to the couch where he skillfully laid the both of you down. Seeing his smile made the wait worth it, just like you had dreamt about - there he was above you with that charming grin. Bucky moved only slightly, still buried deep he placed his hand on the arm of the couch to get some kind of leverage. Closing your eyes, you could’ve lost it then and there - wrapping your legs around his waist as he worked in and out of you. Bucky’s face concentrated in focus, and you knew that was a sign of him holding back so he could last longer for you - but right now that wasn’t the goal. You reached up, gently wrapping your fingers to the side of his neck - pulling him down to kiss you. It was unlike most times during sex, the kiss wasn’t rushed or desperate - it was gentle. The moment of rough sex faded, and his hips started to slow - that was when you decided that this was far better than sex against the window. Breathless once again, your lips had no choice but to pull away - but there he hovered, his lips brushing against yours with each movement of perfection. Your body couldn’t hold it in any longer, and your arms tensed up - feeling your release flood your senses. Seconds, after you felt his body still, his hand somehow found its way to your features - his thumb tracing soft circles to your lips, was something you didn’t know you needed. Your eyes looked at his features, a soft smile on his lips - his bright blue eyes completely lost in you - you felt your heart flutter from the sight.

“Hi,” Bucky whispered, almost laughing at the tangled mess the both of you were in.

You giggled, tucking his hair behind his ear to get a better look, “Hi.“

The sound of crackling from the pan is what woke you, and the smell of a late breakfast - you smiled into your pillow, knowing that he stayed the night. It was quickly something you looked forward to every time the two of you had sex, he hardly ever left - and you absolutely loved it. It was raining once again as if the universe was handing you some kind of treat - it was your favorite kind of weather, and now Bucky was home. Which made it all the better. Taking a deep breath, your hand reached along the sheets - smelling his presence still on his designated pillow he used. You rose rather slowly, your muscles feeling the aftermath of his welcome home - you knew that the soreness wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, but you were more than fine with that. Your feet had hit the cold floor, and you nearly tiptoed out of the bedroom in his t shirt - much too big for you, it provided the warmth you needed. When you made your way just to your door frame, you smiled at the sight - Bucky over the stove cooking a shared breakfast. Then it hit you, the feeling of wanting this every morning.

“Good morning.” You piped up, watching Bucky turn with a sly grin.

“About time you woke up.” He teased, “The pancakes are cold.”

“I had a long night.” You raised a brow, walking into the kitchen from your room - you couldn’t help but place a kiss on his bare shoulder, you hummed at how warm he was.t

“And why is that?” Bucky’s hand found your own, making your seemingly small hands wrap around his torso.

“My soldier came back home from a mission.” You whispered, kissing to his back again, “And he showed me just how much he missed me.“

Bucky laughed, “Well I’m sure he really did miss you.”

“I missed him too.” You wrapped your arms tighter, laying your head to his warm back - you wanted to stay here forever.

“Come on, let’s eat.” Bucky brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss before leading you away.

In the moment of happiness, you were sure nothing could touch you, seeing Bucky in your apartment - watching him cook, he looked like forever. But as soon as you sat down, the rude awakening of glass breaking - nothing lasted forever. You ducked instantly, your window shattering across the apartment - it sounded like a gunshot. As if it were second nature, you felt Bucky’s hand reach to your head - forcing you to the ground as he flipped the table. Your eyes had looked wide open, your hands covering your ears - your little piece of happiness now broken before you. 

Bucky had gone into a panick mode, looking down at you with an expression full of regret - you were now a part of his life as an avenger.