#Comfort Bedding Mattress Brooklyn New York

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No Role Modelz (ATSV Black Cat Variant! Reader Insert)

Chapter 1: Scaredy-Cat

Prologue

Chapter 1: Current Chapter

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

^^links 2 chapters!! this story is also on ao3, wattpad, and quotev under the same name ! <33

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A/N: Spot is here!!

 Hey all! Okay so first things first thank you so much for all the support of the last chapter! It honestly means alot given that ive never written before lol. Alsoooo sorry for the radio-silence after the last release, i just graduated highschool! So yay for me :) also means that ill have much more time to write since its summer break for me now. Lastly,sorry if this chapter seemed kinda slow, I wanted to try to incorporate what this universes’ Felicia Hardys “canon events”(or what would be of her canon events) would look like in this chapter to set up a bit of backstory, as someone who doesn’t read the comics nor play the games, pls forgive any inaccuracies in Felicias lore as I am only going based off of wikipedia (plus in this story reader is a minor so I wanted to exclude the nsfw trauma that Felicia goes through in og story) I also wanted to find out a way how to integrate reader into the main plot which is why i decided to feature Spot in this chapter :D thanks again for the support and don’t forget that this chapter along with any future ones will be posted to ao3/tumblr under the same title!

P.S. Much more Spider-Miles/Black Cat interactions next chapter!!

Word Count: 1844

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You remembered it like it was yesterday.

Seven months ago, Brooklyn, New York.

Your father - The Black Cat’s face on every screen in the country, but most importantly yours.

BREAKING NEWS: WORLD-RENOWNED CAT BURGLAR CAUGHT IN THE ACT : IDENTITY SHOCKS THE NATION

…huh?

LIVE ON THE SCENE: ‘BLACK CAT’ REVEALED TO BE MULTI MILLIONAIRE WALTER HARDY AFTER RUN-IN WITH SPIDER-MAN

…no, this-

THIS JUST IN: CAT BURGLAR WALTER HARDY PRESUMED DEAD AT HEIST SCENE - POSSESSIONS TO BE TURNED IN TO OFFICIALS

This can’t be happening.

It was all too much at once. 

He never kept it secret from you. You knew about your father’s job.

You knew all about what he did. The planning, the heists, the reselling, he had done it for years. And you knew all about it.  But he had been doing this for years. Long enough to allow your family to live very comfortably. Long enough that you believed he would never be caught.

But yet there you were, all that you knew burned to the ground in a matter of minutes.

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Frantically packing everything you could into any bag you could find; clothes, money, pictures, weapons, anything - before they could take it away from you. 

And when they did, it was brutal. 

Live-streamed news coverage of men raiding your home, rummaging through your stuff- your father’s stuff- as if he never existed. 

Soon enough there were auctions. Bids, worth millions, on your father’s items, broadcasted across the nation, with drinks and music and finger foods - they made a fucking sport out of it. 

You remembered it like it was yesterday, the cheers in the street after the big-bad-black-cat was pronounced dead. The endless praise Spider-man received, that of which he took with a smile on his face. You had wished you could kill him.

You remembered it like it was yesterday, the day Peter Parker died.

You laughed.

.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .  

Seven months later, Brooklyn, New York.

Ugh.

Muscles aching, you stretched up in your bed, and groaned. Ruffling the bedhead out of your hair, you reluctantly trudged out of your mattress to open a window. Coincidentally, one of your many cats was perched perfectly on its sill, wide-eyed and tail flicking in your direction.

“...This whole heist stuff is really catching up to me, huh?”

The cat stared. You sighed. You really had to get yourself some friends.

Ever since your fathers passing, you’ve basically been on your own. Shortly after all his (and your) possessions were seized, you hopped around until you managed to find shelter in a shitty apartment on the west side of town. You, fueled purely by spite (with a tasteful teeny tiny dash of vengeance on the side), inherited the criminal persona of your father, along with his criminal tendencies, and took upon yourself the name of The Black Cat. 

All this time you’ve managed to keep your identity completely secret, not even your resellers knew who you were. That came with one major drawback though… you were extremely lonely.

Even with your frequent charity rounds around the community, noone really knew who you were. Even though Black Cat was nonviolent, the name was widely feared seemingly everywhere you went. Even with your days at school, the school you’ve been going to for months now, you made your way around the halls unnoticed. 

Speaking of school, you were late. 

Shit. 

Spending ample time dazing out your window, you’ve completely lost track of time. You disregarded your hair and rushed to pull on your uniform. Stumbling around your complex you hastily dumped too large of a portion of cat food into the automatic feeder, something you’re sure the cats will be grateful for. Shoving a few snacks into your bag, you simultaneously shuffled into your school shoes, proceeding to dash out the door. 

Sprinting down the stairs, nearly tripping once, twice, you whipped out your phone to check when the next bus route would arrive. 35 minutes.

Shitshitshit.

You paused, still in the stairwell, before turning to sprint in the opposite direction, towards the rooftop terrace. Creaking open the door, you checked to make sure noone else was up there before making your way towards the edge of the terrace. To anyone else but you, it would look like a young student was about to make an unfortunate decision and jump. And jump you did. 

You fell for a few seconds, relishing in the way your stomach dropped. You’d never get tired of that feeling. Seeing the ground get closer, you released your grappling hook and latched onto the nearest building. Pulling and releasing, you quickly fell into a swinging pattern, towards Brooklyn Visions. 

Hidden from the eyes of civilians, you swung yourself through the shadows. Everyone looked so small from up there, and for a brief second, you found power in your lonesome. In the corner of your eye you noticed what seemed to be a lanky white figure clumsily flying through the air. (You paid it no mind).

Dropping down into a dark alleyway much closer to campus, you continued your mad dash towards the main entrance. Winded, you finally made your way inside the building, a thin layer of sweat shined on your forehead. The hallways were empty, class must be in session. You took a few steps forward, making your way towards your classroom until being knocked over by a student, very evidently in a hurry. 

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to-I’m just in a rush, I didn’t mean…”

The boy reached out his hand to help you up.

“Hey, it's no problem, I get it.”

You smiled, and took your hand in his. He hesitated for a moment, staring, brows furrowed at your now interlocked hands, before nodding and continuing his sprint down the hallways. 

You took in his disheveled appearance, his wonky tie, his half-tucked shirt, untied laces, dark eyes, curly hair, brown skin, sweaty palms…

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted with the shrill ringing of the school bell. Suddenly, the hallways flooded with students rushing towards their next classes, you decided to follow suit. 

On the other side of the hallway, Miles Morales lingered on how his spidey-sense flashed alarms in his head when his hand touched yours. Every nerve in his system telling him to run, fight, dodge, anything to get away from you-he couldn't put his finger on why. (He paid it no mind). Blaming it on nerves, Miles shoved his way through the packed hallways, dreading the meeting waiting for him in the guidance counselor's office. 

.    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    

School was a bust, as always. Nothing new, you made your way through the rest of the day unnoticed. As always. But you didn’t have time to think about that right now.

At the moment, you were in the middle of going through numerous number-codes on a padlock blocking the vault door to an extremely expensive gemstone. You’ve been salivating over this stone for weeks now, planning out how and when exactly you would strike to get this thing in your hands. You could see it now, the headlines, the chaos, after some rando millionaire’s little rock was taken from him…

“Woah, hey, you’re new!”

You flinched, hard. Whipping around towards the source of this unusually chipper voice. You were met with… a cow? … Man?

You stared, hard. 

“Okay, hey. The ogling isn’t necessary… I just-”

The cowman’s sentence was cut short with a quick lash of your whip, that of which he caught…? Your whip seemed to phase right through a large black hole on his torso, the opposite end appearing in a similar black hole right behind you, the whips end striking your back. You cried out, hit with the full force of your lash.

Sinister giggles emerged from the spotted figure, pointed towards your pained form. You trembled, in shock. 

“It’s rude to interrupt.” 

Spot stepped slowly towards you, his…well, spots, whirring aggressively, pointedly. You were frozen on the ground. Staring up at him, your lips trembled open.

“What,” You coughed. Once, twice. “-what are you?”

The black and white figure straightened, only to then fold over into a dramatic, hilariously unthreatening pose. 

“You, can call me… The Sp-”

“Some sort of cow?” You snickered. It was now his turn to flinch, hard. 

“I am NOT a-” The cow cleared his throat. “I am not a cow…whydoeseveryonesaythat…I, am the most dangerous villain you’ve ever seen, The Spo-”

“I mean, what’s with that getup?” The grin on your face grew. “Is that… is that supposed to be a costume? Orrrr…” 

The Spot sighed, defeated. “...it’s skin.”

“It’s skin?” 

“Yes, yes, now I-”

You stood up, energy back and eyes crinkled. 

“Wow, that’s…hm, interesting…skin, that’s skin? Sorry, sorry-listen man, I uh, I really gotta get back to this, so if you don’t mind?”

Stepping backwards in offence, the spotted figure shook in anger before swinging out his arm, releasing numerous dark voids around the room. Hitting practically every surface, but one most importantly, landing on the vault door, separating you, from your stone.

“Ah-wait-”

Swiftly, The Spot weaved his way through his holes, limbs popping up and out around the room in a way you couldn’t even begin to reach for your whip. 

No way was he about to take it from you.

But take it, he did.

In what felt like seconds, the whole room was engulfed in black. Stumbling backwards, you fell through one of the voids, flailing ungracefully, swimming through nothing. 

It was hard to breathe. 

A shrill crackling terrorized your ears, and before you, appeared a very disheveled Spot, now fully black with white spots, facial dot whirring and trained on you.

Gem in hand. 

Panic.

You were panicking. The sound of blood thrummed in your ears as you squirmed around in nothingness. Fuck the rock, you just had to get out of here. 

A cold hand grabs your wrist, dragging you upwards, towards the crackling form. 

For the second time today, you were frozen.

“I am not a cow,”

The form spoke lowly.

“I am not some villain of the week”,

Frozen still, you did nothing but stare straight into his glare.

“I. Am. The Spot”.

Suddenly, you were dropped. For the second time today, your stomach dropped with you. Next thing you know you’re falling through another void, leading not into darkness, but through the city skyline. Seeing the ground get closer, you released your grappling hook and latched onto the nearest building. 

As soon as your feet reached a solid surface, your legs buckled. Heaving, you failed to process what just took place, heart pounding in your ears. 

“...the fuck was that?”

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   

Miles received word of commotion taking place downtown, something to do with spots. He had hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was, and it was. It was, and was so much worse. 

Dark spots littered a large manor, maniacal cackling emerging from its center. In the corner of his eye a familiar masked figure hunched over, breathing rapidly, staring straight ahead at the mess of spots.

(He paid it some mind.)

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Ppl that asked me to tag them!(thxx 4 the support!)

@nightshxdex

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<3

[majesty-madness]

A Past Encounter - Bucky Barnes x reader (nsfw)

Summary: Being in a relationship with Bucky, Y/N prided herself on knowing him quite well but when she’s accidentally teleported back to 1940, Y/N discovers that there is a whole other Bucky that she has yet to meet. The sweet flirt that had everything going for him before his unfortunate capture by HYDRA.

Word Count: 3600+

Warnings: flirty 40's!Bucky, small 40's!Steve, slight angst, nothing else really (I mean it's a little sad)

a/n: I started a new job and I haven't had the time to write much before hand so I hope at least one person will enjoy this. Also I'm posting this at like 11:30 at night so I'll repost it tomorrow.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter Three

First thing her ears pick up on are the sounds of cars driving on the street with the occasional honking. 

Despite the aching thrumming over her body, Y/N managed to open her eyes to take in the slightly darkened room. 

She kept still as she took in the environment around her; at first the familiar edge of panic shot up her spine causing her to whip up in the bed she occupied. However, the longer she stared out into the room, the more it sank in. 

The small bedroom complete with a bed fitted with olden sheets and a comforter, a modest dresser sitting against a wall covered in chipped paint and scrapped wooden panels acting as the floor. 

It wasn’t a dream, everything that happened last night was real. 

She was in Brooklyn, New York, in the 40’s. 

Once the memories rushed back to her, Y/N took a deep breath, fingers carding through her hair while her arms rested on top of her thighs. 

Then she wondered what time it was so she moved her eyes about the room, subconsciously looking for a digital clock and forgetting she wouldn’t find one. Though she found a small analogous clock sitting on the nightstand that read, 8:30am. 

She hummed, knowing that it was about the same time she got up every morning. 

Nice to know that even in traveling through time, she kept to a schedule. 

Figuring she should get up, Y/N pushed the comforter from her legs and bundled them up at the end of the bed. Then quietly, she stood up from the warm mattress and tip toed over to the wooden bedroom door. Her fingers reached forward, taking the cool metal of the doorknob into her grip, the cold almost stinging the surface of her skin as she turned it. A clicking sound resonated into the room and she pushed the door open. 

Y/N peaked out into the living room, seeing that Bucky and Steve were already up and running for the day. 

Jeez. It seemed that even in the 40’s, Bucky and Steve were early risers too. 

Before stepping out, Y/N listened in on their soft voices talking to each other. 

“You think she’ll be okay? She seemed out of it.” Steve asked, as he poured himself a glass of orange juice. 

Bucky, taking a sip from his coffee mug, shrugged then swallowed the contents. “I’m not sure, but she seemed alright for the most part. Besides, she doesn’t have anywhere else to go; it wouldn’t do us any harm giving her a chance to get back on her feet.”

Steve nodded in agreement. 

The said woman smiled tenderly, mostly to herself, at Bucky’s words. They didn’t know each other all that well at this time, and yet Bucky was putting her needs before his own. 

That was a rare gift to find in any time period. 

Finally, she stepped out from Bucky’s room, quietly making her way to the side of the dining table. 

At first, the boys didn’t notice her presence, however, once Y/N just a few feet from the table,  Bucky straightened himself up. 

“Hey, good morning.” He greeted boyishly. 

Steve whipped himself around to see Y/N standing there. “Good morning.”

She shyly smiled, head dipping down a couple of times. “Good morning, you two.”

“Did you sleep well?” Bucky asked, setting his cup onto the table; deep blue eyes never straying from Y/N’s delicate figure covered in nothing but his baggy white shirt. 

“Yeah I did. You were right, it did get chilly in there last night.” She joked light heartedly, trying to keep the situation less odd. 

“Were you able to stay warm at least?”

Y/N nodded. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem, and if there’s anything else you need, just let us know.” Bucky said, seemingly distracted by Y/N’s morning beauty. 

Steve looked between the two adults then let out a cough causing Bucky to shake out of his thoughts. “So Y/N, do you want some breakfast?” 

Her eyes snapped to Steve who stood from the tablwe. “Oh yeah, that’d be great. Thank you.”

He politely smiled at her, proceeding to pull out one of the dining chairs for her. She walked over and sat on the wooden material of the chair; it wasn’t exactly comfortable but she wouldn’t be sitting at the dinner table for a long time. 

“What would you like?” Steve asked Y/N who had spaced out for a moment. 

“What do you two have to eat?” She asked as she looked between the two men. 

Bucky strolled into the compact kitchen searching for food. “We have - let me see - we got eggs, bread, oatmeal, cereal and….I think that’s all we got.” 

“How about uh…oatmeal?” Y/N answered though it sounded more like a question. 

Bucky scoffed with a grin. “Oatmeal? Unsure are we?” 

Y/N laughed. “No, I mean oatmeal please.” 

Then the dark haired man pulled out a sealed small packet of, what Y/N assumed was the breakfast food itself. He rummaged through the shared kitchen, eyes dancing over the different metal pans inside to find the one he needed. 

As he began to prepare the simple meal for Y/N, she pulled her attention to Steve who had sat back down diagonal from her. “Did you sleep okay?” 

There it was again, the look of startled surprise appearing across Steve’s face upon hearing her question. 

She wondered, was it really so odd for someone other than Bucky to be concerned for him?

Nonetheless, he answered. “Oh yeah, I slept fine. Thanks for asking.”

“What about you, Bucky?” Y/N tested out the name, feeling a bit awkward for saying it despite having said it many times. 

From what she could tell, it didn’t bother him as he stood over the stove waiting for the water to heat up, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“Uh…well I slept about as well as one could on that rickety sofa.” He admitted, a small groan falling from his lips as he set his hand down to his side. 

A pout formed on her lips. “I’m sorry to hear that, hopefully I won’t be taking up your bed for too long.” 

“It's really not a big deal. Besides I'm the one that offered, didn't I?” 

Y/N tilted her head to the side, “Well technically, you both offered your beds.” 

The boys laughed at her witty comment, easing some of the tension in Y/N’s shoulders. 

“That’s true, but still…” Bucky snickered, pouring the oatmeal packet into a bowl and then mixing it with hot water. “I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about our sleeping arrangement.”

He picked up the bowl from the counter and brought it to the table, placing it carefully in front of Y/N. 

“We said we’d help you out until you got back on your feet, and we meant it.” He added while taking his place at the table, across from her. 

She smiled gratefully at him, and spared Steve that look as well. “And I am grateful for that.” 

Bucky gave a slight nod, taking a sip of his coffee. And in the corner of her eye, Y/N saw Steve take a drink of his orange juice at the same time. 

Y/N gripped a hold of the spoon already buried by the thick oatmeal and took a bite. The moment it hit her tongue, it burned and in a panic she quickly swallowed to make it go away; feeling the uncomfortable sensation of it traveling down her throat into her stomach. 

Should’ve blown on it first. She scolded herself in more ways than one. 

She managed to keep her distress on the downlow as neither one of the boys reacted to her searing her tongue off. Honestly, it was better that way, she already felt awkward around them. 

Deciding to take another bite, Y/N first blew on the food before swallowing it, much happier that it didn’t burn her that time. 

“Speaking of getting you back on your feet, do you have any other belongings with you that we might be able to pick up?” Bucky asked, thumbling the handle of his cup. 

Y/N thought on it, gaze dancing about over the surface of the table. “Um…no, no there isn’t. Like I said before, that purse was all I had.” 

“Well that means we’ll have to go out today and replace what got stolen.”

She quirked a brow up at the implication. “You don’t mean you’re going to replace it?”

“Well yeah..” He stated matter of factly, with a little hesitation.

“I can’t ask you to do that.” Y/N objected, her breakfast nearly forgotten. “That would be so expensive.”

Steve leaned forward, clearing his throat as he began to voice his thoughts. “But we can’t leave you with nothing to call your own.” 

“The question of money isn’t a serious concern either; both of us have steady jobs so getting you something like clothes won’t be a problem.” Bucky added to further support Steve’s point. 

Y/N listened to the two, becoming more and more conflicted because one, she wasn’t even from this time period so it would be pointless for her to buy things when she would ultimately leave, but she wasn’t even sure that she could leave or if she could when she’d be able to leave and if she was going to stay, she did need regular household items to live in this time. 

Either way, she needed at least the bare minimum for a person to live semi-conveniently. 

“I would feel guilty if you spent money on me; I’m not from around here.” Y/N still tried to reason with them, but they weren’t having it. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re from around here or not. You’re here now with us, and life can be difficult on your own so let us two gents help a pretty lady in trouble huh?” He teased confidently.

Again, the familiar heat rose to her cheeks and her heart skipped a beat in her chest. She was not used to this type of flirting from him. Back home, Bucky was much more subtle with his flirting; his self consciousness made him hesitant in any kind of romantic relationship. Therefore, to know that he was flirting in the first place, one would have to look under the surface to see what his intentions were. 

To have Bucky, in a time she knew nothing about, being much more obvious in his intent was a shock to be sure. 

Regardless, she shyly moved her head down to her breakfast. “O-okay…”

Once they had all finished with breakfast, Steve cleaned up the table and kitchen while Bucky searched through his closet for his smallest clothes for Y/N to wear, at least until they got to the clothing store a couple of blocks down the street. 

He had handed her another white button up shirt, and a pair of brown high-waisted jeans with a belt. They were the smallest he could find, but they all soon realized that wasn’t going to work because as soon as she stepped out of the bathroom, the pants would not stay up properly. 

Y/N had pulled the belt over the very last notch and it still wasn’t tight enough around her waist. 

Bucky stood still, thumb resting under his chin as he contemplated what to do next. Then Steve made the suggestion that maybe a pair of his pants could fit, so he grabbed a pair and waited for Y/N to change again. 

When she stepped out they saw immediately that with the coupling of Bucky’s belt, the pants did indeed fit around her waist so right after that, they left for the clothes shop down the road. 

Though the clothes fit, it was clear they weren’t her’s, if the slighted stares of people walking by her on the sidewalk was any indication. Luckily, Y/N didn’t care what others thought about her clothes, she’d be wearing a different pair here before too long anyhow. 

The three of them mostly kept quiet until they came into view of the shop Bucky had mentioned earlier that morning. Bucky pointed it out, and they jogged across the street to meet at the front door. 

Steve stepped forward to open the door first, letting Y/N and Bucky step through before he did.

The first thing Y/N noticed was the counter with a lone bell sitting on top of it and nobody occupying the space behind it though that quickly changed as Bucky casually strolled up to the counter and tapped the bell, causing a ringing sound to echo through the small inside. 

An older woman, probably about fifty years old, walked out with a pair of black glasses attached to a thin chain around her neck, and a maroon colored dress. Once her eyes set upon Bucky’s figure, she smiled brightly. 

“Hello, dear, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” 

He smiled back at her in return. “I’ve been busy with work.” 

The woman then playfully slapped his arm. “Don’t give me that, James. You said the same thing when you were in school.” 

That caused Bucky to laugh while the woman looked at Steve. “Hello, Steve, dear. How are you feeling?” 

He gave a nod and a much more relaxed smile. “I’m feeling alright.” 

“You staying out of trouble?” She asked inquisitively while raising a brow at him. 

He laughed then too, bashfully, almost like she had caught him red handed. “Mostly.” 

“Oh my word, boy! You’ll worry me and James to an early grave!” She let out a laugh of her own that time then her attention was pulled to the unfamiliar young woman standing between them. “And who is this young lady?”

“This is a new friend of mine, Y/N. She, unfortunately, had her stuff stolen and is in the market for some new clothes.” Bucky explained, pivoting himself to look back at the young woman. 

The older woman walked around the counter to shake Y/N’s hand which Y/N politely reciprocated. “I’m so sorry to hear that dear. I’m Irene, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Ma’am.” 

“Don’t you worry, now. We’ll find you something real nice, something that..” She took a small step back to eye the baggy clothes she wore, her smile falling and expression utterly perplexed. “...will suit you much better.” 

Y/N watched Bucky cough awkwardly while Steve avoided Irene’s gaze all together. 

“Seriously, boys, you couldn’t have found something better for the poor thing to wear? Shame on you.”

Y/N might have laughed if she hadn’t felt embarrassed that she let Bucky and Steve let her wear their clothes. 

So much for not caring what others thought. 

Irene then gently grabbed Y/N by the shoulders, beginning to lead her further into the store. “Now let’s pick a nice dress for you.” 

“Dress?” Y/N questioned, abruptly stopping in the middle of the store. 

“Of course a dress, deary! What else would you expect to wear?” The older woman gawked at her. 

Y/N eyes fluttered down to what she was already wearing, briefly gesturing to it. “These?” 

Irene shook her head. “Don’t you think that sends the wrong message dear? Wearing two different men’s clothes?” 

“How could you tell they were from two different men?” Y/N asked, surprised. 

The older woman turned over her shoulder for a moment, staring at Bucky and Steve as they avoided looking at her sight directly, awkwardly busying themselves with anything other than the woman herself. 

She sighed. “Honey, I’ve been doing this for a long time, I think I can tell when the clothes don’t match.” 

“Oh..” Y/N mumbled. 

“Now let’s stop wasting time and get you something pretty to wear!” She insisted, beginning to lead her towards the back of the shop again. 

In the span of thirty minutes, Irene has picked three different outfits for Y/N to try on, and each seemed to fit her personality perfectly while also being shockingly comfortable. 

The first outfit had been a green shirt waist dress with white flowers decorating the fabric; next there was the tan lined skirt and a white blouse, and lastly, a pale blue peplum top dress with a gray cardigan and a pair of black flats with a thin strap going over the foot. 

The pale blue dress had really caught Y/N’s eye, urgently pointing to it as soon as she’d seen it hanging on one of the many racks in the store. Irene seemed to agree that it was the perfect dress since she exclaimed the word beautiful once she’d stepped out of the changing room. 

Y/N took a moment to admire herself in the mirror, liking the way that the dress wrapped around her curves in a classy sort of way. She thought she looked attractive with the combination of being polite, best of both worlds. 

Although there was something oddly familiar about this shopping trip. Y/N couldn’t place it. 

“I have to say, you are a natural at picking out clothes, Ma’am.” Y/N complimented, continuing to look in the mirror. 

“Please call me Irene.” The woman waved at hand at the formality. “Besides I should be good at this, considering I’ve been doing this for twenty years.” 

Y/N grinned at the woman’s carefree attitude then let the older woman guide her back to the front of the store where Bucky and Steve had been waiting patiently. 

Upon catching Y/N in that pale blue dress, Bucky nearly jumped up from the chair he’d been sitting in, eyes growing wide with awe. 

“Wow, you look…” He paused for a brief second to swallow hard. “..beautiful.” 

Then it hit her. 

She had stepped out of the changing room inside one of the various clothing stores inside the mall, watching as Bucky’s eyes grew wide and stood straight up when his blue eyes settled on the dress she was wearing. 

“Wow, you look…beautiful.” 

Y/N couldn’t help the giddy grin and an excited laugh that left her. “You think so?”

He nodded, completely stunned. “Yeah, I mean, god, you’re perfect.” 

“Aww, Bucky.” She stepped forward, resting her hands on his shoulders and pecked his lips. “You are the sweetest, you know that?”

Bucky raised his metal arm to the small of her back with a smile that could light up the world. “Only for you, Doll.” 

Suddenly, she felt like she didn’t know how to breathe as that one memory knocked the air right from her lungs. 

In the short span of less than a day, somehow she’d forgotten the reason she was here, the whole point to why she had to be getting new clothes in the first place. 

She didn’t belong here, but the memory and what was happening now started to merge together in a way that made her want to drag him into her arms and never let go; kiss him until they both had troubling breathing. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t know anything of what they shared together, what they had. 

He didn’t know her. 

Fighting back the suffocating ache in her chest, Y/N tried to convincingly show she was flattered by his compliment. “Thank you, Bucky.” 

“No problem.” Bucky shyly nodded, beginning to fidget in his spot. He didn’t have to fidget for long as Irene called for his attention. 

“Now, James, normally I would charge you the usual rate, but seeing as how she had her stuff stolen, I’ll take fifty-percent off.” Irene explained, writing down something on a sheet of paper. 

“Well that’s awfully kind of you, Irene.” 

The woman huffed. “Don’t get smart with me, Buchanan or I will charge you in full.” 

Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop.” 

Irene wrote a couple more things down, then turned a clipboard towards the tall brunette. “Sign here, and here and I’ll get these wrapped up for you, Honey.” She said to Y/N, already pulling on a roll of brown paper and wrapping the outfits she picked out. 

It took another few minutes eventually though, they bid the older woman farewell, not before she playfully scolded Bucky to ‘take care of her.’ 

Being out with a pair of clothes that fit the times actually made Y/N feel a little more at ease. Now there wouldn’t be any more random strangers staring at her like she was an eyesore. 

To be fair, it did nothing to release the painful ache in her heart. 

Her thoughts ran rampant on all the small things that her and Bucky had done together back in her modern time. Happiness was the usual feeling that accompanied it but today, sadness tugged at her instead. 

The screwed up thing was that she was with Bucky right now, but she couldn’t be with him like that. It felt like in some way, the world was teasing her. In reality, the notion of going home was futile because she had no clue if it was possible to get back home and if it wasn’t then what would she do?

Would she live out the rest of her days in time that she had no business being in? Live her entire life in love with a man she could never touch or hold? 

She knew she’d never be able to live a life that way. 

But how were things going to go from here on out? What were they going to look like? She wondered. 

Y/N didn’t know it, nor could she, but right now in a time far away, a single man was wondering the exact same thing.

[thesleeploftme]

Best Mattress Store near Manhattan, New York

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[zeeshan4567]

The Sleep Loft Showroom in Brooklyn is ready for you to try your favorite online beds before you buy. Conveniently located in Brooklyn, New York 11222 in the neighborhood of Greenpoint. The mattress store offers a large, comfortable space with ample parking and an easy-to-find, convenient location. Find your favorite online mattress brands all in the same spot. Find popular mattresses from Leesa, Wink Bed, Helix, Brooklyn Bedding, Nest Bedding, Bear, Dream Cloud, and many more. Enjoy an easy, no-pressure mattress shopping experience in our comfortable showroom.

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[thesleeploftnyc]

5 Best Mattress Stores NYC

If you're looking for the best mattress stores in New York City, we've got you covered. Whether you're a homebody or always on the go, having the perfect mattress can transform your home into a cozy castle. If it's been several years since your last mattress purchase or you wake up with aches and pains, it may be time to take action. Here are five top-notch mattress store NYC that offer affordable yet high-quality mattress sets to ensure you sleep soundly:

The Sleep Loft - Online Mattress Showroom:

Located at 231 West 18th Street, New York, NY 10011, The Sleep Loft provides a unique opportunity to try out your favorite online beds before making a purchase. Situated in Manhattan's Chelsea neighborhood, their spacious and comfortable showroom offers a hassle-free mattress shopping experience. You can find popular mattress brands like Leesa, WinkBed, Helix, Brooklyn Bedding, Nest Bedding, Bear, DreamCloud, and many more.

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Keetsa:

Located at 69 Mercer St., New York, NY 10012, Keetsa specializes in eco-friendly mattresses that prioritize sustainability. Their mattresses have a low carbon footprint and minimal emissions of volatile organic compounds (VOCs). Keetsa mattresses are free from chemical odor or potential toxic by-products. They incorporate clean-scented green tea extract into their proprietary Bio-Foam formula, offering a refreshing scent without chemical additives or deodorizers.

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Craig's Beds:

Situated at 247 W. 38th St., Ste.606, New York, NY 10018, Craig's Beds is a go-to destination for mattresses of all major brands at various price points. Whether you're on a tight budget or looking for a luxury option, they have something for everyone.

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Dixie Foam Beds:

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Essentia:

Situated at 36 W. 34th St., 2nd fl., New York, NY 10002, Essentia is known for its patented natural memory foam and GOLS certified organic mattresses. These mattresses provide excellent value and long-term investment opportunities, backed by 20-year warranties and 60-day return policies. Essentia mattresses are made of pure hevea milk, dunlop latex, and certified organic cotton, infused with organic essential oils and plant extracts.

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Colclusion:

With these five outstanding mattress stores in NYC, you can find the perfect mattress and transform your sleep experience. Whether you're looking for online options, eco-friendly choices, budget-friendly selections, foam mattresses, or organic materials, these stores offer a diverse range of options to cater to your preferences.

Take the time to visit these stores, try out different mattresses, and consult the knowledgeable staff to ensure you make an informed decision. Your journey to a good night's sleep begins with finding the right mattress, and these stores are here to help you along the way.

[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

[spxlledinks]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄 | a playlist feat. the unraveling of 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐉𝐄 𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐊𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐍 

❛ ...honey, you are nothing to me, i don’t call people anything that’s thought to be so sweet... ❜

presumably dead arm x sidney gish

first love late spring x mitski

night shift x lucy dacus

cold love x rainbow kitten surprise

ya’aburnee x halsey

– – click here for full playlist

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍: ya'aburnee - aka. flashes of the aftermath

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: catskill mountains, new york; march-july 2022

2 AM. A CRUMBLED BALL OF PAPER hits the back of the can. ❛ It is with deep sorrow and profound sadness that we announce.... ❜ She has the letter memorized, every word irreversibly seared into her brain. For the first few days, she recited it to herself — a mantra that sliced deeper with each repetition.

Penetrating injury to the abdomen. Line of duty death. Unmarked bullet. No other casualties.

She's proud of that, she would be proud of it; the bullet had not found purchase in its already-wounded target. Instead, it found the captain's mesenteric artery.

They got her address from the marriage license, her phone number from the emergency contact list. She hasn't answered any calls since that one. The blind panic that clung to her on the ride to the hospital still lingers, the helplessness as she wove through traffic. Not fast enough, never fast enough.

But she made it. She was there.

Hadn’t she wished for her death that night in the alley? Accused her of abandonment? Irony always did have a way of screwing her over.

❛ ...you got a 9 to 5, so i'll take the night shift. and i'll never see you again if i can help it...❜

The pungent aroma of disinfectant and a red-filled cap mark 10 AM.

❛ Let me know if you need a break. ❜

The tattoo parlor is small, as most things in the town are, and her machine almost sounds too loud. Too aggressive in a town that exists as a time capsule, the flickering lights of the fifties style diner across the street an indication of who lives here. Who belongs here.

She doesn't ask if it hurts. It's a stupid question to ask as someone repeatedly plunges needles into soft flesh; not hard enough to bleed, but enough to set ink permanently beneath the dermis.

Nikolai was there when she immortalized the captain into her skin, a night-blooming cereus. He had flown in for the funeral of a woman he’d hardly known simply because of the way his sister's voice cracked on the phone. Carrying her back into his condo afterward when her legs refused to work.

She swallows, barely noticing when she finishes the design.

❛ ...please hurry leave me, i can't breathe. please don't say you love me...❜

At 9 PM, she curses her for taking in mammoths for pets.

❛ You love them. ❜

She’s not hearing voices, she’s not. That would be weird, a definitive sign of the loss of one's sanity, and she's been clinging to that with every fiber of her being. No, she feels whispers of memories, sensations of a burgeoning life in a Brooklyn loft. A future.

Sága took to her new siblings immediately, and the trio's insistence on sleeping in the bed forced them to upgrade to a king-sized mattress. No need to worry about that now.

She does love the dogs, though. One too many nights waking to a paw draped over her abdomen or warm fur pressed to her back have endeared her to them. They are good for her, help her to feel less alone. A comforting reminder of what was stolen.

So, she shoves Hop’s gargantuan head aside and takes her place amongst the canines.

❛ ...not a word was said when the lights came on or a glance given pause at the cost of our desired wrongs...❜

She is unsurprised when the clock declares the time as 12:30 AM, eyes languidly rolling to return to their trained post on the ceiling. Its wooden beams cut across the expanse of white plaster to form a series of three triangles. The largest of the triangles is positioned at the foot of the bed, just low enough to toss a rope over and hang planters — morning glories, maybe.

The house itself is earthy, shrouded by a curtain of trees that make it easy to forget the mere ten minutes to reach the town center. Black paneling, glass, and ashen rocks make it undetectable from the road. She would love it, the blonde muses.

❛ ...your face was supposed to be hanging over me like a rosary. so morose for me; seeing ghosts of me writing oaths to me, is it so naive to wonder...❜

3 AM and the dogs need to be walked. Their protests as she clips on the leashes say otherwise, but she needs a distraction. An unseasonal cold front has stopped spring in its tracks. It's warm at Nikolai's, familiar, and she's grateful to him for not changing the locks. She has successfully put off staying in her own apartment during these 'business’ trips into the city, only daring to dart in to collect the odd knife and her mail.

Only the bills, never the cards.

Chirp stops to sniff at a novelty shop. Tourist-trap shirts fill the windows, many with some variation of I Love NYC emblazoned across the front. A thousand dates to a thousand places with stupid t-shirts from each spot. Isn't that what she promised? The night is a haze at best, a black spot at worst. And yet...

❛ ... cause a part of me needs a part of you, and not just any boy is gonna do. so I’m hoping you feel the same way too, not just any girl is gonna do...❜

The birds start outside the kitchen window at 5 AM, finding her already sipping from the first of many cups of coffee that she will have today. It is flavorless, the general store's instant mix not quite the barista caliber to which she was once accustomed. Soon.

Her focus is across the room, gaze locked with the cat. Cujo sits on the mantle, perched above an overturned picture frame. The last thing to pack before they leave the cabin for good has become his latest triumph. ❛ You’re a real asshole, you know that? ❜ Originally meant to go with Parrish alongside the four other dogs that once made up her pack, the feline refuses to leave. Though her arms show the results of many fruitless attempts at forcing him, she has to admit that she has come to admire his obduracy.

So, she assumes the role of resigned caretaker, crossing the room to pick up the fallen photograph. She already knows what she will find when she rights the frame, and still, her breath catches.

The first photo they took together, found tucked away in her camera roll following the night they drunkenly said I do. She insisted on having it encased in a durable frame — ❛ permanence. ❜

The roar of an engine drowns out the birdsong as she coaxes the bike into third gear, dousing her feelings in the only way she's ever known.

❛ ...darling, you will bury me before I bury you...❜

1. presumably dead arm x sidney gish

❛ honey, you are nothing to me, alcohol and dopamine… but like an old man, say i reckon, i love you for a millisecond… i wanna know your passwords without changing them in preferences, and all the childhood streets and deceased pets that they’re referencing… honey, you are nothing to me, i don’t call people anything that’s thought to be so sweet. ❜

2. first love late spring x mitski 3. night shift x lucy dacus 4. his hands x blegh

❛ you should go to something better. i’ll give you to someone better. i have friends that’ll be on earth for longer. i have friends that won’t feel like monsters. ❜

5. cold love x rainbow kitten surprise 6. dreams tonight x alvvays 7. montero airlines x montero 8. ya’aburnee x halsey

❛ i never got to tell you how I loved the way my eyes make yours look green too. i think we could live forever in each other’s faces 'cause i always see my youth in you. and if we don’t live forever, maybe one day we’ll trade places.❜

[c0s-lettuce]

please be careful - danny rand x reader

gender not mentioned, romantic or platonic

a/n: there aren't enough danny rand fics. pretty boy deserves better. this fic was based on the first few episodes of season 1. i hope you enjoy :)

word count: 925

You knew about the Hand. Only a little bit from your time in Hell's Kitchen. You moved back home to Brooklyn to get away from that. Yes, it meant saying goodbye to friends, but it was all in the hopes to regain a tiny ounce of normality.

You had landed yourself a good job and a pretty nice apartment. And you were living life day by day. That was until a homeless man showed up at your work and claimed to be your dead childhood best friend.

Yeah, so much for normality.

"It's me," he had said, "it's Danny."

You didn't reply. You just stared.

"We would hang out all the time after you got back from school." he continued, "Remember that one time we went a street over to the ice cream truck? You got a chocolate-covered ice cream. I got one with sprinkles. We asked for an extra cone and tried to mix our ice creams together to see what it would taste like."

He paused for a second to catch his breath. You remained silent.

Then he went on, "But it didn't work. My ice cream ended up on the floor, so you just gave me yours. Remember?"

Danny looked at you with hopeful eyes. You must've looked ridiculous. Frozen in shock, speechless, eyes threatening to spill with tears.

But then you had an idea. You walked towards 'Danny' and held your hand up. He looked confused but only a second later raised his own hand to yours.

And there the two of you stood, performing your secret handshake as if the fifteen years had never passed.

You didn't wait another millisecond to pull him into a hug. As he returned the sentiment, you managed to whisper, "I thought you were dead."

"I know, I'm sorry." he replied, "I've been away."

--------

Your ringtone woke you late at night. Peering at your phone, you saw the name 'Danny' in bright, white letters.

You let out an unceremonious groan and picked up, "Hey Danny. What's up?"

"I'm so sorry, did I wake you?" he was quick to reply.

"No, no," you lied, "you didn't, I was... reading."

"I'm sorry for calling so late. I'm just,” he took a breath, “having trouble settling back in, I guess?"

You sat up, "Hey, that's completely understandable."

"I was wondering if you could come over."

"Oh yeah, of course, just message me your address." you scrambled out of bed.

"Thank you."

The trip was short. Danny was staying in a very fancy suite that Jeri Hogarth organised for him. As soon as he answered the door, he pulled you into a hug and thanked you for coming.

The two of you let go of each other. As Danny led you to the lounge, you noticed blankets on the floor by one of the massive windows.

"Have you been sleeping on the floor?" you asked.

"Uh yeah, I'm just not used to the mattress. Felt like I was going to sink into it," he told you.

You nodded. Danny had briefly told you about living in K'un-Lun. After the New York incident and what you had seen in Hell's Kitchen, you didn't doubt him. Not completely.

The two of you sat down. Danny began to tell you what was troubling him, all the while you were doing your best to comfort him. He told you about how much everything had changed. And how he felt like he was a complete stranger in a city he once called home.

"My whole life in K'un-Lun was spent training to becoming a living weapon. To eventually destroy the Hand and-"

"Wait, wait, wait, the Hand?" you interrupted.

"Yes," Danny said, "I'm the Iron Fist, sworn enemy of the Hand? Do you know about them?"

"A bit... a while ago, I was at Metro-General Hospital visiting a friend. Then these ninjas came out of nowhere. It was a mess. I was lucky to get out of there-"

"The Hand is here? In New York?"

"I guess, yeah? I don't really know about them..."

Danny paused for a second and turned to face the window, "So I am supposed to be here."

--------

And that brings you to now, in the Chikara Dojo. There's a dying man in the owner, Colleen's, bed. Claire, whom you met before in Hell's Kitchen, is trying to keep him alive. And Danny is talking about going to challenge the Hand.

You watch from the door as Danny performs Tai Chi in the dojo. You take a moment to think. How this ten-year-old boy you once knew has grown into a man. How this grown man is now a master at Kung Fu. How he wants to challenge the Hand.

"You're worried," Danny states, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You exhale and lean against the door frame, Danny still facing away from you. "Of course I am."

"I'm not going to get hurt, I promise," he replies.

You scoff and mutter, "That's one hell of a promise..."

"I have a vision of total victory and nothing else. It's the reason I've gotten this far. Defeat has no place in my mind."

"Danny, seriously," you walk up to face him, "I've seen what the Hand can do. I mean, what if they kill you?"

"That's not going to happen." Danny places his hands on your shoulders and looks at you with a sincerity you've never seen before.

Silence falls between the two of you. You take this opportunity to embrace him again.

"Please, be careful," you say.

"I will, I promise."

➸

[sholiofic]

(can't send you an ask from my sideblog) I would love something where Sam and Bucky both have nightmares, like, both noticing it with the other (Gen, if that's okay) and whatever angst and/or comfort that entails. Totally fine if the prompt wont be filled tho :) Like your writing, sending good vibes! - anxiouswhumpyescapism

Also on AO3: Mediocre Waffles

--

When Bucky wakes up to a muffled yell, he's halfway out of bed and reaching for the gun tucked between the bedframe and the thin hotel mattress before he grasps that the only person in the room is Sam, the only person making noise is Sam, and Sam is tangled in scratchy motel bedsheets and definitely not being attacked by HYDRA or enemy agents crashing through the neon glow of the windows or anything else.

Sam sits up and they look at each other for a minute by the hazy neon light, and then Sam muzzily grumbles, "Fuck," and gets up and goes off to the bathroom.

Bucky flops back down on the thin, scratchy pillow in the slightly too-hot bed. There's the sound of splashing water from the bathroom; the light flicks on and off. Sam comes back out and rattles around a little, and then the door leading out to the motel stairs opens and closes.

Bucky lies there for a moment or two, then sighs and rolls his legs off the bed. He is, as usual on the road, sleeping in a T-shirt and jeans in case he has to get up in a hurry. He follows Sam outside.

It's a two-story roadside motel with an upstairs balcony, stairs leading down to street level and a row of cars in the parking lot. Sam is leaning on the railing. The acrid smell of cigarette smoke hits Bucky's hindbrain like a direct punch to the memories, the way smell sometimes can.

"I didn't even know people smoked these days," he says, and Sam looks around with a faint smile.

"Only sometimes," he says, and holds out the pack of cigarettes. "Bad habit from my military days. Did they really smoke all the time in the '40s?"

"Only when we could afford 'em." Bucky takes one and holds it between his fingers rather than asking for a light. He doesn't know whether it's the serum or that entire hazy seventy-plus years of his life, but he doesn't actually want them, these days. But holding it is familiar. Comfortable.

"You should go back to bed," Sam says. "Long day tomorrow." He's just holding his cigarette, too, though smoke curls up from the tip. It's mostly unsmoked. Like an echo of a time gone by, the same way it is for Bucky.

"I know," Bucky says. He transfers the cigarette to his metal hand and rubs his eyes with his fingertips. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam says, and then, with a short laugh, "Not really. Didn't mean to wake you up."

"I know." Bucky runs his fingertips lightly over the splintery, badly painted wood of the railing. Somehow it's occasionally comforting, or at least satisfying, to find things that are broken and badly repaired in the future. He says in a careful tone, "Turnabout is fair play. I wake you up sometimes?"

"Sometimes," Sam says neutrally.

Bucky was actually sort of hoping the answer would be no, but he was afraid it wouldn't be. He makes a neutral, acknowledging sound.

"You're pretty quiet," Sam says.

"Mmmm." He hadn't realized the habit of not screaming was that ingrained. Well, it explained why the neighbors back in his thin-walled New York apartment hadn't complained.

"I didn't ask any questions because I figured it was your thing to talk about."

"Mmm-hmm."

Sam glances back at the half-open door of their apartment and then he stubs out the cigarette, mostly unsmoked, on the railing. "You know what? It's gonna be dawn soon. What say we both put on some clothes—"

"I'm wearing pants," Bucky says with a judging look at Sam's boxers.

"—shut up, and find an all-night diner. I don't know about you, but I could really use a shitty 3 a.m. omelet right now."

"We're not exactly in a metropolis," Bucky says, casting a glance across the horizon of roofs and water towers before he follows Sam back into their room. "I don't know how many all-night diners there are at a freeway exit in Indiana."

"Every freeway exit has a Denny's or a Waffle House. It's a law."

It is in fact a Waffle House, and they take a corner booth and order breakfast food. Bucky rests his chin on his metal fist.

"You could actually be sleeping, you know," Sam says, sounding faintly guilty.

"Not really." He wouldn't fall back asleep after an adrenaline jolt like that, but he doesn't want Sam to feel bad about it. "You want to talk about it?" he asks after a moment.

"Fuck no. You?" Sam asks, in something that is less sympathy and more a kind of parrying response.

"No."

The waitress comes by with a warm-up on their coffee. After she's gone, Sam says, "You know, if you ever get the urge—you know, insomnia being what it is, to go out and get mediocre waffles at two in the morning—"

"You don't mind if I do? Thanks, Sam."

"I'll go with you," Sam says, glaring at him. "Asshole. Just give me a kick or something."

And Bucky doesn't say anything for a moment, because he's thinking of nights lying awake in motels like the one they just came from, staring at the slow cycling of the neon sign outside the window and waiting for dawn, trying not to wake up Sam.

Except Sam is way too perceptive not to be aware of at least some of that.

He's not used to people getting him. That, more than anything else, is what makes him draw a quick, shaking breath, and wish he had something to do with his hands. Luckily he still has the unlit cigarette from the balcony, and he just holds it, moves it between his fingers.

"No smoking in here," the waitress says, coming by, in a "what kind of idiot ARE you actually" sort of tone.

Sam laughs at the look on Bucky's face. "World's changed a little bit, huh?"

"You don't know the half of it," and before he knows it, they're swapping stories of late-night diners in Brooklyn and cheap breakfast cafés in Delacroix, and Sam is laughing and Bucky is feeling the tension in his shoulders unwind and thinks Sam might be feeling the same way.

Maybe he will wake Sam up next time, after all. He thinks Sam really wouldn't mind.

[furniturebyabd-blog]

Find cheap modern and contemporary dining room tables for sale available in various shapes &amp;amp; colors for your dining room in Brooklyn at Furniture by ABD

[miracleonice87]

You’re So Pretty

a Mathew Barzal one shot

a/n: just a quick little fluff piece about boyfriend Barzy coming home to you drunk in love!

warnings: swearing and alcohol — otherwise, complete and total fluff

_____

I woke to the sound of my boyfriend swearing softly as a thud fell against our hardwood stairs.

“Fuck!”

I pushed myself up on my forearms, glancing at the lighted clock on our bedside table. 3:26 glared back at me.

“Mathew?” I called into the darkness, voice groggy with sleep.

“Shit!” I heard him mutter. I flipped the switch on the table that turned on the lights in the room, and a moment later, I watched Mat stumble in, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

“So bright. I fell up the steps in the dark though,” he grumbled, almost incoherently. Then he looked up to see me sitting upright in bed, a waiting look on my face. “You’re so pretty!” he exclaimed with a gasp.

I couldn’t help myself — a giggle escaped my lips as I shook my head, Mat grinning my way, quite pleased with himself for making me laugh.

“How waffled are you right now?” I asked Mathew as he threw himself onto the bed and crawled toward me.

“‘M not waffled. Just sleepy. Wanna sleep with you. I get to sleep with you! You’re so pretty!” he repeated, dropping his head into my lap. I breathed another laugh and sighed. “Oh, okay. Thank you. First, you have to go brush your teeth. I can smell the vodka on your breath from here,” I told him. He picked his head up to look at me, a grimace on his handsome face.

“‘M’sorry. ‘Kay, I’ll go now. Stay there!” Mat pushed himself to his feet, pointing at me, and I put my hands up, indicating I would obey his request. I watched him lumber to the bathroom and heard him turn on the water and start to brush his teeth, all while humming a Lizzo song and attempting the lyrics despite his mouth full of toothpaste. I shook my head again, pressing a hand to my forehead, trying to suppress even more laughter.

It was a Thursday, and the boys had won big at home over Philadelphia, so Coach had given them the following day off. That was all it took for the guys to start scheming in the locker room while changing out of their gear, mapping out a plan for the evening. In the family room after he had dressed in his streetclothes once more, Mat had begged me to join them, as a handful of the wives and girlfriends were accompanying them, but I gently declined. It had been a long day at my fashion merchandising internship, not to mention the mad dash I’d made to get to the game in 6 o’clock New York City traffic, and I had a big midterm presentation for my graduate marketing class the next morning for which I needed to prepare. Mat had nearly ditched the guys and traded in his plans to go out with them for a night in on the couch practicing with me, but I insisted that he go and have fun. Days off during the season were few and far between. Clearly, he had taken that advice to heart. After practicing my presentation half a dozen times after finally arriving home from the game, I had only been asleep for about an hour and a half before being awakened when Mat’s Uber dropped him off and he made his grand entrance back into our shared Brooklyn apartment.

“Hi babe! You’re still here! She’s still here, ladies and gentlemen!” Mat announced when he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, having stripped down to his boxers.

“I live here, Barzal,” I reminded him with a smirk. “I know! How cool is that? I live with the prettiest girl in New York. I’m a lucky bastard,” Mat told me energetically before flopping onto the bed once more, curling himself around my legs.

“Ah, ah, before you get too comfortable, sit up and take these,” I told him, dumping two Advil into my hand from the bottle I kept in my nightstand and offering him the medicine and my Yeti. He clumsily sat up on his haunches, throwing the pills back and taking a long sip of water. He smacked his lips and let out a dramatic, “ahhhh!” This man was on quite the roll comedically.

Mat immediately fell back to the mattress, wrapping his long arms all the way around my waist and nuzzling his head into my chest. I reached to turn off the light once more as he said, eyes closed, “Thanks for taking care of me, pretty girl. I really love you.”

My heart warmed, and I was struck not for the first time by how special he always made me feel, even when he was impossibly drunk.

“I really love you too, Maty,” I whispered, pulling the throw blanket from the bottom of our bed up to cover Mat’s long and broad form, before snuggling under the comforter myself.

“I’m so glad,” he whispered, his breathing already starting to slow into sleep.

[peraltasames]

stars are just beginning to appear (and i have never in my life before been here)

28. “I have never felt this way about anyone” requested by anonymous with some early relationship fluff 💘💘💘

read on ao3

Amy collapses on Jake’s couch the second they cross the threshold into his studio apartment and take off their shoes and jackets. Her feet are beyond sore from their day spent walking around the city, and her poor out-of-shape boyfriend seems to be on the cusp of total debilitation.

“Can’t...make it,” Jake huffs dramatically, leaning against the back of the door that he’s just locked behind him. “Too far.”

She rolls her eyes, patting the seat next to her. “Get over here, idiot.”

Jake, very theatrically, stumbles over and plops down next to her, spreading out his limbs so that he’s occupying most of the couch. She doesn’t mind - it just gives her an excuse to lean back against his chest and kick her feet up on the coffee table, nuzzling into his chest as he wraps his arm around her waist.

“Did you have a good day?” she asks, playing with the hem of his t-shirt.

“I mean, I wish you had let us take the subway instead of walking like eighty blocks, but it was really fun.”

Amy had woken up that morning to sunlight and a cool autumn breeze creeping in through the window, and she knew immediately that it was the perfect day to be tourists in their own city. He hadn’t taken much convincing - a few kisses to his shoulder and the promise of a cup of coffee from his favourite place seemed to do the trick.

“It’s part of the experience! I mean, when was the last time you walked across the Brooklyn Bridge?”

“I don’t know, that’s what the F train is for!”

She laughs softly, already reminiscing on their day together. Aside from the bickering over the best way to see the city (which is obviously by foot, with the bonus of getting some exercise) and having to navigate the swell of tourists, it was picture-perfect; she’s certain she could spend every moment of every day walking through the autumn foliage of Central Park with Jake Peralta’s hand firmly in hers.

She even brought him to her absolute favourite spot in the city, the cafe right across from the largest New York Public Library branch at 42nd and Fifth. It’s one of the first places she went when she moved to New York for college, and their croissants and vanilla lattes still bring her an unparalleled sense of comfort and warmth.

“You know, that was one of the best lattes I’ve ever had,” Jake admits, squeezing his arm around her. “So I guess the walk to Midtown was worth it.”

“It’s my favourite place for a reason,” she grins. “I’m glad you liked it. It was...really nice, you know. Being there with you.”

He smiles brightly at her, but still teases, because he’s still Jake, “I bet you say that to all the guys, Santiago.”

Her heart flutters as she comes to the realization that she’s never brought a boyfriend there. Even in relationships longer than this one, relationships that looked better on paper, she’s never considered taking a guy to her little oasis in the bustling city. It’s too sacred to be tainted by memories of an ex-boyfriend when the relationship comes to an end.

But she didn’t run through the worst-case scenarios before dragging Jake down Fifth this morning. She didn’t even consider the possibility that she might break up with him, because - subconsciously or otherwise - she wants this to last...for a long time.

(She’s reluctant to use the F word, but “forever” doesn’t even sound that scary right now.)

“You’re actually the first,” she confesses, the words tumbling out of her mouth before her brain can decide whether or not this is information she really wants to share with him.

He quirks an eyebrow. “Really?”

Emboldening herself by sitting up straighter, her hand tightly wrapping around his where it rests on her thigh, she nods her head.

“Really. I’ve never felt like taking any of my past boyfriends there.”

His tone remains light and curious, but he holds her hand just as tightly and she can see his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallows nervously. “Why not?”

“I guess cause I...” She bites her lip, forcing herself to look him directly in the eye. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”

Amy knows she’s just dropped a bomb, one big enough to blow up a relationship this new. She shouldn’t be surprised by the way Jake’s face falls completely and he loosens his grip on her hand, and yet it’s the most soul-crushing, life-destroying thing in the world that he might not be falling for her as hard and as quickly as she is for him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - that was a lot-”

“No!” Jake exclaims, his eyes widening as she pulls away from him and shifts to the other side of the couch. “No, Ames, oh my god, I was just surprised - I obviously feel the same way.”

His words pull her back from the verge of bursting into tears and running out the door, his hands warm and reassuring as they grip hers.

“You do?”

“Are you kidding me, Santiago?” He rolls his eyes, shaking his head with evident adoration. “I pined for you for over a year, I wanted to give up my job to be with you after six days of dating. I drank Orangina for you, babe.”

She smiles, both at his overly dramatic face of disgust and the ease with which he slips between calling her “Santiago” and “babe” these days.

“I’m sorry if it wasn’t obvious, but I’ve definitely never felt like this before,” he assures her. “I almost let a perp escape the other day because a car drove by playing that Coldplay song you like and I got distracted.”

Amy laughs softly, her hand sliding up his arm and shoulder to cup the pack of his neck and draw him in for a slow kiss. When she pulls away, his reassuring smile has faded into the passionate gaze she only gets to bear witness to in certain precious moments - right after sex, when the world seems to consist of only them; after particularly mind-blowing kisses like this one; when she brings him a coffee at work and kisses his cheek while nobody’s watching.

“Glad we’re on the same page then, Peralta,” she murmurs reverently, her hand sliding up his thigh and squeezing lightly.

It’s enough to convey the message that she wants him here and now. He pulls her closer, diving back in to kiss her immediately; she responds in turn by climbing into his lap and straddling his thighs, slowly rolling her hips against his. He breaks the kiss as a moan escapes him, his desperate hands tugging her sweater over her head and tossing it on the floor.

He’s predictably distracted by the lacy black bra she wore specifically for him, so she takes advantage of the moment to peel off his grey t-shirt and run her hands over his bare shoulders and biceps.

“Mm, we should go to the bed,” Amy mumbles half-heartedly between the kisses he’s leaving on her neck, trailing down to the zone not visible in work clothes where she lets him mark her skin. “You didn’t spend all that money on a new mattress for us to have sex on your couch.”

He keeps kissing her, sliding the straps of her bra down, and gently pushes her down against the couch cushions until he’s hovering over her, every inch of his body pressed against hers.

“Not yet.”

His lips travel down her stomach and her thighs start tingling with anticipation, the thought of Jake going down on her enough to make her melt in even the most professional or serious moments - and it has, when her brain unfortunately chose to replay the events of her morning in a meeting with Captain Holt a few weeks ago - but he pauses.

“Jake, please-”

He cuts her off with a firm kiss to her lips, so passionate and intense that it makes her forget for a moment the activities at hand and her lust-driven train of thought and also everything else in the universe. It’s somehow also impossibly affectionate, his hand cupping her face while the other tangles in her hair. It’s both infinite and far too short, but once he pulls away she’s seeing stars that don’t disappear after her eyes slowly open.

“What was that for?” she asks quietly, her heart beating so loud that she’s sure he can feel it against his chest.

She’s not sure she’s ever been kissed like that in her life. Jake’s an incredible kisser, and though she at first partially attributed it to the emotional and physical buildup of wanting to do that for so long, he just seems to be getting better every time. His kisses are like pure magic, leaving her dazed and in awe.

“No reason.”

The reason, she suspects deep in her gut and will learn a few short months from now is accurate, is that they’re madly in love and can never get enough of each other.

But for now, she’s satisfied with kissing him again and letting him work more of his Jake Peralta magic.

[papermoonloveslucy]

TOO MANY HUSBANDS

April 21, 1947

The Gulf Screen Guild Theater present  Wesley Ruggles’ Too Many Husbands, which was a 1940 Columbia Pictures release.

Produced and Directed by: Bill Lawrence

Music by: Wibur Hatch

Synopsis ~ Vicky Lowndes (Lucille Ball) loses her first husband, Bill Cardew (Bob Hope), in a boating accident in which he is presumed drowned. The lonely widow is comforted by Bill's best friend and publishing business partner Henry Lowndes (Frank Sinatra). Six months later, she marries him. Six months after that, Bill shows up, after having been stranded on a uninhabited island and then rescued. Vicky has a tough choice to make.

The Screen Guild Theater (aka The Screen Guild Players), was one of the most popular drama anthology series during the Golden Age of Radio. At this point it is being sponsored by Gulf Oil. From its first broadcast in 1939, up to its farewell in 1952, it showcased radio adaptations of popular Hollywood films. Many Hollywood names became part of the show, including Bette Davis, Bing Crosby, Clark Gable, Judy Garland, Frank Sinatra, and many more. The actors’ fees were all donated to the Motion Picture Relief Fund, an organization that provides aid to retired actors. Screen Guild Theater was heard on different radio networks, beginning with CBS from 1939 to 1948, NBC from 1948 to 1950, ABC from 1950 to 1951, and back to CBS until its last episode on June 29, 1952. Throughout its run, a total of 527 episodes were produced.

The radio show brought movies to radio for thirty minutes each Monday evening on CBS. The show aired for 242 programs beginning with “Yankee Doodle Dandy” starring James Cagney and ending with “My Reputation.” In between were all time classics such as “Casablanca” with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, “Sergeant York” with Gary Cooper and “Holiday Inn” with Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, and Dinah Shore.

The Screen Guild Players previously broadcast an adaptation of “Too Many Husbands” on March 8, 1942 starring Hedy Lamar, Bob Hope, and Bing Crosby. On September 4, 1944 yet another version was aired by the Players, starring Donna Reed, Frank Sinatra, and Bill Goodwin. 

Too Many Husbands (1940) was produced and directed by Wesley Ruggles, with a screenplay by Claude Binyon. The film stars Jean Arthur, Fred MacMurray and Melvyn Douglas, and is based on the 1919 play Home and Beauty by W. Somerset Maugham, which was retitled Too Many Husbands when it came to New York.  The story is a variation on the 1864 poem Enoch Arden by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. In the UK, the film was released as My Two Husbands. The film was nominated for an Oscar for Sound Recording. Too Many Husbands was remade as a musical, Three for the Show (1955), with Jack Lemmon and Betty Grable. 

Two of the film’s background players, Bert Stevens and James Conaty, were later seen in as extras on “I Love Lucy.” Sam McDaniel (brother of Oscar-winner Hattie McDaniel of Gone With the Wind), plays a porter, just as he will do on “I Love Lucy,” becoming the first black actor to have lines on the series. Star Fred MacMurray will appear with Lucille Ball in “Lucy Hunts Uranium” in 1958. 

RADIO CAST

Lucille Ball (Vickie) plays the role originated in the film by Jean Arthur. In April 1947, Ball was awaiting the release of two films: Lured and Her Husband’s Affairs.  

Bob Hope (Bill) plays the role originated in the film by Fred MacMurray. Hope had just released the film My Favorite Brunette. Hope and Ball would do four films together, staring in 1949 with Sorrowful Jones. 

Frank Sinatra (Henry) plays the role originated in the film by Melvyn Douglas. Sinatra had just released the film It Happened in Brooklyn on April 7, 1947. Primarily a singer, this is the only time he acts opposite Lucille Ball. 

Truman Bradley (Announcer) was selected by Henry Ford to be the announcer for the “Ford Sunday Evening Hour”. With his distinctive, authoritative voice, he soon became a radio actor as well as a narrator in numerous movies. Bradley was the radio announcer for shows by Red Skelton, Burns and Allen, and Frank Sinatra. 

Peter, the Butler is played by an uncredited performer. 

‘TOO MANY’ TRIVIA!

The title is easily confused with the title of Lucille Ball’s radio series “My Favorite Husband,” and her films Too Many Girls, and Her Husband’s Affairs. 

Lucille Ball also appeared with Screen Guild Players in “Tight Shoes” (April 12, 1942), “Nothing But the Truth” (May 3, 1943), and “A Night To Remember” (May 1, 1944). 

From late 1942 to July 1947 Lady Esther Cosmetics sponsored the show which had been previously sponsored by Gulf Oil. It was first known as the “Lady Esther Presents the Screen Guild Players” and then became "The Lady Esther Screen Guild Theater.” 

As is his penchant, Hope ad libs during the script. While hugging Vickie upon his return from the ‘dead’, he says “Let’s just stay like this till ‘Take it or Leave It’ comes on the air!”  “Take It or Leave It” was a radio quiz show, which ran from April 1940 to July 1947 on CBS. It switched to NBC in 1947, and in September 1950, the name of the program was changed to “The $64 Question.”  Hope often flubs his dialogue, but covers with comedy. 

Bill (or maybe it is Bob ad libbing) mentions Dorothy Dix. Author Elizabeth Meriwether Gilmer (1861-1951) was widely known by the pen name Dorothy Dix. As the forerunner of today’s popular advice columnists, Dix was America’s highest paid and most widely read female journalist at the time of her death. Her advice on marriage was syndicated in newspapers around the world with an estimated audience of 60 million readers.

Bill (or maybe it is Bob ad libbing) wonders why Vickie married Henry: “Did you lose a question on “Truth or Consequences?” “Truth or Consequences” was a game show originally hosted on NBC radio by Ralph Edwards (1940–1957), although it also was later seen on television. 

Bill (or maybe it is Bob ad libbing) says that the mattress on the bed that he and Henry have to share feels like it has been stuffed with Grape-Nuts. Grape-Nuts is a breakfast cereal developed in 1897 by C. W. Post. Post originally developed the product as a batter that came from the oven as a rigid sheet, which was then broken into pieces and run through a coffee grinder to produce the "nut"-sized kernels.

The first commercial break advertises Lady Esther’s four-purpose face cream.  In these live commercials, the spokeswoman in known as Lady Esther, although she was not the actual Esther Cohen that the cosmetics line was named for. 

Bob Hope ad-libs about his “Pepsodent contract”.  Hope hosted “The Pepsodent Show” from September 1938 to June 1948. The program also featured Jerry Colonna along with Blanche Stewart and Elvia Allman as well as a continuously rotating supporting cast and musicians which included Desi Arnaz and his orchestra.

Henry tells Bill he should leave and join the Foreign Legion. Bill replies that he’ll meet him halfway by going to the library and reading Beau Geste. Beau Geste is an adventure novel by P. C. Wren, which details the adventures of three English brothers who enlist separately in the French Foreign Legion following the theft of a valuable jewel from the country house of a relative. Published in 1924, the novel has been adapted for the screen several times: 1926, 1939, and 1966. 

Henry asks Bill (Bob) if he can spell “pithecanthropus" and defines it a the missing link between man and ape. Bob (Bill) replies “C.R.O.S.B.Y”!  Bing Crosby was a singer that partnered with Hope on dozens of films, particularly their “road” films.  In April 1947, Crosby had just appeared in a cameo role in Hope’s newest film, My Favorite Brunette. By the end of 1947, The Road to Rio will be released.  Coincidentally, in the 1942 Screen Guild production, Crosby played Henry, the role taken here by Sinatra. 

Just before Vickie breaks it to Henry that she’d rather be married to Bill, Henry (or maybe it is Crosby) sings “Time After Time” (1946), a romantic ballad by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne, written for Sinatra to introduce in the 1947 film It Happened in Brooklyn, which had premiered two weeks earlier.  In return, in the very next scene, Bob Hope warbles a few notes of “Thanks for the Memory”, his signature song. 

At the end, Lucille Ball thanks the Motion Picture Relief Fund and it’s country house. In 1940, Jean Hersholt, then-president of the Motion Picture Relief Fund, found 48 acres of walnut and orange groves in the southwest end of the San Fernando Valley to build the Motion Picture Country House. The dedication was on September 27, 1942. The Motion Picture Hospital was dedicated on the grounds of the Country House in 1948.

The final commercial, once again delivered by ‘Lady Esther’ is for Lady Esther Bridal Pink Face Powder. 

‘TOO MANY’ CLOSING CREDITS

The announcer (Truman Bradley) promotes next week’s program, Stork Bites Man, starring Jackie Cooper, Anita Louise, and Gus Schilling.  

Stork Bites Man was a United Artists film that would not be released until June 1947. It also starred Cooper and Schilling. 

Columbia Pictures is credited as the producer of The Guilt of Janet Ames, starring Rosalind Russell and Melvyn Douglas. Coincidentally, Douglas starred in the film version of Too Many Husbands. 

The music was arranged and conducted by Wilbur Hatch, who also did the same for “My Favorite Husband” and “I Love Lucy.” 

Lucille Ball appeared courtesy of Metro Goldwyn Mayer, producers of The Sea of Grass starring Spencer Tracy, Katharine Hepburn, and Robert Walker.  

Bob Hope appears through the courtesy of Pepsodent, and can currently be seen in the Paramount picture, My Favorite Brunette.

Frank Sinatra appears through the courtesy of Old Gold cigarettes, and can currently be seen in the MGM musical It Happened in Brooklyn, also starring Katharyn Grayson, Peter Walker, and Jimmy Durante.

The announcer reminds listeners that part of the country goes on Daylight Saving Time, and that the show will be heard one hour earlier.  

[etherealwaifgoddess]

Extraordinary

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve is just trying to get through his day to day life in the wake of The Battle of New York, working at SHIELD and trying to ignore his own personal demons. Then he meets Y/N, a librarian who sees more than just the mantle of Captain America. 

Content Warning: some negative inner dialogue

Word Count: 3.1k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! This was written for the oh-so-talented @lancsnerd ‘s 1k Challenge. I picked the quote “You’re not special. You’re extraordinary.” for Steve. I really had a blast with this prompt and I hope you all enjoy the fic! XOXO - Ash

Extraordinary

“A hero? Like you?” Tony spits out incredulously,  “You're a lab rat, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle!”

Tony’s words echo in Steve’s head as he wakes with a start. Heart pounding, chest heaving, he tries to get his bearings. A dream. Just a dream. The words though, those still sting. Even a year later Steve can’t shake the feeling that Tony was right. Shit. He’s never getting back to sleep now. 

Steve drags himself out of bed, ignoring the alarm clock’s judgmental blue glow of 4:15am. At least he made it past 3am this time. Sleep problems are common in people with PTSD, his therapist had told him. She offered him medication to help but Steve declined, not sure how well it would work with his super soldier metabolism anyways. He dresses quickly, wanting to get a run in before breakfast. Steve has plenty of time, SHIELD doesn’t require him to show up until 9am, but he’s normally there before eight. He likes feeling useful, and having a steady job at SHIELD has been centering for him.

Steve runs a full marathon before the sun even comes up. He returns home just over an hour later, sweaty and finally starting to feel his muscles burn a little. It’s nice being able to lose himself for a little while in the steady rhythm of his feet hitting the pavement. He stares at his coffee maker for a moment before deciding it isn’t worth the hassle. It’s strange, having the luxury of getting coffee out just because he feels like it. The 1940s still feel like they were a few years ago and Steve’s depression era values run deep. He will admit though, there’s something to be said for takeout. Steve powers through two protein bars as he gets ready for a shower, needing something in his system before he crashes. It’s obnoxious some days how much his enhanced body requires, but he manages. It’s just one of the many unexpected side effects of Erskine’s serum.

Surviving Project Rebirth had been a blessing and a curse. Steve had finally gotten everything he wanted; a chance to fight for what was right, to do something meaningful with his life. But it came with a high price: his freedom. Steve’s life hasn’t been his own since the moment he stepped out of the vita-ray pod. He wasted so much time being the military’s dancing monkey and then once they realized he could fight, it was one battle after another. Even in this new century, he was thrust into a battle for mankind shortly after thawing out. Working for SHIELD for the past year has felt like a vacation after WWII and the Battle of New York. 

Steve clears the steam from the bathroom mirror after his shower, needing to do a quick shave. He stares at his reflection long after his face is back to its standard smoothness. Tony was right, his inner demons whisper. Fraud. Nothing. Worthless. Steve knows he’s supposed to reframe his thoughts and move past his negative inner dialogue, but in the moment he just can’t summon the will to care. Running a comb through his hair, he heads into the bedroom to dress for the day. He may not feel up to it at the moment but given a little time and some coffee, he’ll be okay by the time he gets into the office. 

The sounds of the city in downtown DC remind Steve of the Brooklyn of his youth and he’s comforted by the familiar hustle and bustle. He almost doesn’t see the oncoming trash truck when you step off the sidewalk to cross the street. A step behind you, Steve catches the large green truck out of the corner of his eye. The truck barely stops at the light and makes an illegal right turn on red, barreling straight for you. Steve, in a burst of speed, slams into you, scooping you up in his arms and rolling into the other lane out of the way of danger. As his broad shoulders collide with the pavement he holds you as tightly as he can, letting his body take the brunt of the impact. People on the sidewalk scream watching the scene unfold, but it’s all background noise to Steve who is only focused on the squeak of surprise you make as you roll. 

You come to a stop with Steve below you and he’s frantic to make sure you’re okay. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he asks urgently.

You blink a few times, gaining your bearings. One minute you’re crossing the street to work, the next you’re using America’s most famous super soldier as a human mattress. Not how you expected your day to go, to say the least. “I’m okay. I think.”

Steve frowns, still concerned. “You could be in shock. Here, let’s get you up.” 

You start to get up on your own but the second you’re off him Steve jumps up and reaches out. You accept his hand, pulling yourself up from the dirty DC street and trying in vain to straighten out your clothes. Steve collects your messenger bag and has it ready to hand over as soon as you’re done fussing with your silk blouse that is definitely going to need a trip to the dry cleaners after this. “Thanks.” you give him a small smile as you take your bag. 

Steve feels his breath catch in the wake of your smile. You’re petite compared to him, your smart bun is a little mussed from the rolling and your cheeks are flushed. He tries to ignore his interest in your soft feminine curves but Steve would have to be blind not to notice you. Almost a hundred years old and he still doesn’t know how to act around a pretty girl. Idiot. Useless, his demons hiss. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee,” he blurts out before his brain can catch up, “If you’re in shock then I can at least keep an eye on you for a bit.” 

First he saves your life, now he’s offering you coffee. Captain America indeed. “You don’t have to, really. I was going to just stop in at La Columbe on my way to work.” 

“I was headed there too! Come on, I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re not gonna pass out the second the shock wears off.” Steve gives you his very best earnest expression, “Please? I’m Steve, by the way.” he adds as an afterthought.

“Hi Steve.” you try not to laugh. Like you hadn’t recognized the literal symbol of America. “I’m Y/N.” 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. So, coffee?” 

“Sure, why not?” you agree. Steve’s face lights up like the sun and you’re blinded by it. Part of you wonders if the truck actually hit you and you’re dead, or maybe in a coma dreaming. Only the slight ache in your shoulder gives you confidence that this surreal experience is your real life.

You follow Steve down the block to your favorite coffee shop, making small talk along the way by explaining you work at the library two blocks over. You’ve run the children's programs and adult literacy group there for the past four years. Steve seems genuinely interested in your work which is both surprising and sweet. 

There’s no line at the coffee shop so you take a minute to pick your drink while Steve orders his usual Americano and a bag full of breakfast sandwiches. He looks bashfully over at you once he’s done, insisting you add your coffee to his tab. You settle on a smoked butterscotch latte, it’s been a while since you had one. You stop there every morning before work but never order the same drink twice in a row.

You try to get Steve to talk about himself while you wait for your drinks but he’s adorably vague. “Steve,” you stop him with a gentle hand on his forearm, “I know who you are. It’s okay.” 

Steve barks out a laugh, “Sorry. I forget sometimes. Okay then, I’m heading into the office to consult on a mission from last week. They have me review mission reports to make notes on how we can improve things in the future.” 

“That’s actually really cool.” you tell him. You would have said more but your orders are up and Steve hands you your paper to go cup. “Well, thanks for the drink, Steve. And the whole saving me thing.” you joke.

“Any time ma’am.” he quips, full of cheesy Captain America charm. You’re surprised and delighted to find he has a little bit of sass to him. “Really though,” he adds in a normal tone, “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I am, thanks to you.” 

There’s an awkward moment before you part. You don’t want to come across as a crazy fangirl but you also want to talk to him again sometime. Then again, you’re a librarian who’s closest friends are books and he’s Captain freaking America. You squash down the impulse and part ways with a smile. At least you’ll have an interesting story to tell Ellen at work. 

A few days go by and Steve keeps hoping to see you again at the coffee shop. It’s completely ridiculous but he wants to check on you and make sure you’re okay. It also doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful. Steve spends two days debating with himself if it would be creepy or kind to pop by the library to check on you. By Friday morning he’s talked himself into it as he wraps up his run. He throws on a smart looking button up shirt and makes sure his hair is slicked back nicely in a way Natasha insists is stylish. Fool. Impostor. Idiot. His head demons whisper as he checks himself in the mirror one last time. He forces himself to ignore them and heads out in the warm summer air. 

Steve realizes as he stands on the steps of the library that he doesn’t know your schedule. Or your last name. He steels himself for impending failure and heads inside. He can at least try. 

Your voice carries through the quiet library and it calms him immediately. “- and he hopped so high that his ears brushed the branches above. That’s good hopping thought little nutbrown hare…” 

Steve follows the sound of your voice across the library where he finds you sitting cross legged on a brightly patterned carpet in front of a small herd of preschoolers. Your tone and expressions keep the kids engaged as you read them a story and Steve is spellbound. He hangs back quietly leaning on a bookcase, watching you lead the group and waiting for you to finish. It doesn’t take long before the group disbands and you’re on your own to clean up after receiving a few enthusiastic hugs from the kids. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Steve says walking over to you. 

You look up, not having noticed him before. “Steve!” you try to stifle how excited you are by his presence. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. Thought I’d drop by to see how you’re doing.” 

“I’m fine, really. I promise. Your life saving skills are excellent.” 

“Glad I haven’t lost my touch being behind a desk.” 

“Definitely not.” you assure him, “So, anything I can help you with while you’re here?” 

Steve realizes he hadn’t thought much past seeing you again. “Could I take you out for a cup of coffee?” 

“I’m working right now.” Steve’s heart drops in his chest, “But I’ll be free for lunch around one.”

Lunch. Not just coffee, but an actual meal. Hope renews in Steve. “I can do that. I could pick you up here?” 

“Sure. There’s a few places around here, so we have options.” 

“Okay great,” Steve tries to reign in his enthusiasm, “I’ll see you then.” Steve gives you a blinding smile before you part ways and it makes you wonder if the fluttering feeling in your chest might be reciprocated after all. 

Steve arrives back at the library at one o’clock sharp, not really caring if it messes up his schedule at Shield. He never takes a real lunch, often just grabbing a tray of something in the cafeteria and dragging it back up to his office to eat while he works. It’s nice getting out in the warm sunshine in the middle of the day. Steve spots you coming out at the same time he’s heading up the stairs and he gives you a small wave. “Ready to go?” he calls as he meets you on the stairs. 

“Absolutely.” you grin, “What are you in the mood for?” 

“I eat just about anything.” 

“Me too. Um, there’s a really good taco truck around the corner. We could eat in the park?” 

“Sounds great.” Steve agrees easily. It’s not a conventional type of first date and that makes it almost more exciting to him. 

You show Steve the way to your favorite food truck where you have to suppress your surprise when he practically buys out the truck. He apologizes profusely, making sure the guys know if they need to wait on other people first he’s fine waiting. 

“Steve,” you finally attempt to get his attention, “You know it’s okay to order yourself a meal, right? You don’t have to keep apologizing, these guys are used to the lunch rush.” 

Steve’s cheeks redden and he rubs a hand on the back of his neck, a visible nervous tick. “I know.” he says, but his words don’t sound convincing even to himself. 

A few others do show up while you wait but as expected, the guys are used to the rush and have no trouble keeping up. After only a few minutes they’re calling Steve’s name and he hurries over to collect your bags. A pair of girls are eyeing him as he accepts the food, whispering in the least subtle way possible. They can’t be more than twenty and they’re frantically typing on their phones as they whisper. 

“Are you, Captain America?” the braver of the two asks him.

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve replies. His tone is friendly yet guarded and you watch him with curiosity. 

The girls giggle, and the other speaks up, “I did a whole history project on you and the Howlies a few years ago. You’re a real inspiration.” 

“Um… thank you.” Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously again. “You ladies have a nice day.” He’s moving away before they can even say goodbye, making a beeline for you.

Finding a picnic table over by the shade trees Steve lays out the food, your taco platter looking pitiful next to his spread. Steve’s shoulders start to loosen a little as you start chatting about your day. You see him cringe when the girls from earlier walk past, but they don’t stop or say anything, only giving him quick little waves as they pass by. 

“That has to be a little overwhelming.” you comment mildly.

“Hmm?” Steve hums, mouth full of taco.

“Being recognized all the time.” you clarify. “It has to be a little overwhelming.” 

Steve nods, “Yeah, I’m still getting used to it. I just don’t get it. I’m really nothing special.” 

You laugh lightly, “Steve, you’re Captain America. You’re not special, you’re extraordinary.” 

“I’m just a kid from Brooklyn who never learned to stand down in a fight.” he shrugs. 

“And grew up to save the world. Twice.” 

“Nah, I had a lot of help with that.”

“You really suck at letting people compliment you, you know that?” you tease.

Steve sighs, shaking his head, “I just don’t get it. I don’t want to be Cap all the time. Sometimes I just want to be Steve Rogers.” 

“Well there’s your problem then.” Steve looks at you expectantly to continue. “Because Steve Rogers is pretty damn extraordinary too.” 

Steve stares at you for a stunned moment. He doesn’t even know how to respond to adequately express how much your words mean to him. No one has wanted Steve just for himself since Peggy and that had been a lifetime ago. For once the demons in his head are silent. Steve takes a long, steadying breath before speaking. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Nothing to thank me for. Now, tell me, what does Steve Rogers do for fun?”

Steve laughs at the topic change. “Have you heard of the show Parks and Recreation?”

“That is literally the best show.” you give your words a Chris Traeger inflection and watch as a wide smile breaks out on Steve’s face.

“Nice. Well, I’m watching that right now. I’m about halfway through the list of important things to watch and this show’s actually pretty good.” 

“You have a list? What else is on it?” you wonder who made it for him and if any other of your favorite shows are on it.

“How much time do you have?” Steve jokes.

“For you, I have all the time in the world.” 

But you didn’t have all the time in the world. You didn’t need to get back to the library for the next group until 3:30 and you had thought that would be more than enough time. Instead the minutes flew by as you talked with Steve and by the time you finish, you’re racing back to the library to make it there on time. Talking with Steve was as easy as breathing and you were disappointed when you realized you were out of time. You had kept the conversation on generic ‘getting to know you’ topics, keeping away from anything Avengers related since he seemed uncomfortable talking about his public persona. While a tiny part of your brain had swooned over Captain America at first, you’re currently swooning over Steve Rogers himself. He’s kind, surprisingly funny, and as you suspected, genuinely a good man. 

“Y/N, wait!” Steve calls out, causing you to stop in the doorway to the library. You had already said your goodbyes but Steve’s mouth had gotten ahead of his brain yet again. 

You look to him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

He takes a long breath, bracing himself against his own nerves.“Can we do this again sometime?”

“Yeah, Steve. We can.”

[darth-el]

When We Got Love

Pairing: Steve x Reader Warning: Angst/fluff A/N: I felt inspired to write for Steve and I used one of my favourite songs which you can find in my Spotify playlist. This one actually hurt me to write. 

Masterlist

The year was 1991, Hawkins for Steve had become a thing of the past. Steve and you took the plunge and moved to New York the year before. The moment you set foot in your crummy studio apartment Steve felt like he could breathe for the first time in ages, although it was probably best he didn't due to the amount of damp and mould. He wasn't scared that he was going to die at the hands of an interdimensional monster any more, he had escaped. Neither of you cared that you sold all your stuff from the past to help get money for a deposit for an apartment and left for New York one day without a plan. It did result in living out of your car for a couple of weeks until you found an apartment, but it didn't matter as you had each other.

You both slept on a mattress in the middle of the floor with a television on top of a video player at the bottom of the bed. In the corner was a sewing machine as you made your own clothes. The walls were either brick or white covered in colourful paint splatters where you and Steve just threw paint from free sample pots at the wall instead of just painting it properly. There were photos pinned to the walls from your teenage years and the adventures you had, there were little love notes pinned or written on the wall in permanent marker. Your tiny apartment had become a scrapbook of your life together. It was something you both craved, a home.

It wasn't easy moving to New York, you managed to a job quite quickly in a bar which to you was the epitome of New York. It was a poorly lit bar in a basement. It was smokey, it was filthy, but the people were interesting and they made your day interesting. Unfortunately you and Steve struggled to live on your single wage, which caused a lot of arguments. Steve was slowly becoming more and more depressed. You'd come in from a shift and you realised he hadn't left the bed since you left. It was hurting you. This wasn't the man you fell in love with, it felt like he was a shell of the person he once was.

“We can't keep doing this Steve!” You pleaded with him while kneeling on the mattress clutching at sheets with tears streaming down your face. Your home in tatters, both your clothes now littered the fire escape and alleyway below. He took a deep breath, he couldn't look at you because he knew how much he had hurt you. “Steve please look at me,” You sounded breathless through the tears. He rested his head on the window looking out over the rest of Brooklyn still not wanting to look at you.

“I don't know what else to do,” There was a hopelessness in his voice.

“Do you think we should move back to Hawkins?” Your breath was still shaky as you tried to calm yourself. Steve just shook his head still not looking at you. “That's not what you want.” Those words cut through you. He climbed out the window and down the fire escape to collect your discarded clothes. You let your head drop down waiting for him to come back up.

After a few minutes you saw the clothes being shoved through window and Steve following them.

“We need to talk Steve about everything.” You got up to get a glass of water and you stood over the sink staring into it and watching the left over water swirl into the drain.

“No we don't,” You could hear Steve dump the clothes on the mattress and walk over to you, resting on his elbows on the paint splattered counter with his head in his hands and let out a groan of frustration.

“Steve we need to do something about this.” You broke the silence after what felt an eternity and put your arms around his waist and held him close to you.

“I know,” You could feel his breath caress your face as he pulled you closer. His voice was calmer, but you could hear it breaking.

“What do you want?” You started running your fingers lightly through his hair. His eyes were soft and he had a defeated smile on his face.

“I don't know any more,” He sighed he let go of you and slid down to floor with his back to kitchen counters now. You sat down next to him and wrapped your arms around his arm and rested your heads against one another. “I just want a job, I don't want us to keep fighting.” He said staring at the floorboards in front of him.

“You know whatever you want, I'll be right by your side.” You moved your head so you could rest it on his shoulders

“I'll get my big break soon,” He let out soft laugh and you felt him give you a kiss. “By the way a stray dog ran off with some of your underwear.” You could feel him laugh by the way his shoulders bouncing.

“Brilliant.” You rolled your eyes as you stood up and pulled him up and wrapped your arms around his neck. He was playing with your hair smiling. Amongst everything it started to feel like you were teenagers again.

“I love you Y/N.” Steve whispered as he rested his forehead on yours.

“I love you too.” You whispered back as you gave him a kiss making him smile even more.

Two weeks, and three explosive arguments later you were laying on the mattress eating instant noodles watching Raiders of the Lost Ark which was followed by the television premier of Goodfellas. You were wearing one of Steve's jumpers as it was cold, and they were warm. You had got into one of your explosive arguments a couple of hours before and he stormed out. You discovered if you let him do his thing when he stormed out he'll always be back, and he'll be calmer. You were lucky you didn't have a shift that day, but if you got the call to ask if you could cover you would have jumped on it. You heard the keys in door and your heart skipped a beat. You were slightly nervous because you didn't put up a fight when he stormed out like normal. You just let him go, you even encouraged him. He had a smile on his face when he came in which was unusual. You muted the movie and furrowed your brow waiting for him to speak.

“I've got a job interview,” He exclaimed happily. You immediately dropped your noodles and jumped into his arms, he let a small grunt when he caught you. You squealed with excitement peppering him in kisses all over his face. “It's not much, but it's as a waiter.” He laughed at you still kissing him.

“I'm so proud of you,” You squeaked giving him one last passionate kiss before he let you down.

“How?” You were so excited for him and you pulled him onto the mattress and he laid down with his head in your lap once you got yourself comfortable and finished off your noodles.

“You telling me that 'you can't help me if I don't help myself' hurt,” He sighed as he watched you eat. “But I needed to hear it, so I went into a restaurant that had a 'help wanted' sign and demanded they give me a job.” He laughed wiping noodle water off your chin.

“I was saving that for later,” You giggled as you finished your last mouthful.  “You didn't demand did you?” You put your noodle pot to the side and started stroking his hair knowing he stretched the truth.

“I begged until they agreed to give me an interview,” He admitted rolling over so he could watch what was on TV while you played with his hair, which always relaxed him. “What were you watching?” As the credits of Raiders of the Lost Ark ran.

“It was Indiana Jones, Goodfellas next.” You smiled at him.

“Did we see that in the theatre?” You looked back at you trying to remember.

“We paid to go see it, but we didn't see much of it.” You chuckled thinking back to when you saw it and you couldn't keep your hands off each other.

“Oh yeah.” He nodded as he remembered that night as well turning back to the still running credits.

It was your birthday celebrations and you were at the bar you worked at, mainly because of free drinks that night. You were wearing a silk slip dress that you made for the occasion with a pair of old battered Doc Marten's which you had since you were a teenager and a plastic tiara that Steve bought you, like he did every year since knowing you. You were all doing shots and dancing. “To the wonderful birthday girl on her 25th time around the sun.” Your friend Angela announced drunkenly making the entire bar cheer in celebration. Both you and Steve didn't have much, but you had each other and you had wonderful friends who cared about you. You spent the night dancing with Steve badly, it felt like you were the only two in world. Until you needed another drink. You waited at the bar and could feel someone unnecessarily close to you. “Let me get the birthday girl a drink.” He rough voice offered. You looked up and it was one of customers that apparently had a crush on you. No one in the bar knew his name, the only thing you all knew was that he'd be in everyday and avoid any contact unless it was with you. He scared you.

“I'm good.” You stuttered, feeling small.

“No girl like should be paying for your drinks.” He had a sleazy smile which made your skin crawl.

“Good thing I'm not paying then.” You retorted quietly as you grabbed your drink and made your way over to Steve and the rest of your friends.

“Who's that?” You could tell Steve was getting jealous.

“He's a customer.” You shrugged trying to downplay how much he creeped everyone who worked in the bar out.

“He has like this fixation on Y/N.” Taylor's pupils were dilated where she was high and her speech was slurred from drinking too much. You shot a look at her hoping that you could actually kill her with it. Steve shifted in his seat making you move your legs off his lap.

“Why didn't you tell me about him?” Steve was agitated by you keeping this from him.

“I don't know his name, and he creeps everyone out. I don't want to come home and talk about him.” You said with a half smile on your face.

“Did you know about the fixation?” Steve said after downing his drink in one.

“I've been told he has a crush on me, but I don't believe it.” You said holding Steve's arm hoping he wasn't too angry.

“I'm going to get another drink.” He kissed you on the cheek and made his way over to the bar. It wasn't until you heard a clattering by the bar when you realised Steve had confronted the unnamed customer. You buried your head in your hands wanting to scream before getting up and pulling Steve out the bar and apologising to Michael who was working behind the bar that night.

The temperature had dropped significantly that night and Steve once again stormed off, this time you chasing him the road.

“Steve, for fuck's sake,” You caught up to him and grabbed his arm making him swing around to look at you. “Why?” You were seething and embarrassed. Every time you argued you felt like you losing what the relationship once was and it was morphing into something else.

“I don't want anyone to make you uncomfortable,” He was angry, but not at you. You inhaled sharply to calm yourself down. “You don't know what he's capable of.” He was sounding desperate and almost remorseful while saying this.

“No I don't, but he's never caused any trouble,” You shook your head looking at the ground. “Until tonight.” You exhale just as sharply as you inhaled. Steve could see he had embarrassed you and didn't want to ruin your night any further by arguing.

“Come on I'm going to make it up to you,” Steve held out his hand waiting for you to take it. “We'll get your favourite Chinese, and pig out while watching the Evil Dead films.” He smiled as you took your hand and led you down the road.

“I hear there's a third one in the works.” You beamed a smile at him as started walking backwards just so you could look him, still holding his hand.

“We'll definitely have to go see that.” Steve winked before pulling you in for a drunk, passionate kiss. New York may have been difficult for the both of you, but you knew the love you had was far more important than anything else. You could survive anything and everything if you had each other.