#For my boy!!! My Irish boy Steve!!!!

[itsalmostavengers]

Kiss Me, I'm Irish

Steve wasn't sure what made him say it, to be honest. Under most circumstances, he'd seriously like to believe he was better than this.

It was probably a mixture of things. The fact that it had taken him several days and multiple financial bribes by Natasha just to get him to wear the damn thing, for starters. Also the fact that she'd absolutely assured him it would get him out of the 6 month no-sexual-contact slump he'd been in for the last... well.

You can take an educated guess as to how long it'd been.

Anyway. He'd been wearing the ridiculous 'kiss me I'm Irish' shirt for 10 hours of the 24 that made up St. Patrick's Day, and yet still no-one had approached him during that time. Steve was beginning to think that maybe there was just something seriously wrong with his personality.

He'd gone out shopping with the shirt on. He'd had a drink with Bucky wearing this shirt - and yet it was Bucky, somehow, who had managed to get the number off a talkative woman who'd sat alongside them while they'd been sinking their traditional St. Paddy's Day Guinnesses. Not Steve. Bucky hadn't even showered that day, let alone worn something that was begging strangers to throw themselves at him.

Honestly, it wouldn't have bothered him under most circumstances. Steve Rogers was not the kind of man to to get pissy about being overlooked - Lord knows he'd been dealing with it for most of his life before the serum. It was just the fact that Natasha had been so sure it was going to work. She'd gone and gotten him all hopeful for nothing.

He was a humble man - but seriously, he was at a real risk of developing some sort of complex from this, and there was already enough of that in the Avengers already, thank you very much.

It was this, ultimately, that caused his sour mood during the team dinner. And this which also caused him to say what he said.

Bruce had been passing him the garlic bread, as any polite person would do at a dinner setting. He'd noticed Steve was uncharacteristically quiet that night, and Steve hadn't wanted to say that the garlic bread was the wrong brand to what he normally loved, he hadn't wanted to say that there'd been a gnawing, desperate want in him for the last 8-odd months of living in the Avengers Tower, brought about by the constant sight of sharp brown eyes and fast hands and a razor sharp, quick-witted tongue.

So when Bruce had asked him what was wrong, Steve had instead gone for the one thing that seemed easiest:

"I've been wearing this stupid shirt all Goddamn day and no-one has kissed me yet."

It was childish. Uncharacteristic. Steve could see immediately that Bruce regretted even asking - because honestly, how the hell did you even respond to a comment so infantile? And Steve knew that - he knew it as soon as he said it, because he shook his head, cursed his stupid instinctive honesty, and opened his mouth to begin to try and pass it off as a joke. A silly, ironic comment, brought about by too much Asgardian-infused alcohol and mixed with a healthy amount of sexual frustration.

Unfortunately, someone rather important had heard his commentary.

"You've not been kissed all day?" Said Tony from across the room, where he'd just walked through the door. He was wearing a suit, the same way he always did - far too busy to be engaging in St. Patrick's Day nonsense. But his eyes were firmly on Steve, taking in the ridiculous shirt with a small eyebrow raise and an indistinguishable look on his face.

Steve could do nothing but shake his head dejectedly, rolling his eyes and then standing up to go grab some water. Thor's mead had done a bit of a number on him - he was man enough to admit that.

"It's probably for the best," he said. (Sulkily.)

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

The sheer bluntness of Tony's words threw Steve for a loop, if only for a moment. When he glanced behind him, Tony was looking at him downright incredulously.

"Steve," he declared, "if someone like you wears a shirt like that and does not get to at least second base, then it's technically classed as a crime against humanity. I hope you know that."

Steve just shrugged defeatedly. "Go take your case to the International Court of Human Rights then," he muttered, pulling a sip of water from his glass.

There was a moment of quiet. Steve knew he was probably imagining it, but he thought he heard Tony splutter a little bit.

And then, of course - in the way that Tony often did - he had to go and change the course of history forever.

There was a dull thunk as Tony dropped his suitcase at the door. Then the sound of very confident, very determined footsteps. At this point, Steve was still facing the faucet, but once he heard those same footsteps rapidly begin to approach him, he thought it prudent to turn and face them. Call it the soldier in him.

He was met with a faceful of Tony Stark, stalking up to him as if there was some sort of fundamental problem that needed fixing. A glitch in his software that he quite simply could not live with without rectifying.

In a way, it was very Tony.

There was a singular moment where Tony looked at Steve's stupid shirt and paused. Where he considered the implications, just for a moment. But Tony was Tony, and to him, the future was always simply another problem to be solved later,

"I'm sorry," Tony said bluntly, and he sounded slightly raw-edged, like he'd been speaking in meetings for too long or pretending to be someone else just a little too authentically, "but I can't let that injustice go on any longer."

And then, without a moment of hesitation or doubt, Tony curled his fingers around Steve's neck, pulled him in, and kissed him.

Steve had a small, infinitesimal moment of panic where he thought of what was going on - what he was doing with his teammate, with the man he went to war with every other day - but that voice was quickly silenced by the pure, sheer relief that came with kissing Tony Stark. The utter euphoria of feeling his world suddenly slotting into place. This was a puzzle piece that Steve had not even realised was missing until he'd plucked it from under the rug.

Tony kissed like it was the last thing on Earth he'd ever do. His confident fingers wound their way into the short hairs on the back of Steve's head, pushing him further into the confines of Tony's mouth, the dangerous allure of his tongue, Christ, Tony could sure as shit make a kiss work in his favour. His three-piece suit was soft, well-made, but his skin was better. The scratch of his beard was something Steve had fantasised about for months and yet never known until that very second - his eyelashes batted up against Steve's brow bone, his lips were soft and tasted like the coconut moisturiser he always wore.

Steve could only make a small noise of shock, joy, lust, love, in the back of his throat - and then, of course, he was kissing back. His hands moved of their own volition - smoothing down Tony's defined biceps, curling across the small of the other man's back. It took him a huge amount of self-restraint from palming his hand across the taut material that covered Tony's ass.

If this came back to haunt him, Steve could just say the shirt had compelled him. It wasn't his fault. It was, however, the best kiss of Steve's life.

Tony's mouth was masterful - his teeth bit down teasingly against Steve's bottom lip, uncaring of the audience they were keeping in the dining room, unbothered by his own admission of enjoyment, pulled from his mouth in a low, seductive moan. His hands wandered shamelessly. They stroked Steve's shoulders, his jaw, before travelling south, skirting his hips and then settling authoritatively on Steve's ass. Were it any other circumstance, Steve would probably have thought Tony was hypnotised. Or possessed.

But... you know. The shirt.

Eventually, and after a hefty amount of abuse from everyone else at the dinner table, Tony forced himself off Steve's mouth. Admittedly, even he seemed dazed - even if only for a moment before composing himself.

Hands sliding off Steve's body, they quickly adjusted Tony's own suit. He cleared his throat.

"There you go," he declared hoarsely. "Fixed it."

Somewhere to their left, there was a snort of amusement. It was probably Clint. Asshole.

Steve gaped at Tony. "Thanks," he managed to force out. His voice was far, far more strangled than he'd intended it to be.

Tony looked at him for a moment, blinking slowly. He was so unbelievably attractive, and he'd just kissed Steve like that, and for a moment, Steve wondered whether he could just pick Tony up and carry him away to whichever bedroom was closest. He wondered if Tony would let him. Steve had never thought that would be the case, but God... that kiss...

"Anyway," Tony said, just a touch too loud to be casual, "I have to go do... Um. Work. Probably." He nodded, glancing once more at Steve. "Happy Saint Patrick's Day," he said softly.

And then, without another word, he walked off in the direction he'd come.

Steve stared.

Clint, Bruce, Natasha and Thor all groaned.

"Well, I'm sure that's not complicated anything," Clint said mutinously.

[wqemzz-blog]

Giving Ronan Celtic tattoo designs is my agenda, perogative, scheme, and some may even say my destiny

[g00seg1raffe]

A (comparatively) Brief Thought about Steve Harrington's Names

Lucky Stevie has full names in three different languages and they're all equally incriminating in different ways!

For context: Steve's parents meet just as the summer of '66 is ending, in a perfectly legitimate bar with absolutely no connection to organised crime in Chicago. They introduce themselves as Christopher (call me Chris, Christopher is shite) Harrington and Anita (but you, bello, can call me Tina) Martino. They are both lying.

See, America is it's own little world. Founded by desperate refugees and religious extremists, the USA is the New York of the western world - the perfect place to disappear, because no matter your sins, there's always someone weirder. And in this totally not shady bar in Chicago, these two strangers have a lot of sins.

Mr. Ciarán Ótis Marcin Ó'hArrachtáin is what some might call a terrorist. Those 'some' are, of course, all eejits who seem to be fecking delirah with the Brits treating the Irish Free State as a colony. But Ótis and Martyna didn't raise a spineless dosser, not on tales of the shite they saw in Nazi Poland. Ciarán wants to be just like his mama, so does the only thing he can at sweet sixteen and joins the IRA. It was a grand old time - until some spanner decided to start the boarder campaign, make some things go boom, then it all goes arseways and suddenly he's a wanted man. Now he's legged it all the way out to this bar in Chicago where he can find some mostly-legal work, set himself up as someone who doesn't need to check over his shoulder every five seconds - and maybe he can take a chance on this absolute ride of an Italian who's just walked in, Jaysus -

Sig.na Alessia Stefania "Pieterina" Serafini has made a name for herself as a mafiosa. Beloved, wild, ruthless granddaughter of Don Alessio - caporegime since nineteen and well on her way to consigliere - and, right now, in molti problemi with la Cosa Nostra. So much problemi that she's been effectively smuggled into the US, like that goddamn heroin shipment that started all these problemi... ah well. She just needs to lie low for a bit (a decade) with her American cousins on the less than legal side of Chicago before she can return to her cosca and the people she actually trusts not to stab her the moment she turns her back - and maybe she can have some fun with this bello, bello Irishman who's looking her way, dannazione -

So. Discussing the evolution Mr and Mrs Harrington's relationship is gonna have to wait (though I'd love to hear from you guys) - the important thing here is the family history.

================================================

Tina's side: Alessia Stefania "Pietrina" Serafini.

Tina's father is Vincenzo Serafini and her grandfather is Alessio Serafini. Her first name is the feminine of her paternal grandfather's name. Steve's middle names are also from them.

(In case it wasn't obvious, the Serafini family are heavily involved in the Italian mafia - potentially involved in the Ciaculli massacre in '63 - and also have ties to the American mafia.)

Tina's mother is Pietra Tedesco and her grandmother is Stefania Tedesco. Her middle name - Stefania - and her son's first name - Stefano - are from her maternal grandmother. "Pietrina" is a diminutive nickname for Pietra - they're saying she's just like her mother, and since they figured this would be easy and natural enough for Steve to remember, his agreed Italian 'cover' surname is Di Pietro.

(Pietra is the feminine of her father's Petri Tedesco - which is itself the new name chosen by the German runaway Peter Thälmann. No relation to German Communist Party Leader Ernst Thälman, no sir, nothing to see here.)

So: Stefano Alessio Vincenzo Serafini - or, when he doesn't want to advertise the mafia part - Stefano Di Pietro.

Chris' side: Ciarán Ótis Marcin Ó'hArrachtáin.

Chris' father is Ótis Ó'hArrachtáin, and his paternal grandparents Steafán and Keira Ó'hArrachtáin. He gets his first name from the masculine of his grandmother's name, his middle name from his father, and gave Steve his grandfather's name.

(Steafán and Keira worked their asses off their whole life to put their kids through school, ennabling Ótis to work at the Irish embassy in Poland, where he managed to smuggle a handful of refugees past the Nazis to Britain, of which his future wife, Hannia Marcinkiewicz, was one.)

Chris' mother is Anita Marcinkiewicz. He gets his middle name from her surname. Steve gets his Irish 'cover' surname from that.

(Anita and her son are very similar as teenagers and young adults - the same heady cocktail of jaded rage and a naïve sense of justice, motivating spiky teens in parallel shitty situations to commit near-suicidal acts of heroism, with similar results. Just what did Anita do? Nothing you can prove, of course...)

(Yes, Anita Marcinkiewicz and Anita Martino - a wild coincidence that kicks of conversation for our young lovers in Chicago. Not in any way manipulated by an omnipotent fangirl who wants her OCs to have something neat to make slightly awkward but unexpectedly wholesome small talk about over a Guinness and a Negroni in a bar in Chicago). (This is why Chris calls his wife Tina all the time when anyone else would get shot if she's feeling anything less than saccharine.)

So: Steofán Ciarán Ótis Ó'hArrachtáin - or, when he'd rather avoid any connection to the wanted terrorist - Steofán Ó Máirtín.

================================================

Of course, as half Irish and half Italian - or, well, 1/8 German, 2/8 Polish, 2/8 Irish and 3/8 Italian but who's counting. Aside from me -

The point is, he's Catholic as fuck. He can be non-practicing and still Catholic (bc fuckboi), he can lose his faith and still be Catholic (bc interdimensional hell monsters), he can be an atheist (bc Irish) and still be Catholic, ok - he is Italian and Irish, there's no cure.

So, yeah, he's definitely been christened. And sure, you can old give any old name to the government (fuck them anyways) as long as it suits your purposes. But your christening name is the one that God knows you by, okay, you don't want to lie to the priest and end up with the wrong name tag when you get to heaven (or if, I guess).

What I'm saying is the paperwork says Steven Otis Harrington, but some poor Father/Reverendo gets hit with Stefano Stiofán Alessio Ciarán Vincenzo Ótis Serafini Ó'hArrachtáin. Good fucking luck!

[wheneverfeasible]

Awakenings

wc: 2.3k || rating: T || cw: none || summary: Steve, Robin, and Eddie discuss their queer awakenings with (not-so-) surprising results. || ao3

“I mean, I don’t blame you,” Eddie grinned from where he was draped over the Buckleys’ couch, socked feet crossed against the wall as his head hung upside down off the cushions. “Jodie Foster is a babe. Did you see her in Carny?”

Steve laughed at Robin’s red face. “More times than she would like to admit,” he teases her, throwing a half-popped piece of popcorn at her face. Her resulting shriek was worth her throwing an aptly named throw pillow at his head.

Steve doesn’t know exactly how they got on to this topic, but it wasn’t unusual. Ever since Robin came out to Eddie, resulting in Eddie coming out to her in a panic at seeing her look so uncomfortable, which then resulted in Steve having to come out when Eddie panicked about him, well, a lot of their conversations when they were alone devolved into queerdom.

They had been watching music videos on TV and discussing who was hot, which resulted in them talking about how they had discovered they were queer, or maybe should have realized it sooner. Apparently Eddie had been obsessed with this one Irish singer/bassist dude who had recently passed away, which now that he knew he was bi, he realized now had been a celebrity crush.

Which prompted Robin to tell them who had been her lesbian awakening, another celebrity crush.

“Ugh, too bad I don’t have a chance with her,” Robin bemoaned from where she was now trying to smother Steve with the pillow she had thrown at him from their spots on the floor in front of the TV. “Not only is she a celebrity, but she’s also straight!”

Steve laughed, pushing Robin away. “I don’t know, man, you saw that interview she did years ago when asked about boys,” he teased her. “She probably likes boobies too.”

“Stop saying boobies!” Robin shrieked again, grabbing another pillow to smother him with.

Eddie laughed at them, well used to their sibling dynamic. “Well, we all know who awakened little Stevie, don’t we?” he teased, causing the two roughhousing to pause. Which was just as good since they’d ended up knocking over the popcorn bowl, though thankfully it was mostly empty already.

Steve hesitated, wondering if he’d been that obvious. “I truly don’t think you know,” he said dryly, almost mockingly. He wasn’t ashamed of it or embarrassed by it, but he also hadn’t wanted to make anything weird in their friend group.

“C’mon, dude. It’s obvious! Tom Cruise!”

Steve froze. Processed. Let out a groan. “Oh my god, I’ve had a crush on Tom Cruise this whole time,” he whined, dropping back onto the floor on his back. “No wonder Nancy always gave me a look when I wanted to watch his movies.”

Robin and Eddie both laughed at him, though at least Robin had the decency to try to hide hers.

“You mean you didn’t know?” Eddie asked, obviously delighted by that turn of events. “Christ, Harrington, I thought you were going to cream your pants when we watched Top Gun.”

“Well I know I like him now,” Steve complained from his spot on the floor, waving a hand in the air. “But he wasn’t the one who made me realize I was bi.”

“Oooh, then who was it?” Robin teased him, poking him in the ribs to watch him squirm.

Steve rolled his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t been obvious then. He sat back up and propped himself up on his hands with a small shrug. Like he said, he wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed. Well, maybe embarrassed by what had made him realize, but not the who of it. Never the who.

“Jonathan,” he answered simply.

Now it was Eddie’s turn to squawk, tumbling ass over tits from the couch to the floor as he tried to lift himself up to stare agog at Steve. “WHAT!”

Steve just let out a chuckle, bringing up a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Yeah, pretty early on actually. Well, I didn’t realize it was a small crush yet, but yeah.” He let out a heavy sigh with another roll of his eyes at his two friends’ gaping expressions.

“When was this!” Robin exclaimed. “How could you not tell me about all of this!”

“I just didn’t think it was important,” he huffed. His cheeks turned slightly pink at her first question, however. “Uh…it was…whenhepunchedme,” he said in a rush.

“Sorry, could you repeat that, because it sounds like you said when he punched you!”

Steve could only give her a sheepish grin and another small shrug. “It was kind of hot,” he admitted, causing Robin to throw herself back with a small wail. Eddie was just staring at him with wide eyes, but what else was new. “He liked Nancy and was trying to defend her honor, and then I said those really shitty things about his family when Will was missing.”

Steve sighed. Honestly, he regretted those things the most. Sure, he’d been wrong about what Jonathan and Nancy had been up to, but Nancy hadn’t given him another excuse than cheating on him at the time. Saying those hateful things about the Byers though, when he knew they were hurting? That had been fucked up, especially when he saw what an amazing person Joyce was, and how sweet Will was.

He’d apologized to them all after that first time (minus Lonnie of course because that guy does suck) but he still feels bad about it.

“I just thought it was hot at first though, the strength and male aggression, which made me realize maybe I was the queer. Then I started thinking about how Jon protects those he cares about, and by the time I realized that I felt jealous of both him and Nancy, they were already dating.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie muttered, scrubbing a palm over his face. “Oh my god.”

“I don’t have a crush on him now,” Steve complained. “But yeah. Jonathan Byers was my bi awakening,” he added with a grin.

“I can’t believe you never told me this,” Robin hissed, smacking him in the arm. “And after the Russian drug confessions and everything!”

“Hey!” Steve said, swatting back at her. He pointed an accusing finger at Eddie. “What about Eddie! He never told us who was his awakening. Just that he should have known sooner than he did.”

Robin’s gaze immediately swerved to take in Eddie’s pinking expression, a wicked grin curling her lips. “That’s right. Who made you realize you were a big fat homo, Munson?”

Eddie chuckled nervously, his gaze darting back and forth between them. “Uh…does it matter?” he hedged, causing Steve and Robin to roll their eyes in sync.

“I told you about Jonathan,” Steve pointed out. “And Robin told you about how she’s been a useless lesbian all her life.”

“Hey!”

“So who did it, Munson? Who made you realize you like boobies and dick,” Steve grinned.

Eddie continued looking at him, eyes wide and face turning pinker by the moment. “I…” An excruciating moment passed before his face crumpled and his squeezed his eyes shut with a nose scrunch Steve had always found adorable. He covered his face in his hands and let out a pained sigh. “It was you, okay,” he said, voice cracking.

Silence.

Steve felt a stutter in his chest, turning to look at Robin who was staring back at him with her own shocked expression. As one, they turned back to look at Eddie.

“Me?” Steve softly asked. He probably shouldn’t feel so smug about that, but he also couldn’t help it. To think that he, Steve Harrington, had been someone’s queer awakening. It was totally going to his head.

“Yes, you,” Eddie huffed, dropping his hands but not raising his head at all.

“When?” Was it back in high school? Back when he was wearing his gym shorts or speedos for swim? Eddie thought he was hot, whenever it was. He tried to keep a smile off his face at the thought.

“When you…” Eddie let out a groan, obviously embarrassed, which…ow? Was he embarrassed he thought Steve attractive? Was this just because Steve was a normie or because of who he’d been in high school?

“When I what?” Steve asked just as softly. He didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer now.

“When you bit the bat in the Upside Down,” Eddie admitted in a tone like pulling teeth.

Yeah. Okay. Steve definitely didn’t want the answer now. Because what the fuck?

“What the fuck?”

Eddie flinched a little at Steve’s response. “Look, it was hot okay!” he tried to protest. “At least you weren’t punching my face Mr. I-have-a-crush-on-Jonathan-Byers.”

“Had. Had a crush,” he reflexively corrected. He blinked at Eddie who still refused to look at him. “Are you shitting me right now, Munson? That was when you knew? I thought you’ve known for years!” Steve complained, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Did you have a crush on me, or did you just think I was hot?”

He regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. Of course Eddie never had a crush on him. Finding a guy attractive was one thing, but actively liking him? Yeah, Steve knew better than to think Eddie could ever like him like that.

“Have,” Eddie whispered.

“What?”

“I have a crush on you,” Eddie mumbled, and then he was finally looking up Steve through his bangs. “I used to think…I mean, you’d never go for the weird guys. But then Byers?” he asked, tone still quiet, but now with a note of derision to it. “I have much better hair.”

Steve blinked. Blinked some more. Then he drew in a shuddering breath. Eddie has a crush on him. As in currently. As in right now.

Oh.

A warmth blossomed up in Steve’s chest, something he’d never imagined possible actually coming true. He cleared his throat, ducking his head a little to try to get a better look through the curtain of Eddie’s hair?

“Do you know what’s hotter than a punch to a face?” When Eddie lifted his head some to stare at him more fully, giving a small shake of his head, Steve grinned. “Being manhandled against a wall with a broken bottle to the neck.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, his face now fully flamed red, and Steve figured that maybe he really did have a thing for dorks. Considering how he was wanting to smother Eddie’s red cheeks with kisses and love devotions, maybe Eddie wasn’t the only dork here, however.

Carefully, slowly, Steve reached out to settle his hand on Eddie’s knee, his thumb lightly stroking the exposed skin there through the other man’s ripped jeans. Eddie stilled beneath him, scarcely seeming to even breathe, which boosted Steve’s confidence. He let his grin settle into something softer.

“So…it was the bats, really?” he lightly teased. “Not my school speedos, or even me shirtless and throwing my sweater at you?” He raised his brows at that. “I really wasn’t being subtle there dude.”

Eddie lifted his head fully then to stare at Steve aghast. “I didn’t know you liked guys! You were practically throwing yourself at Wheeler!”

“Well yeah, you weren’t giving me anything to go off of,” Steve complained rolling his eyes. “And I wasn’t about to make our friendship awkward by telling you I had a crush on you. Why do you think I never told Jonathan? I thought it didn’t matter. Even when you came out as bi—which, you’re welcome, by the way,” Steve added smugly, causing Eddie to scowl and pick up a discarded pillow to throw at him, “you never showed me any interest. Even when I came out as bi.”

“Well, yeah, you’re like…outrageously hot and an ex-jock. I knew better than to get my hopes up,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Maybe I should have bit more bats then,” Steve grinned. “Given you more of an incentive.”

“Yeah, okay, Ozzy, but I didn’t—wait, you have a crush on me?”

Steve knew it was mean, but he still laughed at Eddie’s owlish blinking. “Have since the boathouse, but thanks for finally catching up.”

“Oh my god, you are such a bitch!” Despite his words, Eddie was smiling wide, his eyes full of that sparkle Steve loved so much.

Steve could have said something snarky then, but instead he just slid his hand into the hair at the back of Eddie’s neck and pulled the metalhead into a kiss, smiling against his startled lips. It only took a moment for Eddie to respond enthusiastically, however, bringing his own hands up to grab onto the collar of Steve’s shirt as they tumbled backwards.

It took a moment for Steve to even realize Robin was no longer there, didn’t even know when she had left, too trapped in Eddie’s confession. He didn’t truly even acknowledge her absence until she yelled from the kitchen to keep hands above the waist and they only had five more minutes before she was spraying them with water.

Steve chuckled happily against Eddie’s lips, whose answering soft laughter was a balm to his nerves. Eddie liked him back.

It was six minutes later, when Robin really did come back with a spray bottle and forced them apart, that Steve had Eddie curled up on the floor against him with their backs to the sofa, Robin keeping the spray bottle nearby just in case. He didn’t think he had ever been happier.

“Oh, and Oz?” Eddie murmured softly, looking up at him from where he rested his head against Steve’s shoulders.

“Yeah?” Steve answered, feeling something warm and sweet at his apparent new nickname that held so much meaning for the both of them now.

“I am so telling Jonathan you had a crush on him.”

~

I’ve long thought it would be amazing if Eddie nicknamed Steve “Ozzy” and finally I got the chance to put it into a fic. It will definitely be a reoccurring thing though whenever I get the chance tehe

Hostage Hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do. 

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating. 

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business. 

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it. 

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table. 

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee. 

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty. 

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her. 

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed.  “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything. 

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window. 

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them. 

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble. 

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food. 

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed. 

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock. 

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.” 

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements. 

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him. 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city. 

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now. 

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows. 

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows. 

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask. 

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are. 

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?” 

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. ���Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you. 

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off. 

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar. 

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day. 

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy. 

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.” 

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead. 

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried. 

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away. 

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks. 

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?” 

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile. 

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If  you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

[steviewashere]

I'd Like For You and I To Go Romancing

Rating: Teen and Up CW: None apply Tags: Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Sex, Self-Sacrificing Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Love Confessions, Lover Boy Steve Harrington, Sad Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart For @steddieangstyaugust Day 21 Prompt: "Please." Title taken from "Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy" by Queen.

💕——————💕 “Please.”

It’s said to him so quietly, Eddie almost doesn’t hear it. The same way he can’t really see, can’t make out the shapes in the room despite the one light through the window. Maybe it’s the panic in him, while he’s trying to fight his way through tears as he pulls his clothes back on. But the word whispered at his back makes him take pause.

A desperate little word. He wants it to mean something.

Eddie swallows. Quickly, he goes back to shimmying his jeans back on. Hits his rings on the belt buckle currently hanging loose from the loops of his pants. 

It’s not that he wants to go, but it’s that he should. He’ll give some lame excuse later. Something about Wayne needing him back home—despite it being late at night, despite the fact that everybody knows Wayne works the nightshifts. He’ll say it’s because he gets anxious sleeping in other people’s beds. That he even wets the bed sometimes, even if he stopped doing that more than a decade ago. Gets nightmares so violent and lurching, he’s afraid he’ll hurt somebody. He could say that he actually hates sleeping with another person in his bed.

Despite everything in him screaming that he needs it. Because he’s a lonely, lonely person. And always wanted somebody there, needed them so close they could almost climb inside his ribs.

But he fastens the buckle of his belt and continues on with finding his t-shirt.

“Please,” whispered again, so singular, yet so drawn out, and so heartbreaking. The word pierces through Eddie’s back, kills his heart on impact, and exits his chest in one clean pass. It makes him stop searching again. “Don’t go. You don’t have to go.”

Oh, but I do, Eddie thinks, because if I let this go on any longer than it already has, I’ll have to admit how much I love you. And if I admit it and you say nothing in response, I’ll implode right on the spot. I’m saving myself. I’m saving you.

He sniffs. Grabs a random t-shirt from the bedroom floor and begins to pull it over his heavy head of curls. It’s not his shirt, he comes to find, but isn’t surprised. It’s loose on his chest, but tight on his biceps. The shirt is lightly worn. Smells like amber, like cinnamon and vanilla. Not his cologne. Not like cigarettes or marijuana or citrus-bergamot from his Irish Spring. Eddie plucks at the fabric, pulls it farther away from the skin of his chest, where his heart—resuscitated—tries to kiss the shirt with every beat.

If he doesn’t get out of here, he’ll do something stupid like break down into tears. If he doesn’t get out of here, he won’t save face. And if he doesn’t get out of here, he can’t move on.

A pleading, “Eds, please,” hits him. “Please don’t go. Don’t do this to me, too. Please, baby, come on.” Then, the bed behind him shifts. And there’s warmth on his back. A gentle brush of lips to his neck.

Steve wasn’t as sleepy as Eddie thought. Go figure.

“I…I gotta go, Steve,” Eddie states quietly, “I checked my watch. Gotta be home for Wayne, y’know?” He remains as still as he possibly can. Because Steve can read him, he’s come to find. He’ll know that Eddie’s lying if he shifts from foot-to-foot even an inch.

“He’s not home right now,” Steve immediately points out, “it’s dark out. And it’s a weekday, he’s working.”

Eddie swallows again. “I just have to go, Steve.” He doesn’t face him, doesn’t think he could. Doesn’t move, also doesn’t think he could. Just hopes, beyond all else, that Steve will just accept that and go back to bed and forget this night ever happened. That he ever touched Eddie that way. That he ever let himself get involved with a person like Eddie—not because he’s a freak and not because he’s in a different tax bracket, not that he’s above Steve, not that he’s below Steve…because he’s just him.

He hears Steve heave a deep breath.

Then, soft and tiny, “I was going to make you breakfast,” Steve says, “but this doesn’t have to…we can forget this happened if that’s what you want to do.”

“I…Steve”—

“It’ll be hard for me to let go, but I can try.” That makes Eddie turn to Steve. To see him. His limp, sweaty hair and the fact he’s only wearing boxers. The downcast eyes and twisting, nervous hands in front of him. “You’re not the first, so I’ll be fine.”

Eddie’s stomach churns and his palms sweat and he swears that his heart is the loudest thing in this room—screeching and beating and crashing straight out of him. But he brings himself to meet Steve’s volume, to ask, “What do you want, Steve?”

“I want you to stay,” Steve immediately responds, “I want you to stay in bed with me. And…and I’ll wake up first and maybe I’ll find out that you drool in your sleep and then I’ll brush back a stray strand of your hair and I want to get up and make you breakfast and then you’ll be over the moon when I hand you a cup of coffee and it’s made the exact way you love it and then we can…we can…you can…”

He blinks. Blinks again. Harder the third time. “You can…?” Eddie prompts.

“You can find somebody worth loving out of me,” Steve timidly answers, “because I already love you.”

Unable to hold himself back anymore, he takes the few steps forward to put him face to face with Steve. And, in a moment of bravery, holds Steve’s head between his hands and kisses him. Soft and exploratory. Then, passionate and disbelieving. And another, for good measure, that’s in the shape of all the words he wants to say.

“You want that with me,” Eddie states, though it sounds more like a question. Steve nods anyway. “With me. Wow. I…I wish I was better at this part, at saying the good shit. But I do love you, Steve. I’ve been in love with you since we started this whole thing between us but I…I’ve never had something like this and it terrifies me the way you’ve nestled your way into my brain.” He runs his thumbs under Steve’s eyes, catching tears he won’t acknowledge, because he’s sure he’d start crying, too.

“Do you still have to go?” Steve asks quietly, small in a way that’s unlike him. “I don’t want to keep you here if you don’t want to be”—

“I’ll stay, Steve. I’m sorry that I…I’ll stay, I promise. Let me just—let me get dressed down again and I’ll make all this up to you, swear it.” He’s jittering out of his skin; he wants to run laps through the whole house, wants to climb the walls, scream if he has to. But, in a way that’s unlike him, he continues to cradle Steve’s face in his palms and with languid, thoughtful movements, he kisses Steve between his eyebrows, under his eyes, the tip of his nose, and again on his mouth. “I’ll stay as long as you want me,” Eddie promises, “you won’t have to worry about somebody leaving ever again.”

Steve smiles sticky sweet and soft like a stack of pancakes. “Good,” he whispers, “because I never want to let you go.”

💕——————💕

[sgiandubh]

News from Birmingham, 2: 'we're out of battery soon'

ACHTUNG, BABY: these pics do NOT belong to me. Please do NOT steal them, Mordorians, as you usually do. I don't want to see them chez Marple, BIF or Purv, I do not want them on X and I certainly do NOT want them on Brazilian Instagram accounts who also charge people, or ANY OTHER Instagram account, for that matter. I will come for you with feather and brimstone if you do. Fuck ye and yer clan if you show no respect - this is a legit casus belli situation.

Heroically reporting from the Q&A panel, our girls are running out of battery juice in their phones, because -as loyal C mainly - they took a bajillion pics. I am selecting them as I write.

First thing, C specifically asked the minder (whom many people I have talked to, today, described as a 'nasty pox of a man'/'un asco de hombre') to let the fans sit next to her and ask their questions as they feel, no tedious standing in line needed. C, always the politician of Those Two, LOL:

Before anything else, I was entrusted with a FULL audio recording of the Birmingham panel. As per copyright regulations and attendance contract I am NOT allowed to post it and I do not want to harm my two wonderful friends in ANY way, shape or form. That being said, I will take my time, tonight (and lots of Nescafe Brasero Strong) to listen to it and give you all the juicy parts, in transcription. Short transcribed bits, we can do. Thank you for your understanding,

And boy, do we have juicy parts, babes. For now, I will just share the best pics and the on the spot reactions.

First question was 'how do you feel as a real mom?' Her solution was to simply say ' Sophie, where are you?' I will check with the audio and repost, but it simply goes to say: a) she won't address anything Blonde Bambino related and b) she/they are still very close to Skeleton, whom they seem to have adopted. Sort of. Sophie knows many secrets. Trust.

✔️Will she stay/remain in Scotland after OL is over? 'Well, my husband is Scottish and so are his parents'. Lip service to the narrative all the way.

✔️A fan asked something she did not understand/catch well, while Steve the 'Asco de Hombre' minder was fumbling around with the mic, so she informally went 'whaat?' So Steve dutifully barked, in a LOUD voice 'IT'S ABOUT TONY, YOUR REAL HUSBAND' (🙄 - I would fire that dick on the spot, he simply makes her look controlled and a fool). I was also told to listen carefully to the audio, for context and I shall give you my honest sentiment, as always. Note to self: to be found around the 25' mark.

✔️Turns out the fan asked if she and Tracula share the same musical tastes. She answers du tac au tac/on the spot, 'who, me and Sam?' (CAITRIONA!). And this is when Steve 'Nasty Pox of a Man' interjected, 'NO, TONY, YOUR REAL HUSBAND'. Like father, like daughter: remember that Tydavnet interview for the public Irish radio, when she was promoting Belfast? Well, there we go ('And Tony!/ 'And Tony' - zero enthusiasm, Mr. Balfe, bless your big 💖in Heaven).

I will come back with more. Our friends' batteries died, but they still managed to share with me the entire audio panel.

And I swear to God - if I ever see one of your sock accounts (@homechef, anyone?) come to steal from here and then tell the world it was the Team or who the hell else who found it while you were having your tonsils polished/an umpteeenth root canal mended/dinner with Brad Pitt's Sunset Boulevard lookalike/whatever, you shall be reported.

And yes, I have more pics. In fact, I have about 35 of them, in all and for all.

I LOVE MY FRIENDS AND THEY LOVE ME. TAKE THAT, HATERS.

[imfinereallyy]

The Long Con

I saw this tik tok edit of Rachel McAdams in the movie Hot Chick where she gets a milkshake on house (and she's just totally playing the guy) and for some odd reason this spiraled me into thinking about Conman!Steve and Mob Boss!Eddie. So here is my brainrot I guess. Maybe I'll do more parts or make something longer on ao3 if people like it.

Steve wasn't one to not think things through. Yes, he was aware that it was a double negative. He played up the dumb part quite often, but Steve wasn't actually stupid. So it was all part of the game, really.

Steve loved the game. The rush, the push, and the pull of tricking someone, getting them for all their worth. Steve loved the game because it was fun. Steve loved the game because he got to use horrible people for his very lavish lifestyle. There was nothing like living rich by feeding off the rich. Well, he was trying to do that, at least. See, Steve, although good at what he did, he burned through money faster than you could say savings. It wasn't his fault, really. He used to be better at keeping track. Always made sure to have enough, just in case. Hadn't needed to worry about anyone but himself. Because the only thing Steve truly loved for a long time was the game itself.

But then he met people along the way, misfits and criminals like himself that he couldn't help spoiling. The only person who seemed to catch his problem was Robin, but even she couldn't resist a new hard drive for her computer. It's how she made her own money, after all.

Despite his problem with spoiling everyone, Steve always thought things through. He followed the rules of the game without rules and continued to fill his pockets, scamming the deserving and cruel. But sometimes, sometimes for Steve... his abilities and bad habits sometimes, well, overlapped. Sometimes, Steve could have been better at choosing the right people to care about. He was getting better at it, he swears. He let go of the wrong ones a long, long time ago.

But sometimes they came back begging.

Tommy had been someone from his life before. Before being on his own, back when purple and blue were his father's favorite colors to paint him with. It was a time before the game, a time that, although he tries to forget, had a grip on him.

So when Tommy called, seeking forgiveness, seeking help, Steve caved quickly. He would always be that same little boy, looking for love from a past that wasn't there. Tommy wasn't his parents, sure, but it was as close as he would get.

So, yes, steve normally thought things through, but there was the rare occasion, there was the exception to the rule, where Steve majorly fucked up.

He was in Boston when it happened. Even though years ago, Steve swears he would never be going back. He's in a small diner two blocks away from main street. And he had just finished getting Tommy's money back. Steve always celebrated with one of three things: drinks, sex, or milkshakes.

And Steve wanted out of Boston as fast as possible, so he went for his quickest and sometimes tastiest tradition.

"How much do I owe you?" Steve smiled innocently at the waiter, giving his best babygirl face.

The waiter bit his lips as he tried not to stare at Steve's mouth, "It's okay, it's on the house."

Steve licked part of his free milkshake off his finger, "Really?" Steve's voice was an octave higher just for the waiter. He could tell he was someone who had a preference for men, and most likely had a problem with letting go of his masculinity. So Steve knew the more feminine, the better. Steve couldn't help the sly grin that stretched across his face when the waiter got flustered. He was an attention whore; sue him.

His waiter—huh, Andy, according to his name tag—looked like he was about to say something when a throat cleared behind him.

"Andy, doll, you might be wanting to get back to the kitchen for a minute." A deep voice said behind Andy. It sent chills down Steve's spine. The Boston accent with a slight tilt of Irish was enough to captivate him. Andy moved faster than the speed of light at the command.

When Andy disappeared, with his tail between his legs no less, the most beautiful man Steve's ever seen revealed himself. A tall, pale, curly brunette stood before him in a suit with a ripped-up band tee underneath. It shouldn't look good, and it shouldn't look professional, but it did. Steve saw tattoos peeking out from exposed skin, piercings all over his ears, and enough jewelry to start a store. Steve was bewitched.

The mystery man smiled, hands in his pockets, and leaned down slightly into Steve's space. "Oh, sweetheart, I have been looking for you everywhere."

Steve stayed silent, drinking him in; he smelt of mint, smoke, and morning rain.

The man slid into the booth, put his arms on the table, and made a little beat with his knuckles on the plastic. Then, Steve noticed the words "Hell Fire" across his knuckles. Steve's heart sunk to his stomach. He had heard of those hands before. Those hands were famous.

The man leaned his face against his right fist. "Hell" pushed into his cheekbone. "The name is Eddie Munson, love." Eddie looked Steve up and down. "But I think you've already figured that out by now, haven't ya?"

Steve steeled himself. He should be okay. He hadn't wronged this man before, but something, something was telling Steve that he most definitely had. The look in his sweet abyss of eyes told him as much.

A smirk stretched across Eddie's face, and suddenly he kicked the leather bag next to Steve's feet under the table. Steve's cheek twitched slightly for a millisecond, but it was enough to give him away. "It seems here... like you and Hagan have stolen quite a bit of money from me." Eddie tsk-tsked while Steve's heart dropped from his stomach to his feet. Tommy screwed him.

"And that love, well, that just won't do."Steve had never seen such a sweet smile feel so deadly. "So, Sunshine, I am going to make you a deal, and you would be smart to take it."

Steve wasn't actually dumb, but yes, he most definitely did not think this through.

________

Sooo thoughts? I was going to write more but if this was a flop, I didn't want to put my heart in soul into it. But I did spiral a bit with it. Whoops!

edit: I made some grammatical changes but that's it. I realized I kept switching tense changes when I was writing in present, so I changed it to past. I'm much more comfortable with it. Let me know if there are any more errors.

part 2: here

[pumpkinsy0]

Okay I can’t explain why but The Curtis Brother’s I do read as white. (But like with every outsiders character I literally love ANY Ethnicity Hc you throw at them.) That being said I think that The Curtis brother’s have been luckier in certain areas as compared to some of the other greasers,especially given the time.But I don’t think they necessarily realize that growing up, but specifically Darrel.

Ponyboy hangs out with Curly a lot so he isn’t aloof to how Curly is treated by others. He picks up on the small micro aggressions and how he often gets off easier than Curly does, especially at school. Same goes when he’s with Johnny and Dally. It’s something he knows is there but doesn’t quite have the words to explain it. Sodapop I think understands that he has it easier because he gets that he fulfills the all American boy look. He notices this when first starting to work at the DX and how the customers react to him versus how they react to Steve. He knows exactly why they do that too. And Sodapop hates that this is the case but gets he can’t exactly change it. So he makes up for it by trying to distract Steve or making him feel better.

For Darrel..he’s not WILLFULLY ignorant it’s just that he’s had a busy life. Even before he took on his role as guardian, he was always busy with football,school, even Soc Parties. Then after his parents died, he got even more busy.I don’t think he’s quite processed what some of the other greasers go through.

I don’t think it fully clicks when he’s with Two-Bit one day. The two decided to go out shopping at the fancy grocery store, since Darry wanted to go big for Pony’s graduation party. Two-Bit is acting like usual and goofing off, in the process of trying to make Darry laugh.At one point though a nearby lady spies Two and automatically mistakes him for the help. Two-Bit being use to this simply smiles and politely tells her that he’s a customer there. Darry finds that weird at first but then things take a turn when one of the employee starts to follow Two-Bit around the store. Darrel is puzzled by all this and asks Two-Bit about it.Two-Bit shrugs and tells him it’s not a big deal because this thing always happens. It’s not until he says that does it click for Darry. When it does he also starts to get why Two-Bit acts the way he does. Why he often smiles and laughs during a tense situation, or why he doesn’t try to fight back during an argument. Because that’s his way of surviving.For Two-Bit this is just an everyday occurrence in his life, and something that he’s learned to accept long ago. It doesn’t change the fact that Darry is mad on his behalf and most definitely goes back to the same store later to chew out said employee.

((In part based off of me and my own siblings personal experience grocery shopping at one of the more ritzier places. And also because Mexican Irish Two-Bit lives in my head rent free…take with this what you will. Also sorry if it’s long…))

nono i get what u mean!!! and dont apologize for sending long ask i am very nosey and must know what ppl think all the time, i love long asks!!!!

and ur so right, i see the curtis’ as white americans, but boy oh boy am i a sucker for my black curtis bros and anons arab curtis or any curtis bros, like i said, multiverse goin on in my head here!!!

but ik what u mean!!! its not like theyre WILLFULLY ignorant, hell i dont even think theyre fully ignorant period, its just, they dont live it and nobody around them rlly talks about it much (to them at least, mostly bc they feel like they wouldnt get it, which tbh, they wouldnt) and of course its the 60s theyve heard of the racial tensions but theres only so much they can do about it in their own lives???? i hope i explained that well and yknow what i mean😭

and yknow what ALLOW ME TO TALK ABOUT (my :3) SHEPARDS A BIT HERE AS WELL☝🏽☝🏽

bc i hc my shepards to be immigrants from a pretty much fully black place, they never rlly had to deal w the racism that was going on in america, so when they moved here and they started getting attached w all these labels, plus that language barrier, it was hard for them to really understand a lot of the things, so for a couple years, the shepard family wasnt really known and were just barely scrapping by

BUT SKIPPING HOW I THINK THE SHEPARD GANG CAME TO B BC I TALKED ABOUT IT ENOUGH BEFORE

as individual ppl, i dont think ALL the shepards r actually respected, only tim is!!but even then before that he wasnt, he couldnt rlly speak english so he was also just tossed to the side at sone point, maybe even laughed at

angela is fetishized and while she can use that to her advantage, at the end of the day, she as a regular human being isnt taken seriously and respected unless she basically demands it

and w curly, part of the reason WHY hes not taken seriously is bc hes not given the light of day bc hes seen as “not smart”, part of the reason why hes seen as not smart and not given the opportunity to prove himself is bc he is black

NOW when it comes to papercut and this issue, like u said, i do think the curtis, just dont exactly grasp it, but the shepards do, mainly angela and tim, they understand that how they look impacts what they can and cant do, and curly understands it too, but to a lesser degree, he just wants to be and doesnt want to care, but he doesnt realize that he cant rlly AFFORD to do that, bc it could mean life or death for him, couple that w pony not getting it as well, and thats where i think part of the weariness about this couple comes from!!! this is also partially y i demand more tim and angela being protective of curly☝🏽🤓

but at some point, i do believe that pony would try to use the privilege he has to try and help curly from getting into some shit

i could probably explain all this WAY better and more in depth and have more ideas but then id b writing an essay so, i wont bc im LAZY, BUT ANON??? this is SO real

i hope i explained everything well lmao im not rereading this

[angelsparadise444]

general info

౨ৎ minor so don’t be weird ౨ৎ

౨ৎ Intp ౨ৎ

౨ৎ Italian, Irish ౨ৎ

౨ৎ Girlblogger ౨ৎ

౨ৎ Massive pop culture fan ౨ৎ

౨ৎ dm me if you want to be mutuals! ౨ৎ

interests

౨ৎ favorite people: Lana Del Rey, Sharon Tate, Paris Hilton, Marilyn Monroe, Lindsay Lohan, Jane Birkin, Sylvia Plath, Anna Nicole, Pamela Anderson, Xtina, Steve Carell, Emma Roberts ౨ৎ

౨ৎ favorite music: Lana Del Rey, Nancy Sinatra, Lil Peep, XxxTentaction, The Beatles, Elvis, Remy Bond, Britney Spears,

౨ৎ favorite movies: the virgin suicides, Malena, Sucker Punch, perks of Being a wallflower, All the boys love Mandy Lane, The substance, Jennifers Body, Gone Girl ౨ৎ

౨ৎ favorite discussions: true crime, vs angels, pretty little liars, girlblogging, Fashion, Pinterest, Tumblr, Thought Daughter ౨ৎ

DNI

no racists or pedo's. Don't care abt ED blogs but if you shame; leave. Check out my pinterest; AngelsParadise444 ♡

Love ya! xoxo, angelsparadise444 ౨ৎ

[simmerandwrite]

Sink Into Me - 02 - mob!Steve Rogers x plus size! reader

Pairing: mob boss!Steve Rogers x plus size female reader

Summary: You were simply doing a good deed, pulling the handsome stranger out of the way when a car jumped the curb. Little did you know that the life you saved belonged to Steve Rogers, the Army veteran turned art dealer with connections to the Brooklyn crime syndicate.

Steve Rogers, who won’t stop calling you his guardian angel.

Steve Rogers, whose new goal in life just might be repaying his debt to you.

Steve Rogers, who isn’t shy until it comes to his feelings and will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Chapters: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08

Wordcount: 6k

Warnings: canon level violence (series), body image issues (series), very brief mentions of animal abuse

Notes: hello! meet your friends - Maria Hill, Claire Temple and Wanda Maximoff. thank you all for being here and reading!! I appreciate your enthusiasm soooo much. things are :) about to get :) complicated :) if you see me out in the wild, my main blog is @simmerandcry​

---

The skyline view from the floor to ceiling windows had been the real selling point to Steve taking the penthouse apartment at his latest investment property. Truthfully, he had been growing tired of the brick walls of his old place, despite their aesthetic charm. The new renters could live with that red dust now.

But the view into both Brooklyn and downtown towards Manhattan made him feel like he was exactly where he needed to be. Like he was on top of the world, his own little empire carved out in the heart of the borough. Most importantly, his apartment was his home. And that meant work didn’t come home with him, ever.

He drew that line very cleanly, even leaving the second bedroom fully intact as a guest room instead of converting to an office. Because this is where he needed to clear his head, to be Steve Rogers, the plain and simple Brooklyn born boy who loved his city.

Steve Rogers, the war veteran turned real estate mogul and art dealer, who sat at the top of what remained of an old Irish crime syndicate - that man worked on the streets, in the office, in his clubs and galleries and restaurants. That shit was not supposed to come home with him.

Though recently, it seemed to have started to bleed into what little time he spent at home. Mainly because of you and the whole incident outside the restaurant.

“Well, what’s the plan?”

“I already told you, Buck. I’m not retaliating.”

Bucky Barnes, Steve’s right hand man, his oldest friend and main confidant, the literal fist and brawn behind their organization, scoffed. “Someone sent an amateur barrelling into our territory to try and pin you between the hood of a car and your new restaurant - and you don’t want to retaliate? We coulda been weeping over your body right now, Steve.”

“I can recognize an act of aggression when I see it, I’m not an idiot.” Steve tipped his rocks glass against his lips once more, the scent of scotch lingering as he stood from the couch. “We don’t know if it was Rumlow or that new idiot creeping in from Staten Island.”

Steve rolled his eyes and cut off Bucky before he tried to add in his two cents again. “And if someone wanted to kill me, they wouldn’t hit me with a car. You know what. This was some stupid message that was poorly planned and equally poorly executed.”

Sam Wilson, who had been sipping his own concoction from the kitchen table, finally looked up from his phone and piped in. “I mean, I hate to admit it but Bucky is right. You would have been dead if it wasn’t for that beautiful woman saving your ass.”

“Sam.” Steve turned his head, eyes narrowed in a pointed glare. 

“What? I’m not blind. The hips on her were-”

Steve took another step towards his friend and trusted colleague, who had a particularly loud mouth and a flair for getting on Steve’s nerves, and held up a steady hand. “Stop.”

He wasn’t inclined to admit it, but the entire thing had been replaying in Steve’s minds for days now. Ever since you had saved him on that sidewalk, throwing yourself into a dangerous situation for him, a total stranger, something had changed. He was still living, breathing, surviving. And although he was dead set on figuring out just who was driving that vehicle and ensuring they paid for their actions, it was you he couldn’t stop thinking about.

You. Who had been in the right place at the right time, who had risked your own personal safety to make sure he didn’t get hit, who was insistent that it had been an act of good faith, a simple act of kindness. 

You, with the kind smile and generous curves. You, who swept off your actions as innocent and selfless, concerned more about the happiness of your dog than your own well being. You, who left Steve feeling curious and longing to get to know you, to make you smile, to hear you laugh.

God, what he wouldn’t give to have someone like you in his life. While he couldn’t stop thinking about the kind of person you were, he also had your face playing over and over again in his mind too. It didn’t help that his mom called him a few days ago, asking how you were doing and reiterating how much she enjoyed talking to you and…

“Still no news from Hammond?”

Steve knew Bucky couldn’t help but prodding, as if his fingers were itching to find a quick, efficient solution. 

“He said their tech department is behind. I’m inclined to believe him but my insisting this is a priority hasn’t been successful this time. I’m trying to play nice.” Steve gritted his teeth, finishing the last sip of his drink as he stood, tugging on the lapel of his suit. “So I asked Stark to help instead. We’re meeting him at the club.”

 ---

The only good thing about your dreadful basement apartment was the private patio space in the backyard. You had high hopes for it when you rented the garden level unit but once your lease had been signed, everything about the place seemed a lot less shiny. From the shared laundry with the loud, obnoxious upstairs apartment to the inconsistent water pressure and flickering lights, you were counting down the days until your lease was over.

But the backyard - you had done what you could to make it a safe oasis for you and Hercules, with a few pieces of thrifted outdoor furniture and string lights making it a bit more magical. It was a nice location when hosting your girlfriends, especially when such a thing happened so rarely now that your schedules seemed to conflict all the time.

You were so grateful to have your girls. Because at any moment, they all loved to share their opinions on the weird chaos that seemed to stir up in your life. While you had known Maria since college, you had collected Wanda and Claire into your life since starting your new job in the city. You had worked as a server at the same restaurant as Wanda a few summers ago and Claire, an ER nurse, had dropped into your life by chance one night when you were stood up on a date at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen. Your group had been solid since then - although girls nights were few and far between now, with jobs and the general grind of life making it hard to get together often.

“I’m not saying the man isn’t attractive. Because I have eyes,” Maria was on her third glass of sangria, legs extended out on the brick patio outside. “I just have no reason to trust him.” She squinted down at her phone screen. “What did he say he did for work again?”

You sighed. Perhaps it was a mistake to share Steve’s name and photo - that you found after an extensive internet search - with your friends, but you valued their perspectives. It’s not like anything had happened with the guy. You hadn’t seen him since that day you saved his life and hadn’t communicated either, outside of you emailing him the stupid photo you took.

You had added his number to your phone, though. Just in case. Just in case what? You had no clue. But he had written it down for you and all.

And he said he owed you a thousand favours…

Officer Hammond, though, had reached out to you a few days after the event - asking you to come in and try and ID the driver in a police lineup. It made you feel a bit uncomfortable but you supposed it was your civic duty to do it, if it could help stop this from happening again or to help in delivering justice for wrongdoing. You pointed out the person you best recognized from your blurry memory and moved on, trying not to think any further about the situation.

Although a few strange things seemed to happen since then, if you just used your head it could all be justified. Like seeing the same black, unfamiliar SUV on your street multiple times this week. That was probably just a new vehicle belonging to one of your neighbours.

And that one time you were walking Hercules and a stranger who seemed to be lingering outside your apartment asked to borrow your phone.

Which you promptly said no to, because you aren’t dumb enough to let someone run off with your phone. But instead of going inside with Herc, you continued to circle the block until the blond stranger disappeared. You wouldn’t consider your neighbourhood the safest place after dark, but in the daytime you never felt concerned. 

It was all just sort of weird. 

But completely unrelated to anything else, you were sure. 

That was all behind you now anyway, a strange footnote in the chapter of your life that was playing out. You’d probably never have to see Steve again, though he had crossed your mind a few times…

Okay, you had been thinking about him a lot. Which is why you had told your three closest friends about everything that had occurred.

You replied to Maria, who was nudging you with her elbow. “Oh. Uhm, he works in real estate, I think. He owns an art gallery and some apartments. Oh, and that club on Morgan Ave - Shield .”

“Sounds like a professional landlord. Thumbs down.” Claire chimed in from her chair too, shaking her head and dismissing the entire concept of Steve with a wave of her hand. “Rich at best, financially questionable at worst.”

“And he owns that restaurant the car smashed into?” Maria reached for her own phone. “The one owned by the mob. Okay, that settles it - he’s in the mob then.”

You laughed and shook your head. “The mob isn’t a thing, Hill. What’s your source on that again?” 

Wanda shrugged and finally chimed in, fingers tapping idly against her wine glass as she turned towards you. “Describe his aura to me.”

You groaned, smirking as Claire rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh. “His aura?”

“You know, what kind of energy did he have?”

“Is that your way of determining the kind of person he is?” Maria got up from her chair to toss a small toy for Hercules to chase after. “I’d love to know the science between your aura theories, Wan.”

You delayed answering by grabbing the nearby bowl of popcorn and cradling it in your lap, leaving your phone and the thought of Steve on the small crate that sat between you and your friends. “He was very confident.” How could you do any justice to Steve’s intimidating Big Dick Energy without admitting your attraction to him? That last thing you wanted to do was bait your friends with any material to tease you with. Plus, really, it didn’t matter. You had no plans to ever see Steve again. And AND and, even if you did, what made you think it would be romantic in any way? 

Steve was beyond hot - from the trimmed beard and deep blue eyes, to his easy charm and well dressed body. You had no doubt in your mind that the man probably had some equally hot partner. If not, he could have his pick of the entire city. There was no way you would be on his radar.

“I don’t know,” Maria chimed in once more, clapping her hands quickly. “This is the wildest meet cute story I’ve ever heard. If the man is so willing to do you some favours, maybe you should cash in on it, mob be damned. You know what they say about tall guys..”

“You just said you don’t trust him!” You laughed, tossing a piece of popcorn at her.

Maria just scooped it up and popped it into her mouth with a shrug. “I don’t trust any man. I trust you and your judge of character, though. Plus, you haven’t been on a date in forever so maybe this was some sort of fate driven happenstance.”

“The universe does work in weird ways,” Wanda agreed. “And you said he really filled out that suit so…”

“You should text him!” Claire sat up tall and straight, pushing her hair over one shoulder as an idea formulated in her brain. You were nervous. “I think how he reacts to a sudden text will be a perfect test.”

“It’s a Saturday night, I can’t text him! And a test of what? All I did was save the man’s life, there is nothing else to..” This was not how you wanted this to go. The last logical thing you could think of doing right now was messaging Steve Rogers anything. What would he think if you texted him out of nowhere on a Saturday night? “What would I even say?”

“Here, allow me.” Maria plucked your phone off the table and damnit, why did you ever tell her your passcode? 

“Maria-”

“It’ll be harmless, I promise!” She glanced up from your phone and opened her eyes wide. “You need to stop playing safe. What’s the worst that could happen? He doesn’t reply?”

You sighed. YES. The fear of rejection crept up like a weird pain in your chest. “Yeah, I guess. He might think it’s a wrong number or some sort of spam message...”

“Then no harm, no foul.” Her grin grew even wider as she typed something out on the screen. She took a deep breath. You leaned over to see what she had crafted together and sighed. “It’s just a simple little push..”

 ---

Normally Steve would ignore then block an unfamiliar phone number, but this had been intriguing. Given that you hadn’t reached out to him at all, he had tried not to give much of his time to thinking about you. But when the text came in, without a lot of context or forewarning, he figured it was a small gamble to see how it could play out.

Unknown number [10:47PM]: hey, I need to cash in a favour S Rogers [10:49PM]: who is this? Unknown number [10:51PM]: 👀 🍑 🎁 🔄 🥞 S Rogers [10:55PM]: am I supposed to just guess what this means? Unknown number [10:59PM]: yes ;) S Rogers [11:02P:M]: it’ll be easier if you just tell me what you want, angel ;)

You hadn’t struck Steve as the type to flirt like this. If it was you, of course. He could really only safely assume, considering only a certain number of people had his phone number. And now, he finally had yours.

Tony had consolidated all the info he could find about you earlier that week. Steve didn’t feel great about asking Tony to dig into you, but since he had sent your picture for analysis after the delay at the police station, it sort of just happened. Frankly, Tony said your online presence was minimal. You were smart about keeping your social media secure and had a very thorough CV on LinkedIn. Otherwise, he didn’t have much information that you hadn’t already shared. And Steve had no intentions of doing anything suspicious with any of it, it just helped him understand who he had invited into a small corner of his life.

If that’s what he could call it. But you had crossed his mind over and over, and it didn’t help that Bucky kept bringing you up. Especially the part about Steve taking you to the clinic for help from Sarah. That resource was a well kept secret in their family and the fact that Steve took you there had been a big risk.

Beyond Steve’s unavoidable racing thoughts about you, he had been deep into a plan to deal with the actual problem - the group of idiots spilling into his Brooklyn territory. Tony had helped him with that too, finding names and dossiers on everyone who belonged to Rumlow’s extended Stryke gang causing a mess in the boroughs between Queens and Brooklyn. 

For years, Steve had worked hard to make a respectable reputation for himself and now things were getting shaky. And it annoyed the shit out of him, especially when a few of the names Tony pulled were on the NYPD payroll.

“It’s messy,” Tony had said with a shrug, leaning back into the leather seat from their place at the top of the club. 

Another property on Steve’s growing list - Shield was a popular nightclub in Brooklyn, which served as a perfect location for arms deals and financial transactions to float. For Steve and his old friend, tech mogul Tony Stark, it was a safe place to share theories and secrets. The upper level served as a secure hideout from the general population while the downstairs dance floor catered to obnoxious crowds looking for a drink or something else to roll on. 

It was lucrative for Steve, to say the least. 

“Let me know if you want me to get Rhodes involved.”

Steve shook his head. “He’s got enough on his plate. Is he ready for the campaign announcement?” Steve had a serious interest in the upcoming Mayoral election, especially if James Rhodes, former DA, planned on running. And with Tony bankrolling the campaign and some additional under the table support from Steve, it was going to be a shoe in.

“Oh, we’re just getting started, big guy,” Tony stood up and patted Steve on the shoulder as he left the corner area, flitting off in search of whoever might be going home with him soon enough. 

Usually that would be Steve’s next step too, but damnit, if he couldn’t stop glancing at his phone for a response from you. Maybe calling you ‘angel’ again had been out of line. He contemplated sending another message, but no, he had to wait. He knew how to play this game.

The rest of the night carried on, with certain reports popping in with updates for Steve on what was happening out on the streets. Things like confirmed shipments at the dock and successful cash pickups. He had eyes across the whole of Brooklyn, with his growing syndicate working beneath him. Things mostly operated smoothly and this night was carrying on as normal.

Bucky showed up eventually, grumbling about getting turned down by some smart mouthed girl outside the club. Sam corroborated the story, lauding the woman and her tone. 

Steve checked his phone, again. 

“I saw Sharon downstairs,” Sam nudged Steve, eyebrows raised curiously. “Unless you’re off again-”

“We’re permanently off-again,” Steve rolled his eyes. “You have my blessing if you want to pursue, Sam. But good luck, don’t say I didn’t warn you..” That was all Sam needed apparently, finishing off his glass and heading back down to the dance floor below. Steve didn’t miss his cheeky grin.

“You’re thinking about that girl again, huh?” Bucky nodded and tried to hide his mischievous smirk as he scanned Steve’s face.

Steve scoffed. “No, no. I’m not..” 

Bucky laughed, hard and incredulous. “I haven’t seen your head in the clouds like this in ages. Since whatsername in high school, maybe. What was her name?”

Then as if by some weird shift in the universe, Steve’s phone started to buzz. He left Bucky’s commentary lingering as he looked at the screen. You. 

Ah, no text reply but a phone call? Okay, he could get on board. Standing, he headed a few steps from the lounge and brought his phone up to his ear, with a small smile. “Rogers.”

The first thing he heard was your frightened yelling. “Leave me alone! Jesus - oh my god, Steve? Is this Steve?”

He said your name quickly to confirm who he was speaking too but raised his eyebrows in concern. “What’s going on?”

“Someone is trying to - HEY! Stop -” Steve could hear banging in the background. “--trying to break into my fuckin - I’m going to CALL THE COPS! Leave me alone! Please, just..” 

Steve closed his eyes, doing his best to focus on the background noise. Behind your defensive yelling and the attentive reactions of your dog, there was a mixture of other voices. Something about the voices felt familiar. 

“We just want to talk.. Did someone offer you something for that statement? Was it Rogers?”

“If you tell Hammond you got the wrong guy, this will all be over very quickly, honey.”

“Walker, move, let me – Open the door, or we’ll open it for you. Let’s talk..”

“He didn’t offer me - Stop, please! I swear I -”

Steve nearly crushed his phone when the call dropped. He was off like a bullet train, shouting for Bucky to follow him as he pushed past his security guards on the stairs and rushed down towards the back exit of the club. He tried to call you back as he sped through traffic, blatantly bypassing stop signs and treating red lights like suggestions. 

A heavy twisting feeling in Steve’s gut had told him that the aftermath of this entire situation wasn’t going to go smoothly. Especially with dumbass dirty cops on the inside who could share information to the highest bidder.

Steve felt a new responsibility to keep you safe, until this whole mess had been taken care of. He had plans to deal with it all on his own but now, if he hadn’t acted quickly enough and something had happened to you.. God, he couldn’t live with himself. How could he explain that to his mother?

He got to your apartment first, hoping Bucky was close behind. Steve didn’t know what he might be walking into but having backup was never a bad idea.

Steve had not only visited but had also lived in a lot of seedy neighbourhoods over the years. The street you lived on didn’t strike him as anything especially dangerous, but that thought enough couldn’t squash the unsettled feeling in his stomach as he approached. He pushed his way through the small metal gate beside the front stairs, towards the door to your garden level apartment.

His jaw clenched when he saw the damage to your door, clearly kicked in with plenty of force before being shoved closed. He glanced to the front window, nearby - that had been smashed, too. He tried to contain the growing fury and pressed on the door, calling out your name as he made his way inside.

As someone more than familiar with the real estate market, Steve could tell the bones of your apartment weren’t in the best shape. The entire townhouse was in desperate need of updating. But what concerned him more, outside of the low ceiling and old light fixtures, was what he could only assume was a new mess. Your coffee table had been smashed, creating a pile of kindling in your tiny living room. Papers were thrown about, a coffee cup sat shattered on the floor. 

He called your name again as he went in, reaching inside his jacket to pull out his concealed handgun as he listened carefully. Once he stepped into the hallway leading to your tiny kitchen, he took a step back at the sudden lurch of your dog heading in his direction.

Then Steve heard your quiet voice. The dog retreated into the kitchen, planting himself in front of you as Steve turned to look in. His heart sank.

You were seated on the floor, back pressed against the wall. It was clear you were trying to hide, make yourself small. And was that… some sort of steak knife in your hand? When you finally looked up at him, your eyes were wide.

When you tried to press yourself even further back, eyeing down the gun in Steve’s hand, he slowly put it down on the counter and said your name. “Hey, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was just a precaution.” Shit. The way you reacted to the gun wasn’t a surprise but it made Steve even angrier. Whoever had been here, whoever had done this, well, they probably had guns too. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Steve crouched down, keeping his distance while Hercules acted as your bodyguard. He was trying everything in his power to maintain his composure but god fucking damnit, Steve needed to know who did this and he needed to deal with it. “Are you hurt?”

You took in a deep breath then just shrugged, relaxing just a fraction when Hercules circled around and flopped down to rest his head on your knee. “There were two guys, they had.. They had guns with them. They said they just wanted to talk to me, to … they kept talking about whoever the guy was who drove that SUV.” Your breath picked up as you recounted what had happened. “They..they smashed my phone and..” Slowly, you moved your hand up towards your neck, gently dragging your fingers against the tender skin on your collarbone. “..One guy he..” You winced at the memory.

The heat grew more and more in his stomach as he saw you shaking with fear, recounting whatever the fuck had just happened. How dare any of those fucking imbeciles lay their hand on you? And because of him? If he wasn’t sure of his next steps before, he was going to figure them out now. Because someone needed to pay for this.

His phone buzzed. He stood up and saw a message from Bucky, wondering if Steve needed his help inside. Steve took a step back, turning towards the front door.

“Don’t go,” you pleaded quietly, letting your hand linger in the air as you reached for him. “Steve, please..”

Steve stopped and turned back to you, giving his head a firm shake. “Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.” 

---

A few hours ago you were saying goodbye to your friends as your sangria pitcher finally ran dry. And now? You and Hercules were in an elevator with Steve and his friend Bucky, heading to Steve’s apartment.

Everything that had just happened felt like a bit of a dream - a bad dream. A break in at your own apartment, being intimidated, harassed and assaulted by men with guns, zipping through Brooklyn with Steve as he promised you a safe space to stay for the night.

You didn’t say much to each other once you had left, but you could see the twist of concern and small decisions Steve started to make to ensure you felt secure. A hand at your back, a soft smile, extra attention being given to Hercules to make sure he was okay, too.

You hadn’t gotten into much detail yet but you knew Steve wanted to figure out who the men were who had done this. You were already dreading talking about it again. And god, you likely had another police experience coming your way. What was happening in your life and how could it go back to normal again?

“Hey,” Steve tipped his head towards the door as the elevator opened. You took the lead as you stepped out into the hallway, where just a small handful of apartment doors were spread out. 

Steve’s building was a place you could only daydream about living in. You followed him through the door to his apartment, checking over your shoulder to see Bucky guiding Hercules behind you. 

Bucky was incredibly kind to you throughout this whole thing, especially back at your apartment. He had patiently directed you as Steve made some phone calls, carefully standing outside your room as you packed a quick overnight bag. And he was very taken to Hercules, which you really appreciated. 

Once inside Steve’s place, you made your way into the living room just past the foyer. Steve and Bucky moved into the kitchen briefly, exchanging a few hushed sentences out of your earshot. 

When they joined you in the living room, they found you crouched down on the floor with Hercules. You tipped your head up to look at them. Bucky’s gaze was on his phone but Steve was watching you with a soft smile. 

“Do you think he’ll be okay here tonight?” Steve took a knee on the other side of Hercules, slowly reaching his hand out to scratch behind his ear. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, just a bit, as you nodded. “Yeah, he’s pretty easy going usually.” As if on cue, your dog nudged his head against Steve’s hand for one more quick pet then trotted further into the living room, flopping down on the rug between the couch and windows. “All his adrenaline seems to have worn off.”

And so it seemed had yours.

A few minutes later you were sitting on the couch, with Steve planted in the chair across from you and Bucky standing over his shoulder, arms crossed. Steve leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he took you in. 

God, even in the low light of his living room, the man was handsome. Wearing just a navy blazer and matching dress pants, over a black button up with no tie, he managed to look effortlessly intimidating and strangely welcoming. Like you had no reason not to trust him, as if the dark shadows behind his eyes were a sign of protection instead of a signal of something to be feared.

You took in a long breath and leaned back into the couch.

Steve dragged his tongue over his lips then let out a sharp breath. “Okay, so I need you to walk me through exactly what happened.”

You knew this was coming. The moment Steve insisted on not calling the cops, something shifted for you. This whole situation had escalated beyond what you were used to, that whomever these men were to Steve - it probably wasn’t good. 

But when you looked over at Steve, as much as you wanted to shake with worry about what might happen next, you couldn’t. Despite being way out of your comfort zone, scared out of your mind, coming down from your own rush of adrenaline, you weren’t scared. Not anymore, not in his presence and under the additional watchful eye of his right hand man.

And so you told him and Bucky exactly what had happened. How your girlfriends had left, how you were finding the next episode of your favourite show to watch, how you had some writing to catch up on and planned on staying up late. Then you heard a noise outside, then a knock at your door.

Then… well, then you had called Steve when everything started unfolding.

And after the men managed to get beyond the door and push their way through to you, you had nowhere to hide. Once they smashed your phone, you were going to comply and do whatever they needed to, to get them out of your home but then one of them threatened Hercules, and even kicked him-

“Jesus,” Bucky muttered, teeth clenched. Before he could get his true feelings out, Steve held up his hand and had you continue.

“I shoved the guy who was closest to me, trying to go for the other idiot before he hurt Herc and then..” You closed your eyes, going into vague details about how the man pushed you back, how he shoved you into the wall, the kitchen counter. How he pulled out his gun and put his hand around your throat and..

When you opened your eyes again, taking in the silence of the room as you trailed off, Steve was watching you carefully. Though you safely assumed he was an expert at hiding his emotions, you could see a twitch in his jaw. His fists rested on his knees, clenched and turning white with tension.

“One of them got a phone call and I guess they were beckoned to leave. They had enough time to make more of a mess while I cowered away but..” You gulped, shaking your head. “What if they come back? I think I should just call Officer Hammond and-”

“No.” Steve stood up, taking barely a stride to make his way towards the couch. He took a seat beside you, extending his hand to ever so gently cradle your jaw, turning your head to look at him. He said your name softly, barely.. “I’m going to take care of this.”

Your safe feeling was depleting and as much as you wanted to argue, to put a stop to all of this, to do it the correct way, you couldn’t. Earlier, when the threat was outside your door, you didn’t think of calling the police. It was Steve who had crossed your mind. For some unknown reason, you had a feeling he would help you. 

Steve pulled his hand away and stood again, shooting a glance to his friend. 

Bucky cleared his throat, taking a step forward. “Doll, can you tell me what the guys looked like? Identifying features?” 

You wanted to ask a thousand questions about what happened now, about what Bucky was planning on doing, about his metal arm and lack of hesitation to help Steve. But you just played along, delivering all the details you could. Once you repeated it all and answered a few of his questions, you sat up and leaned forward. “Oh. One of them went by Walker. I’m not sure if that’s a first name or..”

“Last name.” Bucky gave one nod before muttering out a tired laugh. “That fucking moron.” He looked at Steve. “Okay, I know where to go. Nat’s gonna meet me downstairs.”

Steve followed him to the door and you could hear their quiet conversation once more. 

Twisting your hands together, you sat on the couch with your thoughts. You couldn’t believe how your night had played out. Really, if you thought about the last week of your life you’d be hard pressed to believe it was real life. How could the simple act of getting a person out of harm’s way lead to this?

When you heard Steve’s footsteps heading back towards you, after the door shut behind Bucky, you stood up and looked at him. 

Okay, you had to ask. Because a lot of this felt nonsensical, impossible even.

“You don’t really work in real estate, do you?” With the most courage you could muster you met his gaze, which was stoic as he watched you. “My friend Maria had this crazy theory and.. I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into here, Steve. But this isn’t… I just did the right thing and saved you from being hit by a car and.. Now what? People with guns are breaking into my home and threatening my dog? And instead of going to the police.. I’m right here in your apartment - with you, a kind, handsome stranger who keeps offering to help and take care of me and I just don’t get it. Is this real?”

He didn’t falter or let his facade break when you spiraled. Instead, he motioned towards his kitchen. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

You sat with a steaming mug of chamomile at Steve’s kitchen island. His kitchen felt impressively Steve somehow too, with dark granite counters and cool grey tones decorating the tall cabinets. The light blue kettle that sat on his stove somehow humanized him even more though. 

Steve opted to lean against the counter, shrugging off his suit jacket as he met your eyes. “So. First, let me just say - I don’t want you to feel like I brought you here for any other reason than keeping you safe tonight. I want you to feel safe here, with me. But if you don’t feel comfortable, you can leave. I will put you up in a hotel somewhere or if you have a friend you can stay with-”

You swallowed hard and brought your hand up. “No, that’s not.. I’m sorry for, uhm, going off a bit there. I just..” You left your mug on the island and leaned forward, balancing your chin on your hand while your elbow propped you up. You matched his gaze, somehow both honest and shy. “In college, my friends and I did this thing called honesty hour. Usually after a really late night or when we were a bit drunk. But the point is to be as honest as possible, but gentle, I guess. Feelings were always at risk but if it was after 2am, it was honesty only.”

A small smirk tugged at Steve’s lips as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. “Okay.”

“So. Honesty hour.” You nodded.

“What do you want to know?”

“Do you always carry a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There are often dangerous, poorly- intentioned people in my line of work.”

You narrowed your eyes, pausing to take a small sip from your mug. “Your line of work - in real estate and art gallery ownership?”

Steve let out a quiet laugh. “The scope of my day to day work goes well beyond that.”

God, you had so many other questions but you had a feeling Steve was not going to share any details with you. Maybe it was better that way for both of you. Because answering some of your questions might ruin everything. “Would you rather I not ask about that? Your.. full scope?”

“I don’t think it qualifies for your honesty hour, no.”

You were ready to counter with something but you figured it wasn’t worth pushing his buttons. After another big breath, you closed your eyes. “Do you think those guys are going to show up again? At my apartment?”

The mug that had been resting in Steve’s hand found a careful spot on the counter. He took a big step forward and leaned onto the island opposite you.

Your name left his lips. You opened your eyes.

“I promise they won’t.” It was clear some things were being left unsaid, hidden behind his reassuring smile. His hand landed on yours as it rested on the table. “Trust me when I say I’ll never let that sort of thing happen again.” You looked from him, focusing on the warmth in his eyes and how his palm felt against your skin and…

“My turn.” Steve ran his thumb over the top of your hand, as if searching for the softest spot. “You called me. How come?”

You had never been so grateful to hear someone’s phone ring, because you did not want to answer that question. He tried to ignore it but the buzzing in his pocket filled in the quiet that lingered between you. Just like that, whatever that moment was or could have been - vanished. He gave you an apologetic glance as he stepped away. 

You sipped on your tea, feeling more and more run down by this whole situation. You were tired, finally and Steve’s big sweeping statements gave you some peace of mind. You trusted him, that was the only thing you were certain about. 

Despite everything, including the silly rumours from Maria and the broken remains of your apartment on the other side of Brooklyn… There was something about Steve that made you feel okay about all of this.

But the thought of talking any more about it now made your thoughts spiral out of control. Truthfully, you needed to sleep. And you really needed to talk all of this through in the group chat with the girls. You desperately wished your phone was still functioning.

Before you could even let your train of thoughts derail, you heard Hercules’ feet tapping against the floors in search of you. You took one final sip of your tea and met him in the living room. Your boy was ready for bed too.

You hesitated though, glancing from him to the door. He looked that way too. Maybe it would be smart to take him out one more time before you headed to bed.

Steve found you near the door and reached his hand out to stop you before you could even grab your coat. “Hey. I can take him out, if you want to get ready for bed.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Please, I insist.” He grabbed Hercules’ leash from the small entry table and rested his hand on your shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about adopting a dog for months now so this is a nice reminder about responsibilities.” 

Steve’s genuine smile was unmatched and, well, Hercules just looked excited for one last moment of fresh air. “Okay, fine. For your own research purposes. Thanks Steve.”

He waved his hand and pulled on a coat from the hanging rack. “The guest room is just down there.” With his free hand he pointed down the hall behind you. “First door on the right. Bathroom across the hall.”

The minute Steve was outside the door with Hercules, you made your way to the bedroom. You nearly gasped when you opened the door, considering the space was practically the same size as your entire apartment. And god, the view from the windows. A full floor to ceiling piece of glass illuminated Brooklyn below.

The bathroom was just as impressive. After finding a fluffy towel and figuring out how the shower and faucet functioned, you let yourself get consumed by the water. Though you felt far past your breaking point, you held back your tears. Yes, the entire night behind you had been a rollercoaster. And yes, you were nervous about what tomorrow was going to bring.

But you were safe. That’s all that mattered.

--

Chapter 01 - Chapter 03

[sweet-villain]

Just Hanging By The Moment With You ~ S.H

Words : 5.4k

Author's note : This was so adorable, you are adorable too. I get the little snort. It's cute.

@babyloutattoo89 @palomam18 @becca-alexa @sadbitchfangirl @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @steddieandstonathansprincess @haileighboi @bookshelf-dust @moonchildquinn

@strangerfreak asked:

Idea for fluff!! I think this could be short. When Steve meet reader first time, fast falling in love- blah blah blah- then couple months later, they been together and going strong. Whatever Steve making a joke and first time to hear her laughing and snorting! Like a adorable snorting he ever heard. (I laugh snort a lot, yeah I was embarrass but my girlfriend love it so I can’t hide it from her 🩶)

He stared in awe of you as you were helping Dustin carrying some things out of your car. It was like the air out of him got knocked out and everything inside of him as he melted away. He couldn’t feel his legs. He felt his heart hammering against his rib cage. He felt his mouth go dry as the tip of his tongue felt frozen. He felt like hurling everything out. Dustin appeared before him saying something to him but Steve’s eyes only been locked on your figure as you shyly gaze up at him carrying a box in your hands. 

“ Earth to Steve Harrington?” Dustin yelled. Steve had not heard a word as his Adam’s apple moved and his eyes went widen. Dustin glances over at you seeing the look Steve’s face and shook his head. 

“ Absolutely not” Dustin says pushing past Steve whom was brought of his thought gazing down at Dustin with his eyebrows knitted together. “ What are you talking about, Henderson?” 

“ You’re not dating my sister or even taking her out on a date” Dustin points a finger at Steve with a stern brother look. Steve gave a look like he lost his mind or something. 

“ Pfft… wait your sister?” Steve asks with his mouth hanging open. He moves his head where you stood with your cheeks tinted red, a small smile on your lips. “ Where do I put this?” The sound of your voice made Steve’s stomach turn into knots. His own cheeks flushed as he mouth the words but they weren’t coming out. 

“ Uh..” He says taking the box from you and he swore he was about to drop it when he felt the brush of your fingertips against his own. He wanted to die right there and then. 

Dustin sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

“ Steve this is Y/N, my sister” a head from behind Steve peeked out. He had a mane of curls with brown eyes and three rings on one of the hands that was on Steve’s shoulder. 

“ Y/N this is Steve…. And Eddie” he adds eyeing the boy behind Steve. “ Not you too, Eddie” Dustin threw his hands up in the air in frustration. You were staring at your brother in amusements as he spoke to himself underneath his breathe. 

Eddie softly smiles at you once your eyes meet his. 

“ Hey” he says. “ Never knew Henderson had a sister…. And a pretty one” Steve shoots a look over his shoulder at Eddie like dude I got her first. Eddie smirks feeling the glare on him. 

“ Are you going to join us?” He asks. You shake your head at him, brushing your hair behind your ear as your eyes land on Steve. You hope he says something but he doesn’t causing your heart to sink. 

“ No, I have to unpack” you mumble. 

“ She has gotten back yesterday morning and she’s staying. Right? You’re not going back?” Dustin asks, his eyes are with worry. 

You shake your head, “ No, I’m here to stay.” 

That made not only Dustin happy but Steve as he hoped he had some sort of a chance even though Dustin already disapproved of this. Your eyes met with Steves as his sparkled. God, he was beautiful. 

That was the first time you met Steve Harrington. Where the only journey began. 

Your eyes were scanning the convince store with your eyebrows knitted together in focus and the tip of your tongue as you were looking for your favorite candy. In your hand you had already picked up the kids favorite candy deciding to treat them. The door jingled open and you haven’t noticed who stepped inside unit you heard the sound of his voice. 

“ Hi there” he says. Your eyes tore away for looking for your favorite candy to the left where Steve Harrington stood with his hands on his hips. He wore his red long sleeve sweater and a pair of jeans. The red color standing out to you the most. 

“ What are you doing here?” You asked. His eyebrows raised at the question rather not getting the hello from you like he thought he would. Your cheeks flushed and you cleared your throat thinking that was really rude of you. 

“ Uh, I’m sorry. That wasn’t right. Hi” you greeted him with a smile hoping it would sound less rude and he wouldn’t look like what he looked like at the moment. Shocked and surprised. 

“ Much better” he says, putting his hands down. His eyes drop down to your hands where you held a bunch of candy. He throws his head back with a groan knowing who they are for because he knows the kids favorite candy too. 

“ You’re going to give them a sugar rush” you shuffle the candy in your arms and spot your favorite candy behind Steve. “ Aha!” You shout and brush past him. He stumbles back a bit but catches his footing. “ What are you even looking for?”

“ These” you showed him, shaking them in your hand. His lips grow in a disapproving look as he shakes his head. “ You’re going to be jumping off the wall with the sugar rush and I’ll have to deal with you.” 

“ I am not a chore, Harrington” he quickly shook his head and puts his hands up. 

“ That’s not what I meant” he says. You giggled. Steve swore his heart swelled up at the sound. His mouth a jar knowing you were messing with him now. 

“ What did you come here for?” Steves mind drew a blink as he forgot what he even was looking for. “ Huh? I don’t remember” he says. It seems like you have distracted him enough to forget on why he walk in here in the first place. It was something he’s been looking for. 

You walked up to the counter to pay for the candy you were going to buy for the kids and yourself when a hand beats you with cash of their own. 

“ Steve” you turn to look at him. “ I’m more than capable of paying” He nods. 

“ I felt like treating you and the kids” the store owner looks between you and Steve and roll his eyes. “ Young love” he says. Steve and you shake your heads.

“ We’re not in love” the both of you said together while cheeks flaring up in red. The store owner laughed and nodded. “ That’s what they all said and before they know it, they are in love. You two kids have fun” he says after the candy was paid for. 

You cleared your throat averting your gaze from Steve and taking the candy. Steve had the door already opened when you turn to walk out the store. Brushing your hair behind your ear while you exit, not casting a look at him as you thank him. 

“ You’re welcome” he says as he follows you out the door. He walks you to your car where you turn to him not really knowing what to say to him at the moment. No words really are needed. The both of you look at each other as if you hung the moon and given each other a piece of it. 

“ Uh.. I should go..” You motion to the car getting out your keys with one hand. “ Do you want me to hold those while you unlock your car?” He asked motions to the candy in your hands. You shake your head with a “ no, thank you. I got  it.” 

You opened the door and reaching in to place the candy in the seat next to yours. While you were bending down, he swore underneath his breath as his eyes fallen on your ass at it was begging for a smack. But he had to bite down the inside of his cheek to hold himself together. 

You stood back up to face him to see him struggling. You can tell from the face he was making. “ is everything okay?” You asked reaching out with your hand to touch his for a brief moment. Steve swore he would melt right there from your touch. 

“ Uh.. yeah” he nods, some strands of his hair falling to his forehead. He brushes it away as soon as he can. His hair was his best asset. He really did have nice hair that you wish to run your fingers through.

“ Okay, I’ll see you around” you give his hand a squeeze not once but twice with a soft smile gracing your face. His heart melts at the smile your giving him which he returns. If only he knew how he made you feel.

“ See you” he says wanting nothing more than to reach over to kiss your cheek but he holds back thinking you don’t even look ay him like that. He was being delusional about how he was feeling and his mind was thinking other things. 

He watches you get into your car and back away from the store. That until it hits in on what he had came here for, he mentally slaps himself in the forehead and races back inside, muttering underneath his breathe. 

It was the first time you’ve made Steve’s mind cloud with only thoughts of you and what he wanted to do.

“ I’m telling you, Sarah has been staring at you across the room for almost an hour. You should really talk to her” you motion to Steve holding your cup to your lips. Sarah was a girl in your classroom that used to have one class with Steve and she always gushed on missing having him around to look at at school. When he appeared with you and Eddie by his side, she was beaming with happiness. 

“ Was she really?” Steve asked, “ I haven’t been noticing” he shrugs. Eddie snorts as he knows the real reason why Steve isn’t interested in Sarah as you told him she was. Steve shoots him a look of shut up or else. 

“ What is funny?” You look towards to Eddie who’s holding his laughter in. “ I want in on the joke” you were looking now between Eddie and Steve in wonder. The two exchange glances. Steve saying with his look see now look what you’ve done and Eddie’s look is idiot just tell her. 

“ It’s nothing” Steve says. He feels a tap on his shoulder where he turns around and there stands Sarah with her hands folded together. She looks at you then to Eddie and then to Steve. 

“ Hi, I hope I’m not imposing but I just wanted to say it’s good to see you again Steve. I don’t know if you remember me, but I was in one of your classes and we were partners for one project that time.” 

Steve eyebrows pinch together like he’s thinking about who she is and when nothing comes back to him, he shakes his head. 

“ I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are” a flash of hurt crosses her face and she nods, looking away. “ Okay, sorry again. Just wanted to say hi” Eddie and you exchange looks of surprise on how Steve was acting like this. He said he came to the party to catch a girl’s eye. But it’s not the girl he wanted. His eyes casted down to see your reaction with Sarah and you don’t have any emotion on your face.

It was really hard to read you. 

Sarah walked away leaving the three of you. Eddie speaks up as he nudges Steve’s arm. 

“ What was that all about? I thought you’d be interested in someone like her” He says. 

“ Not the girl I was talking about “ Steve says while his eyes are on you. You felt his stare and met his gaze. You swore you felt that connection with just that one look and felt like he was speaking to you like his own mind was screaming for you. It was screaming that he might be talking about you. Your own heart was screaming for you. 

Eddie notices the looks between the two of you. He knew those look even though himself he hasn’t dated anyone. But he knew that Steve was talking about you. He knew from the beginning since you walked into their lives. He knew you were feeling the same and didn’t n need to tell him.  

You ended up going go with Steve driving you after he dropped Eddie off. He parks the car right in front of your house. Dustin and your mom were sleeping by now. Your mom didn’t know you snuck out of the house for a party. 

You are meant to be her good little sweet girl that she raised to be honest. But you had your own life and choice to make. You weren’t going to be locked up in that house. 

He turns the ignition off and turns to glance at you.

“ Did you think I was going to ask her out?” You turn to face him with your eyebrows pinched together being confused on who he was talking about. 

“ Sarah” he confirms for you seeing the confused expression on your face. 

Your mouth forms into an o shape and you shrug like you didn’t care what he does and with you. But you did, deep down you’ve would of been hurt that he would go off with her and who knows what might happen. You had heard stories about him when he was King Steve and honestly it surprised you on how he is now. He’s different. 

You also know his history with Nancy, not someone who you are close with. But she knows you and you know her. 

“ No” you shook your head. Your eyes are telling him another story. 

“ I should go, goodnight Steve” this time you took it upon yourself and leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek. Not only were you surprised with yourself but Steve froze in his seat feeling your lips on his skin. 

You had kissed his cheek. 

You reached for the handle to open the door when he reached over to kiss your cheek, “ Goodnight.” 

This time you look back at him and there was a look that you two shared telling you well you did that and now you made me melt inside but I can’t tell you because I don’t want to lose you. 

Steve watches you race to he side of your house where you room was and climbed the fence up to your room. He watches as you make it safely inside, flashing your lights to tell him that you were okay and he could go home.

It was a signal the two of you made between each other when he dropped you off late at home.

For the first time Steve drove home with a wide smile on his face. 

The following more when you sat down at the table, Dustin drops his comic book on the table as his eyes you. His eyebrow raises in question waiting for you to tell him that you snuck out and weren’t home till later. 

“ What?” You asked once your mom places a plate of pancakes in front of you and places a kiss on your forehead. “ Eat your food, Dusty bun. It will get cold” she says. 

Dustin opens his mouth to speak but you give him a dirty look feeling like you knew what this was about and if he told your mom about it, then you would tell her something Dustin was hiding from her. You knew his game and he knew yours. 

He leans in and hushed whispers, “ You were out late last night and snuck out.” 

“ No I wasn’t” 

“ Yes you were, I heard you last night. Who brought you home?” He asked. “ It better not be Steve or Eddie” He hisses. He has told plenty of time to Eddie and Steve that you were off limits. He was being over protective brother.

You had spend most of your time living with your dad while Dustin lived with your mom. That was part of the divorce where siblings were split into house holds. You were only very young when it happened. 

“ Robin” you muttered to him. His eyes squinted, “ Robin doesn’t drive.” 

“ Her mom did” you muttered to him. He kept his eyes squinted not believing you as he leaned back in his seat. 

“ Mom, Y/N snuck out last night!” You gasped tearing a piece of your pancake and chugging it at him not believing he would rat you out. Your mother turned from the stove and put her hands on her hips staring at you disapprovingly. 

“ Is this true, Y/N? Did you sneak out last night? Where did you go?” 

You huffed leaning back into your seat, “ I didn’t sneak off last night to no where but Dustin stole $10 out of your wallet yesterday.” 

Dustin gasped as he threw his food your way. 

“ You swore you wouldn’t tell mom!” Dustin shouted. Your mother shook her head at the both of you and sighing to herself. What was she going to do with you? 

“ Enough you two, you better finish your food and head upstairs to your rooms where I don’t want to see you till dinner. Do I make myself clear?” She pointed the spatula at the both of you. “ No sneaking out either or I’ll take the car away.” 

You huffed putting your arms over your chest staring angrily at Dustin. He stared right back at you. This meant that he couldn’t go out to see Mike, Lucas, Max and the rest and it meant the same for you too. 

You headed to your room after cleaning up after yourself and helping your mom with the dishes, stomping up the steps making sure Dustin heard from his room that he was closer to the stares. Then you slammed the door shut to make sure you told him you were mad at him.

It felt like hour until dinner was ready. You walked down the steps helping your mom set up the table while Dustin came down moments later watching you.

“Help your sister, Dustin” she says motioning. You were reaching out for the cups when he stood by your side mumbling he was sorry that he overreacted and told mom on you. You glance down seeing his eyes were big and pouty. 

You couldn’t stay mad at your brother too long. 

You sighed, “ I’m sorry too.” The both of you hugged it out as your mom walked in seeing the hug. She awed causing you both to pull away and telling her the other had germs. 

“ Can’t believe these are my children” she says as she set some chicken wings on the table.Your stomach growls seeing the food she placed on the table. 

“ You’re drooling” Dustin says. You took a piece of bread throwing it his way where he hunched down and you missed his head. 

“ Would you two sit down and eat. Can we have a nice dinner without you two playing with your food?” 

You both apologized to your mom sitting down. This was a normal family dinner you had since you got here. It always was a start of playful dinner in the Henderson house hold. Even though your mom scolded you for food throwing, she knew it had because sort of a thing between you and Dustin.

It made her laugh at one point until she didn’t like the food she made to be played with. 

You were reading a book when a knock came to your window. You hadn’t thought of anything at first until there was another knock on your window. Your eyebrow scrunched up together trying to figure out who it was when you heard the sound of Steve’s voice. 

“ It’s Steve” he says. You threw the window open seeing he had cuts on his face and a black eye. Your eyes scan his face with worry that he’s hurt. 

“ This is nothing” he says motioning to his face as slips into your room, more like he fell with a thud. Dustin is in the other room when he hears the sound from your room. His eyebrow pinch together as he listens. 

Your eyes are wide and slam a hand over his mouth. You place a finger to your lips motioning to him to be quiet knowing that Dustin has heard the sound. Once you knew and heard nothing from your brothers room, you let out a sigh of relief and pulled him up to your bed.

“ What happened to you?” You asked. “ Who did this?” 

He waved his head as he rest his head on your pillow. Your scent surrounds him bringing him comfort as he closes his eyes. But the shaken from your hands bring him out of his state as his eyes falls on you. Your hovering above him with worry in your eyes. 

“ You can’t fall asleep here, Steve.” 

He groans clutching his side. Your eyes follow where his hand is and push it away to look at the wound or where it hurts. You look at his face to have permission from him to have a look at. He nods softly, wincing as he moves his head. 

You lift up his shirt gasping at the big bruise forming on his stomach. Anger begins to flash through you wanting to handle whoever did this to Steve. It was the look on your face that made Steve bring up his hand and cup your cheek.

The gesture caused you to calm down a bit and stared down at him.

“ Don’t worry about this, I’ll be okay. I just need to rest a bit” you shook your head and in panic as he closed his eyes. “ Let me get my mom” his eyes flashed open at the mention of your mom which meant she would call his parents and he wasn’t up to having a talk with them about this. 

“ No” he shakes his head. You were about to say something else when there is a knock at the door. Your eyes grew wide as you place a hand over Steve’s mouth. 

“ Yeah?” You asked the other person on the other side of the door. 

“ I heard a sound earlier, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” Dustin asks as he stand in front of your door with his head to the door to hear any sounds that seemed off to him. He didn’t hear anything until he heard a shuffle. 

“ Is someone in there with you?” He asks. He knocks on your door. 

Your eyes are in panic looking around in your room for Steve to hide. 

“ Hide in the shower” you tell him in a hush tone. He softly groans as he sits up but the door to your bedroom opens minutes later with your brother flying in. He’s fallen on the ground from flying inside your room but his head picks up as his eyes land on Steve who’s groaning in pain.

“ What happened?” Is the first question when catches the sight of Steve. “ Who did this?” He asks. Steve is his friend too, worry casts over him. Steve is leaning against your shoulder as his eyes close. Your in panic not knowing what to do either. 

Dustin looks over to you seeing the worst in your eyes. 

“ How long has he been like this?” He asks. “ Let me get mom” you shake your head. 

“ He doesn’t want mom to know” Dustin is having a hard time deciding weather to get his mother or not. He can’t decide. He wants Steve to be okay and on the other hand he’s worried that Steve won’t be able to hang out wit him anymore. Then he looks over at you seeing you brush away his hair, worry over him.

“ You like him, don’t you?” Dustin asks. “ You care about him, alot. Right?” 

You don’t have to answer Dustin because he can tell from the look on your face and the single tear that running down your cheek. He watches as you place Steve into your lap while you hold him. 

“ I’m going to get the first aid kit” he tells you walking into your bathroom as he finds it underneath the sink knowing you kept it there for safe measures. 

He returns to see you running your fingers through Steve’s hair. 

“ I think I’m happy that you like Steve instead of some stranger. I feel like you’d be good to him and he would be too. But if he doesn’t, well he’s going to have to deal with all of us going after him.” 

You laughed watching as Dustin opened the first aid kit. You felt like this was an approval coming from him. 

The next time Steve woke up was laying in your lap still while you had a book in your hands that you were reading. You hadn’t notice he’d woken up until you felt a piece of your hair being twirled. 

A smile appears on your face at the sight go him. 

“ Hi” he greets you. He felt like this was dream he didn’t want to wake up from. 

“ Hi, I’m so glad your okay” he smiles down but you place a finger to his lips which causes his eyes to go wide but when you motion to his side, he looks over to see Dustin was sleeping there. Steve scrambles to get up, slightly waking up Dustin who groans as he opens his eyes.

“ Do you have to be so loud?” He asks, sitting up as he rubs his eyes. Steve has a look of panic across his face taking it the fact that Dustin was in the room meaning he found out that Steve stayed here. He knows Dustin told. Him any times to stay away from you. But he can’t. 

“ Relax, Steve. We patched you up” Dustin tells him. That’s when Steve notices the bandage around his waist and he feels his face, feeling small bandaids on his face.

“ You’re not mad?” He asks Dustin. Dustin shook his head. 

“ I’m mad that you keep doing this” he motions between you and Steve. “ Hiding this.” 

Your head hangs feeling like he was about to yell at Steve and race to tell your mom but he doesn’t as he slide off your bed and puts on his cap. 

“ Just don’t hurt her, please.Besides my mom, she’s the only family I have.” Steve shakes his head. “ She’s been through a lot too, there is a lot of hurt in there” he points to you. “ Life hasn’t been too kind to her and you’ve walked into her life and it’s like there is this bright cloud above her where she doesn’t stop smiling. If she does, you’ll have me to handle. Not only that but all of us.” 

“ I got it, Henderson. I won’t hurt her” Steve says when he looks at you. His words are caught in his throat on what he wants to really say and then he does say it, your own breath stops. 

“ How could I hurt someone that took my heart from the moment she looked at me?” Yours and Dustin’s mouth drop open at his confession. Steve knew it wasn’t the best time to tell you this but now it was out in the open and he didn’t know you were going to take it. 

“ Yo-ou lov-ve me?” You slide off the bed and made your way over to him. 

He clears his throat fearing you weren’t going to return the feeling as he shook his head telling you to forget what he had said. You cupped his face with you hand turning his head to meet your gaze.

You were smiling. 

“ You’re a goofball and an idiot sometimes Steve Harrington, but I love you too.” 

His eyes widen and a smile appears on his face. He winces when he tries to reach you but it was interrupted when cough was heard. Your body froze in fright hearing your mother and she stood there by the door that was wide open. 

Dustin had forgot to close it when he fell asleep on the bed. Dustin gives you oh shit look on his face and tries to scramble out of the room without his mom noticing he’s there but she does. 

“ You sit back down, Dustin.” 

He sits down on the bed as her eyes fall onto Steve. 

“ You must be Steve, right?” He nods as he sits up with a wince but you help him up to stand. Your mother walks into the room as she squints her eyes at him.

“You boy, if you hurt my little girl ever. I mean ever, I will unleash hell on you. Do I make myself clear?” Steve gulps as he nods his head that he’s understanding. Her eyes drop down to you. 

“ I’m disappointed that you never talk to me anymore, we used to have fun” then her eyes look over to Dustin, “ this isn’t like you Dustin to keep things from me either.” 

“ I didn’t know she liked him until last night, she was almost close to tears seeing the sight of him. You should of seen him” Dustin points to Steve. 

“ Close to tears? I’m right here” Steve wraps his arms around you bringing you to his side. He winced in pain but he took it because he had you by his side. Till that day, he hasn’t told you who had hurt him to have him crash onto your bedroom door where the following day he confessed his feeling to you. 

Many months pass by and your relationship with Steve was stronger than ever. He made you happy, he brought you flowers, he drove you around and was a gentleman. The gang had teased Steve that you had him whipped but he didn’t mind. Not at all. He was more in love with you with each passing day. 

You were laying in bed with Steve placing kisses on every spot that he could find causing you to giggle. You mom was at work while Dustin was staying over at Mikes meaning you had the place to yourself. Steve came over after his shift, dressed in his vest which he tossed behind your chair when he walked into your room. 

“ Stevie…” you giggled pushing him away. “ It’s ticklish” he smiled continuing his kisses, not wanting to stop hearing the giggle. It was one of his favorite sounds. He pulled away one he had a question on his mind, it was more of a joke he’s been waiting on to tell you. 

“ Can I tell you something?” He asked, hovering above you. You nodded, a hand going into his hair and running your fingers through it. 

“  Are you a dictionary? Because you give me meaning” he says. You couldn’t help it but the sound that came from you caused Steve to laugh as he rolled down besides you. You had snorted while laughing at his lame joke. It was kinda cute but you couldn’t help it. 

Your hand reach up to cover your nose and mouth thinking Steve was laughing at you. You looked away feeling slightly hurt at his action. Steve stopped laughing noticing you had moved away from him and he frowns seeing you were hiding from him.

“ Hunny?” He asks. “ Are you okay?” He tugged at your hands that were covering your nose and mouth but you refused to move them away. He sat up and turns around thinking he upset you somehow. 

“ What did I do?” You put your hands down and sat up too, a small pout on your lips where Steve wanted to kiss it away but held back as he listened to you. 

“ You laughed at me when I…. You know snorted.. “ you mumbled treating the shape on your sheets. It was rather more interesting than your boyfriend’s face at the moment. Steve shook his head as he cupped your face with both his hands. 

“ I wasn’t laughing at you, it was cute. I was laughing with you at my lame joke I’ve made. I’m sorry if you thought I was laughing at you. I would never, believe me.” 

“ Okay” you nodded a growing smile on your face. 

“Are you a barista? Because I love you a-latte!” He says causing you to snort yet again at his lame joke which he laughed too, this time tackling you on the bed as he begin placing kisses across your face again as you try to get away, giggling. 

He loved everything about you. Even the little snort you’ve made twice at his lame joke. You were a keeper and he tended to keep you as long as you’d have him. 

[doctorhelena]

Do you have any underrated/hidden gem Steggy fic recs?

Hey Anon!

I decided not to overthink the definition of "underrated/hidden gem", and just picked 12 random Steggy fics that I love and I thought it was possible people might not have read!

So, hopefully at least some of these excellent Steggy fics are new to you! (Descriptions in italics are the authors' own summaries from AO3.)

dream (when the day is through) by @somewhereapart Steve wakes from yet another nightmare of the Battle of Wakanda. Peggy tries to ease his mind—and give him an outlet to burn off his post-dream-battle jitters. Post-Endgame.

An Unexpected Detour on the Way to Saving the World by @eliza49-7190 Tony Stark and Steve Rogers do not find the Tesseract in 1970 and are forced to travel to 1949 to look for it. There they accidentally encounter Peggy Carter and Edwin Jarvis. Meanwhile, Dottie Underwood has kidnapped Daniel Sousa and Jack Thompson, planning to lure Peggy to her, so that she can share some devastating news. Steve is thrilled at the idea of helping Peggy solve her case. Tony keeps reminding him that they need to get on with saving the universe.

What the Next Moment Brings by agentofvalue Peggy had a secret when Steve's plane went down and now she's just trying to hold onto control of her life.

Make it Better by TooManyBattles (Skarabrae_stone) After Dr. Erskine is killed, Steve comforts Peggy.

and don't you dare be late by irnan or, Peggy Carter is accidentally sent time-travelling by mind-controlled rogue Nazi secret agents. (If anyone ever asked, honesty would compel her to admit that this is probably not the strangest thing to ever happen to her; those come after the time travel.)

Burning with a Deadly Heat by @amuseoffyre Howard Stark never stopped looking for Captain America, but no one ever expected Stark to find him.

One Single Yesterday by cassandraoftroy Presented with an opportunity to travel anywhere in space and time with the Doctor, Steve returns to the 1940s to make his date with Peggy. Their fates may lie in different centuries, but Peggy and Steve are determined to make the most of the opportunity they have been given to be with one another again, for however long their time-traveling adventure may last.

Sleepers of Ephesus by Domenika Marzione (domarzione) Note: this is unfinished, but still very much worth the read! Peggy Carter is far from home.

Keep Right On To The End of The Road by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl Note: this has two sequels which are also great! The whole series is called The Captain America Adventure Hour As they ran down the hall, Steve said, "You picked up a girl. As a POW." "What's that thing your mom used to say? God looks after drunks and good Irish boys." "Unbelievable," he muttered.

lovers alone wear sunlight by CoraClavia In a poetic place, in a non-poetic way, Steve does something sweet.

I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire by bookishandi Note: this is unfinished, but still very much worth the read! There's over 18 months between the afternoon Erskine recruits on Steve Rogers and the day he kisses Peggy Carter goodbye. This is my attempt to fill in the blanks.

Metamorphoses by @amuseoffyre Note: this is unfinished, but still very much worth the read! Sometimes, when changes come, they do not always come at once.

(And, if anyone who sees this knows the tumblrs of any of the authors in this list I haven't tagged, please let me know!)

[hannahshattuck]

The Caramel Latte Boy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers

Rating: Gen

Art by: @estelior (view the amazing art here)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Sam Wilson/Natasha Romanov, Slight Age Difference, Coffee Shops, Barista Steve Rogers, Shrinkyclinks, Beefy Bucky Barnes

Summary: Everyone knows their soulmate by their twentieth birthday, some know as early as sixteen. For Steve, his twentieth is three days away and if he doesn’t meet his soulmate by then the chances of having one drastically lowers. For twenty-three year old Bucky, he’s accepted the fact he most likely doesn’t have a soulmate. Moving from Indiana to New York for a change of scenery proves to be the best decision he’s made.

Written for @buckybarnesevents ShrinkyClinks Double Bang 2023

“Caramel latte for Jamie!” Steve yells through the bustle of the morning rush. Being a barista for his best friends coffee shop, Widow’s, is the highlight of Steve’s life. He gets to meet many people from different walks of life. Business men on their way to work, suburban moms whose toddlers are always causing a ruckus, college students who run on caffeine and empty promises from professors; it’s never a dull moment at Widow’s.

“Peppermint mocha for Lisa!” Steve yelled again as he set another drink on the counter. A man walked up to the counter and smiled. “Hi, how can I help you?”

“You have a drink for Jamie?”

Steve grabbed the caramel latte he set down previously. “Here you go, sir.”

“Thanks, doll.” The man, Jamie, smiled and winked. Steve cursed his Irish genes as he felt his cheeks heat up, his face most likely turning tomato red. 

Steve watched Jamie leave until someone clears their throat. The barista turned his attention to a woman who could rival any Karen.

“My drink?” She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at Steve.

“For?”

“Lisa. Are you stupid?”

Steve slid her drink to her. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Steve blinked as the lady walked out. Oh well. Some people were just destined to be rude. Steve turned back to the espresso machine and continued making drinks while thinking about that Jamie guy. His storm gray eyes, his brown hair that was tied in a bun at the nape of his neck, the burgundy henley that hugged his arms and chest, and those jeans that hugged tree trunk thighs. Steve felt a stirring in his groin that was definitely not work appropriate even if he was behind a counter.

As Steve went through the motions for the rest of the day, he wondered if Jamie would come in again or if it was a one time thing. Maybe Widow’s was close to his work and he was running late? Maybe he’s just visiting the area? Either way Steve hopes to see him again.

_________________

“Caramel latte for Jamie!” Steve couldn’t help the smile on his face as he called the order to someone who became his favorite customer. Jamie always ordered the same drink and sometimes for a food item. But the drink order never changed. This afternoon was slow for the employees of Widow’s. Since the weather was nice most people were hanging out at the park across the street which caused the tables to be available. 

When Jamie walked in, he placed his order as usual but instead of waiting for the drink and then leaving, he placed himself at a table towards the back of the shop. He pulled out a book from the backpack on the floor and opened it to start reading. Steve couldn’t tell the title from his spot behind the counter but made a mental note to ask Jamie before he left. 

Unfortunately, a rush of customers came in and Steve didn’t get a chance to ask Jamie about his book. Hopefully next time Jamie comes in Steve can ask. He might have to hold the caramel latte hostage until he can ask.

_________________

It was three weeks before Jamie came back in. It was slow so Steve was the only one out on the floor while his best friend and one of the owners, Sam, was working on business stuff. Steve smirked as Jamie walked up to the counter, backpack slung over one of his broad shoulders.

“Hi, welcome to Widow’s. What can I get started for you today?” Steve played up his customer service self more than usual.

Jamie seemed to like it, however, and played along. “Hi. This is my first time. What do you recommend?”

“Well I’ve heard the caramel latte is pretty good.” Steve smirked.

“Then I shall have one.” 

Steve put in Jamie’s usual order, “And can I get a name?”

“Bucky.”

Steve looked up with furrowed eyebrows, “Bucky?”

“Yeah,” Jam-Bucky smiled. He placed a hand on the counter and leaned close to Steve. “That’s what I want pretty boys to call me.”

Steve’s brain whited out. 404 error. Brain not found. D-did this beautiful man just call Steve…pretty?

“Steve?”

Steve blinked and came back to his body to see Bucky watch him with concern. “Are you okay? I’m sorry if that was to forward.”

“No!” Steve responded almost too quickly. “No, you're completely fine. Just caught me off is all.”

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought I scared you off. Because I really do think you’re pretty and if it’s not too forward I’d love to get your number.”

Steve blushed as he smiled. “S-sure. I’ll write it on your cup like a cliche. How’s that sound?”

Bucky chuckled, which was music to Steve’s ears. “That sounds perfect, doll.”

Steve smiled as he told Bucky his total and took the payment from the other man. Steve made the drink with a smile on his face which Sam teases him about since he’s known Steve’s had an eye on their customer. Steve made sure to write his number on the cup before he called out Bucky’s drink.

“Caramel latte for,” and then Steve read out his number. Bucky laughed as he walked up to the counter. “Sorry, sir. I don’t think this is for you.” Steve pulled the drink back with a smile. 

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

Both men gasped and grabbed their arms. They then looked at each other with wide eyes.

Bucky’s eyes welled up as he looked at Steve. “Y-you…” Bucky couldn’t finish his sentence in case it wasn’t true. At twenty-three, Bucky was certain he didn’t have a soulmate and the jerk on his arm would taunt him the rest of his life. He moved from Indiana because he couldn’t stand the sympathy he was getting from his family. A kid who lost both his parents and older sister at the age of twelve didn’t have a soulmate. Bucky could take his aunts trying to convince him there was someone out there when after one turned twenty the chance of having a soulmate was almost zero. 

Steve looked between his arm, where punk was glowing slightly, and Bucky who looked like he was going to lose it any moment. Steve was ready to accept he didn’t have a soulmate once he turned twenty but he kept hoping. And now, standing behind the counter at his work staring into the eyes of the man he’s to spend the rest of his life with, Steve’s glad he held out hope.

“Oh my god.” Someone said which brought both Steve and Bucky back to the present. Steve turned his head and saw his other best friend, Natasha, standing at the front like she just walked in. “You’re each other’s soulmates.”

“Oh shit…” Sam said as he stared at the two men.

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice cracked. “Sorry, I thought I didn’t have a soulmate.”

Steve smiled as his own eyes started to fill with happy tears. “Honestly I was starting to think I didn’t either. I turn twenty in three days and I was starting to accept there wasn’t someone out there.”

Bucky chuckled and wiped his eyes. “I’d really like to hug you if that’s okay.”

Steve smiled as he jumped over the counter into Bucky’s arms. Steve fit perfectly in Bucky’s arms with the top of his head coming to just under Bucky’s chin. The taller man placed a kiss on the top of Steve’s head and tightened his hold. Bucky hoped this wasn’t a dream and he’d wake up lonely in the bed of his apartment. 

“Please tell me this is real.” Bucky mumbled.

Steve tightened his hold around Bucky’s waist. “It’s real.” Steve looked up at his soulmate. “Very real.” He said before placing a kiss on the lips that he’s dreamed about since Bucky first came into Widow’s.

Bucky pulled back from the kiss and smiled down at Steve. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

Steve smiled back, “I wouldn’t want anything else.”

[mattiehenderson]

Elf-Witch

Synopsis: my first Stranger Things fic, don't be hard on me please. I'm so happy to see an 80s metalhead represented in a positive light for ONCE! I couldn't help but fall in love with him just like everyone else with taste. So I prefer writing male x male romances, and can I just say we need way more bottom princess male reader and dom daddy Eddie fics. This is my attempt to try and help with that. So this story focuses on my OC, Matthew "Mattie" Henderson, he's Dustin's older brother who's a senior. Heavily bullied for being so effeminate and goth. He has always had a crush on Eddie Munson since freshman year, but unfortunately Eddie is straight...or is he?

Warnings : Sexual language and imaginations. Minors do not interact, 18+.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Henderson!OC

☆☆☆☆☆▪︎☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Look at me, please turn around and just look at me.

I stared intensely at the boy who sat in front of me in English, wavy chestnut curtains of hair poured past shoulders too broad for a normal senior, and onto my desk.

I could smell his v05 shampoo, the aloe one, and the Irish spring that almost hid his signature Marlboro and kush cologne. Slowly, quietly, I inhaled the scent that was all things Eddie Munson, the eternal prisoner of Hawkins High School.

In my marble notebook that was graffiti'd with cutouts of my favorite bands and scented stickers, I sketched an imprisoned Eddie in a medieval, hooded cloak behind bars, and coming to rescue him was a soft looking male witch. It went along with the story I was secretly writing for my own pleasure, the poor dungeon master who has been trapped in the dungeons of Hawkeye Castle for 400 years, under an evil queen's spell. Perhaps I named her Queen Cristiana of Hawkeye, after a certain stupid cheerleader that I always see hanging around a certain metal head after hours.

I don't know why I do this to myself, in what universe do I have a chance? Maybe in my own universe in my own land of make believe, but nymphs and orcs and furies also exist there so there's that.

In the real world, Chrissy Cunningham is the most beautiful girl in Hawkins, she's the head cheerleader and smells like Anais Anaïs, she has perfect hair and she's a she.

I, Mattie Henderson, am a boy. Not only am I a boy, but I'm a boy who wears more makeup than any girl in school. I wear my bleached curls too long and listen to darkwave. Eddie Munson would never!

I gently huffed before I finished sketching the scene where Matthias the Enchanter, in his red violet cloak and gossamer garments, shared a kiss with Sir Edward the Banished. 

It was hilarious really. I have known him since I was a freshman, secretly pining, and knowing we have many interests in common, especially D&D, but I've always been too shy to approach him. Too shy to approach anyone, only having one friend my whole time living in Hawkins, Robin Buckley. I'm not as good with people as my little brother, growing up in the Midwest with being what I am and how I am, I figured it's smarter to keep away. Robin always understood me, since we met in seventh grade and I moved here from Connecticut.

After everything last summer with Starcourt, and finding out about what my brother and his friends have been apart of, I shockingly acquired new friends, the very unexpected Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, and my art class acquaintances Jonathan Byers.

It's been a lot, it's been a fucking lot, and with it being my senior year the stress has been added. Mom keeps asking about my college options, telling me Indiana University has a pretty good art program. But I don't have the grades, I do enough to get by, school makes me miserable, I could care less about mundane things like classes and grades and teachers, and artificial societies. And sure I like art, but I love doing hair and makeup and nails too, something my mother definitely reaps the benefits of. And I don't exactly love Hawkins the Cursed Lands, but after everything and not sure about this place ever being safe again, I'd never leave my brother here without me. And as pathetic as it sounds, the thought of leaving the man who doesn't know I exist makes my stomach hurt.

I felt guilty for my thoughts, for my fantasies about him, for wishing the reason why I put my black velvet choker on this morning was to cover a bruise from his huge, ring wrapped fingers. Oh how I would cut off all twenty inches of my hair to just have his towering 5'11 frame over my 5'5 one, staring down into my black lined Hazel eyes, with his dark, teddy bear gaze.

The teacher must have sent paper down, because with the melodic swish of his chocolate butter ringlets, I was looking up at him and slamming my marble notebook shut faster than you can say Kissimmee. Dark, button eyes glanced at me before doing a double take. Now fixated on me feeling like a goldfish, with his plush, pillowy, bubblegum pink lips parted.

How the hell could anyone ostracize and hate such a gorgeous human being? Then the angel spoke and I felt like he was oozing the gospel.

Here we go again.

All because of one damn class I'm sitting in Johnson's English for the third fucking time.

I was the last one to plop my ass down, toward the back, the desk with the D&D scribbles and the classic "Ozzy rules" that violated government property. I got a snide remark from Johnson, and snickers and insults from Carver and his ball buddies.

This was exactly why I preferred to escape to my own world, where there are dragons and halflings, or when I close my eyes and finger my sweetheart. Just close my eyes and listen to The Number of the Beast, forgetting that reality is being the town's leper in a town where they decide Jason Carver is a good person because he knows his way around a ball.

Johnson was droning on about fucking writing prompts where he cares more about where a comma goes than if the story is good or not. 

And then, as I'm passing back the picture prompt for the first day of hell, I did a double take at a new face. A face prettier than even the likes of Chrissy Cunningham. Looking up shyly at me, drawing out a protective feeling I didn't know I possessed, are bedroom, dreamy lidded eyes painted a lavender gray,with thick broom-like sweeping lashes that flutter before bright Hazel eyes, that reminded me of summer turning into fall, green fading into browning leaves and golden maples. Kohl-rimmed, making them more pronounced and more awe-inspiring.

Her nose is cute and broad with a puggish finish that rests prettily between roundish cheeks painted a deep blush. My eyes traveled down to a pair of the ideal cock sucking lips, I'm so sorry but I don't really know what else to call them. They're so full and big, so cushiony and I'm a pretty imaginary guy, so what I'm thinking of doing to that mouth…fucking that gorgeous face, making those Hazel eyes water and her gothic makeup run down those pretty chipmunk cheeks, making a big mess of her blood red lipstick smudging it on my cock. 

I shifted in my seat feeling my dick stir, and this was not the time. Cascading around her face was voluminous white blonde curls, so wild and untamable like an elf-witch, very surreal and otherworldly and contrasts beautifully with her dark eyebrows.

And as if my she-elf couldn't have been more perfect, not only did she have herself collared by a black velvet choker, but a cut off Shout at the Devil Mötley Crüe  shirt encased her. My mouth watered and when she lifted a fishnet, arm fingerless glove adorned wrist to take the prompt from me, I inhaled the sweet smell of apricots and roses and sweet, expensive perfume. I couldn't get enough of it.

"Munson, are you drooling? Is that drool, freak?" Carver happily and loudly like a fucking foghorn called me out in front of everyone. Nothing new, usually I'm very unphased by embarrassment, I mean I'm a 20 year old senior. But, for once that jockstrap got to me, knowing this enchantress witnessed it witnessed him calling me out for something she caused. I snapped my head away fast and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket before inspecting the porosity. Damn, I was fuckin drooling.

Saved by the Johnson, the droning authority started a roll call. Imagine my surprise when Johnson called out Matthew Henderson and it happened to be my little elf-witch…or elf-warlock should I say.

[bitchyfoxymama]

What I think my favorite characters smell like headcannons

Note: these are some of my personal favorite characters. Which means it'll range from marvel to slashers to Stranger things!

Warnings: mentions of Bo murdering, weed

...

Steven Grant

Smells like books, coffee and egyptian cotton. Its just so homey, you wanna wrap yourself up in the scent and stay there forever. I feel like he also occasionally smells like good quality chocolate.

Marc Spector

Smells like cinnamon and vanilla. He also smells like lemon pound cake or something citrus and i cant explain why, i just believe he does.

Jake Lockley

Jake smells like cigarettes and leather gloves. Also he smells mahogany and bourbon. Like its just so him yeah know

Jack Russell

Wet dog. Hold on though, its not a bad thing ok, but he also smells like coffee and forest. Its a pleasant mix that makes you feel all comfortable and secure. He also smells like mountain mist which goes back him living in the woods with ted

Steve Harrington

Steve Harrington smells like hairspray, cashmere musk with a hint of cinnamon. Also i get the vibe he smells like really smokey after shave and maybe honey

Eddie Munson

Smells like Hemp seed as well as really good weed. He also smells like a cheap drugstore cologne that he five finger discounted one day, it's kinda woodsy and a lil spicy with a hint of musk. He wears it every time he has a gig with corroded coffin. And Irish spring

Vincent Sinclair

Totally out of left field but he smells like lavender and like those really good quality waxes? Like bees wax, and like chamomile tea that he drinks after being in the workshop all day.

Bo Sinclair

Cigarettes, blood, motor oil, suede and smoke with like a little hint of wax because he's always around the art that vincent creates. The blood scent isn't constant, he showers and it's gone and it's replaced by the woody scent of his body wash and the cigarettes he's always smoking.

Thomas Sawyer

Smells like fresh dried laundry more specifically laundry that is dried in the fresh air? Like luda mae didnt raise no stinky boys. He's also got this natural musk that just melds perfectly with it. Also kinda smells like dirt, like hes gardened and ahhhh just *chef kiss*