#a wild Steve POV appears!

[solarmorrigan]

Like You've Seen a Ghost

For the @steddie-spooktober day 6 prompt: Haunted Rated: T | Words: 1348 | CW: brief descriptions of blood and gore, mentions of past head trauma | Tags: pre-relationship, modern AU, ghost hunter Eddie, ghost whisperer Steve, Steve Harrington has head trauma Divider credit: @saradika

“So… are you getting anything yet?”

“Not really.”

“Well, which way should we go?”

“It doesn’t really work like that, man. I don’t sniff out ghosts.”

“Well forgive me for not knowing how your whole ‘I see dead people’ shtick works.”

Steve glances over at Eddie in the low light of the long hallway. He looks just as grumpy as he has since it had been suggested that he and Steve pair up to check the third floor of the hotel – supposedly the most haunted part of the building.

“You don’t believe I can see dead people at all,” Steve says, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“What, could you sense that, too?” he snarks.

“Nah.” Steve shrugs. “I heard you talking to Gareth and Jeff about it.”

At that, Eddie has the decency to look a little sheepish; he hadn’t had the most flattering things to say about Steve in that conversation.

It had been the rest of the team—Gareth, Jeff, and Oliver—who had pulled for this little team-up as a sort of special episode for their YouTube channel; Eddie had been against it from the start. He’d insisted that their viewers expected supernatural investigations based on scientific techniques and equipment, not some fake psychic (charlatan, actually, had been the word he’d used) who takes people’s money and pretends to see their dead relatives.

(Steve, for the record, does not take anyone’s money. Whether or not he sees someone’s dead relatives, he does it for free.)

“Uh… look…” Eddie starts, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“It’s fine, man, I get it,” Steve brushes off what likely would have been a very awkward apology. “You can’t do what you do without a healthy dose of skepticism. And it’s not exactly like I can explain it; it just kind of happens. But I promise that when or if I see a ghost, I’ll tell you to get your camera.”

“Right,” Eddie says quietly, turning back to the gadget in his hands (some of it had been explained to Steve, but he won’t pretend he knows just what the hell kind of science goes into ghost hunting).

They fall into a stilted sort of silence, Eddie scanning their surroundings with whatever it is he’s holding and Steve keeping his eyes peeled for signs of ghostly activity. He can’t say he’s thrilled to be spending the night with someone who clearly doesn’t want to be with him, but it’s really no skin off his nose if Eddie doesn’t believe in his abilities; Steve isn’t Tinkerbell, he doesn’t run on the belief of others.

He hadn’t really even meant to become– well, not famous, but maybe internet famous, at least. He’d just figured that as long as he had the ability to see and speak to the dead, he could use it to put other people’s minds at ease. People who worried about their dead loved ones, or people who were being terrorized in their own homes. Sometimes Steve could put spirits to rest. Sometimes all he had to do was tell someone that their dearly departed whoever was nowhere to be found and must be at peace.

It had sort of snowballed after one person he’d helped had told another, who’d told another, who had the ear of someone with a reasonably popular podcast, who had wanted to talk to Steve, and suddenly Steve had been getting calls for other interviews, for “psychic” investigations, and, apparently, for team-ups with some well-known ghost hunters.

“What did happen?” Eddie asks, breaking a little sharply into the silence.

“What?” Steve looks back over at him.

“You said it just kind of happens. So have you always been like this, or…?”

“Oh. Yeah, no, I got hit really hard in the head,” Steve says.

Eddie stops walking, and now he’s the one staring at Steve. “You what?”

“Got hit in the head.” Steve knocks at his temple for emphasis. “It was… pretty bad. Apparently, they thought I was dead for a minute there. But I lived—y'know, obviously—and now I get really bad migraines and I see dead people.”

“How does that even work? Like – did you cross over, or some shit?” Eddie asks haltingly, like the words are unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Couldn’t tell you. I’ve always kind of thought of it like an old TV set,” Steve says. “My grandparents had one when I was a kid, and it didn’t get great reception, but if you smacked it in the side, sometimes it would find a channel. So, I got hit hard enough that I changed channels, I guess. Now I can see things on frequencies other people can’t.”

“Shit, man,” Eddie says, blinking at Steve. “That’s actually pretty metal.”

“Thanks?” Steve shrugs, starting up their meandering walk down the hallway once more.

“I just mean, like – must make for a good story to tell, right?” Eddie tries.

“Oh, yeah. Head trauma, it’s great for dinner conversation,” Steve drawls, and Eddie winces.

“Sorry, I didn’t–”

“It’s fine, I’m screwing with you.” Steve knocks his shoulder into Eddie’s; it isn’t that Steve hadn’t been fucked up over the fight with a local bigot and bully that had nearly killed him, but that had been a while ago, now. Steve’s processed, made his peace with it – even gotten something kind of useful out of it. He’s fine. (Like, most days. Most days, he’s fine.)

Eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s also a little smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. It looks nice there – better than the snide look of disbelief from before. Whether or not Eddie does believe him now, Steve likes that he put a smile on his face.

“Hey, we’re coming up on room fourteen,” Eddie says, nodding to a door at the end of the hall.

“And that’s the super haunted one, right?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.” Eddie reaches out as they approach, turning the knob. “Story goes that a husband and wife were staying in this room, way back when the hotel first opened in the 20s, and the wife pocketed a knife from dinner, waited until the dead of night, and stabbed her husband to death in his sleep before slitting her own throat.”

The room that the door opens into is far more unassuming than the gruesome tale would have had Steve believe. It’s decorated in the vintage style maintained throughout the whole hotel, kept clean and guest-ready, but there’s something – heavy about it. Something Steve can’t quite put his finger on. He approaches the bed; he can’t imagine it’s the same mattress there from the 1920s, but he does wonder if it’s the same bedframe.

The heavy feeling is getting stronger.

“Why did she do it?” he asks, glancing around the room; he doesn’t see anything, not yet, but there’s still something–

“No one knows for sure,” Eddie says, breezing past Steve and plopping right down on the bed, bouncing a little as he sits. “Some people say he had been abusing her and she’d finally had enough. Some say he was cheating, and she was jealous. Some say she just lost her fuckin’ marbles.”

“What, just like that?” Steve asks, still glancing around warily.

“Maybe.” Eddie shrugs. “Hey, maybe if the lady’s ghost is still hanging around, you can ask her.”

Steve turns back to Eddie, and the comeback dies on his tongue.

There, kneeling up on the bed, right behind Eddie, is the wife.

It can’t be anyone but her, crimson stains running down the front of an old-fashioned nightgown, blood still oozing from the gaping wound in her neck, the knife clutched in her hand glinting silvery and slick red as she stares down at Eddie in a way that Steve doesn’t like one bit.

“Eddie,” Steve says, slowly reaching for the other man.

“What?” Eddie asks, brows furrowed as he clocks the change in Steve’s demeanor.

Steve grabs him by the arm and yanks him up, maneuvering himself until he’s standing between Eddie and the bed – between Eddie and the ghost.

“You might want to get your camera.”

[ramp-it-up]

Peach, Part II

Part I Part III

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is Bucky Barnes' best friend and business parter in crime. He has decided to get out of the life with Bucky because it's the right thing to do. When Steve meets you at one of his businesses and lies to you about a myriad of things, It becomes a sticky situation, especially since the attraction you feel for one another is so sweet.

Pairing: Bartender/ Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: I love these two and there is so much to say. More parts to come.This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and occurs up to the events in the Bucky Barnes fic You've Got me Thinking. I'm so done for with Steve and Peach. The next part will be published next week! ☺️

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angsty angst! Steve is called ‘Steve’ and ‘Grant’ alternately, depending on POV. Mutual pining, masturbation, financial difficulties, mild stalking/surveillance, Steve lying, Steve using an alias, exotic dance life; wild thoughts, flirting, hand holding, intense sexual tension, kissing, making out, feeling each other up, third base, dirty talk, voice kink, praise kink, fingering, finger f ucking, betryal. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

November

“Peach…” 

Steve whispered it like a prayer, or a spell, trying to conjure you to appear next to him in the king sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets at the Four Seasons. His voice was a gravelly groan and he tried to keep his hands off himself despite the lurid thoughts playing behind his eyelids.

He couldn’t stop thinking of you and he couldn’t calm down. 

And it was all your fault. 

Steve felt as if he had a hangover although he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. His mind was clouded with dreams of you all night. Your eyes, your voice, and your wit were drawing him to you. 

The image of your body and that pole, the sway of your generous hips, the swell of your breasts made him breathless and made his cock thicken under the covers. It rose and pounded to the beat of his heart when he thought of those eyes. 

The fantasy of those eyes blown with lust as you opened your mouth wide to deep throat him impelled his hand to his thick staff and tight balls.

“Fuck!”

He wasn’t going to do this. 

Steve flung the sheets away as he stood up to pull on some basketball shorts and a t-shirt, grabbing his key card as he left his room on the way down to the hotel gym. He only nodded politely at the hot brunette who smiled at him as she got on and stood too close. Steve shifted away and stared up at the floor indicator panel as he thought of you.

There was no one else in the world as he floated to the treadmill on a cloud of thoughts of you. As he increased his speed, he replayed all of the different colors in your eyes as you talked to him yesterday. He ran toward an impossible dream of you and him together.

Yeah. Steve Rogers, known to you as Grant Stevens, was screwed.

—--

You woke up with a gasp as your body convulsed from your wanton dreams. You sat up in bed and tried to capture the wisp of your vivid imagination that had gotten you there. You were so wet for a certain new bartender at your night job.

The only thing you could remember from the dream was the image of Grant’s lips and the sensation of his fingers on your hand from the day before. You ran your hands down your body and tried to imagine what his touch and those lips would feel like everywhere you wanted them to be. 

Your fingers found your clit and your tight nipples, squeezing, pinching and rubbing in time with your desperation for Grant. You came quickly as you imagined those lips replacing your digits and his deep voice in your ear. 

After, you lay in bed a moment longer, satisfied for the moment, yet yearning for the real thing. It had been too long since you’d had human romantic contact.

But you barely knew the man. You shook your head as you padded to the shower to start the water and then to the coffee maker to turn it on. 

Your real-life daily routine had no time for Grant Stevens. 

Sorry to that man.

—

Steve sat in the coffee shop at the corner of Peachtree and West Peachtree street at 10:30 am. He grumbled to himself thinking of all the streets similarly named in Atlanta which also reminded him of you. 

But the streets weren't making him stalk you at your day job. He was there to research his investment. 

That was it.

He looked down at his laptop, open to the file that his tech guy, Miles, was able to send over to him in just under two hours. Thanks to the information therein, Steve knew that you would be in at any moment to get the typical online pick up order for your morning break. He also knew that you’d been at work since 8:30, which was amazing considering you got home at 3:45 am. 

Steve learned that you worked as the Adult Dance Coordinator at the Atlanta Ballet, which seemed like a high end job, but when he saw your salary, 40K a year, he realized that was just a little over $700 a week. Your bank balance was at zero and your student loans were astronomical. 

He understood why you worked your second job.

Your degree was in Dance Performance and Choreography from Spelman, and based on the look on your face when you went into Regine the day before, the way you were immersed in the music when you warmed up, and the way your body moved, he knew that you were good at it.

Steve looked back at his laptop to see that you also had your own fledgling dance school, Peach Preserves. The photos on the website made him smile. He could feel your energy with the kids through the screen. It warmed his heart to know that you were trying to make your dream work.

He happened to look up at the moment that you entered the cafe. He almost ducked under the table, but you didn’t see him, just went to the counter, picked up your drink and chatted briefly to the barista. Then you headed out of the door, in the opposite direction of Atlanta Ballet headquarters.

Five minutes later, Steve was tailing you on a walk around the huge Atlanta city block as you sipped your coffee and smiled at almost everyone.

You were such a cutie, from your sickeningly cute, sensible heels, to the fucking cute pencil skirt that conformed to your curves and caused more than one person to crane their necks as you passed them, to the damn cute cashmere sweater that wasn’t tight, but still molded to the body that Steve itched to feel for himself.

As you went back into your place of employment, Steve felt a loss at you being out of his sight. He felt like a 14 year old kid watching his crush go to class. 

But this was not that, he thought. He had to know what type of employees Regine had, and you were the sample. He was just handling business.

That was all. 

—-

Steve was busy the next couple of days straightening out the finances and employees at Regine, especially Sully, who had taken a sudden leave of absence in the middle of the night and would not be missed.

Steve decided to keep the club, and that would be far more work than getting rid of it. Bucky was annoyed, but he wasn’t anyone’s boss. Rebirth and its holdings was a group project.

Despite all that he had to do, Steve could not stop thinking about you. There were numerous times that he caught himself daydreaming about being with you, but he did not allow himself to believe it could really happen. 

It was an impossibility. 

When he came in to Regine on Friday, you were sitting at the bar with your head in your hands. It was 2 pm and you were about an hour and a half early for work. 

He was instantly concerned. He was about to crash out, knowing that he would never rest knowing that someone out there might have hurt you, or made you sad. He would either kill them or fix it.

But instead he took a deep breath.

“You okay, Peach?”

You looked up at him, those gorgeous eyes watery. You gave him a weak smile, and he just wanted to take you into his arms. He didn’t know you wanted the exact same thing.

“Yeah, Grant. I’m just great.”

You shook your head and then laid it down on the bar on your crossed arms.

“Wanna talk about it?” 

He slid into the barstool next to you.

“Well, a lot of shit has happened in the last couple of days, but long story short, I left my work bag all the way in Kirkwood, and I’ll never get there and back on the bus in time. It will take all night.”

Steve was confused. He looked down at the bag on your lap.

“Is that not your bag? Why are you going on the bus?”

He had so many questions.

You took the bag in your hands and huffed, frustrated.

“Yes, this is my bag, but it’s my dance class bag with my day job clothes in it. I usually leave it in my car when I come in here. But my car is… in the shop…”

You started crying in earnest and jumped slightly when Grant put his hand on yours then relaxed. His touch distracted you, but you were still upset.

“How long will it take in a car? I can give you a ride.”

You looked up hopefully, then your face closed, wary.

“About 45 minutes, but I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. As a comrade.”

You looked up into his eyes again and sniffled.Grant was a nice guy. And you felt that you could trust him. 

“I’d owe you big time.” 

Steve smiled, making you feel warm inside. 

“Give me five and we’ll be ready to go.”

He left to go talk to the other bartender and was back by your side in moments.

“Car is out here.”

Stepping into the cool November Atlanta night let you take a deep breath and clear your head, but now your nerves were ramping up for another reason as you walked next to Grant until you came to a red Audi RS7.

You peered up at him as he held the door open for you. 

“Nice car for a bartender.”

Why did your voice come out all breathy like that?

Grant smiled down at you, making your stomach do that little flippy thing it had been doing the past few days when you thought of him.

“It’s a loaner. My car is in the shop, too.”

You nodded slowly and settled into the leather and wood interior thinking about your story. You looked over at him as he drove, the afternoon light from the road playing over the planes of his face, and marveled at his profile.

Those eyes, the cheekbones, the lips. He glanced over and caught you ogling him. Your cheeks heated and you smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… can I tell you something?”

—--

Steve had been driving, keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel in order to get you to where you were going safely. Your scent in such close proximity was making his mouth water and his dick hard.

Thoughts of pulling over and dragging you over onto his lap were driving him crazy. He was lost in thought until the hair stood up on the back of his neck.

Glancing over, he saw you staring at him. Your flush and shy smile made him even harder.

Were you checking him out?

Did you want him too?

He raised his eyebrow at you, his heart beating double time at the thought. 

But then you asked the question.

Can I tell you something? 

You were basically asking if you could trust him. Shit.

You sighed, your breasts rising and falling with the filling of your lungs. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, but it was hard. He was hard.

“What do you need to tell me?”

“My car is not in the shop. It was repossessed.”

There. You said it. The truth was so freeing. You felt as if you could be yourself with Grant, not put up the thug front that you did with everyone else.

He looked over at you, switching quickly between you and the road until you hit a red light, his jaw ticked tight with some mysterious emotion. 

Your stomach flipped when the heat of his full attention was on you.

“What?”

“Yeah. Happened the other day. Woke up and my car was gone. My neighbor said they saw it towed about 2 am.”

Steve's mind whirled, thinking of the financial information in your file. 

“But I thought you—” 

He stopped short, not wanting to give himself away. He did want to pull over so that he could see your face, but he knew that you were anxious to get back to the club.

“I mean… you seem to have it all together. Are you okay?”

His sentiment had you in your feelings.

“Yeah. I’m used to hustling. I’ve been juggling finances ever since I graduated college. Spelman is a great school, but it’s hella expensive. 30K a year after my scholarship. I owe close to 100K on student loans, and then there’s rent on the studio.”

You looked over at him, barreling ahead despite knowing that you were word vomiting all over him.

“I’m trying to start a dance school. It’s my dream. But it costs money. So I took out a title loan on my car, even though it was paid off.”

“Wow.” 

Steve cleared his throat. Those predatory title loan places often didn’t legally record the loans, just charge outrageous interest and repossess at the first missed payment. That’s why it wasn’t in your file.

“What about your folks?”

“My parents died in a car accident my sophomore year at Spelman. No insurance. My family is aunts and uncles and cousins, and they help when I ask and if they can but…”

Your eyes glazed over as the car pulled to a stop light.

“I’m pretty much my own family.” 

Steve looked into your eyes and wanted to belong to you. He looked down and took your hand. You took a shuddering breath as your stomach flipped.

“Grant…”

He frowned as you called his name.

“I’m not telling you this to ask for money. I just need a ride. Just wanted to be honest with you.”

Steve felt like a jerk. He wanted to tell you the truth.

“Peach…”

“I’m serious. If I have another night like I did Tuesday, I got it. I need three stacks to get the car back..”

The wheels were turning in Steve’s mind. 

“Okay. You should easily earn what you need tonight.” 

He’d make sure of it.

You relaxed and smiled at him, noticing that he still had your hand in his. He rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand and you shivered.

“Thank you for telling me, Peach.”

“Thank you for listening, Grant. And for not trying to rescue me. I really appreciate it. Not that you could. You probably don’t have over a hundred K just lying around…”

He threw you a look while driving, his expression unreadable.

“Anytime, Peach.” 

His voice came out gruff. He cleared his throat. 

“I do know of a private endowment in New York that might be able to help. It’s called the Rebirth Foundation. It’s an Arts organization. They have awards up to a million dollars a year. You could apply…”

“Hmmmm. How do you know about this endowment?”

“I’m from Brooklyn. It’s a thing up there.”

You smirked.

“I knew you had a funny accent, Been trying to place it.”

“I have a funny accent?”

“Asshole!”

You hit him on the shoulder. He chuckled. 

“Anyway, I know a couple of people who’ve benefited from the endowment. Worth a shot.”

You were skeptical, but he was just trying to help. 

“Okay, send me the information.”

“I’ll send it to you when we stop. Just put your number in my phone and I will text it to you.”

Grant handed his phone to you.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was an elaborate scheme to get my digits.”

Steve laughed. He already had your number, but now he’d have an excuse.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Fuck you, Grant Stevens.”

He cleared his throat, thinking he’d allow you to fuck him. You riding him in the back of a town car as you drove around New York City was in his top three. 

“Cool. You know, you don’t have to pretend to be angry. You can just ask to use my body...”

You scoffed.

“You know what? I think I hate you.”

“I think it’s the opposite, but you have a wall up.”

He was right. You didn’t hate him, you just hated how he read you right then.

“Grant–”

“Okay, we’re here...”

You stared at him until he raised his eyebrow at you. Then you lowered your eyes and chewed your bottom lip. Next thing you knew, his hand was on your chin pulling your lip from between your teeth, rubbing his thumb over your mouth. Your eyes went wide as saucers as you gasped for breath. 

Steve dropped his hand rather than push his thumb into your mouth like he wanted to. He nodded at the studio. 

“Do you want me to get your bag?”

His voice was gravelly with desire and you struggled with the ability to speak. You wanted this man.

Badly.

You were doomed, was the companion thought.

“No… no. Tameka is holding it for me. I’ll be right back…”

“Okay.”

Steve was holding the wheel in death grip and staring out of the window. He watched you go into the studio and thought of all the reasons why what he was happening was a bad idea. Women were a means to an end for him, occasional companionship, physical satisfaction. 

No strings. Ever. 

The ones he dealt with knew that very well. 

Unfortunately, you had him tied up in all kinds of strings with knots at the moment.

—--

By the time you got back to the club, Steve sent you a fake website that Miles had constructed in 30 minutes. As soon as the application hit, more money than you needed would be headed your way.

He just needed you to actually apply.

The night went by painfully slowly. Grant insisted that he give you a ride home after work and you agreed, causing some weird anticipation anxiety thing that was, for you, only alleviated on the stage. You zoned out and earned the most tips you ever had, partly because he was your inspiration. 

Customers were making it rain. You felt Grant’s eyes on you all night and the more you danced for him, the more money came your way. The tension between you was only building, and you both knew that him driving you home would be the climax. In more ways than one.

After work, at three am Saturday morning, with over $2K in your bag, Steve drove you to your place. This time, both of you were silent, and both your eyes were on the road. It was like time and all coherent thought were suspended. 

When the car pulled up in front of your apartment, you turned to him.

“Want to come in?”

It was a simple question, and one that would make Steve’s life infinitely more complicated if he took you up on it.

Yet he didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

—

As soon as he stepped behind you at your door, the raw animal in Steve was activated. He crowded you, standing much closer than necessary, breathing on your neck and making you shiver as you unlocked the door. But you didn’t mind. No. Not at all.

He was overwhelming this close, but in a good way. His scent, his warmth, his power. You wanted all of that. All over you.

When you got inside, you turned around in the entryway and he.

Was. Right. There.

You looked up at him under your eyelashes as he stared at you, nostrils flaring and jaw ticking with restraint.

Damn him, it should be illegal for him to look that fucking good. 

“I’m just itching to kiss you Peach. Can I? Want to so bad.”

His blue eyes roamed your face, then down your body in a possessive glare. 

God, it made your nipples tight and panties wet.

“Please…”

The way he begged for you broke any resolve that you may have had. You reached for him, grabbed the white tee shirt that was underneath his flannel and pulled him close to you. 

His jaw relaxed as his mouth slanted in a side smile as your arms reached up and wound around his neck, fingers tangling in the long, thick hair spilling over his collar and pulled him down as your lips connected. 

The kiss was tentative: slow sweeps of lips over lips, and shy reaches of tongue to tongue. Then, the urgency increased with nips and licks and sucks of thick lips on lips with tongue and teeth. Moans and gasps and whimpers spilled out between you.

Grant raised both hands to palm your head as he tenderly pulled himself away from your lips and rested his forehead on yours. 

“That was…”

His thumb swept the moisture from your lips and this time you captured it between them, sucking it while looking him in the eye. Steve’s cock throbbed even harder. 

“Fuck. I want you…”

Your eyes looked down to see the bulge in his jeans, up to the clench in his jaw and that goddamn pretty face of his, and you bit your lip, causing him to groan. 

You reached down and palmed his hard on as he pumped his thumb in and out of your mouth. He pulled his finger out, groaning as he watched your lips and you whimpered, causing him to silence you with another kiss. 

His hand drifted down your body, exploring until his long fingers reached inside your sweats to find your panties drenched and sticking to the wet folds of your pussy. 

“Fucking soaked, Peach. I-I need this. Need to feel this. N-need to eat this…”

Grant’s raspy baritone and the stutter made your head fall back against the wall as your pussy clenched. His brilliant blue eyes found yours when he felt it. He kissed the side of your mouth and you chased his lips, a fiend for him.

His tongue invaded your mouth again just as his thick fingers pulled your panties to the side and parted you, the calluses on his fingertips feeling just a little like heaven against your wet, sensitive skin.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear. 

“You’re so wet, and soft, Peach. See? I can slide through these fat pussy lips so easy.”

He was skating, rubbing between your folds along your slit, teasing your entrance and your clit. 

Your hands were yanking his shirt free of his jeans so your hands could feel his thick, hard abs, and your nails could scratch his skin. Grant shuddered under your touch.

Steve felt like it was his first time touching a girl, the way his heart was fluttering in his chest. As he felt your perfect little body, he realized that he was aiding in the ruin of himself for anyone else.

He collected your wetness and proceeded to pull his fingers out and push them into his mouth, making you watch as he suckled them, his eyes rolling back in his head. He concentrated to regain thought as he slipped his fingers back in and pinched your clit, then plunged up and down the split of you, finally breaching your entrance. 

Your legs were shaking and your thighs clamped around his hand. You held on to his shoulders as you rolled your hips into the thrusts of his fingers. He was full-out fucking you now, kissing you in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers. 

“So fucking tight, Peach. Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.”

Your body bowed into him at his filthy words and he watched your face with rapt attention. You’d given him the key to you. His words.

His fingers pushed deeper inside you and curled, making you moan and quiver. 

“That’s right, Peach. Take my fingers like a good little girl.” 

He whispered it calmly against your ear, not betraying how feral he was on the inside. 

You pressed your lips together as you clenched down at his words.

“You’re so sweet. So cute. So desperate.” 

His fingers reached that bundle of nerves, causing your brain to short circuit. 

“Needy.” 

Grant licked your neck as he dragged his long fingers in and out of your sodden, dripping cunt. You tried to stifle another moan as he curled his fingers inside you. 

“What I need is to hear you, Peach. Been dreaming of you screaming for me for the past three nights.”

“Please!”

You were practically sobbing now, a result of the skill with which Grant was playing your body. His neck was craned as he marked your neck, and he was searching your skin underneath your shirt with his free hand. 

“You're so beautiful Peach, and wet for me. So warm and snug.”

He leaned over again to suckle on your pulse point and then whisper into your ear.

“But you’re gonna struggle to take my long thick cock in this tight little cunt.”

“Fuckkkkkk!”

You erupted into a mind-blowing orgasm, shuddering between Grant and the wall, holding on to him for dear life as your knees gave out. He held you up, gingerly removing his fingers from around you and hugging you to him, his heart gone from his body and now in your possession. 

He never wanted to let you go.

But then you spoke again.

“No one has ever…”

You giggled and looked up into his impossible blue eyes. He smiled down at you. For a split second, you were the happiest you’d ever been.

“No one had ever done that to me as effectively as you, Grant Stevens.”

Steve’s smile fell. 

He felt the power of his betrayal in advance of you finding out who he really was. 

Not only had he lied to you, he wasn’t good enough to be around you, let alone touch you. 

He looked down to see that you were steady on your feet now, and straightened your clothes for you. He felt terrible, knowing what you expected to happen next, if nothing more than intimacy with someone who was honest with you.

He kissed your forehead, then your lips again, chaste this time.

“I’m so sorry, Peach. We can’t do this.”

“What?”

He kissed your forehead again and left your apartment, leaving you standing there wondering what just happened.

—-

When you went to work that night, they said Grant quit. The number you had for him was disconnected. He’d vanished into thin air.

You were a thug, so you powered through the night but you spent all day Sunday in bed wondering what you did wrong. And what he was really about.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, you were grateful to go to Hilton Head and get away with your family. You heard about your cousin’s big adventures in the City with her Mr. Big and crew.

You teased her relentlessly for being a simp, and continued to swear that you were a thug. You were a complete comedian, putting on a show for your family until the moment the man you knew as Grant Stevens stepped into your Aunt and Uncle’s home.

Except his name wasn’t Grant Stevens.

It was Steve Rogers.

And you were a fool.

——-

Reblog if you liked it!

Next part

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love part 2 (new steddie, stobin, steve whump fic)

Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part one here Also on AO3 (where it's tragically in need of some love *sobs*) Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Chapter Two

Steve POV

Steve blinks his eyes open. Fear lurches then fades. Leaning over him, kinda blurry, are… Robin? Munson!?! He’s at home. Lying on the couch in his parents��� living room, to be precise.

“Steve? You back with us?” Robin appears wild-eyed, spooked out. She’s holding a bloodied cloth over his bat bites, which stab like new again.

Steve presses the heel of his hand to his brow, disguising his pained whimper with a shaky, “Yeeeeah.”

“Phew! Not delirious? Only a bit woozy, huh?”

“You seriously still shitting yourself about rabies?”

“To be honest, no. That’s slithered so far down my list of things to lose my mind over, I’d forgotten. Trust me, he’s as likely to have it as you now.”

Eddie, who hovers at her shoulder, pokes out his tongue, kinda jokey. The rest of Eddie’s face is still slightly blood-smeared. Haunted. His hair is a mad mess, his bandana repurposed as a bandage about his elbow. Steve glances down his own aching body, which is damp, vaguely shivery. Near naked, in fact, with a towel tucked around his waist.

Oh yeah. He went for a swim, and then… 

“Shit! Are you seriously mopping my blood with Mom’s linen napkins?” Steve tries to push himself up, and flops back down, humiliatingly fast. On top of that, his head throbs—when does it not, these days? He makes a more concerted effort to sit, forcing himself through a wave of nausea and dizziness, then notices: “Shit, shit, SHIT! I’ve bled on the couch—this cost a thousand bucks!”

“I knew there was a reason Wayne avoided white faux leather,” says Eddie, as he and Robin share a look. “Oh, and a Munson never splashes less than fifteen-hundred bucks on soft furnishings.”

“You’re hilarious,” mutters Steve.

“Your Pops can chew my head off,” says Eddie. “Some of that blood is yours truly’s. I mean, I got got bad. Really bad. And theeeeen… I got better.” He narrows his eyes to inquisitorial slits, which bewilder Steve, given how rough he feels.

Robin lifts the ruined napkin. “You’re bleeding like before Wheeler first bandaged you up. It makes no sense.”

“Nothing’s made sense for about two and a half years,” Steve points out. Actually, scratch that. Little of his life has made much sense. “There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen, with proper bandages. Where did you think I got the Hibistat towelettes from? Didn’t you morons think to look?”

Robin hurries off. Eddie takes over holding the now thoroughly disgusting napkin over Steve’s bites. “Woah, he’s not lying,” she calls. “His parents keep an actual first aid kit with actual useful crap in it.”

“Yeah, in case you forgot in the last thirty seconds,” says Steve, “the Harrington family bleed.”

“It doesn’t even come out green,” Eddie says. “Totally destroys your ‘rich folk are aliens’ theory, Buckley.”

“Haha,” snarks Steve.

“This might take a minute,” calls Robin. “I had no idea there were so many sorts of dressings. We don’t want a triangle one, huh?”

Left alone, Eddie doesn’t seem able to look Steve in the eye. He’s giving off such awkward vibes that Steve takes pity, nudges Eddie’s hand away, holds the napkin himself.

“I guess this is where I thank you for saving my life,” says Eddie.

“From what I could gather from Dustin, you’d only gone and done the same for us. Not a hero? Total bull.”

“Those weren’t normal circumstances.” 

Eddie’s so squirmy, Steve flinches away too. He’s felt drawn to Eddie for some time. He likes the guy way more than he’d expected, finds he likes looking at him too, crazy rocker tresses and all, but… Jesus Christ! Talk about shitty timing.

It’s not the first time Steve’s been blindsided by a crush on a guy. Plus, he knows Eddie is queer; he’s one of the few other friends that Robin’s lately ‘come out’ to. However, Steve’s simply not gotten the energy to figure out if the weird fizzle of chemistry he feels is all in his head. What he really wants is to stagger upstairs to bed and sleep for a week. No time for that, though. He groans, threads the fingers of his free hand through his damp hair.

 “We need to take advantage of this earthquake chaos. Get you outta town right now before somebody comes looking.”

“Yeah. I figured as much.” Eddie sighs hard. “No more facing down ferocious monsters. I return to being Eddie the Banished.”

“Not much choice, man. Look, we can bring bedding, whatever supplies we need from here. Take one of Dad’s cars and find a place to lay low till we know what’s happening and what the next plan of attack is.”

“You were worried about the couch and now you’re suggesting we jack your Pop’s wheels?”

“I don’t give a crap about the furniture—it was a dumb knee jerk reaction. I mean, things change. People change. Last time I looked, we weren’t exactly bestest buds.”

Now we’re off saving each other’s lives.

A loud crash from the kitchen slices between them. “Sorry!” yells Robin. “Kinda dropped… everything.”

“Need some help there, Rob?” Steve tries to push himself to his feet. His head rush is instant and epic; his vision blacks out, nearly taking his entire consciousness with it.

“Easy, easy!” Eddie’s arms are around him, clumsily guiding him back down. Steve whimpers before he can stop himself; his stomach churns and he feels painfully sick. Eddie wedges a cushion beneath Steve’s head, presses the cloth back to Steve’s bleeding side. “Robin’s right. You need those injuries looked at. I go alone.”

“No.” Steve snatches a shaky breath. “Way I see it, we’re both deep in the shit."

“I’m the one with the murder rap snapping at my butt, Harrington.”

“And I’m the one who’s been harbouring a known fugitive, stealing Winnebagos, and Christ knows what else. Crap, I bet they’ll blame me for Nance’s sawn-off shotgun. While the rest of those underage brats get off light, I’ll be dragged to jail as sure as you.”

“Your daddy can afford a lawyer, man.” At least Eddie’s looking at Steve now. His words still feel like a punch in Steve’s already bleeding gut—with those knuckle dusters that’d gotten lost somewhere on the ride.

Steve retaliates with as daggers a glare as he can conjure: “You wanna thank me for saving your life, Munson? Then stop trying to ditch me.”

Part 3

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

...

tags: @estrellami-1 (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, I would probably cry... in a good way, honest! Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :)

[blackwood4stucky]

hoping these roses dull the pain, cover the scars and turn the page

author: aspen blackwood

james “bucky” barnes x steve rogers | mcu

masterpost | 🅴 | 🔞 | fic word count: 4935 | complete

tags: alpha x alpha, drugged, forced sex, non con body bod, non traditional omegaverse, triggered mating, secondary gender modification, dark elements

The asset knows it is imperative to appear as compliant as possible. This isn’t a difficult task. Its handlers modified its operating levels to unfamiliar settings. It can feel the heat rising beneath its skin. It can feel the strange wetness pooling between its thighs as it lies on a bed of metal. As far as the asset is concerned, that has never happened before. - Order through pain is all the asset knows.

bingo fills + event prompts

@anyfandomangstbingo | handcuffs

@anyfandomdarkbingo | chained to a bed

@anyfandomgoesbingo | mating cycles

@anyfandomkinkbingo | fucking like rabbits

@afgomegaversebingo | rough sex

@augustwritingchallenge: april showers brings m-au flowers | loss

@badthingshappenbingo | incapable of disobeying

@buckybarnesevents: babb2023 | come as lube [jan]

@character-a-character-b: may bingo | 64: sensual creatures

@fandombingo: rpf card | loyalty kink

@fandom-free-bingo

flight edition | overstimulation + alt: refusing to fight back maritime may | omegaverse au valentine edition | sex pollen wild edition | malaise world book night edition | no remorse + alt: struggling to break free

@ficwip: level up | 3rd pov - present tense

@julybreakbingo: pre july 24 | exophilia

@kinky-things-happen | fuck or die

loversbingo

the conflict | omega’s first heat the reeling | forced helping hand the solution | can’t stop

@marvel-smash-bingo | multiple orgasms

@multifandom-flash

fear bingo | fear of ice new year’s resolution | public sex + rough sex + sex pollen

@sebastianstanbingo | multiple orgasms

@stuckybingo | kink: biting [nsfw may adoptable]

@stuckygeekevents: stucky geek bingo | confusion

stucky smut menu

trope | sex pollen character version | possessive!steve kink | public sex

@sweetspicybingo: hurt/comfort bingo | held captive

@taintedsouled: spring cleaning soot sprites | playroom: monsterfucking

@ultimatechrisbingo | right person, wrong time

@yearoftheotpevent | september: hurt/comfort

ch 2: why does it taste so bitter (when you’re the sugar that touches my lips)

read: ao3 | ffn | sqwa

mini playlist

ch 1

[azrielgreen]

Ok I’m literally just writing down every random thought I have as I progress through the chapter.

1. Eddie the deepthroating king

2. The ENTIRE honeymoon period was just so fucking sweet. They love each other so much I wanna die. I think one of my favourite things about your writing is how obsessed Steve and Eddie are with each other in every single story.

3. Eddie and Steve swapping secrets. Hearing their pasts, especially Eddie’s in more detail was everything to me. My heart just broke for both of them. Obviously what Eddie had done in the commune was wrong but the kid was 14!!! And clearly brainwashed. Neither of them should have ever gone through what they did.

4. Every bit of Jonathan content has me so curious. Not shocked he was dealing. But saying Billy is his friend? Did Eddie make him do this? Was this all part of Eddie’s greater plan? Did he WANT Billy to be all psycho on steroids and hurt Steve??? God I really need to go back and re-read the whole story.

5. I need to know what happened to Chrissy. And with Eddie. With Chrissy AND Eddie and WHO did he stab to get into prison? Again, I need to re-read this whole story cause my memory is shocking so idk if this has already been mentioned.

6. I know it’ll be part of his greater plan but Eddie telling a junkie about the prostitution of Steve probably knowing it’ll get back to Hopper???? (I’m assuming that’s why he did it???)

7. When they were talking about who has dated who I was holding my breath half expecting Eddie and Nancy to confess or something. Maybe I’m crazy for thinking it.

8. JORDAN BEING MISSING??? Eddie you PSYCHOPATH

9. When steve meets the six is he going to notice the lip scar?!?!?!

10. Reading this Billy compared to SS Billy is WILD

11. I spent the whole chapter wanting Eddie’s POV and then when it happened I was so nervous. I’m always just so nervous for whatever bombshell he’ll drop. But no we got the SWEETEST tattooing scene I’ve ever witnessed

12. Wait DID EDDIE ORGANIZE FOR JONATHAN TO MOVE?!???! Did I miss that?? Is that new or am I misreading?

13. Eddie knowing when Little Steve is about to make an appearance!! 10/10

I don’t know what else to say. The way you write is so beautiful. I love every bit of this story. I am most likely going to spend the next few weeks (yes WEEKS cause this story is fucking LONG) re-reading the whole story cause I think I’ve forgotten a lot of details and need to start putting together the pieces of the puzzle

Also is it new that you added a final chapter count of 30 for this on A03 or am I just noticing that now? Cause 30 CHAPTERS??? Are you telling me we’re just a bit over half way????

Ok bye, have a nice day

Sarah??!!😭😭😭🌈✨️this is so so lovely!!! Thank you!!!

Yes, it's 30 planned chapters total now.

Eddie is behind the move to NY for Jon, yes! There's a deleted Prism scene where it's Jon' POV (set after the restaurant scene with Nancy's fancy people and then Steve being wine drunk at Nancy's place) that shows a little more insight into this but its Eddie behind wanting Jon to move away!

The lip scar is a prosthetic Zachary wore to throw Robin off and guide the description towards Jordan.

Eddie let it spread about Billy selling Steve because he knew Hopper would interfere and bend the rules for him, the way Hopper had done many times in the past for Jon. Eddie has Hopper's weaknesses well and truly clocked.

The Chrissy/Eddie story is revealed in Part Three!

Eddie got into a bar fight and stabbed the guy, landing him in prison the first time. It's just an unknown guy whose brother was a cop (or IS he??!)

The Jon - Billy stuff was really fun to seed and there's still a little more to unravel there but essentially Jon was selling steroids to Billy of his own volition because he sort of *was* low key friendly with Billy at the time, but was reporting it all to Eddie ofc. Eddie then knew about the steroids, Billy was the one who wanted the steroids, though, he's been on them since he was 17 so he could be strong enough that no one could ever hurt him again but it's also a source of HUGE shame for him and he'd never admit he used them.

And finally yes, Eddie Munson's non existent gag reflex, we love you!!

Thank you SO much again!

❤️🌈✨️

[skepsiss]

Long road ahead - pt 5

I might make this the second to last chapter actually because this ended very softly but without a firm direction. I like that tender things like this don't have to be definitive. Anyway, here is part 5 and the payoff for all the previous chapters. This part is not without its heartaches, so apologies, but if you like confessions I hope you'll like this. Also, surprise! A wild Dustin appears

TW: Miscommunication, swearing, and some self-hatred.

4,300+ words, Steve’s POV. 1 week and a half or so after their fight.

Pt1  Pt1.2  Pt2   Pt3 Pt4

--

He had fucked up. He had fucked up so badly.

Steve had been beside himself with sorrow and frustration for days as he went over and over the events of last week. He had been so unbelievably stupid and let his drunk brain take control. He hadn’t been able to help it–but that was just an excuse. It was all just excuses actually. But the way Eddie had been positively shining that night had made Steve feel irrational. It had made him irrational. It was so easy to get swept up into a party with someone like Eddie there who laughed freely and touched everyone he was familiar with. He had partially hung off of Steve’s shoulders and every time he came close enough to ‘rib’ Steve in one way or another–boast about him and charm the crowd–Steve had felt a bit more of his conviction waver.

It had been weeks, weeks, since Steve and Eddie had hung out and it had started Steve off on the back foot. Time apart sounded like a good idea, but the fleeting moments he had shared with Eddie in a group setting over the last month had only made him pine harder. It broke him up inside and it hurt every time Eddie turned him down when he asked to hang out. It hurt so fucking much, but each time he convinced himself it was the better, so of course he hadn’t been able to say no when Eddie asked him if he wanted to come to an end-of-the-summer rager.

God, he had been so weak and Eddie had been so fucking brilliant all night. It was like he had been apart for years and finally, Steve’s heart couldn't be contained anymore. He had let himself be reckless and he had gone and fucked up the whole night.

Steve was miserable at home by himself for days as he self-soothed the hurt away. Not only had he gone and ruined their friendship he had made Eddie straight up hate him. He had never taken rejection this badly before, but it couldn’t be helped with how long he had let this crush go. No amount of stamping his interests out had worked and then he had set fire to their foundation in one night. Less than one night… and now Eddie absolutely hated him.

He had been sworn at and crushed out, called terrible and cruel and Steve couldn’t deny that it was true. What had he been hoping would happen? Had he gone into it thinking they would kiss and then he could walk away from it all? He hadn’t been thinking at all, but something Eddie had said made him pause and it was dwelling heavily on his mind now.

Do you know how fucking badly I wanted you to kiss me all fucking summer?

He had said that--he had yelled it in his face--and after the initial shock, Steve had turned that phrasing over in his mind again and again.

It was to no avail though; what was he supposed to do with that piece of knowledge? How was he supposed to handle that and do anything with it? Was he supposed to feel regret for not acting soon or regret for acting at all? Just because Eddie had said it didn’t mean he wanted it–and it especially didn’t mean he wanted it now after all of that. He had been right to be mad, and he had been right to accuse Steve of leading him on.

Steve still didn’t think he could face genuinely pursuing Eddie, because what was worse than it not working out was the idea of Eddie accepting and risking his heart further. If he accepted that would mean… Steve couldn’t deny the fact that he was a freak too.

The doorbell rang and Steve had to muster all of his energy to pull himself up from bed. The doorbell had actually rung four more times as he slumped out of his room and down the stairs, trying to hush it with a ’yeah, yeah, I hear you’ to no avail.

Steve pulled the door open and Dustin stood there with his finger on the buzzer, making deliberate eye contact as he pressed the button twice more, giving Steve an incredulous look.

“Stop it–” Steve scolded, reaching out to swat Dustin’s hand away. He pulled back before Steve could make contact, frustration evident.

“Just making sure it works–what took you so long, huh?”

He was being a brat, acting like he owned the place like he always did and Steve didn’t have the energy to do anything else other than roll his eyes and sigh.

“What is with you, man?” Dustin asked, pushing past Steve and into his house.

“Henderson–” Steve half tried, his hand slapping lamely against his own leg as he turned to look at Dustin, “at least your shoes–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dustin complained, wiping his feet on the mat and then toeing his shoes off, barely stopping his stride toward the living room.

“No one else home?” Dustin asked, surveying the two closest rooms to them–the kitchen and the living room–before turning to look at Steve who was still standing with the door open.

“No,” Steve answered, exasperated as he shut the door a bit dramatically, pinching his lips and looking back at Dustin.

“Good, so what the hell happened?” Dustin asked, crossing his arms and behaving as if he was the older one here.

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, picking up Dustin’s shoes and putting them properly by the front door before walking past him and into the kitchen.

“You know what I mean!” Dustin declared, following and then leaning with his chest against the kitchen island as Steve opened the fridge to get something to drink. He kept soda and juice in the fridge for if and when one of the kids dropped by–even though most of the refreshments were regularly used up by Robin when she visited.

“No, I don’t,” Steve answered, frustrated, as he poured the soda into two glasses and put one of them within arm’s reach of Dustin. He didn’t go for it right away and instead gave Steve an unimpressed look, one that could have put Robin to shame.

“Yeah, well, why is Eddie saying you guys aren’t talking?” Dustin asked, finger quoting before settling back down with his chest on the counter.

Steve visibly cringed as Dustin spoke, the glass halfway to his lips before he was forced to break eye contact with Dustin and look away. He didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t want to hear what Eddie had been saying.

“What the hell happened? Cause from the way Eddie tells it something happened, it’s your fault, and now you guys aren’t talking. That’s bullshit, man. Just apologize!”

Steve grimaced and turned his back to Dustin, not sure if he was going to yell or cry. He wasn’t looking to sort this out and he sure as hell didn’t want to explain all of this to Dustin.

“Come on, man!” Dustin grumbled, finally standing up in order to walk a dramatic circle over towards Steve.

“If I mess up, I apologize. It happens! Ask Lucas and Mike!” He exclaimed, pointing towards the front door as if his friends were in that direction.

Steve wasn’t interested in hearing this, he didn’t want to be scolded and treated like a kid when Dustin was four years younger than him.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Steve tried, attempting to drink his soda again as he took a tentative sip, still avoiding eye contact.

“Bullshit!” Dustin hollered, his hands shooting up into the air and then letting them fall again with a loud slap against his thighs.

“Come on, man. We’re helping him pack the van today.”

Steve’s stomach flopped hearing that and he hunched forward a bit as if closing in on himself would help the uneasy feeling growing in his belly. He already felt terrible and he didn’t want to be put on a time limit to sort out his own feelings. It was so much more complicated than that.

“Come on, man…” Dustin said again, his tone much quieter and edging into desperation. The sound of his voice tore at Steve’s heart a bit, the obvious hurt and confusion that was there because he just couldn’t understand why Eddie and Steve had fought.

Do you know how fucking badly I wanted you to kiss me all fucking summer?

“He’s not going to forgive me,” Steve said finally, placing his glass down on the counter.

“Yeah, he will,” Dustin insisted, that edge of annoyance back in his tone.

“No. He won't,” Steve sneered back, holding his tongue.

His tone seemed to surprise Dustin a bit because he went quiet for a moment which allowed the eerie silence of the Harrington home to make Steve uneasy.

“Well, say it anyways,” Dustin finally said, the words simple and somehow piercing through Steve’s heart.

Say it anyways?

“Just say it anyways and mean it… and then there’s nothing else you can do.”

Steve felt his throat getting tight at the sentiment behind those words. They weren’t wise because Dustin didn’t know what he was talking about, but they weren’t untrue either. Just say it anyways. Just say it anyways.

And then there’s nothing else you can do.

Steve pinched his nose and sniffed, covering up any emotions that could have slipped through. He had been leaning with his palms on the counter and he straightened up now, looking across the kitchen at nothing in particular.

“Yeah… alright,” Steve swallowed, feeling a bit foolish for having to have Dustin give him a pep talk. Maybe he was a bit wiser than Steve gave him credit for.

“Alright?” Dustin asked as if he needed to confirm that he had heard Steve correctly.

“Yeah, I said alright,” Steve repeated, putting on an annoyed attitude to cover up the fear and relief that mingled in his gut.

“Alright then,” Dustin replied, almost shocked that what he had said worked, “we going?”

Steve was hesitantly walking towards the garage door, a bowl of keys sitting at the far end of the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, we’re going,” Steve grouched, looking back over his shoulder as he picked up his car keys and rolled them between his fingers.

“Dump that, won’t you?” He asked, gesturing towards the cups of soda that had been left on the counter.

“Dump it? Dustin repeated back, offended.

“Yeah, dump it,” Steve mocked, holding the door to the garage open.

“No way!”

As if to prove him wrong Dustin hurried back over to the glass and made hard eye contact as he tipped the drink back and started to chug. Steve rolled his eyes with annoyance, obviously becoming irritated as he waved his hand in a ‘hurry up’ motion. Why was Dustin always such a brat?

Dustin finished the glass and put it down a bit too hard before belching loudly and putting his hand to his chest.

“Oh, uh, I think I drank that too–fast,” he burped, making a bit of a sour face as he walked towards Steve anyway.

“You think?” Steve replied exasperated, pushing Dustin through the door and into the garage.

—- –

Focusing on the road had been hard as they drove the short distance from Steve’s place to the Trailer Park. Dustin hadn’t stopped talking and Steve wasn’t sure if that was to cover up the awkward silence or because he genuinely wanted to try and liven the mood. Either way, he appreciated it in part, even though he couldn’t focus on all of that right now.

No, he needed to pay attention to the road and not get so far into his own head that he turned around and went home. He just had to resign himself to being chewed out and left for dead. Dramatic, but that was how it felt. At the very least that would mean he could properly bury this crush and maybe he’d be able to cruise through life not thinking about another man ever again. It was wishful thinking and it had taken him a long time to even admit that was what was happening to him–he still thought of it as this foreign thing instead of a part of himself. That was only half true though, because the worst thing that could happen was that Eddie forgave him. Maybe it wouldn’t happen right away, maybe it would be three years down the line or even twenty, but Steve wasn’t sure how he’d feel if Eddie forgave him.

But that was all he could do. He didn’t need to theorize and implement a fail-safe for something that was out of his control.

Just apologize and mean it.

Steve slowed the car as they drove down the gravel road and into the Trailer Park. Most of the homes here were new but still unimpressive. Many of the trailers had been replaced by the government program that came to do the ‘clean up’ and the real site of the ‘incident’ was roped off farther to the south. You could still see some of the rusting, metal homes through the treeline if you went looking for it. Steve didn’t go looking for it and he didn’t know of anyone in the party that would.

Steve had trouble pulling up because there were people all over the place. Gareth and Lucas, Mike, Nancy–everyone was here and totting boxes or struggling to move a heavy, wooden dresser. Fleetingly, Steve had seen Eddie standing by Wayne’s trailer talking with Benson before he had excused himself. No doubt he had seen Steve’s car, it was unmistakable; no one else with a BMW would drive down this way.

Dustin hopped out as Steve pulled to a stop. He took a moment to breathe as he turned the ignition off, the din of voices outside making his nerves flare until he finally mustered the courage to get out of his car.

No one drew much attention to him and Steve said some quick hellos before helping load a few things into Eddie’s van. He didn’t come back outside and Steve stood awkwardly with his hands on his hips, looking at the trailer. Someone elbowed him and Steve glanced down to see Dustin giving him another one of his frustrated looks.

Steve rolled his eyes and with the motion noticed that a few other people were watching him subtly. They probably all knew to some degree that Steve and Eddie had fought and that made him uneasy, but from the looks of it Eddie wasn’t going to come back outside unless he was forced. They were getting close to finishing the packing too, so it really only left one option.

Steve cocked his hip a bit and hung his head, breathing through the anxiety quietly before counting down in his mind and just walking into the trailer. No one stopped him, and the door had been left open for moving purposes. Everyone probably knew what this was about, or at least they knew Dustin had gone to get him for this exact reason.

Steve swallowed thickly as he stepped into the trailer and looked down the dark little hallway to Eddie’s room. The door was ajar, but he couldn’t see in and he was uncertain if Eddie was in there or not. Probably. If he had to place his bets.

Steve knocked quietly on the door, pushing it open just enough to see inside and spot Eddie sitting on the end of his bed. The room was mostly empty except for his unmade box spring and a few larger pieces of furniture. It felt weird to see it like this since the room had almost always been bursting at the seams with junk that Eddie had squirreled away.

“Yeah?” Eddie asked to the knock, only glancing up before looking away again.

Steve’s stomach flopped and his grip on the doorframe tightened slightly. Eddie wasn’t a ball of rage any longer, but he still looked distressed and he was pointedly not looking at him.

Steve swallowed and stepped the rest of the way into the room, half closing the door again before taking a seat on the end of the bed with Eddie. He didn’t want to give him any reason to refuse him, but it felt rude to sit down without asking. Eddie didn’t move away though–actually, he didn’t move at all.

Steve glanced at Eddie, unable to see his expression as his hair fell in his face, but his shoulders were hunched forward and his hands were limp on his own thighs. He looked listless.

“Hey…” Steve started, his tone gentle but not pandering. This felt so awkward, he didn’t know what he wanted to say.

“Can we talk?” He asked as he clasped his hands between his knees and looked ahead. He hadn’t wanted to ask that, but he didn’t know how else to start the conversation.

Eddie just shrugged in an indifferent manner, uncharacteristically quiet.

“So...” Steve breathed, tapping his thumbs together softly, “I’ve been thinking about what you said and… I’m sorry.”

Eddie tensed and Steve noticed right away. His shoulders rose up to his ears and his once limp hands were now fisted on top of his thighs. He still wasn’t looking at Steve so he couldn’t read his expression, but from his body language alone he didn’t seem happy.

“That it?” Eddie asked as the silence drew out between them. It hurt to be spoken to that way and Steve felt his airway tightening a bit.

“Y-yeah,” Steve answered, having to clear his throat halfway through because of how strained his voice sounded. He didn’t get up though and Eddie still wasn’t looking at him as he let the silence draw out between them.

“If you need any more help… moving stuff, don’t hesitate to ask,” Steve offered weakly, pressing his tongue hard against the roof of his mouth. Eddie didn’t move and Steve swallowed again, trying to remind himself he just needed to apologize and mean it… that was it. What else could he say?

With a heavy breath, Steve finally stood up, his head almost feeling light as the tension settled over him. That was it then, that was all he could do. Eddie would just hate him for the rest of their lives.

Steve stepped towards the door, intent on leaving Eddie to his peace and just wallowing in his own emotions for the next few days. He had lived through heartbreak before, he could live through it again.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Steve stopped as he stood at the door, his palm already pressed against the cool metal of the handle. He glanced back at Eddie who still had his head turned, but he watched as his shoulder shook a bit and quiet, bitter laughter filled the room.

“You came all the way here to say that?” Eddie asked, his voice accusatory but not as punchy as it usually was.

Steve pressed his lips into a thin line, not wanting to linger if he was just going to get yelled at.

“Yeah…” Steve replied, sounding sorry as he tried to steady himself, “I’m really sorry that I hurt you.”

Eddie barked a laugh and it startled Steve a bit, his throat closing up.

“You’re sorry that you hurt me?” He repeated back, acting as if Steve had just said the most unbelievable thing in the world.

The words made Steve’s heartache though, the sentiment behind the language so drenched in distrust and pain. All he could really think about was the insecurity that he had heard in every single one of Eddie’s words when he had tried to hide his scars or ask for a ride. How secretly fragile he was and how desperately he tried to hide that part of himself until he trusted you. How Steve had broken that trust completely.

“Yeah, Eddie,” Steve replied genuinely, his voice soft as he tried to speak to that heartache instead of his own feelings.

“I didn’t–I shouldn’t have done that to you,” Steve replied, his own insecurities threatening to come through as he felt his fingers twitch against the door handle.

“Why?” Eddie asked, sounding like a child all of a sudden as he curled up into himself. He pulled his legs up, wedging his heels under himself so he was sitting in a squat on the end of the bed.

“Regret it?” He asked, laughing a little bit as if the bitter remark had instead been an attempt at levity.

Steve felt himself frown and he let go of the door finally, trying to push past the stress that threatened to steal his voice.

Just say it and mean it, and then there is nothing else you can do.

“Of course I do,” Steve replied, watching as Eddie slowly started to shake his head, obviously starting to get frustrated again.

“That was a terrible way to tell you… that I like you.”

Eddie stopped moving at Steve’s words, his shoulders slowly hunching in more as he hugged his legs to his chest. He went quiet again and Steve resigned himself to admitting that this was probably as good as it was going to get. He regretted a lot of things, but nothing more than this–

“Since when?” Eddie asked quietly, his voice almost lost to the room.

It was Steve’s turn to freeze and go silent, as he stared at Eddie. He gaped at him, unsure of what to say to that before Eddie repeated himself.

“Since when?” He asked again, his voice a bit firmer this time, but he was still closed off to Steve.

“Since when…” Steve said back to him, understanding what he was being asked but unsure of how to reply.

“Since–” Steve tried, his chest flooding with butterflies as he tried to grasp at his thoughts, “since–I don’t know–since—since you came back.”

That wasn’t much of an answer but it was as close to the truth as Steve could get. He had been pining since March, but he hadn’t admitted it to himself for months. He hadn’t even wanted to admit it to himself today.

“All summer?” Eddie asked quietly after another pause.

Steve pinched his lips together again, fighting back the torrent of emotions threatening to swallow him whole.

“All…” Steve sighed, putting his hands on his hips, “all summer.”

Eddie finally moved as he tightened his grip on his legs and turned his head so he could press his face into his knees. Steve still couldn’t see his expression past his curtain of hair, but it was obvious that he was crying.

“You’re such an—asshole,” Eddie blubbered and the sound went straight through Steve’s heart.

“I know…” he swallowed, thinking back to how many times that had been said to him over the years, “I’m sorry.”

Eddie shook his head and sniffled, not looking up as he sat there curled in on himself. Steve didn’t know what to do, so he lingered for a moment before eventually sitting back down on the edge of the bed beside Eddie.

“Not like that,” Eddie muttered, shaking his head again and vaguely peering up from under his bangs.

“Sorry?” Steve asked, confused about what was being said to him. Did Eddie want him to leave after all?

“Not like that,” Eddie repeated, lifting his face marginally so his nose was pressed between his knees. “You’re a good guy… I’m sorry… I said that.”

Steve felt his heart lurch at those words, his breath shuttering a bit at Eddie’s correction. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it felt something like that. Mercy maybe. Mercy not only for what he had done at the party but somehow it felt like mercy for the past 10 years of his life.

“I’m moving,” Eddie mumbled quietly, his eyes red, but his cheeks freshly dry.

“I know…” Steve replied, sighing quietly and glancing away from Eddie.

“So…” Eddie swallowed, actually turning to look at him properly, his nose red and eyes a bit swollen, “so, what?”

Steve looked at him with confusion again, his voice sticking in his throat as he tried to puzzle out what this question meant. Surprisingly, his confusion actually elicited a laugh from Eddie who turned away again and pressed his eyes onto the top of his knees. He sounded half-charmed, and Steve let the note shutter his eyebrows up.

“So, what does this mean?” Eddie explained further, sounding shy.

Steve sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly. He hadn’t thought about getting this far. What did this mean? He didn’t know where to go from here.

“Do we…” he waffled, his expression pinched, “do we need to have a plan?”

Eddie seemed to consider the offer before eventually answering no and then looked back at Steve.

“We can figure it out as we go… if you want,” he offered and Steve felt his entire being quake at the prospect.

Figure it out as they went? They could just… figure it out as they went.

“Okay,” Steve swallowed, feeling a smile break onto his face for the first time in what felt like months.

“Okay, okay, yeah…”

Eddie let his legs drop as he slowly put his feet back down on the ground, his head hung a bit but his expression was much softer than it had been. He looked shy and perhaps a bit uncertain, but the emotions mingled nicely into the room as they both seemed to imagine the tender possibilities of what this meant for them.

[lestappenforever]

lol checo really took thridwheeling lestappen to a whole new level in that turn 1 hjsgfkjhsgfkjshdgf

mexico gp start, charles pov: it's you and me, me and you, you and me [suddenly a wild checo appears on the left] AND YOUR FRIEND STEVE FUCK

also checo in an interview saying "I didn't expect charles to break so late" like wtf checo my man, seriously???? max pls tell your silly teammate this is exactly something he should expect from charles

and christian horner defending charles hsjdgfhdsj it's his son-in-law after all xD and checo is... that weird distant cousin...

^^^

This.

[scoonsalicious]

helo helo mother pookie, again u did not dissappoint🩷🩷🩷

Buckybaby and Major are horndogs. Six — i bet it was more than that — times? DAYYUMMM!! I like it 👉🏻👈🏻 It’s cute to see Buckybaby POV, while Major’s was so dirty 😏😂 Idk why but that’s the vibe.

bucky junior and his approval for Major.

Now let’s speak of luluwhatsoever. She’s taking advantage of Bucky’s friendship here. Bucky is a great friend, maybe Lenovo is too, however she has her own agenda, which is loving/liking him. Here’s the thing, now that Major is in her life (and soon might be permanent), Leah’s gonna try her best to seduce him (if she can) OR spouting nonsense so that Bucky is guilty (he is now) OR making sure that Major looks bad in his view by framing her (again — if she can). You know how wild/crazy woman could be for a man! (flashback cunthage)

But I have faith in this Bucky. He’s certain with his needs. Major too.

As said by our lovely Pookie, Leah is Bucky #1 only ‘girl’bestfriend, and she takes pride of that but for Bucky he might clueless and just rolls with it because well, she is his bestfriend. Lenovo is toxic, possessive, manipulative (kinda bcs she’s taking advantage), and ofc a bad friend. I feel like from the beginning it wasn’t a conquest to be’friend’ him but to be—in—a—relationship with him, but Lenovo couldn’t just force herself in his life as a ‘girlfriend’, so the only way to break Buckybaby shell was to be his ‘actual’ friend and then leeches her way in bit by bit but then Bucky will always saw her as a sister figure (which is sad but oh well Lucinta, you are not reader)

About Leah’s misogyny not liking girly girly thing, that shit is there bcs well, as a pick me girl you have to be a girl the likes baddie baddie thing ONLY (speaking like a true pick me girl connoisseur). Bucky is the wintah soldiah! He a baddie, ofc Lenovo is going to act baddie baddie too (well she’s bad at it). Plus, it’s an attack mechanism. Major is a queen, she's threatened!! Plus to make it worse, Bucky is attracted to the queen! She has to activate her pick me baddie system and show off her #1 badge. Again a pride for her but normalcy for Bucky.

NEXT, let's go to Steve. Idk if this Steve is fishy but I had a feeling this Steve is just normal. He's a good friend, AND it is normal to remind your friend 'don't rush into the stuffs'. He's not against it, he just giving advice to 'take it slow' as what Bucky said before he has all the time in the world (y'know abt Major wanna lick his lollipop junior but he wanna stick it into the tight donut first).

The reason why Steve said it is bcs Bucky starts saying the stuffs he and Major had a thing there. If Bucky didn't say it, I think Steve wouldn't say anything too except 'Im great for ya pall for having sex that is actually 6 times but yeah I'm boring so i wouldn't say that shit'.

….

I hope

….

Don't disappoint me WFLT Steve

(this is why i like dark!Steve👉🏻👈🏻)

Lastly, abt Zade and Rand, again being the good friend. It’s also normal. I mean, imagine having a real Bucky Barnes in real life sans the appearance and change Avenger to cops/military. IMAGINE. OKAY? IM MAKING THIS REALISTIC. A guy that murdered thousands of man/woman where we had zero knowledge of his history and nicknamed The Ripper/Butcher (for example😂). We didn’t know anything except in the trial he’s a friend of said famous cop/military, and now serve the country. If it were me, it sounds fishy as hell. So do not blame me to be dramatic initially because I’m not the one was getting railed by his dick.

(But ofc in fanfiction I would react differently, I mean… ITS BUCKY BARNES!!)

Anyways, that is all for today. Mother Pookie, I wuv you so much and all of your pets!! THEY R SO FLUFFY!!!🩷🩷🩷

My precious! <3

Your posts make me so happy. I can't even!

I really, really love Bucky and Major just being completely and totally head over heels for each other from the go, you know? Like, they both know they are kind of rushing into this, but they're both coming from places where they felt like they wasted enough time being unhappy (Major with her loveless marriage and Bucky being, you know, a brainwashed assassin, lol) that they just want to go for it.

Bucky Junior's approval for Major is highly appreciated, lol. He has definitely given her a standing ovation, lol.

deLulu has been a good friend to Bucky in the past, just as long as it's not involving any of the girls he previously dated, lol. She's got this idea in her head that their relationship's gonna play out like a typical best friends to lovers fan fiction or something, and that she just has to let it progress naturally. She's in love with the very idea of it, more than she's actually in love with Bucky. She wants to live that story. Honestly, the male main character in it wasn't really that important to her. She's tried it before, and it's always failed.

Lenovo (love calling her this, btw) is SO threatened by our queen, and I think it has something to do with the fact that Major is just unabashedly herself, whereas Lenovo is constantly putting up a front to try to make herself what she thinks Bucky wants. I want to try to explore this later on. So, of course Lenovo will take these elements she sees in Major and dump on them, because she thinks that it will make her look better. She is wrong. So wrong. And dumb.

I promise WFLT Steve is a Steve and not a Steeb! He's just... there, lol. No shady business on his part. Just being old fashioned and warning his bestie to be careful with his heart because he doesn't want to see him fall fast and hard and not have the girl feel the same way (he doesn't need to worry, Major is just as in as Bucky is!)

And Zadie and Rand are also coming from a place of love, for the most part. In Rand's case, it might be a little bit of "I think I know better than you," but it's mostly love. They don't know Bucky, they don't know his dick. They're just going by what they watched on Court TV or something, lol.

I love you, Pookie! Thank you so much for writing; you make my day!

[stevethehairington]

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

(some of) my wips:

1. of all the gin joints 2. wayne pov part 3/part 4 3. rings 4. mermay shenanigans 5. steve can't bake 6. bb fic/stobin zine (putting these on here as a bonus bc they're both technically behind lock and key!! but you can still yell at me to work on them!!)

snippet from mermay shenanigans (it's a short one but that's all i've got for it so far!)

There he is. Steve hugs himself closer to the boulder he’s hiding behind, cheek pressing uncomfortably into the jagged rock as he strains to catch a glimpse of the familiar speck moving along the beach. As the speck moves closer to the shoreline, the details grow clearer, sharper. Steve can just begin to make out the bare feet trampling through the sand; the jeans rolled at the bony ankle; the taper of the man’s waist and the broad shoulders above it; the wild hair curling free around his beautiful face. The bound black object clutched to his chest, just as it is every time he makes his appearance here.

ik i literally just did one of these on sunday but it's actually wednesday this time so!! feel free to participate or to just ignore this! up to you!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

tagging some pals (sorry if you've already been tagged lol), but if youre not on here and you see this then consider yourself tagged anyways!! feel free to hop on the bandwagon!!

no pressure tags: @withacapitalp @toburnup @pizzaqueen @riality-check @hexiewrites @maxineholtzmann @maxinemaxmayfield @2btheanswertothequestion @stevecarrington @harmonictechnicality @letterfromvienna @cheatghost @fastcardotmp3 @sidekick-hero @legitcookie @steveshairychest @strawberryspence @henderdads @yournowheregirl @wynnyfryd @steddielations @aidaronan @eddiehashands

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Wip Wednesday

Subconscious (Steve’s Story)

Summary: Steddie Canon compliant/fix-it fic paired with a corresponding story in Eddie’s POV, each chapter happens in tandem with the other. No matter what he does, no matter who he is with or what is happening in the aftermath of their failed battle with Vecna – Steve Harrington can’t stop thinking about Eddie Munson. He’s even begun to see him in his dreams…

(unbeta'd snippet from Chapter 02; picks up after Steve had his first dream about Eddie that felt like he was really with Eddie. (Spoiler: he was.) He doesn't remember it very clearly, as most people do who dismiss their dreams as fictional creations of their subconscious, but that doesn't mean it isn't haunting him still. Even weeks later.)

–

After that night, the nightmares come back with a vengeance.

Steve wishes he could say that Eddie didn’t appear in any of them. To be fair, he doesn’t actually dream about Eddie Munson all that much. But the few times he appears there during that month of June, it’s nothing like that first night when he turned from his window and Eddie had been in his room. Dark eyes and wild hair, a tilted smile and his hand on Steve’s wrist. Every bit of him more vivid than anything else in the room.

That’s one small difference, with the nightmares. Eddie is there but the details don’t stand out so glaringly. It’s less about his face, or his words or mannerisms. Mostly because the dream doesn’t allow that to be the focal points. No – all Steve can focus on is the terrifying amount of blood, the vicious wounds, the screeching bats, the way Eddie’s chest doesn’t move or how empty those dark eyes look as they stare off at nothing. And more often than not, Steve wakes up swearing to God that he can hear someone screaming. Not him. He knows it’s not him. His neighbors would have called the damn police if he’d woken up screaming. The houses weren’t far apart enough that someone wouldn’t hear him. Small comforts.

So Steve’s terrible sleep schedule actually slides downhill pretty damn fast. It wasn’t great to start with. After a couple weeks, it really starts to grate on his nerves – and it doesn’t help that everything electronic in his house is on the fritz. It must have something to do with the giant interdimensional rift downtown, but it still shifts from an annoyance to a hindrance pretty damn quick. The lights, the radio, the TV white noise is so eerie Steve fucking unplugs it.

And then, his hair dryer stops working. It turns on fine, but almost immediately after it starts to exert more and more power until it blows a fuse and nearly catches on fire in his hand. Because of _course_ it did! Steve might have shouted into the emptiness of his bathroom some very colorful words at whoever the fuck is messing with his hair dryer. Do they have no decency? Can’t he keep one thing to pride himself on in this fucked up town?

He considers calling an electrician, but it’s not like there’s probably one within 20 miles of Hawkins that would be willing to help. He’d ask Hopper if he could take a crack at it next time they had family dinner, or Dustin might know what to do. He was a science nerd. The walkie-talkie the kids had graced him with for emergency frequencies was also not immune to the rampant craziness that had half his house out of whack. The kid had to have an idea what to do. Even though the thought of letting Henderson anywhere near the breaker box in his parent’s house made Steve uncomfortable on way too many levels. Always the babysitter.

So, needless to say, Steve is having a rough time.

Today is no different. He finds himself scavenging his kitchen for food this bright sunny morning in mid-June. There isn’t much in the cupboards, and Steve’s hair isn’t cooperating without any heat, and he’d barely slept the night before, so the day is not off to a good start when Robin comes waltzing through the door already talking a mile a minute. She looks better, lately; there’s more life in her expressions and she has started to do the long rambling monologues when she’s excited or nervous or bored or fucking hungry. Whatever the situation, she was always talking.

Steve had missed it so much.

“You will never guess what happened, never in a million trillion years!” She’s shouting down the hallways as she races across the house, skidding to a stop in the kitchen in her too-worn red converses and hopping up on the counter as Steve finally begins cooking some kind of breakfast foods. He found a can of corn beef hash at the back of a dusty shelf that he can fry up, and a couple slices of bread that aren’t growing questionable colors in the bag. He really needed to go to the store.

“Tell me, and get your ass off my counters. This isn’t Scoops, I eat here.” Robin just moves to a different side of the kitchen with a roll of her eyes, hopping up near the wine-glass cupboards instead and crossing her legs atop the marble countertops. “I’m going to assume it has to do with Vickie–”

“Vickie, yes, okay so you guessed that part. Doesn’t matter. Because the actual mind-blowing part is this – she asked ME to meet her today.”

Okay, that was a revelation. Steve turns around and narrows his eyes at her in surprise.

“What? She asked you out?!” He had a personal bet going that nothing would even remotely happen until like the 4th of July. (Not that they have a good track record with the 4th of July, but whatever. It’s an easy milestone he won’t forget about.)

“No, dingus, she asked me to study.” There’s a spark in her eyes like it was a damn wedding proposal, and Steve just stares at her blankly.

“I’m not following.” Yes, the lack of sleep was making his brain feel like mush most mornings, but he’s on his second cup of coffee and had been awake for three hours already. “Is that some kind of band geek code word I don’t know about, or what?”

“Like you’ve never used ‘Studying’ as an excuse to get with a girl before,” Robin prods at him, and Steve smirks a little on reflex. Yeah, he had a reputation, and there were many ‘study’ nights he’d participated in that didn’t have anything to do with textbooks.

“Yes, but you just said it wasn’t a date,” he points out, teasing with something close to what felt like their old banter. “Robin, Robin, tsk tsk. I’m ashamed of you. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl.”

“Shut up, it’s not like that either.” She pouts, arms crossed and leaning back against the cupboards. “You’re one to talk, anyway.”

“But that’s me, this is you. I hold you to higher standards.” He can practically hear his friend roll her eyes at him. He just shoves a plate into her chest with breakfast on it and leans against the counters while he picks at his own. It’s not great, but it’s hot, greasy and loaded with salt. He’s had worse. “Besides, it’s summer. What are you studying for?”

“Finals, duh. I got my letters from Roane County and they are having everyone take their tests in July so the seniors can graduate before August.”

Steve remembers hearing that on the news, now that she says it. Graduation had been canceled, but the seniors of Hawkins High still needed to finish school if they wanted to get out of this cursed town to attend college in the fall. A lot of parents were up in arms with the school board about it; claiming most people would just pardon the kids and give them their diplomas anyway. It was a whole mess, and for a split second Steve had forgotten Robin was in the middle of it. He’d been so caught up in making sure the kids were okay that he hadn’t been paying attention to the Vecna-fighters his own age. Suddenly, he wasn’t so hungry anymore.

“You know I would have helped you study, Rob,” he tells her, and she about chokes on her toast she laughs so abruptly.

“With what? Didn’t you barely pass your own year?”

“Rude,” he grumbles at her, dropping his unfinished breakfast right into the sink. She’s not wrong, but it’s the thought that counts right? He crosses his arms at her and tries to glare, but it melts at her fond smile – he might be an idiot ex-jock, but he was her idiot ex-jock and that’s what matters. “Okay, fine. Guess you have to make sure you can actually reply to those college applications before they give your spots away.”

“Um, yeah about that,” Robin unfolds herself enough to kick her feet over the edge of the counter. “I didn’t exactly end up sending them.”

Steve doesn’t even deign that with a response, just stares at her with raised eyebrows because – hell, Nancy Wheeler had helped her with those college applications. She should have gotten in anywhere at that rate.

“Don’t look at me like that! I had a lot going on, you know – fighting an evil demon wizard really takes a lot out of you.”

“Yeah, I think I remember something about that.” They’re joking, tone light and sarcastic, but the heaviness still sits a little too uncomfortably in the center of Steve’s chest. It’s how they cope, really. It’s how they’ve always coped. Steve and Robin were legit two sides of the same coin; from dealing with nightmare-induced-problems to the types of chicks they stare at out the windows of Family Video. Cut from the same cloth, and all that shit. He didn’t think he would have gotten through the past few months without her. “So, guess you’re stuck here with me.”

Robin smiles at that, feet still swinging, her red converses standing out in his parents' modern monochrome kitchen design starkly. The color is always a welcome sight, to Steve.

“Guess so.” She leans just a bit to her right, bumping shoulders with him, and it knocks a smile out of Steve as well. “So, when can I move in?”

“You basically live here already. Pick a room.”

She laughs like he’s joking, and Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he’s 100% serious.

—

tbc

—

Series Snippets:

- Dreamwalker (Eddie’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

- Subconscious (Steve’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

[madaboutmunson]

A Friend in Need's a Friend Indeed

I Think I Could Have Been Someone - Chapter 4

Ao3 Link

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Link to fic overview and all parts

Chapter Summary: Steve POV of the aftermath of meeting Eddie for the first time

Author Notes: This is a mature story, definitely 18+ only. Note specifically for this chapter: Don't Panic lol :D

Tags/Warnings: rockstar!AU; band; touring; music industry; alternate universe; drug usage; alcohol abuse; performing; enemies to lovers; road trip; stobin; platonic stobin; platonic with a capital P;

Word Count: 4.5K

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

Fuck! Steve's mind screams. He finally got what he wanted and then proceeded to gradually fuck it up over their meeting. He just wasn't expecting him to look like that. It completely threw him.

Steve had worked with photographers before, models too, and had been a model himself, so he's been around the handsome and the hot more times than he would care to remember. He could just look in the mirror. There was no denying this Munson was attractive, like smokin’ hot, but he was also other things. Cute, funny, vulnerable, intriguing, and so different.

He pulls out a chair from the table, drops down into it and bows his head forward, cradling the back of his head in his hands and tries to take a few deep breaths.

The truth of the matter was he didn't know this guy, he didn't remember him, and all he had to go on was his work, not even his socials, that Steve almost religiously stalked before they took his ability to do that. But not even they showed his face, just his work.

And what a face.

Those huge brown eyes, long lashes, perfect jawline, pretty pillowy pout. It was like he's manifested this whole situation way too hard, and now it’s gonna be a problem.

Steve gets up from the chair and races up the stairs to the windows that look out onto the driveway. He can see the car being loaded, and one of Buckley's team is talking to him. Eddie shakes his head, and those dark, wild curls and waves bounce around his face as a huge, toothy smile appears. Wow, he was pretty.

"Everything ok, Mr. H?" Buckley asks stoically, and Steve nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Fuck, you scared the shit outta me!" Buckley just smiles in response, and Steve can't resist a smile and soft laugh back, "Suppose that's what makes you so good at your job." He looks out of the window. Eddie is frantically typing on his phone, then back to her. "I'm gonna head up to my room. Wanna join me?" He asks carefully, looking around.

The glance she returns is knowing, "I thought you might need my assistance."

She removes one of her walkies and hands it to her nearest minion, "Here, you're in charge until I'm back. Only contact me in an emergency!"

They make their way to the lift and ride it in silence until they reach the top floor and then walk down the long, ornately decorated corridor until they reach the small set of spiral stairs going up to Steve's actual bedroom.

Once on the other side of the door, Buckley turns on some loud music. Steve sits on the four-poster bed and begins undoing some of the drapes, so they fall closed. Eventually, they both disappear inside.

"So whaddya think?" Steve says, removing his shirt and throwing it out of the drapes.

"Think of what?" She says, her nose crinkled in annoyance, as she undoes her protective vest and belt and tosses them onto the floor on the other side of the bed.

Steve rolls his eyes, "Of the photographer. Munson. Eddie," the heavy dose of swoon on the last version of his name is accompanied by a sigh from Steve and an eye roll from Buckley as he kicks off his trousers through the draped fabric.

"Isn't it enough that he's finally here?" She says, a little exasperated, kicking off her boots to the floor, "OK?" She says, gesturing to herself, and Steve shakes his head.

"Probably the hat and shirt too." A bit fed up, he says, "Sorry,” he gives a half-awkward smile and averts his eyes, “Just after the other morning in the party room with that blonde guy, they've been on my case again." 

"I swear to god, Steve, you owe me big time for this. If this leaked, my girlfriend would be mortified." Robin complains.

"Yeah, well, it's not gonna leak, is it? Because you're head of security. Also, she knows you've got no interest in guys." He says quickly as he leans back on the bed, hands clasped behind his head.

"And if it leaks, Steve, and if my girlfriend is embarrassed because everyone has seen her lesbian partner disappear into bed with Steve Harrington, you know what happens next. I get dumped, or she will expose you, maybe both." She looks at Steve seriously, matching how he lies back on the bed, “I guess it's the full theatrics then?” she grimaces.

" ’Fraid so,” he sighs and blinks up at the canopy, “Maybe things would be better that way. This 24/7 performance is fucking killing me." He checks his watch and lets out a loud, fake moan. Robin matches his volume but with a loud pretend giggle of her own. "Who am I kidding? There is too much riding on this. If I fuck up, people could suffer." He shakes his head, "I hope the residency is gonna be easier. A lot of people say Vegas knows how to keep a secret."

"That very much depends on your secrets staying in Vegas after the fact, though, doesn't it?" She purses her lips and ruffles up her hair.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve says, folding his arms and frowning.

"Eddie." She baby talks as she overdramatically flutters her eyelashes at him.

"Oh, yeah," a huge smile creeps across his face.

"See!" she points at him accusingly with widened eyes, but the creases at the corners of them let him know she’s enjoying ribbing him as much as she is protecting him.

"Well, I've managed to fuck that up anyway. Not that there's anything I can pursue, but in Vegas, maybe I stood a chance?" Steve sighs and puts the backs of his hands over his eyes in embarrassment, "I always go too far."

"Steve, you can pursue whatever you want, but you know the price. I only protect slash distract you from making a mistake you've explicitly told me you didn't want to make. I'll stick by you no matter what. Regarding the guy from yesterday, you definitely can't be doing that, not with that many people around and-" Robin begins lecturing him on his mistake. He knows she’s correct as usual, but sometimes, he thinks, maybe he wants the compulsion to take over him, to destroy everything for a taste of that forbidden fruit for longer than an opportunistic five minutes here or there.

"I know…I know! I just had a moment of weakness." Steve assures.

"And this guy is another one of those?" Robin asks.

Steve turns over on his side to face her as he reaches to hold her hand, "Have you ever been struck like that, by beauty? Stopped in your steps? Breath taken away? A full-on stall?"

"I think maybe you're just a little high, Steve." Robin tells him, but he shakes his head, "I gotta be honest, I'm not even sure this guy likes you all that much."

"What d'you mean?" Steve's eyebrows furrow in complete confusion. "What, like, he doesn't find me attractive? Really? No!” He says, waving his hands in front of him and shaking his head, “No way! I’m adorable.” He pauses thoughtfully, “Or probably doesn't like me for my performance downstairs?"

"All of the above, maybe before that? I dunno. Weird vibes. Whether they are into you or not, who would rather pay to stay in a hotel than stay here for free? That's just weird. What kind of guy turns down requests, personal ones, I might add from The Steve Harrington, over the years?"

"He was busy! Also, only call the machine Harrington, ok? You know I don't like it when you use my name like that." 

"You know you say he was busy, but Munson Photography hasn't posted anything in years. His personal socials are all private. Like he got famous and disappeared."

"Maybe fame wasn't something he wanted? Maybe he's an artiste? A tortured genius?" Steve flourishes his hand in the air above them, making them both giggle.

"Jesus Christ, are you writing his backstory?" Robin laughs, checks her watch and oversells a groan.

Steve sits up, looks at her wide-eyed and laughs quietly, "Would that be so bad if I did?" He sighs and lies back again.

"Yes, actually, that would be pretty bad. Building up a stranger, to your own weird fantasy standards, to pine over a man of your own creation for two whole weeks, only to then try and work with him in a professional setting for a further two weeks, only to realise he's not who you thought at all. He breaks your heart without even realising it was his to hold. Then I have to deal with you on yet another bender for god knows how long, getting over someone you only made eyes at? Yes, Steve, it would be bad!"

"I wasn't making eyes at him!"

"Could have fooled me. You gave me the signal!"

"Making eyes and those signals are completely different things!"

"And yet they inevitably end up in the same place, don't they?" Robin grumbles.

"I mean, I try not to end up in exactly the same way," he says with flirtatious nostalgia.

"You are so disgusting sometimes!" She laughs, pulling a repulsed face, checking her watch again, and reaches over to ruffle up Steve's hair, to crazy pointing in different direction standards, "Times up."

Steve feels himself shrink. These moments with Robin were all that he had here to forget all the things that were weighing him down, the pressures of fame, or being the centrepiece that keeps things going, but at the same time, knowing if he did break, if he did falter, the label wouldn't be there to catch him, they'd simply replace him. 

He put a foot out of line a few times these last few years, and he could see the new signees or people due for a comeback being warmed up on the sidelines.

He had the money. More than enough. He was lucky enough to come from wealth, so when he signed up for all this, he'd been protected by family financial advisors. That's how he had ended up with his own stash of cash and not at the mercy of the label. Not in that respect, at least. 

New artists hardly ever hid their sexuality these days, but they hadn’t hit the big time when Steve did. It would be career-ending to announce himself as bisexual, and, to be fair, he didn't realise that was something he could be at the time. That only happened in X-rated movies and was usually only the women indulging in both. And porn wasn’t really a reliable source of reality anyway.

 He wasn’t the only big-time artist playing the game like this. Some of them weren’t even bi. They were gay guys painted as the forever bachelors and photographed with the right women at the correct times. That wasn’t even just idle gossip either, unless you count said guys choking on his dick in the bathroom of a party, idle gossip.

The problem was that the fallout would be immense if he did announce it one day. He had his fake wife and her not-boyfriend to consider. The label cutting ties with him, as they had threatened to do over this numerous times, meant he wouldn’t have their support. Sure, it was a foundation built on dry sand, but they had power. Then there was everyone that worked for him. It was all such a confusing jumble of reasons, and all because his fans had been sold a version of him he wasn’t. They’d leave him. Just like everyone does when he doesn’t meet their expectations. When he fails to make the grade.

And sometimes, when Robin wasn’t around, his fans were all he had, but as the label told him repeatedly. They weren't his friends. They didn't care about him as a human being. He was a product to them, something to consume. Something they had bought into, and if Steve started changing the t’s and c’s, he couldn't expect them to stay with him. Not once he’d exposed himself as a liar. Not after they all found out he’d tricked them. He always found that odd language for the people at the label to use. He hadn’t tricked anyone. He was just figuring things out, but the fame machine was already in motion and by the time he realised he had something to tell, he was warned not to.

Steve had pointed out all the other artists that were out and proud, and he was patronisingly smiled at, “Steve, we get it, and you are free to do as you please, but we’re a business. We’ve got mouths to feed and people to keep in jobs. You aren't gonna sell to the liberal market. You’re too old now.” They didn’t even mean that regarding his age as a human being. It was more like his age as a product. Like he’d been in the chiller of the public eye for so long, he was old to them, a well-known figure, but if he stepped out of their gaze for too long or labelled himself differently, he’d spoil and be worthless to everyone.

Steve did not need to sell. He had enough money.

But he did not have enough love. 

Even if it wasn’t real, being in front of those people, feeling their eyes on him as they screamed his name and sang his heartfelt words back, sure felt as close as Steve had ever been to anything like reciprocated love. 

It was too big of a risk. He couldn’t lose that. He was already so vacant.

Steve and Robin exit the curtained bed and get dressed again.

"Where is it today?" Steve asks, trying up the front of his pants.

"I left it in your en-suite. Do not do anything stupid, Steve. I mean it!" Robin warns.

"I'm just gonna do some snooping." He smiles to himself as Robin turns down the music.

"Get a shower. Give me five minutes so I can loop the recording. That should give you ten minutes of snooping. The photo should come through quickly, but any more than that is gonna be weird," She says with a sigh, "Leave it in the basement. I know you're gonna end up there later again anyway."

"Thank you," he says genuinely, forgoing his shirt and heading to the shower as she leaves.

Giving her some time to get to the security office, he strips down and observes himself in the full-length mirror, the white and gold-flecked marble wall behind him as a backdrop. 

He takes his jaw in hand and moves it this way and that. Still handsome. What's not to like?

He runs his hands over his body, still toned, just more lithe, his face not as full, his muscles not as rounded. Robin must be wrong. Surely, Eddie at least finds him attractive. Steve's been the world's sexiest man many times over the years. Maybe he's shy. This was their first official meeting, after all. Yeah, most likely a little starstruck and acting out of sorts.

There was a time when his skin would be warmer and sunkissed, and the gold in the walls around him would amplify that, but now he's beginning to pale. He's more like the flat, cold expanse of white in between. Not that he had to worry they'd probably throw him in a tanning booth or spray tan him before the shows. Another layer of pretend is a small price to pay to appease the eyes of thousands.

He couldn't wait to be on stage again, a couple of hours of peace a night from his brain, where he could just let go. Sing loud, play loud, be loud. Wave that flag proudly like he’s confessing to them night after night. Surrounded mainly by a room full of people that adored him. Paid to see him. That's how much they wanted him. Thousands of them chanting his name, singing his songs back to him, reaching out to touch him. Not like in the lame excuse of a tomb for a home, where he either had to pay people to spend time with him or people just like him would gather here because Harrington's was a playground. For everyone except himself, of course.

He felt very much like a double agent. The people around him were as hollow and worn down as he was. He'd welcome them into his home and give them evenings of freedom, and initially, it had been a kindness until he realised none of them actually liked him, and they would falsely praise his music that they'd never even listen to. He wasn't a real musician, just a pretty face, leaving him empty again. However, with enough drink or drugs, he could forget that. Enough of the right stuff; he could blame that on his inability to physically rise out of himself. He'd busy himself with the girls in other ways, which gained him a positive reputation, or he could just sit and watch. Not that one cared what he did once they were all in that playroom. They were all too busy deep in their own vices to even notice him. He was simply the ticket in and might as well have faded into the nothingness he felt spreading throughout him. Implode on himself. Disappear into a blip of light. 

He’d thought at one point, with that level of privacy and potential blackmail material at his fingertips, it should be more than easy for Steve to indulge his other side. To have the feel of hard edges instead of soft curves, stubble in place of smooth skin, grunts in place of giggles, rigidity and firmness in place of something pliable and pillowy accommodating. But the label had built a brand, which depended on Steve being the all-American golden rock god that knocked back US whiskey and fucked star-spangled women only.

He'd pushed against it more than a few times initially and again after discovering nothing around him was real. He finally had fame and a little money. It tasted like freedom, but as it transpired, it was merely artificial flavouring that left a sour taste on his tongue. 

A rumour started, and they took him aside. Explained that his behaviour didn't just have an impact on him. People could lose their jobs, people he talked to daily, people with families, people with bills to pay. At that point, that had been enough. He behaved.

Then time went on, and the void left from hiding part of himself away started getting deeper, widening its reach until it began to eat away at him, touching things it shouldn't, and people started noticing.

Why is it when people gain success, they decide to release some whiney trash? What happened to my Rock n Roll Harrington?

Saw Steve Harrington at lunch today tried to take a selfie with him, and he just pulled his hat down and left the restaurant.

Did anyone think Steve seemed really out of it in that interview today? 

So they gave him a planted love interest, which helped for a time because he was stupid enough to think she was as real as she felt.

Rockstar Steve Harrington spotted in undercover rendezvous with Bombshell Tajana.

She's washed up and is just riding his coattails of success!

Another gold-digger!

You know I totally hated Tajana at first but Steve seems so happy these days.

Wow, do the bottle Tajana because Steve looks better than he has in years!

He shakes his head rapidly and locks eyes with himself in the mirror. We don't go down there Steve. He glares back at his reflection, warning it, as he steps into the rainfall shower, stands there letting the water fall over him, as he slowly increases the pressure until it's pelting down onto his flesh like hail. All in the vain hope it will be hard enough to slough off the ugly skin he was living in, but all it can do is wash away his most recent train of thought. His outer shell clung to him like a fungus, slowly spreading over and digging its roots through him until maybe there would be none of him left at all. Then, finally, maybe all this pain would stop, and either he would stop caring, or he would become a fully poseable action figure of Harrington.

He feels the pressure of his secrets. Feels the weight of if only. The vignette of a life that has always been out of his reach. A hair's breadth from his fingertips. 

He thumps the wall, presses his forehead against it and allows himself to let the tears fall where no one can see. Where it was impossible to tell the difference between the pain spilling out of him and that which was cleansing him. It's been so long since he let himself feel, the tears burn on their way out. But right now, he needs it. Eddie has stirred something within him, twisting around inside, half soft petals, half barbed thorns. He needs to know if there was something there or if it was just drugs-based amorousness.

Munson was gay, or at least queer in some way, of this, he was absolutely certain and had almost banked on him agreeing as much, but he'd denied him the confirmation. How nervous he was around Heidi and then himself. There was a shift when he'd asked him to point out the picture and the slightly effeminate way Munson had done so. He knew he was on the money with this. He had an innate sense for these things.

Steve had been so wrong about so many things in his life, but feeling the pull between himself and others like him, he'd never misjudged. That's how he'd picked Buckley after demanding a new bodyguard. He'd picked her, hoping he would at least have someone to understand, maybe to even talk to. What he hadn't banked on was having someone who did actually care about him, who gave him some slack but not too much. He hadn't banked on making a friend, someone who had his back, but he knew if the higher-ups got wind of it, she'd be gone for good. So they made it look like his relationships with everyone, business, and some false lust was thrown in there to keep it interesting, too. They both loved that Whitney Houston movie. And when they'd done enough for the powers that be to leave him alone for a while, they'd disappear for a weekend to somewhere. Steve might disappear with someone in passing at an exclusive party for a quick tryst of some kind, and Robin would usually set up nearby with some headphones. Close enough to break a limb if she needed to, but far away enough to not be traumatised for life.

She'd also helped him reduce his usage of recreational substances. She wasn't happy about enabling him, but if she was monitoring, at least he had no chance of making a mistake that could bring everything crashing down.

He didn't know anyone could care for him like Robin did, but he supposed it was her job to keep him safe.  He’d let her in more if he could if they had more than these occasional private moments. She already could see him at a much higher resolution than everyone else.

He steps out of the shower, wraps a towel around his waist and reaches behind the toilet cistern until his fingers find it. A small old phone, good enough to browse social media, not much else. He reclines on the chaise lounge, logs in, and goes directly to his profile. Today, he's HarringtonHound69, a fake profile he'd set up years ago, but he had found his way into the inner circles of his own fandom.

A message alert appears. It's a photo of Eddie outside the mansion, just getting into the car outside his house. He downloads it quickly. Goes back to his profile, and slyly starts the proceedings.

Guys, anyone know who this girl is? 

He attaches the file and hits send.

If anyone was going to find out about the new object of his affection, it was gonna be the internet.

He has another few minutes, so he finds Munson Photography, and just like Robin said, the posts had stopped here some time ago. Years ago. He takes a look through some intimate portrait work, where you can see almost every eyelash and fine line of the subject. The lighting is minimal, like it was too much to capture the person entirely at this level of granularity, but part of them was enough to convey the emotion captured in the picture. Some live-action shots, performers leaping through the air, smashing instruments, stage diving, explosions of colour and vibrancy. Then there is a set of black and white photographs, all backstage or travel in between shows, mostly candids but some fun naturally staged shots, like peace signs or huge grins. No one was trying to sell anything here or look cool, but they all had this friendly family energy to them.

Steve notices that it's these black and white ones he has posted the most. They must be his favourites because they tend to get the least likes, but he still posted them for a time. Steve was no social media whizz kid, and even he could see it. That made him like him even more. Presented with an evident trend, he continued to post what he loved most.

He scrolls through again. There is no picture of Eddie, but there is an older man here in one of the portrait shots. Only half in the light, a cigarette in hand, the smoke trails visible, but he is laughing, tears in his eyes from so much joy, and he's looking just above the lens. He must have been laughing at Eddie, and that makes Steve's heart leap. If he could work with this guy, maybe he could get a picture like this. He grabs a robe, hides the phone in its pocket, and goes down to the basement again. Before he hides the phone, he takes one last look at the picture of the older man, and he holds it up in his eyeline in front of his life-size print. He looks at his own wild grin and joyless eyes next to the sparkling eyes of the gentleman he holds in his hand. This wasn't a lover or someone Eddie had made laugh to capture a snap. There was a bond here. It must be his father, the fondness in his eyes. He's laughing, but half his smile hitches higher than the other. It's playful and warm. The exact opposite of his own father.

Maybe if Steve played all his cards right and was more honey and less trap, Eddie's camera could capture a different Steve. A Steve that when he looks at Eddie, his smile reaches not just his eyes but his soul too.

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

Songs for this chapter if that's your thing?

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fics Named After Animals (2) Masterlist

part one

A Moment of Spiritual Connection With A Bumblebee (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Dan loved how you were able to connect with animals in a different way than with people, even though he felt a bit awkward after his mistake.

a week in the life of steve the pigeon (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: An outsider-POV from Steve the pigeon’s perspective (based loosely on Phil’s new video, “Trying to Catch and Rescue a Wild Pigeon”)

Barbie Horse Adventures (ao3) - Fictropes

Summary: Sometimes friends force you to get over your worst fears, sometimes you meet your soulmate in the process.

Beetles In The Bath (ao3) - yikesola

Summary: It has been a long while since we knew such warmth. Some of us venture out. Maybe we shouldn’t have. Maybe that was unsafe.

Birds of a Feather Steal Together (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan never expected anything remotely interesting to happen during his summer job at a petting zoo. But when he catches a boy with bright blue eyes and a cute laugh trying to smuggle a bunch of ducklings out of the farm, things take a much more interesting turn...

Caturday (ao3) - vvelna

Summary: A cat appears in Dan and Phil's kitchen.

did you know penguins mate for life? (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: Phil takes care of fifty penguins at work and another twenty-five at home, though the latter wasn't exactly his choice.

fish dads (ao3) - plinth_of_life

Summary: Dan and Phil can finally bring their adopted betta home. They watch their new fish with admiration and anticipation of the future.

fish makes three (ao3) - watergator

Summary: dan and phil get a fish

greatest of all time (goat) (ao3) - SebbyLestowell (lafbaeyette)

Summary: Phil returns home from a trip with a surprising new visitor, and Dan is rightfully flabbergasted at the situation.

AKA

The One Where Phil Adopts A Goat

Kill Phil Or A Llama? (fanfiction.net) - Amy788

Summary: Small changes in Dan's live shows mean the world to Phil.

Kitten Love (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Phil finds a cat, and brings it back to the apartment. Dan is not amused.

Long-Horned Beetles and Dusty Archives (ao3) - chiridotalaevis

Summary: Dan was climbing up the marble steps of the museum full of dread and resentment. It was Sunday morning, and all his classmates were probably still asleep, or nursing their hangovers from the party before. But Dan couldn’t do that, no. Because Dan skipped too many classes in his General Biology course, he now would have to make it up with extra credit. By working at some sort of museum with some grad student that needed help sorting bugs. Yuck.

Spoiler: the grad student is Phil.

Night Moths - camisadan

Summary: Dan and Phil are camping, Dan needs to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night but is too scared to scared to go on his own.

Of Cats and Dogs (ao3) - GabbyGums

Summary: Dan gets roped into taking care of his friend's dog.

And somehow Phil manages to get hold of a cat.

This can only mean chaos.

Spiders and Spells (ao3) - Full_Moon_Lover

Summary: Phil was never great at transfiguration but thought he was getting better. At least he did until Professor McGonagall paired him up to work with Dan Howell. Dan is nice but there's just one problem. He's Phil's crush and Phil is prone to make mistakes when working under pressure.

The Admiral's Birdcage (ao3) - QuietBubbles

Summary: Daniel, an orphaned ward, has never set foot outside the Great House at the top of the High Street. His guardian, the powerful Admiral Malock, grows ever more obsessed with him, and hatches a terrible plan to keep him by his side forever. With Daniel approaching his twenty-first birthday and longing to see the world, Malock will go to any lengths to keep him prisoner. But when Philip, a young clerk, discovers Daniel trapped in his birdcage, a secret friendship leads quickly to love. Though there is danger at every turn, Philip knows he has to set Daniel free… Alternative Victorian England. Old-fashioned romance, fluff, obsession, danger, and smut. Also a cute kitty! Enjoy!

The Cat Brought Them Together (ao3) - yeahthisaccountisinactiveso

Summary: "Quick, catch that cat! It stole my wallet!"

The Great Cat Rescue - dxnhowell

Summary: Dan is a lover of cats, and has been obsessed with them ever since he was a little boy. Now, he runs the biggest and only cat rescue in London. But, things are starting to get very stressful and he might have to shut down, but not if Phil has anything to do with it.

The Pet Surprise (ao3) - pasteldanhowells

Summary: Phil is going to his boyfriend’s apartment for the first time, and he certainly didn’t expect his boyfriend to have a pet snake in his apartment.

[fireheartpages]

ii. success is a science

series masterlist

summary: time seems to just drag you along with it as you realize there are more people out for your head than you have in your corner. and suddenly, you find yourself ready to bite. unfortunately, he’s ready to bite back.

word count: 4.9k

rating: 18+, sfw, second person pov, afab reader with she/her pronouns

a/n: is this enemies to lovers? well, it’s not… not… okay listen mayhaps i don’t know how to write flirting without people being mean okay. matt and the reader get into a bunch of fights and it’s all flirting that’s all it is it’s like foreplay also! the title comes from a quote from oscar wilde: “success is a science; if you have the conditions, you get the result.” and guess who makes an appearance! everyone’s favorite science prodigy :)

December 2023

It took a month and a half to find out you were going to trial. Bucky took you to a gym.

“What the hell am I doing here, Buck?” you asked, trudging into the room. You eyed the boxing ring and the various punching bags set up around you.

“Steve and I used to come here when we were kids. Had to teach the idiot how to throw a punch since he kept sniffing out trouble.” Bucky walked over to a table, setting his bag down. He turned to look at you with heavy eyes. “Then he used to come here when he got out of the ice to blow off steam. I started following suit when we came back.”

“What, you think I need to work out or something?”

Bucky gave a little laugh, sighing, before saying, “Figured you could use a chance to blow off some steam.” He walked towards you, white cloth in his hand. Gently, he took your hand in his, and began wrapping your knuckles. “This sucks,” he said quietly. “I’m pissed, so I can’t imagine how you feel.”

“Like I deserve a fucking pardon,” you said. “I don’t have a name for myself, or a reputation. Sometimes I feel like they’re just itching for a fight.”

Bucky moved onto the next hand. “Usually, I’d tell you that fighting back is useless. Steve sought out trouble a lot. You have a knack for the same.” At that, you let out a meager laugh. “But in this case, I wanna see you give ‘em hell.”

He led you to a bag, the ugly green shape dangling from the ceiling. “I know you know how to punch.”

You smiled at him, and not without some malice. You squared your shoulders and rolled out your neck, raising your fists. You mentally ran down your body to check off that everything was in place. Toes towards the opponent, feet shoulder width apart, choose your leading foot, keep a bend in your knees, tuck your pelvis and engage your core, shoulders down, fists up, guard your face, eyes on your target—

You threw your first punch and it landed with a mediocre smack on the bag. Bucky had the audacity to laugh.

“Your boyfriend’s dead, your only friend is just as fucked up as you are, and now you have the feds hounding you, and that’s the best you can do?”

There was a lot there to unpack, but you went with what you could stomach right now. “You are not my only friend,” you told him.

And it was true. You’d been spending so much time with Matt and Foggy and Karen that you’d hoped they would see you as friends as well. They’d extended numerous invitations for drinks with them, but you’d declined a lot of them out of sheer exhaustion. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to spend time with them, you just didn’t have the capacity to be human-shaped some nights.

That didn’t stop you from letting Matt walk you home.

“Your lawyers do not count.”

You scoffed. “Sam’s my friend.”

“Sam’s not even my friend. Punch the bag.”

You huffed, squaring up again. You hit the bag with more force this time.

Bucky said your name softly. “You’re fucked right now. Get it out.”

“I am not—” You threw a punch at that bag. “—fucked.” Another hit. “I’m fine.” Harder this time. “Even if I’m—” You landed a jab, leading arm coming up to mimic the stance of your legs. “—alone—” You punctuated the word with another blow. “—half—the—time!” Each word was staccatoed by a hit landing on the soft vinyl.

“There you go, doll.” Bucky’s voice was soft. It made a tremor take to your hand.

You hit wildly at the bag. “This sucks.” More blows landed as the air became filled with the smack of the bag, and your labored breathing. “This sucks! Everything sucks!” You tasted salt, but you weren’t sure if it was from sweat or tears. You gave a pained scream as you threw both fists at the bag, finally collapsing against it. Quickly, Bucky came around to steady you, letting you turn to bury your face in his shoulder. You breathed heavily for a moment, just standing there as his arms wound around you. Everything in your was on fire. Every frayed nerve, every muscle fiber, and every blood cell.

You picked up your head finally, shoving him with little grace towards the ring. You climbed through the ropes, toeing off your shoes.

“You play fair,” you said to him in between pants, “I play fair. But don’t hold back.”

Bucky simply nodded before swinging at you.

You were bloodied, beaten, and bruised, and thoroughly out of endorphins. You and Bucky had been in the ring maybe an hour, and you were both exhausted and sweaty. You cursed any god that was listening for his fast-healing super soldier body again. You gotta get one of those.

You laid on your back in the corner of the ring, catching the water bottle Bucky tossed your way. “I don’t want to do anything for the rest of the week,” you groaned.

“Do you have to?”

“What?” you asked. You were a bit groggy, admittedly.

“Do anything?”

You took a deep breath. “Some lawyer bullshit with Matt and Foggy. I’m really starting to hate my life.”

Bucky laughed heartily. “Can’t believe you don’t already.”

You scoffed, chiding, “You’re such a downer. I gotta stop hanging around you.”

“Where will you sleep at night then?” Bucky asked, amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched you haul yourself from the mat.

“Can it, Barnes.” You hobbled over to where you’d left your phone, checking the screen.

Four missed calls from: Foggy Nelson

Two voicemails from: Foggy Nelson

One missed call from: Matt Murdock

Text received, 2:48p.m. from: Karen Page

Hey, where are you? Call one of us please.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, opening up your text thread with Karen.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked as he came to stand beside you.

“Not sure,” you mumbled You shot off a reply to Karen before hovering between Matt and Foggy’s names. Ultimately, you landed on Matt, clicking the call button and bringing your phone up to your ear.

It rang twice before his quiet voice answered. “Bad news.”

“I could kinda tell. What’s wrong?”

“Are you in contact with any of your old colleagues? Any at all?”

You glanced to Bucky nervously. “Yeah. Why?”

“Who?”

“Um,” you stuttered for a moment. “I stay at Bucky’s most nights. Wanda a bit, bu—”

“How much is a bit?”

“Is this about her?”

The line was silent.

“What happened? Is she okay?”

Bucky sent you a concerned look, picking up on the nuances of your conversation.

“She’s evaded arrest, so the police could easily come knocking on your guys’ door for information about her. With the charges against you, they probably wouldn’t hesitate to take you into custody if they think you’re withholding information or hiding her whereabouts.”

“She what? Where is she? Why is she getting arrested?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Wanda?” he mouthed. You nodded. He went to grab his jacket.

You’d been worried about her, both of you, waiting to hear from her after she returned from the blip. You knew things weren’t easy for her right now, but no matter how many helping hands you extended, she didn’t seem to want to take one. Panic surged through you, worried about what could have happened, what you weren’t there to help with.

“You don’t know where she is?” you asked, phone shoved between your ear and shoulder as you shoved your belongings in your bag and made to rush out the door.

“Stop,” came Matt’s voice from your phone. “Whatever you’re about to do, don’t.”

“What?”

“You go out and find her right now, make contact with her while you have charges against you, you’re signing your prison sentence.”

“How would anyone know we found her?”

Matt just sighed, heavily. “Don’t do anything stupid, please?”

You heard a laugh that sounded like it came from behind him.

You stalled for a moment, dragging a deep breath into your lungs. When you spoke again, your voice was barely a whisper. “If she needs help, I need to try.”

“You can do that by not doing anything to jeopardize either of your cases.” His voice was soft in that way he got when he genuinely felt sorry for you. You tensed, clenching and unclenching your fist for a moment. “The police are going to want to question you about this. You should come to the office so we can prepare.”

“I’m on my way.” You hung up the phone and resisted the urge to throw it against the wall.

“What was that about?”

“The government really fucking hates us.”

Bucky barked out a laugh. “What do they want now?”

“Something’s happened with Wanda and they’d see her dead or behind bars before they lent a helping hand.” You shoved open the doors to the gym, stepping out into the cool winter air. Without your jacket, the claws of 30-degree weather dug themselves into your skin, taking root underneath the fire you felt. “This is bullshit, the way everyone is treating us, perceiving us. I helped saved the goddamned world! I’m starting to wonder if I shouldn’t have let it burn.”

Bucky slid your jacket over your shoulders as you marched forward. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“The more people tell me that, the more it makes me not want to listen.”

You flung the door to Nelson, Murdock, and Page open, Foggy looking up from his desk as you entered. He greeted you with a warm smile, one you did not return. Warmth only made your foul mood worse.

“You look cheery,” he said.

You didn’t reply.

Matt emerged from his office, looking to be in about as good a mood as you were in. You heard Foggy mumble something from beside you as you gave him a once over.

“Come sit,” Matt said, opening his door wider.

“You have a game plan for how I can roll over and show my belly?” you huffed, slipping your bag off your shoulder and throwing yourself into a chair opposite his desk.

“Oh, boy, am I glad to be in a room with both of you right now,” Foggy mumbled. He opened a folder of god-knows-what, thumbing through it, brow furrowing.

“What’s the cause of your disdain this evening?” Matt asked. You recognized it as an olive branch of civility, some sort of truce stamped with understanding that you knew you should take, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You were itching for a fight, fingers dancing with the power that thrummed through you.

“You been outside lately?” you asked, barely restraining yourself.

“So, Wanda Maximoff,” Foggy cut in.

“What about her?” you asked. Something about him glued your eyes to Matt, and you could tell his focus wasn’t leaving you either, even as he ran his fingers over the braille paperwork in front of him.

“When was the last time you were in contact with her?”

“Month ago, maybe?”

Foggy hummed, noting something. “So you didn’t know about her plans to kidnap and enslave an entire town?”

That got your attention to snap. “Her what?”

“Details are still being released, but from what we understand, Wanda Maximoff held the town of Westview, New Jersey hostage for eleven days under some sort of mind control after breaking into a SWORD facility,” Matt explained in a monotone voice.

You stuttered, struggling to reply.

“Judging by your reaction, I’m going to guess you didn’t know about that.”

“No,” you said slowly, narrowing your eyes at him. “I didn’t.”

“She’s presumably on the run, a bunch of intelligence agencies are investigating the Westview anomaly, but they haven’t been able to find her. We can only guess they’ll come knocking on your door next,” Foggy provided.

“You and any other remaining Avengers,” Matt supplied every-so-helpfully.

You groaned, rolling your eyes and letting your head fall back against the chair. “Can’t they leave us alone?”

“That’s our job,” Foggy said. “Hopefully we can do the talking for you and get them off your back. Cooperation in this will probably help your case.”

“Great,” you groaned. More words in your mouth.

You watched as Matt clenched his jaw. Foggy kept taking, something about your case and what you should be saying and how you should be acting, but you kept your attention on Matt. And he was doing the same. His focus was on you, never wavering.

“Something to say, Murdock?”

You shouldn’t push, you know you shouldn’t push. But oh, God, did you want to push at someone who would push back.

“You’re getting off lucky, you know.”

You nearly cackled. “Lucky? Seriously? No, lucky is a pardon and a bit of sympathy for all the bullshit I have had to deal with for the past seven years.” You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “I’m really curious as to what you’d consider unlucky.”

“Look at what’s happening to Maximoff. They could take you into custody, restrain you for your enhancement—”

“Oh, please, you know they’re just looking for a way to do that anyways. What the hell do you think the accords are?”

“But you have us to keep you out of that situation, many don’t—”

“We’ll, God bless!” You stood sharply. “What the hell would I do if I didn’t have you to fight this battle for me? Wanna make my bottle for me too?”

“You think you can fix everything yourself, don’t you?” Matt shot back, taking to his feet as well. He stalked around his desk. “You think your God’s gift to others with your enhancement and all you think you do, your position on some big strong team, isn’t that right?”

“Big talk for the pro bono lawyer,” you laughed. “What about you, huh? What do you do with your enhancement, Mr. Murdock?”

He stalled for a second before responding, and all it took was that second before you let your senses creep out, let it’s fingers snake into his own sense and gauge his reaction and—oh. How interesting.

You huffed. “What secrets are you hiding?”

“You’re not entitled to any part of my life,” Matt spat.

“You don’t get to pry at every aspect of mine and then get hurt when I push back!”

“Okay, enough!” Foggy shouted. “You guys are arguing like sixteen-year-olds.” He sighed, running a hand over his face before addressing you. “I know you’re tired of this, and I’m with you, you got the short ass straw, but we are on your side, and we’re helping you push back.” He turned to Matt, jabbing a finger at him. “And you’re just acting like a dick.”

You picked up your back, throwing it back over your shoulder. “I think I’ve had enough for this evening, gentlemen.”

You left, sensing Matt’s focus on you all the way out.

January 2024

It wasn’t until Bucky left a paper with the headline “The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen Returns!” on the counter for you to see that you realized he’d taken to following you home.

It didn't take much to put the pieces together and realize it was him. Every night, without fail, he was on a rooftop when you would walk out of the hospital, and you’d be able to sense him the whole way home. You’d pad through the snow the eight blocks between the hospital and Bucky’s apartment, where you’d eventually loose sight of him. He would run off, doing whatever it is horned vigilantes do, and you’d pass out and get ready for the next day.

It didn’t take long for you to get sick of the prowling.

You cornered him in his office one day, a hurricane making it’s way through the door with such force Foggy didn’t even try to intervene. You stuck him with a look that read all fire, even to a blind man.

“Isn’t stalking illegal, counselor?”

“Not stalking,” he responded, not removing his fingers from the paper in front of him. That didn’t stop his focus from sliding over you. “And you never objected when I’d walk you home before.”

“That was before you got annoying.” You braced two hands on his desk. “If the Devil stays in Hell's Kitchen, what are you doing in Brooklyn?”

“How’d you figure out it was me?”

“I don’t need an enhancement to put two and two together.”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap. “Think you’re that good, huh?”

“Oh, I know I am.” You narrowed your eyes at his fluffy hair and dark red glasses. And his stupidly attractive five o’clock shadow. Knock it off. “Whatever you think you have on me, I have just as much on you.”

“Why do you insist on biting every hand that feeds you?”

“I don’t, just yours.” You pushed off the table, making your way back towards the door. “Stop following me.”

His laugh followed you out of his office, down the stairs, and out the building. All the way back to Bucky’s apartment, where you felt the Devil taunting you before you went to sleep.

February 2024

The last time you picked Peter Parker up from school, it was late spring 2018. He was a sophomore, and you were freshly twenty years old. Now, Peter is finally a junior, and you’re going on twenty-six.

Peter’s hug crushed your ribs a little, but you weren’t one to complain. It was the first time you’d seen him after nearly six years. Six years of not knowing what the fuck happened in space. Six years of Tony stonewalling you because of his own ego. Six years of missing the kid you’d come to think of as a little brother.

And right now, he clung to you like one.

“How are you?” you asked him, sincerity dripping into your voice. “You grew up, are you kidding me?”

He laughed, eyes crinkling. “You’re one to talk. You’re, like, an adult now, bem.”

“Oh, my God.”

“What?” Peter asked, slightly panicked

“I haven’t heard that in so long.” You laughed, wide and true, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Bem was the nickname Peter had given you after you ended up stealing bunsen burners from Midtown to try and figure out how your powers worked. Peter was still a freshmen, and you and Steve had been on the run for six months at most. It was Peter who figured out exactly what yours powers did. The fifteen year old kid had been in the lab to make his web fluid. He’d called you bem, or a shortened, Peter-ified variation of biomolecule. When he’d first said it, you’d watched as Steve laughed harder than you’d seen in the last two years. You kissed him for the first time that night.

And you knew damn well that Tony would have your head just for being in contact with Peter, let alone for having a relationship with him. You explained it to him, in detail, what helping you meant. How it might be seen as a betrayal to Tony, someone who he saw as a guiding figure in his life. But you watched as the kid squared his shoulders and told you he didn’t care, because you needed him just as much as he needed you, and that if Tony needed to know, he would understand.

He didn’t know how right he had been.

The kid would stumble into your motel room the first few months when you were in New York still, beaten to hell and back. You would heal him, tell him to stop being so reckless, and send him back out knowing not a word of what you said was taken to heart.

Maybe it was a little bit of a felony to see him in the states, but you could never say no to him (especially when he was bleeding out on the carpet you knew you were going to have to tip the maid for).

“You weren’t at the funeral,” Peter said, situated in the passenger seat of your car.

You snapped your head to look at him, the statement pulling you free from your memories. You sighed. “You know the terms Tony and I left on. I was never his favorite person.”

“I think you should have been there.” He cast a sideways glance at you.

“I know, I know,” you said. “I don’t really have an excuse, or all that great a reason to offer you, other than seeing Tony’s funeral with dozens of people gathered to say goodbye to someone who—” You cut yourself off. Shit talking Tony to a grieving Peter was an ass move, even to you. “I just wasn’t ready for that.”

“I wish he was still around. To explain.”

His tone was somber, if a bit wounded, and you saw how guilt and frustration were gnawing him from the inside out.

“Explain?” you asked, brow furrowing.

“I just—“ He sighed, throwing his hands up. “He left more questions than answers at this point.”

“And you…”

“I don’t know where to look,” he sighed.

You laughed. “If it makes you feel any better, neither do I. Not a single part of anything that’s happening right now makes sense.”

He gave you a genuine, lopsided smile. “I guess it just feels like I could have—I’d have—”

“Hey, no, no. Don’t do that. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Peter asked, defensive.

“That guilt you’re letting brew inside you. Tony’s death wasn’t your fault any more than Steve’s was mine or Nat’s was Clint’s. We all lost someone. And Peter, for the record?”

He met your eye, and you sensed the hesitancy there without even having to read his nerve signals.

“Tony adored you. Everyone knew that. Without you, I don’t think he would have tried to help Scott, and then no one would be here.”

You felt a rush of glutamate and norepinephrine, and reached for his hand as you honed in on the tears springing from his eyes, the saltwater spilling from him.

“They suck, don’t they?”

Peter laughed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You grabbed his hand across the console. “At least we’re not alone.”

He squeezed your hand back. “Not alone.”

Foggy pounded against the door to your apartment. You, for a moment, marveled at how he managed to catch you the one time you’d even been there in the last week an a half. It was starting to feel like someone really had it out for you.

You flung the door open, scowl etching deep into the lines of your face.

“Do you ever answer your phone on the first ring?”

“When it’s good news. You never have that anymore.”

“You’re a free woman in the state of New York,” he said, walking in (uninvited). “That’s good news.”

“Yeah, and now I have every paper in the city sniffing up my ass asking me about my work with ‘Captain Rogers’ and ‘Agent Romanoff’ and how the death of Saint Stark effected me,” you spat. You sighed, stopping in your tracks and running a hand over your eyes. “That was unfair. None of that is on you.”

“It’s alright, I really do come baring worse news.”

You groaned, dropping the bag of clothes you’d been packing to take back to Bucky’s on the floor.

“Your allotted time for signing the Accords is almost up,” Foggy said in a soft tone.

You flopped down onto the couch with a whine.

“You have to make a decision.”

“The decision is a collar or a leash!” You shut your eyes, dragging a hand through your hair. “What am I supposed to do here?”

“I can’t tell you what to do on this one,” he sighed. “If you sign, I can see if we can pull together some terms you can present. Maybe if we work up a contact for you—”

“More contracts just means more eyes on me. I’m not interested in my every move being tracked—”

“Listen, I know. I’ve thrown this thing at a wall more times than I can count. But we aren’t exactly in a position to bring this to the supreme court to get it ruled as unconstitutional, especially when 126 countries are signed on now.”

“So,” you said bitterly, “my options are collar or leash?”

“Maybe we can negotiate terms,” he said, sitting next to you on the couch. “Or, you don’t have to sign. You only need to sign if you’re planning on returning to work.”

“Work?” you asked, brows raising. “Someone getting the band back together? Bet it’ll be a big hit with the eight of us who are still alive.”

He laughed. “It’s up to you. If you plan on working for anything like SWORD, you’ll be forced to sign.”

You leaned your elbows on your knees, letting your head drop. “My hospital wants me to sign.”

“What?”

“If I want to stay in med school, they want me to sign.”

He was silent for a moment. “That’s… a contingency I didn’t see coming.”

“So, basically, if I want to keep working towards the degree I’ve spent five years on, and actually do some good, I have to sign the damn accords.” It made your blood boil, the idea that you started med school in the first place to learn how to hone your powers as best you could, and now you can’t even do anything with the work you put into it. “They’re counting hospitals as ‘private, non-government operations.’ My attending thinks it’s bull, but she can only do so much against the hospital board.”

Foggy shot to his feet. “Maybe I can find you a way out of that one.”

“Maybe?” You lifted your head to gape at him.

“It’s worth a shot, right? I mean, would you even be using your powers if you were a doctor?”

You snorted. “Probably.”

“Appreciate the honesty. I’m gonna go see what I can learn about medical law in 8 hours. I’ll call you tonight,” he said, making his way towards the door.

“Thanks, Foggy!” you called after him after biting back the response that you’d be much happier if he did not, in fact, call you later tonight.

March 2024

Bucky’s apartment was quiet this morning. He had been out doing god knows what last night and wasn’t back yet, and your early night turned into an early morning. The sun crept through the darkened shades, demanding to be seen and felt and indulged as it warmed the floor beneath your feet that carried you to the tiny kitchen to turn on the coffee maker.

This morning was nice, you thought. Nicer than you’d had in a while.

It was mornings like this that you didn’t feel like the world might cave in at any moment. Mornings like this that reset that part of your brain that insisted on remembering the worst of the world and the worst of people. Mornings like this that made you think that, just maybe, everything will be okay.

You wandered lazily through the steps of your morning routine. Freshening up, coffee and some reading in the books you started lugging around everywhere again, even stretching out every aching joint in your body, feelings of contentment seeping in as you reached over your head, pretending like you could get up and fly away. Just for a moment.

You were ready for your day by nine. The shades had been thrown open and Bucky stumbled in about an hour ago, grumbling about the brightness, but ultimately falling asleep on the couch like a cat curled in the beams of sunlight. You smiled faintly to yourself, finally picking up your phone for the first time in what felt like forever. You debated putting it back down and taking just a little while longer before you let the world in, but then your eyes skimmed a dozen news alerts that all mentioned ‘Captain America,’ along with about twenty texts and calls from your friends.

Before you got a chance to investigate, your phone rang again.

Incoming call from: Sam Wilson

“Hi,” you answered. “How’s your morning?”

“You seen the news?”

“Just now checking my phone. Had an early night last night, so—“

“Where’s Bucky?”

His tone sent a chill down your spine. You glanced over to his sleeping figure. “He’s asleep. Why, is something wrong?”

“Turn on channel five.”

You did as instructed.

“John Walker was named the new Captain America last night in a dazzling display of patriotism!”

“What is this?” It suddenly felt like all the blood had rushed out of your body. Your morning coffee was quickly making its way back up your throat.

“Bullshit, that’s what,” Sam said. “I gave up that shield so it could preserve Steve's legacy, not be some prop for this jackass to—“

“What does this mean?” Your hands shook. You couldn’t get a grip on what this was. New Captain America? It’s not Steve. Not Steve, not Steve. “Wha—w—new Captain America? They—It’s not—That doesn’t make any sense.”

Sam said your name softly, as if trying to comfort you. You barely heard over the sound of the blood rushing through your body.

You stuttered again, desperately trying to turn these incoherent syllables into something of a sentence that could express, or maybe explain what this all was, but ultimately it was in vain. Behind you, Bucky started to stir and his eyes fixed on the screen in front of you. Distantly, you heard him say something. Maybe call your name, ask for clarification. You’d long since dropped your phone.

You just sank to your knees, staring at the TV where someone who wasn’t Steve or Sam held the shield like it was a symbol that meant anything to him.

[stuckylibrary]

Do you have any jealousy fics specifically about Sam? Bucky isn't even jealous of him in a "is he banging the guy I want to bang?" way, it's more of a "my memory is still a little clouded but didn't Steve used to be MY best friend? We used to go out for ice cream together like that... Who's this f*cker taking my place?" way. Basically Bucky being jealous of Sam and Steve's friendship until he finds out Steve's in love with him, not Sam. (cue Bucky trying to rub it in Sam's face but Sam keeps reassuring him that he really, really doesn't care)

Found you some:

The BBFF Wars by rinnya (complete | 2,197 | E )

James Buchanan Barnes may have been the Best of Best Friends Forever with Steven Grant Rogers 70 years ago, but that position had been given to Samuel Thomas Wilson 5 odd years ago, and it was a position Sam wasn’t going to give up without a fight. If Bucky was going to suddenly appear and totally whisk Steve away on a white horse and get a happy ever after in their BBFF fairytale. Heck no, not on Sam’s watch.

Sam and Bucky compete for Steve’s platonic affections. Or… at least, that was what was supposed to happen.

Inspired from a tumblr post: A fic in Sam’s POV where Sam and Bucky are trying to prove themselves to be Steve’s REAL TRUE BFF in increasingly ridiculous ways until Sam sees Steve and Bucky making out and is like ohshit the deadliest assassin in the world thinks I’m trying to steal his man.

Don't Take This The Wrong Way by papesdontsellthemselves (oneshot | 2,378 | G)

During their hunt for Bucky, Steve and Sam take to cuddling for comfort. Bucky sees and naturally, he's got some feelings about it.

Green (Heart)-Eyed Monster by TheIntelligentHufflepuff (oneshot | 1,822 | T)

He shakes his head, tries to turn away. But his eyes rove back, insatiable. Steve is spinning Sam, goofily. Sam stumbles, and Steve instinctively grabs Sam to his chest to keep him up.

For a wild, petty moment, Bucky wishes he'd just fall.

[Post-Endgame, except an Endgame where nobody died. Bucky gets drunk and jealous at the after-party, but makes up with Sam and gets together with Steve the next day]

Green-Eyed Monster* by storiesfortravellers (oneshot | 1,917 | T) *chose not to warn

SPOILERS FOR CA2 IN SUMMARY

The Winter Soldier has joined the team and is slowly recovering, but he goes into a jealous rage whenever he sees that Steve is close friends with Tony, Sam, or Natasha. Past Steve/Bucky.

There’s also this Ao3 tag: Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson

[wordynerdygurl]

Skin Deep - Part 6

Author’s Note:  Honestly, this story is nearing it’s ending.  Hard to believe that a little idea I couldn’t shake has now grown into this mini-series!  For all my die-hard homies, waiting for the next installment, I hope this is worth your while!  If you’re new here, take a look around, see if you like anything and please, let the management know if you have any questions!! As always, writing like this requires the emotional support of people and pets.  My dogs, Murphy and Winston, get me through a lot of plot bunnies just by being stalwart companions.  My husband, graciously, lets me take these flights of fancy when I probably should be paying better attention to him and his day... and some of my besties here on Tumblr make it possible for me to do this for you guys.  @sammy-jo1977​ , my sister from another mister!  Couldn’t/ Wouldn’t do it without you! To all the folks who follow me... My Minxes!  Love you all!  Stay well, be kind, and remember that Love, really does conquer all!  If you want to be a Minx, send me a note, I’ll happily add you to my tag list! Lastly, be sure to like and share anything that you see on Tumblr that catches your eye.  Creative types, we need the constant validation, you see?  Without it, like an unwatered plant, we wither on the vine and perish!  Be kind to those who help you through the day and reblog! Skin Deep Part 5 - click here for the previous chapter! Pairing:  Loki x Reader, Steve, Valkyrie & Thor all make appearances Summary:  Continued from Part 5, You and Loki put your plan into action, returning to Farmhouse.  When you encounter Steve again, you learn there’s more than two sides to this story. Warnings:  Loki’s POV and perspective, including mentions of his time under Thanos.  I’m re-writing MCU history here, but some of the main beats are the same, so look out for SPOILERS for Dark World, Ragnarok, and a touch of Infinity War.  The SNAP never happened because, reasons.  

Empathy used to seem such a human emotion.  Loki had no time for that on Asgard, not when Odin denied anything as frivolous as feeling.  Hiding in plain sight was the means to survival and if that made the young prince sneaky and sly, so be it.  By placing those parts of himself under lock and key; the parts that hurt, the ones that ached, Loki found it was safer to disconnect from others than subject himself to their suffering too.

Operating under the influence of Thanos and his minions when he held the scepter, Loki had purposefully divorced connection of any kind from his mind.  It was dangerous.  Weak.  And moreover, it allowed Loki to do what Thanos commanded without really experiencing the horror, the havoc, of his actions for himself. 

  Who could hear the screams of women when the voice of Ebony Maw subliminally chanted all the ways that one could be dismembered at Thanos’ hands should Loki fail?  What man would shed a tear after the near constant beatings doled out by Black Order members, just for the fun of it?  How could someone care about a house, a car, a city, when they no longer cared about themself? Losing the Battle for New York had consequences far beyond the destruction of property.  With Thanos’ hold over him vanquished, the walls around his heart, constructed in youth, crashed and burned like the dream of ruling Earth.  Suddenly and completely out of reserves, Loki was powerless.  And he felt everything.  The fresh hurts caused by his manipulated ambitions in the hands of Thanos. The furious feelings of his brother, the inadequacies of his character, the feeble needs that drove his wild ambition washed over him unceasingly.  Anger.  Loss.  Lunacy.  Loki learned a hard truth in that moment.  He was a monster.  A freak.  A creature beyond hope and salvation; proving his adoptive father right and his own hopeful heart wrong.  Bitterness soured the fallen prince. Endless hours in isolation on Earth, which continued in his father's house, had Loki believing he had no chance of seeing the world outside again, and it hardened his heart further.  To feel was so painful, so raw, and so humane.  Why bother anyway?  All that emoting, those high spirits, all they really did was expose you to derision.  What was grief to a goblin?  What was horror to a monster?  What was love to a villain like him?  An evil, conspiring demi-god, with a mind bent toward domination.  A damaged, destroyed, deity alone and in pieces.  Who would ever give someone like Loki Odinson a chance?  Why should they?

Turning to his mother, Loki did everything but ask for forgiveness.  In long rambling talks, her projection to his jailed person, the pair talked around ideas of guilt and innocence, of fate and fortune, of destiny versus desire, yet Loki never heard the words he needed in order to truly find peace.   

If Frigga was aware of her son’s need for absolution, Loki would never know, as their last exchange was harsh and full of anger.  Another stroke of loss, crippling now, because there was nothing Loki could do to change any of it from inside his prison cell.  No illusion could conceal the painful ache that consumed him entirely. 

Those days were dark, even for a soul as dusky hued as his own, and Loki’s thoughts followed a similar path.  If there had been a way for him to shake off this immortal coil, free himself of the burden of living, Loki would have done so and been glad.  Death was welcome compared to all this longing and heartache. But life, even a nearly immortal one, was funny. 

When Thor provided a chance at redemption, Loki snatched at it, in his own detached way.  He played hero, rescuing Jane, aiding his brother.  And if he took a bit more in the form of deposing his arrogant, aging father, who would be surprised?  He was Loki, God of Mischief, after all. Ruling the Nine Realms without the oppressive oversight of his father allowed Loki to prove himself in ways he never imagined.  And Loki wasn’t just good at it.  He was great. Of course, it helped that no one knew he was Loki.  Living disguised as Odin was often unpleasant, frequently frustrating, but entirely necessary.  Being Loki was still too difficult and likely to bring unwanted attention in the form of The God of Thunder, a thing that no one truly wanted, Loki least of all. Return Thor did, along with an unknown sister and the end of Asgard.  When confronted with the insanity of Hela’s bloodlust, Loki’s only thought was of his kingdom, now without a ruler.  He had worked too hard, too long, to see the land he cared for in the hands of an enemy, even if she called herself sister.  Opening the Bi-Frost, panicked, his mind was solely on saving those he had recently held dominion over.  They were his people, after all.  But he never reached Asgard. Swallowing his fear, Loki focused all his energy on staying alive in a new and distracting environment, initially.  What Loki found on Sakaar wasn't a new home base under a flamboyant, ineffective leader that he could control, even if that was his first design.  On Sakaar Loki found his loyalty.  

The proud, deep resonance of being Asgardian, of being an Odinson, of being capable and cool under pressure.  Sure, he had to prove himself to Thor, Valkyrie, Banner and honestly, the rest of the kingdom, but actions speak louder than words.  And through his actions on Sakkar, and by extension rescuing the people of Asgard, Loki had shown everybody his true mettle. It was on the deck of a stolen ship headed for Midgard that  Loki had made a commitment of sorts.  One that was not to the people, so recently saved or for his found family.  This time, the promise Loki intended to keep was for himself.  Loki was going to change. The problem is, a task like that takes time.  Patience.  Motivation.  It was something that Loki had to work at and it was exhausting. They say that the best things come to those who wait.  Loki was learning to wait everyday.  Having earned a place at the side of his brother, he worked tirelessly to win over the heroes of his new home planet.  Was it easy?  Hardly, but Loki wasn’t willing to compromise.  Not anymore. A life like Hela’s was not in his runes.  Loki was simply going to be better.  Not perfect.  No one could be as good hearted as Captain America, nor could one be as tech savvy as Stark.  So Loki was planning on being the best Loki he could possibly be, and that’s how he found himself going to meetings at The Avengers Tower, a mostly welcome addition to the team. Meetings weren’t all that exciting and boredom was an awful temptation for a deity devoted to mayhem.  In fact, Loki spent more time doodling in his notebook than listening to whoever was droning on about whatever part of the world needed the attention of this motley crew.  That was, until Pepper Potts hired her new assistant.  That you were polite, pretty and pert wasn’t lost on the young god.  Sitting outside Mrs. Iron Man’s office, typing away with a phone tucked under your ear, moving faster than anyone he had ever seen was certainly impressive.  You were quick witted, clever and most of all, funny. Everyone else seemed to fall under your spell without much effort on your part, something that Loki found frustratingly fascinating.  Here he was, struggling to get people to say his name without having a traumatic flashback, while you simply smiled and smarted off prettily, and had everyone singing your praises.  But Norns, were you adorable. If he thought about it, and while off planet, Loki definitely had, he could remember the moment he realized that you were the woman he wanted.  You were busy, as always, fielding phone calls and flipping through screens yet every moment your flying fingers weren’t hovering over a keyboard or pushing down telephone buttons they curled around a heart shaped charm at your throat.  Clearly, it was a habit and one that you weren’t even aware of, still - it transfixed him all the same.  Watching you from his side eye, your voice never wavering, your tone always so pleasing, and your nimble digits returning again and again to the small sigil around your neck.  “Loki?” “Huh?”  Dumbfounded at your call, those deep sea eyes blinked wildly at the sound of his name on your lips. “Hi!  Yes, Pepper can see you now.  Go ahead, she’s ready!” He rose on stiff legs, adjusting his tie, about to lie to Tony Stark’s woman all for the chance to see you in passing.  Who had he become? It started out innocent like that, but soon, Loki was having to invent excuses for being in the office so frequently.  Missing files, random visits, even going so far as to buy Tony coffee just for the thrill of seeing you.  Something needed to change, and quickly, or Loki was going to blow. On another made up errand, hanging around the executive’s high rise office, Loki was doing a bad job of pretending not to see you.  His mind was on your pouty lips as you sipped lemonade through a straw and not on the stately woman seated behind the desk. 

“Loki, you’re a man of some… style.”  Pepper said it so casually that he almost didn’t hear, his head lost in thoughts that would shame any other person. “I like to think so.”

Shutting her folder with a snap, Pepper smiled, “And you’d love to help your old friend Pepper out, right?” That got his attention, and quickly.  Loki, shoving his hands in his pockets, turned to face Pepper with a widening grin, “I feel like I’m being baited.”

“Baited?  Never!  It’s just, you’re always here and I have a… project that needs the kind of help that you can provide.”  At those words you entered the office, ready for action with a notebook and pen, eager and excited. Suddenly, it was all clear to Loki, “Pepper, no.”  

The noose closed in on the handsome god as Pepper gathered paperwork without looking his way, “Come on, it’s the Stark Homecoming Gala and the two of you will do great!  I have faith in you both.  I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” “Really, Miss Potts, I simply can’t-” Stopping short, the strawberry blonde whipped around, almost nose to nose with Loki.  Shrewd and straightforward, Pepper interrupted, saying, “You’ve been dancing around my office for weeks now.  Clearly you like her and… against all the odds, she likes you too.  I’m doing you a favor and when someone does you a favor, you say “Thank You”.” “Thank you.” Nodding curtly, “You’re welcome.  Now, make yourselves comfortable, order some dinner, my treat.  And do whatever you need to make sure this is one great party!” That’s how Loki found himself sitting at a clear glass table over sweating bottles of iced tea as you discussed color themes and tablecloths.  You were shy, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you reviewed notes from previous gatherings both large and small.  His hands itched with wanting to do that job himself. “So, what do you think?”  It was the first time you had addressed him directly since coming through the door and for a moment Loki couldn’t answer.  You were too… not beautiful, that wasn’t the right word, although you were.  No, you were too open, too easy to read, and the earnestness you offered him was downright frightening. Sitting forward in the uncomfortable, yet fashionable, office furniture, Loki cleared his throat and again tugged his tie, “What I think is that you should let me take you dinner.” Dropping your eyes, your cheeks colored slightly as your fingers found that locket charm once more, “Loki, I… I don’t know-” Grabbing for your hand, suddenly afraid that you would take those shining eyes away, Loki lowered his voice and did something he never thought he would.  He begged.  “Please?  I find that you’re all I can think about.” It rushed out of him in a torrent, the way truth so often does, and he found himself unable to look you in the eye.  Loki was afraid to see rejection on your easy to read face, afraid that wanting you had cracked open the lock box holding his heart, afraid that you would see just how weak you made him.  Your fingers twined with his own as you replied, “You didn’t let me finish.  I don’t know what took you so long.” Sighing with relief, his face melting into a genuine smile, “Me either.” Over the next two months the pair of you worked tirelessly to plan and execute a perfect party.  You were inseparable during the day, heads buried together as you discussed linens and table settings, the quality of cocktail glasses, and debating over a band or a dj.  But at night, at night Loki talked about the things that haunted him in the dark.  And you loved him in spite of the awful things he had seen and done and said. Others took notice.  Loki was more lighthearted, more available.  He listened when people spoke and wasn’t constantly doodling during meetings.   Yes, Loki was learning how to love through your loving him.  If empathy had seemed too humane before, then sharing his life, his love with you, was the kind of immortality that earned someone a place in Valhalla.  It was the bravest thing Loki Odinson had ever done and he didn’t mind one bit.

The first time Loki tasted you was burned into his brain, as bright as a flash of lightning.  A firefly in a memory jar that he kept returning to, time and again.  Loki remembered what you were wearing.  He recalled exactly how the light shone in your eyes.  If he concentrated, he could tap out the rhythm of your racing pulse as he held you in his arms. It was the night of the gala.  Inviting everyone under the Stark Industries banner, up to and including the heroes tasked with saving the world, the event was a way to earn money for one of the many charities Tony supported.  The place was full of beautiful people wearing gorgeous clothes under perfect lights set to the hand crafted soundtrack you had created together.

But, Norns, he could still remember the way your eyes sparkled under the lowlights of that hall.  How your dress, simple but sophisticated, clung to the fullness of your bottom.  Low cut but somehow still modest, Loki couldn’t tear his gaze away from the promise of your curves, willing himself to find anything else as interesting as the idea of you.  

You were across the room hanging onto Tony’s every word, eyes bright and cheerfully glowing as you sipped champagne.  It made Loki want to do something grand, something suave, something that would demand your attention for his own.  Moving towards you, his tuxedo perfectly pressed and fitting better than it had any right to, Loki looked long and lean.  Each of his steps seemed to echo, even though the room was full of sound, and you turned your head as if you also heard.  Breaking away from the cluster of acolytes surrounding Iron Man, you bit into your lip as the crowd parted, moving closer together one step at a time.  It was one of the sexiest things Loki had ever witnessed. Lifting your glass in a toast, taking in the room of mingling millionaires, wealthy hangers on and Avengers, “Well, we did it!” “You did it, my dove, I just hung around and judged everyone.” “Oh stop.  I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.”  Playfully you pushed against his shoulder and Loki took advantage, using your momentum to pull you to his side, your curvy figure flush against his own. Crooning into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing over that sensitive skin, “Somehow, love, I think you would have managed.”  Before you had time to think, Loki had melded his mouth with your own, stealing your breath along with your heart.  Loki’s feet moved in time with the music as he pulled into a dance, laughing in his arms, your cheeks hot and your head swimming. You laughing was, without question, Loki’s favorite sound.  Nothing in this world or any other came close to matching the joyful, childlike glee of that enchanting noise.  Loki memorized its melody, the rise and fall of your giggle.  He had craved it, being away for so long, and now he wanted… no, needed to hear it.  But you were the furthest thing from happy at the moment.   

"Darling, please.  We have to go."  Loki tapped his watch, shaking himself free from the memories of your previous life together and barely suppressing his irritation.

Tears filled your eyes as you whipped your arms around Thor’s mighty shoulders, his deep voice grumbly with emotion, "Take care of him, would you?  He's a jerk, but Loki is the only brother I have."

"Of course… always.  And Valkyrie, your highness, I can’t thank you enough for-"

"No need.  Loki, and by extension yourself, will always have a safe haven here in my palace."

Looking on, Loki and Thor embraced almost tenderly before crashing their heads together.  

"Stay safe, little brother."

"Be good, Thor."

Eyes on the sky, Val ignored the show of masculine emotion, chastising your plan, "You’re going to start a war, Loki."

Straight backed, Loki turned to the king, "Not on the grass of New Asgard.  I will take the fight to them, that is my vow to you."

As Loki offered his hand, Valkyrie shook it, with parting words, "Work on staying alive.  You have a tendency to worry your brother."

Solemnly nodding, "As the king commands.  Shall we?"  With that Loki laced his fingers with yours, leading you a few paces away from the people who loved him most, before summoning the magic that had you both transcending space and time.

This time when your feet touched down it was on the familiar turf of the orchard, surrounded by the scent of apple blossoms and the buzzing of happy bees.  Morning had broken and the world seemed full of promise, with the exception of that knot in your stomach.

"Are you ready?  Darling?"

"Oh… yes.  I mean, I still don't love this plan, but-"

"But it's going to work."  Only it was no longer the baritone voice of your long, lean Loki speaking.  In his place stood Nick Fury, leather duster and eye patch in place.

"If you say so!"  And you clutched your own throat as Natasha’s bored tones came out of your mouth.  The suit, skin tight but flexible, molded to your modified form.  All in all, you were comfortable, "The boots are a bit much."

"Ya think?  This jacket weighs a ton."  Pulling at his collar, "Why does he wear a turtleneck anyway?"

"Loki, this is so weird.  It feels so weird."

"Agreed, but then, why am I so turned on?"

Laughing, you shook your false red hair, hands resting on Natasha’s waist, "God, I've missed you."

"Same, dearest.  Now… let's get your necklace and some answers!"

---

 Convincing Bucky to head home had taken a lot of work, but sometime around 2 am Steve had finally seen his friend off.  The house was empty.  Steve felt the same way.

Turning the black velvet box in his pocket, fingers crushed against the fragile fabric, Steve struggled to feel anger.  When that didn't materialize he shot for sadness but even tears seemed beyond his ability.  

With a sigh, climbing the same stairs he had trudged up a hundred times before, Steve started going through the motions of bedtime.  Only tonight you weren’t there to tease him about the wildly inappropriate amount of toothpaste on his brush.  He didn’t have your light footsteps to follow to the bedside or your help with stacking all of your extra, yet entirely essential, pillows on the chair.

Someone must have changed the sheets, he thought.  There was no evidence of you and Loki’s adventurous afternoon anymore.  Steve made a mental note to thank Buck for that little piece of kindness in the morning.

Shucking his shirt, Steve sat on the mattress, a hand to his forehead.  He had lost.  Captain America had been bested.  Beaten.  And by Loki, no less.

Moonlight in silver slivers shone through the window panes, squares of light in the deep of night.  Steve was alone.  Utterly and totally alone.

And there was no one to blame but himself.

Sighing hard, Steve stood, pacing the floor to work off some of the unspendable anxiety he kept creating.  The room still had your energy, your vibe, as you liked to call it, and the feeling was a prickling itch Steve couldn’t quite satisfy.  Traces of you were everywhere and something about you leaving all of it, and him, behind was just too big to process. “Damn it.”  Even whispering sounded like thunder in the silence of your recently vacated room.  His hands, so big, so strong, smoothed along the fabric of your hanging clothes.  All that power had done nothing to help Steve get the thing he wanted. Sorting through the baubles and trinkets on your dresser, bottles of perfume he had purchased, necklaces and pins, each with a moment of memory it hurt him to recall.  Your watch ticked away the minutes as he stood, stoic and still, surrounded by the shadow of you.  In the orchard the birds were waking, their song filling the air, as morning broke in low golden rays.  Abandoning his plan for sleep, Steve watched as the light chased away the dark, casting rainbows on the floor.  The sun was reflecting off of your Grandmother’s necklace.  A pretty, ancient, carved cameo,  heart shaped locket.  He recalled his own mother owning one just like it, pictures of loved ones pressed inside, holding them as tight as history would allow. Fisting the filigree chain, winding it around his fingers as if it would somehow undo what he had done, Steve slipped it into his pocket before settling back onto the bed.  ----

At the back door to the home you so recently shared with Steve, Loki hung back, “I think this is where we split up.  You go find your treasure and me… I’m going to find some answers.” Nodding, Natasha’s signature red hair swinging, you squeezed the hand holding your own.  It no longer looked like Loki’s long fingered paw, but that was only a skin deep change.  You felt the undeniable essence of him in the press of his fingers against your own. “Be careful.” “That’s no fun, dove.” “Loki-”  You hated the way your voice broke as you said it, but there just seemed to be so much at stake and you had already lost him once. Sensing your unspoken concerns, Loki flashed you Nick Fury’s best smile, “I will.  I promise.”

“Ten minutes.” “Ten minutes.”  You watched the black coated back of your charmed paramour as he opened the shed door, hoping that he’d find something worth knowing in that place out of sight.  Inhaling deeply you twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible, letting yourself into what was once your kitchen, “What a mess.”  It was impossible not to notice the unwrapped leftovers and empty bottles littering the table.  An overturned trash barrel, crumpled beer cans littering the counter, things that Steve, your Steve, would never have tolerated.  All evidence that the grand evening he’d envisioned had been thwarted by Loki’s arrival and your collective escape.  

You started up the stairs, praising Natasha's footwear for its stealth, when you heard the toilet flush and the unmistakable shuffle of Steve’s feet on the carpet.  There was no place to hide on the wide stairwell.  It was time to see if Loki's plan was going to work.

Voice blurry, eyes rubbed red and raw, you couldn't deny that Steve looked like shit, “Bucky?  That you?  You back?”  Steve’s voice bounced around the brightening room as morning sunlight filtered through the soft sheers you had picked out for exactly this reason. Panicked, you backed into the railing with an over loud “Oof!” “Nat?  What are you doing here?  I thought you and Fury were headed to New Asgard?”  Suddenly wide awake and wondering, Steve rushed to your costumed side, eager for information. The man in front of you now bore little resemblance to the angry Avenger you had escaped from hours before.  This man had hair sticking up in odd angles from near constant finger raking.  This man had a hint of a stuffy nose and red rimmed eyes, all indicators that tears had been shed.  Now those blue eyes were scrutinizing you closely, full of concern.

“Uh… We... We got intel.  Yea, intelligence, that Loki was headed back this way.  Turned around… and uh, here we are.” One of those sandy blonde eyebrows lifted, “Natasha?”

Squaring your shoulders, channeling that cool confidence you’d see Black Widow display over and over, “Steve?”  Something about your tone of voice convinced him in a way your words couldn’t.  He visibly relaxed, those broad shoulders going slack as he asked, “Didn’t make it to Norway, then?"

Nodding a negative, you felt the unfamiliar brush of her red hair at your cheek and had to fight the urge to tuck it away, “No.  Loki’s using some sort of transporting power to move them around.  Fury suggested I keep an eye out here, in case they come back this way.” “She won’t be back, Nat.  There’s nothing for her here.”  To you, Steve sounded so sad, so removed, that you had to will yourself not to comfort the giant before you.  “That’s not true!”  It came out of you forcefully, thoughtlessly, and you saw the shock register on the Captain’s face. “That is, Fury and I… we… have reason to believe that she will come back.  They left with nothing, Steve.  She’ll need clothes… maybe some shoes… and-”  Swallowing hard, you didn’t want to give anything away, “-a necklace from her grandmother.” Steve, patting his pocket, felt the weighted chain and it’s heart shaped locket, “I don’t think-” Stepping up to his bulky form, suddenly aggressive, you started, “Never mind what you think, Captain.  We're here for a necklace...  the necklace.  Our intel suggests that your former flame might return for it and… And, I want it, with me, as a means to subdue her when she arrives." Sounding forceful and official was enough to back Steve down.  Just a touch deflated, you watched him shrug, “If that’s what you want, Nat, here-”  From his pants he pulled out the shining bauble, a trinket really, but full of sentiment and memory. Sitting in his palm, the tiny heart that held the picture of your grandmother and mother looked so small, almost unreal.  Reaching for it with wet eyes, you smiled at Steve as you lifted the charm and chain, “Thank you, Steve.  Thank you.” Nodding deeply, that golden head bobbing, “You’re welcome.”  The large grandfather clock could be heard ticking throughout the house.  The sun was gaining on the day and you, dressed as Natasha stood in silence in front of a somber Steve.  For another long beat nothing was said, then, as if sensing a shift in your conversation, Steve flashed your fake Natasha a weak smile, “I could use some breakfast.  How about you?”

“Um… sure.  Yea, ok.  Breakfast.” 

Steve started moving again, downstairs towards the cluttered kitchen when he paused, "So how did you get back so fast?  Cause that's like a 7 hour flight, even with you in the cockpit." “Steve…”  You could hear it, the whining almost pleading tone that signaled the end of Loki’s well planned charade.  That wasn’t enough to stop Steve.  He broke hard, one of those strong arms stopping you in your tracks before you could reach the lower level. “It’s clever, I have to give you guys that.  Almost perfect, really.” Panic rising, you doubled down on the ruse, struggling to keep your voice even, “I don’t know-”  Blocking you in, his body the perfect unmovable buffer, “Loki’s here too, isn’t he?” Pushing against “Steve, I… I don’t…” “Don’t lie.  You don’t have to…” “But… how-?” “You’re not mean enough to play Natasha, doll.  Not by a long shot.”

--- It was strange to be seated at the table and chairs that you and Steve had picked out together one sunny Saturday when you thought that your future was going to be Loki-less.  Your place, the one that you had imagined filling with children that had golden hair and bright blue eyes, felt like a set.  Something false and fake.  A facade, put together simply for show. Steve must have felt it too because his fingers drummed against the white washed table incessantly.  Clearly he had something on his mind.  “Steve-” “No.  No.  Please, let me just get this out, ok?” Raising an eyebrow, you waved at him to continue, nervous but interested in what the super soldier needed to explain. With a shaky inhale, running his constantly moving fingers through his golden locks, Steve caught your eye and didn’t waiver.  “When I saw you… No, that’s not right.  Let me start at the beginning. “When Loki left Earth, you… you were so sad.  It hurt me to see you so… deflated.” “Steve, I-” “You know it’s true.  When he returned to Asgard, something in you, it dimmed, and I just couldn’t allow that… Not when I felt the way I did about you. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible you are… how full of life!  And since I had already missed one chance to be with you, I knew I needed to prove that I could be the man you needed… If you forgot about Loki along the way, even better. “Only… you never did.  I waited years for you, ya know, doll?  Years.  And just when I thought there was no chance with you, Nat gave me a reason to hope. “She was your friend.  An ally.  Someone you could trust… someone I could trust.  I swear it started out that innocently, at least for me.  I just wanted to make you smile again.  But she had other plans.  Plans that came from higher up the ladder of SHIELD. “Fury, he wanted us to watch you… something about Loki being too powerful.  And-”, grabbing your hand tightly, Steve emphasized his point, “-I promise you that I had no idea about his success, or the messages he had sent to you through Nick.  Like you, I thought that Loki was gone.  Missing.  Never coming back.” “I… I believe you Steve.  I know that you didn’t do all this on your own… but what was Nick hoping you’d find out?  I knew less than nothing about what was going on!” “I think he was worried that Loki would get to you first.  That if… when Loki returned, you would be his first stop.  Then you would know about Loki’s success and, frankly, Fury’s failures.  You would also know… well, everything you know now.  That Fury had you tailed, lied to, and led on in an effort to stop Loki from out flanking him.” Frenzied and frantic, you felt anger boiling up inside of you, “But I thought Loki was gone forever.  There was no hope for him and I… and Natasha, she told me that he was dead.” “All a part of Fury’s plan to keep you neutralized and Loki away.  If Loki thought that you’d ignored his letters, that you no longer loved him, why would he come back here?  And, if that didn’t work… when Loki came back and you were with me, what else could keep him on Earth?”

Whispering with realization, “So, they used you too.” Steve sighed and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, “Don’t feel bad for me.  I let them use my love for you, let them twist it up and shape it as they needed.  Honestly, I wish I could tell you that it was for you, but it wasn’t.  It was for me.  I wanted you, so, so badly.  I didn’t care what strings were attached.  And we built a life together, you and me.  I thought I could outrun the reality of the constant monitoring and daily reports.  Telling Natasha and Nick about every word and each email.  Don’t you see, I love you… and I wanted you, however I could get you.” Shaking your head, Natasha’s red wisps flying, “That’s not love, Steve.  I don’t know what that is… but love isn’t it.” “No?”  With a loud thunk, Steve slammed a small velvet box on the table between you. “Is… Is that what I think it is?”

“Last night.  It was going to happen last night.  Our friends here, under the lights and the stars, I was going to ask you to marry me.  I still would if-” Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, “If Loki hadn’t stepped back into our lives.” “-If Loki hadn’t stepped back into your life.” It made you both laugh in a sad way, how you finished the same thought, and for a fleeting second you could see why you had allowed Captain America to sweep you off your feet.  He was a lot of things to you now, but there was a time when he had been almost everything.  The evidence of that was in the small black square that said nothing but spoke volumes. “Steve, I don’t know if I would have said yes… even without Loki’s… arrival.  I think I have always known that you and I… we are very different people.” Sitting back in his chair, his gaze still locked on your own, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry.  I’m sorry about what I’ve done… what I’ve said… How, shit, how I’ve behaved.  I could say that it was my duty.  I could tell you it was out of love, but the plain truth is that I have always been jealous of what you and Loki share.” “You’ll find it Steve.  You really will.  There’s a person out there waiting for you.  And once you’ve found them, oh Steve, you’ll see that this… what we had, it’s a shadow.  An illusion.  Because love, real love, doesn’t come with caveats and catches.  It is an undeniable force which, in my case, even the boundaries of time and space can not deny.” Something like a sob burst out of Steve, and you were surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I was so wrong.  Could you ever forgive me?” “I want to, Steve.  I really do... “  What more could you say?  Patting his hand you started to rise, “I have to go now.  Loki and I need to keep moving and I don’t want to risk running into Nick and Natasha.  At least, not yet, anyway.” “Where are you planning to go?” “To the Avenger’s Tower.  I believe I know what Mr. Fury has been planning all along.”  Loki’s strong voice entered the conversation as smoothly as his arms wrapped possessively around your waist. Steve took in the protective stance of your returned lover with a raised eyebrow, and without further comment asked Loki, “Really?  And how are you going to breach the building?  They’ll be looking for you, even with disguises…  Fury is no fool.  Plus, there’s little chance that Tony hasn’t activated a million safety and security protocols by now.” Only interested in you, Loki refused to give Steve any of his attention, “Getting in can’t be that hard!  I’ll figure it out when I get there.  Ready pet?” With a gentle push under his broad hands your feet started to move towards the door.  Loki was eager to be off and away, especially after hearing so much of Roger’s confession.  Just knowing what Steve had done, manipulating you while also convinced of his love for you;  it was enough for Loki to commit murder.  He was having quite a difficult time not tearing the good Captain’s limbs off his body. Softening his tone, Steve practically pleaded, “Loki.  Wait.  I… I can help.” Turning his attention fully to your former flame, Loki purred venomously, “You can help?  I’d love to know what entails, Captain.” “I can get you into the place and take you exactly where you need to go.  Fury’s going to hate it, but I’m tired of taking orders that hurt the people that-”  His pause was as lingering as the look he gave you, “- That I love.”  Before Loki could offer a sincerely sassy reply you grabbed his sleeve, tugging, “Um… Excuse us a minute Steve.” Pulling him down the hall of a home that felt like a familiar faced stranger, you waited until you had a bit of distance from Steve before harshly whispering, “How long were you listening?”

Serving you that small, sexy smile, Loki grinned, “Long enough.  How did you know I was there?” “You are sneaky, but even you, God of Mischief, cast a shadow.” Swinging you close enough to catch your mouth with his own, Loki pressed a sweet kiss there before answering, “A mistake I will be careful not to make again!” “The tower, huh?  That’s where you want to go?”  Grabbing you at the swell of your hips, grinding his frame against your own, “Where I want to go, my darling, is to the nearest bed, preferably naked, with you and you alone.” Your hands traced over the lapels of his borrowed leather duster, pausing only to jerk him closer by the supple fabric, “Hmm… is that so?” “Oh yes…”  Loki’s buttery grumble filled your ear as his strong hands dug into the flesh of your bottom.  For a moment you thought he’d give in to temptation, his sweet lips teasingly close to your own upturned mouth, “But-” On your toes, leaning into Loki’s sturdy, leather draped frame, you paused, “Ugh.  But?” Moving you to a safer, less kissable, arms length away, Loki sighed with the same frustration you felt, “-But, where we need to go, as soon as possible, is the Tower.” Moaning grumpily, you stepped out of the arms you longed to linger in, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” “I know it’s less than… ideal, love, but I did find something useful before the good Captain unburdened his soul this morning.” “And that is?” “Fury’s plan.  At first I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was after.  What did Fury want?  How was I involved?” Loki was dragging this out, loving how it kept you hanging onto his every word, and you rolled your eyes, “Well?  What is it?  Weapons?  War?” “All of that, yes… and… yours truly.”  That triumphant smile that filled Loki’s whole face lit up his mischievous eyes.  Tilting your head, struggling to make sense of what Loki had just told you, “What do you mean, you.  Fury wanted you… to do what, exactly?’ “Loki was going to be the patsy.” You both turned toward the sound of Steve’s baritone at the door, suddenly remembering that the Good Captain was still there and that he was waiting to see what you were going to do next.  Leaning his 100 year old bones into the doorframe, Steve crossed his arms, “The fall guy.  An example of what happens if you cross SHIELD.” “I think, my dear Mr. Rogers, that you mean, I am to be used as an example of what happens if one crosses Nick Fury.”  Loki countered, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively. The idea was frightening.  A man like Fury had too much power, too much at his disposal.  Just knowing the lengths he had gone to in order to keep you and Loki apart was scary enough.  Making enemies of your friends.  Threatening the people you loved.  Selling your affection to Steve in an effort to control Loki.

Now, the knowledge that all of it was done in an effort to ensure that Nick Fury was the toughest guy in the galaxy, it made your stomach clench.  “What do you mean, an example?” “Unless my intelligence is flawed, I believe that Fury was going to kill me.  Is that correct, Captain?” Steve felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him.  Yours, full of fearful love and blind hope that this was all just some misunderstanding.  Innocent and naive and as lovely as he could ever remember.  Loki’s were reflecting a deeper understanding.  The kind of knowledge that only time in the trenches teaches. There was no answer from Captain Rogers.  None was needed.  Honesty, final and resolute, was out in the open.  “Look.  I know I’m not the guy you want on your side.  I’ve… I haven’t been the man I needed to be.  Not for you-”  Steve locked his bright blues onto you, offering a small smile that spoke of sadness before facing Loki, “-Or you, Loki.  But if you let me help you now, I promise that I can get you into the tower and maybe, one day, you won’t think so little of me.” 

Around you the morning gained strength.  Somewhere nearby birds chirped wildly, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the modest little farmhouse and its implications on intergalactic politics.  Without  moving a muscle, Loki plainly asked you, “Do you trust him, dearest?” Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms, staring down the man called Captain America.  Nodding decisively, “I do.  I don’t think he’d spill everything like that only to turn on us.  He’s not so bad Loki, really.” “We’ll see about that.  For now, we trust Steve.  Ok, what’s your plan, Rogers?” --- “Hey.  I… I have one other thing to show you.”  Steve was dressed for action in his branded tactical gear, looking every inch the super soldier that Dr. Erskine envisioned. “Steve, we have to get moving.  Loki’s eager and -” “Just open it, ok?”  The envelope was thick with folded paper, the flap tucked under and not sealed.  Clearly it had spent time in and out of pockets, the edges frayed and tattered.  In exasperated curiosity you gingerly pulled the sheets free.

Shaking, your hands trembled holding the once white documents as your voice thickened, “Is this… is this what I think it is?” Cocking his head playfully, that rueful smile pulling at his full mouth, Steve almost seemed cheerful as he teased, “It’s yours.  I think something about this place has always been yours and I want you to have it.” “But-” Folding your small hands in his mighty ones, Steve squeezed gently, “It was a wedding present, or it was supposed to be.” “But we’re not getting married.” “I know.  Still-” “I can’t, Steve.  It’s yours.  Your house, your farm, your dream.” Shaking his head, disagreeing, but feeling lighter than he had in decades, Steve insisted, “Too late, I’m afraid.  It’s done.  Actually, that version of the deed has been signed since our second week here.” As realization sunk in you appraised the man changing right before your eyes, astonished but exhilarated, “Where will you go?” “I dunno.  Think I might need to be alone for a bit.  Maybe see the world… but first-” “First, we have to stop Nick Fury.”

To Be Continued... My Minxes:   @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity​ @mizfit2​ @sammy-jo1977​ @wolfsmom1​ @jessiejunebug​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​ @jenjen8675309​ @that-one-person​ @roguewraith​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

[mrsbarnes107]

Secret of the Widow

-part eight-

Summary: Post Endgame time period. The team is healing, trying to navigate this new normal they’ve found themselves in when Bucky and Sam bring home a stray with an attitude and a secret. Will the broken team take her in? Or is it too much to bare?

Warnings: language, *eventual* violence and smut, death, fluff, angst

Pairings: Bucky x OC

Disclaimer: this is posted to Wattpad as well and it WILL HAVE PLOT. I’m a Bucky hoe so there will be smut and romancy stuff but this is a series, so plot plot plot and slow burn.

*Bucky POV*

I've finally gotten away from Wilson and his incessant blabbering, and am now making my way to the training room to find Ali.

Ever since she got here, there's been this ache in the back of my mind. It feels a lot like the first time I saw Steve all those years ago. A dull tug, trying to pull something forward.

She knows me. Knows me well apparently. And I feel deep in this little dark corner of myself, that I know her too. She unsettles me immensely, the thought of her risking herself so wantonly with the Winter Soldier, knowing my past and darkness. It's horrible. But shes also comforting. A type of comfort I haven't felt in a long while.

She's a wild card still. Unpredictable. And yet she peaked my curiosity.

I still can't get her teary blue eyes out of my mind. I'm thankful I heard her sneak past my room the night before. Otherwise I never would have followed her to the lab. Never would have seen her pain and loss so openly. Her cries were heartbreaking, sobs wrenched from deep inside.

I understand what it's like to feel utterly alone and confused. And I wish I could take that feeling from her.

Taking a quick left I stop at the door of the training room, hearing music and the dull thud of knife hitting Kevlar.

God help me I can't get the image of her dancing so carefree in my hoodie out of my head either. Walking into the kitchen to that view, well fuck me back to the 40s. A beautiful woman dancing and singing, a home cooked meal on the stove, and a blade twirling between delicate fingers. She's going to give me whiplash. Or death.

This need to protect and cherish her conflicts with the instinct to be wary and set clear distance and it's worse than the cyclone at Coney Island.

I just know this isn't a good idea.

***

*OC POV*

"You're letting go too soon Doll."

FUCKING BLOODY HELL I'm gonna kill this man.

I very much did NOT let out a tiny squeak for the second time today and launch ANOTHER knife straight at Buckys (admittedly handsome) stupid face.

Okay I did.

With a cocky flourish he catches it and give the blade a nice twirl. "See? Too soon. You're aim would be more accurate if you hold off a second or so before releasing. And the blade would slice through the air better. It's catching too much resistance from the angle."

"You have gotta stop sneaking up on me Sarge. Unlike yourself, I'm too young for heart failure."

Bucky sends me a scowl and scoops up the rest of the knives from the target then makes his way over.

"Sweetheart, I may have some years under my belt, but I'm a fully and exceptionally functioning man." I look down to see the tip of a knife gliding up my stomach and to my throat, pausing to move a lock of hair behind my ear.

Suddenly sweaty I clear my throat and swipe a knife from his metal hand. "I'll take your word for it Buckaroo. Now you wanna show me how exceptionally you can teach?"

At that he steps behind me, chest pressed against my back, hard muscle very much evident under his tight shirt. His hand gliding down my arm softly until he wraps his fingers around mine, now holding the knife together.

His (very beefy) leg presses between my thighs, allowing his foot to hook around mine and reposition my leg.

Hell in a handbasket its fucking hot in here. Jeez. My heart is going wild and I know for a fact Bucky can hear it.

His breath ghosts along my neck as he murmurs low against my ear.

"You're quick and underestimated because of your size. Use that more to your advantage and strike like a little viper. Fast and deadly."

He guides my hand as if drawing the knife from my thigh holster, making my hips shift back against his. As our arms make a slow, practiced arc Buckys metal hand squeezes my hip telling me when to release the knife.

With another light squeeze he steps back and nods for me to continue.

This man will undoubtedly be a distraction in the field if I don't get it together.

With a sigh I drop to a knee only to pounce back up in a spin while drawing the blade, letting it sail through the air in complete silence, slicing through it only to come to a halt with a smack that echoed through the room. In the blink of an eye it went from my fingertips to the mannequins skull a good twenty yards away.

He really didn't need an ego boost but damn if he isn't talented.

"Better. Now let's see how you do hand to hand."

I was suddenly back to the mat with a very heavy soldier pinning my body down, knife pressing into the hollow of my throat.

I let out a soft grunt as piercing blue eyes filled with concealed torment and a hint of playfulness met my own. "Well this brings back memories... for me at least."

Using his confused pause as an advantage, I run my foot along the inner seam of his sweatpants as the other slips from between his to hook around his thigh.

A startled grunt escapes open lips and the knife moves a fraction as his hold loosens. With considerable effort I had the hulking soldier underneath my straddling hips, knife now running up his chest, small cuts appearing along his shirt.

Large hands rest on my thighs, squeezing with every dip of the blade as it runs along the ridges of concealed muscle.

"Dirty move Doll."

With a small shrug his shirt gets cut open completely. "It can get dirtier Sarge."

I shift against his hips and his hands clamp down hard, keeping my legs in place, most definitely leaving Bucky shaped bruises.

"Are we ever gonna have that conversation you promised? Cause I feel like I'm missing some important pieces to our story."

"Huh, I thought this was a training session, not a slumber party." With another squirm against his crotch he lets out a low growl and I hop up, tossing the knife into the floor by his head. "Come and get me Barnes."

With that I took off down the hallway, thundering footsteps quickly catching up with mine. Damn super soldier speed.

As his arm wrapped around my waist I let out a giggle and ducked underneath it, landing a blow to his stomach. Which did little more than make him let out a grunt of air as I dropped to swipe his legs from beneath him.

With a roll Bucky jumped back up and caught my arm, spinning me against the wall.

His thigh pressed between mine as his metal hand locked my arms above my head, our chests heaving together despite the minimal effort of the chase.

The forgotten blade appeared in his other hand, the sharp tip trailing down my arm, dipping along the collarbone. Buckys head tilted as my heart beat went double time, a small smirk appearing on his lips.

With a smooth flick of his wrist a bead of blood trailed down my throat, stopping between the swells of my breast, Buckys eyes following the slow path returning to mine darkened and razor focused.

With a glimpse to the lip I trapped between my teeth he cocks his head with a suspicious glare. “Bringing back more memories Sweetheart?”

“I don’t know, is it Sarge?”

Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get you-

Buckys hips press firmly into my own, his thick thigh shifting higher, now tight against the needy heat between my legs. A very noticeably large and stiff bulge pressed into my hip. How am I not on fire yet?

A small whimper escapes my lips as Bucky trails his mouth and nose along the length of my neck, beard scratching deliciously against heated skin. My hips bucked, wonderful friction meeting my clothed center, a moan escaping with a sigh as I repeated the action.

Bucky growled low in his throat as his hips snapped against mine, leg tensing against my soaked cunt. “I might not remember our past yet Doll, but I remember this feeling. Your warmth. First time I looked into those big blue eyes I knew you were gonna ruin me. Had no idea who you were, but fuck it all I knew you somehow.”

With a slight tug he released my arms, hands falling to my waist, tracing a path along my body.

I rested my palm against his heart, as the other cupped his cheek. Thumb tracing his red lips I looked into lust blown confused eyes. “Maybe one day you’ll remember our story, until then I’ll remember for the both of us.”

A rough thumb brushes over a hard nipple as his hips start to rock steadily into my own. A small moan escapes as my fingers tangle in Buckys thick hair. His mouth once again finding my neck, this time leaving hot kisses. His tongue traced along my ear, teeth nipping along the skin until he reached the spot on my neck that made me keen.

His lips kissed a smile into my skin as he sucked it into his mouth, leaving his mark on my body. My greedy hand began to make its way to the band of his sweats as he-

“Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barnes, the team needs you in the conference room immediately.” Friday said from above us, damn near giving me a heart attack.

Cockblock. “Fucking hell.” I mutter as my head tilts back to rest against the wall, Buckys hot breath puffing against my chest from where his face is pressed into my shoulder. I run my fingers through his hair for a moment, relishing his warmth after so long being cold.

Bucky pressed a kiss to my collarbone as I clear my throat. “Well, duty calls soldier.”

As he backs away and releases my body, I rock onto my tiptoes and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before swiftly walking to the conference room.

I’m almost certain these shorts are ruined. My sanity is not far off either.