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kaontic · 1 month ago

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*Long post*

They are recovering from being exposed to a p.o.j.

Megs. I’m talking about Megs. He’s my second favorite villain of all time rn (tied with Star actually), but he is the ultimate p.o.j (piece of junk).

In fact, this issue, def makes me want to change my pfp, use the Transfixatron on Megs in his gun mode, and bury his aft in the more than 200ft deep mine shaft at the bottom of this crater fr.

Obviously it’s not deep enough but still.

Or you know what scratch that—because I would just be vandalizing a cool site, wouldn’t I? With JUNK!

*Looks down*

Yeah. I said it. Why are you even here rn—? Do you want me to discuss the time you were responsible for Brawl m[REDACTED]ing a puppy?

Thundercracker: What?

DO YOU?!

Idc if he “just” wanted to capture the dog. He “just” wanted to capture the dog to make dog soldiers.

Not even Joker would do that.

And in this continuity and this issue, we find out that he has no problem with and is EAGER to recruit youngling soldiers.

Or in other words, Cybertronians who have not fully developed their brain chips yet who are thus easier to manipulate.

(God this is gonna be a long post—)

Optimus, Grimlock, any Autobot—you better have tried to talk/keep Bee out of fighting like you did with Carly. Or at least, be real with him and have the “Prime told me there’d be days like this!” conversation.

Cliff and Arcee too despite us knowing damn well that they will fight no matter what.

Because, after all, at least in the US, you can join the military at 18 (or 17 with parental consent). Furthermore, it’s a sad fact of life, but many underage people fight in conflicts all over. It happens and is happening and I’m glad this has finally been (at least as far as I’ve seen and remember) explicitly acknowledged in a franchise about war.

I’m gonna try to be more organized about this but here are more things to note:

. We don’t know any Cybertronians’ official age. That’s never been a thing, because you’d have to calculate, and Hasbro ain’t doin’ that math.

. That being stated tho, based on the dialogue, Star/Ulchtar in this flashback could be anywhere from 14-19 years old in human years.

. It seems like he has some part-time job. Mood.

. This is the first time in canon I’ve seen a youngling Starscream join the Decepticons. In G1, he was an adult (former full-time scientist right?). In the WFC games, an adult. In TF One, an adult (and even older than Megs? I mean Steve Buscemi’s voice does not age fr so—).

. Kup looks significantly younger here than he does in Issue #7. That is Kup up there, right? Like middle-aged I guess? ⬆️

(Oh man…how is Hot Rod going to react…RIP)

. Um…that information from Issue #1.

Ok ok ok—I really need to focus here—

. When Genvo gets blasted, he falls forward into Ulchtar’s arms. I’m no physicist, but this means he must have been shot from the back, right?

. Optimus to me seems to appear from behind Ulchtar (in the other direction).

. Optimus presumably does not hurt Ulchtar (or even notice him?), which makes sense (if he saw Ulchtar). He’s unarmed.

. Optimus doesn’t have the same gun he did in Issue #1 here, and he has no gun at all in the Energon Universe Special sh** how am I supposed to compare—

Holy scrap I scare myself. O_O

. Megs’ fusion cannon cools fast.

. Megs knows that Ulchtar has brothers (“brothers” can also refer to comrades. As in “brothers-in-arms”).

. To Genvo, it’s not a matter of “if” Jetfire and Ulchtar join. It’s “when”. He knew more than he was able to let on too.

. Megs was able to answer Ulchtar’s question…despite him asking it in a low voice to himself? And from farther away? What?

. Megs, why the hell were you smiling when you made that claim in the EUS? That was my first 🚩, I just forgot to mention it before. Don’t you care about Cybertron? What is your deal? How old are you? HOW OLD IS OPTIMUS? HOW OLD IS JETFIRE NOW??????? THEY DIDN’T AGE THE SAME DUE TO THE CRASH—Oh wait right Void Rivals.

. Like no wonder Skybound Star acts so immature and violent, and maybe even resentful of Jetfire leaving him (which explains his hostility that caught Jetfire off guard).

In G1 he acts bratty, but he’s always been portrayed as an adult, so I didn’t expect this I just thought—FRAG— 😭

. I think we can all agree here that this is still not an excuse to lash out at the innocent, so Carly still deserves to get justice/his aft (idk [insert theme about revenge here]). But also Megs. Frag Megs, like honestly (I didn’t even like TF One Megs by the end). 😒

. And this is exactly how I imagine Megs recruiting his victims followers, especially when he’s interested in particular ones (it freaking happens in my AU but anyway— 😀).

Step 1: Show up at the right moment, when they are at their lowest. Act nice, very nice, and make yourself look less intimidating, by changing into something that’s not only small, but also capable of protection. Hence, a gun (gun-tank hybrid whatever—maybe he’s a triple changer like my AU).

It’s his way of communicating that he trusts you/sees your potential, and that you better could trust him because he will protect you, and guide you, and care for you, etc.— He’s totally not luring you into a false sense of security so he could use you. 🙂🫠

Step 2: Use information you know (to get even more personal) and high emotions to your advantage.

Step 3: ?????????????

Step 4: Profit until you get what’s coming to you.

Dammit why is he so magnetic? Forget the fusion cannon, that’s the scariest thing about him people!

My overall theory:

Genvo tragically said too much. Maybe he was trying to impress and gain Megs’ favor (somebody who he already looks up to), so he mentioned their (or just Ulchtar’s) clan (part of the Cybertronian defense force? Oh boy).

They’re numerous, fliers, and most valuably of all, some are outliers (have powers). Skywarp’s teleportation. The Rainmakers’ acid. Sunstorm’s radiation. Oh, how destructive that would be in a fight…

So, he put a tracker/recorder on Genvo (with or without his knowledge), wanting to find out what the clan’s deal was. Or maybe he or Soundwave just straight up stalked them via their alt modes, I wouldn’t be surprised. Are they interested in a side? Apparently not, and for Megs that’s a problem. Let’s make them interested.

Akin to the Aligned novels, he blows their territory up, intending to blame it on the Autobots. Genvo, perhaps aware of Megs’ plan/true intentions, is merely one loose end to tie.

In the end, Genvo wasn’t special or that useful, but he made for good fridge stuffing.

Idk how Omega Supreme factors into this. Maybe Optimus did blast Genvo. Nevertheless, Megs once again proves that he is the biggest selfish douchebag who cares more about himself than Cybertron’s future (unless proven otherwise?).

And I hope Carly wins/finds happiness along with Spike. Peace out. ✌️

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florida3exclamationpoints · 1 year ago

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Steggy Week Day 1 - Meta

@steggyfanevents and everyone else pls accept my late offering of brainrot ranting into the void

Peggy's face says so much during the Endgame dance it's insane. It's such a contrast to Steve, who is very expressive yeah but he's really just showing one thing - that he's peaceful (if anything his eyesbrows are drawn in a little but it's just concentration, not any uncertainty like Peggy has). There's not as much going through his head because he's dealt with all of this already. He already wrapped his mind around every factor of what got him to this point, he's just savoring the moment now that he finally can. Peggy's only had the last few minutes. Of course whatever happened when she opened the door is up to everyone's headcanons, but he had to give her something good enough to convince her. Personally I think when they were dancing, he hadn't explained much yet. He just convinced her it was him by telling her something only he would know. He'll get to the 70 year nap and aliens and time traveling later lol I think he wanted to ease her into it as much as possible. Because the door is still open I really think it was just "Oh my god what the hell -> wait I can prove it (with something only Steve would know 100%) -> we've waited long enough for our dance -> ok but actually what the hell??" which leads to the entire explanation after they dance

Regardless of what Peggy knew while they danced, she hadn't had long to process it at ALL. And you can see that. She's not simply happy and peaceful. She's soooooo timidly happy. Her eyebrows are furrowed a little and you can tell she's trying to slow her thoughts down and enjoy the moment. Her smile isn't completely ear to ear uncontrollable. You can actually see her try to contain it a few times - it starts to get a little bigger and she stops herself. She's so used to not being able to feel this kind of pure unadulterated happiness. You can also see her keeping her chin and bottom lip stiff, like if she let go she'd break down crying. At first her eyes are open and it feels like she's looking into the corner at nothing to keep herself grounded. When she closes her eyes, her eyebrows relax a little. I think she was able to let go a little bit with her eyes closed. That's when you see her smile start to get a little wider, then she stops herself, then she opens her eyes again. Then she looks up at Steve. Like the grounding herself by looking at something or not looking at anything didn't work so she had to look at Steve.

Anyway back to her being timidly happy bc I think that's the best way to describe it. Look at this frame

(Sorry idk why the quality is so bad on youtube lol) she doesn't just look happy and teary. And I wouldn't say she looks confused either. If she were confused she wouldn't be dancing with him. I think it's just an instinct for her to limit her happiness. She looks like she absolutely can't believe this is happening but she knows she can't argue (again, or else she wouldn't be dancing with him), and like her mind is racing but she wants it to stop. This restrained happiness reminded me of something else and at first I couldn't figure out what it was but I did. Look

She's making the exact same face here except there's no genuine happiness in this one. Her smile is a little tighter because there's nothing behind it. But otherwise. It's the exact same expression. In both she's thinking of "another chance" with Steve, but when they're dancing it's real. In the AC scene it's just his blood that she felt like she had to defend. But when they're dancing ITS REAL!!! look again side by side sorry I'm going insane

Main point - there's just so much trepidation in her face while they dance. Timidly happy restrained joy etc etc. When she looks at Steve is when it starts to fade. Her eyes scan his face I think bc she's really trying to allow herself to feel happy and she's like look it's him you know it's him calm down it's him. Steve's smile just get bigger when he looks at her but he knows everything!! This frame shows her starting to relax

But when he smiles at her and she smiles back she's still biting it back a little and pulling her bottom lip in to control herself

That face is just. There's so much I feel that I should say but words can wait. Do you see the difference in how Steve is just so openly radiating joy but she's not there yet.

This is the most relaxed she gets the whole scene. She has to shut her mind off and remove herself from the situation and just feel to get to that point. She can do that when she kisses him. And that's where the scene cuts, when she is finally able to just feel and relax and live in the moment with him.

#sorry im a few hours late :(#and its just me ranting rambling losing my mind as always not anything artistic skdjskdj but this is how i contribute ❤️#i hope it fit the theme well enough #if not. ignore me ❤️#steggy #steggyweek23 #peggy carter #steve rogers #endgame #agent carter #agent carter 1x07 #marvel

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kandisheek · 3 months ago

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FIC REC WEEK 32 - EPISTOLARY

The Impossible Return by Goodnightsammy

Pairing: Steve/Bucky Rating: M Words: 25,935 Tags: Winter Soldier Steve, Love Letters, Identity Porn

Summary: In 1996, the wreckage of the Valkyrie was found off the coast of Greenland. The cockpit was empty. There was no body and no shield. There was, however, a leather-bound journal filled with letters to a man long dead. In 2011, that same man is found frozen at the bottom of the Alps, still very much alive. Or: The Winter Soldier Steve AU I never thought I'd write.

Reasons why I love it: Okay, so I already love fics that twist canon on its head, but when it's done as skillfully as this? It's on a whole other level. Steve's letters are so raw and incredibly written, and I love Bucky's relationship with the rest of the Avengers. Also, Steve as the Winter Soldier is fantastically characterized, god, I want to give him a hug so bad. Definitely check this one out, it's amazing!

Do Not Reply by FestiveFerret

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 33,159 Tags: Wrong Number AU, Secret Identity, Confessions

Summary: When Tony starts replying to a "daily deals" donotreply email address from some random security supply company, he finds shouting into the void soothingly cathartic. Less so when the void answers back.

Reasons why I love it: This fic is like sunshine on a cloudy day. Like a cup of warm tea on a cold night. Like a whole bunch of other poetic descriptions of heart-warming, tooth-rotting fluff. I love how real their relationship feels, their first meeting in the real world, Steve's backstory with Pierce, all of it. It's definitely one of my favorites, and if you haven't read it yet, I highly encourage you to do so, because it's excellent!

Long Distance by NotEvenCloseToStraight

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: E Words: 44,017 Tags: Long Distance Relationship, Wrong Number, Polyamory Negotiations

Summary: At the end of a bad day, Tony gets drunk and texts Rhodey all his woes. Except he typed the wrong number, and has been texting someone named Steve– who is blond, 28, teaches art and somehow charmed by Tonys drunk rambles. One conversation turns into another, and soon they are texting and talking and flirting every day for weeks until Tony finally takes a chance and asks Steve to meet in person. Steve replies that he and his boyfriend Bucky would be thrilled to meet. Devastated, and feeling betrayed, Tony stops talking to Steve all together, and their budding relationship comes to a screeching halt. But Bucky has been eavesdropping on their conversations and texts and is halfway in love with Tony too, so he takes it upon himself to fix the rift between Steve and Tony. Tony isn’t sure about it at first, but after some cute videos, sexy selfies, several date nights, Tony starts to think that the three of them may actually work. Can Bucky and Steve convince Tony there is enough room in their bed and their arms for each other AND him? Will this Long Distance texting and phone call relationship ever make it into the same zip code?

Reasons why I love it: The progression of their relationship in this is so much fun. From Steve and Tony bonding to the betrayal of Tony's trust to the reconciliation with Bucky in the mix this time – it kept me on the edge of my seat the whole way through. The texting is super engaging, and I love the flirting (and eventual sexting, hehe). Plus, the trials and tribulations of long distance relationships are super well explored here. I love this fic, and I bet you will too!

#marvel #fanfic #a year in fanfic recs #fic rec #fanfic rec #stony #stuckony #ficrec #epistolary

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quirrelli · 2 years ago

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Marvel Rewatch Thread

Originally posted: 25.02.22-14.03.22

Haven't seen most of the Marvel movies since they came out but I have a sudden urge to rewatch them like a TV show, with Endgame as the season finale. And to tweet about it. (Feel free to mute this thread if you're only here for the art.)

Iron Man still fucking rules. It has so much of what I like to call buzz porn. I will never get tired of the suiting up sequences.

Evil Jeff Bridges with a cigar on a Segway. A king.

We've all gotten used to it by now but the way they show Tony's face in the 3D-void with the digital interface over it is actually pretty ingenious.

Speaking of Tony, RDJ may always play himself, but the man oozes charisma from the points of his funky goatee to the bell bottoms of his suit pants.

And Jarvis too! I've never not loved a Paul Bettany performance. I predict I may say this several more times, but the casting carried this franchise from the start.

That final battle is like, what if Transformers but good?

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Ah, the famously maligned Iron Man 2. It's true, it's not as good as the first but nevertheless, the War Machine suit FUCKS. (And so does the song).

I like Whiplash, it's Hammer that's the problem. Everyone, but especially he talks so much that the quippy bickering that is 90% of the dialogue stops being amusing like it was in 1 and becomes draggy.

Also, the narrative structure is much less clean. Iron Man 1's plot is a tight piece of ass, where 2 needs to do some more squats.

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The Incredible Hulk certainly is an odd little duckling in the lineup. Its connection to the rest of the MCU is so tenuous as to almost not be felt at all, especially with Norton's recasting. It's also the only one without a post-credits stinger.

I will say I like Norton!Banner, but there is something off about this Hulk's face. Maybe the technology just wasn't quite there yet in 2008.

Certainly appropriately green color palette throughout though. I'm also noticing a certain grimy, tactile nature to these early entries that's gradually lost as more and more of the sets and even costumes get replaced by pure CGI. Some jumpy editing here and there too.

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Again, the casting in these movies is stellar across the board but man, Chris Evans is such a perfect Captain America in every way. Certainly the best bod in the biz, come at me, rival Chris stans.

That replacement effect they did with pre-serum Steve's body is surprisingly good, especially remembering much more recent travesties like the Super-stache.

The first Cap suit is still lowkey my favorite one. That functional military aesthetic is just my vibe.

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Thor is better than I remember. Everyone, but especially Jane is super likeable actually. Also, I would trust Heimdall with my life savings, my first born, my soul and my browser history.

Besides Tony, Loki arguably carried this franchise more than any other character and he proves yet again that family makes the best villains.

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The Avengers takes me back. It might be old news now, but this is the movie that invented the concept of the "cinematic universe". Like, that wasn't a word before. It was thrilling.

I remember when I got into Marvel after the first Iron Man came out, reading rumors about a potential Avengers movie and thinking that it was never going to happen. It would be too big, too expensive, too much to set up, just unfeasable on every level. And then it... happened.

That first arc of the MCU might have also been the best execution of a cinematic universe to date, bc it was at that point still Tony's story at its core and his arc finishes here. But we'll see as we go along.

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Thor 2 is the first of these that really feels like it only exists to be part of the larger franchise. That is not a good thing. It's what sank the DCU before it even left the shallows.

There's a very noticeable lack of verve compared to the first one, the cinematography and editing is so unexciting, the plot so basic. I mean they whipped out the ol' "when the planets align" chestnut. The only fun idea is the wacky gravity but they don't do enough with it.

Jane, despite being more directly involved in the conflict feels much less like an active agent than the first one and what did they do to rapier-man's hair?

I don't mean to pretend like these movies are high art or anything but this is well below the standards set, like b-tier fantasy at best.

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I have to admit IM3 is better the second time around. The big twist obviously loses its impact but there's some good moments and it's thematically more coherent than I originally gave it credit for.

Having said that, that theme and its resolution requires that this be the end of Iron Man as a character, which it obviously won't be. It's sort of the opposite problem from the last one: Where Thor2 can't exist outside the MCU, IM3 can't exist within it.

What made me absolutely livid when I first saw this movie is that Tony gets the reactor removed. It still doesn't sit right with me, though the reasons have shifted. Then, it was bc Tony and the suit are a unit, if it's not part of him he becomes exactly what cap says he is in A1

Now, contrary to what IM3 posits, the reactor to me symbolizes accepting the wounds of the past as a permanent part of yourself and growing from them, which breaks down as a metaphor if Tony could always get rid of the shrapnel and just didn't, for some reason.

Also, the mark 42 is still fugly.

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CA: winter soldier has some really good hand-to-hand combat and I really like the bromance with Natasha. They make a good team. Same goes for Wilson.

Because the themes of mass surveillance and corruption are more relevant than ever I'm not a huge fan of the conspiratorial bent this movie takes. It's a bit too real a subject to go full wacky Hydra long-con, you know.

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Guardians 1 does a remarkable job being good, considering all the new stuff it has to fit in. I'm not particularly attached to any of the characters but yeah, it works, it's just a solid flick all around.

I'm having flashbacks to baby groot mania

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Guardians 2's opening slaps. Also, de-aged Kurt Russell looks surprisingly convincing.

It's the sequel that's just better in every way. G1 laid a solid foundation that this one builds on a lot. It really digs into the characters' hearts (and makes me mix my metaphors apparently). They even manage to make the goofy tone thematic in that it's Peter's coping mechanism

Ego is the rare antagonist who isn't a foil but a natural evolution of the protagonist. Definitely in the upper echelons of Marvel villains.

I really like the ship with the little movable laser balls. Creative.

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Avengers 2 time! Vision: Awesome! Hulkbuster: Awesome! That shot of Cap ripping a log in two: Awesome! Natasha calling herself a monster bc she can't have children... a choice.

I'm glad they acknowledge from the start how OP Wanda is. I'm less glad her powers are basically reduced to telekinesis when they're so much funkier than that.

Why did they give Ultron so much... face? Especially combined with Spader's expressive performance it would have been much more unsettling to have a motionless mask.

This movie really takes IM3 from a mixed bag to utterly pointless.

It could be on my end but the audio mixing is off. Some of the sfx are weirdly quiet in places.

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Ant-Man is definitely a breath of fresh air after all relentless power escalation of the previous batch of movies. Slows down a little, brings down the scale (hah), you know

Although I do remain a touch salty that they didn't go with original ant-man/yellowjacket, especially since they already transplanted the Ultron storyline to Tony. I would have liked to have seen mad scientist Pym and his merry circus of fucked up alter-egos.

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Movie civil war is better than comic book civil war bc it ties into the characters way more and bc the inciting incident actually directly involves an avenger, and one who is famously volatile to boot. Still perhaps a touch contrived though.

Black Panther!!! The only hero who may out-cool Tony. RIP, king.

Why are the police in Bucharest speaking German? That really threw me, to the point I was unsure where that part was taking place. Pretty serious oversight honestly.

And why did steve kiss this random side character who doesn't matter? In a movie as long as this you can't really afford to keep dead end plot lines like that around.

My aesthetic is steve rogers' biceps.

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Listen, Toby Maguire will always have a special place in my heart, but Holland is the best package as far as spider-men go. Even though obviously no-one here looks their age I do buy Holland as conceptual teenager. Like, the energy is correct, in a way it never was before.

I really enjoy dad!Tony's ineptitude too. There was a touch of that IM3 (keep coming back to that one, huh) but it works better here.

Did they cast Michael Keaton as the Vulture bc of Birdman? I'm gonna choose to believe they did.

If I may nitpick for a second here: The new Avengers HQ was introduced after Ultron, two years before Homecoming takes place, so why would they just now have a "moving day"?

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I really like the tech in Black Panther. The beads, the sand, the cloaks. Really adds to Wakanda's identity separate from the rest of the universe.

Who gave Michael B. Jordan the right to be this attractive and compelling and generally a highlight of the franchise?

WAR RHINOS!!!

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Do I have lingering trauma from being on tumblr in the years 2012-17? Yes. But I still have to admit Cumberbatch is a decent actor. My favorite thing about his casting is that there's probs no one else whose name is as evenly matched in joke potential to their character as him.

The trippy shit is great. Like Inception on LSD. Just fun to watch even if, like me, you're not super invested in the story.

Rachel McAdams is so pretty <3

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Thor Ragnarok summary The aesthetic: impeccable The cast: hideously attractive The humor: so good The tonal shift compared to previous entries: lurching

I guess it only makes sense that the most unique, mould-breaking, complete stories have the most trouble fitting into such a behemoth of a franchise. Ragnarok might be the best MCU movie outside of the context of the MCU.

When Thor lands on the rainbow bridge all electrified, a lightning arch connects between his eye and his chest circle thingy and I love that particular frame so much.

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The size fuckery in Ant-man 2 is even better.

I don't like the ghost's acting. Nothing wrong with the character, but her body language is stiff and awkward. Now scott's daughter, there's a real mvp.

Watching the first after credits stinger before having seen infinity war makes it super ominous actually.

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Captain Marvel aka I'm gaaaaaay, the movie. And not just me. Carol and Maria will get married eventually and finish raising their daughter together, you cannot convince me otherwise.

Aww, I forgot about the Stanley montage. That's sweet.

I do love the mohawk.

Larson leans into the cocky badass persona a bit too far but what I like about Carol is how much joy she finds in her powers. Like so many heroes they get foisted on her but she doesn't get caught up in any "but what if I'm a monster" or "I didn't ask for this" angst.

She discovers she can fly and is like "fuck yeah I can fly! Watch me gooooo!" You know, the correct response. One of my favorite moments in the movie is when she starfishes straight through a spaceship just for shits and giggles.

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The remarkable thing about Infinity War is that while not everyone gets an arc, everyoen at least gets a beat or two and it all makes sense and hits. That's the pinnacle of what can be achieved with a well-designed cinematic universe.

The only thing that feels a touch underdeveloped is Wanda and Vision's relationship. It's a shame bc Wandavision is such a good ship with so much history. At least they have a TV show now. Also, I notice Wanda lost her accent.

Do Strange and Tony have... chemistry? Not to get all shippy for the finale but like, I might have to check AO3 and see if there's anything good.

Why is it that all of my faves specifically have to die :(

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Is Infinity War/Endgame the best two parter finale? A case might be made, I think.

This movie really makes me cognizant of how well structured the power escalation in this franchise is (leaving aside the fact that the sorcers are supremely OP).

Time travel and universe rearrangement is game-breaking and about as far as you can reasonably go in scale. The stakes just lose touch with what's humanly imaginable/ empathizable after that, which is why it's good that they saved it for the very end.

Endgame has a touch of the ol' "too many endings" disease but I'd say it's earned them at this point.

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Wrap up time! First, the perhaps obvious: there's a difference between watching 22 movies and 22 TV eps. They flow different and the movie marathon does get exhausting in a way the equivalent of ~2 TV seasons wouldn't have done.

They are, for the most part, fun flicks in their own right but I'm left wondering if the individual heroes wouldn't have been better served in a semi-canon CU, where weirder titles like Dr. Strange and Ant-Man would have had more freedom to experiment.

Then again, the existence of the MCU doesn't preclude future iterations that do push the envelope a little more. In fact, Wandavision, the only one of the TV shows I've cared to watch, does go in that direction, to the point that it ends up straining against its MCU obligations.

Anyway, I'm not gonna do a ranking of the movies. Instead I'm gonna do sth much more fun and at least 5% less overdone and rank each movie's main villain! It's possible they might correlate more strongly with overall enjoyment than the heroes even. Let's see here:

1. Loki 2. Killmonger 3. Vulture 4. Hela 5. Ego 6. Winter Soldier 7. Obadiah Stane 8. Ultron 9. Thanos 10. Yon-Rogg 11. Kaecilius 12. Yellowjacket 13. Ghost 14. Red Skull 15. Aldrich Kilian 16. Whiplash 17. Zemo 18. Colonel Ross 19. Ronan the Accuser 20. Malekith

#marvel #mcu #text post #my stuff

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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 2 years ago

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even as a shadow, even as a dream pt.2

Pairing: Vamp!Eddie Munson/Fem Reader; Vamp!Eddie Munson/You

Summary: You haven't been coping with Eddie's death very well, but you're trying. Then one night, you hear a noise outside your house... (Reader POV)

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: adult language, feelings of self-loathing and grief, smoking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, brief talk of past violence and injuries, angst

A/N: here's pt. 2 as promised! pt. 3 will hopefully be up tomorrow. <3

Ao3 Link: Here | Pt. 1 Links: Tumblr / Ao3 | Pt. 3 Links: Tumblr / Ao3

Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!

The sound of the front door smacking into the porch railing rang through your ears, followed by the scuffling of shoes as someone skidded to a stop behind you.

“O-Oh, there you are,” Steve Harrington panted.

You took a moment to reply, exhaling a plume of smoke.

“Here I am,” you finally said. But it didn’t sound like you speaking, didn’t feel like you speaking.

It felt like you were watching yourself from outside your body. You could see your own hunched form on the porch steps, Steve standing in the threshold of your house, his knuckles blanched white as he gripped the edge of the door. They weren’t visible, but you also knew Dustin and Robin were right behind him, could just picture their worried faces.

You didn’t look up to acknowledge Steve, just lifted your cigarette again and took a long, deep drag. You couldn’t even feel the burn at the back of your throat anymore, nor the nausea from so much nicotine. But your head felt light, swimmy, and not your own.

You exhaled again and blindly watched the smoke curl up past your face.

“We were, uh, calling for you,” Steve replied, shifting to close the door behind him and then leaning against the railing of the stairs in your peripherals. He was obviously trying to look casual, cool, but you could hear the lingering note of panic in his tone. “We called your name like ten times.”

“I heard,” you said, flat and emotionless.

You were staring unblinkingly at the sidewalk below the porch, but after a moment, you wedged the remaining butt of your cigarette between your teeth and reached down between your thighs. From the step below, you picked up a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

Camels, his brand, whispered a voice deep inside you, but you violently shoved it down, away, into the darkest voids of your mind.

No, not thinking about… that. Not thinking at all.

You awkwardly fished out a fresh smoke, struggling with your casted wrist. You distantly noted that it ached, but you couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel the fractured bones in your arm, in your cheek, your ribcage. Everything below the neck felt like wet sand, and your head was a helium-filled balloon. Those things didn’t feel pain, so why would you?

Once you had the new cigarette, you switched it out for the one between your lips, but you held the last dying embers of the old butt to the new one and inhaled deeply.

Smoke filled your mouth, filtered into your lungs, and the world fuzzed out around the edges. You exhaled and tossed the almost empty pack of smokes beside your bare feet on the next step down. There were several already discarded butts scattered across the bottom of the porch, and you threw the newest one down to join them.

“Right, um…” Steve said from over your shoulder, reminding you he was there, and then he took a deep breath. “Well, next time, could you just, uh, grunt or something? You know the kid gets… nervous.”

A distant pang of guilt twisted in your stomach, but you just stared into the middle distance until the sensation went away entirely.

“I already promised I wasn’t going to run again, Harrington.” You took another drag off your cigarette, still not looking at Steve, still not blinking. “What more do you want from me?”

That was already asking a lot. Too much. And you hadn’t agreed to it originally. But every time you tried to sneak away, Steve or one of the others inevitably stopped you, and you realized you were getting nowhere with your prison break attempts. Then, as the days passed, your urgency had faded, smothered by the ice that was slowly encasing your heart. Now you were a glacier, slow moving and isolated, and nothing really mattered anymore.

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair, glancing off down the darkening street. You could just see him in your peripherals. He looked tired, dark bruises under his eyes and his mouth in a thin white line, and yet you found you had little empathy for him.

“Look, Obi--” he said after a long moment, but suddenly, for the first time, you reacted.

The sound of those three letters felt like ice picks being driven into your ears, into the cold block of stone currently sitting in your chest. The world trembled along the edges, and you felt yourself starting to slip back into your body, the pain in every cell becoming more acute.

No.

You snapped your head up, half turning to look at Steve with a glare that could melt paint.

“Don’t.” Your voice was a smoke-rough growl, the edge of your upper lip twitching in a snarl. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Wha—” Steve blinked down at you and looked surprised at your sudden anger. “D-Dustin calls you that.”

“Dustin can call me whatever the fuck he wants, he can call me a stupid fucking cunt, I deserve it. But you… you can’t call me… that.”

Your tone had been venomous at the start, but the end of your sentence wobbled, your throat constricting around the last word. Still, you continued to glare up at Steve, waiting for his response, and he seemed to realize this because he bobbed his head in a jerky nod.

“A-Alright,” he said as he raised his hands. “Sorry. I didn’t, um, mean anything by it.”

You ground your teeth as you turned away from him, and you didn’t respond as you brought the cigarette to your lips again. Your throat still felt tight, the muscles in your face pinching around your brow and mouth, and your vision was blurry with unshed tears.

Taking another drag, you blinked until your eyes cleared, and then you started counting the miniscule cracks in the sidewalk at your feet. You got to thirty and were just about to let the nicotine buzz carry you back out of your body when Steve spoke up again.

“What did you mean by ‘you deserve it?’” he asked hesitantly, frowning down at you when you didn’t respond. “Because, personally, I don’t think there’s anything you could do to deserve being called a c— uh, that word. Even when you made me chase you barefoot down the road the other morning.”

Steve cracked a smile in your peripherals, obviously going for a joke, but you didn’t even look at him.

That had been the last time you tried to sneak off. It had been early morning, just after dawn, and Steve had fallen asleep on your couch. You snuck out the back door, but he must have sensed your absence somehow, heard the door click behind you, because you only made it to the end of the block before Steve Harrington was running down the road in his bare feet, shouting your name. He caught up to you easily, and he must have called Dustin on the walkie before he left, because the curly-haired kid was sitting on your porch by the time Steve dragged you home. Dustin had tears in his eyes when he begged you to stop trying to go back, and at that point, you still had the capacity to feel guilt, so you agreed. Now, you didn’t even have it in you to regret that choice, even though you knew you should.

“Come on, Harrington,” you muttered around the butt of your cigarette. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

“If you ask Robin, that’s kind of impossible,” Steve chuckled weakly.

Again, you didn’t laugh, and Steve sighed, shifted to squat down beside you, and laid his hand on your shoulder.

“Harrington, what do you want?” Your voice was still flat but sharp edged, like a razor, and you shrugged Steve’s hand off.

“I want… well, I want a lot of things,” he said as he rocked back on his heels, still crouching beside you. “I want this whole situation to be… less fucked up. I want Hawkins whole again. I want these stupid kids to have their childhoods back. I want Mun-- Max awake. But… I also want you to know that what happened to her was not your fault.”

“Then whose fucking fault is it?” There was some emotion back in your voice, but it was bitter. You could feel the ice in your chest thawing around the edges, melted by the anger Steve was stirring in you.

“Jason’s,” Steve said immediately.

“Jason was an idiot,” you sneered around your cigarette, the tip flaring orange as you took a sharp drag. You exhaled smoke and wished it was fire. “He was an idiot who couldn’t see past his own ego, couldn’t see the truth when it was staring him right in the goddamn face. I knew what was happening. I knew what was at stake. I should have stopped him—”

“You tried!” Steve cut you off as he gestured to your battered face, your broken wrist. “He beat the shit out of you!”

“I didn’t try hard enough!” you snarled and finally looked fully back at Steve. “If I had stopped Jason, he wouldn’t have hurt Lucas, wouldn’t have stepped on Max’s Walkman. And if Max still had her Walkman, she wouldn’t have been snapped to fucking pieces, Vecna wouldn’t have been able to open the gate, and Edd—”

You choked on the last word, physically choked on it. You couldn’t get your vocal cords to form it, couldn’t get your tongue to work. It sat in your mouth like a lump of dead meat, and your breath caught in your lungs, seized, arrested. Your heart stuttered over the lack of oxygen, and your vision suddenly blurred again, hot tears coursing down your cheeks without your permission.

You hadn’t been able to say… his name ever since that night. Even when you were begging the others to let you go back to the Upside Down for him, you couldn’t speak his name. Because you knew once you said it, the glacier of grief inside your chest would melt entirely, drowning you.

And you couldn’t… you just couldn’t deal with that.

Steve sighed and then muttered your name— your real name this time— as he scrubbed a tired hand down his face.

“You can’t really believe that,” he said, and you could feel his eyes on you.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and recomposed yourself, taking another drag and realizing you were more than halfway through this cigarette already.

“Why can’t I?” you asked as you exhaled. You words were measured again, removed. “It’s the truth.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve argued. “Jason took you by surprise, and Lucas said you gave as good as you got until the bastard got a lucky shot in and knocked you out. It was because you injured Jason that Lucas even survived. So it’s not your fault. Max is not your fault. And Munson… Munson was not your fault, either.”

His name hit you like a physical blow, like a battery of them— like Jason kicking you in the ribs over and over and over— and you inhaled so sharply that the cherry of the cigarette burned your fingertips. You dropped the butt mindlessly and curled your singed fingers into a tight fist, pressing it to the top of your knee.

“Harrington,” you said, your voice a warning, but Steve had never heeded a warning before, and he apparently wasn’t going to start now.

“If you want to blame someone, blame me. I let him and Dustin go off on their own. I-I should have come up with a different plan, a better one. I know I make jokes about it and complain a lot, but I am the babysitter. I’m supposed to look out for those kids, for everyone, and I… failed. I failed them, I failed you, I failed Munson. And I’m so fucking sorry. But if you want to blame someone, hate someone, then hate me. I deserve it. Just stop disappearing.”

“Jesus Christ, I just stepped outside to fucking smoke—”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Steve said as he leveled you with a look. “Your body’s here, but you are not. And you only seem to be getting further and further away. But Henderson needs you here. I-I know it hurts, but that kid in there is also heartbroken, and I can try to talk to him about it, but it wouldn’t mean anything coming from me. I didn’t know Munson. Not like… the two of you did.”

Again, his name hit you like a punch you didn’t expect, taking the wind of you. Closing your eyes did nothing to stop twin tears from leaking out of the corners, and you dug the nails of your right hand into your knee. As much as you tried, you couldn’t seem to distance yourself like before, couldn’t seem to slip out of your body like a worn dress, and you hated Steve a little for it.

“I… can’t,” you gritted out, still with your eyes closed. “I can’t talk about— I just can’t, Harrington.”

“Maybe not right now,” Steve murmured from somewhere in the darkness. “But at some point, you’ll need to. And Dustin will need to. So just… stick around for him. Please.”

You took a deep breath. Let it out slow. You counted to ten, then to thirty. And all the while, you began to feel the aches and pains in your body, turning on one by one like light switches. The worst pain was in your chest— yawning and hungry where it was once cold and numb— and you knew it wasn’t your broken ribs.

“Fine.” The word was dragged up from the depths of you and spat out. You still didn’t look at Steve. “But I need something from you.”

“Anything,” Steve replied instantly, sounding eager, relieved.

“I need you to leave. I need you to take Robin and Dustin and go home tonight.”

“What?” Steve’s tone was strangled, incredulous, and you could just picture his dumbstruck expression. Before he could drum up a response, you opened your eyes and turned to look at him squarely.

“I need to be alone, Harrington,” you said, a note of pleading in your voice. “I need just one goddamn night without you and Robin hovering over me, without Dustin calling me on the walkie every five minutes. Just one night. And I promise, I’ll be here in the morning. I promise I won’t run. Like you said, w-what’s there to go back for now?”

Steve flinched when you threw his own words back at him. He’d shouted them at you a few days ago, red faced and barefoot and running on two hours of sleep. The question had knocked you so far back on your heels that you didn’t even fight it when Steve started dragging you home.

Because you knew the answer. You’d known it the second Dustin had walked up to you in the hospital the morning after Hawkins was torn asunder, with tears on his cheeks, a hollow look in his eyes, and a guitar pick clenched in a shaking fist. You knew.

You just didn’t want to accept it.

But you could feel it creeping up on you now. The realization. The knowledge that… he was never coming back. It had been four days now. Tomorrow would be five. Five whole days in a world without him. And nothing had stopped. Everything just kept turning, faster and faster. Soon it would be a week, then two, then six months, and a year. Unless Vecna got what he wanted and ended the world after he was done licking his wounds. A dark part of you would almost prefer that. Because years— a lifetime— without the man you loved seemed so unbearable.

And the worst part was you never even had the courage to tell him how you felt.

You turned away from Steve as more tears fell from your eyes, hastily swiping them away. The smell of smoke on your fingers reminded you of the cigarettes, and you blindly picked up the pack again, fishing out a fresh one and trading the pack for the lighter beside your heel. Strangely, once the smoke was in your lungs, you felt like you could breathe a little better, and when you spoke, your voice didn’t even shake.

“Please, Steve,” you said, tilting your head back to stare at the purple tinged sky. “If you don’t leave now, you’re gonna get caught outside of curfew.”

Most of Hawkins had fled in the wake of the “earthquake,” but not everyone had the privilege to pick up and move, so the government— who knew what went bump in the night— had instated a heavily enforced curfew that began at full dark. The sky was bruised with twilight already, but everyone lived within a ten minute radius, so they should be able to make it home no problem if they left now.

You prayed they did.

A moment of silence passed, and you could feel Steve staring at the side of your face, but you didn’t look at him. You were trying to count the seconds between your inhales and exhales, attempting to hold back the rising tide inside you. Already your throat felt tight with every scream and all the tears you’d been holding in for the past four days. You just needed to hold them in a little while longer.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Steve sighed and rose to his feet.

“Alright,” he relented, sounding so tired, so much older than he was. “I’ll… talk to the others.”

You nodded in gratitude, unable to get the words out, and Steve sighed again as he turned and went back into the house.

Over the next few minutes, you heard the hushed argument he was having with Dustin and Robin. You couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, but you could pick out the worry in Dustin’s tone. The guilt hit you a little harder now, but you just took another sharp drag, hoping to drown the emotion in smoke.

Eventually, the door opened at your back, and Dustin cleared his throat.

“H-Hey, Obi?”

You winced at the nickname, but you plastered on a smile as you stubbed out your cigarette and stood up.

“Hey, kiddo,” you said as you turned to face him, cheeks already aching from the strain of your smile. “Steve tell you the plan for the night?”

“Yeah…” He nodded slowly and frowned at you, concern clear in his eyes. “But are you sure? I-If you’re sick of Steve, I can ask my mom if I can—”

“You and I both know your mom won’t let you stay out past dark after everything,” you cut him off gently. “In fact, you’re pushing your luck right now. Steve was supposed to drive you home an hour ago.”

“I know, but—”

“Dustin. I promise I’ll be fine. And I swear on… Metallica that I won’t go anywhere. You can even come wake me up at the crack of dawn tomorrow. I’ll make you breakfast.” You tried to make your smile softer, more genuine, as you placed your good hand on the top of his head. His curls were soft beneath your palm. He’d been wearing his hair down and loose, without a cap, for four days now. The sight hurt as much as it warmed the spot where your heart used to me.

The kid seemed to consider your proposition for a long moment before he cracked a tentative smile in return.

“Okay.” Dustin nodded under your hand, but he stared into your eyes when he continued. “I’m holding you to that promise, Obi.”

God, you wished he would stop calling you that.

“It’s a deal then.” Your cheeks were aching now, so you ruffled his hair before you nudged him gently down the stairs. “Better get going. You know those government patrol Jeeps mean business.”

“I’ll call you on the walkie when I get home, to let you know I made it.” Dustin stared back at you longingly as he walked down the porch, and Robin slipped past Steve to go join him.

“H-Have a good night,” she seemed to say on reflex, then flinched when she realized what she’d said.

But you just waved at her with your plastic smile and turned back to Steve.

“Harrington, they need a driver,” you reminded him.

Steve stared at you with a conflicted expression, but you could see how tired he was. He’d been guarding you for the majority of four days and nights. He needed a break.

“Just… remember your promises,” he said after a length of silence. Then his gaze trailed to where Dustin and Robin were waiting by his car. “Henderson… he’s a wreck. He’s trying not to show it, but he is. He can’t lose anyone else. So I’m begging you here. Please.”

“I’m not going to intentionally inflict more trauma on him.” Your smile finally fell, curving into a sharp frown. “You’re not the only one who cares about him, you know. And… you don’t have to be the one to carry everything, Harrington.”

“If I don’t, who will?” He flashed a weak, tired smile before he slid past you and clomped down the stairs. “Try to get some sleep tonight. If you can.”

“Back at you,” you said to his retreating form, and he lifted a hand in goodbye as he reached the car.

You watched him, Dustin, and Robin get in, and within moments, they were driving away into the gathering dark, Dustin’s face staring back at you through the rear window until Steve turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

When they were gone, you sighed and rubbed a hand down your face, your fingers sliding through the drying tears on your cheeks. You knew you should get inside, but suddenly the thought of sitting alone in your empty house made your breath catch. To stave off the panic, you sank back down onto your porch steps, pulling your third to last cigarette from the pack with shaking hands. You singed your fingertips when you flicked the lighter to life, but the minor pain helped to center you.

Your first inhale was wobbly, the second stronger, and you exhaled cloud after cloud of gray smoke, blaming it for the barely-there sting in your eyes.

Suddenly, you thought you heard a noise, and you snapped your head up, cigarette dangling from your lips and heart crawling up your throat. The block of houses you lived on was dark and silent around you. Most of your neighbors had fled after the earthquake— like your mother and her boyfriend. The only one left was Mr. Jacobs at the end of the block, but he was a quiet old man and had probably been in bed for an hour. You squinted into the darkness, but the single still-working streetlight was at the top of the street, and your porchlight only illuminated your front yard and part of the curb.

Your eyes flicked to the looming shadows of the woods across the road. The black tips of the trees scraped the indigo sky, streaked with clouds and stars in intervals. You could see nothing at the base of the trees, everything swallowed in shadow, and your heart started to pound in your ears.

“Obi!”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” you gasped, nearly dropping your cigarette and coming out of your skin. You cast a glare behind you at the front door that had been left ajar, and a moment later, Dustin’s voice called out again, far away and staticky.

“Obi, come in, over,” he said over the walkie that was somewhere in your living room. “Just wanted to let you know I made it home, over.”

You sighed and shook your head, taking another drag to calm your stuttering heart. You turned back to face the street, and your gaze went to the trees again. But there was nothing in the darkness. You’d probably just heard the crackle of static from the walkie before Dustin spoke up.

Feeling stupid, you settled against your porch railing again to finish your cigarette, but after a few seconds, Dustin’s distant voice filtered out to you again.

“Obi, please come in. I’m s-starting to worry. Over.”

The crack in his voice tugged at you, pulled you up on your feet. You cast one last glance at the woods before you picked up the almost empty pack of smokes and your lighter, and then you went inside and locked the door behind you.

You didn’t bother to put the cigarette out since no one was here to bitch at you, and the still smoldering stick hung from your lips as you glanced around for the walkie. You finally saw the antenna sticking up between the cushions of your couch, and you crossed the distance in three strides to pick it up.

“Hey, kid, I’m here,” you mumbled around your cigarette as you clicked the button.

Static crackled back at you, then—

“Jesus Christ,” Dustin panted on the other end of the walkie. “What took you so long? I told you I was going to call when I got home. Over.”

“Sorry. I was finishing my cigarette out on the porch.” You exhaled a stream of smoke, staring at nothing as you listened to the static on the other end.

“Oh,” Dustin said, and you could hear the worry and judgement in his tone. But instead of calling you out for your chain smoking— which was a four day old habit— he cleared his throat. “Do… do you want me to pick you up a new pack on my way over in the morning? Over.”

Guilt squirmed through you again, uncomfortable and writhing. He shouldn’t be trying to take care of you. It should be the other way around. But once again, you’d failed.

The knowledge was more choking than the smoke you were inhaling.

“Henderson, your mom will kill me if she finds out I have you buying smokes,” you said as you clicked on the walkie, hoping it would make him smile. Hoping he couldn’t hear the tightness in your voice. “I’m fine. Just get some sleep and bring your appetite in the morning. Do you want pancakes or waffles?”

Dustin considered this for a moment.

“Both?” he finally said timidly, but he sounded a little bit like the cheeky kid he used to be.

It brought a faint smile to your face.

“Should have known,” you scoffed. “But alright. As long as you bring me some eggs.”

“Deal,” Dustin said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. “I’ll… see you in the morning. Eight o’clock sharp. Try to eat some dinner before you go to bed, though, alright?”

“Will do.”

“Okay… goodnight, then, Obi. Over and out.”

“Night, Henderson.” You listened to the lingering static for a moment before you clicked off the walkie entirely and threw it back onto your couch.

The cigarette wedged in your mouth was a drag away from disintegrating into ash, so you walked over to the kitchen sink to put it out. You held the last breath of smoke for as long as you could before you exhaled, vision going spotting at the corners. You left the cigarette butt on the counter, but when you turned around, your empty house stared back at you. The silence echoing down the hallways was deafening, and your fingers twitched at your sides, needing something to do.

Your eyes fell to one of the kitchen cabinets, and before you knew it, you were bending down to wrench open the door. Shoving aside pots and pans, you groped along the back of the cupboard before your hand closed around cool, smooth glass. You pulled the object out, and the bottle of whiskey sloshed as you dragged it into the light. It was half empty— or half full, depending how you looked at it— and the ghost of a dry, bitter smile flickered across your lips.

“Thanks for dinner, David,” you muttered under your breath as you stood up.

You placed the whiskey on the counter as you opened one of the higher cabinets. Your mother’s array of crystal glasses glinted back at you, and your gaze fell to the fancy tumblers David liked to have his drinks out of while he sat in his recliner and watched TV. He’d never let you touch them before, but you picked one up now, rolling the cool glass in your palm.

As it caught the overhead kitchen light, a memory cropped up unbidden. It was from last fall. You’d come home late from— you’d come home late, trying to sneak into the house under the cover of darkness. But the moment you closed the door behind you, the living room lamp had flickered on, and there was David, sitting in his recliner with this tumbler in his hand. He’d demanded to know where you were, but you didn’t even have time to think of an excuse before he took a deep whiff and sneered at you.

Been smokin’ that goddamn reefer with the Munson freak again, huh?

It had quickly devolved into a screaming match loud enough to wake your mother, who always took David’s side. Just the memory of that night ignited your blood, even now, months later.

Because your mother and her boyfriend had always hated the man you’d spent most of your free time with in the last year. But once you’d turned eighteen, there wasn’t anything they could really do, and you always told your mother that if she kicked you out, you would never speak to her again. You hadn’t really meant it at the time, but now you did.

Another memory rose to the surface of your mind, this one more recent.

It had been the morning after the earthquake. You’d discharged yourself from the hospital AMA and had just staggered out of the building, in shock and in pain, Steve and Dustin trailing worriedly behind you. Your mother pulled up just as you hit the parking lot. She and David had already packed the necessities, and they were getting the hell out of Hawkins. She had tried to drag you to the car, but you resisted, dug your heels in. She finally snapped and whirled on you, her face twisted in a sneer.

Why are you being so difficult?! I heard your little Munson freak is dead, so what the fuck are you staying for?

You had slapped your mother full across the face before she could even blink. You remembered her gaping expression, her red tinged cheek, but you couldn’t recall what you’d spat at her before you started running in the opposite direction. It was more of a stagger, really, which was why Steve caught up to you before you hit the edge of the parking lot, but that had been the last you’d seen of your mother and David. She hadn’t even called you in the days since.

Abruptly, rage sprang to life deep in your gut, burning like a brand. You could hear your mother and David’s voices whispering through your head, overlapping one another.

Been smokin’ that goddamn reefer with the Munson freak again, huh?

I heard your little Munson freak is dead, so what the fuck are you staying for?

Munson freak, Munson freak, Munson freak is dead…

Howling in wordless fury, you smashed the tumbler in your hand against the edge of the sink. The glass exploded into shards, and white-hot pain immediately lanced up your good arm. You hissed as the red fog of rage faded from your vision, and you looked down to see the mess you had made. Most of the glass pieces had ended up in the sink, though a few were now lodged in your hand.

Crimson blood pumped slowly out of the gash in your palm, dripping down to stain the metal sink. You stared at it for a long moment, and you weren’t proud that you wished the cut would have been a little higher up your arm—

Dustin’s face flashed through your mind, followed by a wave of guilt.

No. You were going to keep your promise. You wouldn’t give the boy anymore trauma.

Gritting your teeth against the pain, you used the fingers of your casted hand to wiggle the glass shards out of your right palm. They fell into the sink with soft plinks, echoed by the rhythmic percussion of your still dripping blood.

When you thought most of the glass was out, you blindly reached over for the whiskey bottle and struggled to get it open with your left hand. Then you just tipped it over on the edge of the sink, letting the alcohol glug out across your bleeding palm.

“Fuck!” The burn stung more acutely than anything had in days, and tears leapt to your eyes as you tipped the whiskey upright again.

Grabbing the kitchen towel off the handle of the oven, you quickly bound your palm, grunting at the throbbing pain. Then you reached out with the same hand and picked up the whiskey bottle. Your palm ached at being used, but you ignored it as you wrapped your lips around the neck of the bottle and took three deep pulls.

The alcohol scalded your throat as it slid down into your belly, but it made the pain in your palm more distant, and you coughed as you roughly placed the bottle back on the counter. You heard something over your coughing and thought it was just your knee bumping into the cabinet below the sink as you caught your breath.

But then you lifted your head, and your teary gaze latched onto the window above the sink.

And onto the pitch-black eyes that were staring back at you.

“AHH!” you shrieked as you stumbled backwards, the opposite counter digging into your spine and flecks of glass on the floor cutting into your heels.

The thing beyond the window was gone in a blur of movement, but your heart stopped in your chest when your brain caught up to what you’d seen.

You knew the pale face that had been in the window.

“Eddie?” you breathed, disbelieving. His name tasted like glass coming up, and there was a sound in your head like a roaring hurricane. “Eddie?!”

You were suddenly in motion, scrambling for the front door. It crashed against the porch railing as you burst outside, but then you were flying down the steps, your ribs aching as they strained around your heaving lungs. You could just make out a darker shadow across the street, slipping into the woods, and you sprinted across the road, not even feeling the asphalt and sharp sticks digging into your bare feet.

A distant part of your mind was quietly screaming trap! but you could barely hear it over the one word chanting through your thoughts, blotting out all else.

Eddie, Eddie, EddieEddieEddie.

You clung to his name as you dove into the woods and were swallowed by darkness.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson/reader #eddie munson/you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson/fem!reader #vamp!eddie munson #vamp!eddie #vampire eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #kas!eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic

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buckybarnesdiaries · 4 years ago

Text

white wolf: “the story of a first date”

first part — second part — third part — fourth part (soon)

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Sam helps Bucky to ask you out for a date and it's a disaster, but he gets it.

word count: 3.147 words. (not sorry, it worth it, i promise!!!)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being the cutest gentleman in the whole wide world, and sam keeping an eye on him.

author notes: as it happened with the first part, i'm not really happy with the result but i had so much fun writing it and i think that that made this writing perfect, so i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed it. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

The car stopped because of a red light, a moment where Sam took the advantage to turn at his copilot, glancing at Bucky from top to bottom in complete silence. Analyzing him. The soldier tilted his head raising an eyebrow, showing his curiosity about what the hell he was doing.

“What are you gonna wear, uh?” Sam asked then, maintaining a serious gesture on his face.

“Clothes”. Unworriedly, he put back his eyes to the front window.

“You probably look good naked, but that’s not what I’m talking ‘bout”.

“Just… some jeans, a shirt, and a jacket”.

“And shoes, I guess”.

Bucky turned on his seat towards his friend, squinting confused for the interrogatory. “Who cares?”

“About the shoe—”

“About the clothes”.

“Man, it’s a date! Do you wan’her to remember this night as the night Bucky Barnes shown up as a Russian bum?”

“I’m from Brookl—”.

“Yeah, but you look like mother Russia just spat you to the world”.

Sam rolled his eyes as a sigh escaped his mouth. Shaking his head, he took the next corner to the fifth avenue changing the planes they had in mind. A good outfit meant a good date. A good date meant happy soldier. Happy soldier meant no trouble. See the point? So the Falcon would take care of the Winter Soldier today. If only Steve could see them. He’d feel proud, that was for sure. They visited a couple of shops, finally letting Sam take control over the situation and pick the clothes he would wear for you. He had good taste, everybody knew that, and Bucky couldn’t complain about his choices.

Even less when the distinctive black suit dressed his anatomy to perfection. Spinning around in front of the mirror, he felt different. He looked different. He looked good, but not as he’d like. Holding the bucket of flowers once he was ready, Bucky left his apartment straight to the garage under the building. He was nervous, he couldn’t lie. But he had that sensation inside him that made him believe everything would be okay for the first time since he woke up.

The road didn’t take him more than ten minutes, not really worried about the time given that he had planned to arrive a little sooner than accorded. Life seemed like it was smiling at him, finding a parking lot in the same entrance. Landing his blue eyes on the rearview mirror, Bucky took a last view at his reflection, brushing back his hair as he used to do in the forties. He grabbed then the flowers he bought for you and stepped out of the car, trying to remember the advice Sam gave him. Resting his back against the copilot's door, he waited impatiently for you.

“Hey, you”.

His heart stopped for a second, raising his orbs to the man coming closer. Before he could react, the man in question tucked a hand beneath Bucky's jacket. Patting him down.

“What the hell are you doing, Sam?” He questioned irritatedly, slapping his hands and causing him to laugh.

“Just checking you didn't bring the notecards again”.

“Yeah, very funny…”

“Man, look at you! Should be illegal to look this good, uh?” Sam helped him to put on the jacket again, receiving another slap from his friend.

“Don't touch me”. Scowling, he fixed the flowers in his left hand, wanting them to be perfect. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Watch you till (Y/N) comes. Lemme take a picture, I feel like a proud father on his son's prom day”.

“You're not m— Get the hell outta here, Sam”.

“Fighting again, kids? Should I call your mama?”

As Bucky heard you scoff, his soul abandoned. His pupils dilated. His legs trembled. And he could swear that everything disappeared around him when he watched you going downstairs, swinging your hips unconsciously sensual, with a black dress fitting you like a glove. If this morning Bucky wanted to marry you, now he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. Your makeup was on point, just like your hair, not being too formal but enough to run him out of words.

“Steve is off-duty, so, what 'you gonna do, soldier?” Sam mocked, an instant before noticing how pale Bucky was. He couldn't help but slap the back of his neck to bring him back to reality.

“I, uh… flowers… I bought you…”

“You're not Yoda”. Sam whispered as the other offered you the present.

“C'mon, stop messing with him”. You clicked your tongue, right before you drew an adorable smile on your lips, leaning to kiss Bucky's cheek. “Thank you”.

“You're welcome”. He just answered, responding to your same gesture while opening the door for you.

“Such a gentleman…” His playful murmur made Bucky frown and nudge him, trying to stop him from saying anything else and ruin the occasion.

“I'll bring him back at ten”. You joked palming his chest.

“The point is to not bring him back to me”. Sam cackled, shaking his head and taking a step back.

Once in the car turning on the engine, James joined the road after checking you were good. Never in his life he had driven with so much care as if he was carrying a bomb by his side. He set on the radio, not really knowing how to start a conversation, watching you through the corners of his eyes caressing the flowers over your lap. No one had bought you them before, thinking it was a thing that only happened in movies. But then, you met Bucky. An old-fashioned man, making yourself wonder how he was the same the news used to say he was a cold-blood assassin.

“What have you thought?”

“Uh?”

“About the date”.

“Sam told me about a rest—”.

“Okay, okay, Bucky. Pull over”. You couldn't help but burst into laughter, as his face was pale again thinking you were about to step out and end the date.

“Sorry, did I…?”

You swiveled at him on your seat, kissing your teeth and squinting inevitably. Studying his face you knew how afraid he was, and it was the most adorable reaction ever. You could have kissed at that precise instant, but it'd have been a little awkward.

“Where do you wanna go?”

The question didn't take him by surprise, actually. He was still getting used to doing the things he desired and not what other people asked him to do. The restaurant was a fancy place with a distinguished menu according to what his friend explained to him, but it wasn't the kind of site that he'd normally go, or that represented him.

“When I, uh… came back, I discovered that my favorite burger joint in Brooklyn was still standing”. Bucky told you, facing you after finishing the sentence. “They prepare the best burgers of the whole New York and you can decide what ingredients add, and the bread, and the kind of meat. And it still having the original decoration”.

You reclined on your seat, just staring at him talking with that kind of burning passion about something he loved. Puckering your lips, you nodded your chin. The fact that not only he wanted to take you to a different place, but a place that he used to go to when he was young made butterflies flutter within your belly. Bucky wanted to make you part of his future, but also his past. That made the difference.

“Sounds good to me”.

“Really?” He inquired funnily confused, wrinkling his nose and forehead.

“Really”.

The shine that appeared within his eyes made you place a hand on his cheek to urge him to turn his head and drive again. An innocent gesture that provoked him a lively giggle. If that man knew all the things he caused you, he'd have taken the step months ago.

As the night went on and Bucky was losing his shyness, he talked to you about the good old times. Before HYDRA, before the winter, before the war. When he was a kid with no worries more than keeping Steven safe from the bullies. It was nice to disconnect from the present, from the gazes around the two of you, from the back talks, only enjoying your dinner and your conversation. You talked to Bucky about how was to be raised on a farm, surrounded by open fields and animals, to join the army years later. Without going into details that could make him remember the old bad times, you told him about what you used to do, your missions, and how you were wounded in combat after being shot and fell from a helicopter.

Bucky felt confident enough to compare it with how everything started. Falling from a wagon to the snow. But as soon as his voice became lower, you couldn't help but hold his gloved left hand and intertwine your fingers with his. And you could swear you felt him shaking for a brief moment because of your touch.

“So, what, uh? It was a forties trend to jump into the void?” You tried to joke, wanting to feel relaxed.

“Yeah, seems like”. He mumbled curling up his lips. “Listen… I really want to… open up, and I know it’s easier with you because… y’know, you work doing this”.

“Hold on, Bucky”. You laughed waving your free hand, shaking your chin as you closed your eyes for a second. “That has sounded really bad”.

“Wait, wh— Oh, shit, no, no, no”.

For the first time since you walked into the small restaurant, his laughter was lively, unworriedly, honest.

“Take it easy, just kidding”. You grinned, nailing your elbow on the table to rest your cheek on your palm. “But… this isn’t work. We’re not doing therapy, we’re… knowing each other. And I don’t want to pressure you to talk about something you don’t feel prepared to, okay?”

“I know”.

Bucky couldn’t believe how much you seemed to empathize with him, not judging his acts nor his past, not deciding that the date wasn't a good idea nor running away. He couldn’t believe the less importance you were giving to his arm made of vibranium; usually, people used to freak out, to feel frightened somehow about the things it could do. But you were there, fingers playing with the others as if it was the most common and natural act in the world. And, for you, it was. That was you in all your best. Considerate, smart, patient, lovingly. The rainbow after a stormy life. Everything that Bucky needed in his life to start from scratch and be his better version. A shoulder to lean on and a reason to come back home.

“Was afraid of asking you out”. He confessed after some seconds admiring each other. Any person closer would say you had been dating for a long, long time by the way you had to keep silent and not feel uncomfortable.

“Why?”

“You came from war and made your world a place to live. I’m still stuck there”.

“I have my own red flags”. Clicking your tongue, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, really? Please, surprise me”. Bucky teased you sitting up on his chair, not loosening the gentle grip around your left hand.

“I put the milk before cereals”.

“Oh… Oh, God”. He let out, pretending to be horrified and running a hand on his face. “Goddammit… you’re a monster, ma’am. I don’ think this is going to work”.

“Excuse me?” You chuckled, parting your lips in a breath while leaning over the table to palm his right shoulder. “It wasn’t me who added lettuce to the burger”.

“What? What’s the matter with that, uh?”

“Lettuce kills the savor!”

“Y’know what kills the savor? Ketchup. Today, people use ketchup literally with everything… And that’s disgusting”.

“Okay! Next time, no lettuce, and… no ketchup”.

“That’s a big challenge”. Bucky scoffed tenderly squeezing your hand between his cold fingers.

“I’ll live, Sergeant Barnes”. You narrowed your eyes and crinkled your nose at the same time.

“I was talking about a second date, not about your issue with ketchup”.

“So was I”.

A goofy smirk appeared on Bucky’s face, biting his inner cheek as he assented with his head. Seeing you again, knowing that you wanted it —that you wanted him—, made him trust Dr. Raynor’s words. He was having a second chance to do the right thing. To live and to be.

You wanted to add something else when the clock in his wrist started to beep. Curious, you raised an eyebrow. “We have to leave”.

“Why?”

“Sam told me you work tomorrow at eight, which means you’ll get up at six and a half… maybe seven. While I pay, take you home, all that stuff… I don’ want you to be tired in the morning”.

Bucky would never stop to amaze you, looking up to him in silence to contemplate how he called the bartender and beckoned his free hand to ask for the bill.

“What…? What are you doing?” He chuckled embarrassed, taking his beer to sip.

You cleared your throat when you realized how stupid you should look right now, shaking your head as you freed his cold hand from yours to find unlock your phone as soon as the guy brought the dataphone.

“Hey, no, no. I asked you out, I pay”. Bucky began to fight with you, provoking some laughs on the table as you tried to put your screen above the tpv.

“Well, welcome to the twenty-first century”. You hummed as the operation was confirmed.

“I’ll pay next time”. He declared licking his incisors, prior to his lips.

You wished the ride back home to last forever, not wanting to end the date. But the car reached your neighborhood in a blink of eyes. You couldn't help but sigh barely appreciably for your companion, gazing through the window until double parking in front of your apartment. You turned towards him, hearing the engine shut off. Bucky seemed disappointed like you, not being able to remember when was the last time he had a break, he had fun. The date was nicer than he expected but the idea of not knowing exactly when he was going to see you again was killing him from the inside.

“I'll accompany you”. He declared undoing his seat belt as you did to step out.

You reacted with a delicate smile, holding the bucket of flowers against your abdomen while walking to the front door of the building. That moment was a little uncomfortable, not being sure about how to say goodbye, just looking like two teens in love.

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky”. You uttered without thinking about it. “It's been the best night I've ever had”.

“Next will be better, I promise”.

“That's a big challenge”. You chuckled repeating his words a while ago in the restaurant.

“I'll live”. He nodded convinced, glancing at you bowing down your interest to the red roses between your hands.

How could you tell him that you were dying to be together again? That you wouldn't mind waking up sooner and having breakfast? You bit your inner upper lip, trying to find the correct words to say, without sounding like you were feeling something else to a physical attraction. Bucky was hot as hell, that wasn't up to debate, but he was the kindest and charmingest man you had known. He was sensible and strong at the same time. You both complemented the other like the pieces of a puzzle and you never thought something like that could happen to you. To find your other half and having it so clear you didn't want anyone else.

“I am, uh… free tomorrow”.

His words pushed you out of your thoughts, putting up your attention to a Bucky almost flushing, stroking the back of his head, and having the impression that he could scare you.

“Got a break for lunch, if you want”. You proposed without hesitation.

His eyes sparkled with happiness, holding your left hand with his to bring it to his mouth, placing a fond kiss on the back. Such a gentleman, like Sam said, inducing your cheeks to burn. And then, you saw him doubting about taking another step. You wanted it too to happen, tho, leaning forward to press your lips together. Your eyes snapped closed at that precise instant, not having any rush, tasting each other's and shortening the distance between both of you by his free arm getting wrapped around your waist. The kiss was innocent but passionate. It was warm, intimate, trying to transmit all the chemistry you woke up within the other with only one look, with only one smile. Breaking it —much to your regret— when you needed air to breathe. And even so, Bucky rested his forehead against yours freeing your hand to place it on the right side of his neck.

Neither of the two of you opened your eyes, extending the moment as much as you could. You felt he craved to spend the night with you, and you desired it too, but you also felt that he needed some time to get used to this new world he was living in. It wasn't easy. You thought back to the months after the war, the recovery, the loneliness you forced yourself to be in. You were in Afghanistan for three months. He had been fighting since nineteen forty. And he didn't want to ruin what you were building together.

“I should leave”. Bucky murmured against his wishes.

“See you tomorrow”.

At the moment you opened your eyes to meet the pale blue ones, your whole body felt weak. You saw the brightness in them after letting him know that the second date was going to happen and that it wasn't just a formality before disappearing, wiping out any minimal doubt by kissing him again. The last kiss. A good night, I'll dream with you kiss.

“I'm gonna play this on your wedding day, definitely”.

You screamed because of the unexpected metallic voice coming closer, clinging to Bucky's neck as his heart raced too. Redwing was suspended in the air some steps away from you, being controlled by Sam. Who else is not him, uh?

“I'm starting to think you have separation anxiety”. The soldier growled trying to hit the flying device with his flesh hand, hearing you laughing against his chest.

“Good night, kids”. You chuckled separating from Bucky.

“No kiss for me, soldier?”

“I'm not gonna kiss that thing, Samuel”.

“What about a howl, White wolf? Would be very appro—”.

“White wo—”.

“Please, don't. Don't ask”. Bucky begged you, licking his bottom lip while rubbing the back of his head, clearly ashamed.

“Hope you show me one day what it means…”

“Oh, he will… Just wait till the full moon”.

“Sam!” Bucky and you yelled in unison, you playfully, he annoyed.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and support writers with a REBLOG!!! 🤍

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan fluff #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #bucky x y/n #bucky x you

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arabellamonkey · 3 years ago

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Right Here (At My Fingertips)

stevetony│after decades used to a longing heart, steve realizes he finally has everything he needs right there (at his fingertips); title prompted by @ishipallthings

also on ao3 <3

Steve realized long ago he couldn’t remember a time when he had felt satisfied, a time when he hadn’t longed for something.

He remembers how, as a young, scrawny boy back in the 40s all he had longed for had been a healthy body and a chance to show his worth. And some money, too, just so the creases on his Ma’s forehead would disappear.

He remembers, even clearer, how, once his wish had been granted, he had surprised himself by finding out he still felt unsatisfied. Who could have predicted that his longings would still be there, in another shape, even after his greatest wish had become his reality? Not him, that’s for sure. Once his body was as good as bodies could get and he finally had been granted his chance to prove everyone wrong, he still felt unsettled, unable to find peace.

For when he had been home, he had dreamed of foreign countries and tenches; but once he was among the soldiers, hiding from bombs and running into the unknown, everything he could remember feeling was the ache of longing for his home, his Ma and the neighborhood he had lived all his life in.

So he fought against the evil, and he achieved great things —greatest things than he had even dared to dream with in the first place—, and that much was common knowledge. What the world didn’t know was that, while Captain America won those battles, Steve Rogers lost a whole different battle: the battle against the longing for a past he now feared might be gone forever.

He had honestly thought that would be the peak of feeling lost, but little did he know.

As painful as it is, one of the days Steve remembers the best is the day Bucky’s fingers slid off that bar just before he got a chance to reach for him. He remembers his own screams as if it hadn’t been him the one tearing out his throat. And, worst of all, he remembers his friend falling into the void as a new kind of longing surged up through his chest.

He remembers losing his friend as he started longing, not for the future, but for a chance to relive the past, to allow himself to enjoy every single thing that had once brought him joy only to leave ashes of happiness in its wake.

It was as if all those happy memories that had once warmed his heart had been a bonfire he hadn’t allowed himself to enjoy. And now he found himself wishing he could return, wishing he could light the fire once again only to find it gone.

Despite his almost perfect memory, the days that had followed Bucky’s death had all ended up blurring up together in his mind. If anyone had asked Steve what he had felt back then, his answer wouldn’t have satisfied anyone, for everything he could come up with to describe it was numbness.

It had felt as if nothing had meaning, so the decision to crash the Valkyrie had come to him quickly, and it hadn’t come with any fears accompanying it; instead, it had felt like a chance to finally rest. If he could never find the satisfaction his heart so furiously demanded, at least he would be allowed to rest, right?

He had already hit rock bottom, after all.

Instead, he had found himself in a place he had never expected to get to know. He had opened his eyes and, suddenly, the future had turned into the present and his body, which should have been thousands of feet deep in the ocean wasn’t. None of that felt right; there was nothing familiar anymore in the streets of Brooklyn, and the faces that had once been familiar no longer were.

Still, there was a constant in Steve’s life, and that was the longing that had inhabited his heart since he was a scrawny little boy. It shouldn’t have felt like a comfort, but it had.

So there he was again, being given the chance to fight for everything that felt right and taking it without any hesitations.

But even in that, there had been something different.

He fought against the evil just as he had eighty years prior, and he won and lost some battles, like always. That much was familiar. It was what followed that felt strange: the way the Avengers talked after every mission as they boarded the Quinjet back home. The jokes that flew around, sometimes finding him as the object of them, never failed to baffle him.

And then there was Tony.

Tony, who always was the first to joke but also the first to include him when the conversations started to get out of his grasp, so full of cultural references Steve wasn’t familiar with he tended to feel dizzy. Tony, who always smiled at him while explaining them to him. Tony, who got oh so angry when Steve did something way too risky, as much as Steve insisted on reminding him he was no different.

Tony, who had been the one to propose they used Friday nights as their movie nights. Who had been the one to propose the Star Wars movies as his starting point of “Steve’s 21st-century cultural education”, as the genius had named them.

Tony, whose lips had felt oh so warm that night in his workshop, just after they shared some pizzas while Tony explained to him why he loved every single song that had been playing down there.

Steve had become so used to a heart that always longed for something, never content with what he already had, had started to realize then, as Tony’s lips moved against his in a silent dance he had vowed to never forget, that that same heart no longer screamed so loud. Instead, all those longings had slowly begun to calm down.

Until that night, when all the Avengers had reunited in his living room to watch the last of the original Star Wars movies together. It was then, while Luke fought his father, that Steve had looked down at Tony, who had his head resting on his lap and eyes fixed on the screen.

“Everything all right?” Tony asked, mouth full of popcorn, as he looked up when Steve’s fingers caressed his cheeks.

“Yeah,” Steve whispered, watching his fingers with amazement shining in his eyes as he realized that, finally, he had everything he needed right there, at his fingertips. “Everything’s more than all right.”

#stevetony #stony fanfic #stony fic #my writing #my fic #steve's a soft boy and i'll fight anyone who says the opposite <33

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kindredoctobers · 2 years ago

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hello and welcome to more opinions about steve harrington that absolutely no one asked for!! brought you by me

let’s talk about steve harrington and the bisexual arc he should have gotten.

because okay: i have so many thoughts on steve’s character growth/development in general. because his growth from season one to three?? beautiful. he goes from this popular guy who’s a bully, calls people queer in a derogatory way, and is basically just a shirt person to season three steve: a guy who will continuously put his own life on the like for kids he mostly only vaguely knows, for his ex who is dating the guy she left him for, etc. he’s also basically taken dustin under his wing and acts as an older brother figure to him. and THEN we get to season three steve, who has essentially learned that he can find people to love in his life and it doesn’t always have to be romantic. that’s a BIG part of his arc, with dustin and robin and the rest of the kids, is learning that people can love him and he can love them and that love isn’t only conditional to being romantic. and that’s like fanTASTIC development for steve right there. season one to season three is such a good arc.

and then we get to season four.

now, i actually really liked where they started with season four. because first off, we have the wonderful steve and robin dynamic. absolutely stunning. but THEN we get steve’s whole big thing: he doesn’t know what he wants.

and this is where a steve exploring being not straight would like make SO much sense.

because his whole thing here is he doesn’t know what he wants. he keeps trying to go on dates and they just aren’t going well, nothing is really fitting, and he talks to robin about it i’m episode two i believe. well my friend, if you keep going on dates with women and it’s just not working and you don’t know what you want and what ou keep trying doesn’t seem to be filling that void and answering that “what do i want” question??? perhaps maybe explore NOT women??

and listen. do i know that this realistically probably won’t happen in the show because it’s a) written by two straight white men b) takes place in the 80’s so everyone’s scared to write too many queer characters and c) the only queer rep in the show was brought up by one of the actors and also used to further a straight couple that at this point lacks chemistry?? yeah. do i care?? NO LOL. they wrote it in a way that it would make sense for steve to explore being bi. because also??? eddie flirts with him???? so god damn much this season??? like, listen, i LOVE steddie. and they have so much chemistry like EEK LOVE them. but even if that never ended up being like a realistic endgame, it still would have made sense for steve to have a moment of “oh shit. is this?? what is this?? what am i feeling?? this is nice?? WHAT??”. it also would have i think gone well with the ways he’s grown already, because rather than looking at it as “steve harrington being stuck in his need for romance” it’s “steve harrington learning more about himself in ways he never got to before”. it also makes me absolutely SO mad that they just dragged him right back to the steve ans nancy plot line (but that’s another rant for another time).

bottom line, steve’s character arc this season culs have been WAY better than they did. rather then undoing so much progress and having him focus on maybe getting back with nancy, he literally could have examined himself through a queer lens that he didn’t even know about was possible for himself and learned new things about who he is as a person. and like, that’s what steve deserves.

anyway, i love steve harrington. yeehaw for possible bi steve!!! 💗💜💙

#stranger things vol 2 #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #steddie #steve harrington/eddie munson

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marveldc-imagines-hub · 3 years ago

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Imagine Coming Out to Steve as Bisexual:

A/N: Here’s (hopefully) the first installment of a sort-of series that I like to call the Imagine Pride Series. I don’t know how many I’ll get done this Pride Month since I’m starting it sort of in the middle of the month but if people end up liking it and I get enough ideas/requests for it, I’ll continue it and maybe it’ll become an annual thing until I’ve done a billion characters or get bored of it, lol. Anyway, this first one ended up being very personal for me, which I definitely didn’t intend, but... yeah, lol. Also, this series will be filled to the brim with my personal LGBTQ+ headcanons for Marvel characters, so if that’s not your thing, steer clear. Anyway, enjoy!

Word count: 2,477

Warnings: Coming out anxiety. Use of the Q-slur (reclaiming) and one F-bomb.

Masterlist

Ko-Fi Shoppe

~~~

You were in your bedroom getting prepared for lounge time before bed—and psyching yourself up—when you thought you heard the front door open through your apartment’s paper-thin walls. You grabbed your phone and turned down the music playing from your Bluetooth speaker; the current song was Janelle Monáe’s “I Like That”, from the Queer Confidence playlist that you’d built for this specific event. Taking a deep breath and giving yourself one more good look in the mirror attached to your closet door, eyeing the to-go bag you had packed with essentials and left ready to grab on the bed, you listened to the jingle of keys as they were dropped onto the table by the door. The sound was quickly followed by a voice.

“[Y/N]?” Steve half-hollered, and you heard the sounds of movement as he made his way to the hall. His voice got softer as he got closer. “Baby?”

You gave yourself a shake and patted your face with your hands before answering. “Bedroom!”

Even though the two of you had been living together for well over a year, he still knocked and waited politely outside until you gave him explicit permission to enter. When he did, he immediately gravitated towards you. He casually looked over you, in your pajama pants and baggy cropped sweatshirt, as he strolled over, and seeing the slightest furrow of his brows made your stomach churn. Steve Rogers wasn’t too bad at reading people but he was always able to read you like a book and you immediately knew that he noticed how tense you were.

Apparently, he also noticed that you were trying to keep your cool and act normal because he didn’t immediately jump into Worried Eyebrows Rogers. Instead, he decided to give you some time to sort yourself out and opted to simply hug you from behind. Nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, his warm breath gave you goosebumps as he mumbled a soft, “Hi.”

You almost forgot about your plan as you melted back into his arms. “Hi,” you replied just as softly as you leaned your head to rest on top of his. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and place your hands on his, slowly run your hands up and down his forearms; you tried to take everything in just in case this was the last time you would be held by him. The solidness of the chest you leaned against, the sturdiness of his footing even as you put your full weight against him because, in reality, your body weight was like carrying a loaf of bread to the super-soldier. The curve of veins and muscle across his arms, the dampness of his hair under your cheek that was probably caused by his evening run despite the rain happening at the time. The faded smell of the 2-in-1 shampoo-conditioner that Steve used despite your complaining, the much warmer body heat than any normal person that was like being wrapped in a heated blanket during the wintertime but being suffocated in a sauna during the summer, that currently bled into you and wrapped you into a comforting cocoon.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been standing like that in silence but it was long enough for Steve to decide that it was Worried Eyebrows time. He slowly raised his head again and when you opened your eyes again, he was watching you carefully in the mirror. He wore a dark navy T-shirt that was just tight enough to outline the muscular form underneath—with the help of Thor and Asgardian booze early on in your relationship, you’d gotten a blushing and giggly drunk Steve to admit that he purposely wore clothes like it because he enjoyed the attention, just a smidge—and a pair of black joggers that you got him for Christmas a few months ago.

“Are you okay?” Worried Rogers finally asked when he realized you weren’t going to speak first. He kept eye contact with you via the mirror, which almost hurt to hold on your end, as he pressed a light kiss against your temple and then a second one to your cheek. “You called me home early. Said it was something that couldn’t wait?”

And now I don’t want to say it at all, you thought as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. After hesitating for a bit longer—a few seconds or a half-hour, you couldn’t tell through your anxious haze—you sighed and said, “We need to talk.”

“What, it’s not like you’re leaving me or something, are you?” Steve questioned. The quirk of his brows and a brief smile that appeared told you that he was joking but when you didn’t even chuckle or tease him back, that smile quickly reversed into a frown. “That’s not what’s happening here, is it?”

“Well…” you mumbled, then trailed off. You glanced towards the bed, where your emergency-leave bag sat waiting, and when you looked back at Steve’s reflection, he was staring at the bag with worry lines etched deep into his skin. “That’s up to you.”

“Hold on.” Steve moved from behind to stand in front of you, although it was only briefly as he took your hands tightly in his and led you to sit on the edge of the bed with him. He glanced at the bag again, the lines on his face grew deeper again, and you were suddenly reminded of his true age. He looked you in the eye again. “[Y/N], talk to me.”

“Ours” by Taylor Swift played quietly in the background as you tried to untangle your thoughts and make your mouth work again. The song wasn’t a Pride song or by an LGBTQ+ artist but something about it just fit so well. As you tried to recall the speech you’d been practicing all day, then decided to throw it out altogether, Taylor sang, “So don’t you worry your pretty little mind / People throw rocks at things that shine / And life makes love look hard…”

“Steve, I…” Your tongue seemed to tie itself in a knot whenever you tried to say it.

Steve’s worried, borderline scared, look turned soft. The gentle Worried Eyebrows were back and his thumbs caressed the backs of your hands so softly that it felt like he thought you’d shatter at any minute. He pressed another, stronger kiss against your forehead and mumbled, “You know you can tell me anything.”

Steve was one of the kindest, most welcoming, most understanding people you’ve ever known but there was still something intimidating about telling him. Normally, you couldn’t fathom him reacting poorly to anything that you could have said but now, you couldn’t help remembering the fact that he was a masculine, old-fashioned, soldier—a soldier from the ’40s—who was still the Ideal American Man to a lot of people, especially some rather unsavory people, and to your knowledge, Steve didn’t have any other queer people in his life that were close to him. Maybe he didn’t want any. Maybe he didn’t like them, like many people who idolized him don’t like them.

A little spark of anger sparked in the dark void of anxiety that you were feeling. It wasn’t fair that people hated people like you simply for existing and as much as you loved Steve, if he held the same sentiments, you definitely didn’t want to be with him. The spark quickly turned into a raging fire and suddenly you were blurting out what you’d struggled to say all day, all month, ever since you’d discovered yourself.

“Steve, I’m bi.”

Steve stared at you for a bit, then blinked. “What?”

You took a breath and squared your shoulders. It wasn’t any easier to say it a second time, but you managed in what you hoped was a confident voice, “I’m bisexual.”

Steve blinked again and his head tilted slightly to the side, but otherwise didn’t move much. “Okay.”

“O… Okay.” You echoed. You felt your cheeks grow warm.

Slowly, a relieved smile appeared on Steve’s face and you watched as the tension in his entire posture relaxed. “Was that what you wanted to tell me? You wanted to come out as bisexual?”

Your face grew heated still and you glanced away. You pulled your sweaty hands from Steve’s and wiped them on your pant legs as you stammered, “Y… Yeah, I mean, yes.” You picked at the fraying hem of your shirt for a few moments, then looked back at your boyfriend—to see that he was absolutely glowing. “You don’t care?”

“No, of course not,” Steve said, only to quickly shake his head and backtrack, “I mean, of course, I do! I care because it’s you and your identity. I just— It’s just not what I was expecting at all.”

It was your turn to stare at him. Now you just felt a little silly. “What were you expecting?”

Steve looked past you to the bag sitting on the other side of you and his expression saddened a bit. He took your hand tightly in his own and squeezed them as he looked at you again. “What were you?”

“Uh…” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze, “Well, I guess… I don’t know…”

“[Y/N],” Steve said more sternly, “you don’t have to sugarcoat it. I’m a grown man; I can handle it.”

“A grown man who was America’s Sweetheart in the ‘40s,” you pointed out. “I had a right to be worried.”

Steve nodded slowly. “No, of course, you did. I understand. You know I’m okay with it, though, right? I’ve made that clear, right? I’m proud of you and I’m grateful that you told me. Glad that you felt safe enough to tell me, even if you were still worried about it. You know that, right?”

Kesha’s “Raising Hell” played in the background as you scrubbed your eyes with your sweatshirt sleeves, gave Steve a dumb-feeling nod. Of course, you knew Steve wouldn’t care.

Steve took you in a tight hug as you tried to shake away the tears burning at the corners of your eyes. He ran a hand over your hair and gently rocked the two of back and forth in true, calming, Worried Eyebrows Rogers fashion. After a bit, when he felt you finally relaxing, he murmured against your hair, “I love you, you know? All of you. Because you’re you.”

You felt your cheeks warm again and you nodded against his chest. “I love you too.”

The two of you continued to sit like that for a while until Steve suddenly hummed thoughtfully. He slowly released you and you let him go, he sat back on his hands and chewed the inside of his cheek.

You watched him curiously as he glanced around the room, thinking. “What?”

“You know, I…” Now he trailed off, glanced at you before his gaze darted away again and he chewed his cheek again. “I… Now I know this isn’t my information to share but Buck’s always been pretty uncaring about it, I guess.”

Your brows furrowed. “Buck? Like, Bucky-Buck? Our Bucky.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, our Bucky.”

“What about Bucky?”

Steve hesitated again but eventually continued, “I had almost the exact same conversation with him before he left for the war.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait— Bucky?”

Steve nodded slowly again and his gaze finally settled on you again. “Bi too. Coincidence, huh? He was lucky, sort of. Says he always knew. Obviously not super open, given the time, but he was never ashamed of it or anything.” He paused and briefly glanced away again before continuing. “I still don’t know.”

You blinked. “Don’t know what?”

Steve just stared at you, cheeks tinting pink as he waited for you to put the pieces together.

“Wait, you’re queer?”

Steve shook his head quickly. “Or something. But I don’t like that word. Power to anyone who uses it positively but I was around when it wasn’t.”

“Right,” you said, still dumbfounded, “Sorry. Yeah, I won’t use it for you then. Hang on; you’re not straight then?”

Steve chewed his lip and gave you the cutest bashful smile that you’d ever seen on such a large man; you could almost see the scrawny, sickly, pre-serum Steve sitting in front of you.

“I’m offended,” he softly quipped.

You stared at him a bit longer. Then you burst into laughter. Steve chuckled along with you, watched you with a growing smile as you fell back onto the bed in a giggling fit. Eventually, you calmed down, wiping tears that you weren’t sure were completely from laughing and staring up at the bedroom ceiling. “My gaydar’s fucked, dude.”

This time Steve laughed and he collapsed back onto the bed with you. Then he grabbed you, wrapping his arms tightly around your back as he rolled over with you so that you were laying on top of him.

“Well, like I said,” he said, watching you, “I don’t know.”

“Well, you kind of know, though,” you replied, “right?”

Steve tilted his head a bit, then nodded. “Kind of.”

“So… what?”

“What?”

You shrugged and grinned. “I don’t know. What are you into? What do you think you are? Like, I uh… I like girls. And guys. And everything in between and outside.”

“I thought that was pansexual or something?”

“For some people it is. For some people, bi is only girls and only guys. I tried pan, omni, a few others, but bi was what I always came back to. Bi just… fits.”

Steve sighed and stared past you at the ceiling again. “See, I just think there’s too much information. I’m too old. Get confused easily.”

You snorted and snickered as he flashed a smile at you. “Some people don’t do any of it, you know. Labels and stuff, I mean. They’re just kinda like ‘I like this and all there it is to it.’ No label, just them and love. Couldn’t be me but it works for other people.”

Steve nodded again and after a minute said, “I just like people.”

You smiled at him. “Okay.”

He looked at you. “I really like you.”

The smile slowly turned into a grin. “Oh yeah?”

Steve smiled back and held you tighter against him. “I like you a lot.”

“Well, well, Mr. Rogers—”

“Captain,” he grumbled under his breath, “but it’s fine.”

“Captain Rogers,” you corrected as you slinked up to lean over him. You took his face in your hands and leaned so close that your noses bumped together. “I like you a lot too.”

Steve leaned in the rest of the way to kiss you and you kissed him back. Despite the teasing, the kiss was soft and sweet, and when he pulled away from you, the way he looked at you full of love was just as sweet.

“Love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”

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archipelagolago · 4 years ago

Text

The Verve was right when they sang, "it's a bittersweet symphony, that's life"

÷÷÷

[CW: Steve is struggling with depression and long term ED recovery in this one. More info in the tags.]

Steve's awake. Kind of. He's still laying in bed. Staring at the ceiling. Contemplating his next move.

He doesn't really want to go downstairs to get breakfast. He also doesn't really not want to.

Billy's downstairs. That's a pro. Decisions are downstairs. That's a con.

Steve just feels like.... he doesn't want to do anything. Just feels like.... he wants to do everything.

He feels, mostly, empty. In the spot between his lungs. At the top of where he's trying to breathe. And. No amount of anything will fill the void. No amount of nothingness will drown it out.

Sometimes, he wonders, if it's that freaky air from the upside down building a nest in his chest. But he knows that's not it. The void has been there longer than any demogorgon. Longer than spores in the air and vines under his feet.

It will probably still be there after.

Steve's starting to wish Billy would come and coax him downstairs. Make the choice for him. But Billy won't. He tries to let Steve ride out the waves as they come.

So Steve sits up. Rubs at his eyes and groans. Sort of wants to tear at his arms and scream.

But he sits up. And inhales all the way. Exhales the whole way back.

Then he stands. Keeps the momentum by leaving the room, heading down the stairs, walking into the kitchen.

Billy is sitting at the breakfast bar. Working on the crossword. Hair tied up, nose scrunched up, lips chewed up.

He looks up and smiles when Steve walks in.

Says, "Mornin'," even though it's 2:47 PM.

And he keeps it straightforward. Just Mornin', no Good. He doesn't force Steve to pretend. He lets the morning be neutral.

So Steve nods in response. Can agree that it's something like morning for him.

Billy goes back to his crossword.

And Steve spends a solid few minutes staring at the backsplash of his parent's kitchen.

He blinks. Checks out the fridge. Looks through the freezer. Goes through the cupboards. Tours the pantry.

Nothing looks right. He can't find any food he especially wants. He's not sure there is any food he especially wants.

It's been about three years since he was last hospitalized for his 'eating disorder'. He doesn't like that term. 'Eating Disorder'. It sounds like white haired men and cement flavored mom's peering at him over clipboards. Telling him they, 'understand'. They never do. Hopefully never will.

But it's been three years since his last hospitalization. Since his last rock bottom. And things are different. Easier, even. But they're not easy.

Things are complicated. Messy. Unreliable. Billy says they're, 'less like a roller coaster, more like a traffic jam'. And that sounds true.

Billy's trying to hide his slight frown as he pretends not to watch Steve open the fridge for the third time.

Steve sighs. Drums his fingers over the counter. This one decision feels heavy. Could set the tone for the whole day.

The potential options all feel like regret. Feel unsteady.

Suddenly, Billy is standing beside him. Gently squeezing his shoulder.

Saying, "Do you wanna start with some coffee?"

Steve stares at him for a second, thinking. And yeah, that'd work. Graham crackers are good with coffee. It works.

So he nods and Billy steps back to let him go over to the fridge.

Steve pulls out chocolate milk. Fills half a mug with it, fills the rest with water. It goes in the microwave. For a minute. Sixty seconds.

He pulls the instant coffee out of the cupboard while he waits. Gets the graham crackers from the pantry. Puts a few on a plate.

And then the microwave beeps. And Steve takes the mug out and spoons in instant coffee. Mixes it all together.

He sits down next to Billy. Sips at his mug as Billy supports his curly head with his fist. Billy smiles at him fondly, looks at him with love in his eyes.

He whispers, "I love you, Stevie. You know I love you?"

And Steve nods. Replies, "I know."

Billy continues, "I think. I love you more than I can even understand. I hope you know that too."

And so, Steve takes Billy's face in his hands. Shares his coffee breath with a quiet kiss. All of it like, 'I don't know. But I feel it. And that's enough.'

Steve feels un-empty for all of three seconds before the void eats him back up. It's better than nothing.

He finishes his coffee & his coffee dipped graham crackers. Wants to go back to sleep. But, doesn't.

His mind feels tired, void, but his body is restless. Desires more to be felt. It's like.. the eye of a hurricane. He feels some semblance of calm but knows chaos and destruction are lurking just on the edges of his peripheral. The folds and corners of his mind.

Which. Isn't that just reality? Isn't that just living? He's not sure. But, it's all he really knows.

Steve drapes himself over Billy's back after he puts the dirty dishes in the sink. Kinda wants to melt into him.

Billy chuckles, reaches up a hand to ruffle Steve's hair.

Asks him, "What do you think for 13 down?"

Steve hums, meaning he doesn't know, doesn't want to think right now.

So Billy keeps thinking about 13 down on his own, one hand slipping through Steve's hair, other hand tapping a pencil against the paper.

And Steve feels ashamed. That he's not up for 13 down. That, just now, when Billy said he loved him, Steve said, 'I know'. Didn't feel human enough to say it back.

He's sorry. That he can't be enough of himself to be there for Billy as much as he wants to. That sometimes he comes downstairs only to crawl back up to bed. That he's angry with himself for letting Billy love him. He is sorry. It doesn't fill the void.

Steve swallows against the pull of the empty. Inhales heavy. Murmurs, "Billy, Billy, Billy," on the exhale.

Billy responds, "Yeah?"

And Steve says, "I just like saying your name."

Then Billy wraps his arm up around Steve's side, squeezes his shoulder, and pulls him a little closer. Reaches his hand further up to cradle Steve's check and rub his thumb over the stumble on his lover's jaw.

Which is like. Maybe Steve doesn't have too say, 'I love you,' right now. Maybe, 'I just like saying your name,' is close enough.

________

Steve is lying across the couch now. Hiding under a cave of blankets. Uncomfortable.

After he stopped being Billy's cape, he went back to the kitchen. Felt full of unrest and tried to bury the empty in too many servings of caramel fudge ice cream and cheetos.

It didn't work. Made it all worse, actually.

So now Steve is hiding. Maybe from Billy. Maybe from himself. Maybe from reality. Maybe from everything.

He's wishing his blanket cave will swallow him whole. Suck him into some kind of wormhole. Spit him among stars. Trap him in dark matter.

He doesn't know why he does this. This steady-unsteady thing. This empty/more-empty thing. And that might feel worse than the fall itself. The not understanding why. The not knowing how exactly to make it stop.

So, he's hiding. Probably from himself. Definitely from his answers.

He doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't want to admit the struggle. Maybe doesn't want to fix it. Or is just afraid to.

Billy hasn't said anything about it. Probably doesn't really know how. Because it's not Steve's M.O.

It's an entirely new dance. Though honestly, the rhythm is the same.

But it's not bad like it has been before. It's fine. Kind of. Even though it still feels like searching for comfort and only ever ending up falling, falling, falling. Unravelling.

Steve keeps folding these paper deceptions over and over and over again until they can't bend any further. Until the folds separate into rips.

So. He doesn't want to think about that. He's comfortable enough here, staying hidden.

Steve hears Billy unlock the front door. Listens as he walks over and pauses to assess the lump that is currently his Harrington. Sighs as Billy turns around and goes back to the front of the apartment.

Billy rattles around in the kitchen for a bit, putting away the groceries he just bought. Alone. While Steve stays curled up uselessly on the couch.

And Steve feels shitty about it. About moping around all day while Billy has to do all the functioning-human-work for the both of them.

But he still doesn't get up. Doesn't feel like he can. Thinks he might crumble to dust if he tries.

Billy finishes up in the kitchen and comes over, eventually.

Says, "Hey." Sits on the coffee table with his knees inches from Steve's face and, "Glad you moved up from the floor."

Steve grunts but doesn't say more.

Billy sighs. Rests a hand over the crown of Steve's head, the hair sticking over the blankets.

Wants to know, "How long do you think you can keep going like this?"

And Steve whimpers. Pulls the blankets tighter around himself.

Because he doesn't know. Doesn't want to know.

And Billy's voice cracks when he whispers, "Stevie, I don't know what to do. I don't know if I can keep watching you go on like this."

Steve knows he means it like, 'I'm so worried about you all the time.' Not like, 'I'm tired of you.' But it hurts both ways just the same.

Like Steve, Billy has good and bad days. Steve has sat on that coffee table in front of the couch nearly as many times as Billy has. But it's different now. When Billy has to try so hard everyday. And Steve can't tell if he himself is trying at all. Because, sometimes, the ups are just as sharp as the downs, and the whole world feels so muddled together that nothing real is discernable.

So Steve doesn't say anything in response.

And then Billy is pulling the blankets away from Steve's face and looking at him with something between frustration and sadness.

And Steve wishes he could've gone his whole life without seeing that look on Billy's face.

But then one of Billy's hands is caressing his cheek. Thumb wiping away at tears that haven't fallen.

Billy's expression is neutral when he says, "Scoot over."

So Steve does. And Billy lifts the blankets so he can crawl under and lay next to Steve.

Billy wraps his arms around Steve and holds his Harrington head to his chest.

And Steve's void lifts for one sweet second more.

#tw eating disorders #tw depression #isa did a thing #bittersweet #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove ficlet #so yeah this one focuses on the long term struggle that is ed recovery #and the complex ways in which it effects one's life #and the way that interacts with other mental illness- in this case: depression

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wannabe-fic-writer · 4 years ago

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Prove Me Wrong

Summary: She can trust you, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

Warning: 18+ Mental Health, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Smut

Chapter 11

* * * * * *

Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap

A slightly hairy hand shoots out and wraps around your fingers. The person it belongs to gives it a gentle squeeze, prompting you to look up at him.

Bucky’s brown eyebrows raise in concern and his lips twitch at the corner in sympathy.

“I know there’s a lot on your mind right now but the tapping-”

“Sorry.” You sigh, eyes moving back down to the cup of hot chocolate you’d long since stopped drinking.

Despite the insanely cold and snowy weather of New York, Bucky and Steve persisted they take you out of the compound.

The tense atmosphere in the facility was a bit smothering. On top of that your friends had noticed how upset you were over your current situation with Natasha.

It’s been a mere four days since everything happened and you’ve genuinely felt lost without the redhead. And while your friends have been giving you all the love and support you could ask for, it didn’t fill the void Natasha’s absence at created.

Steve’s free hand reaches across the table and squeezes your shoulder,“ y/n it’s going to be okay.”

“Is it though?” A sigh leaves your lips,“ how okay can it be if I’ve hurt someone I love?”

Due to you having felt your love for Natasha for a minute now, the words are spoken casually. As if this wasn’t the first time you’d said them. But Steve and Bucky know that this is in fact the first time you have.

Which makes their shock become written on their faces. Brows raised, jaws dropped, and eyes on you.

Looking up, you notice their expressions.“ What?”

“You love her?” Bucky asks.

Que your shock. Not at knowing but at saying.

“I- wh-” the groan you let out earns frowns from the few people scattered about the coffee shop, and burying your face in your hands makes your friends sigh.

“Just, talk to her.” Bucky shrugs, not sure what else to say.

Gaze rising to him through your fingers, you reply,“ I can’t. She doesn’t want to talk to me.” You sit up straight,“ and she has a right. I preached honesty in all of our sessions and our first date just to be lying to her the whole time. I’m the biggest hypocrite.”

Steve nods,“ I don’t think you did it to hurt her. And I think Natasha knows that as well. But trusting someone- its-” the blonde starts off strong but seems to lose his words.

Bucky is the one that continues,“ when you trust someone and they lie to you it fucking hurts. Regardless of their intentions. So give her time.”

You nod.

True to Bucky’s suggestion. Time is exactly what Natasha needed. Less time than you’d expect.

In fact she comes to you the next day.

Your legs hand over the back of the couch, fingers brushing the soft rug as you hang upside down. Across from you, Carol sits in your chair petting Goose.

“I’m just saying, talking about your missions to space would help. Not even in an “address your traumas” way just in general.” You tell your friend.

A low laugh sounds from the blonde,“ I talk about my missions all the time. Maria and Monica love my space missions.”

“Are you being completely honest with them when you talk about it?”

Her frown answers that for you. But before she can verbally reply, your office door opens.

Glancing over, you see the ex-assassin standing in the doorway. Green eyes flicking from Carol to you. And as quickly as possible you scramble to stand from the couch, damn near kneeing yourself in the face as you do so.

Liho casually strolls in behind Natasha, eyeing the foreign cat in Carol’s lap.

“Natasha. Hi.”

Hi? You mentally scold yourself. Is that really the best I could do?

Carol is quick to excuse herself, holding Goose, and smiling softly at you before slipping past Natasha and down the hall.

The redhead gently closes the door behind her and looks at you silently.

“I’m real-”

“Am I still scheduled for a session?” Her eyebrow quirks.

You nod. Silently moving to sit in your chair across from her. You give a smile to Liho who purrs as you pet her and seconds later finds her way on to your desk(a place she always puts herself in when Natasha comes by).

It’s far too quiet for your liking but you know it’s best to let Natasha speak first. The last thing you want is to piss her off before she’s even spoken.

The woman gets comfortable on the couch, legs crossing, as she looks over at you.“ Doc what are your thoughts on hypocrisy?”

You breathe a humorless chuckle, mumbling an “I deserved that” before answering.“ I believe that hypocrisy is purely driven by self-interest. Most commonly, hypocrites go against their own morals because they feel that the personal benefits mean more than acting morally.”

She hums,“ you see. I have to ask because I’m currently in a situation with my girlfriend. She’s lied to me on a number of occasions even though she explicitly demanded my honesty throughout our relationship.”

“And, um, how does that make you feel?”

“Like-” she licks her lips, eyes diverting to the bookshelves,“ like maybe she lied to me because she doesn’t trust me. Which hurts, cause I’ve given her every reason to, despite my reservations.”

Bucky said it. She trusted you and you fucking hurt her.

“Do you think that’s the actual reason behind her lie?”

“Was it?” Her green eyes find your e/c ones again.

Taking a deep breath, letting your shoulders drop with the exhale, you scoot to the edge of your chair,“ I trust you with my life Natasha and I have since the moment you let me in. I just- I lied because I didn’t want you to think I was weak. Which is stupid I know, assuming just makes me look like an ass, but I guess I was projecting.”

Your words make her frown. Her head tilts in the slightest.“ Projecting how?”

“Honestly? Sometimes I do feel weak. And it’s been a pretty prominent feeling this past year than ever before. Which- I’m not blaming any of you but, just being here? Talking to all of you? It’s like most of you have dealt with all kinds of things your entire lives.

And then I take on a mere hour of those emotions and I feel like I can’t handle it. While part of me knows I can. Another part of me feels like I’m in over my head, thinking I can help you.”

Natasha watches you as you speak and she swears you look more vulnerable in this moment than you ever have(and that’s including when you told her about the judgement you received for your powers). And it breaks her heart to hear that you don’t see how strong you are.

Which she feels she should correct.

Standing, the woman rounds the table, and squats in front of you. She takes her hands in yours and tries to catch your eyes.“ Y/n you are far from weak. The fact that you’re even able to help us cope with our traumas is strong. To then take on those emotions yourself-” she trails off with pride swirling in her eyes.

Her admission is definitely soothing in the moment at least. But you’re suddenly reminded of how this started in the first place.

“My reasons for hiding it don’t make it better. I never should’ve lied to you, regardless of my insecurities.” Your eyes flicker away in uncertainty, before returning to those gorgeous green orbs.“ I- I love you Natasha and I’m sorry for making you questions your own trustworthiness. I also promise to never ever lie to you again, just, please, give me another chance.”

If she’s being honest you had her at I love you, but your promise makes it a million times better. And she trusts you to hold that promise.

Gently, she brushes a strand of hair from your face, and cups your cheek,“ you get one,” her serious expression morphs to a smile,“ mainly because I love you too.”

This takes the top spot for your favorite moments with Natasha, effectively knocking your first kiss and date to spots two and three.

Leaning forward, you cup Natasha’s cheek, and pull her into a kiss. For the first time you feel love communicated through the action. Perhaps it had been there before and you hadn’t noticed, either way you love it.

As does Natasha, possibly even more so, proven by the way she lifts up, deepening the kiss as she situates herself on your lap.

The woman’s legs rest either side of yours, effectively trapping you beneath her, as her tongue dances with yours.

Daring to go further, you trail away from her lips, taking in a deep breath before attaching yours to her neck and collarbone. If the tightening of her legs around you is anything to go based off of, she enjoys your actions.

So much so that an involuntary moan quietly escapes her as you gently suck a mark onto her skin.

When she pulls away, you think that’s the end of this, at least for now.

Natasha climbs off your lap and walks across the room to the door. The lock clicks with the twist of Natasha wrist, and she’s turning back to you with a dazed look in her eyes.

Holding your gaze, she slowly grasps the bottom of her shirt, and raises it above her head. Your heart pounds with every inch of skin that’s revealed to you.

Your eyes catch the scars littering her abdomen and you move without thinking. Walking over to the woman and running your fingers along a more noticeable one.

The pink, slightly puffy, skin makes it clear it’s completely healed. But you can only imagine the pained it’d caused when inflicted.

“You’re perfectly imperfect Miss Romanoff.” You whisper, lifting your eyes to hers.

It’s almost reeling to see the intensity in her green eyes.“ I love you.” She says for the second time and your heart beats that much faster.

“I love you too.”

The both of you seem to free fall into the passion of the moment. Hands make quick work of your clothing until it’s thrown around the room and your laid bare before each other.

Hovering above Natasha, you kiss from her now bruised neck to her chest, sucking a nipple into your mouth until it stands at attention. Only moving to the other after she’s moaned, her fingers curling into your hair.

She gives a pleasantly painful tug when you release her second breast with a quiet pop. And as your eyes meet, you kiss her again, simultaneously running your fingers through her folds.

Her arousal wraps around your fingers and you swallow her next moan with another kiss.

While the walls are soundproof, you aren’t interested in finding out just how much.

She bites her kiss swollen bottom lip as you ease a finger into her and press your thumb to her clit. You match each thrust of your fingers with a roll of your thumb.

All the while loving the sound of your name falling from Natasha’s lips like a prayer.

Not wanting to be the only one receiving such immense pleasure, the redhead snakes a hand between your legs and applies the perfect amount of pressure to your bundle of nerves.

A breathy cry of her name leaves your lips as your body jerks from the sudden touch and incredible feeling. You have little to no idea how that reaction effects Natasha, that is until another rush of arousal pushes against your fingers.

Then reminded of your goal, you focus on bringing Natasha to heavens gates, curling your fingers inside of her.

“F-fuck Y/n.”

Had her own fingers not been slipping into you, you definitely would have been smirking proudly.

The fluttering of her walls around your fingers gives away how close she is so you increase the speed in which your roll your thumb against her clit.

“Let go, I got you.” You assure her, the words a breath against her ear, and exactly what she needs to do so.

Clenching around you, her back arches, effectively pushing your chests together. She shuts her eyes and slowly grinds against your fingers to ride out her high.

A moment passes of you feeling her heart pound against her chest as she comes down. And the second she does, without warning, she curls her fingers inside you.

“You are going to give me the pleasure of watching you come undone aren’t you?” She asks, lips barely pecking yours.

But you nod, climbing higher and higher with each thrust.“ Y-yes.” You verbally answer.

Natasha takes delight in seeing your usually calm self seemingly so undone. A smirk tugs at her slips and she deliberately presses harder against your clit. That action timed with one seemingly deep thrust of her fingers sends you over.

Your girlfriend even more please to hear your curse her name in ecstasy.

Breathlessly, you rest your forehead against her shoulder. Catching her obvious action of licking you off her fingers.

Spurned on by her action, you pull her into a bruising kiss. Your hand gripping her hip as you press ever closer.

And you don’t even try to stop yourself from, once again, telling her,“ I love you.”

Earning a glorious laugh from the woman who then kisses you,“ I love you too.” And god you could hear those words forever and die happy.

* * * * * *

taglist: @username23345 @muffliat-o @aaron-despair @natasha-danvers @wildhoney32 @criminallyhamilton @fayhar @nat-km-mh @chicken-wang09 @trikruismybitch

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #prove me wrong #reader insert

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moonbeambucky · 4 years ago

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 8)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 4650 Warnings: fluff, light angst

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 7 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Walking out through the automatic doors of Metro-General you were hit with a gust of wind so strong you had to adjust the scarf you had wrapped around your neck to make the fabric feel cozier. In your pocket you feel your phone having a near seizure as it vibrates, alerting you of all the messages you received during the day coming in all at once thanks to the lack of service on the eighth floor.

That’s where you spend most of your time, in the social work department sitting in a small cubicle with yellow fluorescent lighting hanging above and a drafty window that whistles as the wind blows. So far most of your work has been shadowing Elena as she is called down for consultations. When asked, you’ve given appropriate suggestions on what services would best suit the patients but you aren’t yet familiar with enough of them.

It was slow today, which was surprising for a Saturday she mentioned, so most of your time was spent researching the organizations within your reach and learning about the different services they provide. Staring at a screen all day made your eyes nearly close a few times but you survived. On your way home you read through all the messages received.

Ever since your celebratory get together everyone became friendlier with each other and started a group chat, declaring that on weekends you should all meet up and go to different bars.

Not everyone could always make it. Sam was usually working much to Wanda’s dismay, and another time Natasha was preparing for a large trial and needed every minute to work on her case. Bucky would show up about half the time, and you never asked why he couldn’t make it, assuming he had plans to hook up with someone whenever he wasn’t with you guys.

He still had women over on most nights. They weren’t as loud as before but you could hear them, panting his name like a sensual prayer as you scurried across your apartment to the bathroom. If he wasn’t finished by the time you were back in bed you put on your trusty headphones and hoped to fall back asleep.

When you finally exited the subway you replied back to the texts declining tonight’s invitation. You were honestly ready for a nap and even if you took one you doubt it would give you enough energy to stay up later.

A slew of sad faces sent by Steve made you feel a little guilty. He really wanted you to come out with him, especially since he started socializing again but you really needed this night off.

You: I promise I will do my absolute best to come out next weekend

Wanda: You better! Oh and we still have to talk costumes!

Halloween weekend was soon approaching and you knew you couldn’t miss that no matter how tired you were but tonight you were ready to crash.

Your heels were kicked off immediately, makeup barely wiped away as you changed into pumpkin pajama bottoms. Unhooking your bra felt heavenly and you tossed it aside, having it land somewhere in the vicinity of your living room. You slipped on a tank top and threw a comfy sweatshirt over that before plopping onto your bed and under the covers.

With your head on the pillow you stared at the phone cradled in your hand, holding it on the adjacent pillow. You weren’t actually trying to pay attention to the show you put on, just wanting something to fill the void of silence and within a few minutes you were asleep.

It was pitch black when your eyes opened. You searched for your phone on your bed, hands skimming across the mattress but you couldn’t find it. The smarter thing to do would be to turn on the lamp on your nightstand which you finally did. Your phone had fallen to the floor and upon picking it up you saw the time. It wasn’t that late, only nine-something. You could still go out and meet up with everyone but you chose not to. You were still kind of tired and now very hungry. Too lazy to make something you ordered pizza.

Hocus Pocus played in the background as you waited for your food; and finally looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror you fixed your half-assed attempt at makeup removal from before. Feeling more energized you straightened up your tossed clothes while absentmindedly singing along.

“I put a spell on you and now you’re gone, gone, gone so long. I put a spell on you and it was strong, so strong, so strong, so strong.”

You bounced around your apartment continuing to sing while tidying up. You were so excited for the prospect of pizza you practically ran to your door when there was a knock, opening it without looking through the peephole.

Instead of the pizza there was Bucky, arms crossed with a beaming smile. “Hey neighbor.”

You were surprised to see him, wondering why he would be knocking at your door and not out like you thought he would be. He also declined meeting up with everyone tonight so you assumed he had plans of his own.

“H-hey, what’re you doing here Bucky?”

His arms fell to his sides. “Oh nothing, just wanted to say thank you.”

Your face scrunched with confusion, trying to think of what reason he might need to thank you but just then Bucky answered the question you hadn’t asked.

“For the show. I put a spell on yooooou,” he mimicked, swirling his arms across his chest performatively.

“Oh no, you heard me!?”

You hid your face in your hands as Bucky chuckled, “Thin walls, remember?”

Peeking through your fingers you saw the genuine smile stretched across Bucky’s face. He may have been teasing but he wasn’t laughing at you. Thankfully he hadn’t heard anything worse, because if there was a real Disney marathon on he might have been the one putting on his headphones to block out the high notes you strained to reach in “Let It Go.”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” you smirk back at him. “So, you headed out?”

His head shook before he answered. “No, staying in tonight. I was up all night composing; it threw my whole day off.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that goi– ” The loud buzzing of your doorbell made you jump. That was the pizza. “Hang on a sec.”

You stepped back into your apartment to press the bell for the front door, telling Bucky he might as well step inside as you went to get your wallet.

“Are you hungry? I got pizza from Antonio’s. Have you tried them before?”

He thought about it and shook his head.

“Well sit down then and we can cross it off our list.” You smiled, turning around as you heard the muffled ding of the elevator from down the hall and waited at your front door for the delivery.

Bucky didn’t plan on spending his evening with you but he certainly didn’t mind the sudden change. He excused himself to go back to his apartment and turn off his lights. While there he cancelled plans with a girl named Rachel who would have been over sometime after midnight. She was cute but he really wasn’t feeling anything and truthfully between the lack of sleep he doesn’t have the energy to entertain her.

When Bucky came back you had the pizza set up on the table beside some plates and napkins. “Not sure what you wanted to drink,” you stated, opening your fridge and letting him choose what he wanted.

Together you settled down on your couch, with Bucky holding onto the beer as you raced up again to grab a coaster. He chuckled to himself as you bounced back beside him, taking a sip of the soda that you splashed with a little rum.

“See, it’s like I went out tonight,” you chuckled, raising your glass.

As Hocus Pocus ended you let him flip through the channels to find something to watch. There was an abundance of Halloween movies on and Bucky gasped when he found the perfect one.

“You’ve seen Psycho, right?” He smiled when you nodded. “Okay, but you haven’t seen it with me so you’re really in for a treat.”

Bucky sat up straighter, excited for the start of one of his favorite movies. It took less than ten seconds for him to start breaking things down to you, and not in a pretentious way you’ve been accustomed to by men before. Though you didn’t know Bucky for that long you could immediately see a change in him. His eyes lit up, filled with wonder as he began to describe the score.

“Right away we’re hit with unnerving music playing over the opening title sequence, with the text literally being dissected. It’s audiovisual foreshadowing in its most beautiful form. It really sets the tone for the film.”

All throughout the film Bucky would interject facts that you loved to hear, especially since every word was laced with passion.

“Have you noticed something?”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be noticing,” you said, smiling at him while grabbing another slice.

“The score. It’s all strings. It’s beautiful. You know piano might be my favorite to play but strings…” he sighed happily, “Those are my favorite to compose.”

As the movie continued you couldn’t help but glance over at Bucky, watching the way he would sometimes shut his eyes and listen to the score alone, his mouth tugging his lips into a content smile as he appreciated the music.

When the infamous shower scene came on Bucky tapped your arm, practically scrambling to talk about the score again.

“Herrmann designed the score in a way where the shrill notes of the strings represent the blade stabbing Marion even though you don’t see it. That’s the power of music.”

Bucky turned to the screen to watch the score play out over the scene and when it was over he suddenly remembered he was with you in your apartment and not back in college where his rants on music analysis were welcome.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, you probably just wanted to watch the movie and I’m ruining it because I can’t shut my damn mouth.” Fingers ran through his long hair as Bucky let out a stressful sigh.

“No, Bucky it’s okay really. I liked learning about that, it’s not something I ever really thought of before.” Your smile washed away his worries and Bucky thanked you for letting him ramble on.

When the movie ended you and Bucky continued to lounge on your couch, finding another one to watch. Feeling a chill run down your back you grabbed the fuzzy blanket and draped it across yourself, extending the material to Bucky in case he was also cold. With the comfort of the blanket and pizza filling your sated stomachs, neither you or Bucky realized you had ended your evening by falling asleep.

You awake with a groan, reaching your hand up to your neck as it stretches uncomfortably. Blinking your eyes a few times you noticed you weren’t in bed and your couch didn’t feel normal. Sitting up and stretching you finally cocked your head and realized why; you weren’t sleeping on a cushion.

Bucky was asleep on your couch in a half sitting up, half laying down, one-hundred percent uncomfortable position. It wasn’t unusual to have a man sleeping on your couch as Steve had crashed there in the past, and occasionally you had fallen asleep on him but Bucky was not Steve. Yet somehow it didn’t seem as awkward as it should have been. Maybe it was the way Bucky bared his musical heart last night but you felt like you understood him on a new level.

Quietly you got up from the couch, gently placing cups and dishes in the sink making sure they didn’t make a sound. You threw away whatever garbage was lying around, setting the pizza box aside and then finally made your way to the bathroom. You forgot to lock the door and hoped he wouldn’t wake up. Sleeping on Bucky was one thing but you’re not ready for him to burst through the door as you’re peeing.

“Shit. Did I fall asleep here?” Bucky rasped as he woke up not long after.

“Yeah it’s alright. How’s your neck?” you asked just as his face scrunched together while stretching.

“Not the best.” Bucky looked around, seeing your bed covers thrown in the same position he recalled from the night before. “D-did you sleep here too? I mean on the couch, I know this is your place,” he chuckled somewhat nervously.

“Yeah, sorry if your arm’s a little numb. I think I slept on it.” You grimaced as he shook the pins and needles feeling away.

“I feel terrible imposing like this. Let me make it up to you. Breakfast at my place? I make the best omelettes. Five stars, I promise.”

His head tilted down to reveal big, blue eyes that begged for forgiveness. You couldn’t say no if you tried.

“Sounds good Bucky.”

You agreed to come over in a half hour as Bucky wanted to take a shower to really wake himself up first. As the warm water sprayed against his aching muscles he frowned, wondering why he was upset at the momentary loss of your scent surrounding him. This was… weird and Bucky decided not to give it further thought, figuring it comes with the territory of having new friends.

Sunday’s were the only day you had for yourself; no work, no internship, just a full day you could spend however you wanted. Breakfast with Bucky was worth spending some of that time on. Not only were his omelettes as delicious as he said they would be but you really enjoyed his company, even after spending most of the night together.

“Steve you look amazing!”

You beamed as he walked into your apartment, twirling around slowly so you could get a good look at his Robin Hood costume. He set his bow down on your table, asking to help adjust the straps of his quiver containing his plastic arrows.

“So you think you’ll find your Maid Marian tonight?” you smirked, adjusting the hood attached to his green tunic.

Steve chuckled under his breath, ignoring you and quickly changing the topic. “You look heavenly,” he said teasingly.

You raised your palm, belting out an angelic sound as you looked up towards the large silver halo hanging above your head. For your Halloween costume you were going as an angel, wearing a long pleated white dress adorned with a sequined straps and feathery white wings that stuck out a few inches past your shoulders.

“My feet are going to kill me,” you stated, slipping into a pair of glittery platform pumps you haven’t worn since attending your friend Nakia’s wedding last year. “But it’ll be worth it.”

Wanda was dressing up as a devil, probably perfecting her scarlet lips as you speak. She was going to meet up directly at the bar along with Sam who would be coming straight from work. Clint and Natasha would be traveling with you and Steve, and Bucky… well he didn’t exactly RSVP for tonight’s hang out. He said he would try to be there and you hoped he would. It’s been a while since the whole group was together and you missed the fun of that dynamic.

A knock on your door had you clacking your heels against the wood floor as you stride across the room. Steve cocks his head at the immediate burst of laughter he heard.

“S-Steve...”

You’re barely able to get his name out as you walk further into your apartment, face tight with laughter and then he sees it... Clint’s costume. Steve’s head tips backwards immediately with laughter as his hand goes to his chest, unable to contain the sight in front of him.

Clint was dressed, or rather undressed as Princess Leia in her prisoner outfit. A green bra adorned with golden accents stretched across his pale chest and the skirt was cut high on his legs, revealing they had not seen the sun in years, or maybe ever. He wore cowboy boots to complete his look, twirling the gold chain that hung from the choker around his neck, grinning widely at Steve who could not catch his breath.

Natasha strode in behind him as the sexiest Han Solo you’ve ever seen in a simple white shirt and black vest, knee high boots over slim blue pants. They looked amazing together but Clint obviously won between the two.

Locking up you looked over towards Bucky’s door, debating for a moment to knock and see if he would come out. You hadn’t heard much noise through the wall so you let it go and headed towards the elevators with everyone.

“Wanda! What the fuck?!”

You stared at your best friend wearing a costume that was not what you had planned.

“Didn’t you get my text?” She tucked a freshly colored strand of hair behind her ears, a deep cherry red that make the white hat bearing the red nursing cross symbol of her costume stand out even more.

You shrugged off your bag to grab your phone and check, muttering under your breath how mad you would be at yourself if you missed her text.

“Wait, stop.” Wanda halted your actions as you held your phone. “I didn’t text you. I’m so sorry Y/N. I didn’t want you to be mad at me but I really wanted to go as a nurse.”

“Wan, I wouldn’t have been mad.”

“It’s just that Sam is coming from work and I thought it would be cute… to match him.” She tried to hide the blush that dusted her cheeks.

You teased her a bit more, asking if she and Sam are gonna actually do something other than flirt with each other.

“Well, maybe tonight we can change that.” She smiled, with a hopeful twinkle in her eye.

“I hope so. Sam would be a total ass if he didn’t make a move, just sayin’”

“Speaking of asses, Clint’s is hanging out!” She pointed towards him laughing, “I cannot believe he wore that!”

The night was fun as you danced and drank with the girls. Sam arrived later than you expected but Wanda lit up like a Christmas tree. He wore blue scrubs (a fresh pair thankfully as he began to describe a trauma that came in earlier) and he was equally surprised to see her costume.

“If you came in lookin’ like that we would have had to put a lot of people on life support!”

Wanda and Sam went to get a drink together leaving you and Natasha alone to dance. Clint was sitting in a booth and you scanned the room for Steve who you thought was with him.

“Oh my god!”

You turned Natasha around, to point at Steve in the corner talking to a beautiful Daenerys Targaryen. You had seen a few of them tonight already, some wearing the blue and gold dress from Qarth and another as Daenerys if she were a White Walker, but this one caught your eye.

She was shorter than Steve but stood tall holding her shoulders back. There was something regal about her and not just because she was dressed as the Mother of Dragons determined to finally set sail to Westeros. You couldn’t hear their conversation but you could tell that Steve was hooked on every word, captivated by the way she spoke, watching him look to the floor with embarrassment after she flashed her smile at him.

A woman with short blonde hair dressed as Cersei Lannister came up to them, handing Daenerys, who was obviously her friend, a drink. Steve politely introduced himself, though it was clear he only had eyes for his Khaleesi.

“What’re we looking at?”

The hot breath of a voice tickled your bare shoulders and you turned ever so slightly to find Bucky’s face right beside you.

“You made it!” you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around Bucky for a hug and he was careful of your wings as he returned the gesture.

“Hey neighbor, or uh neighbors,” he laughed at himself greeting Natasha. “Why are you staring at Steve?”

“‘Cause I think he’s actually flirting with someone for the first time in over a year!”

Bucky smiled as he saw how happy you were for Steve. You had a big heart and it was one of the reasons Bucky really liked you– your friendship, he corrected his inner thoughts.

Natasha walked back to sit beside Clint leaving you and Bucky together. You finally take a look at his costume; a black leather jacket and white t-shirt, cuffed jeans and high top Converse sneakers. His hair was slicked back and pulled into a bun, not the right length to really style as Danny Zuko but everything else made it obvious.

You followed him as he went to the bar to get a drink and got yourself another. He raised his voice over the loud music, “So how many people have asked if it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”

“Surprisingly not too many. But someone did grab my hand and said they were ‘touched by an angel.’”

Bucky scowled. “Who grabbed you?” He started looking around the bar, flaring his nostrils as he scanned the room, as if he would magically be able to tell.

You placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “It’s okay, Steve and Clint took care of it. I think Clint scared the guy more to be honest.”

A smile cracked on Bucky’s face again. “He’s pretty brave. You wouldn’t catch me in that.”

“No you look like more of a Luke to me, like literally you kind of look like a young Mark Hamill.” You smiled as Bucky laughed, protesting your claim. “No it’s true. If your hair was shorter I could totally see you pull off an awesome Luke Skywalker.”

“Cut my hair? Hmm, I don’t think so.” He shook his head quickly.

The two of you went to the table with Natasha and Clint and the four of you were soon joined by Steve, whose eyes might as well have been in the shape of hearts by the expression he couldn’t shake.

“What’s her name?” Clint cooed, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his hands under his chin.

A deep smile spread across Steve’s face as he slouched into the chair, his body becoming jelly at the sound of her name leaving his lips. “Peggy. Peggy Carter. Agent Carter actually.”

Peggy was a British Intelligence Agent who worked at the Consulate in New York. Steve looked over her contact information on his phone and even though she was a few feet away from him he couldn’t wait to see her again. He had taken enough of her time away from her friends, Carol, the Cersei who he just met, and the group they were supposed to have joined though Steve and Peggy’s extended conversation kept her occupied.

“Those might as well be Cupid’s arrows huh, Robin Hood!” you teased.

Natasha smirked, “Speaking of Cupid…” She directed everyone’s attention to Sam and Wanda having a full on makeout session in the middle of the dance floor.

Clint roared loudly at them which they may not have heard over the music, but either way it didn’t seem like anything would stop their lips from separating, even the need for air. At least Sam was a doctor, he’ll know what to do.

Everyone seemed to break up into groups. Sam and Wanda were still inseparable, Clint was with Natasha posing for pictures, Steve met up with Peggy again and you couldn’t be mad about that, which left you and Bucky alone.

It was nice to catch up with him again. Between developing programs for The September Foundation and interning at the hospital and Bucky working to meet a deadline you hadn’t seen much of each other in the last week.

“Must be fun though,” he commented, while discussing your new duties at Stark Industries.

“Maybe it would be if I wasn’t so intimidated,” you half-joked, laughing before you took a sip of your drink. “I’m surrounded by– ”

“Buuuccckkkkyyyyy!”

The familiar sound of a woman whining his name interrupted you. A creepy tingle ran down your spine as you remembered where you’ve heard that exact whine before– through the walls.

A redhead wearing hardly anything runs up to Bucky and clearly they have been well acquainted before. She ignores your presence completely as she wraps her arms around him for a hug, pulling him away from you. In doing so you missed the uncomfortable look on Bucky’s face.

“Dot. I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Same. If you told me we coulda matched Buck. I’d be the Sandy to your Danny.” She lifted her chest, pushing her breasts out even more than they already were.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Bucky wondered out loud, looking up and down at the lingerie she was wearing.

Dot scoffed. “I’m the witch from Hocus Pocus.”

Bucky sort of saw it; the purple lace up corset and sheer skirt, cut specifically to show more skin, with the lacy green robe. Her red curls were sort of shaped into Winifred Sanderson’s similar hairstyle but Dot specifically let a few tresses fall beside her face.

“I put a spell on you and now you’re mine!”

She sang every note off key and Bucky tried to stop his face from looking like he was going to throw up. It was nothing like the way you sounded that night you were singing carefree in your apartment. Bucky turned around to plead with you and help him get rid of this girl but you were nowhere to be found.

With Bucky’s attention clearly taken you decided to get another drink and there you ran into Bruce. You knew him from work as one of Tony Stark’s top scientists. You had run into during the R&D meetings you attended with Maria but tonight he looked great as Doc Brown from Back to the Future.

“Some of us science bros wanted to dress up accordingly,” he chuckled softly, pointing out his friends dressed as other famous fictional scientists, Dr. Frankenstein and a mashup of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.

“That’s amazing!” you laughed, beaming a wide smile that caught Bucky’s attention from across the bar.

You looked really happy while talking to that guy and Bucky didn’t want to interrupt. Just like Steve, he knew you hadn’t given yourself much time in the past to meet someone so if this was your night to get lucky he didn’t want to take that away from you, even if he would much prefer to continue hanging out. Dot grinded against him and Bucky let her, leaving shortly after as she made some bad comment about “riding his broom.”

After speaking with Bruce you caught up with everyone who seemed ready to go home.

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked, looking around for him.

“I think he left with some girl,” Sam said, half paying attention, giggling as Wanda wiped some of her lipstick off of him.

“Oh,” you said, deflated.

Walking out of the bar you draped your jacket across your shoulders and protruding wings, wondering why you felt so hurt that Bucky hadn’t said goodbye. It was rude but you don’t know what you expected.

Before you even knew Bucky you knew this is what he was like, sleeping with half of New York so you shouldn’t be surprised. Yet when you got home, just before getting into bed you stared silently at the wall you shared, feeling a single tear slip down your cheek.

PART 9

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

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orbitariums · 5 years ago

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aftermath | steve rogers

request: "oneshot where steve fucking obliterates us and doesn't realize it until after sex.”

note: oo i love this request haha i saw it and i was like i’m at your service. rough steve is hot and also cute!!!

warnings: rough sex, smut, nsfw, creampie, slight pain after sex *the good kind*

word count: 1.6k

Steve was a generally calm person, and his calm demeanor translated into your sex life with him. That wasn't a problem for either of you though, he was more than intuitive when it came to your needs. Satisfying you came naturally to him. That was why it was no surprise you were approaching a fourth orgasm while Steve's hips rolled into you with ease. The real surprise was how rough he was being.

You hadn't expected it from Steve and had never seen this kind of energy from him before. It was almost feral, the way he loomed over you, how hard his hips snapped into you, his eyes void except for that intense glare of lust and burning want. You could hardly focus on anything but the intense pleasure you were feeling. It was like your entire brain had gone to mush. You'd felt amazing feelings with Steve before, but none like this.

"You like that?" Steve grunted in response to a high pitched moan that had slipped out of your trembling lips.

Your whole body was in overdrive because of how hard he was fucking you, because of how good it felt, you couldn't control the incoherent noises that came out of you. Your hair was askew on your face, your bottom lip tugged into your mouth.

"Yes, baby," you babbled. "You're fucking me so good."

Steve nearly growled, looking down and pressing his forehead against yours, digging his elbows into the mattress on either side of you. His strong, toned body brushed against your own naked body each time he pushed himself inside of you, and you could feel him straining to keep up, to hold off his own orgasm so he could chase your fourth one.

He had made you come twice during foreplay, once during intercourse and now he was going for another one. Luckily for you, like him you had a quick recovery period, just the benefit of having superhuman abilities. Still, despite those abilities, Steve was fucking you - hard, and this was not something you were nearly as likely to recover from quickly.

"Fuck," he choked out, his jaw ticking, the veins in his forehead surging as he felt himself drawing closer as well. His breathing in your ear, ragged and heavy and unhinged, only made you more aroused. You felt yourself clench around him, and he hummed in approval. "That's it, baby. I want you to come all over my cock for me, again."

You moaned, pouting gently because feeling him so deep inside of you was evoking more than just strong physical feelings. You felt his hands all over your body, tweaking your nipple, and leading up further, until one of his hands teased at your neck.

"Can you do that for me?" he asked, in a gentle, inquiring voice that did not at all match the rough, careless manner in which he was fucking you.

As he asked this question, his hand wrapped fully around your neck, enough so that you could feel it in all the right places, though still leaving room for you to breathe. He was being rough - not stupid. His hand around your neck though, was what brought you to your orgasm - feeling the hard skin and the strength of his muscular hand around your neck while his cock slammed in and out of you from below.

"Y-yes," you choked out, bucking your hips up to meet Steve's own. You moaned in shock and pleasure - you didn't think he could be any deeper inside of you. He was taking so much control, not worrying about if he was doing too much, which was why he generally held back most of the time. You practically spasmed, your legs twitching as you wrapped them around his torso and his back. "Fuck, Steve! I'm coming, baby, shit."

"That's it, that's a good girl," Steve praised you, bringing one hand down to your clit to bring you to that finish line. You almost screamed at the added stimulant, and nearly blacked out from the shock of the orgasm. After you had came you were a blubbery, moaning mess, babbling on and on about how good it was and how good you would be for him. You had never come so hard, and it was your fourth orgasm of the night. It took a lot of work, and then again he made it all seem so easy.

Now it was time for Steve to take advantage of his pleasure, after working you up so many times. He'd been holding back his release, but your orgasm set him off. He was burying himself into you without pause, fucking you into oblivion now, groaning and moaning above you. He was using you, and you surely didn't mind. Steve was unhinged, his beard scratching your sweat-glazed skin as he buried his face into your neck, scrunching his eyes shut. All you could hear were his deep moans in your ear, as if he were desperate for release, slamming into you harder and faster by the minute to bring himself to liberation.

The room was filled with your arousal, the sounds of skin slapping against skin, his hips bucking into you, both your voices as he finally came, releasing his hot and big load inside of you, more than either of you had expected. You even moaned satisfactorily just at the feeling of how much there was, how much he was filling you up. You liked being filled by him, and he knew that, which was why he stayed buried deep inside of you long after he finished, your two bodies melded together, sweaty and panting and breathing heavily.

When Steve finally pulled out, slowly and graciously, his arm outstretched over your head as he held onto the bedpost (which you were undoubtedly slamming into while he thrusted into you), he hummed with approval. You were too spaced out to even look, instead choosing to focus on the veiny arm that was above you and bulging with muscle.

"Look at that," Steve crooned, his fingers lightly tracing along your entrance, which was stuffed with his cum.

Steve, true to his nature, placed two fingers inside of you, curving them slightly and fucking them in and out of you until his cum started sliding out from you and onto the bed sheets, then pulling his fingers out of you with a satisfying glide. You whimpered at the slight twinge of pain as he placed his fingers inside of you, because of the aftermath of the rough penetration. It was a good pain, though. His head perked up at the sound of your whimper, and he seemed to have returned to normal Steve state, not as rough and careless as he had been just minutes before.

He seemed alert, curious,

"What's that, kitten?"

You blushed, smiling at the nickname, and suddenly became very shy. You had essentially became a hot blob when Steve was drilling in and out of you, not how you usually were. You imagined you looked very silly. Then again, Steve was different from how he usually was, and he hardly seemed to realize it. You brushed your legs (which were quite sore, as was your core) together, hiding your bare flesh from Steve, playfully.

"Nothing," you smiled, and Steve smirked up at you, not sure what you were playing at, and gently pushed your legs apart again so he could see you.

"There you go, beautiful," he commented, eyes focused on one thing and one thing only, and then his lips, as he brought a gentle kiss to your clit, as a means of calming you down, getting you to talk. "You okay?"

You grunted, running your fingers through Steve's hair,

"Mm hm. Little sore."

You tried to sit up, but felt another pleasantly painful twinge as you repositioned yourself against the pillow. You tried to hide that you were breathing heavier.

"Okay, maybe a lot sore," you chuckled, and Steve immediately began to coddle you, asking all kinds of questions.

"Are you okay? Was I too rough with you, baby? Do you need anything? Oh god, did I hurt you? I forget I'm still stronger than you sometimes, even though you're-"

You just laughed it off, kissing his cheek as he cuddled next to you, holding him while he held you.

"No, Steve. You didn't hurt me, and I'm fine. You were rougher than usual though, that's for sure."

Steve raised his brows,

"Really? I hardly noticed."

You scoffed, laughing, and shook your head playfully at him,

"Hard to believe. But I loved it."

"I'm sorry, YN," he said, and genuinely sounded guilty. "I don't wanna hurt you, YN, you need to tell me if I'm hurting you. I try not to forget how much stronger than you I am, but I guess this is one of those times, huh? I'm sorry, I guess I was just... releasing unaddressed stress. But I shouldn't use you for that."

"Steve, calm down! I told you, I liked it," you said, shoving him. "It was a good kind of rough, a good kind of sore." You turned to face him, caressing his beard with your palm, your voice lower and quieter. "I like you being gentle during sex. But you should fuck me like this more often."

If that didn't make Steve want to go again, and harder, he didn't know what would. And after your final round of the day, Steve made sure to take good care of you, running a bubble bath and declaring his love for you. And despite his rough nature during sex, he was still very gentle in the aftermath.

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