#an egg! STOP FUCKING SAYING I LOVE AMERICA THOUGH WHAT THE FUCK

[goopiguess]

WHAT THE FUCK. I DID IT LIKE 28 TIMES AND EVERY SINGLE TIME IT WAS THE AMERICAN FLAG FIRST, THEN HEARTS. OCCASIONALLY THERE WAS AN EGG, GLASSES, OR AN EGG AND GLASSES AT THE END. IT CHANGED ALL THE OTHER EMOJIS. WHY DIDN’T IT CHANGE THE FLAG.

first 5 faceless emojis are how your summers gonna go

[cheyisagirlkisser]

.・College Ellie Headcannons゜・

Note: This is more loser Ellie-centric, I wanna maybe do a part two with just reader and her. Some sexual content and mentions of getting zooted below so 18+ warning!

•Art major, but she’s not the typical hot artsy lesbian you dream of her to be. More like rolls a fat blunt and sketches in her journal, it’ll either turn out to be a masterpiece or look like a crackhead had a go with her paper.

•Speaking of art major, when she’s horny and frustrated because she refuses to hook-up…she draws the lewdest art known to woman-kind. Those are her real masterpieces, but she can’t exactly turn them in for credit in her art class, can she? Fuck, the things that woman can make, though. Lowkey uses her exes naked bodies as inspiration though, maybe kind of weird but who’s gonna stop her?

•Doesn’t eat the food on campus half the time. She is embarrassingly addicted to Tai Pei containers and the occasional microwavable egg-roll. “That shit’s nasty, Ellie! Goddamn, just eat the Tacos 4 Life we have on campus.” Her friends will all tell her, but no. It’s like a guilty pleasure. Maybe it’s cause she grew up lower class and is used to TV dinners, has a special trauma bond to food that should be banned and probably is outside of America.

•Wardrobe consists of band tees, honorable mentions to Gorillaz and Falling in Reverse.

•Is actually an insanely talented writer. After reading her journals I feel like nobody talks about how emotional her entries are and she keeps a journal of her own in college for sure, not only for sketching and organizing art but also to write all her feelings out.

“Fuck me, this is my last year being gay.” -After her and Cat’s break-up, probably.

•Hates coffee. Definitely game-cannon, but this is important to the college setting. It’s the classic Monster or nothing, and she will absolutely judge you for drinking coffee. She calls it “the devil’s dirt.” So dramatic.

•Used to watch bad Hallmark movies because of Dina, now watches them alone because she misses Dina. There’s nothing like crying your eyes out to Christmas Under Wraps!

•Has a collection of rubber ducks on her shelf. Doesn’t use her very small space for normal things like her wallet or books, no. It’s rubber fucking ducks.

•Also has a slipper collection in her tiny closet, from Pikachu all the way to dinosaur feet.

•Has the “two-seater” t-shirt (iykyk) but refuses to wear it in public because she’s a pussy

•Favorite fruit is grapes. I just know my girl loves grapes when she can get her hands on them steer clear bc she will NOT share. Favorite candy is gummy worms!

•Actually wears rain boots when it’s wet outside or snowing

•Likes wired earbuds over airpods, listens to Pearl Jam when she misses living with Joel

•Is oddly good at making those little paper stars and has a huge grocery bag of then in all different patterns and colors

•When she starts dating you she shows you her dinosaur cookie-cutter collection because you're really good at baking. (Also bc she wants to see you in a frilly cute apron!)

•Is a slut for hugs. Kisses are cool, sex is great but agghhh Ellie just loves wrapping her arms around you and sometimes when you two are in her dorm she'll just hug you for what feels like hours on end, she calls it her 'weekly therapy.'

•Loves high sex because when she's sober she hates feeling like she's awkward or all up in her head. She also has a tendency to invite you over for sex after smoking.

•Has a septum piercing. Maybe this one is self-indulgent because I would go ballistic over seeing actual Ellie with one, but I say that college Ellie got hers pierced at 16 and didn't cry over the pain but wanted to literally jump off of a bridge the entire healing process it was so bad.

•Sometimes when you kiss her, her septum will slide over and look uneven and she feels fucking NIGERIA FALLS in her boxers when you fix it for her. Also for those of you who are sluts for glasses, you can fix her glasses too and it'll make her just as weak.

[minjix]

Management → Jack Harlow x actress!reader

Summary: in which your management steps over the line and Jack keeps them in check

warnings: just plain bullying tbh:/ mentions of forced dieting . stay safe y’all ♡

masterlist. pt. II

You were a relatively happy person with your normal ups and downs. Usually your bad days outweigh the good, even though you had Jack.

The main cause? Your management.

Your main goal, up into this point, was to keep Jack as oblivious to the situation as you could, but he was smart and he could see past the thin veil of lies you had put on.

You were scouted at mere age of 18 in (your country), and then you moved to America to pursue your acting career. That same week, you signed the contract with your management and now, you wished never did.

You wished you had actually read through the contract instead of running in head first just because your dreams laid in the palm of your management.

It started out small, with comments from your manager about the food your were eating, and how it would affect your appearance and later on your career. At first you thought that she was looking out for you, and then the small comments turned into everyday list that you had to follow.

wake up, work out, drink water, yoga, eat some fruit and then go on about your day following the strict diet list that your manager wrote and not an actual dietician.

It drained you, both physically and mentally and when you brought it up to your management, they’d only tell you how fabulous you look and present you with new potential roles. One of them being on SNL alongside Jack Harlow. And that’s how you two met.

Jack was different. He actually took his time with you and treated you the way you deserved to be treated: like a human being. Of course your management had something to say about your relationship.

‘He’s bad news’ ‘He’ll ruin your reputation and career’

But you didn’t care, because with Jack you felt safe.

꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦ ꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷

Jack decided to sleep in while you went on with your morning routine. Usually, he’d be awake, joining you in the bathroom and getting tips for how to take care of his skin, but the previous night he had preformed his new single, so he was understandably tired.

You walked into the kitchen once you were finished, with a plan to cook breakfast for both yourself and Jack. You had found yourself eating more ever since you met him, mostly because he would give you his food when he noticed the small portion on your plate.

You were happy and dare I say it, in love?

A knock on the door made you put down the eggs to go open it. Clary, your manager stood before you with a frown on her face and her eyes casted to the kitchen counter behind you, filled with ingredients to settle you and Jack for morning and lunch.

She pursed her lips in disappointment and pushed herself inside. You could basically hear her mind screaming nasty things at you as you closed the door behind you. You knew what was coming, even before she could open her mouth.

“You signed a contract! Do you know what that means or do I need to hire a translator?!” She was yelling at this point. You couldn’t help but panic for two reasons, one, they might actually terminate your contract and two, she’ll wake up Jack.

You sighed, “I’m sorry, but can you please lower your voice?”

She scoffed at you, and pointed her acrylic nail at your face. “I’ll get you blacklisted, I swear to god,” your heart stopped. “You’ve changed for the worst these past six months and I’m sick of it! I’m losing money because you can’t listen to whatever the fuck we’re telling you to do!”

“What the fuck is going on?!” Jack, a very pissed of Jack. His curls were all over the placed and his shirt was inside-out, he put it on in a rush.

You were ready to burst into tears at this point, you hated, no, despised, confrontations.

You could only whisper, very aware of the lump in your throat. “Jack, please, it’s between her and I.”

He snorted and took a step forward, his eyes glaring at Clary, while sneaking a quick glance your way to make sure you weren’t hurt. “It involved me the second she got the balls to speak to you like that, ma.”

“I’m her manager.” Clary interrupted, her arms crossed over chest defensively.

“Did you hear me asking you that question?” He chuckled, and then gave a humorless laugh when he saw her dumbfounded expression. He continued, “how about you leave, and I’ll hire a lawyer about that contract?” He went and opened the front door, gesturing sarcastically for her to leave, all while you stood there seemingly forgotten how to breath properly.

She took careful steps out, and the moment she stepped over the threshold, Jack made sure to slam the door behind her. He turned to you, grabbed you by the arms and tucked you into his warm embrace.

You sniffled as a couple of tears ran down your cheeks. “How long has this been going on, ma?”

“Six years,” you whispered, “Six years of hell”

He hugged you even tighter, and rested his cheek on your head. “ I’ll fix this, I promise.”

And you immediately knew, that this man, is the one you’ll end up marrying one day.

꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦ ꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷

ew, keep in mind that English is not my mother tongue, so I apologize in advance for any misspellings <3

and please send request cause my mind is literally empty

[melancholysway]

TMNT Bop or Flop

Feel free to join me in this bc I'm bored af and im trying to start all the requests i have :")

this is also a slight smash or pass bc I'm bored also- however I'm not doing it with TMNT 2012- that's just wrong LMAO or rise TMNT- self-explanatory. 2003/Bayverse/2007 is fair game though yall!

TMNT 2003

Leonardo

Ngl... a bit of a flop but a bop lowkey .

I liked him when he was starting to be more carefree and not so into the whole being perfect and leader thing ...

if this was smash or pass... SMASH IDC

Idk yall something about this Leo makes me happy in a weird way, so maybe half bop half flop? a blop?

Raphael

MAJOR BOP ALERT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ah yes a man who loves animals I'm here for it

I also really love his accent in this wtf .

He's a bop b/c he fought blind once, GTFOHHHHH!! and he ain't afraid of SHIT!

pass btw if this was smash or pass, he seems like a cool friend to have tho!

Donatello

BOP! His sassiness hasn't peaked in this version but it's very much there . 2003 Donnie is actually so sweet yall. Plus, his voice is very nice to listen to! I would love for him to read me a long book aloud as a bedtime story <3

smashbtw

Michelangelo

the man makes a mean scrambled egg according to Raph, but I make it better. FLOP.

I can't put my finger on it, but I just didn't enjoy this Mikey as much as I did in other versions. He made me wanna punch him sometimes . Also would notttt shutup about being the battle nexus champion like boy if you don't shut yo ass up-

pass pass pass pass btw

TMNT 2007

Leonardo

MAJOR. FUCKING. FLOP.

I don't care what yall mfs say, he was way too mf serious, and even said he was better than Raph??? I don't know exactly what he dealt with during that training in South America, but it changed him man.

He tried too fucking quick to bring the team back together, and that's why him and Raph had a falling out and a big fight. Raph knew it was wrong of Leo to try and waltz in again in their lives and be Fix-It-Felix bro.

sidenote: Mega SMASH. That "come to daddy" quote????? He knew wtf he was doin with that. He's too mf fine to be actin the way he was actin in this movie LMAO- I still really enjoy this Leo though, if they made a sequel like it was intended, I would probably change it to a bop, but I need more scenes of 2007 Leo/ this design of Leo to do this !

Raphael

Do I even have to say it????

BOP. BOP BOP BOP! BOP BOP BOP TO THE MF TOP YALL!

By far my FAVORITE Raph in the entire franchise! I love it, he's at his peak rebellion, and even made a name for himself fighting crime, I love it.

I also LIVE for his Brooklyn accent. I also hc if we got more screentime of him in the sequel, he'd be the most chill turtle. I believe there's a deleted scene of him talking to Leo at the end of the movie, and his tone/mannerisms were very mellow. 2007!Raph is mad chill

Also gave 2007 Leo a run for his money bro-

SIDENOTE: SMASHHHHHH! HULK SMASH IDC CALL ME WILD BUT IDC . Whoever designed him needs a raise. His eyes??? gtofh.

Donatello

Ngl...a slight flop?

he's not as sassy in this version, and I love me some sassy Donnie.

Like Leo, I really wish he got more screentime, I do love him challenging Raph in the beginning of the movie though :) Go Donnie go!

There's a deleted scene of Donnie and Splinter, it's called "let him eat cake" on youtube I believe- he would've been a bop if they kept that scene in! I feel like there was a lack of Donnie scenes in this- but I like that this movie was focused on Raph so I can't complain.

In a deleted scene it reveals Donatello loves money, he's also a flop bc he takes Mikey's money away so he can't buy dumb shit for the lair, at least let the man keep more than a $5 ya know?

ahem...smash.

Michelangelo

BOP! surprised? don't be.

he's a single mom that works one job who loves his brothers and never stops

with gentle hands and a heart of a fighter

he's a survivor <3

i also feel bad that he gets beat up by kids :( he really be providing for his family fr fr. He really out and about making his coin as a turtle in a turtle suit. he also started his own business??? got his own slogan, and is a kids party host??? like okay support small business xoxo

erm...pass btw, I just cannot see Mikey that way yall.

TMNT 2012

Leonardo

BIGGEST BOP OF THE CENTURY! This version of Leonardo is my all time favorite. He even beats Rise Leo by a few! I can't explain it, but this Leonardo- the first one we see that's more upbeat and not so serious, I loved it! They gave him interests other than training or being a leader- they gave him a love for a show he devotes his time to! be fuckin fr.

Also played tea time with some random ass lil girl, it was so cute. I loved to see Leo be put in situations where he's just being him.

So yes this is very biased but idc, he's my fave. One thing about 2012 Leo he gon get to the bag no matter what.

He also literally SLAYED Shredder and brought his head! OFF WITH HIS HEAD!!!

Raphael

Do I need to say anything?

Bop, wanna know why?

HIS ONE-LINERS. He's so in tune with his sarcasm and wits that it's so satisfying to hear some sarcastic shit come out his mouth.

May even be a bit sassy, he has no time for bullshit. will beat some ass- and is the best pet dad.

no bc when he was being a foster dad to Chompy??? my heart. my fucking heart yall.

Also the fact that he named him Chompy Picasso? PLS.

Donatello

Bop guys!

Lowkey gets bullied by Raph but makes up for it by making him look dumb at times.

SASSIER. VERY SASSY. WIll point out his brothers (Raph/Mikey's) stupidity.

Plus his gap is so cute

Also, he's a bop because he made fucking RETRO MUTAGEN. If I'm not mistaken, 2012 Donnie is the first one of his installments to make a retro mutagen.

Okay maybe Mikey mixed a chemical or two and was the original creator of the retro mutagen, but Donnie was able to make copies of it after finding out how Mikey made it.

Michelangelo

BOP BOP BOP

He might be my favorite Mikey! I really like 2007 Mikey bc his comedic timing was on point, but this Mikey! Oh my god his timing is fucking terrible and I love it.

he's also the reason why his brothers aren't in the stomachs of those big-ass wasps, he's underrated! When he applies himself, he's unstoppable fr.

Also, he's an animal lover like Raph! He also really cares for Ice Cream Kitty (IC Kitty is also one of my fave characters for some reason they're sooo cute!)

BAYVERSE TMNT

Leonardo

Hear me out.

Blop.

I know, why isn't he just a bop or why isn't he just a flop? I honestly couldn't decide. I found that he wasn't the most memorable in this version, but he did certain things that I remembered. He also has cute blue eyes so that's why he's a blop.

I didn't like the way he talked to Raph in the second movie bro, he was such a bitch, then acted mad shocked that Raph went out and tried to get the ooze himself. he also benched tf out of Raph and Mikey just because Raph called him out on his shit.

Okay I'm changing it- he's a blop but VERY close to being a flop because of that.

all this being said...pass.

Raphael

He's mad chill. A fuckin Bop. Honestly, all Raph's are bops, but this one especially. He knits yall. KNITS. Raph KNITS. I never thought I'd see the day.

Also a Vin Diesel stan, I love that for him.

They also gave him a fear of heights...or erm...skydiving, which I thought was kinda cute! Big bad Raph is scared of a plane dive!

P.S- smashy smash. he's truly a sweetheart yall.

Donatello

I actually really like his design! Love the glasses on him fr fr!

This Donnie is a blop though...sorry guys.

He was very nerdy in this one, but I'm so used to Donnie being a sass king that it didn't feel normal.

I wish they gave him more substance than just the genius of the team, if this makes any sense. Same with 2007!Donnie.

Blop positive: he's the only turtle to curse in the movie! he also snorts. it's cute.

Sadly...pass.

but, if they made him sassy as FUCK- ALL MIGHT DEKU SMASH.

Michelangelo

BOPPITY BOP

he's mad cool i dont see anything wrong with him. He's just a bro.

i dont have much to say about bayverse Mikey for some reason, so I'll leave it at this.

He also calls April "Angelcakes" which I think is cute yall-

Pass btw

RISE!TMNT

Leonardo

Final boss level BOP BRO. I love love love this Leo! He's amazing. I have no complaints fr.

Total asshole in the lair olympics but I loved every second of it LMFAO

also his granny disguise to spy on April??? 10/10 great style. It's nice to see Leo not be the leader for once, I truly see what he could be when he doesn't carry the burden of the leader.

Raphael

Okay, I'm used to hothead/soft Raph, but this Raph?! MF BOP! HE'S FINALLY GETTING THE UNOFFICIAL LEADERSHIP ROLE HE DESERVES.

He's a big mf softie, and I love it! I love his design, everything! No complaints about this Raph, he finally is able to show his leadership skills!

spoiler all rise! turtles are bops bc its so nice to see them written differently than their usual stereotypes.

Donatello

I absolutely adore this version of Donnie! His lines are absolutely top tier bro.

HIS RAP IN MYSTIC LIBRARY??? GTFOH. I also really loved his rivalry with Leo in the olympics btw .

He has so many golden moments that this is exactly why hes a BOP! BOP OF THE MF UNIVERSE.

He's also unintentionally funny, his computer password??? yeah bro he's funny.

Michelangelo

BOP. I finally feel like Mikey isn't the butt of the joke anymore. All boys are funny in this series in their own way, and they're all shown being a little dumb so I love that LMAO

I love that Mikey is still childish, but it seems to do toned down as his brothers are equally childish in some way

We don't rely on Mikey for comedic relief, we can rely on him to be sporadic and chaotic though! i love this version of Mikey, this one is my favorite. Point blank my fave!

Masterlist

[rose-tinted-juls]

finally i'm finished with my bachelor's thesis and have time to read again! what a feeling!! let's celebrate that with one of my all time favourite stories and a lil list of my fave things about this chapter.

1. i don't even know why but i giggled so hard at the "i don't think anyone would believe i'm at a primary school's art fair in the middle-of-nowhere America" bc i just imagined him irl appearing someplace this random and how it would be. just to imagine him surrounded with kids though at an art fair is making me melt actually

2. the way charles blushes when she calls him charlie!!! he's just so asfwurjfkadsd

3. the two little boys nash and wyatt and the way their faces light up when they find chris and the way they speak with this child-like broken english is just so adorable and also so good and real.

4. "she picks him up from the airport late friday night, just in time to bicker in the middle of a liquor store about wine" had me cackling. they are such a couple. otp for real. + honestly the way charles is just horrified at the idea that chris wants to buy wine in a box is so funny especially when i can clearly imagine him in this situation

5. when charles greets bill and cindy without chris being around 😭 "he knows how to charm" yes he does i'm sure 😭 "knows he's going to be working at it for a while, probably. he's more than willing to put in the hours" STOPPP. where do i find a charles for myself? 😭

6. "i don't want to have her come if she doesn't feel comfortable" this!!! thank you for being a perfect man charles leclerc.

7. "he's been called a lot of things over the years, but good egg might be a new one" this deserved it's own point in this list bc i can just see the slightly confused look in his eyes hearing someone call him a good egg. so precious.

8. the way chris' accent gets stronger when around her family, and how charles finds it cute and sweet. i don't even know why such a simple thing made my heart happy but it did so i'm adding it to this list.

9. "she slots into her comfortable position at charles' side, and his arm is tossing itself over her shoulder before he even realises it's happening. it's habit, almost, to keep her close." catch me bawling my eyes out over here 😭 + this conversation: "y'all are talking about me?" - "always." bc it's just ahhhh. i love them. if it's not obvious already.

10. "they're cute and annoyingly couple-ey all night" i'm just soft. such a simple sentence and i'm over here melting. + the way chris makes everyone feel the most important in the room when she's talking with them + the way charles starts to remember the names even when there's a lot. as someone coming from a large ass family and family friend circle, i know how hard it is to remember and also appreciate him for even trying in the first place. (+ charles feeling and probably looking awestruck at chris 😭)

11. charles and his inner conflict of do i love her or do i not love her is just *chefs kiss*. the way he feel's like he loves her so much he's almost sick with it. the way he lists things that should make him not love her at all like the box of wine, her driving style, how she cries so easily, the glitter everywhere and country music. and yet. AND YET. "he doesn't love her, and then she laughs and he can feel it in his fucking gut, feels the urge to laugh when he doesn't get the joke [...] he wants to laugh because she's laughing and her laugh makes the world a better place and he loves her so bad it hurts." I'M LITERALLY SOBBING. also charles pls just confess. at least to yourself. you know you love her.

ahh anyway this chapter was just sooooo soft it made me melt many times and it was all i needed right now after months of non-stop stress. mackie, you and your writing style never fail to make my heart flutter and my eyes tear-filled. i love you so so much and unlike charles i'm not afraid to say it lol jk and thank you for yet another amazing chapter of this awesome story. <333

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—08. It's So Sweet —word count: 5.2k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... um... yeah. yeahhhh. sorry sorry sorry if you still read this fic. surprise I guess! its NOT as dead as you thought it was. See you guys again in four months. hopefully sooner if there is a God.

Charles, teeth dug into his tongue so hard he can taste copper, manages to keep from slipping up for the remainder of his time in Georgia. He swallows it down, chokes on an I love you everytime she looks at him for days that feel like an eternity. 

The flight out to France that marks the end of his stay had spent weeks serving as a dreadful backmarker, but now it was one of solace, saving him from himself. He knows better than to spit out “I love you” two months in. He knows better, but he also knows. Simple as that. He just knows. 

He’s good at keeping it down during phone calls and voice memos and FaceTimes because there’s no fucking way he’s stupid enough to say it over the phone. Whenever he does finally deem the time to be right, it’ll be inches from her face, with all the time in the world ahead of them. Her smile will be there, just waiting to be kissed. 

It definitely will not be while she’s grading papers or reviewing a movie or putting purple refills in her pen, even though he finds himself thinking just how plain and simple he loves her when she’s doing those things. 

– – –

Charles spends the holidays with his family in France, coming pretty much directly from his time with Chris and her family in Georgia. 

They quiz him like there’s no tomorrow about all of it; on Chris, and her family and her city and her life. He thinks he does a half-decent job at keeping his cards close to his chest; hiding his tells and acting completely normal and regular and plain about it all. 

Well. He can be coy and secretive to everyone but his mom. Mother’s always know when their sons are in love, and Pascale has always been particularly apt at seeing straight through her boys and the bullshit they try to feed her. 

He’s helping with dinner dishes—working hard to get those extra points towards being the favorite son this weekend—when she confronts him about it. He knows he’s in trouble. He’s never been able to lie to her in a way that was even sort-of convincing. 

“So, Chris…” she hums, drying three two forks at once with a damp towel. “Is this going to be something?” She asks. Charles shrugs, squeezing more blue dish soap onto the plate in his other hand. “That’s too much,” she remarks. 

He ignores the comment, moves the scrubbing sponge over the plate in small circles. “It’s new, still.”

“But you like her?”

He chuckles. Of course he likes her. He wouldn’t be dating her, traveling to see her, introducing her to his family if he didn’t at least like her. That’d just be cruel. “I like her a lot,” he says. I like her the most, he bites his tongue. He rinses the soap from the plate. 

Pascale nods, soft smile on her lips when she takes the plate from his hand, drying it carefully. “Just like, is that right, Charles?”

He knows what she means, what she’s implying. They both know she’s right, too, but he can’t stand to admit it. He feels like if he does, if he actually speaks the words out loud, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep it in anymore. It’ll be breaking the seal, and he can’t. Not yet. He doesn’t have it in him yet. “Maman,” he says, and his tone is laced with her answer, soft and sweet and pleading in a desperate way. 

She smiles, sets the plate down onto the counter gently. It still clatters against the marble. “I know,” she hums, hand finding his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Charles spends New Year’s Eve in London. He’s with his brothers and his friends and like, all of their girlfriends. He’s been pathetically texting her the entire trip going on about i’ll buy your ticket if you want to come and it would be so much more fun with you here.

What Charles doesn’t know is that Chris is on her way, and that she’d been planning the surprise with Joris for three weeks. After a red eye flight from Atlanta that lands a little before two in the afternoon in London, Joris manages to sneak off from the group to meet her at the hotel and give her a key to his room. She hides out there for most of the afternoon while Joris tries to convince the group to head back to the hotel for a few hours without spoiling the surprise of why they should go back to the hotel in the middle of the day. 

When he finally gets them back to the hotel, he waits fifteen minutes to text her the all clear, to let her know that she can come and execute the surprise. 

It takes her an almost comical amount of time to find his room, considering it’s in the same hallway as everyone else’ rooms, and only ends up being three or four doors down from where she’d started. When she finally finds it, she’s hit with a sudden wave of anxiety. 

What if he doesn’t want me here? She worries. Her hands get clammy and she stands there in front of the door like a complete idiot just waiting for her body to do something, to do anything. Finally, she brings her fist to the door and knocks. 

Voices are muffled and heavy feet shuffle on the other side of the door before finally, after what feels like an eternity of loud bickering from the boys about who’s going to open the door, Chris is face to face with Charles, stupid, toothy grin on her face. “Oh,” he says. 

Behind him, the guys jeer in French, but neither of them are paying any attention. Chris can't stop laughing, standing there, staring at Charles in the doorway. He stares right back, his eyes a window into the gears that turn behind them, processing… processing… processing so incredibly slowly. “Are you gonna hug me, or just stare at me?” She finally asks, and he laughs, snapping into reality, pulling her into a tight hug. 

“What are you doing here?” He questions, pressing a hard kiss into her hair, and then he laughs even harder. “How did you get here?”

– – –

Chris isn’t there for more than a couple days—she has to be back at work as winter break winds to a close, and Charles has training camp in Italy at the end of the week. It’s a quick visit, but they make the most of it, and they do get their new year’s eve kiss. 

It’s been, like, a month and a half since Chris was last in Monaco, but it’s been just two and a half weeks since someone posted a TikTok of Charles and her walking around Monte Carlo together. That means, it’s been two weeks of Chris stumbling upon, and falling down rabbit holes of, Charles’ fan accounts desperately trying to put a face to the back of the head of the girl in the video. 

She’s less interested in are they going to figure out who I am and more interested in are they at least, like, close? The answer is no. No, they are not even kind-of close to connecting Chris with him. It’s all models and friends and people he follows on Instagram and even one ex-girlfriend, but definitely no American kindergarten teachers. 

The fire is only fed, though, when on New Year’s Eve, drunk on Moscow Mules and equipped with the world’s most fashionable LED glasses, Charles is posted showing off the look. Under his arm, equally as drunk off espresso martinis, is Chris, engaged in conversation with Joris beside her. 

It’s been two-thousand twenty-three for fifteen minutes, and Instagram explore pages across the world are already filled with pictures of the side of her head and Charles’ goofy heart-eyed glasses.

Chris is too drunk to know, much less care, but when she does find out about it, she won’t be bothered. She thinks that maybe she never will be a big deal—certainly not as big of one as he seems to think it is. Nothing is going to happen, she tells him so many times it doesn’t even sound like a sentence anymore. Who cares if everyone figures out who I am?

January isn’t much but settling into a routine. They’re both busy with a million and one different things—just a little peek into any sort of future they hope to have together—and it’s the end of the month before they see each other in person again. 

Every post he makes on social media—every video, photo, story, mention, and repost is run through a microscope, carefully dissected searching for a repeat like and commenter, for an unfamiliar woman’s voice or a hand or a coat or a head of hair. Names fly around in a tornado of guesses, and none of them are correct. 

It’s an easy routine to fall into; scheduled phone calls, FaceTime dates twice a week, and sneakily sent texts in the middle of the workday. Sometimes it feels like they aren’t all that far apart, like he could walk out the front door and get into his car and drive for fifteen minutes and be at her house, eat dinner at the same table, fall asleep at the same time, in the same bed. Other times, they can feel every step of the four-thousand, six-hundred, ninety-five miles that separate them, when it’s all pictures of dinner and goodmorning texts seen three hours later and delayed, laggy FaceTime calls. 

It’s on one of those calls, where her face is frozen mid-conversation, that she’s gushing about how excited she is for some school event at the end of the month, the Art show, she’d called it, and when—after sorting out the camera issue for the time being—he’d asked for clarification on what exactly an Art show is, she’d explained the whole event with a big, excited smile on her face. 

“Oh my gosh!” She’d laughed, pulling her legs underneath her. “Okay, so, it’s the coolest thing. Basically, the art department displays all of the art the students have made so far this year all throughout the year, and the kids get to show it off to all their family. They set up a book fair in the library, and they serve ice-cream in the cafeteria,” she explains, “All the teachers go, and they bring their families, too,” she nods. “It’s really cool. I like to see how proud the kids are of their work.”

He decides then, in that very moment, that he doesn’t want to hear about this in text messages and photos and Facetime calls. He wants to be there—feel her energy, her pride, her smile. It just pours out of his mouth, what if I came? And then, before she can even come up with a response, If that’s okay, obviously. If you even would like, want that, you know. 

She bites down on a smile. “I thought you wanted to keep things quiet?” she chuckles, “be all protective of me and stuff?” 

Charles shrugs. “I don’t think anyone would believe I’m at a primary school’s art-fair in the middle-of-nowhere America.”

“I mean, I don’t care,” she explains, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “But you do. I’d love it if you could be there.”

He smiles. “You’d love it?”

“I would!” She laughs, leaning forward, closer to the camera. “You’d better come for more than just a day though,” she continues, slumping back against the couch behind her, picking at the cuticles on her thumb, raising her brows when she quietly adds: “I can think of lots of other things I’d love to do with you.”

He shakes his head, dimples digging into his cheeks. “You’re a tease, Christyn,” he taunts, and her head shoots up from her cuticle. 

“You have such a dirty mind, Charlie!” she laughs, and his cheeks burn at the nickname, at the accusation. 

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, and she only laughs harder, smiles bigger. 

“Why?” She teases, crossing her arms over her chest, cocking her head to the side playfully.  “Because it makes you blush?”

– – – 

There’s really only one of Chris’ students that Charles knows by name: Quinn. Or, as Chris usually refers to her, my sweet, sweet, little Quinnie. Quinnie is not at the art show. Chris goes on to explain that she and her family are  never at any of the school events—no open houses, no field trips, no choir recitals or art shows or parent teacher conferences. If it’s not a free event that takes place during school hours, neither Quinn or her siblings will be there, and their Mother will never be there because she’s always at work. 

So, no Quinn to win over. He does, however, meet what may be the cutest kid he’s ever been face-to-face with in Landry, a little girl with two long brown braids and a strawberry patterned dress on. Landry is the first of her students to find their teacher, and completely ignores him to tug Chris’ arm towards the little girl’s artwork hung in the hallway. 

“I’ll be right back,” she says hurriedly, over her shoulder, letting the little girl pull her away. Charles nods and flashes her a quick wink before she’s properly whisked away, leaving him with nothing better to do than shove his hands deep in his pockets and analyze the artwork of primary school students. 

When she finds him again, no Landry in tow, she links her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder. “She told me I have a cute boyfriend,” she says.

“No, she did not,” He laughs, but his ears blush pink. 

“She did,” she nods. “She said you were ‘oh my goodness he is soooooo cute,’” Chris repeats, in a sing-songy tone. “I said, ‘I know right! He’s the cutest.’”

“Whatever,” Charles mutters, running his other hand through his hair. “Where’s the ice-cream at, anyway?”

Two styrofoam bowls of vanilla ice-cream slices—one covered in rainbow sprinkles, the other with chocolate syrup and a maraschino cherry—later, and Chris and Charles are sitting at Chris’ desk in her classroom, him in the green spinning chair, her on the desk itself. 

Two boys, who Chris refers to after they leave the room as Nash and Wyatt, are bouncing off the walls with excitement when they turn the corner into Chris’ classroom, their faces lighting up when they find her there. “Miss Elliott!” One of them shouts, half-out of breath. “The book fair has posters of your brother!” He explains. 

“Yeah!” The other chimes in. “I see-ed it when my sister was getting a poster of,” he takes a big breath, “of, uh, a princess poster or something.”

“Yeah, and I get-ted this one!” The first kid adds, unrolling the paper in this hand to reveal a black and white Fortnite poster, demonstrating the dances from the game. “Cool right?” He asks, and Chris nods. 

“So cool!” She says, “where are you going to hang it?” 

Charles leans back in the chair, spinning slightly side to side, eating his ice-cream and just observing the interaction. 

“Um, probably in my bedroom.”

Chris nods again, “perfect place for it,” she agrees. 

– – – 

He’s in Georgia for three days; Friday to Sunday, and spends all of it with Chris, almost entirely at her house. The art show is on Friday night, but he finds himself playing sleepover host with Chris on Saturday when Reid appears with a backpack, a pillow, and a baby blanket Chris tells him not to refer to as a baby blanket. 

Chase is racing in Los Angeles this weekend, and left town on Tuesday, leaving Hannah alone on Mom duty. That would be all fine, if the weekend didn’t fall on the one weekend a month she works. Bill, Cindy, Chris, and Hannah’s mom have been helping to pick up the slack left in Chase’ absence. 

It all comes together to result in him sitting in the middle of the living room, on the floor, surrounded by every blanket and pillow in the entire house on a Saturday night—a four-year-old boy sitting across from him, hanging on his every word, and his girlfriend in the other room making popcorn. 

He’s been tasked with coming up with, and executing the plan for a super, super, cool boy-fort that Auntie Chris can come into, I guess. 

A fort that fits into that description is a lot easier in theory. In Practice, however, he’s faced with the nephew he desperately needs the approval of, and a pile of purple and pink and sparkly and fluffy blankets and pillows. 

It takes all four of the dining table chairs, a curtain rod from the screened-in porch, a fitted sheet, and a box fan, but the fort is quickly commissioned, and gets Reid’s stamp of approval when he moves his pillow, favorite blanket, and definitely not a baby-blanket, baby-blanket into the build. 

Chris is behind them momentarily, knocking on the seat of one of the dining chairs before Reid permits her to enter. She crawls in, laptop and big bowl of popcorn in either hand. Reid is sandwiched between the two of them, Cars blanket covering his little frame, eyes glued to the screen while buttery fingers bury themselves in the popcorn bowl. 

Reid is asleep about five minutes after the popcorn bowl is empty, Chris running her fingers through his short brown hair while soft little snores leave his lips. Her head rests on his pillow, just above his head, and she watches the movie. Charles watches her, arm propped up at the elbow, holding his head up. She’s so soft. So sweet. It ties him up in knots. 

He feels like a child when she catches him staring, her eyes glancing over to him and making unexpected contact. His cheeks burn and his eyes dart away, back to the screen, to the movie. She giggles softly, barely loud enough for him to hear over his sudden mortification.  “Beautiful fort you’ve built here,” she says, and he looks back at her, meets her eyes properly this time. 

“Thank you,” he chuckles. “I’m thinking maybe I will make it my new career after racing.” Charles nods. Chris nods. A smile dances its way across her lips, turning the corners up gently. It makes him smile, too. “Charles Leclerc: Professional fort builder.”

“Oh,” She chuckles. “I can hear it now. You’ll be a household name.”When Charles wakes up, credits are rolling on the laptop screen and Chris’ hand is moving softly over his shoulder. He’s the bridge of his nose and picking the sleep out of his eyes and trying to get his bearings. All he’s sorted out so far is that Chris is here, he’s fucking boiling, and there’s a sleeping kid between them. He squints his eyes—like the dim light from the black credit screen is too bright for him—until she comes into focus. She points to the exit of the fort. “Bed,” she mouths.

“Well,” Chris shrugs, bringing a forkful of salad to her mouth. “I think you’ve won Reid over.”

Charles laughs on her phone screen. He’s in Italy… or Monaco… or… she’s not really sure, to be honest. It’s hard to keep track sometimes, when he’s always somewhere new. He’s in bed, wherever he is, the lamp from her kitchen casting the only light in his dark room. “Is that right?”

“Oh yeah,” she nods. “I had the pleasure of  reminding him you weren’t here this afternoon. He wasn’t happy with me.” She remembers it well, his declaration that Charles and Me are going to play games today, and remembers better the little, defeated oh, right after she had to remind him Charles had left the day before. 

Charles chuckles, shaking his head and rolling his eyes playfully. “I told him goodbye!”

“I know!” She says, taking another bite, her hand covering her mouth while she talks around the lettuce. “He thought you meant goodbye for the day,” she explains, swallowing. “Not goodbye for a while.”

Charles frowns. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” Chris laughs, poking her fork around her bowl. “I love that he likes you so much, it’s adorable,” she hums. “He’s absolutely devastated you won’t be at his birthday party, though.”

Charles scoffs, his mouth dramatically falling open. “No way. You didn't tell me it was his birthday!”

“Because it’s not for like, two weeks!” She defense, laughing. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“When is it?”

She cocks her head to the side, already knowing what he’s about to say, and unscrews the top of her water bottle. “His birthday’s the sixteenth, but the party is the eighteenth.”

“I’ll be there.”

“No you won’t. You have testing.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah,” she insists. “On Monday you have to be in Bahrain.”

“Monday is not Saturday.”

Chris doesn’t tell anyone outside of Chase and Hannah that Charles is flying in, and they definitely don’t tell Reid about it, just in case it falls through for any of the million reasons it could possibly fall through because of. 

It was a last minute-trip, after all, and it seems like every second of Charles’ time is accounted for right now, so  Chris is prepared at any moment to get a text or a call apologetically explaining that he got pulled into something else. That call never comes, and she picks him up from the airport late Friday night, just in time to bicker in the middle of a liquor store about wine. 

“Absolutely not, baby.” He says, shaking his head, a truly horrified look on his face. 

“You don’t even drink wine!” She insists, holding a three-liter box of Franzia. “This is perfectly fine.”

His eyes go wide, brows raising like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “It’s in a box.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s for a fifth birthday party.”

“It’s not for the five-year-old,” he argues, picking two bottles of overpriced chardonnay from the shelf. “We’ll get these.”

– – – 

Much to the dismay of the other, they show up to the party the next afternoon with one box and one bottle. 

Reid is upstairs playing with some kid that Chris is related to somehow, she’s sure, so their arrival goes unnoticed by the birthday boy. Instead, Chris is heaving the box of wine onto the kitchen island, greeting a visibly stressed Hannah with a hug. Charles follows closely behind, setting his bottle down next to her box, following the hug train to Hannah. 

“Look great, as always, Hannah,” He says, and Hannah laughs. 

“I’m a mess, the house is a mess. Reid,” she looks to Chris, “Lord have mercy on me, your nephew has dressed himself.”

Chris scowls, and then shrugs. Charles laughs. “He can be Chandler’s nephew, today,” she says. 

“He’s still your godson, though,” Hannah reminds. 

“Oh, don’t I know it!”

Charles takes Chris’ coat with his own, hands them both up in the mud room that’s just off the kitchen. He hears Hannah calling for Reid while he does it, telling him to come down and say hello to your auntie. Auntie Chris. He loves the way Reid says it—Annie Chris—or, when he really wants to stir some shit up, which Charles has come to learn is just about all of the time, Reid will call her Miss Elliott. 

Everyone hears him before they see him, little feet making heavy noises as they hurry down the stairs so quickly he might as well have just jumped off the landing and tuck’n’rolled his way into the kitchen. He’s bouncing on his feet, talking to Chris animatedly with his back turned to Charles when he appears in the mud-room doorway. Immediately, Chris is glancing up to him and covering Reid’s eyes with her hands, turning him to face Charles. “I have a surprise for you, Reidy.”

“What?” He squirms. “What is it?”

“More like who is it?” Hannah says, and Reid gasps. 

“Chucky?” He asks, and Chris is grinning at Charles, adjusting her hands over the boy’s eyes so one hand covers them both. With the other hand, she pokes Reid’s side right where he’s ticklish and makes him giggle. 

“Who?” She asks, his belly laugh making her laugh, too. 

“Sharles!” Reid exclaims, breathless from laughing so hard. “Sha-rle,” He laughs out, enunciating the poorly mocked accent.

“Wrong,” Chris says, and then takes her hand off his eyes to reveal Charles. 

Reid is slamming into Charles’ legs before he can even squat down to give the kid a proper hug, settling for just hugging his legs. “You comed!” He cheers. 

“Come on, Mate!” Charles says, ruffling the little boy’s hair. “You didn’t think I would miss such an important birthday?”

Chris watches the whole interaction with a giddy smile on her face. Hannah watches, too, while she stirs a crock pot full of nacho cheese. Reid fills Charles in on everything that’s happened to him since Charles left, and is already asking if Charles wants to go play catch outside with the football he’s gotten from his dad earlier that week, on his actual birthday. When Hannah slides behind Chris, between her body and the cabinets, muttering a quick behind you and grabbing a ladle from a drawer, she gives Chris’ shoulder a soft squeeze. 

– – – 

Chris is MIA when Bill and Cindy turn up, arms full of food and gifts for their only grandchild, but Charles is in the backyard, standing around a smoking fire pit with Chase and Reid and other people he remembers meeting from the wedding, but who’s names he wouldn’t be able to remember if there was a gun held to his temple. 

Bill and Cindy wander out shortly after they arrive, looking for the birthday boy, and Charles handles the introductions all by himself—a handshake to Dad, a compliment to Mom, and hugs for both of them. He knows how to charm. Knows he’s going to be working at it for a while, probably. He’s more than willing to put in the hours. 

“I didn’t know you were comin’, son,” Bill says, and Charles is nodding, hands in his jacket pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Yeah, it was a kind of… last minute choice.”

“Aw,” Cindy hums. “What a sweetheart. How long are you in town for?”

“Just a couple days,” he explains. “Chris is off work this week, but I have to get to Bahrain in a couple days. Get used to the timezone and everything.”

“Ah,” Bill nods. “Season’s starting up again, that right?”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “It never stops, it feels like,” and Bill nods. 

“Don’t I know it, boy.”

“Is Chrissy planning on coming out to any of your races?” Cindy asks, linking her arm through Bill’s, leaning against him around the fire. “I know she told us that y’all are keeping it pretty hush-hush for now.”

“Eventually, I hope she can,” he says. “I don’t want to have her come if she doesn’t feel comfortable.”

Cindy nods, smiling to herself. “Smart answer, honey,” she says, and Bill laughs. “You’re a good egg.” Charles chuckles softly, if only because he doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s been called a lot of things over the years, but good egg might be a new one. 

Just then, Chris is pushing open the sliding door on the back deck, stepping out with her coat on, the hood pulled up over her head, her hands hidden in the sleeves. “Well, speak of the Devil,” Bill says, greeting his daughter with a tight hug. 

“Uh oh,” Chris laughs, following suit with a hug for her mom, too. “Y’all are talking about me?”

He’s come to learn that her accent is never anywhere as strong as it is when she's around family. He’s familiar with the pattern of it, and does the same thing after long breaks away from speaking English or Italian. It takes a while to settle back into translating your thoughts. He thinks it’s probably pretty similar, even if she’s not translating from another language. He thinks it’s cute, when the southern twang gets extra prominent. It’s cute, and it’s sweet, and she sounds like a movie character sometimes. 

She slots into her comfortable position at Charles’ side, and his arm is tossing itself over her shoulder before he even realizes it’s happening. It’s habit, almost, to keep her close. “Always,” he says. 

– – –

They’re cute and annoyingly couple-ey all night. He doesn’t care if she’s related to or friends with almost everyone here, he’s never not amazed at just how easily she can find home in any conversation. Sometimes he wonders if he looks as awestruck about it as he feels, watching her put on this masterclass with everyone she talks to—from passing, brief conversations about how good Hannah’s food is and how old Reid is getting, to the long, sit-down chats about work and her life and their lives. It’s so crystal clear that she makes everyone feel important—the most important person in the room—and he;s even starting to remember names. 

There’s a lot of names to remember. 

There’s nobody that feels quite as important to Chris as Charles does, though, he’s sure of it. In fact, he’s not sure there’s another person on Earth that could manage to make a social event into something so… recharging for him. She just radiates energy, truly. It’s in the atmosphere, just being in her proximity, just having an arm around her or their fingers intertwined or the smell of her perfume on his clothes is enough. 

He loves her so horribly that he’s almost sick with it. He’s biting his tongue all night. Hell, he’s even trying to talk himself out of the now months old revelation. 

Like, she drinks wine from a fucking box. A box. Of wine. And she sees absolutely no problem with it. She wants to drag him around to every person, to engage in every conversation. She changed her perfume or her shampoo or her laundry detergent or something, because she smells different than the last time he was with her. She drives like an elderly woman—Jesus fucking Christ, she takes the speed limit so seriously it’s hard to sit in the passenger seat and let it happen. She cried three times on the way from Atlanta. Three times, because she saw some roadkill that wasn't even identifiable, and couldn’t stop thinking about it.  She’s covered in glitter, like, all the time. And so is her stuff. It’s on her face and her hands and her clothes and every surface of her house. Glitter and spelling tests and like, six variations of the same travel coffee mug. She listens to country music as if it’s the only genre of music that exists, and she listens to it all the time. He doesn’t love her. He doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn't have been able to keep it in for so long. 

He doesn’t love her, and then she laughs and he can feel it in his fucking gut, feels the urge to laugh even when he doesn’t get the joke, even when he misses entirely what is making her so happy. He wants to laugh because she’s laughing and her laugh makes the world a better place and he loves her so bad it hurts.

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[anna1306]

7/13

I have been writing in English for almost a year, and I haven't written anything for MCU, one of my favourite fandoms? I am shocked with myself

Stay forever

Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Sometimes Sam wondered how he got in this situation.

Of course he wanted to be the hero. He went to serve his country in military, then - help others who couldn't come back to peaceful life. He became Falcon to help Captain America in saving people. And he finally took the shield to become someone more. There was no question in how he got here.

There was hard situation with his family. Sarah and the boys needed attention, time, help, especially after these 5 years. And even if this contradicted with his job as a hero, he still could find time for them, running back and forth between his duties and family. No question again.

But he still got one. One big question that was standing near the stove. This question was frying something, wearing only underwear. Sam's head was pounding from yesterday drinks and he didn't want to know why he was covered in bruises and hickeys, though he had quite a distinct idea.

"If I turn around and see a sour face, I would throw toast at you." Barnes warned and Sam coughed from the suddenness of it. He went to sit at the table, still watching Bucky cook something in his small kitchen.

"Then you better not look in the mirror." The joke was half-minded, Sam almost didn't think on it. He was still surprised about what was going on, even if yesterday he fully consent to it. Barnes scoffed.

"You liked my face yesterday." He answered not even a second later. Sam wasn't sure if he liked silent, more reserved Barnes, or this one.

"I know what you are doing. It's your evil plan to burn down my kitchen." Sam tiredly answered, watching Bucky pouring coffee into his cup. Shit, how did he manage to pick the right one from the first try.

"If I wanted to kill you, Sammy..." Bucky put a mug in front of Wilson and smiled almost menacingly. "I would have fucked you to death yesterday." Sam choked on air, as Barnes turned back to the stove, almost not caring about what he had just said.

They always had this friends/rivals relationships. Well, after the Winter Soldier incident. Those days they were enemies. But they had never stepped over the line. Sam thought he loves women, Bucky... Was in his own head.

Wilson couldn't imagine that one simple evening of drinks in the bar and then at home could result in... Whatever it was yesterday.

"You liked it, don't be grumpy." Bucky put the plates on the table. "You have your thoughts written all over your face." He scoffed, returning with the toasts. Sam wanted to say something, but stopped, noticing what Bucky was doing.

"Dude, what the hell?" He pointed at Barnes' hand. He just... Took sizzling toasts from the pan and put them on plates. With fingers.

"What?" He shrugged. "I couldn't find spatula." Bucky sat at the table and looked at Sam with a smirk. "Eat. I know you have a free day today and I don't plan on letting you out of this flat, you gonna need some energy."

Alright, the world was doomed with this one.

***

Sam could deal with the fact that they slept with Bucky from time to time. The fact that almost hundred years old person knew how to make ideal pancakes and addicting bacon and eggs. The fact Barnes always knew his tastes and was bringing two coffees to the briefing or knowing what ice cream he had in stock in his fridge. But this...

"I envy you." Sarah managed to say this after ten minutes of laughter. Sam looked at her almost offended. "No boyfriend of mine ever gave me a bouquet like this."

Sam was still looking at this big monstrosity that was delivered to Sarah's house with a note "From B to S". Roses, lilies, other flowers, unidentified by Sam, all red and white, it seemed like there were hundreds of them.

"Maybe it's yours." Sam tried to get rid of it. What the hell, he didn't even had a vase at the flat, what was Barnes thinking?! Hell, why his first thought was about the vase?!

"Nonono, it's not a broken jar of jam you could blame me for and we are not kids. And supersoldier from forties doesn't pine after me. It's your ass he's after." Sarah still snickered, taking the bouquet with an 'oof'. Sam hurried over to help her.

He didn't say anything in response to her teasing. Didn't say anything while she cut the wrapping and started to sort the flowers into several vases she had. They wouldn't fit all of the flowers, but at least some would be saved. He didn't say anything at all, doing everything mechanically.

"Earth to Sam!" Sarah snapped her fingers right at his face, making him shiver "You are all up in your head, tell me what is going on."

"I... Don't know what you are talking about." Wilson tried to concentrate on the scissors in his hands, but his sister had none of it. She put her hand on top of his and sighed.

"I had never. And I mean never got something like this. And I had never seen you in a state like this also. So spill it, Sam." She almost ordered. Sam looked away, but sighed. She wouldn't get off his back, he knew his sister that much.

"I don't know what is going on. I mean, we slept together, which is... Surprising as it is. But that's it. This is just so..."

"Unexpected?" Sarah asked, and Sam nodded. The woman sighed, putting away everything and going to the coffee machine. Couple of minutes they spent in their own thoughts and silence.

"Let's start from the beginning. You are friends and colleagues, right?" Sarah started. Sam nodded, looking at the cup with hot coffee. "Did you notice something before your first... You know?"

"No... Normal day, normal Barnes. I mean as far as you can call him normal." Sam answered quietly.

"Mhm... And after you started your... Rodeos?" Sarah didn't look teasing, she was probably uncomfortable to discuss relationships with her brother, but... He had been only with women. And Sarah knew a thing or two about men, so Sam didn't ask further or questioned her motives.

"He brings me coffee. Cook for me sometimes and it's not awful." Sam tried to remember something big and meaningful, but couldn't bring up anything in his mind.

"Alright, little quiz. Did he give you his umbrella at any moment?" Nod. "Did he sit in the corner of some cafe you go to for a snack?"

"Yeah, but he is vet. Really old vet with PTSD and years of pain behind him." Sam remembered other vets he used to work with. Bucky could join one of these groups... Maybe he would even find someone his age.

"Alright, that's out of the question, got it. Did he... Go out of his way to fetch you something or buy something."

"No." Sam scoffed and thought for a moment under a watchful eyes of Sarah. "I mean I didn't force him to leave the flat to bring me food when I was sick..."

"But he did it, right? He worries for you at missions, he always closes windows, so you won't get sick, he never really get angry with you, only when it's really something serious or you could get injured. He pays attention to you and your words, even if he doesn't agree with it and listens to you overall. Am I right?"

"Yes... Yes, but..." Sam didn't understand the point of conversation, but his sister didn't let him finish.

"He is deep in love with you." Sarah ended her speech. "You started with adult things and now he is trying to get every other aspect. Men. You always think you are subtle, when we see everything." She scoffed. "You are lucky he is getting romantic."

"But... He would say something!"

"Bucky? Who is traumatized for life and who you called 'emotionless racoon'?" Sarah asked. Sam thought for a moment and lowered his head in defeat.

From one point of view it was good. Sam knew Bucky, Bucky knew him. They trusted each other on missions and beyond that. Romantic relationship was one of logical possible outcomes. But still... It was Sam's first relationship in a long time. Plus the first one relationship with a guy ever.

"Give it some time. And talk to him, god damn it, not just sleep with him!" Sarah pushed him into the shoulder, making Sam jokingly gasp. He would think about it later. Much later.

***

"You look creepy."

"Eat your pasta, it will get cold." Barnes didn't even wait a second before answer. Sam rolled his eyes, taking his fork. Bucky did look very strange in the comfy cute cafe, but he acted very natural. More natural than nervous Sam.

"Is this a date?" He finally managed to ask, shoving a fork with spaghetti in his mouth, glancing from time to time at Barnes. The latter stopped eating, looking at Sam questioningly.

"You ask stupid questions. No, it's Zemo release party." Sam scoffed at bad joke. "Of course it's a date."

"I just... I am surprised that you know basic rules of dating." Sam tried to hide his confusion under sarcasm as well. Bucky shrugged, taking his glass with wine.

"You thought I'm good only in fucking?" He asked nonchalantly. Sam coughed from surprise. He should have been used to this, but serious tone of Bucky and his neutral face... "Look, I really don't understand your confusion and everything. It's funny, but not in a long run. Mind telling me?"

Sam sighed, shoving another fork with spaghetti in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. It wasn't that Barnes wasn't lovely. He was attentive, he listened well and had a great memory on dates and everything else, but... He was a guy. He was Bucky Barnes, Steve's best friend. He had been Winter Soldier, who tried to kill him. Yes, he was good in bed, but something more than 'fun' with the man like him...

"I just don't understand. I thought it was just a fling. Just couple of... Nights and that's all. Were you like this in forties?" Sam asked Barnes. He thought for a moment, sipping on a wine.

"With guys? No, don't exactly remember dates. Only like go for a coffee if I had money. Or better, to some cheap bar. You know, where no one would see that you sit uncomfortably close." He placed the glass back on the table. "It's not forties anymore. It's 21st century where no one would care if I were to take you to the bathroom and..."

"I think that they would care about, you are messy." Sam stopped Barnes before his thoughts could lose concentration again. He was serious only on missions and even that was questionable too. Right now Bucky was sitting across him, smirking satisfied and ready to drop some more dirty details if needed.

"Shame. But if you asked about my love to guys, yes. I have been like this my whole life. Have you seen Steve? Commandos grew a bit gay side just by looking at him." He joked again, now putting a hand on top of Sam's hand. "But I am serious about you. I am a bit... Slow after all that happened. So we started off the last base, but that doesn't mean that I don't see you like constant partner. Or are we allowed to call each other boyfriends now?" He looked a bit puzzled, but Wilson knew better than to trust this sly pretender.

"I think yes... I have never been with guys. And before you put some dirty joke out there - I mean romantically. Physically we tried everything, I think." Sam sighed in surprise and blushed, when Barnes took his hand and kissed his fingers.

"It's not very different from any other dating you had." He answered, letting go of his hand. "Eat faster, I want to try something else with you. Physically."

He would die with Barnes' stamina...

***

Sleeping with Barnes was interesting thing. It was hot, it was hard, it was good. And it wasn't only about sex. Bucky was like koala, hugging him in his slumber, not letting Wilson go from his hands. And if Sam was to wake up first in the morning, if he managed to get out of bed, Barnes was woken up immediately and very very grumpy about it.

This time though Sam wasn't awakened from tight hug or hands getting where they shouldn't be. This time he was awakened from squirming and whines coming from beside him.

It took him couple minutes to understand what was going on. Barnes, who usually held him close in his arms, now was clutching the mattress and breathing hard.

Sam knew that after everything that Bucky had went through, there should be enough nightmares for the next twenty years. But he had never witnessed Barnes in a state like this. Wilson moved in bed, turning the lights on, and turned back to face Bucky. He put hand on his warm shoulder. Shit, it felt like he was burning.

"Barnes... Barnes!" He didn't react, his shaking only worsened. "James!" Sam shook him stronger. Reaction was fast and for a moment Wilson even got scared. In a split second Bucky got him on his back, with metal arm tightening its grip around his throat and mad eyes, looking at his face in the slight darkness of the room.

Nearly a minute was spent in tensed silence, Sam was laying on his back, watching Bucky carefully and afraid to even move a muscle as to not trigger him more, while Barnes slowly came to his senses. He released Wilson's throat and breathed out hoarsely, moving away from Sam.

"I... I didn't mean to... Sorry." Bucky said quietly and quickly. He was ready to flee at any moment. But Sam didn't let that happen. He grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, making him lay down again. It was Bucky's time to be hugged tightly and held in warm hands.

"Don't pull away." Sam sighed, holding unusual stiff Bucky. "It's okay. Everyone has nightmares."

"It's not everyone's nightmares, Sam... It's..."

"Your memory. I know." Wilson interrupted him. Always strong, witty and stoic Bucky sounded broken, quiet and almost scared. "But it doesn't mean that it's your fault."

"You don't know what I saw."

"No, I don't. And if you don't want to tell me, I won't ask. But it isn't your fault that you had to do all of this back then. And it isn't your fault that you tried to choke me. I can be very irritating, I know." He snickered, trying to joke. But Bucky definitely wasn't in the mood. He touched skin on Sam's neck with shivering fingers.

"I could have killed you..." He whispered.

"But you didn't do it. You stopped." Sam was caressing his hair, listening to his breath, which was slowly getting calmer. "I am very much alive."

Bucky finally hugged him back. His grip tightened in a mere second, and he pressed himself in Sam as hard as he could. Wilson didn't even grumble about that. He needed it. They both needed it. Even if he acted calm, he nearly had been choked to death, of course he needed some form of comfort at least.

It took five minutes for Bucky to breath calmer. He slowly was relaxing and that was definitely good. He let Sam comfort him and hold him, he trusted him in his most vulnerable moment. Wilson count that as huge win.

"I wish we could stay like this forever." Bucky mumbled in Sam's neck. The latter snickered and looked at Barnes. His heart clenched with pain. How much pain he had in himself... And he finally trusted not anyone, but him... No, they would definitely be okay.

"Well... I can't promise you forever, you are heavy after all. But for this night I can do this. Maybe couple of times later." He said quietly, but now his joke was answered with quiet giggle.

"I love the sound of that." Bucky sounded more sleepy with every second. Sam only smiled, looking down at Barnes, getting lost in his thoughts.

Barnes was powerful and fierce. Always ready to come up with some snarky remark or dirty joke. Ready to just grab Sam and do what he wanted with him. Serious on missions and easy at home.

This contrast was surprising. Bucky was like a scared child. Ready to fight or flight on the spot. There was fear in his eyes, panic and wish to disappear. And the amount of guilt in his tone was purely heartbreaking.

Sam carefully looked at Barnes, making sure that he was asleep, and kissed his forehead. It was still strange for him to care for this sarcastic war machine, but he could get used to it. And if he could save him in the process from all of his nightmares, well... He was a hero after all.

[carriagelamp]

Art of Aardman

I found myself a cheap copy of the Shaun the Sheep movie, so I was rewatching a bunch of Aardman films earlier this month and decided to hunt down some books too. For anyone that doesn’t know, Aardman is a British stop-motion studio that does fantastic work like Wallace and Gromit, Shaun the Sheep, Chicken Run, Early Man… tons of cool stuff. They’re always quirky and funny and warm-hearted. This was just a very nice art book for anyone that’s a fan of Aardman stop motion and wants to see a bit extra; it shows some cool concept art and blows up the neat details in Aardman work, especially in their intricate stuff like The Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists!

Asterix and the Picts (Asterix and the Chariot Race, and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion)

I decided to try a couple of the new Asterix comics that were done by the new team, just to see if they stand up to the old ones (that and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion cause I’d never read that one before). They were pretty decent! Asterix and the Picts was my favourite of the two though I wouldn’t say either are going to contest for my favourite Asterix comic... but still! The art looks good and the stories felt like what I would expect, they made for a pleasant couple evenings of reading especially since it’s been so long since I’ve read a new Asterix comic. If you’ve never read Asterix it’s one of the biggest name French comic series in North America, as far as I know and very worth the read. It’s about a single Gaulish village that’s holding out against the invading Romans through sheer force of will, slapstick hijinks, and a magical super-strength potion brewed by their druid. Lots of fantastic visuals and cute wordplay, even in the English translations.

Bear

I found out about this bastion of Canadian literature via tumblr post that was losing its collective mind over the fact that some bizarre bear-based erotica novella somehow won the most prestigious literary prize available in Canada. Since I too found this hilarious and unspeakably bizarre I had to give it a read, obviously. And yes, the flat surface level summary is... a librarian moves out into rural Ontario and falls in love with a literal for-real not-supernatural-not-a-joke bear. And I have to say… it is actually worthy of an award, which I was not expecting given that I was there for a laugh. It has beautiful writing, and the subtextual story is pretty interesting… it kind of makes me think of The Haunting of Hill House actually in terms of themes. (Womanhood, personhood, independence, autonomy partially achieved through escaping the male gaze by claiming non-human lovers... listen if I were still in university I would right a paper comparing the two novels).

I dunno man, it’s fucking weird. Actually a well-written book, but sure is about a woman falling in love with a literal bear. Give it a read if you want something bonkers but like… high-brow bonkers.

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites

Best book I have read in like… a while. A long while. I am not a fast reader, and I consumed 90% of this book over a weekend. It’s not at all like Terry Pratchett, but at the same time it scratched an itch for me that I haven’t had satisfied since Pratchett’s death. A very clever, hilariously funny poly romance between a disabled werewolf, an anxious vampire lord, and an incredibly powerful woman, with heaps of social satire, political commentary, and sinister undertones. The whole thing reads a bit like fanfiction and I say that in the most flattering way possible -- it is so easy to jump right in and be immediately taken over by the characters and the world and the plot, you never feel like you’re fighting to engage even though the world-building is fascinating and expansive. It welcomes you in right away, it was the book equivalent of a quilt and a hug which is something I sorely needed with all this pandemic bullshit. If you read any of the books on this list, go read that one while I sit here in pain waiting for the sequel.

Kid Paddle

I watched the cartoon of Kid Paddle as a kid and was thinking about it recently, so I decided to hunt down some of the original comics online. They’re fun and weird, with a cute art style and fantastic monsters designs. (My favourites are always about Kid either daydreaming or playing games that involve Midam’s weird warty troll creatures. It’s like a cross between Calvin and Hobbes and Foxtrot with the fun sort of quirks that I love in Belgian comics. Unfortunately, unlike Asterix, I’ve only come across these ones in French, but if you can read French it’s totally worth popping over to The Internet Archive and reading the ones they have available.

The Last Firehawk: The Golden Temple

The lastest Firehawk book. Despite being written for quite young readers, I did enjoy the early books in this series quite a bit. They’re about a young owl and squirrel who found an egg for a magical species that was believed to be extinct. With the newly hatched firehawk, the three of them head off on a mission to find an ancient firehawk magic that could save the entire forest. Very basic adventure story but a good intro to the tropes for children. Unfortunately the quality really feels like it drops with each subsequent book; this will probably be the last one I bother reading.

Lumberjanes: The Moon Is Up

I honestly think I enjoy these Lumberjanes novels even more than the comics just because it really gives time to delve into each story and examine how the camper are really thinking and feeling about everything. (Also I’m always weak for novelizations of anything.) The Moon Is Up is a book that focuses more on Jo, and takes place during the camp’s much anticipated Galaxy Wars, a competition between cabins that goes over several days. While the campers prepare for these challenges though, they also run into a strange little creature with a penchant for cheese and theft. Roanoke cabin needs to keep ahead in Galaxy Wars and somehow deal with the fearsome Moon Pirates that a closing in...

Lumberjanes v4 (Out Of Time)

One of the Lumberjanes comics, a cool, girl-focused, queer comic series. Honestly, this is just a fun series that I never got as into as I should have. My advice is honestly to skip book one because it gets better as it continues, and I’ve really been enjoying the later books now that I’ve given it another go. It follows five campers at Miss Qiunzella Thiskwin Penniquiqul Thistle Crumpet’s Camp for Hardcore Lady Types (Jo, April, Molly, Mal, and Ripley) as they handle all sorts of challenges, from friendship to crushes, camp activities to supernatural horrors, getting badges to not being brutally killed. Great if you liked the vibe of Gravity Falls but want it to be queer-er.

Mooncakes

Another queer graphic novel, but unfortunately not a very good one. It really looked appealing and I had high hopes, but the book itself really didn’t hold up… I actually couldn’t even finish it, the plot was just too… non-existent. The art is fairly mediocre once you actually look at it, especially backgrounds, and it feels very… placid. Not much conflict or excitement or even a very compelling reason to keep reading. If you just want a soft queer supernatural you may get more mileage out of it than me, but it didn’t really do it for me. There’s better queer graphic novels out there.

New Boy In Town

One of the worst books I have ever read. My girlfriend had ordered a very different book online but through a frankly stupendous error was sent this 1980s pulp romance instead. Absolutely nauseating on levels I couldn’t even begin to enumerate here. Naturally we read the whole thing out loud. Probably took us 10 times longer to finish than it warranted because I had to stop every two sentences to lose my mind. If you like bad decisions, baffling hetero courting rituals, built-in cultural Christianity without actually calling it that, and gold panning then boy howdy is this the book for you.

(seriously, you better have patience for gold-panning if you attempt this one, because I sure learn that I don’t)

Piggies

This was a picture book I enjoyed as a kid and had a reason to reread recently. Honestly it’s just very cute and simple, and the art is completely mesmerizing. Wonderful if you know a young child that would enjoy a simple goofy boardbook.

Shaun the Sheep: Tales From Mossy Bottom

Related to my Aardman fascination earlier this month. I tried reading a varieties of Shaun the Sheep books — most of which are mediocre at best — but the Tales From Mossy Bottom Farm series is genuinely good. Just chapter books, of course, but the illustrations match the series’ concept art and each story feels like it could have jumped directly out of an episode. They’re just cute and feel-good! Kinda like Footrot Flats but more for kids, and from the sheep’s perspective moreso than the dog’s.

[rhymingtree]

I watched Homecoming again for this so I came prepared.

Yay more Ollie panic. I love it.

No but he's genuinely panicking omg

The fact that he never broke down in the middle of all his time with Alpha One or had a heart attack with all the stress... astounds me.

I kinda wish he got paid a lot for it, 'cause that's a lot of work

Like I hope it got him benefits and a good pension or something

Ned is the best part of this whole chapter. period. it's the truth and the only truth

Ned supremacy

“W-Wait!” Ned called, jogging across the street to catch up with him, “What happened? You just had a superhero flashback.”

the beeeeest

no he did not fight hydra stop spreading fake news on my boy ned

PETER SHE ISN'T HYDRA

...what if peter does lay eggs tho that would be a fun visual

Ghost's favorite travel activity is killing Nazis

what if she recorded all of it like some kind of travel vlogger and edited a Killing Nazis montage with some lofi music in the background and like a sepia filter with a few added clips of like... European city skylines

SHE REACHED POLAND???!!

SHE DISSOCIATED SO MUCH THAT SHE REACHED ANOTHER FUCKING COUNTRY???

.....if this is what she's like travelling it's best not to be her travel buddy

NO NOT THE AMBUSH FLASHBACK DARKE

“Why do all the fucked up parts of my life start with an ambush?”

Maybe it's got something to do with your line of work, the people you associate with, all your life choices, the fact that you dissociate a lot while driving... honestly I could probably go on forever

You’re in a city. We don’t need a repeat of Paris.

Oh, killjoy. Just pull the pin. Do it.

There could be civilians nearby—

Just do it.

never go travelling without a moral compass

Ned's back yay

I love Ned's curiosity and support

“Your girlfriend’s back in town, huh—”

heheheehe yes she iiiis

“Who’s saying I don’t have her wrapped around mine?”

Boone Cavanaugh wrapped around a man's finger?? Never in a million years.

“Act mad we lost Barnes and Walsh.”

“You what?” Steve snapped, turning to him with a glare, “You what? Barton, are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

This shouldn't have made me laugh as hard as it did

Superhero flashback is more like... PTSD, Ned. Ain't as cool as you think.

“Do Avengers have to pay taxes?”

.... actually do they? Or are they excempt from it because... they're technically government property.. or is Tony Stark the bajillionaire a tax evader?

“What does Hulk smell like?” he continued without a care as Peter began doing sit-ups.

“I bet he smells nice.” Ned nodded to himself

Honestly I think he does, maybe he smells like herbal tea and menthol

 “He’s cool. So was his girlfriend.”

“Captain America has a girlfriend?”

“Had.”

😐 darke

I wonder how Zac would feel if his job was described as being 'the guy in the chair'

He keeps those little shits alive out there and he just gets 'guy in the chair' ouch

but it's a cool job though

i wanna be someone's guy in the chair

LIZ OMG LIZ

LIIIIIIZ

the absolute panic oh my gOD NED YOU INSTIGATOR I LOVE YOU

“Dude, you’re an Avenger,” Ned continued, “If any one of us has a chance with a senior girl, it’s you.”

If that was the only criteria i would honestly be concerned

NO NOT ANOTHER ALPHA TWO AMBUSH FLASHBACK

god fricking

I was on cloud nine with Ned and then you pull that one out like

Darke how dare you

He’d just been able to get used to the sights and sounds and smells of Wakanda but New York City was an entirely different animal.

did he just call New York stinky?

how come you're doing everything in your power to make me cry with this flashback after Jack just called New York stinky

Even if he didn’t want to remember any of it.

He did.

He remembered all of it.

All of it.

darke 😐

OMG ARMOR

FOR JACKABOY

JACK'S GETTING HIS OWN COOL ARMOR

wooooaaaah

AND BOONE DYED HER HAIR BLUE WOOOOOAAAAH

“I told you his butt would look good.”

Of course that's the first thing in his mind. Of course.

“You know what I mean,” Duke whispered, “I don’t wanna lose you. Jack, I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.” He shook his head quickly, his smile fading in an instant, “I’m not going anywhere.”

I am terrified for these two.

Like the way they love each other and the things that have happened pretty much spell out the words doomed by the narrative and I am bracing myself for that doom

YAY LIZ'S PARTY

I'm so excited to see where this goes for peter....

Also I felt so bad for Ned during this whole thing he just waited for Peter the whole time

MJ IS HEEEEERE MY QUEEEEN

 “Peter, no one wants that.”

this was so rude of him but so funny i love ned

😭😭😭 Flash says the most random things

Canada!?

“I can hear them.”

Coming from Wanda that is eerie

YIEEE THE TWO OF THEM FINALLY MEET AGAIN

MONTANA AND NEW YORK... REUNITED

😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏 AND HE'S ANGRY TOO SO...

😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

“I’m not happy with you, woman,” he hissed under his breath.

hot 😀

“She says that he’s looking for weapons,” Boone said, perching on the edge of a three-legged table, “As far as we can tell, it’s gotta be someone stateside.”

Well, well, well.... who could that possibly be...

who could possibly be supplying Walsh with plenty of highly lethal weapons in the States... in New York... where he is... hmmmmmmm

it's the vulture it's definitely the vulture but dont tell them yet it's no fun if they know too soon

WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING FLASHBACKS TO THE AMBUSH WHYYYY

oh so now they really did fuck up big time huh....

“That’s it. We’re out of time. With her or without her, we’re finishing it.”

I'm so excited you dont even know

She wasn’t doing it because she wanted to keep them safe, she was doing it to distract herself from the rage that they shared. The rage that had been amplified by unwanted chemicals and experiments.

(F/N) had stopped fighting it, she’d allowed her baser instinct to take over. She was…gone.

Jesus christ darke...

this was not on the travel itinerary

but in all seriousness Jack's identity crisis is terrifying to read

He was Jack fuckin’ Bennet.

You know who else is fucking Jack Bennet? 😀

It's Duke and he is very proud of that

AYYYYY IT'S THE VULTURE'S GOONS

It was New York fuckin’ City, where anything could happen.

That should be their new tourism tagline

But…Ned?

Ned was counting on him. Even if he was the one that got them in this mess in the first place.

Ned comes before all else

wait i just had a thought

how did Liz --a high school senior--have the time to throw a massive houseparty?

does she not have constant projects to do... tests? the impending doom of college and what the future holds breathing down her neck? because that's what I'm dealing with right now and I barely have time to sit and read let alone throw parties

GOD I'm jealous of her

And here's where it all begins...

He didn’t even bother to hesitate. His legs were working before his brain was as he took off across the roof and dove down toward the street, slinging webs as he swung between trees and streetlamps.

downhill from here... as if we weren't already tumbling down

oh hi Bucky

jesus with everything going on I forgot about the ambush on

THE AMBUSH ON GHOST WAIT OMG

I need to reorient..

A low growl cracked from Bucky’s throat as he snapped the tablet in two before chucking both halves at the man and surging toward him, latching onto his collar.

😀 hot

Not noticing the low grin that curled to Walsh’s lips.

what is it with supersoldiers being ironically unaware of their own surroundings

omg Pete's about to meet Jack

oooooh this is gonna be so much fun

The spider kid from Colombia. Fun

Omg I didn't realize those gauntlets came from brock rumlow

“Oh, my butt!”

I love Peter

“What the heck?” he yelled, fighting back against the talon with a grunt before a purple ball of energy cracked through the sky.

Hey that's your future girlfriend's dad you're grappling with Pete

He really screwed this one up. At least it was a strange man with a mask that found him instead of Mr. Stark.

That would be really embarrassing.

Well, in another world, sure

also tony is busy... like really busy.

Silent Bob... oh my god Peter

The New York Shadow... That makes him sound like an urban serial killer

oooh The Shadow gives omens

hahah Doctor Noodle puts tabs on his notes

I do too but I don't keep track of someone's kill count

“Wraith has outlived his usefulness,”

OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIIIT

well... things have certainly taken a turn

things keep taking turns at some point we'll just circle right back to the start.

i'm so so so excited to see more of Peter's arc and Jack's development

This was so so so gooood darke

even though it did stress me out

CHAPTER 91: GREAT POWER, GREAT RESPONSIBILITY

To all my live reactors,

Please, please, please, hide your reactions under a Read More cut. I don’t want any spoilers floating around. 

&

To all my Anonymous Avengers, 

If you want to react in my asks, feel free. However, I won’t be answering any of them until at least Wednesday if they contain spoilers. 

Thank you,

Darke

┍━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┑

“Hey!” Peter yelled, vaulting over the fence, “Wait! Where are we going?”

“We're not going anywhere,” the Shadow said, continuing to march through the brush and back toward the bridge where they had first started, “You’re taking that back to Stark and figuring out where the hell it came from.”

“Aw, man.” Peter frowned, “But we made such a good team.”

The Shadow paused, looking him over with a shake of his head, “There’s somethin’ comin’, Spider-Man. You have to be ready.”

Peter’s frown deepened as the man stepped further into the darkness.

“What does that mean?” he asked, moving after the man before he froze. The man was gone, he’d seemingly melted into the night.

┕━━━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━━━┙

» CHAPTER 91: GREAT POWER, GREAT RESPONSIBILITY

✪ Bᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ Sᴄᴀʀʀᴇᴅ : Aғᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ

♜♠ Tʜᴇ Sᴏʟᴅɪᴇʀ & Tʜᴇ Sᴘʏ

⧗ Tʜᴇ Rᴇᴅ Rᴏᴏᴍ

»Jᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇ sɪᴅᴇ Tᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

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[wagner-fell]

I am still very new to this website and I don’t know how link a post but this fic is based on a post by @sandersgrey

(If someone reading this knows how to link a post please either explain it to me or link it in the comments because that post is *amazing*)

“Hmmm,” said Tessa, depositing Mina into Kit’s waiting arms and examining her buzzing phone critically. She shot a quizzical look in his direction.

Jem looked up from his novel. “What is ‘hmmm’, my love?”

Kit mimed vomiting but stopped dead in his tracks when she replied, “it’s Astrid’s mother. You remember her from parent teacher night, don’t you, my darling?” Kit swears they were being extra insufferable just to mess with him but he didn’t have the time to be annoyed when Astrid’s. Mom. Was. Calling. Tessa.

To understand why Kit was panicking as much as he was, you must know that Astrid’s mom was incredibly chill. She never got mad. The worst punishment she’d ever given her daughter was taking away her iPod for a week so she couldn’t listen to Mitski.

Was she calling about last night when Astrid, Mari and Kit threw eggs at the Shadowhunter’s that were giving Mari’s pack a hard time for no reason? No, that couldn’t be it. She’d given them the eggs.

Could the call be about the day before yesterday when Kit and Astrid got distracted doing homework and ended up snapping the coffee table clean in half while battling gladiator style with pool noodles? No, that wasn’t it. She’d just handed Astrid a twenty and told them to go to Kevin’s parents' shop and get a new one. Was she pissed because they ended up spending the money on ice cream instead? No, they ended up finding a table for free in the rubbing bin outside a fancy hotel.

Kit clutched his sister to his chest and prepared for the worst.

“Seo-yoon! What can I do for- Oh, hello Astrid!” Tessa paused briefly, presumably to listen to Astrid speak, and Kit sighed in relief.

“Kit is occupied at the moment but I can relay the message.” Another pause. “Oh don’t be frightened of me. I’m a tots rad mom. Your secret is safe with me.” Kit felt his face flush red as he heard his best friend’s laughter echo across the living room. “Okay! I’ll let him know. He has to get Mina to sleep before he can leave though. Lord knows he’s the only one who can these days.” Tessa chuckled at something Astrid said before wishing her good luck in her endeavour and ending the call.

She turned her attention back to Kit. “Astrid needs your help breaking into your teacher’s home to retrieve her cell phone.”

Kit blinked at her, dumbfounded. “You aren’t mad I’m going to go break the law?”

Because of course he was doing it. Astrid’s dad had bought it for her and he was extremely cautious about money. That was one of three things Kit knew about her dad. He was cheap, he lived in America and he loved the movie Fight Club.

Tessa ruffled Kit’s hair affectionately. “Please. I’ve raised two other Herondales. At least I know about this particular adventure beforehand.”

Mina began snoring softly and Kit handed her back to her mother. He grabbed his bag and started his journey to the door when Tessa added, “she also told me to say hi to a ‘daddy Kit’. Are you ‘daddy Kit?’”

‘Daddy Kit’ closed his eyes and wished for the sweet release of death.

“Why is Kit a daddy,” Jem asked, genuinely confused. “Aren’t I the daddy?”

Kit swung the door open so fast not even a speed rune could have aided him. But not before I heard Tessa reply, “Lily Chen certainly thinks so.”

Mrs. MacNamara clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we all go around and say a few things about ourselves?”

Kit buried his face into his hands. He’d been relieved when no other teacher had fulfilled the Disney channel stereotype of making every student introduce themselves to the new kid. But Mrs. MacNamara didn’t even seem to realize what she was doing.

All Kit’s fellow classmates groan. Expect one. Her hand shot up immediately. She was short, like smaller than Clary short. She wore a baggy pink shirt with the words ‘Queen Glimmer of Etheria’ sewed on with purple sequins and tight black jeans. Her colourful, choppy hair was in a low ponytail and she flew a few strands out of her eyes as her hand wiggled in the hair.

Mrs. MacNamara pointed at her. She stood up and smiled at Kit. “Hi. My name is Astrid. My hobbies include making my little cousin’s girl Barbies kiss, as it should be, and watching television shows where everyone is a terrible person so you can love all of them!”

“And what shows might that be?” asked Kit, already in the process of pulling out his phone and opening the Notes app.

“Grey’s Anatomy, Glee, Grey’s Anatomy again because it’s seventeen seasons as of right now. And to be fair it practically became a different show when they killed off Mark Sloan.”

“That’s enough, Miss Yang,” said Mrs. MacNamara. Astrid sat down and winked at Kit. Then she took out her phone and airdropped him a complete list of all her favorite shows, along with her number.

After Blessica’s pre-birthday birthday party, they went to Cirenworth and stayed up till four A.M. binging them.

They met outside a queer dry bar called Aries Not Welcome, the unspoken gathering place of the Merry Hoes. It was run by a poly lesbian couple in their mid-thirties. Quinn, Sydney and Aliyah may not have served alcohol but at least they were open 24/7.

“Did you bring the shit?”

Kit gave her a look. “The shit? How conclusive.”

“Shut up. You know, the shadowhunter thing.”

“The shadowhunter thing?”

“The, the, the glow stick that you draw with.”

“The glow stick that I draw wi-“ Kit closed his eyes briefly. “Do you mean a stele?”

Astrid snapped her fingers. “That’s it!” Kit shook his head in exasperation, smiling fondly. “I borrowed a torch from Quinn, let’s move.”

“Should I be worried that you know where Mr. Smith lives?” questioned Kit as he followed Astrid’s lead through the park.

“Should I be worried that your mom was fine with us breaking and entering?” she shot back playfully. Kit pushed Astrid and she fell off the path, laughing all the way.

“You called me ‘daddy’ to my mom’s face.”

She just laughed harder, slinging her arm around Kit’s shoulder. “It was over the phone, Christopher. And as I should.”

“Pffffttt. Why did you get your phone taken anyway?” She put her hands into her jumper pocket and looked at the ground. “Astrid.” She remained silent. “Astrid?”

She mumbled something under her breath. “What?” asked Kit.

“I WAS READING NINEJ FANFICTION!” she shouted.

Kit gasped. “I thought you were a die hard Kanej shipper,” he whispered.

“I’m a multishipper, okay?!” she replied, equally quiet.

“Does Blessica know?”

She shook her head. “And she will never find out.”

Kit saw the opportunity and he seized it. “She’ll never find out as long as you never call me daddy in front of either of my parents.”

She removed her arm from his shoulder and guided them out of the park, in the direction of the many apartments that lined this side of town. “I hate you.”

“Well, so does Mari. You're not special, Ast.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know Mari doesn’t actually hate you, right?! They’re just still in the enemy phase of your enemies-to-lovers romance. She only dislikes you because they feel something for you but they don’t know what so she interrupts it as loathing. In reality, her inner soul knows you’re hot and shmexie.”

Kit didn’t know how to process this so he just nodded and follow Astrid in silence to Mr. Smith’s house. (Plus, he was kinda glad that, according to his best friend, he had a little more time for Mari to ‘discover their true feelings’. If Kit screwed this up, he was out of countries to run off to.)

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What,” asked Kit, turning around to face Astrid and closing the drawer he was rifling through. “Did you find your phone?”

“Yeah. But I also found Blessica’s. She was Snapping Kevin. Platonic my ass. But he took the fucking trans flag out of her phone!”

Kit snatched Blessica’s phone out of her hand to examine it for herself. She was telling the truth. Where the glitter pride flag usually rested was just a clear purple case. Kit couldn’t believe his eyes.

“It’s one thing to misgender her every day.” Blessica had forced all four of the other Merry Hoes to sign a contract saying they wouldn’t do anything to harm him because of it. “But this is the last straw. You know what we have to do.” Oops.

“Yeah, but we don’t have any spray paint.”

Kit eyed Mr. Smith’s pink sofa, blue bar stool covers and white picture frames. “I think I have something better in mind.”

It would have been easier for both parties to just zip off the sofa cushions and tape them to the wall but by ripping them off in strips, they ensured he would have to buy new ones. And judging by the car he drove and the fiji water in his fridge, Mr. Smith could definitely afford it.

That reminded him, “I’ll finish up with this. Go put all his fiji water into my bag.” Astrid saluted him and ran off. “Wait.” She stopped and looked at him. “Steal all the remotes you can find.”

“How is he not awake?,” asked Astrid as they ripped the fabric of his seating from the stool.

He shrugged. “Don’t question it.” He shoved the bundle of cloth into her arms. “Glue this above the pink. I’ll handle the frames.”

“Say the magic word,” she sang.

“Please?”

“No. Lesbian. Come on, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Kit laughed quietly. “Can you lesbian glue this above the pink?”

She grinned at Kit. “It would be my pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hello! Sorry I haven’t written anything in so long. School just restarted and it has been…a lot.

@adoravel-fenomeno @thechangeling @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @noah-herondale-lightwood @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @maxboythedog @book-dragon-not-worm @hardlymatters

Very sorry if I forgot anyone. Lmk if you want to be addEd/removEd from the tag list.

[wizkiddx]

unusable faces

i have exams hence why i needed to write something exceptionally cringe :)

PSA: this is completely inspired from one of my fave writers own blurb @blissfulparker​ --> completely recommend u go read hers its much better than anything i could ever write!!!! (and just her whole account) = link

Summary: pure exhaustion and mutual pining, Tom Holland x actress!reader

^(just thought this was cute, doesn't really fit aha but full credit to op!!)

A scheduling nightmare would be putting it lightly. Perhaps almost unavoidable but that didn’t make it any less of a hellish form a torture. Harry had very helpfully said it actually was a form of torture, that is sleep deprivation. Y/n loved her job - it was all she’d ever really wanted - yet that thought was quickly becoming not enough to get her through the day. Not when it felt like an interrogation tactic used by the CIA. 

To give a quick timeline of the past few days may give a little context:

Thursday - filming the fight scene all day plus an evening-turned-half-the-night-shoot due to some technically difficulties delaying the process.

Friday - flying to New York while doing read throughs of scenes for the next few days; followed immediately by getting glammed and filming the tonight show with Fallon; then a dash across town to the late late show with James Corden; then straight back on a flight to Atlanta that landed at stupid o’clock in the morning

Saturday - a full day of shooting in a mock grand central station set

The press trip to NY had been unplanned… to say the least. But the star of their studios other new release had taken ill - meaning they had slots booked on some of the biggest talk shows in America that would just be abandoned (angering the shows bookers too). It was a waste of perfectly good promo time and since the studio had their two other stars together doing a block of reshoots - it wasn’t a conversation. Much more a call demanding the two of them to be on the plane.

Normally this wouldn’t be such an unmanageable ask either, except the reshoot block was really rather time pressured. You see, the promo tour wasn’t far from beginning meaning they really needed the final film in the can. So really it was a bit of a mess. Just to free up that single day the two were in New York the whole schedule had had to be rejigged - in doing so they’d lost a rare day off too. It was just typical.  

The joys of success hey?

Well, that’s at least what Y/n was making herself think whilst her incredibly talented SFX artist was in the process of crafting a deep wound onto her upper arm. The reason why she would be ‘dripping with blood’ whilst at a train station was beyond Y/n to be honest - she hadn’t been allowed to read a lot of the script so even now as filming was drawing to a close, the story arc of the movie she was headlining was still a little ‘fuzzy’.

“So I watched your ‘spill your guts’ thing on YouTube” Ellie giggled whilst reaching over for more prosthetic putty- a technical term apparently

“I’m glad one of us enjoyed the experience” Y/n replied with a sigh, rolling her eyes at the mischievous smirk on her face - no doubt Ellie took great joy out of seeing her suffer through eating a thousand year old egg. Which Y/n swore the taste of was still in her mouth… and it seemed as though it’d never leave. 

“Oh don’t worry darling I did too” Nelli called over from the next chair along, where she was doing Tom’s makeup for the day of shoots. “Between that and the animals on Fallon, you made a hell of a lot of people laugh last night” Tom’s artist was referencing the fact one of Jimmys other guests was a zookeeper, so at the end of the interview he had you and Tom join in trying not to scream at the snakes and spiders.

“You mean laugh at us?” 

“Well of course darling!” Nelli exclaimed back in an overdramatic bronx accent making all three of the women burst out laughing, Ellie’s unceremonious snorts echoing through the trailer only egged them all on more.

Tom in response, who had otherwise been absent from conversation for the majority of the morning, exclaimed a curse and jumped up in his chair. While you and Ellie collected yourself, Nelli apologised to him.

“Oh sorry love, I’m interrupting your snooze with my uncontrollable comedic gift” She spoke sweetly, even if still taking the moment to flaunt to the other women, as she squeezed his shoulder compassionately.

“No no” Tom waved off her apology, attempting to rub his eye before Nelli swatted his arm away - a stern look for the risk of ruining all her hard work she’d put into making his face look half presentable. 

“I’m impressed you can sleep while they poke you with all these er instruments” Y/n added in, having only just realised Tom had been in a light sleep for god knows how long they’d been in that chair. It did seem a bit unlikely, being able to fall asleep as you were dabbed, prodded and brushed. 

“Maybe you should try though Y/n… your purple eye bags are proving a struggle even for me” Ellie quipped back, now it was Y/n’s turn to give the stern look. Tom took the explain though, shutting her off from whatever kindly meant insult she was about to throw back at her friend. 

“No normally never, I just….” He was cut off by an ear splitting yawn, appearing almost powerful enough to crack his jaw - which would be a disaster, for no one should ruin such a beautiful and sharp jaw line. “…uh-sorry. I just think I ended up taking my NyQuil and DayQuil the wrong way round in the madness of yesterday.” Only Tom, the poor kid often seemed to lacking in any form of common sense - even if those closest to him knew just how intellectual and passionate he could be about the right topic. Affectionately, Nelli scalded his idiocy by jokingly swatting his head with a little tut.

“I can’t believe your still standing then! I’m barely alive and I don’t have any sedatives in my system.” It was true, Y/n was at that stage where every part of her body felt ridiculously heavy… eyes included … eyes especially. 

“But I did sleep on the jet back while your stupid self was studying the script!” Tom replied with a pretty inarguable point - at the time he knew her actions were stupid;  when their flight took off at 11 PM he was certain that the most valuable asset to his ability to act in the reshoots today would be sleep - rather than character development. And he’d tried to convince Y/n that briefly, but gave up. She was bloody stubborn when she wanted to be. 

“Stop competing about who has it worse cos I think it’s me and Nell”Ellie announced - making Nelli agree empathically with her coworker, nodding her head as she looked first to Y/n in her chair then back at Tom.

“Yeh because we have to deal with your unusable faces!!”

After much sarcasm thrown back and fourth, the trailer slowly ebbed it’s way back into serenity and peace as both artists focused on their work. Once Nelli was done she excused herself, Tom staying in the chair in favour of studying (more like staring blankly) at the dialogue for this mornings scenes. His pretence didn’t last long though and while Ellie was busy adding the final touches of fake blood to the now almost completely believable gash that she’d crafted on Y/n’s arm - Y/n had her attention focused the opposite way.

At poor little Tom. He looked so childlike, his slightly puffy eyes looked as if they had weights tied to them - they way he was having fight against gravity to flutter his eyes open, before loosing the next second only for the process to repeat as they dragged downwards. The broad muscles of his neck occasionally seemed to occasionally let up a little, letting his head tilt slowly at first until it gathered enough momentum to throw him off balance. The then sudden movement of his head unconsciously pulling itself back in line caused his eyes to bolt open prior to the whole cycle repeating again. All Y/n wanted to do was let him lay down someone, her heart feeling a tug in her chest just seeing him like that. 

Ellie proclaimed her completion of the wound, leaning back to admire her work before looking to get an affirming nod from Y/n. Yet instead, she was too preoccupied gazing at the boy slouched across from them. “Someone seems a little distracted.” Ellie smirked, finally garnering Y/n’s attention, only feeling more and more smug watching a light tint appear on the actors cheeks. 

“I-well-no… we need to go.” Y/n ignored her words as though nothing had happened, instead rushing off the chair to get Tom out the chair and onto the awaiting set. They had places to be.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||| (bcos im lazy)

Honestly when the director, Ed, called for lunch break, it was pretty apparent to be purely as a compassionate gesture to Y/n and Tom. Both of them had tried so hard this morning to fully commit, even so they’d both been almost completely useless. Y/n kept missing cues whilst all Tom’s actions and lines where slow, dragged out and at times completely prompted from someone behind the cameras. 

So when the lunch break was called there was only one thing on Y/n’s mind and what sandwich was available in the mess tent was not it. Still standing on the set next to her fake holdall bag she looked toward Tom, who was pulling himself up to standing from the train station bench - the pace of his movement making him look more like an old man. 

“You good?” His answer was predictable. 

“I’m so fucking shattered”

Tom swore he’d never heard anything sweeter come out of Y/n’s pink lips than her next statement.

“C’mon I know somewhere we can lie down.”

Without any sort of thought Tom blindly agreed, nodding as he took her outstretched hand in his. The gesture in itself brought a fresh wave of comfort to his aching limbs and as his feet stumbled to catchup with her slight head start he leant the majority of his weight into their connected hands. 

Neither would admit it but they were ‘a thing’… whatever the hell that meant. It was clear as day to everyone and anyone that worked closely to the two but neither of them had ever broached the topic with each other. They’d worked on a few films together over the years; each time they got closer and closer to the point any job without the other simply wasn’t as good. It was scary though, especially for two actors in the prime of their careers. If they weren’t working the same film they’d likely be the opposite side of the world to each other most of the time - quality time together would be few and far between, Really their jobs didn’t suit dating at all, yet it would be perhaps easier if one half of it worked a ‘normal’ job. Something with consistency, a regular structure. A level of dependability that neither Y/n nor Tom could offer to the other. 

So it was terrifying, acknowledging the growth in their magnetic attraction to each other. Both were acutely aware that doing that, confronting their feelings, would most likely signal the beginning of the end. 

Although none of this stoped Y/n from returning the gesture, tilting her shoulder into Tom’s left side as they took slow steps through and then out the set building. She steered the two past the hair and makeup trailer and round into a store and extra equipment trailer. Tom tilted his head as she climbed the stairs whilst beckoning for him to follow - it didn’t seem like the most obvious choice. Rolling her eyes, Y/n explained.

“It’s where all the blankets and coats and kept for the raining scenes plusssss no one will disturb us in here.” Again Tom was not in a position to disagree, eyes drooping as his shoulders sagged to the floor. Right now he’d take anything. 

So he climbed up the stairs and shut the door behind him, just as Y/n flipped the light on. She was right, it was well equipped and with an almost mountainous supply of red blankets that normally the crew and extra would all be wrapped up in after the freezing rain scenes with all the ‘waterfall machines’ as Y/n called them. However it was also um…. It was cosy. “Oh I don’t think I realised how small it was” She chuckled lightly, since now the door was closed her back was pressed up against the far wall of cabinets and still her front was mere millimetres from Tom.

“I…I don’t mind… if-if you don’t?”

“I’m too tired to care” She giggled in response, and Tom , now with her seal of approval, immediately started ransacking the piled shelves for all their worth creating a floor carpeted in the pale red of the blankets, in an attempt to make it more cosy. Joining in, it was almost remarkable how quickly their bodies suddenly agreed to move, with the new promise of rest mere moments away. 

Once the trailer was fully drowned, Tom kicked off his costume shoes and threw his jacket off - it haphazardly landing by the doorway. Y/n copied him, leaving her stood up whilst he had the advantaged of already settling down on the floor, her standing and looking down at him.

The space between the two opposing shelving units was not close spacious enough for two people to lie down whilst keeping a respectable level of personal space. Suddenly feeling a wave of awkwardness, Y/n stayed standing, wringing her hands slightly - whilst fairly certain Tom could hear her heart running at 100 mph. 

“You er… gonna stay there or?” Tom, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t a complete idiot - he could see she was suddenly self conscious. He got it too - they’d never crossed this boundary of choosing to cuddle into each other. It had happened once of twice accidentally over there 2 years of knowing each other. Both of those times it was completely accidental, falling asleep watching a movie with a safe distance of space b between the two, only to find hours later their bodies almost completely intwined. Tom would be lying if he said that his heart didnt skip a beat when he had awoken to Y/n’s soft and gently breath fanning into his neck. He’d loved it, but understood that was unconsciously breaking down part of the wall they’d both been the constructors of.

For fear of getting hurt. 

So now, as Y/n awkwardly bent down and lay on her side, he thought it was imperative to make her feel comfortable. Naturally then, his arm slid round her shoulders and pulled her down toward his chest, releasing a little breath as he felt her relax, her legs slowly wrapping round one of his. 

“This okay?” He murmured, now into the crown of her head as she lay half on her side half on his chest. In reply she nodded into him and Tom couldn’t help but grin- unbeknownst to him but Y/n was doing the exact same thing. 

The peace lasted all of 3 seconds until she groaned again.

“What?” Tom enquired as she wriggled out his hold and stood up. Instead of replying though she just leant over and flicked the one harsh light bulb off making Tom chuckle as she fumbled her way back onto the padded floor in the darkness, earning a few grunts from both as she accidentally kicked Tom’s thighs or banged her head on one of the now empty shelves. Fumbling her way back into a comfortable position, occasionally cursing when she stubbed her toe- or Tom did when she accidentally elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Comfy?” Tom asked a little sarkily as he squeezed her a little more into his side.

“Mhmmmm… I’m gonna sleep for 100 years”

“Yeh me… me too”

And with that they both almost instantly and in complete unison sagged into each other and the blankets - the pent up stress and tension of the past few days ebbing away.

What the pair had neglected to remember was that sleeping for 100 years wasn’t really an option. The whole crew of 50 people, who wanted to restart filming after 45 minutes, had not been told about Y/n’s little hiding place. The pair were so completely safe in their own little cocoon of comfort they were completely oblivious to their teams calling there names more and more frantically. Completely oblivious to the game of hide and seek the situation had descended into, completely oblivious to Harrys natural annoyance as the director asked him for the whereabouts of the two stars - as though Harry was childminder to the pair of them.

It was Nelli who found them first. She’d and Ellie and Tom’s manager had all been recruited by Harry as part of the man hunt. Both girls, having seen first hand the state of the two this morning, were fairly certain they’d both crashed out somewhere. So Nelli, already with a sneaking suspicion, opened the door gently, her figure blocking the majority of the light from seeping through to the dimly lit inside. The sight she was met with had her actually pouting at the cuteness - and yes its a cringey word but also the only one appropriate.

Between bedding down and barely an hour later the two had managed to become impossibly tighter pressed to each other. Y/n’s face was pressed into the crook of Tom’s neck and his arms seemed to have pulled her on-top of him almost completely. Her left leg was hooked under his right, which was then sandwiched by his left too. They both looked so pure and innocent and god did Nelli know they both needed any extra time they could get.

Nelli cared a lot about Tom, she’d been working with him from the beginning, from the child star days to now. She cared about him like her very annoying surrogate son and she wanted to see him looked after. She also so completely wanted the two stars to stop pining after each other. Because frankly it was getting a little frustrating for everyone else. 

So she chose to tactically forget about her discovery, sneaking a photo on the sly before silently pulling the door closed and leaving them to their sleep. 

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 2

Rating: Explicit. 18+

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Bad girls are sad girls! Always wondered what goes through the mind of a spoiled, rich but intelligent and perceptive teenager? Have you found yourself craving that adrenaline rush, the danger of a forbidden fruit? Okay. That was cheesy as hell. Gross.

Let’s try again. Sarcasm? Check. Vine references? Hell yes! Crude humour? Check. Blunt honesty? Double check. We’re living in a Lana del Rey song, ladies.

The author doesn’t actually condone codependent relationships in real life. This is a filthy little fantasy. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @vozit​ @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings  ! She deserves all the love 💙

Peter woke me up at eight AM the next morning like the little shit that he was, demanding I make him pancakes. It wasn’t the first time I’ve had the joy to experience him in the morning and he knew exactly how to antagonise me enough to make him the special pancakes he liked so much. They had become kind of a ritual whenever he stayed over at my house, which was quite often - teachers liked me enough to pair me up with one of the most sensible kids for any projects that couldn’t be done alone by yours truly on her own.

I put on my yesterday’s dress, applied moisturizer and obediently trotted behind an excitedly mumbling Peter. The kitchen was large, beautiful and delightfully empty of any resident superheroes. I’ve indirectly crossed paths with all of the tower’s residents hanging around Tony, but I’ve yet had to speak more than polite niceties to any of them. 

Spying a bowl of boiled eggs and some sort of weird salad alongside half burned toast on the counter, I suddenly understood why Peter demanded his pancakes. I strictly instructed the disaster child to stay away from my cooking process and set to work with one ear listening to his ramblings and a headphone in the other. 

A set of thumping footsteps appeared behind me as I was pouring the batter for the first pancake. Their owner loudly sat down next to Peter, sighing, groaning, generally making “I’m not a morning person” sounds.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes,” Peter’s tone was way, way too chipper.

“‘mrng,” The Sergeant grumbled. “Who’s this and why is she making pancakes?”

I turned around, spatula at the ready. “It’s me,” We’ve actually met before, but Barnes had left before I could even come over from my side of the work bench to say hello.

He nodded in acknowledgement after giving me a suspicious once-over. “One of Stark’s science children. I’m James but you can call me Bucky,” His voice sounded rough and gravely, and he clutched a coffee cup half the size of my head.

I snorted. “Science child, sure,” It wasn’t half-bad actually. I wisely choose to ignore the part of being Tony’s. No matter how hot the man was, I wasn’t anybody’s but my own, thank you very much. “Go get the bananas, Nutella and maple syrup, fellow science child.”

Peter scrambled to follow instructions as I plated the pancakes and cut the bananas into neat little rings to fill the sweet circles with. A tablespoon of Nutella, half a sliced banana, wrap, garnish with powdered sugar and pour maple syrup generously on top. I really didn’t see how this could be difficult but any and all attempts to teach Peter how to recreate my masterpiece always ended up in an absolute mess. I turned around to ask Bucky if he wanted any. The look of a man starved answered all my questions.

“You’re a goddess,” Peter moaned around his mouthful, nose smudged white with the powdered sugar.

“Gross, chew first then talk, you neanderthal,” I scoffed, prepping more batter for the second batch of pancakes. I wasn’t sure if everybody would show up but figured it would be rude to exclude them from the sheer magnificence that were my pancakes. I was just that good.

The music in my ear drowned most of Peter’s disgusting chewing noises, thankfully. My second batch vanished into thin air, inhaled by the two males like the garbage disposals that they were. Peter, in particular, ate an alarming quantity of food and I was surprised how he managed to stay so skinny. His daily eating schedule resembled the Hobbits.

More people appeared, this time acting less surprised regarding me standing at the stove. Hawkeye, Black Widow, Scarlet Witch and her brother, all of them wandered in wearing sleep attire with various amusing prints. Thankfully, they mostly kept quiet or chatted with Peter - I would have definitely grumbled if someone tried to talk to me. As far as my body was concerned it was still the middle of the night.

“PANCAKES,” A booming voice announced and I shuddered at the sheer intensity and devotion contained in that one word. Thor.

“Please use your indoor voice,” I snapped reflectively. My brain caught up with what I just did so I hastily backtracked. “Sorry, I’m a bitch in the mornings.”

The blonde man chuckled, coming over to poke his nose into my flurry of pour-flip-fill sequence. Then, with all the grace and manners of a prince, he dipped one (1) large finger into the jar of Nutella and wandered off with it stuck in his mouth. With this turn of events the Nutella was bound to run out sooner than expected.

I turned around, annoyed confusion in plain sight. “The fuck?.. That’s gross, don’t do that,” Finding his brother (adopted!) sitting next to Thor, wearing a haughty smirk, finger still in his mouth. So Loki turned into his brother to steal Nutella from a jar. I sighed. Nobody even batted an eye. “Your alien germs are in there now, double ew.”

“Alien germs? Where?” Bruce entered the kitchen with a tablet under his arm, wearing Hulk themed pajamas, Captain America in tow. I was honestly on the verge of breaking down into hysterical laughter. Domestic Avengers wasn’t something I’d expected to see or experience, ever, much less be a part of. It took a moment for me to remind myself that they were people, too, and each of them was entitled to their own quirks. 

���America, egg-splain,” Peter muttered under his breath, giggling. “Loki stuck his hand in the Nutella jar,” He pointed at said jar. “She got grumpy,” Peter pointed at me. “Don’t make her grumpy, please, I want more pancakes,” And turned his pleading puppy eyes in my direction again.

“This is indentured servitude,” I pointed my spatula at the little shit. “You just had, like, ten.” But I made more batter nonetheless. I must admit it was kind of cool, seeing the earth’s mightiest defenders so relaxed. And Pete being happy, that was just… The best. I don’t know how to explain it. His eternal cheerfulness was highly contagious.

Chuckles filled up the room, the adults chatting and bickering amongst themselves while they patiently waited for their own breakfast. 

“Do you need some help?” Bruce approached me after stopping to fetch himself a cup of tea. It smelled strongly of tangy herbs and honey.

“I need more Nutella and bananas,” I admitted, surveying the sheer amount of people I had to feed. I didn’t doubt the Captain and two Asgardians had an appetite to match Peter’s which meant a literal extra set of condiments was required. Thankfully, Bruce fetched them for me, coming to a stop next to me. “Anything else?”

“You know, I tried making these with Peter and he just ended up with powdered sugar and chocolate all over himself,” I mused, noting the way Banner was carefully observing the assembly of a pancake. “You think Doctor seven-phds can manage to add a few toppings to a pancake without causing a disaster?“ 

Bruce rolled his eyes fondly, bumping me with his hip. "I’m no Clint Barton when it comes to cooking but at least I don’t burn my toast like Steve,” True to his word, his hands made swift motions of filling, wrapping and plating each individual pancake. They were almost as good as mine albeit more messy. I had lots of practice though. We finished off a batch in companionable silence, sounds of the team and my music playing in the background. 

I didn’t notice when I started swaying to the rhythm, catching a confused look from Bruce. I brushed back my hair, revealing a wireless headphone in my ear and he chuckled in understanding. “What are you listening to?”

“Right now? Kings of Leon,” I said, leaning towards him so he could hear the chorus “Use Somebody” currently occupying my right ear. 

“I like them, too,” He said, his cheek gently touching mine. His hands slowed on the pancake, a soft hum vaguely reminding me of the song’s melody emanating from his throat. “What else do you usually listen to?”

“Mostly heavier stuff, but I have a whole separate playlist dedicated to mid-2000s bops,” I answered. “I’ve heard I’m quite old school when it comes to music.”

“Well, I am an old man, so…” Bruce grinned mischievously. “But my guilty pleasure is Lady Gaga,” He admitted with a laugh.

I laughed, too. The image of his dancing in his lab to Born This Way was too much for my brain and I hung my head, fighting giggles. Bruce bumped me with his hip again, faking a pout. “Okay, okay, that was a fucking hilarious image, you go dude,” I finally powered through my struggle to contain laughter. “My own guilty pleasure would be… Umm… Lana Del Rey, I guess.”

Bruce made a vague noise of confusion. I took a brief break from mixing the batter to dig out my second headphone, presenting it to him and switching to a song. “This is what makes us girls”. Despite the fact I have never stolen a car or had a close female friend, the nostalgia was real. “Carmen” followed after the first song and I silently thanked whatever deity that “You can be the boss” was taken out of Spotify - I don’t think I was prepared to share that kind of information with a lab partner. An older, handsome lab partner. Wait… Where did that come from?

“I like it,” He said after the song ended and my more usual stuff began playing. “It suits you, I think.”

I groaned. “Really? I think it’s edgy,” Hiding away the embarrassment, I passed him a tray of freshly baked pancakes, occupying his immediate attention.

“You’re an old soul,” He gave me a lopsided smile. I saw a very faint blush tinting his cheeks, the kind of blush that had me wondering about the meaning behind his words. 

I gave an attempt at a smile in response, the left corner of my mouth barely tilting up. We talked some more about the rock music we shared in our earphones. I had a lot of 80s hair metal and 90s grunge in my playlist. Bruce was not a Curt Cobain man but enjoyed the works of his legacy, Marcy Playground. 

A tan hand wormed its way between me and Bruce, snatching a handful of banana slices and disappeared just as swiftly. “Tonyyy,” Bruce groaned, picking up another banana to replace the stolen pieces.

The spatula in my hand became a weapon as I blindly aimed at the target behind my back. A loud “ow” indicated I hit it. When I turned around, Tony was clutching the side of his face, a hurt look in his eyes and cheeks stuffed full of stolen goods. I stared him square in the face, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was shirtless - the arc reactor glowed brightly in the middle of his toned chest. Fuck.

His chest was honestly what I was aiming for. I constantly kept forgetting how short he actually was. There was this one time when Tony had to put his arms around me to steady a piece of tech - he felt huge, hard and enormous around me. 

“What’s that for, Princess?” He finally chewed through his food and found his voice.

“For being a Tony,” I retorted. “Stay away from my workspace and wait for your breakfast like everybody else.”

“Hey! This is my kitchen,” He whined immediately, like the adult man that he was. I nearly cried from how adorable his face became, eyebrows scrunched up. “I don’t want to wait! And why does he,” Tony’s finger accusingly pointed at Bruce, “Get the bananas?!”

“Because he’s Brucie-bear,” I stuck my nose up in the air when Bruce’s arm wrapped around my waist. “He’s my science father,” I stuck my tongue out at Tony, seeing Bruce’s triumphant smile. Banner used every opportunity to get back at Tony’s incessant sass. 

The gleaming in Tony’s eyes should have alarmed me. “But he’s not your science daddy,” Tony’s flirting was accompanied by a salacious eyebrow wiggle and Peter’s screech of “OH MY GOD!" 

It took me every ounce of willpower to not flush. It was one of those rare times that I was at a complete loss of words. Thinking on the spot, I gave a very meaningful look to Bruce - thankfully, he got the gist and returned an equally filthy smirk back. Tony gaped.

"Is this how they are in the lab?” The Captain’s quiet voice leaked horrified amusement.

“All.The.Time.” Peter’s resonating groan was followed by Romanoff’s laughter.

We went up to the lab after breakfast. Thankfully Tony stopped his dramatic bitching when I served him my pancakes, scarfing them down much like everybody else. So me and Pete were accompanied by one (1) happy engineer, all three of us tinkering away on a robot that we were supposed to present in our science class in a month. The focus that was required to solder was immense and our usual banter was missing, replaced by an occasional request for a specific tool or a water bottle.

It took a few hours to get the dirty job done even with Tony’s help (technically he wasn’t supposed to but neither me nor Pete had the heart to forbid him from it when the man looked so content and happy soldering away). By the time I uncurled from my spot on the bench, my back was in knots and my dress had oil stains and holes all over it. I immediately went to the nearest water bottle, finishing half of it in seconds, picking up my phone to see if I had any important messages from my mother.

None.

Just a message from Bruce.

I tapped on my phone, idly scrolling through the Instagram app, liking some pictures of people I barely knew and keeping up a general appearance of being very busy. When the ringtone started playing, it took me a whole five seconds to understand it was, in fact, coming from my phone - I certainly wouldn’t put something so… Outrageous as my main tone.

Banner had discovered the power of the internet. You Can Be The Boss played loudly, and it played from my phone and Bruce was calling me. I picked it up, turning around, fighting the incoming laughter. “Yes, Brucie?" 

To say that Tony’s and Peter’s faces were scandalised was nothing. The boy’s face was such a deep shade of red, I started worrying about his blood pressure and Tony’s mouth hung open limply, like he was witnessing the second coming of Christ. 

"Is Tony sufficiently traumatized?” Judging by the breathless tone of his voice, Banner was resisting a mighty laughing fit of his own.

“Oh, absolutely,” I happily chirped.

“Good, keep it up. Come to my lab before you leave,” Banner snorted and then, realising what he’d done, promptly hung up, the tell-tale beginning of a giggle fit abruptly interrupted by a dial tone.

I put the phone in my bag, gathering the rest of my things with a look somewhere between innocence and indifference. At least, I hoped it was - my mind kept jumping between the engineer’s ridiculously scandalised face and the way his mouth went slack, lips moist and soft and plush. That’s a very dangerous trail.

A very dangerous trail I couldn’t resist exploring in the solitude and privacy of my own bedroom, at home.

[holylulusworld]

Stronghold (3)

Summary: Two years after the people returned from the blip you find yourself searching for your purpose in life.

Pairing: Nomad!Steve x Reader, former Sean x Reader

Characters: Ofc’s

Warnings: angst, isolation, comforting, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, cuddling & snuggling, lumberjack vibes, language, jealousy, mentions of blowjob/protected sex, breeding kink, wish for child

Words: 2,9 k+

<< Part 2

Solitude masterlist

“Steve,” you fist the sheets, try to grab anything to hold tight onto whilst the man behind you has a grand time taking you apart. “Oh-god, Captain!” you cry out, falling exhausted onto the bed.

“Look at you,” Steve purrs, watching his seed run down your thighs, a smirk on his lips. “You know, we could have used a condom. I got one left.”

“Damn, we used like thirty condoms in not three weeks. I bet that’s a record,” you exclaim, giggling into the cushions. “I never thought I would say so, but I need a break or you’ll break me with your dick.”

“Break,” he is covering your body with his larger frame, to press his face into the crook of your neck. “I’ll grant you a break, doll.”

“The snow, it melts slowly, and I thought we could talk about me staying here. I mean, are you sure you want me to stay? We barely know each other,” Steve chuckles, nibbling along your shoulder.

“We know each other very well, Y/N,” you groan, pressing your ass against his crotch. “I didn’t mean our bodies, Steve. Do not distract me, Rogers.”

“I just need to know if you are mad that I lied about the snow to keep you here,” Steve murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your neck. “I want you to stay, but not pressure you.”

“I could’ve left anytime, Steve. I just need to know if you would’ve let me go,” gasping Steve rolls you onto your back, nodding eagerly. “Of course, doll. I would never keep you here if you want to go.”

“I don’t want to leave, Steve but free will is important to me. I didn’t believe you wanted to keep me hostage, even though, you’re a damn sexy kidnapper,” you wiggle your eyebrows, licking your lips. “How about we talk after a hot shower, breakfast and you telling me how the heck you are hard again.”

“Perks of the serum, Y/N,” grinning cheekily Steve looks at your glistening sex, groaning silently. “If not for the break, I’d devour you again…”

“Fuck the break, Stevie,” you grasp for Steve’s shoulders, looking down your body to watch his rigid cock take you apart all over again. “I love how you fuck me.”

“Jesus, doll. We are going to be sore the whole day if we don’t stop doing it,” laughing at Steve’s words you wrap your arms around his neck, pecking his lips with every thrust. “But I’ll risk it with pleasure.

“God, I’ll never leave your bed, shower, or this cabin again. Not with the way you claim my body,” Steve groans at your words, digging his fingers deeper into your ass to speed up. “Holy fuck!” Another high spread through your body enlights all nerves until you go limp in Steve’s arms.

You fall against his chest, whimpering when his warmth fills you. “I don’t even care if you knocked me up, Steve. I don’t know why, but I feel like I belong.”

“Same, Y/N. I mean, no other girl made me sore down there,” Steve grins, pecking your forehead. “I suggest we have a break until tonight or we will not be able to sit properly.”

“Worth it, Steve. Totally worth it,” exhausted you just rest your body against Steve’s chest, sighing dreamily. “Love you, my sexy lumberjack.”

Steve's heart jumps in his chest, almost bursts open when you sleepily mumble the words he hoped to hear. “Love you too, Y/N. I know this is sudden, but I feel a connection to you I never felt before.”

“My sexy lumberjack is mine,” you smirk, lifting your head to meet Steve’s eyes. “I am like a plague or foot fungus, hard to get rid of.”

Steve laughs, even shakes his head at your words, not wanting to ever get rid of you. “How about we get dressed, have breakfast, and check if it’s safe to drive today.”

“Sounds like a plan, Captain. Do you have any safety instructions?” giggling you hide your face in Steve’s neck, kissing the mark you left softly. “I mean, I never traveled with a hero and the savior of the world before.”

“Just stay close to me, look pretty, and don’t make me devour you again for a few hours, even I feel sore,” you snort at Steve’s words, letting him carefully pull out. “I am afraid we have to shower again to get my dirty girl clean.”

“Naughty, lumberjack Rogers,” you tease, biting his neck again. “Now clean the mess you made down there. I can’t travel with Captain America while his cum dries on my thighs.

“Doll, stop talking like that. I can’t guarantee I will not break you,” Steve presses you against the cool tile wall, holding you there. “I can still take you apart.”

“Later, Captain…”

“Did I ever tell you that you look like a domestic dream while making breakfast for me,” you peck Steve’s cheek, glancing at the eggs he made. “Such a great catch. Good looking, smart, strong, a good cook and we do not want to talk about your qualities in the bedroom. I guess you’re mine, no discussion,” you swoon, preparing the plates. “I…I feel good with you Steve.”

“I feel good with you too, and I do not mean the physical part,” smirking Steve watches you steal a slice of bacon. “We match in the bedroom too, but I love how you accept me, my decision to give up being Captain America and that you let me read you a book every night.”

“I love curling in your lap and listen to your deep voice lulling me into sleep. No one gave me the feeling of being save before,” you round the kitchen counter to wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head against his back. “I don’t want to leave our stronghold.”

“Doll, we have to leave one day or another. I want to buy more supplies, especially condoms,” hiding your face into his flannel you giggle. “I mean, I could just get you pregnant but I don’t know if we are ready for tiny lumberjacks running around the cabin.”

“I can get a new shot, Steve. I kinda like to feel you fill me up,” Steve groans, smirking when you let your hands wander over his chest, down to his abs. “I like it when you mark me.”

“I like it too, doll. Now eat, and we can get dressed to drive to your storage room. We will have to make a list. Spring is close, but sometimes even during spring the snow comes back, and we are snowed in again.”

“Ready?” Steve can see the hesitation in your eyes. Somehow you believe you will not return to the cabin if you leave it now. “We will drive to your storage room, your doctors’ practice and later, we’ll get everything we need.”

“I don’t want to go,” whining you wrap your arms around Steve, pressing your face into his wide chest. “Promise me to bring me back here, Steve.”

“Promised, Y/N. I’ll bring you back here and no one can stop me,” Steve pecks your lips, running his hands up and down your arms to calm you. “Now take a deep breath and we go to my car. Maybe we see your friend the wolf.”

“No! That asshole can stay away!” You grunt, following Steve outside of the cabin. He locks the cabin with remote control, giving you a wink.

“Stark technology. No one gets inside when I am away so,” he smirks, cupping your face, “your friend the wolf can’t wait for you on my bed.”

“Awe, what a pity, Steve. I wanted to have a party with Wolvie later,” taking Steve’s offered hand you walk toward his SUV. “You know, I never thought I’d return to my hometown with Captain America.”

“All done,” you sigh, rubbing your upper arm. “I got a shot and my doctor will send my file to the doctor I found. She has her practice not far away from the cabin in town.”

“What’s next,” looking at the list he made Steve crosses your doctors’ practice out. “We got your shot; I bought more books at this nice shop. Anything else you want to do except for getting your things from the storage room?”

“We could have a break. Over there is a nice café,” your stomach rumbles, and Steve snickers, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Let’s have a snack and we can take care of the storage room later.”

“You’re such a good boyfriend,” Steve smiles at your words, not giving away he loves when you call him your boyfriend. “Always taking care of your girl.”

“Always, doll.”

“I’ll have a slice of your cherry pie and one of the cupcakes with strawberry flavor. My boyfriend wants a slice of apple pie, whipped cream, and the blueberry muffin,” you order and Steve smirks.

“What if I do not like apple pie, Y/N?”

You slide your fingers over the hand he placed onto the table, meeting his gaze. “I know you like it, Stevie. I could bake you one too.”

“Hmm, doll. I guess this means I can never let you out of my clutches. You belong with me,” Steve leans toward you to kiss your lips softly. “Love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too, Steve,” you run your fingers through his hair, smiling as he closes his eyes to enjoy your touch.

“Y/N?” A voice you thought you would never hear again let your body go stiff. “I knew it’s you when you walked into the café. You never could resist Milly’s pie,” Sean coos.

“Who’s that?” Steve ask already knowing who ruined your romantic moment, you showed him one of the few pictures on your phone.

“I am Sean Morton, Y/N’s husband,” Steve gets up to intimidate tower over your ex-husband. Sean’s eyes widen, and his hand hurts when Steve takes it to squeeze it a bit too hard.

“Ex-husband,” you pipe. “We signed the papers, Sean.”

“Right,” panting Sean presses his hand to his chest, whining as the pain will not subside. “How have you been, Y/N? The last thing I heard was that you wanted to go on a trip. Seems like you found yourself a lumberjack to keep you warm.”

Now Steve takes off his sunglasses and the base cap. He can see the change in Sean’s posture. Your ex-husband’s shoulders slump, his jaw goes slack, and he gasps audibly.

“How impolite of me, Sean. I am Steve, Steve Rogers, Y/N’s boyfriend, and the man taking her on the trip. It was a great adventure,” Steve lies, and you smile up at him, nodding eagerly.

“There was a wolf, Sean. Can you believe that wild beast ran off only as he got a glimpse of my tall boyfriend? He didn’t even need his strength,” you smirk when Sean’s girlfriend, the woman you found in your bed steps toward your table.

“Steve, baby,” you get up from your chair, moving your arm around Steve’s waist. “This is the woman I told you about. The one I found in my bed,” you smile sweetly, loving the way her face falls.

“Well, I have to thank you, Sean,” your ex-husband tries to swallow the lump in his throat watching Steve, wrap one strong arm around you, “without your infidelity there was no chance for me to find the love of my life,” Steve narrows his eyes, silently warning Sean to retreat and leave you alone.

“Yeah-uh, erm,” stammering Sean nervously runs his fingers through his hair. “I just came over to say ‘hi’, that’s all. Have a great day and enjoy the pie.” Steve smirks hearing the woman ask if you are with Captain America.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” you lean your head against Steve’s shoulder whilst he drives toward the storage room. “But it was freeing too. I am glad he saw that I moved on with a better man.”

“I wish you never experienced such betrayal,” Steve parks the car, smiling when you look up at him. “Steve, I am not sorry as I met you this way.”

“Let’s get your things and drive back home,” home, the word makes you feel warm.While you watch Steve get out of his SUV you smile again, when he opens the door to the passenger seat, holding out his hand.

“Always the gentleman, Mr. Rogers,” you smirk, placing your hand into Steve.

“A nice collection of books”, Steve hums, carrying the last box toward the car.

“Such a pleasure watching you carry heavy things,” you giggle when Steve slaps your ass playfully.

“Captain Rogers,” biting your lower lip you watch Steve bend down to cup your face. He’s pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “You naughty man.”

“Only for you, doll.”

“We've got everything inside,” you fall onto the couch, groaning. “That guy looked at us as if we want to rob the store.” Steve strips his plaid of, and you whimper watching his muscles flex.

“We bought their whole stock of condoms, doll. What did you expect to happen?” Steve grins, it’s a dirty grin and you feel your core ache for him once again. “Not now, kitten,” he purrs, and you crawl toward Steve, watching him with doe eyes and parted lips.

“You know, we could test those condoms,” you snicker, pointing toward the bag filled with condoms, lube, and other things to pass the time the best way possible. “Cherry taste, Stevie. I could enjoy the taste and your cock on my tongue.”

“Holy,” Steve groans, not wanting to give in again. “We need to sort the supplies, find a place to store your clothes, memorabilia, and everything else.”

“Later,” you try, batting your eyelashes. “I want to taste your dick with those condoms, Steve.” You can see the struggle on your boyfriend’s face but this time he stays adamant.

“I’ll give you all you want later, doll. Now let’s unload the boxes, let me drive the car into the garage,” disappointed you get up from the couch, standing on tiptoes to peck Steve’s lips.

“Look, the first snowdrops grow behind the cabin,” carefully placing the vulnerable flowers into a glass Steve hands you the snowdrops. Your heart flutters watching this strong, tall, and deadly man carefully carrying the tiny flowers.

“I bet you would make a great dad,” blurring out what was on your mind for days you feel the heat creep into your cheeks. “I mean-erm,” embarrassed you glance at the flowers in Steve’s hands.

“Y/N, do you have baby or cabin fever?” Steve smirks, stepping closer to lift your chin with his index finger. “I’d like to make you a mother, doll. Just say the word,” you grasp for his shirt, fisting it tightly.

“I didn’t get the shot, no birth control,” whining you look up at Steve. “I turned thirty last year and wanted a baby for so long. With Sean gone for five years, all I could do was yearning and now I want it so bad.”

You find yourself on the table, clothes in shreds only moments later. Steve ignores he’s still sore, just like you when he slides into you.

“Stevie,” you arch your back, watching him spread your legs wide to watch his cock disappear inside your body. Braced on your elbows you nod eagerly, following Steve’s eyes to watch his cock push in and pull out, push in and pull out.

“I am going to put a baby inside of this belly right now,” he purrs, cupping the back of your neck to force you to look into his eyes at the very moment he starts to rock his hips slowly. “There’s no way you will not be full of my child.”

“Steve, I love your way to do dirty talk,” you laugh, looking up at Steve. You get lost in his ocean blue eyes whilst you grip the hand on your hip. “Give me a baby.”

“All you want, doll. Shit,” you wrap your legs around his waist, rocking your body, meeting every thrust. “I want you to stay here, be mine and never look back.” You can see the adoration in Steve’s eyes and a hint of possessiveness. “Love you, Y/N.”

“I, oh-fuck, love you too,” the coil tightens, unwinds faster than ever before.

You’ve got no clue if it was the encounter with your ex-husband, the way Steve looks at you, or that you are doing it for the first to have a baby but the high rippling through your body makes you cry.

“Did I hurt you?” Concerned Steve watches you sniffle. “Darling? Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, I just feel so happy, Steve,” you know it’s stupid to cry during sex, but you can’t stop your tears. “Shit, I never cried during sex.”

“Phew, I thought I broke you,” Steve wraps his arms around you, jerking his hips a few more times before you feel his warmth fill you.

Snuggled into Steve’s chest in the old armchair he loves so much, a warm blanket wrapped around your bodies you watch the snowfall. The whole world is a with wonderland again but you only care about the man holding you in his arms.

For the first time, you feel like you belong, you feel like you found your home, your stronghold…

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[whatanoof]

Luck Be the Lady Tonight

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Word Count: ~4.4k

Content: blood, violence, fluff, death, gods who like to fuck around with peoples' minds, oh did I mention swearing yet?

Prequel to I Wished For Your Happiness

Dawn filters across the sky like the coming of the tide. It pushes into the inky twilight gradually, so slowly that one doesn’t notice the changing colors until it’s in full swing. Reds and oranges and yellows and the slightest hint of pink streak across the clouds and chase away every memory of the previous night.

Not that you were awake to see it of course, Max made sure of that last night when he exhausted you with… um… certain activities. But shortly after the dawn, the door to the bedroom creaks, waking you from peaceful sleep to the drowsy world of the waking. The creak is the only warning you get before the seven-year-old boy equivalent of a mortar shell drops onto the covers, bouncing the bed violently and bringing weak protests from the man under the covers to your left.

You thank every star in the faded night sky that Max had the awareness to redress both you and him last night before falling asleep. Good luck.

“Good morning!”

Max groans sleepily and pulls the covers over his head, “Alistair…”

You smile and blink blearily, “Good morning, Alistair.” You stretch under the covers luxuriously, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Come on, come on! We have to go soon!” Every other word is accompanied with another bounce on the sheets, and you wince. Ali is pretty much situated completely on top of the Max-sized lump under the blankets, and that can’t feel good.

“Okay,” You laugh, sneaking out from under the sheets. “Come on, let your dad sleep in just a little bit more. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Silvia usually makes eggs,” You nod. Silvia is Alistair’s nanny that accompanies him back and forth between his parents, but you had given her the weekend off. It was her twenty first birthday, and you only turn twenty-one in America once.

So you decided to take time off too, and to take Alistair for a day on the town. Max had been more reluctant to take the day off, but you’d pestered him until he’d given in. And you’d promised him a weekend of nighttime fun in return, so who was he to deny you? “But I want pancakes!”

You laugh, “Pancakes it is! Chocolate chip, or strawberry?” You don’t even have to ask, you already know that Alistair is going to pick chocolate. That child is just like his father: a ridiculous sweet tooth and too adorable for you to say no to.

You’re halfway through the mixed pancake batter, and Alistair is most of the way through his second pancake by the time Max stumbles into the kitchen, hair mussed and eyes half-open without coffee. It’s a struggle to hide the giggle that threatens to burst from your throat, but you manage and pass him the steaming mug that’s been sitting by the stove to keep warm.

“Woman, you are a true goddess.”

“I know. No need to feed my complex.” You smile as Max hugs you from behind and buries his nose into the crook of your neck before going to sit beside his son.

“Big day planned?”

“Yep.” You flip the last pancake onto the plate. It’s a little crooked, but passable considering your normal amount of cooking talent. “Sight-seeing, museums, walking around…”

“And parks!” Alistair interjects, “And the airplane museum!”

“Of course the airplane museum!” You place the dishes in the sink and pick up your own plate, “You coming, Lorrie?”

“Have some work to do, but I’ll be done before noon.” His shoulders hunch even as you stare him down. “Promise, baby. Something came up right before I left the office last night. It’s urgent.” You raise a single eyebrow at him, and he raises his hands in mock surrender, “I didn’t plan on it. Bad luck, that’s all.”

“I--” You level the dirty spatula at him, “--will take your word for it, Lorrie.”

He grins and stands, taking the kitchen tool from you and gently placing it in the sink. “Thank you, my love.” He folds your hand into both of his and kisses the tip of your nose, and you giggle as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Gross!” Alistair claps both of his hands over his eyes. You and Max laugh together as he detangles himself from you.

“I am going to get dressed.” Max grins at you rakishly before walking over to his son, who still has his hands covering his face. “And you--” He taps Alistair on the nose, and Ali giggles as Max leans in and gives him a hug. “--have a good day at the airplane museums.”

---

The minute you step into the Metropolis Space Museum, Alistair is heads over heels in love. You truly can’t believe that it took the kid seven years to get to the most iconic airplane museum in the city that he grew up in, but his childhood wasn’t exactly normal. You understand Max’s work ethic and schedule all too well, having parents who were workaholics as well. So when you’d first met the starry eyed little kid, you’d silently promised yourself that he was going to have a better childhood than you. You’re not his mother or his nanny, but Max is a dedicated father. And you’ll be dedicated to this kid too.

Alistair sprints through the museum with all of the speed of The Flash himself, and it’s all you can do to keep up with the little ball of energy. You wonder how he’s able to even take in the aircraft with the combination of the speed and his small stature, but this is his day, and you’re just the chauffeur.

He finally hits a wall when he reaches the astronaut exhibit. You’re walking among the space shuttles when you find Alistair gazing up at the Artemis I craft.

“See something you like?” You stop beside Ali and grin down at him. He hasn’t ripped his eyes away from the craft, and you can see the fluorescent lighting reflecting in his dark eyes. You turn to admire the shuttle again.

“That.” Alistair only speaks the one word, and you raise an eyebrow down at him. He’s pointing, “I want to be able to fly in that when I grow up.”

You chuckle, “It’s possible. You work hard, and you can be an astronaut when you grow up.”

“Work hard like Daddy?”

“Yes. Just like your Daddy.” Your gaze softens as you look down at the boy, seeing shades of his father in his determined expression. You check the time on your phone, “Speaking of, he should be meeting us soon. Wanna grab a snack, then we can go see him?”

You can see Ali’s obvious reluctance to leave the exhibit. “Alistair, ice cream…” You trail off with a teasing grin as Alistair turns.

“Yes please!”

You grin, “Alright! Come on.”

Alistair speeds ahead yet again, and your phone buzzes. You take it out, and it’s from work. You send a text off to your partner as you reach the stairs.

Your heel hits the edge of the step wrong. Your heart drops in your chest as you pitch forward, your arms wheeling in the air. A scream lodges in your throat as you fall forwards down the steps.

You land hard on your chest and you feel a stabbing pain in your chest as the air is knocked clean out of your body. Alistair screams your name, and you roll over to find the gazes of dozens of concerned strangers fixated on you as Alistair rushes to you.

“Are you okay?” A woman crouches over you.

You chuckle dryly, the air coming back to your body in small increments. Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, “Yeah, missed that last step. Bad luck, huh?”

“Good luck that it was the last flight. Could have been much worse.” She straightens and extends a hand to help you to your feet. “Anything hurt?”

“Besides my pride? No, I’m fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.” You accept her help and stand, wincing at the residual pain in your chest. You remember what you’d distracted with that led to the misstep, “Where’s my phone?”

Alistair holds his hand out with a solemn look on his face. He’s holding your shattered phone, “I think it’s broken.”

You sigh. Bad luck. “Thank you Alistair. And thank yo--” You turn, but the woman is gone. Huh. Interesting. You look all around you at the bustling crowd, but no one looks familiar, and all of the gapers have gone back to their business. You prop your hands on your hips, “Well. How about some ice cream now?”

---

Max’s brow furrows as he stares down at the glinting ring. A twenty-four karat gold band, platinum setting with tiny obsidian studs and a diamond the size of a pistachio. The ring is exactly his style, and it’s the ring that he always imagined himself buying for the hypothetical girl that he would have if he ever got his work done. But ever since meeting you, he’s been learning to remember that his likes aren’t necessarily the likes of the others.

For example, you don’t like flashy. Which is ridiculous, because his entire existence is flashy, so he can’t begin to imagine how you ever were attracted to him. The memory of your first meeting draws a grin to his lips. But now he knows better after a couple of botched Valentines and anniversary gifts. Your look of horror at the massive bouquet of flowers and yards of chocolate will be forever seared into his mind. Flashy and gaudy is a big no no, though maybe he can make the proposal a little more to his tastes. His gaze is drawn to another ring to his right.

“Excuse me?” The sales associate comes over to him. “Can I see that one?”

---

“Alright, you don’t tell your dad, and I won’t tell either.” You plop the massive ice cream cone into Alistair’s hand before settling down next to him with a cone of similar size.

Alistair grins mischievously at you, “This is a lot of sweets for one day.”

“Ah!” You hold up your free hand, effectively silencing the kid, “Snitches…?”

“Get stitches!” With that, Ali digs into his chocolate fudge cone with sprinkles, and you start with yours, gazing at the city across the water. The beach is empty on an early spring day that is much too cold for swimming. Seagulls screech across the sky, and the sand looks fun and inviting, but Ali seems content to sit beside you on a bench and look across the water at Gotham City.

The sun is shining, the water is glowing in the afternoon sun, and it’s a perfect afternoon. Until an explosion rocks the building that you’d been admiring in Gotham City across the bay and the miniscule figure of a supervillain appears as a shadow in the dust. You sigh. Bad luck. “View ruined.”

Alistair shrugs, “Pretty. Big booms are cool.”

“Since when do you like explosions?”

Alistair looks up at you, and makes a zooming motion with his hand before mimicking a takeoff with massive engine explosions. Oh. Right.

You finish your ice cream and reach for your phone to check the time before remembering that it’s broken. “Hey, Ali. What time is it?”

He shows you with his little digital watch, and it’s half past noon. Max is probably looking for you. You rummage in your pocket for some change, and pull out the coins to count them. Oh good, you have a quarter left over from the ice cream cones.

“Come on, we’re going to find a pay phone.” Alistair stands and follows you off of the beach and towards the street.

Only, I shit you not, a chunk of building hits the water with a boom near shore, and water explodes into the sky like a geyser. Debris scatters the beach, and you wince as you see the amount of rocks that hit the bench where you had been sitting not five minutes before. You stare for a split second, then over at Gotham, where you can see the supervillain hefting cement chunks over his head and lobbing them at a speck in the sky. That’s an interesting combination of luck that you’re not sure you want to dissect mentally at the moment.

Alistair whines, “How did we miss Superman in the sky?!”

---

Max walks out of the museum, squinting in the sun as he fumbles in his pocket for his phone. You’d said that you would be at the museum until afternoon, but he’d waited at the entrance for an hour and you and Ali never came out. He calls you, but the line rings to voicemail.

The little velvet box weighs heavy in his breast pocket. It almost feels like it is burning a hole in his chest with how hyper aware he is of the promise pressing on his chest. He can’t even remember when he woke up feeling like this. Well, of course he only recognized the feeling today, but he’s been feeling it for sometime now. That swelling in his chest when he looks at you, the one that seems to increase everytime he sees you with Alistair, or when you’re laughing, or when you raise that single infuriating eyebrow that communicates every feeling of skepticism within your body. It’s been building over the past years, it’s not new. The label is new, it’s the one that he realized this morning after you got up and promised Alistair pancakes for breakfast.

He’s ready to make this promise. He’s ready to swear to spend the rest of his life with you. Now, if only he could find you. Bad luck, it would seem.

His phone rings right as he pulls it out of his pocket, and he glances at the caller ID. It’s you, and he swipes the ‘answer’ icon excitedly and raises the phone to his ear.

“Hey, I’m at the museum, where are you?”

You sound a little harried, “A payphone near Stryker Beach. Sorry, my phone’s busted up, so I couldn’t tell you that we left the museum.”

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll come get you. Give me an address.” He swipes around on his phone until he gets to his maps, but he’s interrupted by a resounding boom on the other end of the line. “What was that?”

“Nothing. There’s another Gotham villain, and Superman is fighting him over the bay. On second thought, you probably shouldn’t come here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you two could be in danger.” He already has the car keys in his hand when you cut him off.

“Lorrie.” Your voice is every bit as intimidating over the phone as it is in real life. “Stay there. Traffic is awful over here anyway, we could walk to the museum and back twice by the time you get through it. See you in a few.” He can’t wait, excitement thrilling in his chest even as worry tamps it down a little.

---

His palms are sweating. Why are his palms sweating? He hasn’t been this nervous since his first kickstarter campaign for Black Gold Corporations. He’s scanning the crowd for any sign of you and Alistair, though he’s simultaneously dreading your appearance as much as he’s anticipating it.

There! He sees a flash of your hair through the mass of people, and then you’re standing on the other side of the major street, gorgeous and windswept and smiling at him while holding Alistair’s hand. Cars whizz through the intersection, but even the minor interruptions in his line of sight to you can’t detract from your beauty. Fuck, he’s nervous,

So nervous, apparently, that he fumbles his phone and drops it on the sidewalk. As he bends over to pick it up, the velvet box slips out of his pocket and falls to the ground with a small thunk that may as well have been the impact sound of a meteor.

His gaze darts up nervously at you, and your eyes are glued to the small black box. They flick back to his, and read the nerves as clear as the day. Understanding floods through your face, then shock, then your mouth falls open and he can hear your joyful laugh from where he crouches twenty feet away.

Shit. He had wanted to do it differently. Maybe by the massive fountain, or on the Ferris Wheel by the bay. Something that brings a little bit of pizzazz and flash and romance, something that is distinctly him. But he sees the giddy look in your eye and everything else falls away.

The pedestrian sign flicks on, and the rest of the crowd starts moving across the street, pushing you and Alistair with the flow of people. Your hand still firmly grasps Ali’s as you move across the street, and his heart fills at the sight of your love for his son and steadies his hand as he picks up the box and opens it towards you. His knees bend, and he sinks to the hard concrete, awaiting your approach.

His knee is centimeters away from the sidewalk when a swoosh echoes overhead and Superman rips through the intersection. The crowd tracks him with a rush of murmurs, but you’re still watching Max and walking forward with a spark in your eye.

Then the gunfire starts. Everyone ducks as Lex Luthor’s latest mech suit flies overhead in pursuit of the flying hero. Bullets whizz through the air, pinging off of telephone poles and shattering windows. You’re only a fraction behind the crowd, your eyes widening in panic as you finally notice your surroundings. Max is frozen in time, watching you cover Alistair with your own body. Bad luck.

Then the spell breaks, and everyone is running and screaming, and Max’s heart rises into his throat. He loses sight of you in the middle of the road, and he stumbles to his feet and begins shoving through the crowd.

“Alistair!” He screams your name too, but his voice is lost in the surrounding noise.

Finally, finally, he catches sight of your hunched form in the middle of the road. Right as he sees you, your head raises and begins scanning around you, and he allows himself to breathe. Good luck.

He grabs your arm and yanks you to your feet, his other hand securing around Alistair’s upper arm. Then he’s moving and dragging you to the other side of the street. You’re almost there, you’re almost safe when the explosion happens.

It’s small, a stray thermal charge that’s miniscule compared to the previously witnessed destruction. But a shudder passes through your group. Max’s heart sinks in his chest and he turns to look. Alistair is staring up at you with a look of complete horror on his face. Your hand lets go of Max’s, drifting up to your chest where a bloodstain is rapidly spreading over your chest. Your eyes meet Max’s, and then your eyes roll back in your head and you pass out.

---

The ambulance ride is a blur. Alistair is crying into his chest, and it’s all Max can do to keep it together while he holds your hand. You’re still unconscious, but the ambulance had gotten there fast, and you’d been one of the only casualties in the intersection. Hope. He has to hope, because he has to hold it together for Ali.

Words float around his head from the paramedics, words like random, ricochet, shrapnel, and bad luck. Bad luck. Fury swells in him. Your life is worth more to him than simple bad luck. Villain or hero, how can it matter? Who gave them the right to leave charges in public places, to scatter bullets like rice on a wedding day?

But what can he do about simple bad luck? What can he do about super-powered people who hold the power of gods in their hands? The answer is nothing, not right now anyway, because Alistair needs him, and you need him, and he will bide his time.

---

You wake up when the ambulance gets to the hospital. The gurney jostles as they lift you down from the ambulance and he wants to yell at the paramedics. But he holds himself back. Your voice echoes in his head, ‘They’re just trying to do their jobs, Lorrie. Leave them alone.”

So he does, clinging to you as your eyelids flutter. “Lorrie?” Your voice is a painful rasp that hurts in his own chest. You tighten your grip, bringing your interlocked hands up against your chest, slightly to the right of the roughly bandaged wound.

“I’m here.” He grips your hand all the more tightly, pressing a kiss to your knuckle. You murmur something, and he doesn’t catch it the first time. He leans in, “What? Say it again, baby.”

“Yes.” You whisper into his ear. With shaking hands, Max takes out the little black box and puts the ring on your bloody finger. It’s a simple gold band, curling around a teardrop onyx gem. Perfectly you and him. You only have time to lift your hand to gaze at the ring before you're whisked away to surgery. Max is left standing there with empty hands, feeling like the world has been yanked from his grasp.

---

When you wake up again, the world is sterile and cold and Max is gone. Your hand instantly flies to your chest, where the phantom wound throbs. But your hand grazes over nothing but your own skin and clothes. A glance downwards confirms your suspicions. The wound is gone, the ugly shrapnel vaporized as if it never existed.

But the glance down confirms another suspicion that only just started brewing in the back of your mind, one that you hadn’t dared to confront.

“Am I dead?” Your eyes widen in shock, and you reach to touch your lips. They hadn’t moved, and yet you had heard your own voice echoing into the void. You whip around, your toes hovering above the surgical table where your body rests. Surgical tools scatter around the trays, and the monitor emits a continuous, flat tone. Doctors lay down their tools, taking off their masks and caps with an air of exhausted defeat. Your body is still, covered in tubes and sheets so that you can barely see a hint of gray skin. Fuck, Max is going to be devastated.

“In a way.” The voice is wonderfully melodic, and you look to find that one of the doctors is staring at you while the rest look right through you. Her mask is still up, but there is a familiar air about her that you can’t place. “You are caught in-between right now, unable to move on, but unable to return.”

“So, purgatory?” Again, your disembodied voice speaks the words directly from your mind.

She laughs, and the tinkle settles somewhere deep in your soul. “No. Powers of another sort, past the Catholic tradition.”

You work your jaw, testing it before mouthing the words along with your voice. It just feels right, more natural. “I don’t understand. I’m trapped here?”

“Not trapped. Suspended, perhaps.” Her eyes are a piercing gray. “The Lords’ refuse to let you go. One might say that it’s luck. Good or bad, depending on if you are scared of what’s after. I hear you and Maxwell like to keep count.”

You blink. She’s right. You and Lorrie had a running joke that bad luck seemed to follow the both of you wherever you went. Today had been especially heavy with bad luck. “And if I’m not scared?”

“Luck is entirely dependent on perspective, child. But, I will admit, your death was more accident than anything.” There’s a cold, callous tone in her voice as she remarks about your death as no more than a minor inconvenience. “Couldn’t have been avoided, and that’s true bad luck.” Her brow furrows, then it lightens and she claps her hands, “But, good luck now! You get to go back!”

Your spirits lift. Back to Earth. Back to Alistair and Max. Max. You bring your right hand up in front of you. The ring is gone.

“Missing something?”

Your gaze darts back up to the woman, and she’s holding the ring to the false light, examining it closely. You try to keep the tremor out of your voice, “That’s mine. Give it back.”

She gives you a long side-eye, “You do not command me, girl.” You shudder at the tone of her voice, vibrating through your non-existent body and threatening to dissipate it. You grit your teeth, and continue to stare her down. She raises an eyebrow, and you think that it’s a look of approval in her eyes. “But, I suppose it is yours. Catch.” She tosses the band back to you, and you snatch it from the air. She continues, “Consider that my token to you. A favor from luck itself. Not many mortals ever gain such an item.”

“I don’t care what it is to you.” You only care about what it means to you and Max. It’s a promise. There had been a shared understanding in the emergency room, that you probably wouldn’t make it. And that understanding had been correct. But he promised anyway, and you’d promised him right back. “Who are you?”

“Lady Luck, at your service.” She winks, pulling her mask down finally. It’s the woman from the museum, but there’s a different air about her. An air of power that didn’t exist back on Earth hovers in her every word and motion.

A chime echoes through the air, and Lady Luck straightens. “That’s my cue. Don’t worry, you won’t remember this encounter when you wake up on Earth.”

“What was the point of this conversation if I’m not going to remember it?”

She looks back at you with a hint of humor in her eyes. “There wasn’t one. Just me testing out my wisdom on a mortal. Don’t get much chance for that anymore.”

“Any last wisdom then?” Your lips twist in a wry grin.

Lady Luck regards you, “Luck isn’t everything. But it isn’t nothing. Remind your Lorrie of that for me.” Then she turns and waves her hand, and the world filters to blackness around you.

A/N: This made me sad, but it was actually pretty fun to write and play around in the DC universe. I don't get over there much, it's mostly Marvel over in Oofville these days. But yes, now I'm expanding this universe as well too, because it's not like I don't already have enough WIP yet. It's fine, it's all going to be fine.

But Max's planning for the engagement?! Gave me life, it made me so happy.

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross

[tripleaxeldiaz]

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 3/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

The two weeks before Skate America breeze by, every hour filled with skating or conditioning or trying not to creep on message boards to see what people are predicting for the season. Buck feels good, the best he’s ever felt this early on. He tries to reign it in, that voice in his head reminding him that he could still lose it all at any moment, but it’s muffled and quiet and easy to ignore.

He’s also been seeing more of Eddie, now that he knows he’s not the douchebag he always assumed he was. They condition together, watch each other's jumping passes and offer tips, even take their lunch break together, talking about everything skating and some non skating things too. It’s easy and nice and the best parts of Buck’s days, if he’s honest. He maybe always thinks about talking to Eddie, picking his brain for his thoughts on various skaters’ programs, watching him laugh with his whole body at some snarky comment Buck makes about someone’s horrible choice in costume. Buck likes the way he laughs, likes the way he feels a little warmer when he makes him laugh.

He should have known this brief bubble of happiness would be popped sooner rather than later.

The day before they leave, he and Maddie get an email — an email — from their mother, inviting them to dinner while they’re in town for the competition. To say Buck’s surprised would be an understatement.

“How’d they even find out it’s in Reading this year? Did you tell them?”

Maddie rolls her eyes, stabbing her salad with a little more force than necessary. “I haven’t spoken to them in longer than you have, so no. They’ve probably seen ads or something.”

“We could lie, tell them Bobby’s really strict about non-skating things during competitions?”

“Sure, but then they might just call Bobby on their own and blow our whole cover.”

“We could tell them we’re sick? Food poisoning? Then miraculously get better?”

“If that didn’t work when you tried to get out of taking your SAT, I don’t think it’ll work this time, either.”

“I wasn’t even planning on going to college, why did I—” Buck huffs as Maddie shakes her head at him sympathetically.

There’s really no way for them to get out of this.

The thing is, their parents aren’t bad people — a doctor and a PR manager who are on every non-profit board in the county, volunteer at the local animal shelter, and donate plenty of money to plenty of charities. As parents, though, they somehow manage an interesting balance of using their children’s successes for their own bragging rights and making them feel like they’re always just shy of good enough. They supported them growing up, sure, paid their way through lessons and competitions before endorsements started coming in, but it always felt like it was serving their own clout more than helping Buck and Maddie follow their dreams. When they moved out to LA, it was easy to distance themselves, rescheduling calls indefinitely until their parents eventually just stopped trying. 

The last time Buck talked to them was right after his leg surgery — they called under the guise of “checking in on him”, but spent most of the call figuring out the quickest way to get him back to practice, offering to pay for extra surgeries and PT to speed up the process. He’s sure they thought they were helping, but it felt more like they were eager for him to get back to winning medals so they could tell their friends about it. 

As much as he loves to win, it’s not the same when someone else is pushing you more than you’re pushing yourself. 

He sighs again, slumping down in his chair. He hadn’t been nervous at all about Skate America, but now the itch of self doubt has made a home right under his skin, and it wasn’t even for a skating reason. Maddie reaches across the table to grab his wrist, squeezing lightly. 

“It’ll be two hours max, then we’ll make an excuse about early practice and leave. It won’t be that bad.”

Buck nods, turning back to his lunch, suddenly not hungry as his stomach continues to churn.

~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t expect to get this nostalgic, but the familiar drive toward Reading and the Sovereign Center (Santander Arena now, because capitalism is a prison) fills him with jittery excitement and a weird sense of calm, just like it did when he was a kid competing in the regional circuit. The arena was a palace compared to their rink in Hershey, and it always made him want to skate well enough to be worthy of the ice there. It’s where he won his first medal ever, his first gold, his first trip to Nationals, and would hopefully now serve as a stepping stone once again, this time leading him towards Beijing.

Eddie’s lounging on his bed, shirtless and flipping channels, when Buck gets to their room. It wasn’t a surprise this time — they’d requested to room together anyway — but seeing Eddie like this, soft and relaxed and somehow at home in a hotel room, makes Buck’s heart flip a little bit. 

Buck’s heart has been flipping a lot around Eddie, and making him think about stupid things like kissing him and how his abs would feel under his fingertips and how he’d prefer his eggs in the morning. It’s taking up a lot of real estate in his brain, and it’s going to get even worse now that they’re sleeping 10 feet away from each other, he’s sure.

That doesn’t stop him from sneaking glances at Eddie while he unpacks. Just to get it out of his system so he can focus. 

It’s fine.

He can totally handle this.

~~~~~~~~~~

Skata America is a much bigger deal than ACI — more cameras, more interviews, more people watching in the stands and on TV. That should mean it’s all more intimidating, too, but Buck is thriving under the lights and camera lenses. This will be the first real chance to show people — not just skating people, but everyone — what he can do, and the anticipation of how it will be received buzzes through him constantly. That buzz practically dictates his every move through practices and his short, finally ceasing as he hits his final pose. It’s quickly replaced by elation — he knows he nailed everything, he knows the resounding applause is deserved.

He knows he’s in first place before they even announce his score.

When they do, he’s right, and he’s thrilled, but there’s also a pang of disappointment, because the margin is tight — only three points between him and Eddie in second. Bobby hands him his protocols in the green room, and his stomach clenches when he sees that his step sequence and his sit spin were downgraded to level threes. His brain starts spinning, mentally combing through every revolution and edge to figure out where the hell he fucked up, when he feels a warm, solid hand on his shoulder. He looks up and sees Eddie, but instead of pity like he expected (or gloating like he feared), he just sees understanding in his eyes, maybe even a hint of the same irritation he’s feeling.

“They screwed me over too, my camel should have had a plus three GOE at least.” Eddie says, squeezing Buck’s shoulder. Somehow, he’s already feeling better.

“I bet it was the French judge, he’s always been a conniving bastard.”

“We could take him out, we have time before tomorrow.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Buck says, as Eddie offers his hand and pulls him up to stand. He tries not to miss the warmth when he lets go.

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie says quietly as they make their way around skaters and coaches in the hallway toward the press room, “I think you should be at least 10 points ahead, if not more. You were something else out there.”

Buck can’t make his brain come up with a proper response by the time they take their seats on the makeshift stage in front of the reports, so all he can do is smile and hope it comes across as totally chill and not as dopey as it feels.

Eddie smiles back, and Buck thinks he’s beautiful.

The presser goes just as expected — a few questions lobbed at the Candian skater currently in third, more for Buck since he’s in first, but the most still go to Eddie. Being the favorite for Olympic gold doesn’t go away after half a competition, and the reporters are rabid as ever. Buck’s seen Eddie’s press routine — the humble charm and gracious smiles, cracking jokes like he’s talking to friends and not a bunch of strangers with tape recorders. He’d spent years mentally rolling his eyes at what he thought was the fakeness of it all, but after getting closer to Eddie, he knows that’s just how Eddie is. Kind and patient, actively listening to what people are saying, taking his time to form thoughtful answers. 

But whatever’s happening now is not the Eddie he knows — his laughs are forced and almost too loud, his smile is tight and boarding on a grimace. He keeps fidgeting with his credentials and the sleeve of his Team USA zip-up, eyes darting around like he’s charting his path to get out of the room as fast as possible once they’re done. 

He’s nervous. Buck doesn’t think he’s ever seen him nervous, at least not like this, and it’s honestly a little unsettling. So much so that all Buck wants to do is fix it, bring the light back to Eddie’s eyes, bleed the tension out of his shoulders.

There’s probably not an easy way to do that while answering questions about his performance.

He waits until he sees the “wrap it up” signal from the event worker off to the side, the next reporter giving one last question to the Canadian skater. He doesn’t think about it too hard, just stretches his leg a little to the right, slowly, until he and Eddie are ankle to ankle. It’s not much, but Eddie still looks over at him, first confused and then grateful, a small, real smile on his face, his shoulders falling away from his ears.

Eddie’s quiet on the ride back to the hotel, but he looks calmer, listening to everyone else talk about their events and what could happen tomorrow during free skates. He’s still jittery though, leg bouncing as he sits next to Buck on the bus. Whatever was bothering him during interviews is clearly still lingering, and Buck has to fight the urge to reach out and calm his shaking with a hand on his knee. 

They make it back to their room, door barely clicking in place behind them, before Buck breaks.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Eddie freezes in front of him, half turned around like he was about to ask Buck something before he steamrolled over him. “You seemed stressed during the presser and on the ride back, and I just...wanted to make sure you’re good.”

Eddie looks stunned for a second before letting out a breath, hand rubbing over his face. “I knew this would happen, you know? The extra attention. It happened after Pyeongchang and the bronze medal, but it died down eventually. I thought I’d have more time to mentally prepare for it again, I guess.” He shakes his head, hand falling to his side as he shrugs his shoulders helplessly. “Today was just a lot.”

Buck nods, patting Eddie’s arm in understanding because he gets it. Most of the time he basks in any form of attention, but some days the lights are too hot and the voices are too loud and faking a smile through it is impossible. The one Buck sees now is real though, he knows it, and he’s happy to see Eddie relaxing now that they’re away from the vultures.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ll be out of your hair tonight, so you’ll have plenty of time to yourself,” Buck says, crossing the room to his bed, digging through his bag for his dinner clothes.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asks, and when Buck looks back at him as he heads to the bathroom to change, he swears he looks disappointed, briefly, before it shifts to confusion. “We don’t have any team stuff tonight, right?”

“Nah, Maddie and I got suckered into dinner with our parents.”

“Are Buckley family dinners always black tie affairs?” he asks when Buck comes back in slacks and a white button down, struggling to knot his tie. 

“No, but they told us to dress nicely, so we’re probably going to some fancy restaurant downtown. Knowing them, we’ll also be dragged to some party one of their friends is having that’s conveniently close by.”

He groans in frustration when his tie comes out crooked again, and Eddie laughs, taking pity on him and coming to do it himself. Buck tries to keep cool, willing his cheeks not to turn red, but it’s hard when he can feel Eddie’s breath on his chin, feel his fingers run across his collarbones, and he’s so close, if he just leaned in— 

“Sounds like it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Buck sighs through his nose. “I love my parents, they’re just...better from a distance.”

Eddie winces in what looks like sympathy, smoothing Buck’s tie and the front of his shirt as he finishes. Buck misses the motion as soon as it’s gone.

“Maybe they’ll prove you wrong this time,” Eddie says.

Buck rolls his eyes at that, but can’t help a small part of him desperately hoping that Eddie will be right.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie is so wrong.

Not only is there a party, it’s a party at their parent’s house, which is in full swing by the time Buck and Maddie pull up in their Lyft. Their mother opens the door, hair up, dress immaculate, lipstick-stained wine glass perched precariously in her hand.

“Evan! Maddie! Come in, so glad you could join us!” She kisses both their cheeks and hugs them quickly before taking their hands and dragging them deeper into the house. There are people everywhere, some faces Buck remembers and some new ones. There are waiters milling around too, passing bacon wrapped figs and mini bruschetta, and Buck feels his stomach rumble.

“So I guess we’re not doing dinner, huh Mom?” Buck asks, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. Judging by the look Maddie gives him, he’s not doing a great job.

Their mother, of course, doesn’t bat an eye. “Sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t realize we were double booked, and we’d already moved this party once. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen though, you can eat after I’ve introduced you to some people. Everyone’s so excited to hear about how you’re doing. Philip, there you are!” Buck spots his father too, a head above the crowd, tie loose and cheeks flushed. He shakes Buck’s hand firmly, kisses Maddie on the top of her head, and is gone in an instant when someone beckons him towards the bar set up on the back wall of the living room.

“Nice to see you, too. We’re doing fine, thanks for asking!” Buck says under his breath before their mother is whisking them away again. 

They spend the next hour flitting between couples — the Whiteheads, the Culls, the Carters, and a bunch of others he can’t differentiate — getting whiplash from their mother’s flipping between actual praise and backhanded compliments.

“Evan’s one of the top skaters in the country, though not as highly ranked as he was before his accident. We’re hoping he’ll be back up there by the time the Olympics roll around so he’ll make the team.”

“Maddie’s been with her partner for about three years now, right darling? They don’t have as many golds as she had with Doug, but they do skate well together.”

“Yes, that skater from Japan is very good Rebecca, you’re right! Evan, do you know him? Maybe he can give you some pointers about your edges going into your spins? I know you struggle with those.”

On and on and on, Buck and Maddie barely able to get a word in. They see their father only a few times, and each time he’s gone as quickly as he comes, pulled away by colleagues or board members or whoever it is they’re entertaining tonight. Buck is exhausted, and not just because it’s been a long day already, but from having to keep up the good natured laughs and graciousness when he doesn’t even feel like a person. He feels more like a trophy, being shuttled from room to room to be admired for a while before being shoved into a closet where no one can see you. Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen — their parents will tout them around for the night, send them back to the hotel, and not speak to them again until they need something.

Buck really forgot just how small this big house can make him feel.

Eventually, he breaks away, making an excuse about needing the restroom before quietly sneaking up the back staircase to the second floor. Maddie finds him 15 minutes later, sliding down to sit next to him in the guest room closet.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” she says, and Buck smiles weakly. He hid in here a lot when he was a kid, sometimes with Maddie and sometimes alone. When it was all too much — the pressure from their parents or his coach or himself — this is where he came to quiet his brain. The darkness and the smell of the cedar chest full of their mother’s old sweaters was comforting, and it wrapped around him like a blanket until he could breathe again. 

“None of their habits have died, that’s for sure,” he says. “Is it sad that I thought they would?”

“It’s not sad to hope for better. It’s just hard when all that hope is for nothing.”

Buck sighs, head thumping against the wall. Maddie threads her arm through his and rests her head on his shoulder. They sit like that for a while, quiet, both in their own heads, though he’s sure Maddie is thinking about and wishing for the same things he is. 

He shifts eventually, head resting on top of hers. “Can we go yet? We could probably sneak out the back door. If they haven’t come looking for us yet, they definitely won’t notice.”

“Should we just go back to the hotel? It’s only 8:30.”

“What else are we gonna do?”

Maddie types furiously on her phone for a minute. “Chim, Hen, and May are down to hang out. And WhirlyDome is open until midnight.”

“That place is still around?”

“Apparently, and they have half price appetizers after 9.”

The thought of mozzarella sticks and onion rings makes his stomach growl loudly again. “Alright, let’s do it. But I’m inviting Eddie too.”

Maddie just smirks at him, getting up and out of the closet before he has a chance to ask what the look was for. 

It would just be rude not to invite him.

And maybe part of Buck wishes he had stayed in with Eddie tonight from the start.

[to: Eddie] tonight sucked. we’re going to play whirlyball and eat fried food. u in?

[from: Eddie] ????? What the hell is whirlyball?

[to: Eddie] omg now u HAVE to come. meet us here in half an hour

He sends the address and does not smile like an idiot when Eddie says he’ll see him soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So it’s...bumper cars?”

“Bumper cars plus lacrosse plus basketball, kind of. It’s super fun and only a little dangerous.”

“Can I watch for a bit first?”

“Sorry Eds, first timers have to play. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Eddie still looks skeptical as they get ready for the next game, carefully sitting in the car and picking up his scoop. 

A bell rings and the cars come to life, rumbling around the room as everyone starts scrambling for the ball. It takes about 30 seconds for Eddie to get the hang of steering, and by the end of the first game, no one would ever guess he’d never played before. He leads their team to three victories in a row, laughing and cheering loudly along with everyone else, like he hadn’t been overwhelmed with anxiety just a few hours earlier. Something warms in Buck at the thought that he helped with that smile, and it’s a feeling he thinks he could get used to, a job he wouldn’t mind having if it meant Eddie was this happy more often than not.

Despite it all — despite good friends and good food and the feeling of Eddie’s shoulder pressed against his, Buck still feels the tendrils of doubt and panic floating around him. They’re bad enough during competitions normally, but pair them with what happened at his parents’ house — being reminded of how he’ll never live up to their lofty image of him, even if he does make it to Beijing — and everything just feels dark and cold, and he doesn’t think his lungs are working properly. He leaves the table, says he’s going to the bathroom, but ends up outside instead. WhirlyDome is in the older half of a shopping center in downtown Hershey, and the outside has been renovated since he was last here, now featuring an elaborate fountain surrounded by benches and newly paved pathways to the other stores. He sinks down on the nearest bench, the cool October air grounding him, making it easier to think, easier to try and smash down all these swirling emotions he’s trying not to feel.

Eddie finds him there, sits down next to him on the bench without saying anything. They stay in companionable silence, watching the fountain dance and the people bustle back and forth across the plaza, getting last minute shopping in before the stores close.

“I’m sorry dinner sucked,” Eddie says eventually, quiet and sincere. 

Buck shrugs. “I knew it would. Just got my hopes up too high that things would be different.”

Eddie nods, eyes drifting back to the fountain. Now that they’re alone and the excitement from the games is gone, he can see the slightly weary lines of Eddie’s shoulders, see how he’s still curling in on himself, like he’s trying to escape into his own body.

“How are you?” Buck asks, knocking his knee against Eddie’s gently. “I know this isn’t exactly a quiet night in.”

“I’m alright. Better than I would be, thanks to you.”

“What did I do?”

Eddie’s staring at the ground, but his cheeks are flushing pink, and Buck wants to reach out and feel the heat of them under his fingertips.

“You were there,” he says. “I’m usually alone when I start feeling like that, and nothing makes it better. But I wasn’t alone this time.”

I don’t want you to be alone, Buck thinks, and these thoughts he’s been having — about Eddie, about being with Eddie — are getting louder and louder and harder to ignore. Especially now, when it’s just the two of them, and Eddie’s eyes are sparkling like gems under the street lights. 

It’s almost hilarious that barely six weeks ago, and for 10 very long years, he could hardly stand the sight of him.

Eddie finally looks up from the ground, facing Buck, and they’re so much closer than he thought they were. He can count every eyelash, smell his cologne, watch his eyes trace over Buck’s face, from his eye to his lips and back again.

Buck doesn’t even realize he’s leaning in until his vision starts to blur, and he stops short. He tries to move back slowly, casually, but then firm hands are cupping his jaw, pulling him forward until soft lips meet his own. There’s no fireworks, no angels singing, just warm molasses in his veins, spreading to every part of him until he’s so warm he’s certain he must be glowing. His hands twist into Eddie’s jacket, pulling him as close as possible until he’s practically in his lap. They move to his shirt, feeling the abs he’s been thinking about for weeks now, and he almost melts right to the ground at the sound Eddie sighs into his mouth. 

He’s not sure how long they kiss, but it doesn’t feel like long enough by the time they come up for air. He doesn’t go far, still close enough to feel Eddie’s breath fan across his lips, but he’s not sure what to do now. He wants to know what this means (if it means anything at all), he wants to know what Eddie’s thinking, he wants to memorize the way Eddie tastes and feel his abs for real.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, making them both jump. It’s a text from Maddie, telling him they’re car is here and asking where the hell they went. He looks back at Eddie, still so close, and swallows down the urge to kiss him again and tell his friends to leave them here.

“We should— we have to go,” he says, gesturing toward the parking lot. Eddie’s eyes are flitting over his face again, unreadable but still bright. He nods finally, standing up and offering his hand to Buck. He can’t fight the smile or the blush that he feels, so he doesn’t, taking Eddie’s hand to help him stand. They stay put for a minute, until Eddie squeezes his hand and drops it, smiling that soft smile again as he turns away. 

Buck smiles himself, still full of warmth and lips still tingling, before following Eddie to the car.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ride back is quiet, everyone tired and settling back into the competition mindset they were able to let go of for a few hours. Buck feels it too, already running step sequences in his head again, but he keeps getting distracted. Eddie’s sitting next to him in the back seat of the Lyft, head tipped back and eyes closed, looking at peace for the first time all day. Buck tries to stop, tries to keep his focus, but his eyes keep drifting back to Eddie’s jaw, the cut of his cheekbones, the stubble shadowing his cheeks. It’s hard to remember what edges he’s supposed to hit tomorrow when he keeps thinking about how that stubble felt under his lips.

They silently make their way back to their room, and Buck knows they need to talk. He’s trying to figure out where the hell to start as he turns on the light in the small entryway, illuminating everything in a light that feels too harsh for whatever is currently simmering between them. Eddie’s right behind him when he turns around, looking just as unsure as Buck feels. It’s comforting, them being on the same page, but Buck hates that he’s responsible for making Eddie feel like this.

He can’t figure out where to start, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tries to figure out what to say. Eddie takes pity on him eventually, reaching for his hand again.

“Let’s talk tomorrow?” he asks. “After free skates.”

It’s an out that Buck is more than willing to take. Not that he doesn’t want to talk, he just...can’t. Not right now. So he nods, squeezing Eddie’s hand in thanks. He goes to pull away, but Eddie’s grip stays firm.

“It wasn’t nothing to me,” he says, tilting his head until Buck meets his eye. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing or what it meant for you, but it was something for me.”

Buck’s doesn’t know what to do with that, either. He wants to kiss Eddie again and he wants to run far away from him and he wants to skate, but he can’t until the morning. So he just nods again, and it seems to be enough. Eddie nods back, finally dropping his hand as he heads into the bathroom and shuts the door. 

Buck doesn’t bother waiting for his turn, just strips out of his dress clothes and crawls into bed. He falls asleep fast, dreams of brown eyes and triple axels — taking off, rising, and falling, falling, falling…

~~~~~~~~~~

He knows he’s falling before his ass hits the ice.

It was inevitably, really — he felt like he was fighting himself through the entire program, trying to keep it from completely unraveling. He knows that to anyone else, any casual fan and even some analysts, he looked good, strong, put together right until the end. But he knows that this isn’t his best. And this fall is definitely going to cost him.

He recovers quickly, finishing the rest of the program as close to perfectly as he can manage. He smiles and bows, waves to his friends in the stands, tries to pretend like he’s okay with knowing that he’s definitely not winning this gold. 

It’s his own fault. He’d let his parents worm their way into his brain again, amplifying the self doubt that was already lingering, making him second guess every move, even the things he knows are good. Pair that with the fact that he can’t stop thinking about Eddie — not just the kiss, but his smile as he took the ice, his effortless jumps — and it was a miracle he only fell once.

He takes silver, four points behind Eddie’s gold. The fact that it was that fall that did him in stings worse than anything.

At the medal ceremony, he catches Eddie’s eye for the first time all day on the podium, and surprises himself with the genuine smile he gives him. It’s certainly not Eddie’s fault, what happened today — he didn’t ask to take up most of Buck’s thoughts, Buck let that happen. And if he keeps letting it happen, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to skate clean again.

He knows they still need to talk, and he knows exactly what he needs to say, but he really doesn’t want to say it. 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to say anything right away. Eddie disappears after the presser and doesn’t join him and May in the stands for the free dance. Buck tries to ignore the empty seat next to him, but it’s harder than usual.

They have a late flight back to LA, and Eddie’s already packed but the time Buck makes it back to the room. They stand across from each other in the entryway, just like last night, but the tension in the air feels wary under Buck’s skin instead of hopeful.

“You were amazing today,” Buck blurts out, not at all how he wanted to start this conversation. It’s worth it, though, for the smile and blush he gets from Eddie.

“Thanks,” he says, eyes on the floor. “So were you.”

Jesus, just tell him, Buck thinks, and he squares his shoulders like he’s preparing for a fight.

“It was something for me, too,” he says softly. “Yesterday, it— it definitely wasn’t nothing.”

Eddie looks at him, waiting, and Buck hesitates.

He really, really doesn’t want to say it.

“But?” Eddie prompts, because of course he knows there’s more.

“But,” Buck sighs. “But I can’t— We should wait. Until after the Olympics. I don’t think either of us want to be too distracted before then, and I don’t know if you know this, but you are very...very distracting.” Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes, and Buck lets his gaze rake over Eddie from top to bottom, distracting himself for just a little bit longer.

“You’re right,” Eddie says quietly. “Let’s wait. And I’ll try and be less distracting, so I can keep kicking your ass fair and square.”

“Oh really?” Buck laughs, and Eddie’s laughing too, and it feels good and normal and Buck doesn’t want it to stop. But it has to. Because as much as Buck wants to dive deeper into this...whatever this is with Eddie, he wants to win more. Not much more (which is a thought he never expected to have about anyone), but definitely more. 

And if anyone in the world understands that feeling, it’s Eddie.

There’s a knock on the door, Bobby giving them a 15 minute warning before they’re supposed to head to the airport. Buck moves to head toward his things so he can pack, but Eddie grabs his arm before he can go too far. His eyes look soft and sad and hopeful and a million other things Buck is feeling too, and he just wants to drown in them, in this moment, before he has to go back out into the world, alone.

Eddie leans forward, softly kissing Buck’s cheek, lingering in his space before he heads out of the room, door quietly shutting behind him.

[widowsofchaos]

Can I request “147. “I’m not sure how many coffees it takes to be happy, but so far, it’s not twelve” from the prompts list??❤️

❝ Never Enough Coffee

summary: black coffee is vital for one grumpy unstable 100 year old man.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x black!reader

Cait, I love you so much. It’s not even funny! Thanks for requesting, you’re the damn best. Icon? Indeed. I did this with Bucky, cause we just a bunch hoes for that beautiful dork. <3

Fluff, grumpy Bucky, Sam, and Bucky banter, and a smidge of implied smut. I apologize that this isn’t that good, or have poetic wordplay that I’m practicing, I just haven’t written anything in over two years, so be gentle with me! Lmfao, I hope y’all like this! Pls request more!

Requested from this prompt list.

Do Not Repost My Works!

It’s a crime.

A crime against humanity — not even Captain fucking America going against the Accords, against 117 fucking countries can touch the immense severity of this.

It’s bright and sunny, 8 o’clock in the morning to be exact, and Bucky Barnes – the Sargent of the Howling Compandos, Brooklyn’s forgotten 40s’ Casanova, the Winter Soldier, the fist of HYDRA, a ghost story, one of the best assassins in world history, right next to Romanoff, respectfully — is up and out of bed.

And he’s ready to have heads roll.

The compound’s windows are wide open and the sun is mockingly baring it’s warm ass into his groggy eyes. His nose is scrunched up in annoyance, sitting in the compound’s kitchen, as he begrudgingly sips his coffee — black like his soul.

“Good morning, old man.” A sing-song tone pierces through the air, disrupting any peace and quiet Bucky clings for.

Of fucking course.

“Fuck off, tweety.” Bucky’s lowly growled as he sipped his beverage. A sneaky chuckle filtered behind him, “Tsk, is someone a little grumpy?” Sam’s babified tone causes Bucky to clench his metal hand into a fist, the metal softly rearing.

Samuel Wilson, a former United States Air Force pararescue airman. Use to work at the Veterans Affairs department to assist soldiers for rehabilitation services, and much more. Has been an helping aid for Bucky during his rehabilitation back at Wankanda.

A man of honor.

But as of today, Sam is in the same damn boat as Bucky. Grumpy, exhausted, and infuriated. Not an soldier, not the Falcon, just Samuel Wilson. A man who yearns for his bed. So fuck honor right now, he’s wants to push buttons. A bilious man on a mission.

Waking up early for a long meeting among the Avengers, and then training new S.H.I.E.L.D recruits. Long strenuous hours of combat, practice at the gun range — oh God, he’s not ready.

He was a inch away from ripping Steve’s head off earlier at 6 in the morning, to go for their run. Almost flipping Steve off, and tell him to ‘go fuck himself in his perfectly sculpted patriotic ass’. He didn’t though. Rogers didn’t deserve that.

Barnes on the other hand?

If Sam has to be miserable on this damn boat with Bucky, best believe he’s gonna make him suffer along with him. Barnes and Wilson are kindred spirits when it comes to terms of bickering. A love-hate yin-yang, can’t live with each other, and can’t live without each other.

All for one, bitch. Wrestle with Barnes off the boat—figuratively.

If only.

Gripping the mug tighter in his flesh hand — just a little more tighter and Bucky could crack the cup into multiple little pieces.

But he won’t let his frustration get the best of him, no matter how much Sam gets a hard-on for pissing the WWII veteran off.

It’s a NASA mug you bought for him, a constant reminder that lets him know how you pay attention to his personal interests, and he cherishes everything you buy him.

Just being in your presence is the only gift he ever truly wants.

A whirring noise infiltrated through the air, and entering the kitchen. A gust of air whipped against Bucky’s dome, a flash of red and grey wizzing by.

The ungraceful flight caused Bucky’s long chestnut tresses to be ruffled in different directions, and even get his ends in his eyes; earning a belly laugh from Sam, and a programmed chirp from the infuriating metallic bird.

Redwing. The trusty companion of Sam. His empathic link, his side-kick — a pain in the ass. Might as well be Sam’s child. Jesus — it is.

“I swear Wilson, one of these days, I’m gonna get Alphine to destroy that thing. Don’t be surprised to find it dead with claws marks, and chewed wires.” Bucky’s steel gaze that bored into Sam’s soul, spoke volumes of distain.

“You will do no such thing! You keep your furry menace away from my child!” Sam roared, extending a threatening finger at Bucky, his brown face turning a shade of slight burgundy as his face flushed with rage.

Sweetly petting Redwing on it’s head, whispering assurances that no act on it’s life will occur.

“Then tell your kid to stop baderging me in the morning!”

“It’s not his fault, you’re a grumpy old man!”

“Shut up!”

“At least, my son is just playing around! What about Alphine?! She’s an attention-seeking hog, and always fucking with everybody. But the moment you or y/n walk through the door, she’s a little angel! Her grimy little paws behind her back! Your kid is indeed a menace!” Sam’s sneered as he protectively held Redwing against his chest.

“You take that back! She’s a good girl!” Bucky’s stood up from his chair, ready to fight. His Alphine? An angel! His sweet little princess!

Another heinous crime in Bucky’s books: don’t ever insult Alphine.

Sam and Bucky kept bickering back and forth, voices rising higher and higher. Tempers flying. Releasing their frustrations onto each other, insults hitting each other like bullets, but yet not a slight crack in their shield of friendship.

“Would you two stop it?” A sweet melodic voice rang through the two aggressive voices that dominated the area. Bucky’s head swiftly turned to see you standing at the kitchen entryway in all your glory.

Even with messy bed hair of your curls straying in different directions, in Bucky’s eyes the curls was voile and woven by baby cherubs. His mind going hay-wire with the mantra of mineminemine when he see his red Henley that was hanging over your shoulder, perky breasts bounce effortlessly against the fabric, and weary eyes — you glowed as if you had an halo.

As if diamonds and pearls were glimmering underneath your pores — illuminating a shimmering bronze complexion.

“Good morning, doll.” A genuine smile curled on Bucky’s dreary mug, hightlighting. Dashing and wrapping his biceps around your waist, softly kissing you, instinctively you ensnared your forearms around his neck, clinging onto him like a life-line. A small whimper erupted in the back of his throat.

This is what he needs. To stay in today, and crawl in bed with you, and be as one. Craft a makeshift of the walls of a womb, limbs entangled, inhaling breaths, lulled by synchronized heartbeats.

“Good morning, doll.” Sam mocking Bucky’s endearment in a lower octave, a poor imitation,garning a low snarl from Bucky.

“Stop it you two. It’s too early for this shit.” You sighed, eyes closed, as you basked in Bucky’s natural sweet musky and mint scent. Rubbing your nose in his broad chest.

Both of you tuning out Sam slamming the refrigerator door as he scoured for ingredients, and clanging his pan on the stove to prepare his breakfast.

Bucky grumbled incoherent colorful hexes as he gingerly placed chaste kisses against your hairline. Sniffing your hair, needing to scent you like a wolf to gather his bearings.

You giggled at the breathy pecks, refusing to let you go, such a possessive teddy bear he is.

“Jesus, he can’t function without you.” Sam chided, as he cracked eggs into the sizzling pan, wordlessly Bucky buried his face into your curls, to prevent giving Sam a good old fashion tongue-lashing.

“Sam, knock it off. Just because you’re angry, doesn’t mean you have to bother Bucky.” A grin stretched on Bucky’s bearded jaw. His best girl always defending him.

“Nah, he’s insulted Redwing. Made my boy feel bad, remember I can feel everything he feels. And right now? He ain’t feeling all to happy.”

Chest puffed, demonstrating an angry father protecting his metallic pup, “Barnes needs to apologize!”

Softly tugged at the long hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck, Bucky whines from being detached from your hair, sternly gazing into his blue-grey pools, “Baby, what did you say?”

Guilt floods him, he didn’t mean it, he’s just — angry! “I said I would get Alphine to hurt Redwing—”

“Threats of claws and wire chewing!”

Bucky winced, “But he said Alphine was an attention hog! That’s she a menace! Our little one isn’t that!” Bucky whined. You had to stifle a laugh, oh for sure, Sam is right on the money.

Alphine is a spoiled brat, but it’s still wrong. She’s a good girl when she wants to be.

“First Bucky apologize to Redwing, and Sam—” your eyes shift to look beyond Bucky’s broad shoulder, to see Sam rolling his eyes, “Apologize to Bucky.”

Both men grumble like over-grown toddlers, “Fine.” Bucky yields, “Alright.” Sam caves in. Bucky reluctantly turns his body to face Sam, “I’m sorry Sam and Redwing. I didn’t mean what I said. Redwing isn’t bad.” Bucky looked to the metal bird, genuinely apologetic.

“I’m sorry too. Alphine isn’t a menace.” Sam mumbled, resuming to petting Redwing. “Okay, good. Now that we’re back to friends, let’s have some breakfast.” You faux cheery tone set a serene atmosphere.

Redwing flew and circled around you, chirping a hello. You blew a kiss to the empathic companion, as it took it’s rightful place back on Sam’s shoulder.

Bucky resumed back to his seat, to mull over his coffee, and Sam back to continue to prepare his omelette, wordlessly.

You smirked as you snaked your way to hug Bucky from behind. A chaste kiss on his temple, a shiver crawling down his spine.

Your nimble fingers found refugee in Bucky’s long waves, massaging his scalp by the pads of your tips.

His lashes fluttered closed, savoring your touch. “Yes, doll. Just like that.” His head hung backwards, his chiseled face facing you.

You placed a lingering kiss on his forehead, as you didn’t relent your soothing kneading. A broken moan escaped Bucky, not caring that his grunt was near close to the spectrum of pornographic.

Sam nearly vomited over his sizzling eggs, “Ew, both of you knock it off.”

“Oh shut it, Foghorn.” You muttered, plump lips inches away against Bucky’s forehead. Painting silver-toned kisses on his smooth skin, Bucky snorted.

“Son, I say – I say, ah he’s about as sharp as a bowling ball.” Bucky’s sardonic jeering guised under a over-extragerated southern accent making you both burst into fits of laughter. A pissing on the iconic cartoonish rooster. He open his eyes, as you two laughed, Bucky just adores your cute giggles. How your nose scrunches upward.

“Oh ha, ha, ha. You both are assholes.” Sam grunted, as he thrusted his spatula in the pan to fold his omelette.

“We made a funny son and you’re not laughin’ ”, you participated in the wisecracking, in an nasally southern belle accent, quoting the famous rooster.

“Knock it off.” Sam murmured, his eyes lowered, throwing daggers at the cackling couple. The chuckles died down, “Alright, alright, we’re sorry, Sam.” You fluttered your eyes at Sam, “You know I adore Falcons.” You delicately plant your chin on Bucky’s dome, as he repositions his head.

“I prefer Hawks.” Bucky’s kvetch crawls under Sam’s skin, “Hey!” He shouted, “Enough!” You chuckled, stoping anymore childish fights.

“I need more coffee to handle him.” Bucky spoke as he gulped down the rest of his caffeine’s beverage. You took the mug from him, “I’ll get you more, baby.” Twisting your head to his side-profile, you meshed your lips on his.

Bucky has a small goofy grin, “Thank you, doll.”

Sam finally finished with his breakfast preparations, sat at the island far away from Bucky, you quickly replaced his silver-ware with a plastic fork and knife.

No stabbing at this early hour.

One incident of an injured bird, and wolf was enough.

“I have a rising suspension that this isn’t your first cup this morning” you peered over your shoulder, to see Bucky just hazily staring at you, chin leaning on the heel of his palm.

He hummed in response, “Not even close, doll.”

“I can tell, you’re a little grumpy today. Although, I don’t want you strung out on caffeine just so you won’t rip someone’s head off.” The steam of black coffee wafts in the air, as it poured and slushed in the coffee maker.

Bucky fussed, “You know I’m not a particularly happy fella, doll.”

“Well, I just want my man to be happy.” The coffee-maker dinged, signaling the coffee was finished. Quickly taking the pot out to pour the hot steaming blackness into the cup, and making your way to Bucky.

“And if it means, making you a shit-ton of coffee, just to get you to crack a smile, so be it.” A toothy smile winked at Bucky, your shiny oval-arlyic nails scratched behind Bucky’s ear — his sweet spot.

It took all his strength and restraint in his body not to take you right there in the kitchen,

“I’m not sure how many coffees it takes to be happy, but so far, it’s not twelve.” Bucky lifted the cup to his pink lips, his eyebrows wiggled at you jokingly. Sam choked on his chewed eggs, drinking water to wash down the food that traveled down the wrong pipe.

“Jesus, Buck —” cough. “Twelve?!” Sam was patting down his lips with his napkin, “I would crawling up the walls by now like a crackhead.”

You snorted, bent over, lowering your lips to Bucky’s ear, salutary and husky, “I wish you had me crawling up the walls, babe.” It was now Bucky’s turn to choke, narrowing his eyes to you, “Don’t start something you can’t finish, doll.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Your hands innocently in surrounder, defensely, “I’m behaving.” Your coy smirk said differently.

A debauched moan grumbled in Bucky’s thoart, “You know what — fuck work today, I’m gonna have you front, side-ways, and the back. All damn day. Now that put a fucking smile on my face.” Bucky stood up from his seat, his intimating stature hovering over you.

Sam’s arms flew in the air in defeat, bile rising in his throat to the mental picture of two of his closest friends having cotious.

“We eat here.” He whispered under his breath, very aware of Bucky being able to hear him crystal clear.

You shuddered, “Really ... ? How about we start to have sex right here, right now?” You sunk your nails against his chest, trailing down his torso. Bouncing on the tips of your toes, to kitty lick the tip of Bucky’s nose.

“NO! Why do you two get off torturing me?! Go fuck in your room, you heathens!” Sam roared, picking up his empty plate to clean in his sink, Redwing chirped in agreement.

“Twah, poor baby.” You lean over, after jokingly leering at the birdman, stepping forward to Bucky. Tilting your head up to him, his natural body heart buzzing over you, pressing your lips to his, meeting you half-way.

“C’mon angel, let’s get back to bed.” Bucky mumbled against your lips, softsoftsoft, so this is what love feels like. As if his soul had a million suns radiating in his cavity, circling around his heart like fiery orbs. Happiness stretching like the milky way, interstellar clouds of dust decorating in his hues, grey-blue of spiral galaxies of adoration beam right back at you.

To be touched — to be loved.

Bucky linked his calloused fingers in yours, you loved the contrast your bodily textures. Bucky was soft buried underneath hardened shields of battles and trauma. You love to trace his scars – the scarrings of an old soul.

Bucky and yourself practically skipped out of the kitchen, with not so much of a goodbye to Sam.

No offense taken, he knows he’ll see the two soulmates later. A little frustrated that he’ll be training recruits solo today, but what can he do? Love cannot be stopped.

Sam snickered, happy that those two are happy and care-free. “Look at those lovebirds, Redwing. Ah, our favorite type of birds.”

-

tags: just tagging my favorite writers and mutuals who inspire me and had the pleasure of talking to:

@darkficsyouneveraskedfor @helahades @cake-writes @nacho-bucky @cherrypickertheory @sinner-as-saint @imanuglywombat @bugsbucky @romantic-barnes @speechlessxx @honeybucks @cherienymphe @venusbarnes @wkemeup @simsadventures @invisibleanonymousmonsters @ozarkthedog @sebbybarness @avintagekiss24 @wiensrsoldier @all1e23 @xetoilerouge @et-lesailes @spacesnail3000 @moonbeambucky @buckyskorpion @buckysknifecollection @buckys-darling @sapphirescrolls @bitsandbobsandstuff @extremelyblackandwhite @scrumptious-delusion @until-we-fall-in-love @fafulous @rogueobservation @your-persephone-writes @sophiria @cpn-hydra @browngirlmagic @jobean12-blog @carolmaximoffs @caws5749 @marvelcapsicle @star-spangled-beard-burn @missmonsters2 @xbuchananbarnes @captain-kelli @fvckingavengers @suz-123 @redgillan (there’s much more I wanted to add but I couldn’t fit more in, lol!)

[areiton]

three days - stony

Read on AO3 | Mind the AO3 warnings, friends. 

~*~ 

The day begins like this:  

Tony is cursing, and Steve is laughing.  

It’s how they’ve woken up for years now, Steve’s hands cool and familiar against Tony’s belly as he crawls back into bed with his husband, and Tony’s rasping complaints just as familiar.  

“There’s coffee, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, hair wet where it falls into his eyes and Tony peers up at him through his good eye.  

It’s been decades since Thanos, since he gave his right arm and his eye and almost his life—since Extremis reversed the damage and so much of his aging and slowed down the remains.  

“We could stay in bed,” Tony bargains, and Steve grins at him, rolls them in the sheets until Tony is straddling his hips and drags him down for a kiss, hands skating over his sides.  

~*~  

The day begins like this:  

There is silence. Cool sheets and bright sunlight. He hasn’t slept. He can’t sleep in the utter silence, and can’t bring himself to leave their bedroom either.  

There’s the scent of familiar cologne and motor oil in the air, and he can’t bring himself to leave, isn’t sure it’ll be there, if he does.  

There’s a tap on the door, and Harley comes in, trailed by Peter.  

“Hey, Pops,” Harley murmurs, hands shoved in his pockets. He’s wearing his suit, already. It’s not that strange, seeing him in a suit—Harley has been CEO long enough that seeing him wearing a suit as trim and fitted as Tony’s is familiar and comforting.  

Peter is too, though, and his eyes are wet and red-rimmed and he looks-- 

He looks like Tony did. Grey streaks his hair and his eyes are tired, his smile weaker than it used to be.  

He looks younger than Harley, and Steve wonders if that’s a curse or a blessing. Tony worried about it, about how he’d handle a long life, extended by his mutation, when his husband was gone.  

Steve blinks hard, because Tony had never considered that for them. Not when Extremis and the serum evened the playing field for them, not for decades now.  

“It’s time,” Harley says, softly.  

~*~  

The day begins like this:  

An alarm is blaring, beyond the walls of his room, and Steve jerks upright. “Report?” he barks, and there’s a brief moment of silence cut only by the klaxon.  

“Commander, they’ve asked you stay behind,” FRIDAY says.  

He snorts, and moves, all efficiency as he slips into the stealth suit.  

It needs a bit of work, but it’ll do, at least until he can get to the city.  

“What’s the situation, FRI?” he asks.  

She feeds it to the comm he never goes without, and he reaches for his shield before leaving the small, unadorned room behind.  

The halls of SHIELD are crowded, bustling with agents scurrying to answer the still screaming alarm, but they all give way, something he notes with only the barest kind of interest.  

His hair falls in his eyes and he scrapes it back impatiently, securing it at the nape of his neck.  

“Need to cut that, Stevie,” Bucky says, falling into step beside him.  

“Think you should sit this one out,” Director Bishop says as they stride into command center. Her eyes are worried and her mouth is tight and Steve smiles at her, sharply.  

“Now you know that’s not gonna happen, Katie Kate,” Bucky drawls, and because he’s looking for, Steve sees her tiny flinch.  

Even now.  

“Stark,” she says, and Steve straightens.  

“What’s the mission, Director,” he asks, implacable.  

She sighs and drags up a holoscreen. “We know he’s harnessing electricity,” she begins and he settles in.  

“This might be the one,” FRIDAY murmurs and Steve closes his eyes, and hopes. 

~*~  

The morning goes like this:  

Tony leans against him, half asleep against his back while Steve makes eggs. The house is quiet today—just the two of them, the team confined to the Compound. He thinks about spending a little time in his studio, after breakfast.  

“I need to do some work on the prototypes Peter sent over,” Tony mumbles against his back and Steve mentally rearranges his plans. Sketching in the workshop and going over SHIELD mission reports it was.  

There were days, of course there were, when they retreated from each other, spent in their own separate corners of the house, days Tony spent in the city because even now, years after Pepper’s retirement and handing the reins to Harley and Peter, he’s active at SI. There are days when Steve goes on a mission for SHIELD with Bucky, and they don’t see each other for a week or more.  

But mostly, when they can, they spend their time together.  

“Too many years apart,” Steve murmured, when Tony asked him about it, right after they got married.  

Now, it’s habit, and comfortable, and Steve smiles does at the eggs while Tony snores against his back, and thinks about the long empty day stretching ahead of them.  

~*~  

The day goes like this:  

They drive together, Steve and the boys who are not boys, the men who have been his sons. Morgan is waiting, with her children, and theirs, and Steve resents them, just for a moment, resents everyone here—the remains of their family and their team, Bucky and Sam, everyone standing around him and the fucking urn waiting.  

Peter speaks first.  

Because Steve—Steve loved him, loves him still, with every breath that is in him, he thinks he will love Tony until he’s dust and faded memories—but Peter was part of Tony’s soul, all his genius and sacrifice and kindness wrapped up in a boy without a speck of his blood. Peter was the son he chose, and it’s fitting, that Peter is the one speaking first, the one saying goodbye while Steve stands over an urn that feels too heavy and too light and all wrong.  

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.  

There was Extremis and the serum, there was every villain and battle they survived and all the years they fought and all the love they built despite it.  

There was a century between them and secrets and so much love he can’t quite breath through it.  

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.  

But then, he supposes. It wasn’t supposed to end at all.  

~*~  

The day goes like this:  

The quinnjet is quiet. FRIDAY has fallen silent, but Steve knows she’s running all the information she can find, and after all the years she’s spent growing, there’s nothing she can’t find.  

Bucky sits next to him, silent, because there’s nothing to say anymore.  

The SHIELD agents and Avengers—there are Avengers, new ones, people whose names he can’t remember or doesn't want to learn, a Captain America that Sam chose that he doesn’t want to know—are quiet, a low murmur of voices and spike of laughter, but it’s been long enough that no one disturbs him and Bucky, until they’re coming up on the drop site and Scarlet Witch—not Wanda, not his team, they’re all gone now—says, “Eyes up. Everyone comes home safe.”  

There’s a chorus of voices, and Bucky leans briefly into his side, and Steve’s eyes cut to his brother.  

FRIDAY is quiet in his ear and the wind whistles as the fliers take to the sky. There’s a lightening storm, just beyond the quinnjet.  

He smiles.  

“Commander Stark,” he hears, shouted, a moment before he throws himself from the jet, and Bucky follows.  

~*~  

The day goes like this:  

The alarm comes in while Tony is scolding DUM-E, and Steve is laughing, and he grins at Steve, bright and beautiful. “Wanna save the world, honey?”  

“We’re retired,” Steve says, dryly.  

“FRIDAY, what is it?  

“A new threat, Boss. Something in space.”  

Steve shifts, uneasy, because space has never meant anything good for them, but Tony is grinning, bright eyes and eager, and he already knows how it’ll end.  

“Get your suit,” he sighs, “FRIDAY, let Hill know we’re coming in.”  

“Sure thing, Commander.”  

~*~  

The day goes like this:  

After they scatter the ashes.  

After the family gathers and leaves-- 

After the house has gone silent, but for DUM-E's sad lonely beeping, when the lights are off and the curtains are drawn and the studio has been closed off-- 

He sits in the dark with a gun in his hand and only the thought of Tony’s disappointment in him keeps him from pulling the trigger.  

~*~  

The day goes like this:  

The fight is brutal. The Avengers are falling in around him and Bucky, but there’s rain and the air is thick with electricity.  

Hawkeye goes down under an electric bolt from the wizard wielding it and Scarlet Witch screams his name.  

“Cap,” FRIDAY murmurs. “Wait.” 

It’s going to hell, fast, the rain and the electricity working together to blind and ground their fliers, to slow the fighters on the ground. An EMP brings down Iron Patriot with a clattering roar that almost throws him back to that fucking fight in Germany, a lifetime ago, but he grits his teeth,  tenses-- 

And waits.  

It comes in waves, pulses where the wizard gather’s his power, before it’s thrown in a scattering arc, in a sharp concentrated bolt, devastating their ranks.  

“Now,” Friday snaps, and he throws himself forward.  

The last thing he hears is Bucky’s scream.  

~*~  

The day ends like this:  

They should have stayed home.  

Where Tony was warm and grumbling and their forever stretched endless in front of them.  

They should have stayed home.  

It goes to hell, fast, faster than he can parse. The villain is an alien they’ve never faced before, and Tony’s voice is sharp and worried over the comm. 

“Cap, he’s pulling the energy of a fucking star,” Tony says.  

“A star?” Steve echoes.  

“Stars are a form of energy—that's what he’s pulling.”  

“Ours?”  

Tony’s silent and Steve almost laughs, because of course they’re on a throwaway mission with a villain who wants to drain the power of their damn sun.  

“What can we do to stop him?”  

Tony is quiet, a long moment, and then--”FRIDAY, take care of him, would you? Ferryman Protocol, code echo alpha zeta tango niner.”  

The ship jerks a little, and FRIDAY says, apologetic, “Sorry, Cap. Orders.”  

“Tony,” Steve starts, but he’s flying already, the boosters on his suit bright as stars as he slams into the alien. Giant tentacles as black as the space around them snake around the suit and Tony says, softly. “I’m so sorry, beloved.”  

“Tony, come back here,” Steve begs. “Please--” 

“I wanted so badly to grow old with you, Steve,” Tony says. The suit is flying again, pulling the alien with him, and Steve can’t breathe, it’s flying. “FRIDAY--don’t let him watch.”  

He screams when the ships monitor’s go black.  

He screams when an explosion rocks the ship.  

He screams when FRIDAY reports, her voice shaking with tears, “I’ve lost contact with the suit.”  

He screams and he screams, and Tony never responds.  

~*~ 

The day ends like this:  

He catches sight of himself in a mirror in the dark. It’s been almost a year since that day in space, a year of searching space and scanning for lifesigns and Peter frantically building tech to go search for Tony.  

It’s been a year of unending grief and wild baseless hope and silence that’s never answered.  

He catches sight of himself and he breaks, shatters the mirror and then the table, so furious suddenly he doesn’t check himself. He finds himself in his studio, shattered easels and canvases, his pencils broken and sketchbooks torn apart, chest heaving and sobs trapped in his throat.  

He’s destroyed it, the place that Tony built for him, the place where he would sleep, while Steve sketched.  

He trembles, and says, softly, “FRIDAY. I can’t stay here.”  

“I’ll inform SHIELD you’re moving back to headquarters,” she says, and he nods.  

He takes his suit, the one that Tony made him, his shield, and a picture of Tony, saved from the ruined studio, and leaves.  

~*~  

The day ends like this:  

Bucky carries him.  

He can’t breath, and there’s a panicky fear in his gut, shades from a boy that he hasn’t been in a lifetime.  

He can’t breath and there’s peace in it, because FRIDAY is almost purring in his ear, and Bucky is carrying him and crying and there’s a smile, strange and familiar, on his brother’s face. 

He waited.  

Even now, almost a decade after Sam’s death, Bucky waited.  

“End of the line,” Steve rasps and Bucky laughs, lowers him in the quinnjet that is dark and still.  

The Avengers that he doesn’t know, never let himself know, are behind him, silent and grim and he thinks maybe they are crying.  

He wants to tell them not to.  

He wants to tell them this is his choice.  

Bucky knows, and that is enough. FRIDAY knows, his faithful companion for all the long empty years since Tony died.  

He closes his eyes and his heartbeat falters.  

~*~  

The day begins like this:  

He wakes and there’s a warmth, familiar and comforting, against him, and he twists.  

Tony smiles at him, impossibly young and heartbreakingly perfect, his eyes bright, and his right hand trembling as it pushes back Steve’s hair.  

“You kept me waiting a while, beloved,” he murmurs.  

Steve curls close, and Tony hums, soft and soothing and comforting, as he holds him.