#brooklyn thursday night

[intrepidacious]

What if Reader did not lose her roommate in brooklyn, thursday night?? Would she and Steve still have met that night??

palpable echo

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 720

warnings: an alternative universe to brooklyn, thursday night. not exactly angst but not happy either. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: so the short answer to this would be "i don't think they would have". but i don't do short answers. also let’s ignore the time.

Steve’s not sure how he makes it through the night that second year.

There’s a restlessness in his bones that won’t let him stop walking, so he doesn’t. Earlier in the night, he might’ve still had a vague idea of where he was going, but at this point, he can’t be sure.

It’s not like he’d be welcome company anywhere, anyway.

He barely feels the wind tearing at his coat by the time the first tentative rays of sunlight start coloring the sky a shade of orange that, on any other day, he might have stopped to appreciate. By the time Thanksgiving turns into another bleak Friday, the cold has turned into something solid in his throat.

He’s walking in circles.

A few people are dotted around the park now, and so he tucks his chin into the collar of his coat and doesn’t raise his eyes. There’s not enough of a crowd for the whispers to haunt him again quite yet, but he’s having a tough time predicting these things nowadays.

("I thought you don’t care," Bucky would’ve said. Once upon a time.)

The rubble is clicking next to him, and when he turns his head slightly, a dog is staring at him, head slightly tilted as if to assess him.

Steve stops.

The dog keeps looking at him, then takes a couple of curious steps closer.

"Don’t worry," a voice behind him says. "She’s mostly friendly."

He can relate to that mostly, and so he slowly pulls one hand out of his coat pocket and holds it out for the dog to sniff. She does so with a sort of indignant breath of air, and then she leans her chin against his fingers and looks at him expectantly until he pets her between the ears.

Her tail starts wiggling.

Something small and hardened loosens in his chest, tiny and insignificant compared to everything else, but present nontheless.

"What a bitch," the voice says. "She took weeks to warm up to me like that."

There might be the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. It feels foreign, somehow, and it’s the surprise of it all that makes him look up.

There’s something rough about you, and it feels off, even though he can’t put his finger on a reason. Maybe he’s used to seeing the grief more obviously on people’s faces, still.

Instead, your eyes are soft and amused when he meets them, and they change only the slightest bit when the recognition hits you a little later. There’s part of him that wishes he could take it back and live in that first moment a little longer, where he’s just a stranger and a nobody; just a man getting to pet a dog.

But it’s never that easy.

The silence stretches, the wind howling in his ears again. It’s so loud he doesn’t even hear your question the first time.

"You alright?" you repeat when he blinks at you, your fingers drumming against your coat.

"I’m fine." It’s the same lie everyone tells these days. His voice is so raw, and he can’t be sure when he’s used it last. At some point earlier this week, probably.

You nod a little like to confirm it, but there’s something almost like concern etched into the tick of your jaw. For a moment, it seems like you want to say something else, but then you shake your head.

"Well, we better get going so we can scold Lulu in front of her co-workers for not taking you out before her shift, don’t we?" you say with a lightness so fake he can almost smell it. Steve doesn’t blame you.

The dog nuzzles his hand.

He clears his throat. "Sorry for keeping you."

It sounds genuine when you say, "Not at all."

He wants to add something else, but it’s like there’s no words left in him these days, and looking for them would take way too long. So he watches you walk off, the dog trailing beside you, and he doesn’t expect you to turn around.

You turn around.

"Thanks for trying," you call, and the wind doesn’t swallow it this time.

He doesn’t know why, but he buys a sketchbook on his way home. And later, for the first time in weeks, he sleeps through the night.

thank you for reading 💛 if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

[pinballforever]

Credit pinball.by.xtn (Photo by Christian Larsen)

[lichfucker]

I'm hosting the game at my own house this time which I've never done before. I have no idea how I'm gonna set up the furniture

[nonasuch]

so I went to New York this weekend!

I tagged along with some friends who were going to the Five Points Toy Festival in Brooklyn, and convinced them to come see Sleep No More with me on Thursday night, since it’s allegedly closing at some point and I’ve always wanted to go.

And since they had to head back to DC a day before me, I decided to get another ticket for the Sunday matinee on my own.

Unfortunately my cards were a 6 and a 7, so I missed a few things right at the beginning, but I’m still really happy with my experience. My first show I spent a bunch of time following the Tailor, which I really enjoyed — he had a duet with the Taxidermist in his shop where they played tug-of-war with his measuring tape, and another with the speakeasy bartender. I saw Hecate eat her dinner and sing “Is That All There Is” in the 4th floor bar, and the Porter try to save Lady Macduff from the poisoned milk and then do an amazing dance in the bag check room. Plus a bunch more small lovely moments that I caught in passing as I explored.

My second show I had my bearings a little bit more. I got to chat with “Benji” (who I now know was actually Will Boyajian!) in the Manderly before my card was called, which was really fun!

Before this trip, I did do some advance reading, so I’d have a general sense of what to expect and wouldn’t be totally lost. This also gave me an idea for a little art project: I made a set of papier-mâché eggs (using a trashed copy of Macbeth for the paper) with thematically appropriate prizes inside, sealed with a wax seal and a red ribbon you could pull to open them. Basically fancier versions of the mystery eggs I have at the shop. I made eight, because that was all I could fit in my dress pockets. The prizes were:

a glass jar of vintage mother-of-pearl buttons

a glass vial with a dried flower inside, sealed with wax

another sealed vial with a fossil shark’s tooth

a tiny bell jar with mini (fake) butterflies on pins

a brooch made from a vintage medal ribbon and vintage keys

a tiny glass bird

a little bag of vintage game pieces

a wooden acorn with more tiny treasures inside it

I ended up giving “Benji” the shark tooth egg, which turned out to be perfect because he said he collects shark teeth! The others I saved until I got inside; I wanted to be careful about making sure I could give them out without interrupting anything.

I was super lucky to have some time entirely alone with the Tailor while he sewed up the Taxidermist’s coat, so I just set his egg (the buttons) on the corner of his desk and stepped back, and he tucked it into his jacket pocket when he was done.

I watched the Taxidermist make his bone sculpture assemblage and then smash it in frustration, so I hid an egg under one of the skulls after he left. I did get to see him find it when he came back. Same with Hecate, when I left an egg under her fan on her table at the wrecked bar.

The speakeasy bartender invited me to play a card game with him. I lost, but I gave him an egg as a thank-you.

I watched the Porter make a paper boat and blow it off the edge of the counter towards me. I caught it, and tried to give it back with his egg. He took the egg, but gave me back the boat. And I caught the witch in the green dress in a quiet moment in the lobby, and handed her an egg across the counter.

I realized I’d accidentally given the Taxidermist the wrong egg, but I managed to catch him at the last possible second, before he disappeared after the walkouts, gave him the right one, and told him I’d given him Malcolm’s egg by mistake. (Some of them were labeled, but the lighting is so low and my labels were tiny).

Aside from my self-imposed side quest, I got to see a bunch of scenes I’d missed last time. I caught the rave, I followed Agnes for a while, I saw a lovely waltz between Duncan and Mrs. Danvers in the ballroom. I kind of forgot the fifth floor existed, oops.

Afterwards, I was totally exhausted and must have looked it, because someone let me into the reserved section so I could sit until the crowd thinned out and I felt a little less wiped. I have some really cool souvenirs — my mask, and the paper boat, and I bought a poster too.

If they extend it into the fall, I’ll totally go again.

[liyawritesss]

ᴡᴇ ʙᴇ ʟᴏᴠɪɴ' ꜱᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅ

Characters: Spider-Verse!Miles Morales [Spider-Man] x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Drabble

Word Count: 1.4k

Synopsis: When there’s question of how the two of you should come public with your relationship, Miles has an idea. Despite it being quite cheesy, it’s one of the sweetest gestures he’s ever done for you.

Warnings: Some cursing but that’s about it

A/N: ‘lovin’ so hard’ by becky g came on so randomly and when i tell you the whiplash i got cuz i aint heard that song in YEARS…so proud of becky she’s doing her shit and i love her sm…needa get back into her catalog real bad

Song Suggestion: "Lovin' do Hard" by Becky G, "Sunflower" by Swae-Lee & Post Malone, "I Wanna Be Down" by Brandy, "Comfortable" by H.E.R.

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog

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“I got a question.”

It was ten forty five on a Thursday night, and like any other night, you wind down the evening with a daily FaceTime call with you boyfriend of four months - Miles Morales.

In the four month time frame that you and Miles have been together, you’ve learned that the boy had a lot of questions to ask about you. It was endearing, really, how the extent of his curiosity knew no bounds. He had questions about everything, from the different hairstyles you wore, to the classes you were taking, to what you aspired to be as an adult. More often than not, he would ask them in a cute, almost childlike voice, with big doe eyes and an awaiting look of inquiry, and because he was just so polite about it, you always gave in.

“You got a question?” You repeat, glancing up to your phone, looking at the boy on your screen. You’d been busy with homework at your desk to pay him much attention, which, now that you think about it, could have been the catalyst for one of his questions. You’d only been on call for an hour, but you did tend to get reeled in to your work pretty easily. Miles was no stranger to this, so while he tried his best to not bother you, his attention span was waning thin, and he wanted to talk with you as much as he could before he had to go out on patrol.

Hence why he was dressed in his spiderman suit, no mask, but with gray sweats hanging off his torso and the faint sound of Biggie Smalls playing in the background as a way to hype him up for the next few hours of swinging around Brooklyn. He loved being Spiderman, but it had been an exceptionally long day, and knew he would not survive his patrols without some sort of pick me up - which is why he was more than happy when you called him for your nightly FaceTimes.

“Yeah, I gots a question,” he begins, albeit a bit dramatically, with his arms folded over his chest and a pout on his lips as if he were sad about something, which garnered your attention even more, “and it’s very important, y’know, so yo’ homework gotta share you for a minute!”

“Miles,” your voice goes, a soft scoff leaving your lips as they spread into a grin at his behavior, “what is it, baby?”

There’s a bit of a stutter that runs through his body at the pet name. He’s growing familiar with it, sure, but the tingle that rings through his bones has him questioning is it just his sheepishness or was he so down bad for you that you’ve influenced the enhancement of his spider-senses.

“That sweater’s lookin’ mighty comfortable,” he starts, and you can feel your eyes begin to roll at the game he starts, “wonder who you got it from, hm?”

Granted, you didn’t know you grabbed his sweater - the same one he’s always left over your house by conveniently ‘forgetting’ it when he left. It was a noticeable red zip-up that faintly smelled of sage and cinnamon, which was a comfort on cold days and stormy nights when Miles couldn’t be there for you in person. He’d ‘given’ it to you before the two of you started dating, and you’ve claimed it to be one of your most prized possessions generally, but especially from him.

“Boy, please,” you muse, lips spreading wide with a grin once more, “I’m not doin’ this with you tonight.”

“I’m just saying!” The brown-skinned boy exclaims. “I just find it funny how it’s cool for you to have my stuff, but I ain’t got nun’ of yours!”

While Miles was possibly the most emotionally intelligent boy you knew (which you’ve definitely thanked Mr. and Ms. Morales when you met them, both as Miles’ friend and as his lover), he loved to not be direct with what he really wanted sometimes. He feigned victimhood for the giggles he loved to hear from you, even though both of you knew what he wanted in the grander scheme of things. This instance was no different.

“Why you gotta be so dramatic,” you laugh at him, his lopsided grin making an appearance on his lips, “if you wanted one of mine you could’ve just said that, dork.”

“No!” Miles says rather quickly, which catches you off guard and earns him a puzzled look, eyebrows furrowed together at his behavior.

“No?”

“N-No.”

“So…you don’t want one of my hoodies? Even though we wear the same size and everything?”

Miles bit his lip in anticipation, his chest rising and falling with his deep intake of air through his nose. The boy scrunched his nose, a habit of his you’ve come to understand as him preparing himself to go out on a limb, which only confused you more.

“Your- uh…your scrunchie.”

Your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion at his confession. “My…scrunchie?”

“Yeah, y’know,” he stairs to move his hand around, motioning towards his hair, “the things you put in your hair? That somehow don’t go against dress code, even though I always get talked to about my shoes for some reason.”

“To be fair, you got some loud ass shoes.” You respond, a short laugh breaking its way through your lips despite you trying to hide it. The pout that graced Miles’ face didn’t help with you regulating it, either.

“Okay, okay, fine!” You eventually say after regaining your composure, and before Miles goes to threaten to hang up the phone on you. “I’ll bring the jar tomorrow and you can choose which one you want, how does that sound?”

Miles nods vigorously through your phone screen, and you could tell by the little twinkle in his eye that he’s absolutely ecstatic about the proposition.

“This is…a lot of scrunchies.”

It’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth when Miles watches you dump the jar of scrunchies onto the lunch table, eyes growing wide when you seem to pull out more than what looks like the jar can actually hold. There’s a little pile of varying colors, styles and sizes that’s built itself onto the table, and Miles has to admit that the task at hand seems a bit overwhelming now that it’s actually before him.

Granted, he doesn’t think he’d ever seen you wear the same scrunchie twice, but had he known your collection was this big, he’d just asked you to pick one out for him. How could he possibly choose now?

“How many do you even have?”

“I don’t know, I stopped counting after sixth grade-”

But Miles is already sifting through the pile, pulling out ones that immediately catch his attention. He has a concentrated look in his eyes - he’s taking the task very seriously, and it’s honestly adorable to you how deep into this whole exchange he was.

You took note of some of the ones Miles has already pulled out - a ribbed-fabric beige one, a group of satin ones varying in shades of blue, and ironically black and red colored one that he continuously eyes every now and then, and a silk sake green one that just so happens to be your favorite. Miles finds out the reason why the second he touches it, being soothed by the silk fabric under his fingertips.

“You want that one?” You ask him, to which Miles glances up at you from across the table, seemingly embarrassed by his entrancement of the hair ornament.

“It’s your favorite, though, right?” He responds. “I don’t wanna take it if it’s your fav-”

“-and I think that’s the perfect reason why you should take it.”

You say it as you begin to stuff the remaining scrunchies back into the jar, handfuls of the bunches slipping into the glass container with ease as you spoke again, “It’s the one I use most frequently. Meaning it smells like me more. Meaning that there’s more of a ‘me’ touch to it, so that you won’t be as lonely.”

It takes a second, but when your words register in Miles’ head, you can almost feel the heat that begins to creep up his neck from the affectionate words you spoke to him.

The bell rings, signifying the end of the free period. Miles takes no time in slipping the hair ornament around his wrist while he bids you farewell. As you depart for the second half of your classes for the day, Miles can’t help but fiddle with the object around his wrist as his own classes drone on. 

You were right, he thinks, he definitely doesn’t feel lonely with the presence of your scrunchie with him. 

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 6

Chapter 6 is here and since we left Frankie on his way back to the ranch in Montana, and Aisling still in New York, how are they going to work this out after the way they left it?

Summery: Cowboy Frankie returns to New York to work things out with his 'maybe girlfriend' Eva. But he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

Series Master List

Warnings for the whole series can be found here

“You’re the only one who makes my mind as quiet as the prairie.” 

His parting words remained with her but Aisling didn’t expect Frankie to bury himself so deep in her head. Heartbreaks, guys ghosting her, cheating on her, it had all happened before, apparently she had a knack for picking the losers. But it never took her long to get over them, a week or two of being a bit down, nothing a night out with friends couldn’t fix. 

With Frankie, it had been twelve fucking weeks. Three months of her mind drifting to him whenever there was a slow moment at work, getting annoyed when someone sat in ‘his’ spot at the bar, dreaming about him almost every night. 

Jenny noticed and tried pulling her out of it, taking her to their favorite BBQ place, sitting at long trestle tables, laughing at the ridiculous mason jars the drinks were served in. But then Jenny left for the rest room, and Aisling’s eyes drifted to the Texas flag hanging on the wall and then he was back in her head. 

“You could just call him, you know,” Jenny said, sitting down opposite Aisling and handing over another mason jar of lemonade spiked with bourbon, seeing where her friend’s mind was at. 

“Why would I do that? To get fresh material for the delusion living in my head?” Aisling snorted, shaking her head. 

“To get him out of your system, ask him to come back here, or better yet, go see him. You’ve never been out of the city. Go see Montana.” 

“Jenny, now you’re being the delusional one, how would seeing him again get him out of my system?” 

“I just think, the way you talk about him-” 

“I don’t talk about him,” Aisling interrupted, almost slamming her drink down on the table at the very notion. 

“I hate to break it to you, Ash, but you talk about him almost every day,” Jenny raised her eyebrows, daring Aisling to challenge her. “Only last night at the bar, you said Frankie would like that new beer we’re stocking.” 

“That was just an observation, I wasn’t talking about him.” 

“And when we had lunch on Thursday you told me the story about how he delivered a foal all by himself.” 

“There was a nature documentary about wild horses on the tv!” Aisling protested, “It was an interesting story!”

“You’d already told me that story twice,” Jenny said, “And I’ve known you for over twenty years, never, ever, have you talked about horses. I don’t think you’ve ever even been near a horse.” 

“I have,” Aisling objected, “Remember when Jules worked selling tickets for the horse carriages by Central Park? We used to hang out there and bug her the whole summer.” 

“Doesn’t count. And the point stands; you talk about him almost every day, he’s clearly still on your mind and you need to get him out of your system. Or move to Montana. Whichever one seems easiest to you.” 

“Maybe she just needs to get laid? I volunteer.” 

The voice of a man a few years younger came into the conversation as he sat down next to Jenny, grinning at Aisling. 

“Fuck off, Pete,” Aisling snapped, rolling her eyes at the blonde man. 

“Shut up,” Jenny said at the same time, digging her elbow into Pete’s ribs, making him wince, “This is serious, Aisling is going to be pining over this cowboy for the rest of her life if we can’t figure out how she’ll get over him.” 

“I’m not moving to Montana, and I can’t call him, I don’t have his number,” Aisling said and downed the last of her drink, scowling at Pete’s unwelcome addition to the table. 

“You can actually call him,” Jenny replied, fishing a folded piece of paper from her tote bag. “I got it from the trash after you threw it away. Just in case, you know.” 

She smoothed out the paper and pushed it over the table to Aisling, who looked down at it without touching. There, on the wrinkled page from the bar’s notepad, in Frankie’s neat handwriting, his name and number, Francisco Morales. 

Seeing his name, in his writing, suddenly made her throat close up and she blinked a few times. 

“Just call him,” Pete said, “I don’t really want to have sex with you, so calling him is clearly the only option.” 

Aisling rolled her eyes at Jenny who swatted his arm. 

“Fuck off, Pete.” 

Aisling looked down at the paper again and pushed herself to her feet. 

“I’m over him. And I’m not moving to Montana. I’ll just hang out with Ben and Jerry until this blows over, as usual.” 

Jenny sighed, took the paper and folded it up again, leaned over the table and stuffed it into the pocket of Aisling’s jacket. 

“Just in case, if there’s an emergency and you need someone to deliver a foal or something,” she said, giving Aisling another look that meant ‘Don’t you fucking dare throw that piece of paper away’. 

“Fine, whatever, see you tomorrow,” Aisling replied, giving them both a wave as she left the restaurant. 

The piece of paper burnt a hole in her pocket on the way home and she tucked it out of sight between the pages of a book as soon as she could.

Out of sight, out of mind

When the bus dumped him outside the gas station on the outskirts of Big Sky, Frankie drew a deep breath of relief. He never thought he’d feel so light just seeing the prairie in front of him as the bus pulled away. He stood several minutes just staring at the rolling plain and the sky above until the honk of a horn behind him pulled him out of his reverie. 

Herb waved at him from his truck, right on time as usual and Frankie hoisted his bag up on his shoulder and crossed the road. 

“Hey, man, admiring the view?” 

The older man greeted him with a grin as Frankie slid into the passenger side of the truck. 

“Hey, Herb, yeah, good to be back,” he replied, sinking back in the seat and rubbing a hand over his face, “Long fucking journey.”

“How was New York? You were gone a while, wasn’t sure you’d come back.” 

Herb knew most of his history with Eva, Frankie had told him things were over between them when he got back from New York last time. And he was smart enough to guess that Frankie’s sudden departure five weeks earlier had something to do with her too, even though Frankie hadn’t told him exactly why he was leaving. Frankie usually made a point of being as truthful as possible with Herb, but when Eva called, he’d chickened out

Now Frankie sighed as Herb put the truck in drive and pulled out from the gas station. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure either,” Frankie replied, “Eva called to tell me she was pregnant, that’s why I Ieft.” 

“Pregnant?” Frankie could see Herb’s eyebrows rise from the corner of his eye, “How did you feel about that?” 

Typical Herb question, always asking how it made him feel. Frankie almost chuckled at the older man but it just came out as a strangled snort and he rubbed a hand over his face again. 

“Scared, hopeful, nervous, petrified,” he shook his head, “fucking terrified. But it’s over, she had an abortion, I’m not gonna be a dad.” 

“That why you came back?” 

“It’s a long story, and it might need a beer or two for the details,” Frankie replied, “but yeah, things got messy, she had the abortion without telling me about it, I got involved with another woman, she found out I had a girlfriend, Eva found out I’d cheated, I stayed to make things right again, but in the end, it wasn’t going to work.” 

Frankie leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes briefly as Herb turned down the smaller road that led back to the ranch.

“That’s a lot for just five weeks, but tell me about it when you’re ready, Frank,” Herb said, glancing over at the furrow between Frankie’s eyes. 

“I don’t think there’s more to tell,” Frankie shrugged, “New York kicked my ass, and I’m more sure than ever that I can’t live in a big city.” 

“Any regrets?” Herb asked and Frankie knew what he meant, Herb was asking if he’d used any drugs while he was there.

Frankie shook his head, “No, not in that way, I was tempted but I stayed away from it, I know it would only make things worse.” 

“Not in that way?” Herb looked over at Frankie again, “What do you regret?” 

Frankie looked out through the passenger side window and sighed, the memory of Aisling filling his mind. She hadn’t been far from his thoughts much in the past two days, constantly at the forefront of his mind as he debated his decision while stuck on the endless bus ride. 

“That I fucked up, hurt someone else again,” he said, “I should’ve walked away but the need to make myself feel good first…I couldn’t resist.” 

“The other woman?” Herb asked and Frankie nodded, guilt creeping into his chest. 

“She’s…she’s great, fucking amazing…” Frankie shook his head, self-deprecation creeping into his voice, “she works in a bar, I ended up there on my first day back, and she just…fuck…It felt like she saw me but it sounds so pathetic when I say it.” 

“But that’s what it felt like?” Herb recognised the turbulent emotions on the face of the younger man, “like she saw you, and not just some stranger in a bar?” 

“Yeah, like she saw something else than everyone else sees, not the addict or the ex-soldier with a bunch of issues, or the miserable fuck who has to live away from everything to keep his shit together.” 

“Take a step back, Frankie,” Herb said, putting his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze to pull him out of the spiral, “Those things are not you, they don’t define you. They are issues you need to deal with, but they are not who you are.”  

Frankie nodded, taking a deep breath, “She made me feel like that, like that stuff doesn’t define me. She didn’t know about it all, I didn’t tell her, but…I don’t know…” Frankie trailed off, trying to figure out how to put into words how someone who didn’t know him, could make his head so peaceful. “She just…made it feel…right?” He shook his head, “I don’t know Herb, I can’t get my head around it, she made me feel peaceful, my head was quiet when I was with her and I craved it.” 

“It must’ve been hard to resist being around her if she had that effect on you, especially in the city,” Herb replied and Frankie nodded. 

“I never should’ve gone back to the bar after the first time, but shit…” Frankie trailed off again and Herb glanced over at him as the truck bounced over the last mile of dirt road up to Frankie’s cabin. He pulled up in front of it and killed the engine. 

“Are you staying in touch with her? The other woman?” he asked, and Frankie shook his head. 

“Na, I fucked up, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I told her I was leaving though, so that’s it, I’m out of her life.” 

“Take it as a lesson Frankie,” the older man said, putting his hand on his shoulder again, “Take it as a lesson and learn from it, even though you feel like shit about it now. Maybe you’ll find your way back to her some day, or maybe you’ll find someone who makes you feel the same as she did. Either way, when that day comes, make sure you’ve learned from your mistakes and don’t repeat them. Be honest to yourself and to those around you. That's all you can do.” 

Frankie nodded and put his hand over Herb’s on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, “Thanks man, I needed to hear that. I already know it, but I needed to hear it.”

He pushed the door to the truck open and raised his hand in a wave, “I’ll see you tomorrow, thanks for the ride.” 

“Miranda is cooking you dinner tomorrow, you can’t say no,” Herb grinned and Frankie gave him a quick thumbs up. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, I know she’s fed up with your conversation topics,” He grinned at Herb and closed the truck door. 

Out of sight, out of mind.

That's what she'd thought, but no such luck. It was like knowing that she had a way to contact him made the intrusive thoughts even louder. Not even the loud noise in the bar that evening could drown them out. She sighed loudly as she called dibs on dishwasher duty and took a stack of glasses into the back. The murmur of the guests, the low bass of the music, it was muted back here and she took a moment. Leaning her forehead against the warm metal of the industrial dishwasher hood, she closed her eyes. 

Frankie’s face drifted into her mind and she remembered what he’d said about the noise, how it grated on his ears. She’d never thought about the noise of the city like that before. To her it was just a constant buzz in the background, a comforting hum that let her know that she wasn’t ever truly alone. But Frankie hadn’t felt that, and the way he talked about the quiet of the prairie, of where he lived in Montana, made her long for that kind of silence.

“Makes my mind go quiet and it makes me calm, it’s easier for me to live with myself out there.” 

For the first time she thought she might understand what he meant, she felt like she wanted to sit in a quiet room and just sort through her thoughts, like sorting a bookshelf. What to keep, what to throw out, what should she read next? 

What should her next step be? All she knew was that living with Frankie as a constant distraction in her head wasn’t going to work. 

With a groan she pushed herself upright again and went back to the bar. A woman snapped her fingers at her as soon as she opened the door, snapping and waving for her to come over. 

“Excuse me, miss? Miss?” she called while Aisling made her way over to the table. 

“How can I-” 

Aisling didn’t even get to finish her question before the woman was talking over her. 

“I had this wine, in a bar over on India Street, it was red, from Bulgaria I think, maybe Romania. Do you have anything like that?” 

“No, sorry, we don’t have any wines on the menu. We only have beer, but we have some re-” 

“You don’t have any wine?” The woman interrupted her again and Aisling forced her customer service smile to stay put, her cheeks aching. “What kind of a bar doesn’t serve wine?” She looked over at her laughing friends, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “You’ve got to have something? Can’t you go to the bodega, or like the bar next door and buy a bottle?” 

“The owner of the bar has decided to specialize in beer only, but we do have some very light, fruity beers that are almost wine-like, if you’d like to try one?” 

The woman pursed her lips and looked like Aisling just deeply offended her, but then she shrugged, waving her hand in Aisling’s direction as she turned back to her friends. 

“Sure, whatever, just get me something to drink.” 

Aisling gritted her teeth into a smile, “Ok then, coming right up,” and turned back to the bar. She grabbed the Belgian beer and sent the runner over to the table with it, before she got back to serving the line of patrons at the bar. 

The bar got louder and rowdier as the evening moved on, and both Jenny and Aisling had to dodge unwelcome advances from tipsy customers. Jenny slapped away the hand of a man who reached across the counter in an attempt to hook a finger into her neckline, shouting abuse at her as he spilled his drink in the process. Aisling stepped in and chewed him out, getting the bouncer to bar him, to loud protests from his equally drunk friends. 

The whole vibe was in itself not unusual, a regular Saturday night, but Aisling felt her patience running thin, impatiently snapping at any man who got too close. The table with the rude woman left and Aisling cursed under her breath when she saw that they’d left no tip, scooping up the exact change from the table. 

The final straw came when she was collecting glasses towards the end of the evening, the bar crowd thinning out as people went home or on to some club. A man stumbled from the rest room as she bent forward over a table to retrieve a glass. As he walked behind her, he grabbed her hips and grinded his groin into her ass, groaning loudly and whooping. She pushed back, making him stumble backwards into the wall, and he cursed loudly as his head made sharp impact with wooden slats. 

“Fucking bitch!” he yelled, grabbing the back of his head, “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“Keep your fucking hands off me!” Aisling snapped back at him, getting ready to kick him in the balls if he tried advancing on her. The drunk man took one stumbling step forward, rage across his features, but was halted by Mickey, the owner, holding up his hands in front of the man in a placating gesture. 

“Sir, please, the next drink is on the house, I apologize for her behavior,” he said, attempting to usher the man away from Aisling and towards his friends at a nearby table. 

“She fucking assaulted me,” the man protested, “I want her fired.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Mickey!” Aisling spluttered, “He was dry humping my ass and you’re giving him a drink on the house?!”

“Fucking fire the bitch!” the man yelled as Mickey ushered him towards his friends who were waving at him to join them. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Mickey assured him, snapping his fingers at Jenny to bring over another beer. 

“Mickey!” Aisling protested, and he rounded on her, hissing as he got up in her face. 

“It’s part of the job, Aisling, just brush it off. Your attitude is bad enough as it is these days, making a scene isn’t exactly helping your case. Or your tips.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Aisling blurted, “You’re telling me you’re fine with a guest grabbing my ass and dry humping just so that we can get more tips? Why don’t you just hire a prostitute?!”

“Now, listen, Aisling-” 

“No, you fucking listen!” Aisling snapped, her temper getting the better of her as she felt the injustice of the whole fucking night fuel her rage. “Fuck that guy, and fuck you for taking his side, fuck your bar and your stupid fucking overpriced pretentious beer.”  

Aisling threw the rag she’d been holding on the floor as Jenny stared at her from across the bar, as did pretty much everyone else. But Aisling was too furious to care, and she didn’t even register Mickey yelling at her as she stormed through the back door. Cursing she wiped at the tears that welled up, she hated how she always cried when she got mad, and grabbed her bag and jacket. She was outside in the back alley before she’d even gotten out of her uniform shirt, and with an angry growl she ripped it off, buttons bouncing over the ground. She pulled her own shirt from the bag and yanked it over her head as the back door opened. It was Jenny, her eyes wide as she glanced back over her shoulder. 

“Mickey’s livid, I think he might really fire you this time,” she gasped, “Come back in and apologize, please!” 

“No fucking way, I quit, I’m fucking done,” Aisling replied, tugging her jacket over the t-shirt as she started to walk away down the alley. 

“Aisling!” Jenny called after her, nervously looking between the door to the bar and Aisling’s retreating back. “Aisling! I’ll call you tomorrow! I’ll get him to not fire you, ok?” 

The interior of the cabin smelled stale and musty as Frankie pushed open the door. Leaving it open, he dumped his duffel bag on the nearest chair and went to open the windows and let the clean air inside. The smell of the prairie drifted in on the draft and he inhaled again, it smelled like home in a way he’d never felt anywhere else. A little it reminded him of his childhood back in Texas, but mostly it just reminded him of life here. 

He sank down on the couch and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He should shower, should heat up a can of something for dinner, but he just needed to relax for a minute. A coyote barked from somewhere outside and Frankie pushed himself off the couch and went to the front door, sinking down on the porch swing. The night in front him was dark but he could make out the shadows as his eyes got used to the faint light. 

The coyote barked again, and Frankie heard the underbrush rustle as a startled rabbit scurried away. He relaxed back against the wooden slats and kicked it into a slow swing. The sky above him was sparkling with stars and out of habit he found the North Star, a constant in the northern hemisphere, it had helped guide him many times. 

The coyote yapped again, closer this time, and Frankie scanned the darkness just out of his field of vision, straining his eyes to spot the glimmer of the animal's eyes. His ears felt unfamiliar with the silence after the weeks in the city, but after a while he could pick up the faint rustle of the wind through the dry grass. A twig snapped nearby and as Frankie looked over, he saw the coyote. It had frozen mid step as it spotted Frankie’s movement, and now the two of them stared at each other across the front yard. 

“Hey there, boy,” Frankie said in a low voice, “what you up too?” 

The coyote blinked as its ears moved forward towards the voice and Frankie chuckled. 

“Are you the welcome wagon? I appreciate you keeping an eye on the place while I was gone, but there’s no food here, boy. Better get a move on or that jackrabbit’s gonna get even further away.” 

The animal regarded Frankie with curiosity for a few more seconds, before a sound behind drew its attention and it turned its head towards the darkness. 

“Go on, boy,” Frankie said, keeping his voice low, and the coyote looked back at him once again, before it turned and disappeared into the night. Frankie watched the spot where it had been swallowed up by the shadows for a while before he got to his feet with a sigh. He felt content. There was a dull ache in him, a hole left by Aisling, shaped by the guilt and regret he felt, but he hoped it would fade over time. He would take Herb’s advice and learn the lesson, make sure he didn’t make the same mistake again. 

Aisling slammed the door to her tiny apartment, reality starting to catch up with her as the rage abated. Sinking down on the bed she dropped her head in her hands, sighing deeply. It wasn’t that she got fired, she could probably convince Mickey to take her back. If not, there were thousands of bars and cafés around Brooklyn, she’d find a new job. 

No, it was the idea of going back to another bartending job, or being a barista, smiling for tips, being polite to rude customers and dodging their advances. She was in her forties, and up until now, her life hadn’t bothered her. She made enough to pay her small bills, buy bodega sandwiches and the odd evening out with friends. It had been enough. Kicking off her shoes, she lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. 

It had been enough. Past tense. 

It irked her to admit, but at the root of it, was Frankie. The way he’d talked about his life in Montana, so different to how she lived. How he couldn’t handle the noise and the rush of New York that she just took for granted. He just wanted to go back home to the silence, the big open sky, where his mind could be quiet. And for the first time in her life, she craved the same silence. And she craved him. 

She sat up on the bed, staring at her small bookshelf. She could almost reach it from the bed, the room was that small and suddenly she couldn’t stand it. She took two steps across the floor and pulled out the book, finding his note at once. The handwriting was so neat and precise, it didn’t really say anything about the man who’d jotted it down. As she sat down on the bed again, she smoothed out the paper, ran her hand across his name before she looked around the the room again. 

What do you have to lose apart from time? 

Dignity? 

Girl, what fucking dignity? You’ve just been fired from a dead end job, you live in a derelict Greenpoint relic that’s about to be knocked down, your life fits into two bags, one if you leave the books behind, what the fuck do you have to lose? 

It was no effort to pull her phone from her pocket and look up the bus time table, just looking. Just checking to see what it would cost and how long it would take. She could afford the one way ticket, but not the return. 

Fuck it. 

They had bars in Montana. 

Before she could change her mind, she pulled the duffel bag from under the bed. Her life really did fit into it, but she had to leave almost all the books, only two for the bus fit in the bag. In a final moment of uncertainty, she pocketed the key for her apartment instead of dropping it in the mail slot. Her whole life was packed up and on her shoulder in less than an hour, the thought both made her feel free and miserable. So many years with so little to show for it. But there was nothing to hold her back. One big leap made easier by her small bag, and it made her feel free. 

The window in his bedroom was open when he went to bed a little bit later on the first night back, and he crawled under the covers, feeling his mind starting to churn the second he closed his eyes, the events of the past three days rolling inside him.

Maybe I should’ve tried a little bit harder? What if I’d stayed, got my own place? 

He shook his head even as it lay on the pillow, he knew it was a pipe dream. 

On my own, I would’ve been so fucked. Probably gone back to Eva, or worse. But maybe I should’ve asked for Aisling’s number, or given her mine, just to stay in touch. She must’ve felt the same thing, right? 

He chewed his lip in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the prairie night outside with half an ear. 

She probably didn’t feel the same way, why would she? You’re grasping at the thinnest fucking straws, Morales. She’s not fucked up like you, doesn’t need saving, she’s got her shit together. It was just like a regular hook up to her, she’ll forget you in a week or two. 

He grabbed the pillow and rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in it as he shook his head. 

Yeah, maybe, but she was still fucking pissed at me three days ago, and it had been what? A month? Would she still be that pissed if it meant nothing to her? Maybe if I give her some time? 

Pendejo, she was pissed because you didn’t tell her you had a fucking girlfriend, any woman would be pissed about that. 

He rolled the thoughts around his head, making lists in his head, pros and cons, feeling like his old army brother Will who always counted things, bullets, kills, days, months, number of times Frankie had fucked up. 

But as his mind drifted back to his trio of close friends he could hear the advice they’d give, and in the darkness, it made him smile as their voices echoed in his head. 

Will, the oldest and definitely the wisest, would cross his arms and give Frankie a thoughtful look, thinking through the options before he answered. 

Herb’s right, Fish. Take it as a lesson for your next step in life. Maybe you’ll see her again, maybe you won’t, but don’t waste this opportunity to learn something about yourself. 

Benny, the younger brother of Will, would shrug as he furrowed his forehead with a sympathetic look that didn’t really mean much, Benny could pull new women every night if he wanted too. 

It sucks, Fish, she sounds special, but I mean…do you really want to be in a relationship now? We should go out sometime and have a bit of fun. You know I’m a great wingman.

Yeah right, Frankie thought, grinning to himself. Going out with Benny to a bar meant Frankie ended up as the wingman instead while every woman in the place made eyes at the muscular blonde guy. No one looked at Frankie when Benny was in the room. 

And then there was Pope, his real brother in everything but blood. The disappointment from him about his many relapses had always been the worst to endure and it had made Frankie withdraw. In hindsight he knew it was all on him, but a piece of him wished Pope had tried harder to stay in touch when Frankie needed him the most. By now, it had been over a year since they last spoke. But Pope would always take one look at Frankie with those sharp eyes and see straight through him. And in this, he would set him straight about what he needed to do. 

Go back, hermano. If she makes you feel like that, go do what it takes to have her in your life. Even if it’s just as a friend. What have you got to lose? Not many good things have happened to you lately, if she’s one of the few, fight for it. 

Frankie sighed, rolling onto his back again, staring at the open window, a few faint stars visible. He’d pulled away from them all, from everyone in the past, in the depth of his addiction and then during his slow road to sobriety. He’d told them he’d moved to Montana only after he’d moved, sending them a text in the group chat about his whereabouts. Benny had given him a thumbs up, Will had replied saying something about whatever he needed. Pope hadn’t even replied. 

Suddenly he missed them, more than he had in a long time, ever since they came back from the doomed mission to Colombia. A mission they had no business being on, a greedy grab for money disguised behind some sort of invented moral about going after a top narco lord. It had been a disaster, leaving them more broken than ever, their team leader dead, and their brotherhood almost torn a part. 

He reached for his phone, finding Pope’s number and quickly, before he could change his mind, he typed a message and hit send. 

Port Authority after midnight was even more of a shitshow than she’d expected, and she quickly made her way through the sparse crowd to the right bus stop. The bus wasn’t due to leave for another forty minutes and she pulled out her phone again, nervously tapping the locked screen. She hadn’t bought a ticket yet, her nerves holding her back. Butterflies, and not the good kind, fluttered in her stomach. Apart from short trips to Long Island, a few weeks living on Staten Island that she’d rather forget about, she’d never left New York. Never left the state, never had the money, or the need too. Now she was facing two days on a bus, leaving everything behind based on a shitty night and a man she hadn’t spoken to in three months. Her lip was chewed raw by the time she unlocked the phone and the bus rolled into the stop.

She stood with the phone in hand, looking at the screen, the small ‘Buy’ button taunting her, even as the driver opened the door and announced the departure. The other passengers began to load their bags into the hold, and still her thumb hovered over the button. 

A high pitched squeak pulled her attention away from the phone and she looked towards the source of the sound, further down the plattform. A fat, well fed New York city rat, was attacking a pigeon, it looked like it’s wing was broken. As Aisling watched, the rat sank its long, yellow teeth into the neck of the bird, and dragged it underneath a dumpster by the wall. She heard another pathetic squawk from the pigeon and then it went quiet. With a shudder she turned back to the phone and hit ‘Buy’. 

Fuck this city. 

Frankie blinked in confusion at the bright sunlight that streamed across his face.

“Jeez…” he muttered to himself as he rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw and glanced over at the clock radio on his bedside table. He hadn’t set his alarm and now he was later than he usually would be. His belly growled, reminding him that he’d forgotten to eat last night, and with a yawn, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower to start the day. 

He ate a can of ravioli from the pan while standing at the stove and poured the black coffee in a travel mug before he headed out the door. After reconnecting the battery the old truck rumbled to life and he gave it a grateful pat. At least some things were always dependable. 

Herb greeted him back at the ranch and then sent him back into the routine of the day without nonsense, telling him to go over the tack of the horses that would be going out on the trail with a group of guests the next day. 

Frankie was met by a sharp whicker as he stepped into the stable, two large heads turned to him as he pulled the door closed. The buckskin horse whickered again, bobbing its head up and down and Frankie chuckled, stepping over to her. 

“Hey, Dolly, my girl. Did you miss me?” he muttered, scratching her forelock as she nudged his arm for treats, nuzzling close to his shoulder. Frankie rested his head against hers and inhaled the familiar smell of her coat as she affectionately nipped at his shirt. 

“Sorry I left without saying goodbye,” he said, “but I’m back now, and I think I’ll stay. Gonna take you out later today, you can make sure I can’t walk tomorrow, my butt’s gonna be so sore.” 

He chuckled at his own joke as Dolly gave a low whicker, her soft nose bumping his pocket. 

“Sorry, I forgot to bring something, I’ll make it up to you later.” 

She gave him a snort but seemed to forgive him as he continued to scratch her mane. After a few minutes he gave her a final pat and went over to the tack room, giving the other horse a pat too. His phone started ringing as he opened the door to the tack room and Pope’s name flashed across the screen. His thumb hovered over the green button for a few seconds before he drew a deep breath and hit it. 

“Hey Pope, it’s been a while,” he said in greeting, dropping his eyes to his boots without even realizing, as if Pope was standing in front of him with those sharp eyes. 

“It has, but it’s good to hear from you, Fish,” came the voice of his oldest friend on the other end, “You still in Montana?” 

“Yeah, but I just got back from New York, long story,” Frankie replied, “All good with you, hermano?” Calling Pope brother was almost a code between them, a word only used when it meant something, when it was time to listen. The word a special signal between just the two of them, brothers in all but blood. 

Frankie could hear Pope’s smile through the phone, a low chuckle almost in relief, “I’m good, hermano. Still in Florida, still with Linda.” Pope had started dating her back when Frankie had been deep in his addiction, and he’d only met her twice, neither time a very good memory. But from what he’d heard from Benny, she made Pope happy and they were good together. 

“That’s great, man, I’m happy for you, I…I know I didn’t make the best impression on her, but she seemed great for you.” 

“She is, and I’m…” Pope trailed off for a few seconds as Frankie heard the sound of someone moving on the other end, a low ‘bye, love you’ from Pope, and a door closing. “Sorry, she’s just off to work, yeah, she’s amazing, I’m really happy, found some peace, you know?” 

Frankie shuffled his boots on the rough concrete floor of the tack room and leaned against the workbench, a sudden spout of jealousy tightening his throat. 

“Yeah, I know, I’m happy for you, really, man. It’s great to hear that you found it.” 

“What about you, Fish? You still clean, doing ok out there in cowboy country?” 

Frankie could hear the smirk and the exaggerated twang in Pope’s voice and he chuckled. 

“Yeah, I’m good, still clean, still working the ranch, but…uhm...Eva and I broke up. She moved to New York a while back.” 

“Shit, sorry to hear that,” Pope replied, “But I…” 

“Listen, man,” Frankie interrupted Pope, he didn’t want to go into the whole business with Eva over the phone, and he could hear his friend gearing up for a longer conversation, “I was thinking last night. I know I’ve been shit at staying in touch, but I want to change that. I’m not coming back to Florida any time soon, but maybe you and the Millers could come out here? I wanna show you guys my life out here.” 

“Frankie,” Pope smiled down the phone, “I’d fucking love that, and you know the Miller’s won’t say no to some ranching. Let me talk to them, we’ll find some dates that work and let you know.” 

“Awesome, man, it’ll be good, I’ll make sure Herb books you into one of the nice cabins.” 

“And get me a horse that won’t buck me off,” Pope laughed at the other end and Frankie grinned. 

“I’m not promising anything, might put you on the mule.” 

“Fuck off,” came the instant reply. 

“You’ll love the mule, Pope,” Frankie laughed before he glanced over at the saddles waiting for him, “Listen, I’ve got to get back to work, we’ve got guests coming tomorrow,” 

“Alright, hermano, we’ll see you soon, ok?”

“Yeah, see you soon, hermano.” 

Frankie felt the smile stretching his face as he hung up the phone, he felt lighter already. Guilt and shame had kept him away from his old friends, and reconnecting might not be easy. But this was a small step towards it and he needed to move forward. Put Eva and New York behind him, get over Aisling, learn from his mistake and rectify those he could. With a deep exhale, he hoisted the first saddle off its perch on the wall. 

The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sunk behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’s left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed. 

So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks. 

Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind hurtling down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugged at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in. 

Aisling turned around and crossed the road, the bright lights of the gas station at the edge of town spilling across the dusty asphalt. She pushed open the door and nodded to the clerk behind the counter, dropping her bag by one of the small tables next to the coffee machine. His number was already in her phone, but she hadn’t had the courage to call him yet. But now she was here, and he was only a short car ride away. 

She closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer, and tapped Frankie’s name on the screen, pressing the phone to her ear as it rang. 

Chapter 7

A/N: So Aisling finally got herself out to Montana on a bit of a whim, spur of the moment decision. But how is Frankie going to react when she suddenly turns up on his doorstep?

tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @amyispxnk @thewiigers  @lady-bess @missladym1981 @peppermintfury @typewriter83 @anoverwhelmingdin @vabeachazn

[broodybuck]

Title: The Praise Doctor

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Rating: E

Tags: 18+ explicit smut, sex worker Steve, handjobs, top Steve, bottom Bucky, praise kink, first date

[ao3 link]

"Is this how you like it?" Steve asks.

His hand, a loose fist around Bucky, slides up so lightly it's more like a dangerous tease.

Bucky's skin tingles more from the soft tone of the man's voice than his hand although the combination undeniably has an effect on him. Bucky nods.

"You're perfect like this," Steve croons. "You look perfect, all cradled in my lap, naked, writhing. Wanting and needy. Oh Buck, you look just perfect."

Bucky fully shivers at this praise. It is what he paid for after all. Steve Rogers is known as the Praise Doctor in hushed circles. Bucky heard about him at a nightclub. He had gotten the guy's number and called the very next day.

This is exactly what Bucky fantasizes about. To be pleasured and praised endlessly at the same time. It's honestly too good to be true especially when the man himself, Steve Rogers, is as large and beautiful as men come.

"You're completely flushed, baby," Steve coos. "That color looks so good on you."

Steve slides his free palm flatly down Bucky's chest, his hand around Bucky's cock slides back down to the base with a slight squeeze.

"How do you look so good like this? Tell me, sweetheart."

Bucky murmurs out a moan. It's so good, every word Steve says to him is perfect. How does this guy do it so right?

Every session, which has been exactly three so far, has been better than the last and it's becoming a problem. Lately, if Bucky tries to date or even just have meaningless sex, it does nothing for him. No one talks to him enough, touches him enough. No one makes his brain melt the way Steve can. This service is ruining him.

Right now, when he's curled in Steve's lap getting a handjob while being utterly adored, Bucky has no capacity to think about how ruined he is. He can only delve deeper into the blurry pleasure and let it wash over him in waves until he comes in the man's hand — which he undoubtedly will any second now.

All week, Bucky tries not to think about Steve. He tries to flirt with guys at bars, he takes the phone numbers of men his friends want to set him up with. But every Thursday, he's giddy as he walks up the steps to a Brooklyn brownstone and knocks on the door.

Steve lets him in. It's their fourth session tonight. Bucky can feel his stomach turning over and over again, his chest fluttering, his whole body not letting him rest.

"Hey," Steve smiles, closing the door behind Bucky. "I like that shirt on you."

"Oh, yeah?" Bucky stammers, looking down to check what he's wearing.

It's an old Brooklyn tee. It fits a bit snug after so many cycles in the dryer but the fabric is light gray, basic cotton. He hadn't put much thought into what he would wear on these nights since he knew the clothes would be coming off. Maybe he should've thought about it more. Suddenly self-conscious, Bucky shifts uncomfortably in place.

"Yeah," Steve answers. "But you know I'd like it much better, off."

Bucky breathes a little easier. Since he's overthinking his clothes so much, he'd much rather be naked right now. He tugs the collar of his shirt up and over his head, happy to be free of it. He considers for a moment what he'll wear next time. Then the thought leaves his brain when Steve quickly closes the space between them.

"Mhm, much better," Steve hums, his gaze trailing down Bucky's chest. A fingertip circles one of Bucky's nipples tantalizingly slow.

When he applies pressure over the nub, Bucky squeaks out an embarrassing sound. He's always making noises he hasn't heard himself make. Only Steve gets them out of him. Only Steve. It's seriously a problem. He shouldn't be this attached to a sex worker, a man he's paying to please him.

Steve drops to his knees and carefully works open Bucky's jeans. Bucky steps out of his pants and shoes as Steve rolls them down his legs.

Steve's eyes focus on the hard line in Bucky's boxer briefs. Steve sighs blissfully like he's happy to see Bucky erect. He's still on his knees.

"Do you know how beautiful you are under here?" Steve asks quietly, his palm grazing Bucky's erection.

Bucky's eyes slip shut, his head tilts back automatically as he feels Steve push his underwear down and hot air breathe over his cock.

Steve nudges his ankles, directing him to step out of the undergarment. Bucky opens his eyes, following the instruction, realizing he's already lost himself so quickly.

Steve stands with a smile and frames Bucky's face.

"Would you like to come for me, tonight?"

Bucky nods then blinks hard and remembers he's supposed to answer verbally.

"Yes."

"I love to see you let go for me, Buck. It's breathtaking, honest, watching it all spill out of you. Watching that good release run through you."

Bucky bites his bottom lip, feeling his skin heat to an unfair temperature. His knees wobble enough that he sways forward. Steve notices and grips Bucky's arms to steady him.

"Let's get you to the bed, sweetheart."

This session is not long. In fact, tonight Bucky comes embarrassingly fast. He's not sure what it is. You'd think he'd be used to it, being this is the fourth time he's seeing Steve.

But he can't get used to it. Steve finds something new to say every time. He praises a different part of Bucky, makes a big deal out of the way Bucky does anything, even things he can't help. It makes Bucky so hot, he doesn't feel in control of his body. And tonight, he certainly wasn't.

Usually, their sessions last a good forty-five minutes and then with cleanup and redressing, it might round out to an hour. This time, Bucky's panting from his orgasm when he checks the time. It's been thirteen minutes. Jesus, that's humiliating.

He can feels the hot blush on his face as he avoids Steve's gaze.

"Sorry, um..." Bucky starts.

"No need to apologize. It's a good thing, baby. I'm flattered I could get you there so fast, tonight," Steve whispers.

And sure, his words still tingle on Bucky's skin but it doesn't make him feel all that better about what happened.

Bucky tries to sit up. He's always in Steve's lap. It's something that just sort of happened the first time and Bucky loved it too much to give it up since then.

Steve sits back on the bed giving him room to move but Bucky doesn't make it very far when Steve says, "We still have the rest of the hour."

Bucky freezes, finally daring to look at him again.

"Of course, it's up to you. But I'm betting I could get a second round of you," Steve smirks. Obviously, Bucky's not going anywhere now.

"Oh... yeah, okay," Bucky stammers.

"Or..." Steve says. This time he looks away which is unusual. He looks worried when he says, "I could ask you something I shouldn't."

Bucky's heart leaps in his chest. He has no idea what Steve's about to ask him and yet, somehow he knows he wants him to.

"This is so out of line and unprofessional," Steve goes on. Bucky considers for a moment whether he should still be in Steve's lap for this but he's unable to move at this point. "But I'd really like to take you to dinner."

Bucky's eyes betray him and widen enormously. Steve smiles shyly.

"There's no pressure, obviously. I know you hired me and this wouldn't have anything to do with that. I'm asking you for a... date," Steve clarifies. "If you're interested."

"Yes," Bucky says without taking another second to think. He can barely breathe he's so in. "Tonight?"

"Well, we have the time and it's only 7:15. So, yes, if you're hungry."

"I don't have anything else to wear," Bucky says, peering over to his pile of casual clothes on the ground. He really regrets the outfit now.

"I can lend you something if that's not weird."

"Okay."

Steve smiles honestly now and then carefully lifts Bucky off his lap and sets him on the mattress before venturing to his closet. He comes back with a nice sweater and dress pants.

"These should fit. Let me change too," Steve says handing him the clothes.

Bucky gets off the bed to grab his underwear and then dresses in Steve's clothes.

He feels a wave of nerves wash over him when Steve reappears in a nicer outfit and looks Bucky over.

"I like that sweater on you," Steve remarks.

"Steve," Bucky warns, his face turning warm instantly.

"Hm?" he smiles innocently.

"I thought we were going to dinner."

"We are, can't I compliment how you look?"

"You know why you can't," Bucky argues, his voice strained.

"Alright, I'll save that for later," Steve smirks and holds out his hand.

Bucky takes it and they walk together to Steve's car.

Dinner is at a very nice restaurant downtown. Bucky's overwhelmed with how he's feeling. He's still shocked he's here and at the same time, the thought of getting to date the man who's able to make him feel like no one else... well, that would solve a whole lot of problems. He hasn't stopped thinking about Steve for a month now. So, yeah he's excited to be here.

"So, have you taken others out like this?" Bucky asks cautiously.

"No, you're the first," Steve says. "This is completely separate from my services. I made that clear, right?"

"Yeah, you did. I guess I'm just wondering... why me?"

"You're my type," Steve admits. "I've been holding back since our first meeting, trying to keep things professional. Then... I don't know, I figured what the hell, why not try?"

Bucky nods trying not to keen too hard at his words.

"You're um, my type too," Bucky replies after an extended beat.

"I am?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm sure you're a lot of people's type. You're like gorgeous."

"And here I thought I was the Prasie Doctor," Steve says low enough that no one else should hear but it still makes Bucky's face flush.

"Have other people tried?" Bucky asks to distract from it.

"Tried what?"

"To ask you out or something?"

"No, actually. Everyone has been very professional," Steve reveals.

"Huh," Bucky remarks surprised.

"Are you comfortable being here?" Steve asks. "On a date with me?"

"Yeah. I'm nervous, but comfortable," Bucky answers honestly.

"Well, there's no need to be nervous, Buck. You already know how fond I am of you — with all of you."

Bucky blushes hard and tries to hide the way he bites his lip when he looks away. Steve laughs lightheartedly.

"Sorry, just a habit."

Bucky knows he should flirt back. He swears with anyone else, he would have.

"That's okay," Bucky says. "I don't know why I'm so nervous with you. I shouldn't be given..."

"It's completely understandable. We've shared an experience most haven't. It's a unique situation that we're now trying to adjust away from."

"Yeah. You seem smart," Bucky comments.

"Thank you," Steve says. "I'd love to learn more about you, Buck."

"What do you wanna know?"

"Anything. Start from the beginning," Steve smiles.

That calms Bucky and he starts telling his life story. He talks a little too long and by the end of the dinner, he realizes how much he's been talking. Then he notices Steve's been listening to every word without a single interruption.

"Sorry, I've been talking forever. I should be asking about you," Bucky apologizes.

"No, I'm really enjoying this," Steve says. "Besides, I figured I can tell you more about myself tonight."

"Tonight?"

"When we get back to my place. I may be getting ahead of myself, but based on our history I figured more would happen tonight. And as much as I've loved seeing you, I really want to show you all of me."

Bucky gulps. He's not sure if he's nervous or just turned on now, probably both. He really wants to see Steve, all of Steve, oh god just the thought is getting him hot and bothered.

Bucky merely nods and is grateful when the check is dropped off.

Being back in Steve's bedroom is a whole new experience tonight. He's not cradled in Steve's lap, he's not the only one naked and he's not simply getting a handjob while Steve praises him every second.

No, they're kissing tonight. Passionately, fully on the mouth, tongue and all. Steve's a good kisser and good with his hands. He's undressing both of them, Bucky likes how he's taking the lead, he could've guessed he would.

Steve's kissing down Bucky's neck by the time Bucky realizes they're both naked and he barely gets a chance to look at Steve before he's being laid down on the bed. Bucky opens his eyes and tries to take it all in. A nude Steve over him, rubbing against him. His eyes fall closed from the sensation, from the arousal building too high, too quickly.

Steve kisses him again.

"Do you want to..." he asks breathlessly.

"Yeah," Bucky answers readily and opens his legs on instinct. He's almost embarrassed about it especially when Steve notices with a pause. But thankfully, Steve doesn't let any shame linger.

"Oh honey, you're so good for me. You know that? Look at you, spreading your legs for me. You want me inside you, doll?"

Bucky shivers, a full-body one. How is he going to handle this man's constant praise with his cock inside him? He's never wanted something so badly in his life.

"Please, Steve. Yes," Bucky whimpers and watches Steve fetch lube and a condom out of the nightstand drawer.

He begins opening Bucky up, one finger at a time.

"Keep talking to me," Bucky pleads in a whisper.

He thinks, maybe he's not supposed to ask that of Steve anymore. He's not at an appointment with the Praise Doctor anymore, he's on a date with Steve. Thankfully, Steve quickly quiets his worries.

"Sorry honey, was just admiring how good you feel. Haven't gotten to feel you like this before — I got a little lost," Steve says.

He smiles shyly, a blush coats his cheeks. Bucky can't believe Steve is embarrassed for once. God, that's a new level of hot. Bucky squirms from it and Steve presses a hand on his chest while fitting another finger inside him.

When he's ready, Steve coats his cock with more lube and then stares intently into Bucky's eyes.

"You have no idea how long I've been imagining this," Steve tells him, pushing the head of his cock against the rim. Bucky whimpers. He can't even talk, he just wants it — needs it.

"Can't believe you haven't felt how hard I was. I was trying to hide it, but god, I didn't think I was doing a good job," Steve half laughs.

Bucky tries to think back but his mind is too fuzzy. He mainly remembers every praise, every touch of the man's hands. Maybe he was only thinking of himself, he's not sure, but he can't remember feeling Steve under him.

"I was so hard, every damn time," Steve shares. "Getting to make you come has been the highlight of my week. But this, baby, this is going to surpass all of that. I need to be inside you, need to feel you around me."

"God, yes. Fuck me, Steve. Please, god, fuck me," Bucky blurts out.

Steve pushes inside, faster than Bucky anticipates, but it's only a moment of pain before his body settles around the thickness filling him. He breathes out as Steve kisses him hard on the mouth. He kisses him back and then Steve starts fucking him.

"You're all I've been thinking about," Bucky says.

Steve looks right at him, still fucking him while listening to every word.

"You were ruining me with a handjob. God, but no one could make me feel as good as you, I swear," Bucky whines.

"Fuck, Bucky. Shit," Steve curses and fucks him harder like he can't help himself.

Bucky moans out, gripping Steve tighter, arching up into the increasing thrusts.

"Want you to come in me," Bucky stutters by Steve's ear and the man's pace falters again.

"Shit, Buck. Thought I was supposed to be good with words. Since when do you got a mouth like this?"

He crushes their mouths together before Bucky can answer. It's so hot, so perfect, and Steve picks back up the pace. Fucking him like he's on a mission like he's putting all his strength into it.

Bucky moans, way too close, even when he's already come tonight, earlier with the fastest handjob he's ever came from.

"Steve— shit, sorry."

"Don't you ever apologize for needing to come, Buck," Steve snaps by his ear but it's not angry, it's just demanding and hot. "Don't you ever apologize for showing me how good I make you feel. Fuck, you're amazing. You're perfect."

And it dawns on Bucky then that maybe all of Steve's praise wasn't just part of the job. Maybe all the new things he was always thinking to say was because Steve was finding them for the first time, he was falling for Bucky all this time.

With that revelation, Bucky comes hard and loud. Steve kisses him, keeps fucking him through it, and then it's not long until he's following suit. He stills inside him, his cock throbs with each eruption of come that fills Bucky up.

This feels so right, how it should. This is what was missing all those other times. They both needed to finish, Bucky needed Steve inside him to feel truly satisfied.

And the best part of this all, he doesn't have to wait a week to see Steve again.

[the-ballerina-battle]

And now, from a total of 519 submissions...

Our Competitors!

The Ballerina Battle will begin on Tuesday, October 10. Polls will go live at 12:00 PM.

Matches:

Part One (Tuesday, October 9)

Angelina Mouseling (Angelina Ballerina) vs. Natasha Romanoff (Marvel Comics)

Gwen Stacy (Spider-Verse) vs. Fakir (Princess Tutu)

Ballora (Five Nights at Freddy’s: Sister Location) vs. Strawberry Shortcake (Strawberry Shortcake)

Barbie (Barbie) vs. Clara (Barbie in the Nutcracker)

Ahiru Arima (Princess Tutu) vs. Haruno Haruka (Go! Princess Pretty Cure)

Cassandra Cain (DC Comics) vs. Amélie Lacroix/Widowmaker (Overwatch)

Pearl (Steven Universe) vs. Victoria Page (The Red Shoes) 

Billy Elliot (Billy Elliot) vs. Medic (Kamen Rider Drive)

Bon Clay (One Piece) vs. William Longtail (Angelina Ballerina)

Nikolina Pavlova (The Great Ace Attorney) vs. Minako Okukawa (Yuri! On Ice)

Rue Kuroha (Princess Tutu) vs. Margo, Edith, and Agnes Gru (Despicable Me)

Duchess Swan (Ever After High) vs. Hilary Van Doren (Fame 1980)

Nina Sayers (Black Swan)vs. Rapunzel (Tangled)

Anteaterina (Princess Tutu) vs. Genevive (Barbie and the 12 Dancing Princesses)

Roza Diaz (Brooklyn Nine-Nine) vs. Christine Daaé (The Phantom of The Opera)

Yuri Katsuki (Yuri! On Ice) vs. Yuri Plisetsky (Yuri! On Ice)

Part Two (Thursday, October 11)

Minto Aizawa (Tokyo Mew Mew) vs. Suzy Bannion (Suspiria 1977) 

Izumi Sena (Ensemble Stars) vs. Madoka Kaname (Puella Magi Madoka Magica) 

Eli Ayase (Love! Live!) vs. Mytho (Princess Tutu) 

Odette (Barbie in Swan Lake) vs. Kristyn (Barbie and the Pink Shoes)

Dee Dee (Dexter’s Laboratory) vs. June (Little Einsteins)

Meg Giry (The Phantom of the Opera)  vs. Center Stage cast (Center Stage)

Alice Nimbletoes (Angelina Ballerina) vs. Shirayuki Hime (Happiness Charge Precure)

Jessi Ramsey (The Babysitter’s Club) vs. Debbie Jellinsky (The Addams Family)

Sara Johnson (Save the Last Dance) vs. Mr Mistoffelees (Cats)

Grace Monroe (Infinity Train) vs. Find Me in Paris Cast (Find Me in Paris)

Félicie (Ballerina/Leap) vs. Shim Deok-chul (Navillera)

Victoria (Cats) vs. Tandy Bowen (Marvel’s Cloak and Dagger)

Minami Kaido (Go! Princess Pretty Cure) vs. Téa Gardner (Yu-Gi-Oh!)

Catherine Dollanganger (Flowers in the Attic) vs. Adelaide Wilson (Us 2019)

Annie Edison (Community) vs. Ruou Mori (Dance Dance Danseur) 

Rachel Berry (Glee) vs. Balletusa and Primausa (Sanrio)

[trashyswitch]

Luigi's Secret

Chapter 22: Ler Moods on Work Days

Luigi's ler mood continues to distract him even during his work day. Meanwhile, Mario is very in-the-dark about the community, and asks Luigi for advice.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, 

Luigi groaned and slowly opened his eyes. 

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BE- *tap* 

Luigi smiled slightly as he heard his brother groan and slap the top of the alarm clock to turn the beeping off. It was Thursday morning, and Luigi was already begging to fall back asleep. 

Mario sat up and rubbed his face, clearly tired. 

“Morning, Mario.” Luigi said. 

“Morning Luigi.” Mario replied, getting out of bed. “Did you sleep well?” Mario asked. 

“Kinda…” Luigi admitted.  

“Kinda? What happened?” Mario asked. 

“Oh nothing…” Luigi mumbled. 

Mario chuckled and got out of bed. “Lee mood?” Mario asked, poking his side. 

“No…” Luigi admitted as he caught Mario’s hand. 

“Oh…” Mario said, pulling on his arm slightly. Luigi turned around and lifted Mario’s arm up above his head. “The opposite, actually.” Luigi replied, tickling up Mario’s ribs first. 

“Ohoho NOHOHOHO! Leheherrr mohohood!” Mario laughed, 

“That’s right, Mario.” Luigi poked the lowest rib. “A big…” He poked the middle ribs. “Fat...” He poked the rib right below the armpit. “Ler mood.” 

Mario shook his head and pulled on his arm. “Luihihigihihi ihihit’s 7 o’clohohock ihin the mohohornihing!” Mario told him. 

“Yeah, has that stopped me before?” Luigi teased. “Besides: I’ve been in a ler mood since late last night!” Luigi explained. 

“Okahahay, ohohokahay.” Mario opened his right eye. “Fihine, but behehe gehehentle.” Mario told him. 

“Okay.” Luigi moved his fingers to the neck. “Can I at least tickle here?” Luigi asked, fluttering his fingers right on his brother’s jawline. 

Mario tittered, curled his neck in, giggling like a little girl. “Ohohokahahayhyhyhyhy.” Mario told him. 

Luigi smiled and tickled his brother’s jawline as gently, but as cruelly as his fingers could go. He wanted Mario to be aching for a chance to really laugh, but he also wanted Mario to melt at his touch. “This is what lers like to call ‘gentle tickles’, or ‘light tickles’. They’re supposed to leave the lee giggling, but begging for more.” Luigi explained. “Ihihit’s ehehevil!” Mario told him. 

“Yeah…But it’s merciful compared to the rough tickles some lers give people.” Luigi added. “And let me tell you, they can be veeeeery rough.” Luigi warned. “But I’m not a rough tickler.” Luigi let him know. 

“Yehehes yohou ahahare! Yohou’re ahaha lihihiar!” Mario yelled back. 

Luigi chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe I am.” Luigi replied. “But only you’ll know that.” He stopped his fingers and wiped away the extra phantom tickles on Mario’s neck. “Time for us to get ready?” Luigi asked. 

Mario rubbed his own neck, quickly noticing that Luigi’s touch had made the phantom tickles go away super quickly. “It’s so weird how well that works.” Mario admitted. 

“I know, right?!” Luigi reacted. “So, am I gonna have to keep an eye out for you while we’re working?” Mario asked. 

Luigi shrugged his shoulders. “Only if we’re not with customers.” Luigi replied with a wink. 

Mario rolled his eyes and poked his side as he put his overall strap on. “You’re not the only one who can switch roles on a dime.” Mario told him. 

Luigi snorted and covered his mouth, freezing long enough for Mario to laugh at him. He sighed and smiled a bit before getting himself dressed. Luigi made them both a coffee, while Mario put together some breakfast for the two of them. Luigi gave Mario his gloves before putting his own on, while Mario organized their toolkit before letting Luigi pick it up. Leaving the house, the boys waved to the roads as they walked by. Luigi wrapped the tool bag around himself before hopping on the floating cubes in the air that led to the pipe. Mario was right behind him, hopping into the pipe right after him. 

Making it to Brooklyn, Mario and Luigi got into their car and started it. Mario turned the car around and began to drive to their first location. While he was waiting, Luigi had been reading a rather old tickle fanfic by nhasablogg about Nick & Charlie (two gay lovers from Heartstopper). This specific one was about Charlie discovering that Nick had ticklish hands while he’s drawing on his hand. It was a really cute and romantic idea, and one that Luigi kept coming back to whenever he craved some cute tickle fics. Nhasablogg had always been an amazing writer, even back when she was just nhasablog on AO3 from 2015 onward. 

Gosh…2015…that was way back when Luigi had just been a little snooper on the internet. No one even knew who he was that early on. He was just a sly snooper with a heavy lee mood and nothing else to do but go to school, and then go home to read fanfics all day and watch tickle scenes uploaded on youtube by unassuming people. He didn’t have a name, a profile, or even a voice on the internet back then. He just existed. And he always made sure to get back to this AO3-turned-Tumblr writer known as Nhasablog(g) and see what they’re doing these days. And maybe reread one or two of their newer fanfics again… 

*Poke* 

“eeEEK!” Luigi jumped, dropping his phone and quickly attempting to catch it. 

“We’re here.” Mario told him with a smile. 

Luigi finally caught the phone, and looked at Mario. “Sorry…I didn’t know the car stopped.” Luigi admitted. 

“You didn’t feel the car stop at all?” Mario asked. 

“No…” Luigi admitted. 

Mario chuckled and opened his own car door. “Phone away, focus on work. Okay?” Mario asked. 

Luigi nodded and opened the car door, before hopping out and closing the door. He followed Mario to the door of the customer’s house while carrying the toolkit. 

Later:

Luigi and Mario stopped at a restaurant and parked the van. They had set up their next appointment for 1:15, which meant they had an hour and a half to kill. 

Luigi and Mario were seated at a 2-person table, and started to look at the menus. “So…What are you gonna get?” Mario asked. 

“I don’t know.” Luigi replied. 

“Okay.” Mario closed his menu and looked at Luigi. “So what were you reading earlier?” Mario asked. 

Luigi slowly put the menu down as he developed a wobbly smile. “Uuuhhhhehehe…” Luigi mumbled. 

“Tee-kay fanfic?” Mario asked, enunciating the T and the K for the short form Luigi usually uses. 

Luigi nodded his head subtly, but noticeable enough for Mario to see it. “Yeah…By a writer named Nhasablog.” Luigi told him. 

“Who’s that?” Mario asked. 

“Another fanfic writer. They’ve been in the community for ages now.” Luigi admitted. “Since…2015, I think.” he replied. 

“Geez…” Mario muttered. “How many stories have they written?” Mario asked. 

“As of August 8…two hundred and twenty two.” Luigi replied. 

“And…Does this person have a real name? Or are they only known by their nickname?” Mario asked. 

“The Nhasablog person goes by just the letter N.” Luigi replied. 

“Okay. So N…Jin…Pocket…Who else is there?” Mario asked. 

“Oh! So many, it’s exhausting to keep track.” Luigi replied. “There’s also Nico, Kanene, Joker, Drew…It’s a lot. But my main people are Pocket, Drew, and Jin.” Luigi replied. 

Mario chuckled. “It’s hard for me to keep track without a visual context.” Mario admitted. 

Luigi nodded. “I know…” He muttered, before remembering something helpful. “Actually…Me and Pocket chatted a couple days ago.” Luigi admitted as he pulled out his phone and pulled up the Tumblr chain, before giving it to Mario. 

Mario took the phone and read the chain. 

{trashyswitch asked: [*sneaks up and pokes your sides* BOO!] 

weegee-the-lee answered: [*Screeches* Pocket!] }

Mario looked up at Luigi. “You’re just…going along with this?” Mario asked. “You’re not questioning this stranger?!” He asked. 

Luigi chuckled. “I don’t need to. The fact that she sent ME a message for the first time is huge.” Luigi admitted. 

Mario narrowed his eyes before shrugging his shoulders and going back to reading. 

{trashyswitch: [Yeeees? ;) What would the special green bean like? I’m all ears!👂🏻]

weegee-the-lee: [For you to not scare me like that! I was scared enough in the darklands!]

trashyswitch: [*widens eyes* Oh…did I bring back bad memories? *grows worried*]

weegee-the-lee: [*snickers* No, I’m just more paranoid.]

trashyswitch: [Oh…Alright. *skitters fingers on ribs* Is this better, Lee-uigi?] }

Mario chuckled again. “Everyone on here just calls you Lee-uigi?” Mario asked. 

Luigi nodded his head almost proudly. “Yup.” He replied, popping the P. 

Mario rolled his eyes and went back to reading. 

{weegee-the-lee: [*yelps* Pohohocket! Cuhut ihihit ohout!]

trashyswitch: [And why shall I stop? Why shall the evil Pocket stop tickling Weegee?]

weegee-the-lee: [*whines* shuhut uhuhup! Yohou’re thehe wohohorst!]

trashyswitch: [Am I? Am I really? *lessens tickles slightly*]

weegee-the-lee: [W-wehell... Mahaybe nohot…] }

Mario looked at Luigi. “So…It’s completely normal for lees to subtly admit to their lers that they like being tickled? Or were you just being cute?” Mario asked. 

Luigi looked down. “Uhhhh…It’s fairly normal…” Luigi replied awkwardly. 

Mario chuckled and looked back at the messages. 

{trashyswitch: [Okay. 🙂 *squeezes sides a couple times before stopping*]

weegee-the-lee: [*sits down, panting*]

trashyswitch: [*sits down beside him* Was that too much?] 

weegee-the-lee: [*shakes head, smiling*] 

trashyswitch: [*smiles and baps the bill of your hat*]

weegee-the-lee: [*giggles* that reminds me. *brings out a purple hat similar to his own, with “TS” on the front, and slaps it onto your head*]

trashyswitch: [*gasps loudly and fixes the hat on my head* OH MY GOSH- *hugs Weegee tightly* THANK YOU!! I love it! *tries not to tear up*]

weegee-the-lee: whOA- *giggles* You’re welcome!} 

Mario laughed and handed him back the phone. “You guys are nerds, I swear.” Mario reacted. 

Luigi took back the phone and pulled up something else. “You don’t need to worry about stranger-danger, Mario. I know what I’m doing.” Luigi said. “Unlike her, I didn’t post my face online and then link all the face reveals in the masterpost.” Luigi added. 

Mario blinked and sat back in his chair. “Say that again…but slower.” 

Luigi cleared his throat. “Nah. I’ll just show you.” Luigi showed Mario a picture on the website. It was of a female in a black shirt that said ‘Tumblr’ in pink cursive on the shirt. 

Mario widened his eyes and stared at the photo. “....Wow.” He handed Luigi his phone back. 

Luigi took his phone and closed it before putting it in his pocket. 

Mario bit his lip. “So…Do any of your other online friends have…face reveals?” Mario asked. 

“Nope. Just Pocket.” Luigi replied. 

“Okay.” Mario replied. “Well, that makes me feel a small bit better.” He admitted. “But one more thing:” Mario leaned back and bit his lip. “Would you recommend I get Tumblr?” Mario asked. 

Luigi widened and gasped. “G-Get Tumblr?! To-To what?” He asked. 

“To…meet these people and learn more about the tickle community.” Mario admitted. 

Luigi widened his eyes and covered his mouth. There was no way…this had to be a joke, or some sort of prank. “You want to…start up a Tumblr account…to learn more about the community?” Luigi asked. 

Mario shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s only an idea right now.” he admitted. “You’ve talked so much about it and I feel so out-of-the-dark half the time. Maybe if I joined Tumblr and saw some of the things you see, then…I may be able to understand you better.” Mario admitted. 

Luigi was smiling brightly and looking down a small bit, blushing slightly. 

“And…I’m scared that these people you talk to won't really like me because I’m not traditionally part of the community?” Mario asked next. 

Luigi shook his head. “I already told you: We are in desperate need of allies.” Luigi told him. 

Mario smiled and looked over at the waitress as she walked up. 

“Are you ready to order?” The waitress asked. 

Mario nodded. “I think so. Can I get a-”

After Work: 

Mario and Luigi headed to the big green tube and hopped out of the car. “So what are some other teases people in the community use?” Mario asked. 

“Oh boy…” Luigi sighed and closed the door. “Verbal teases, tools, there’s a lot. Some people come up with games and challenges.” Luigi explained. 

“Like what?” Mario asked. 

Luigi smiled. “One of them is ‘Arms up’. The lee keeps their arms up above their head, while the ler tickles the armpits. Keep it up for a certain amount of time, then you win. If the lee drops their arms down, then the ler gets to do something to ‘punish’ or discipline’ the lee.” Luigi replied. 

Mario laughed. “Wow…Evil, but fun.” Mario admitted. 

Luigi bit his lip. “Yeah…That’s one of the things we look for in games like that.” Luigi admitted. 

“Evil, but fun?” Mario asked. 

“Yup. Evil, but fun…for both the ler and the lee.” Luigi replied. 

Mario nodded before hopping into the pipe. “See you there!” Mario shouted. 

Luigi hopped into the tube and flew through the tube right behind his brother. He held onto the plumbing toolkit that was around his shoulder, making sure that none of the tools fell out. As he flew through the invisible part of the pipe, Luigi admired the sunset and the rays that covered the white clouds in a mix of dull purple, light pink mixed in with the endless shades of orange, and yellow down to where the sun had hidden under the horizon. It was awe-inspiring, and it made time slow down for a moment or two…

Nothing…

Nothing beats seeing this beautiful sight every evening. 

[phoenix-joy]

Excerpt:

Edel said the archives were founded because she and members of a group called the Gay Academic Union, which worked to make academia more accepting of LGBTQ people in the ‘70s, began talking about how difficult it was to find reliable information about lesbian history. 

“A few of us said, ‘Hey, why don’t we just start collecting our history? We’re the ones who best know what we need, what we want. Why let other people do that for us, because they’ll control our history?’” recalled Edel, who now splits her time between New Jersey and Arizona with her partner. “We were all people who really knew that our history was disappearing too quickly.”

[...]

The Lesbian Herstory Archives hosts a variety of events, such as a weekly “Lez Craft!” night on Thursdays. For its 50th anniversary, the organization is hosting a “Dyke Prom” in May at a loft in Brooklyn, though Edel noted that the event is already sold out. 

When asked about goals for the next 50 years, she said the archives have outgrown the Brooklyn space and will need to move soon.

“Fifty years is too hard to say,” Edel said. “We leave that in the hands of the next generation. I certainly won’t be around, and I’m just hoping that it still will be mission-driven so that we reflect the amazing complexity of our communities.” /endquote

Photos from article:

[scarisd3ad]

Jump then fall | Steve harrington x fem!hopper!reader

Prologue - seven

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Summary - ‘And though I can’t recall your face I still got love for you, your braids like a pattern love you to the moon and to Saturn’

Warnings - loss of a sibling, divorce, fighting, cursing

"I'm gonna miss you," Steve mumbled into my shoulder as his little arms wrapped around my body. "Me too," I whispered back. I didn't want to move. I was well adjusted in our little town, I had my friends, I was just getting used to kindergarten, and I had Steve Harrington. my best friend and next-door neighbor who I did not want to leave behind, but dad got a new and better job in New York, so we had to pack up all our belongings and move from the tiny town of Hawkins to the big city. "can't you stay with me? We have enough room. "I shook my head "My daddy would be sad if I didn't go with them," I whispered back before they pulled away and placed me in my car seat. I was gone for good.

It wasn't like Steve, and I didn't stay in contact for those 7 years I lived in New York. it started with letters and drawings being mailed back and forth and then calls every Tuesday and Thursday night after school. But then we got older, and those letters and calls had farther and farther days between them. Then when Sara got sick, I shut down. I didn't send any letters or call him for months. After Sara died, my parents grew distant not only with each other but with me too, so I sent a letter to the one person who knew me better than my parents, Steve Harrington.

Dear Stevie,

I'm sorry I haven't called or sent any letters. I've been busy with school and other things, you know. I miss you. I hope I can come and visit you soon. My dad said we might go back to Hawkins to visit during the summer. Maybe we could have a sleepover if we do. Maybe we can call whenever you get this? I can fill you in on everything that's happened. Anyway, how's school??? I started this new book club at school and it's so fun!!!! I know you'd probably call me a nerd for it is, but it's really cool, and the people are nice too. I also made this new friend. Her name is Hannah she's so cool! She's an eighth grader!!!

Are you still playing basketball? If so, I wish I could see you play. Maybe you could play for me if I visit this summer! Dad said I could walk to your house every day if we did. I miss you and I hope we can call soon; I really need to talk to you about something that cannot!!! be disclosed over letter I need to like actually talk about it you know? I haven't really talked to anyone about it, and I need to or I'm gonna burst. Also, I'm sending these cool stickers that I got at a coffee shop here. I thought you'd like them. They're basketballs! Anyway, again I miss you a lot and can't wait to talk to you again.

- love y/n

(P.S. sorry again for not sending any letter)

I didn't get a letter back, nor did we visit that summer. Instead, that summer my parents divorced, and my mother decided she no longer wanted to be a mother, so my father and I moved into a crappy apartment in Brooklyn while the divorce took place. Luckily, that fall, the divorce was finalized. My mother gave up all parental rights legally, giving all custody to my father, and we moved back to Hawkins.

A week before 7th grade started my father, and I moved into a 2-bedroom house 3 streets away from Steve's. the first 2 days were full of moving boxes and decorating my new room so on the 3rd day I walked over to Steves with a plate of freshly baked cookies in clasped in my hands. During the seven years Steve and I sent letters back and forth, he always hoped he'd be able to try my baking, which was a skill I learned during 5th grade.

I grasped the plate in one hand as the other reached up to knock at the door. There weren't any cars in the driveway, but his bedroom light was on, which made me assume he was home. But after 30 seconds I didn't hear a 'I'm coming' or hurried footsteps. I was starting to doubt my intuition. Maybe he had just forgotten to turn off his bedroom light. Despite my doubts, I knock again, this time a bit harder. Then I heard a loud groan from inside before the door swung open."Wh-holy-y/n?" the annoyed look on his face immediately morphed into shock.

"You didn't respond" I giggled with a smile, "I-I guess it got lost in the mail" he whispered before launching himself into me. His arms wrapped around my body, and he pulled me close. The cookies were still clasped in my hand. I hoped the foil would be enough to keep them on the plate. "Wait, wait, wait" Steve pulls away so we're making eye contact. "You came all the way here just because I didn't send a letter back" his brows twist into a confused furrow as I laugh "No Stevie, we moved back" his face stays confused as he asks "Why" It was a long story, and not one to be told on the front steps of his house. "Long story. I'll tell you later. Can I come inside?"

"Yeah, yeah"

-

Steve and I sat on his bedroom floor that afternoon munching on cookies as I told him everything. I cried a lot; I hadn't cried about anything in the last four months. But with Steve, it just seemed like everything just came pouring out. Even though the last time I saw him, we were both 4 feet tall and missing teeth, it just seemed to click with him even after all these years. "Sarah got sick," I started with as Steve took a bite out of his cookie. "Oh...is she alright?" he asked voice laced with concern as his right hand reached over to grab my hand. 

I shook my head as tears pooled in my eyes, "N-no um she's-she's gone Stevie" Steve was silent as his hand squeezed mine. I'd never talked about Sarah or her death to anyone, not my mother, not my father, hell I didn't even talk to the therapist they took me to when I didn't want to talk to them. This was the first time I even uttered the words 'she's gone' It was like I was in denial, like if I never said the words, it would all reverse itself and I'd have my sister back. "a-and my parents we're fighting a lot, so they got divorced" tears began to trickle down my cheeks as I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting back tears. "And my mom she-she said she never wanted to be a mom, so-so she left."

That afternoon, while Steve's arms embraced me and sobs shook my body, I came to a shocking realization. The realization hit me hard that maybe listening to Steve's voice over the phone for the past seven years, and reading his letters he always signed off with 'I love you - Steve Harrington', might have done something to me. Something to my changing adolescent brain that would have altered our friendship for good. Maybe it was for the best that the week after winter break, Steve Harrington became one of the most popular boys in school and subsequently decided to no longer be my friend.

Taglist

@sheisjoeschateau @nothankyou138 @gleefulleve @luluw-20

[intrepidacious]

Literally the entirety of Brooklyn, Thursday Night has stayed with me since I first read it BUT, this line made me pause and have to collect myself:

This year, you’re a necessity.

So simple, yet it had me YEARNINGGGGG

i LOVE that!!! i just went rummaging through my notebook because i felt pretty sure that it was actually one of the very first lines that i wrote for this fic and turns out i was right <3

lines that linger

[mixtapemag]

boygenius at pryzm.

photos by christopher hall.

boygenius rolled into London with just their guitars and played two sets at Kingston's PRYZM on Thursday night. Playing an entirely acoustic set, the boys show felt like a hangout session (with a confetti cannon).

Julien Baker's crescendo on "Anti-Curse" was astounding. Hearing Julien's voice unleashed in a quiet room was ceiling splitting. The interpolation of "Me & My Dog" and "Letter To An Old Poet" sent a wave of joy through the room. Lucy's voice on "True Blue" felt like a warm blanket.

The boys continue their European tour in Paris today before heading to Edinburgh this weekend.

Previously on Mixtape:

Photos of boygenius at the piece hall.

Photos of boygenius at way out west 2023.

Photos of boygenius at the idaho botanical garden.

Photos of boygenius at the forest hills stadium.

Photos of boygenius at the fox theater.

Photos of boygenius at the premiere of "the film".

Photos of Lucy Dacus at All Things Go.

Photos of Lucy Dacus at Red Rocks.

Photos of Phoebe Bridgers at Roskilde.

Photos of Phoebe Bridgers with Special Guest Lucy Dacus at Forest Hills Stadium.

Photos of Phoebe Bridgers at Kilby Block Party 3.

Photos of Lucy Dacus at The Stone Pony.

Photos of Julien Baker at Fox Theater.

Photos of Phoebe Bridgers at Leaders Bank Pavilion.

Photos of Lucy Dacus at Brooklyn Steel - Night Two.

Photos of Lucy Dacus at Brooklyn Steel - Night One.

Photos of Lucy Dacus at Variety Playhouse.

Photos of Julien Baker at 9:30 Club.

Photos of Lucy Dacus at Forest Hills Stadium.

Photos of Lucy Dacus at Webster Hall.

Photos of Lucy Dacus at Moroccan Lounge.

Photos of Better Oblivion Community Center at Outside Lands.

Photos of Julien Baker at Amplify Decatur.

Photos of Lucy Dacus at Newport Folk Festival.

Photos of Boygenius at Brooklyn Steel.

Photos of Phoebe Bridgers at Newport Folk Festival.

Photos of Julien Baker at Shadow of the City.

Photos of Julien Baker in Prospect Park.

Photos of Julien Baker at White Eagle Hall.

Photos of Julien Baker at Union Transfer.

Photos of Julien Baker at Outside Lands.

Photos of Julien Baker at Newport Folk Festival.

Christopher Hall posts over here. London.

[thebowerypresents]

Wednesday – Brooklyn Steel – January 25, 2024

A week into their new American tour, Asheville, N.C., rock five-piece Wednesday sold out Brooklyn Steel on Thursday night, putting on a thrilling show. And as an added bonus, dynamic singer-guitarist Karly Hartzman sat in on the final song of Hotline TNT’s opening set.

Photos courtesy of Edwina Hay | thisisnotaphotograph.com

[girlactionfigure]

nyjewishweek Israeli pop superstar Noa Kirel took to the floor of Brooklyn’s Barclays Center on Thursday night with an Israeli flag draped around her shoulders to sing the national anthem, “Hatikvah,” as the Brooklyn Nets and Maccabi Ra’anana lined up on either side.⁠ ⁠ Wrapping up her rendition, she said “Am Yisrael chai,” meaning “The people of Israel live,” her voice cracking before the tip-off. “We will win.”⁠ ⁠ The charged pre-season game took place after a devastating attack on southern Israel.⁠ ⁠ Jewish and Israeli spectators streamed into the arena for what was also Israeli Heritage Night, many carrying Israeli flags or signs in support of Israel, alongside casual fans and tourists.⁠ ⁠ “It’s very good to do this game, that all the Jews came here to support this team, that everyone will see the Jewish presence,” said Yoni Shmela, an Israeli who was on vacation in New York when the war started. “It’s really important that everyone came out to show support.”⁠ ⁠ At the start of the game, an announcer said to the crowd, “The Brooklyn Nets and Barclays Center condemn the terrorist attacks and mourn the senseless loss of life in Israel.”⁠

nyjewishweek

[beefromanoff]

Tempting Fate Ch. 3

summary: Evie's first briefing with the team, an all-nighter, and waking up on someone's couch.

author's note: i've been traveling a TON, so I apologize for the slower uploads! i'll get better from here on out, so stay tuned! thanks for reading, xoxoxo!

masterlist

tag list: tag list: @yiiiikesmish @sunflower1290 @barnescamboy @thedisc0spider @bitchy-bi-trash @kulteule @kandis-mom @i-mushi @unknown-writings

Brooklyn, 1942

The soft hum of a projector filled the small, dimly lit room. Steve, Bucky, and Ginny were squeezed together on a worn-out couch, eyes fixed on the flickering black-and-white screen in front of them. 

Ginny, nestled comfortably between the two boys, let out a delighted giggle at a particularly humorous scene. "This is the best one yet!"

Steve smiled, leaning a bit closer. "Glad we snuck in. Wouldn't have wanted to miss this."

Bucky, always the mischievous one, nudged Ginny playfully. "Good thing I know the guy at the door.”

“Yeah,” Steve scoffed. “Perks of being the charming neighborhood troublemaker."

Ginny rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her smile. "Charm or not, let's just hope we don't get caught."

The movie continued, but Steve found his attention drifting. He glanced sideways at Ginny, her profile illuminated by the soft light of the screen. She was beautiful, no doubt about it, but it was her laughter, her spirit, that had both him and Bucky captivated.

As if sensing his gaze, Ginny turned, catching Steve's eye. For a moment, everything else faded away, and it was just the two of them, suspended in time.

"Steve?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the movie.

"Yeah?" he replied, equally quiet.

"Thanks for always making time for this... for us." Her hand found his, a simple, innocent gesture that sent his heart racing.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he whispered back, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Bucky, not one to be left out, leaned over, his arm casually draping around Ginny's shoulders. "You know, Rogers, if you keep making those googly eyes, you'll miss the best parts of the movie."

Ginny laughed softly, the sound a sweet melody to both their ears. "You two are hopeless," she said, leaning back and enjoying the moment, flanked by the two boys who meant the world to her.

__________

Manhattan, Present Day

The first week flew by. 

The only places Evie saw besides the lab were her apartment, usually just to come home, shower, and pass out –– and the coffee shop on her walk back to work. She was thankful for the modern invention of food delivery, making a habit of meeting her Doordash driver down in the lobby every night. What was most people’s worst nightmare, logging 60-70 hours at their workplace, was Evie’s dream. Being in the lab, holograms lighting up all around her, schematics and blueprints spread across her desk, it was a dream. She’d finished her project of enhancing security protocols on Tuesday, spent most of Wednesday getting to know and working with the other engineers to move past pain points in their current innovations, and yesterday, she’d begun working on combining the technology used to make the Quinjet’s stealth mode possible with her patented textile. 

She’d made so much progress, but eventually had to tear her eyes away for fear that she’d fall asleep on the walk home. Now, Thursday morning, the sun was barely peeking through the buildings as it rose into the sky. Pushing the coffee shop door open with her hip, she stepped across the threshold and continued on towards the Tower, one latte in each hand. 

As she strode through the lobby, her sneakers were one of the few sounds echoing off the walls at this hour. A few night shift employees got off the elevator, looking less than enthused as they passed Evie. She reached the elevator door, pausing to balance one coffee on the other so she could reach her badge. 

“Here, let me get that.” A familiar voice called from behind her. She turned to see a smiling Steve Rogers, again, sweaty and in workout attire. He leaned forward and scanned his badge, motioning for her to step on as the doors slid open. 

“Why thank you,” Evie smiled. “Unfortunately, that won’t work.” 

“What won’t?” 

“Your badge, for both of us. See?” She stepped forward, one foot crossing the threshold of the elevator. The lighting turned bright red and an electronic female voice rang out. 

‘Multiple persons detected. Captain Rogers, please have your guest obtain a pass at the security office and proceed.” 

Evie stepped back and the right light disappeared as she grinned. “You’ll have to scan both of our badges.” She turned to face away from him. “It’s in my pocket.” 

Steve’s cheeks flushed as he gingerly reached for the badge peeking out of her jeans. He tugged it free and scanned it right after his own, both of them stepping into the elevator. 

“Welcome, Captain Rogers and Ms. Langston.” 

“New security protocol?” He raised an eyebrow, still holding her badge. 

“I may have overdone it a little,” She admitted, grinning. 

“Well, it’s better to air on the side of caution.” 

“Is it?” 

“I’d say yes, in most cases.” He tilted his head. 

“Says the guy who jumps out of planes with no parachute.” 

“How do you know that?” 

Evie laughed. “I’ve taken a history class. There were at least four units dedicated to you alone.” 

His cheeks flushed again as he looked down. “Ah, I see.” 

“I’ve written an essay or two on Captain America and the Howling Commandos back in the day.” 

Steve looked up at her, a half smile on his face. “Is that so?” 

“Sure is. I’ll see if my mom still has them. She kept all my A+ work.” 

“I’m sure she has quite the collection then.” 

“Only one or two storage units.” She grinned, her stomach flipping as Steve laughed. 

“So, did you make a friend in the lab?” He gestured to the second coffee in her hand. 

“Oh, no, I just couldn’t decide if I wanted hot or iced so I got both.” Evie smiled sheepishly. “I guess I could part with one, if only for the sake of my health.” She held her hands out. “Dealer’s choice, they’re both vanilla lattes. Can’t go wrong.” 

Steve raised an eyebrow as he looked back and forth between them. “I’m not much of a sweet coffee guy ––” 

“Trust me on this, Cap. You will be.” She held the iced coffee out. “Here, I’m sure you don’t want hot coffee after a run. Plus, my hand is about to freeze off.” 

“Thank you,” He chuckled, taking the coffee and sipping it. “Hey, it’s not bad.” 

“Told ya,” Evie grinned and held out her drink. “Cheers to your impeccable timing this morning.” 

“Cheers to you almost surviving your first full week working for Stark.” Steve smiled as they touched their cups together. “Oh, here’s your badge back.” He handed it to her as the doors slid open to the lab. 

“Thank you very much.” She stepped out, turning to face him. “I’ll see you around.” 

“See you around.” He smiled at her as the elevator doors slid shut.

Evie grinned as she settled into her workspace. She couldn’t have scripted that better than it played out on its own. What are the odds Captain America himself happened to be walking through the lobby at the same early hour she showed up for work? Meant to be. She grinned again remembering how daintily he’d tugged the badge from her pocket, so careful not to be disrespectful. Would Bucky be that gentle? 

Her mind wandered down a path of Super Soldiers and disrespect and not-so-gentleness as she set her computer up. Eventually, her attention was pulled back towards the technology in front of her rather than vibranium hands. She took a sip of her coffee and dove back into her work, less than ten hours after setting it down the night before.

As per usual, the time flew by. Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her intense focus. 

A text from Tony: “Put your shoes back on. We’ve got a briefing in ten. Be ready to impress.”

She shot back: “Always am.” 

Evie grinned. During nearly every one of Tony’s random visits over the past week, he’d found her barefoot in the lab, heels discarded behind her. Despite the obvious safety hazard, she couldn’t stand wearing them any longer than she had to. Finally, after suffering for four days, she accepted that she had already made a good enough impression and that it was officially time to switch to jeans, sneakers, and in today’s case –– an MIT crewneck sweatshirt. 

“Well, would you look at that, she does own safety compliant close-toed shoes.” Tony mocked as he stepped into the lab. 

“Not all of us are at risk of random detonations, you know.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Wow, I’m hurt, I really am.” He put a hand over his heart. “You ready to rock and roll or what? Don’t embarrass me in there, I’m serious.” 

Evie laughed, grabbing her tablet and following him. “Shut up, Stark.”

She followed Tony down the hall, into the elevator, and finally out onto the floor reserves for intelligence and briefings for SHIELD. As they rounded a corner, Tony stopped abruptly, turning to face her. “Alright, Red. This is the big leagues. I know you’re doing big things in the lab, but some of what you’ll hear in this briefing –– and all future briefings –– is top secret, lock and key, lives on the line shit. Got it?”

Evie nodded solemnly, only slightly unnerved by his sudden serious demeanor. “I understand.”

Tony grinned. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s go keep this world nice and saved.”

With a wave of each of their badges, the conference room door slid open. Seated around an expansive table were legends, people Evie wasn’t sure were really people until that very moment when all their faces turned to look at her. One by one, she met the eyes of Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes. There was a somewhat austere-looking brunette woman standing near a screen at the front of the room, clad in full SHIELD attire. Her name badge read ‘Agent Maria Hill’.

Tony clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. "Alright team, this is Evie Langston, girl wonder. She works for Stark Industries, but has so graciously agreed that consulting for SHIELD will fall under her scope of work. Evie, I assume you know who everyone is.” He raised an eyebrow at Evie, who nodded with a grin. “Alright! Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let's get down to business."

A chorus of ‘hello’ and polite introductions sounded as Evie took a seat next to Tony, across from Steve, who smiled politely when she met his eyes. Agent Hill launched into a discussion about the latest mission and its parameters. Evie listened intently, brows furrowed as she adjusted to the structure of an Avengers’ briefing. After the mission was explained in detail, Maria stepped aside, motioning for Tony to take over in explaining the technical needs of the mission. Evie sat up straighter in her seat, knowing this was where she’d come into play.

As Tony detailed the technical aspects of the mission, he turned his focus on Evie. "You’ll be heading up the tech support for this one. We’re dealing with some advanced encryption and an offensive cyberattack that targets anyone who enters their airspace. The organization we’re up against, Orpheus, is highly skilled in cyber warfare. I think it might be right up your alley."

"Got it," she nodded, already formulating a plan in her mind, questions to ask, variables she should know.

Natasha leaned forward, her green eyes intense. "We’ll need to make sure our communications are secure and untraceable while we’re within their range. Can you handle that?"

"Absolutely," she replied confidently. "I’ve already been working on some new protocols that should make it virtually impossible for anyone to intercept our signals, no matter where we are. Earthside or otherwise."

"Impressive," Steve muttered, a hint of admiration in his voice.

Clint chimed in, "And what about the security systems on-site? Can you hack into those? In the past, we’ve banked on being able to sneak in and disable them ourselves, but with this being so high stakes, I think it would minimize our risk of things going sideways if we know it’s fully down before we get within firing range."

Evie smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Piece of cake."

Tony grinned, clearly enjoying the exchange. "See? I told you she was brilliant. One of these days you’ll stop doubting my eye for talent."

Maria Hill cleared her throat, redirecting the room’s attention to herself. “Alright, Evie. Here’s all the encrypted intelligence we have on Orpheus. It’s everything we could gather from satellite feeds, intercepted communications, and spy reports. Study it thoroughly. We’re counting on you to crack this. The mission is in one week, so you need to dedicate your time to this first and foremost.”

She handed Evie a slim tablet, its screen already glowing with files waiting to be dissected. “If you have any questions or need further resources, don’t hesitate to reach out to me directly.”

Evie accepted the tablet, nodding. “Thank you, Agent Hill. I’ll get right on it.”

Maria gave a curt nod before addressing the room. “Dismissed. We’ll have a final briefing again twenty-four hours out. Thanks everyone.”

As the team began to disperse, they each took a moment to speak with Evie more personally. First was Sam, who exuded an easygoing charm. “Sam Wilson, or Falcon if you prefer. Welcome to the madhouse. I hope you’re ready for some action.” He turned to Tony. “Oh, and Stark, do we plan on adding anyone to the team who isn’t a super hot redhead?” He looked back and winked towards Wanda and Natasha.

Evie grinned. “It’s very nice to meet you, Sam.”

Natasha stepped forward, pushing Sam out the door. “Ignore him, he thinks he’s a ladies man.” She held her hand out and grinned. “Natasha, but you probably guessed that. Impressive work in there. We’ll be in good hands, I see.”

“Thanks, Natasha. I’ll do my best to live up to the hype.” She bowed her head. 

The next man gave her a nod and a smile. “Clint Barton. Hawkeye. If you need any arrows, I’m your guy.”

Evie smirked as she shook his hand. “Evie. If you need your arrows to do anything special, I’m your girl.”

The other red haired female approached with a shy smile. “I’m Wanda. If you need any help with, well, anything... just let me know.”

“Thanks, Wanda. I appreciate it.” Evie returned her smile with as much warmth as she could. 

Finally, Bucky and Steve approached together. Steve’s eyes were encouraging as he said, “You’ll do great, Evie. Looking forward to seeing what you come up with. It’s all far above my pay grade anyways.”

“It sounds a lot more complicated than it actually is.” She shrugged. “I still haven’t met a problem I can’t crack with an all-nighter and a large pizza.”

Steve chuckled, but Bucky didn’t crack. He remained more reserved, his intense blue eyes studying her. “You did good,” he said simply.

Evie grinned, refusing to let his tough exterior shake her. “Thanks, Bucky. You too, Steve. Let’s keep this team alive, shall we?”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a half-smile, while Steve chuckled again. “That’s the plan,” he said, nodding as they followed the others out of the room.

The last two remaining, Tony clapped Evie on the shoulder. “You did great, Red. Now, go crack those codes and make us proud.”

Evie smirked. “You got it, boss.”

She felt a surge of excitement as she headed back to her lab, tablet in hand. One hand already scrolling through the files on the tablet and the other opening Doordash to order coffee and dinner for the evening, she fought the grin threatening to break onto her face. This was what she had been waiting for –– a chance to prove herself and make a real difference. This was just the beginning.

______________

As they stepped into the hall, leaving Evie and Tony alone in the briefing room, Steve and Bucky lingered for a moment. Natasha, noticing their distraction, sidled up to them with a smirk.

"Hey, super soldiers," she called, causing them both to stop and turn. "You two need to pick your jaws up off the floor before the next briefing. Might miss something important."

Steve shot her a puzzled look. "What are you talking about, Nat?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Don't play dumb, Rogers. You both were practically drooling over Evie during the meeting."

Bucky crossed his arms, his expression turning defensive. "We're professionals. We were just... impressed by her skills."

"Yeah, sure," Natasha replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "And I'm the Queen of England."

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She's just... different. Sharp, confident, and... seems to be on top of things."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Different, huh? Or maybe just the first woman in a while who’s made you both feel something?"

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. "Look, Nat, we're here to do a job. We’re professionals."

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. "Just don't let your professionalism turn into avoidance. You might miss out on something good." She gave them a final teasing glance before walking away, leaving Steve and Bucky standing in the hallway.

Steve turned to Bucky, a small smile playing on his lips. "She's got a point, you know."

Bucky huffed. "Yeah, yeah. Let's just focus on the mission for now."

______________

A few hours and an extended training session later, Steve and Bucky sat in the living room of their floor, the events of the day still weighing heavily on their minds as they decompressed. The routine was essentially the same every night. The soft glow of the city lights filtered through the large windows, casting a warm hue over the modern, sleek furnishings of the common room –– none of which had been picked out by them. They suspected Pepper was the culprit, turning both residential floors into five-star resort level atmospheres, despite the whole team insisting it wouldn’t be necessary. The air was filled with a calm that came from years of friendship, each comfortable in the other's presence and the silence. Clint had flown back home to be with his family, leaving only Steve, Bucky, and Sam on their floor for the night. Occasionally, a few members of the team would stay while they were in New York, but for the most part –– this floor only housed the three of them. Natasha and Wanda had the smaller, but slightly nicer floor upstairs. 

Steve reached for the remote, flipping through channels before settling on highlights from the Yankees game earlier that evening. Bucky, his left arm glinting slightly in the dim light, leaned back into the plush couch, his eyes half-closed.

"Crazy day, huh?" Steve finally broke the silence, his voice low.

"Yeah," Bucky replied, his tone contemplative. "The new girl, Evie... she's something else."

Steve nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "That, she is. But she's definitely got the brains for this kind of work. Tony really picked a good one. It’s just…what are the odds?"

As if on cue, Sam strolled into the room, towel around his neck from a late-night workout. He grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen and joined them, flopping down into an armchair.

"Hey, guys," Sam greeted, taking a swig of water. "You talking about the briefing?"

Steve chuckled. "Among other things. What about you? How was your workout?"

Sam shrugged. "Same old, same old. Just trying to keep up with you super soldiers." He glanced at the TV and grinned. "Really, Steve? Still making excuses for the Yankees?"

Steve rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "It’s in my blood, Sam. You should appreciate the loyalty."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam laughed. "So, what's the verdict on the new girl? She seemed pretty confident today. Kept up with Stark, that���s a first."

Bucky spoke up. "She’s... impressive. Definitely knows her stuff."

Steve nodded in agreement. "Yeah, she’s got guts. And she’s quick. I think she’s gonna be a real asset to the team."

“She’s not bad on the eyes, either.” Sam leaned back, a teasing glint in his eye as he ignored the way both of their heads snapped to look at him. "The way you both were staring her down? Don’t think I didn’t notice."

Steve felt a slight flush rise to his cheeks, while Bucky just scowled. "Come on, Sam," Steve protested. "We’re professionals."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Sure, Cap. Professionals who couldn’t take their eyes off her."

Bucky grunted, crossing his arms. "It’s not like that."

"Whatever you say," Sam replied with a smirk. "Just don’t let it mess with your heads. We’ve got a job to do."

Steve sighed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "We know. It’s just... a long story."

"A long story? Didn’t you just meet her Monday?" Sam asked, genuinely curious.

Steve glanced at Bucky, who gave a slight nod. "It's more complicated than that," Steve started. "We…knew her grandmother."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Her grandmother? You mean back in the day, in the 40s?"

Bucky nodded, his gaze distant as if recalling a memory. "Yeah. Genevieve, Ginny. She was... special."

Steve continued, "Ginny was one of a kind. Smart, beautiful, fierce. She could hold her own in any situation, and she had a heart of gold. Bucky and I... well, we both fell for her. I think she knew that. She didn’t want to choose, so she didn’t. We tried to ignore our feelings for her and…it got messy.”

Sam leaned forward, intrigued. "So, what happened?"

“She knew there was nothing we wouldn’t do for her.” Bucky sighed, his tone somber. "It nearly tore us apart. We both wanted to be with her, and for a while, it felt like we were competing against each other instead of being the friends we had always been."

Steve nodded, the weight of the memory evident in his eyes. "It was rough. We almost let our feelings for her ruin our friendship. But in the end, we both went off to war and Ginny chose someone else. We had to move on, but we never really got closure. Just…time."

Sam frowned slightly, piecing together their history. "And now, with Evie...?"

“She’s the spitting image of Ginny.” Steve shook his head. “It’s uncanny.”

Bucky looked at Steve, then back at Sam. "Evie... she reminds us so much of Ginny. It’s like seeing a ghost from our past, but in a good way. She's got that same fire, the same brilliance. Same attitude."

Steve added, "But we know we can’t let history repeat itself. We can't afford to let our personal feelings get in the way of a mission or our friendship."

Sam nodded slowly, understanding dawning on his face. "So that's why you two were so tense today."

"Yeah," Bucky admitted. "It’s just... a lot to process."

Steve gave a small smile. "But we’ll figure it out. We always do."

Sam grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Well, at least now I understand why you two were acting like schoolboys hiding a boner under the table. Just make sure you keep it together. We've got a mission to focus on, and you two are at least thirty percent of the muscle on the team."

“Only thirty percent?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow.

"We will," Steve assured him, ignoring Bucky. "We’re not going to let this interfere with the job. Evie’s an important part of the team, and she’s not her grandmother. She probably doesn’t even know about the history, so we’re going to keep it that way."

"Good to hear," Sam said, standing up. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get some shut-eye. Got an early morning run tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late, you two."

"Night, Sam," they both echoed as he headed off to his room.

The quiet settled back over the common room, the movie playing softly in the background. Steve glanced at Bucky, who seemed lost in thought.

"Something on your mind, Buck?"

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just... thinking about how things used to be. How simple it all was. Now... everything’s different. Sometimes I miss the days when our biggest concern was sneaking into a theater."

Steve placed a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. "We’ll figure it out. Together. We always do."

Bucky nodded, his gaze softening. "Yeah, we will."

_________

The lab was quiet, save for the occasional hum of machinery and the soft clicking of keys. Evie sat hunched over her workstation, eyes glued to the screen as lines of code and complex algorithms filled her vision. She took a sip of her now-cold coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste but too engrossed to care. An open box of discarded pizza crusts sat to her left.

"Okay, Evie, you can do this," she muttered to herself, fingers flying across the keyboard. "Just crack the encryption, isolate the vulnerabilities, and implement the new protocols. Easy peasy."

She paused, glancing at the clock. 2:47 AM. Who needs sleep anyway? She sighed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Her mind raced, running through various scenarios and solutions. The encryption used by Orpheus was unlike anything she'd seen before –– intricate, almost elegant in its complexity. It was ever evolving, so her solution had to be just as adaptable. 

"Come on, think," she urged herself, tapping her pen against her notebook. What would Tony do? Probably make a snarky comment and then just magically figure it out. But you're not Tony, you're Evie fucking Langston, and you've got this.

With renewed focus, she dove back into her work, her surroundings fading into the background. Hours passed in a blur of code, coffee, and the occasional burst of inspiration. By the time the first rays of dawn began to filter through the windows, she had made significant progress.

"Come on, come on…” she whispered, eyes burning from the strain but unwilling to stop as she willed her algorithm to work faster.

Finally, as the clock struck 6:00 AM, she leaned back, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. "Done. Take that, Orpheus." It wasn’t a complete solution, but she’d gotten close enough that she knew the rest would be a downhill slide. Her one track mind would finally allow her to rest with the end in sight.

She saved her work and stretched, feeling the exhaustion settle into her bones. Despite the fatigue, there was a sense of accomplishment that made it all worth it. Packing up her things, she slid the pizza box into the garbage and yawned. 

Time to catch a few hours of sleep. She told herself, heading towards the exit. Then back at it. 

As she stepped into the lobby, she almost collided with Sam, who was looking fresh and ready for a morning run.

"Hey, Evie," he greeted with a grin. "What are you doing in the lobby at this hour, and in yesterday's clothes no less?" He tsked as he looked her up and down.

Evie laughed, though it came out more like a groan. "It's the least fun walk of shame you'll ever see. Pulled an all-nighter and I'm about to head home for some shut-eye before work."

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You look dead on your feet. How far is your place?"

"About a 15-minute walk," she replied, already dreading the trek.

Sam shook his head. "Forget that. My place is just upstairs. You can crash on the couch in our common room. It's way easier than walking home and back."

Evie blinked, the offer taking a moment to process in her sleep-deprived brain. "You sure? I probably smell like reactor fusion from the lab."

"I don’t even know what that is but I guarantee our couch has seen worse," Sam insisted. "Come on, you need sleep, and I’ve got a perfectly good couch that beats walking home any day."

"Well, if you’re offering, I’ll take you up on it," she said, relief washing over her. "Thanks, Sam. You're a lifesaver."

They took the elevator up to his floor, and Sam led her into the common room he shared with Steve and Bucky. The room was spacious and comfortable, with a large couch taking center stage.

"Make yourself at home," Sam said, grabbing a blanket from a nearby closet and tossing it onto the couch. "I’m heading out for my run, so you’ll have the place to yourself for a bit."

"Thanks, Sam," Evie said again, sinking onto the couch and pulling the blanket over her. "I owe you one."

"I’ll remember that," Sam replied with a smile. "Get some rest, genius."

With that, he headed out, leaving Evie to kick off her sneakers and curl up on the couch. As soon as her head hit the cushion, she was out like a light, her exhaustion finally catching up with her.

Steve and Bucky woke up later than usual, having decided to skip their morning run in favor of a longer sparring session planned for the afternoon. Steve was the first to step out of his room, heading towards the kitchen for his usual morning coffee. As he rounded the corner into the common room, he froze.

There, curled up on the couch with a blanket pulled up to her chin, was Evie. 

Bucky emerged from his room across the hall a moment later, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Mornin," he muttered, then stopped in his tracks when he saw what Steve was staring at. "Is that... Evie?"

"Looks like it," Steve whispered back, his voice tinged with confusion and concern. 

Bucky leaned over to get a closer look, confirming it was indeed Evie fast asleep. "What the hell is she doing here?"

Steve pulled out his phone, scanning his messages. "Hold on... I’ve got a text from Sam."

He showed the message to Bucky, which read: "Left a surprise for you on the couch. Good luck!"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Of course."

"Shhh," Steve hushed him, pointing at Evie. "Don't wake her up. She looks like she needs the rest."

"Well, what do we do?" Bucky whispered back. "We can't just leave her here."

Steve thought for a moment. "Let's just get our coffee, quietly, and let her sleep. We can figure it out once she's up."

Bucky nodded, and they snuck into the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible. As they moved around, they whispered their conversation.

"I’m gonna kill Sam," Bucky said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Less than twelve hours after we tell him we want to keep things professional and he plants her on our couch.”

Steve shook his head, laughing sheepishly. "And she's going to wake up to us watching her."

"He was right about one thing, though. She's not bad on the eyes," Bucky added, taking a sip of his coffee.

Steve shot him a look. "Really? That's where your mind goes right now?"

Bucky shrugged. "Just saying."

They continued their whispered conversation until they heard a soft groan from the couch. Evie stirred, slowly waking up. She blinked a few times, trying to get her bearings, then noticed the two super soldiers standing in the kitchen, coffee mugs in hand, watching her with mildly alarmed

"Morning, sunshine," Steve said, unable to hide his grin.

Evie sat up, rubbing her eyes. "I smell coffee."

“Nose of a bloodhound.” Bucky gave a smile smile and turned, pouring her a cup before walking across the room to hand it to her. She looked up at him with tired eyes and accepted graciously. 

“My hero. What time is it?” 

"A little before 8," Steve replied, chuckling. "Rough night?"

"You could say that," she mumbled, running a hand through her hair. "Pulled an all-nighter in the lab. Sam found me in the lobby and headed back to my place and offered me the couch."

"Sam did mention something about leaving us a surprise," Steve said with a laugh.

Evie grinned. "You should write him a thank you note."

Bucky changed the subject, "How are you feeling? You looked pretty out of it."

"Like I stayed up all night crouched in front of a bright screen in a dark room," Evie admitted, stretching. "But the couch is surprisingly comfortable. Thanks for letting me crash here."

Steve smiled warmly. "Anytime. You know, you're the first person to sleep on our couch. It's kind of a big deal."

Evie raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean I get a prize or something?"

Steve chuckled. "How about some breakfast?"

She grinned. "Now you're talking."