#flicker tour rogers

[magical-reid]

Remembering James

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Barnes!Reader (No use of Y/N, reader is referred as Mrs./Dr. Barnes)

Setting: Modern MCU timeline, Avengers Tower.

Perspective: Third Person Limited (Reader’s perspective).

Word Count: 1.2K

Hospitals were familiar, almost comforting in their routine. Between the soft hum of monitors and the sterile scent of disinfectant, you’d carved out a life here, even if you had no idea where you’d come from before it.

You woke up one day, seventy years displaced, with only a few clues to your identity: a simple wedding band, dog tags clutched in your hand, and the name James tattooed on the inside of your wrist. The world said you were a super soldier, part of a classified experiment during World War II, but your own memories didn’t agree—or, more accurately, they didn’t exist.

James Barnes. Who are you?

The hospital pager clipped to your scrubs buzzed sharply, dragging you back to the present.

“Paging Dr. Barnes,” the voice crackled over the intercom. “Stark Enterprises has a… situation. You’ve been requested to assist the Avengers immediately. Pack your things.”

You groaned softly. Tony Stark always had a flair for dramatics.

Meeting the Avengers

You spotted them the moment they entered the ER. Steve Rogers led the group, all commanding presence and tightly-wound charm. Behind him was Sam Wilson, cracking a grin at something Steve said. But it was the third man—the one with long, dark hair and intense blue eyes—that stopped you in your tracks.

You knew him. Or you thought you did.

You'd only remembered seeing his face on the news, plastered beside headlines of destruction and redemption. But here, in person, the sight of him struck a chord. Something inside you stirred. The name was on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came to you except a strange feeling in your chest: part longing, part ache.

“Dr. Barnes?” Steve’s voice broke through the haze, his hand extended for a handshake. “I’m Captain Steve Rogers. Tony asked us to escort you to the Tower.”

“Of course,” you said, plastering on a professional smile, though your gaze flickered back to the man Steve hadn’t introduced. He stood stiffly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes stayed glued to you, like he was memorizing every detail.

“And you are?” you asked, directing the question to him.

“James,” he said softly. Then, louder: “Bucky Barnes.”

You froze. Your breath hitched as the dog tags hidden beneath your scrub top suddenly felt unbearably heavy.

James Barnes. My James?

A Familiar Stranger

The ride to Avengers Tower was uneventful, though Bucky’s presence loomed in the confined space of the Quinjet. He sat across from you, his gloved hands gripping the edge of his seat. Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you before quickly looking away.

When you arrived, Tony wasted no time giving you a tour of the medbay, but your attention kept drifting back to the Winter Soldier. He hovered at the edge of your vision like a shadow. Something about him felt… familiar.

Bucky’s Plan

Bucky clenched his fists to hide their trembling.

She didn't remember him.

When Steve had first read Dr. Barnes' profile aloud the name had nearly floored Bucky. Seventy years and a broken mind hadn't dulled his memory of her: his wife. Bucky’s memories of you were sharp, even after decades of Hydra’s brainwashing. The night he’d met you—the base nurse who’d patched up his wounds with a quick wit and an even quicker smile—was etched into his soul. Marrying you, even in the chaos of wartime, had been the best decision of his life.

And yet, when he saw you today, you looked right through him, now you didn’t remember him.

The thought was unbearable. But Bucky had a plan. If you didn’t remember him, then he’d make sure you noticed him now.

Operation: Get Her Attention

Day One: The Phantom Bruise

Bucky sauntered into the medbay with a practiced limp. “Hey, Doc, think I twisted something.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I watched you spar earlier. You didn’t limp then.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into an almost-boyish grin. “Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes but motioned for him to sit. As you examined him, your hand brushing his leg, he couldn’t help but smirk. He caught your hand lingering on the dog tags peeking out of your shirt before you tucked them away.

Day Three: The Paper Cut Incident

“What is it this time?” you asked, folding your arms as Bucky entered the medbay again.

He held up his finger, a comically tiny paper cut visible. “Could be infected,” he said solemnly.

You sighed but grabbed some antiseptic anyway. “You’re worse than the interns.”

His smirk only grew. “I like the personal touch.”

Day Five: The Classic “Accident”

During training, Bucky deliberately let himself take a tumble—hard enough to make Steve wince.

You appeared a few minutes later, muttering under your breath about reckless super soldiers. “Did you do this on purpose?” you asked as you examined his bruised ribs.

“Would I do that?” he asked, his voice teasing.

“Absolutely.”

The Dog Tags

One day, you caught him staring at you in the gym, his focus unwavering. You were sparring with Natasha, and though you didn’t have the same bulk as Bucky or Steve, your strength and agility had Natasha on the defensive.

When you landed a sharp jab, your dog tags swung free of your shirt. You saw Bucky’s eyes narrow as they caught the light.

After the match, he approached you, his expression unreadable. “You always wear those?”

“Always.” You tucked them back into your shirt, your voice soft. “They mean something.”

“To you or to him?” His voice was almost bitter.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” He turned and walked away before you could press further.

The Gala

Tony’s party was as over-the-top as expected. You didn’t often dress up, but tonight you’d chosen a sleek black gown with a high slit that revealed just a hint of leg. The dog tags hung openly around your neck, their weight grounding you.

You spotted Bucky across the room, leaning against the bar in a dark suit. He wasn’t looking at you; he was staring.

“Careful,” Natasha teased, nudging him as she joined him at the bar. “You’ll scare her off if you keep looking at her like that.”

“She’s wearing them,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Natasha’s sharp eyes narrowed. “Dog tags? Thought so. What’s the story there, Barnes?”

“Long one.”

Natasha smirked. “You should tell her.”

You caught his eye, and this time, you didn’t look away. Slowly, you walked across the room, your dress swaying with every step. When you reached him, you tilted your head.

“Care to dance?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Always.”

As you danced, your hand slipped to your wrist, brushing the tattoo.

“I remember,” you whispered.

His breath hitched. “You… do?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Took me long enough, huh?”

The Morning After

The smell of coffee led you to the kitchen, wearing nothing but Bucky’s shirt and your wedding band shining proudly on your finger. Your hair was a mess, your makeup smudged, and the dog tags were finally out in the open.

Natasha was the first to notice, her smirk widening as Bucky walked in behind you.

“Well,” she drawled, “looks like the happy couple had a good night.”

Steve coughed awkwardly into his hand. Sam burst into laughter.

Bucky blushed furiously and buried his face in his hands, but you just grinned, leaning into his side. For the first time in decades, everything felt right, and this time he wasn't letting go.

[hotvintagepoll]

Edward Everett Horton (Holiday, Top Hat, Arsenic and Old Lace)—Edward Everett Horton was a character actor who appeared in over 100 films between 1923 and 1971 who excelled at playing nervous, tightly-wound characters encountering mishaps or otherwise out of the element. You only have to watch his world-famous double take to see why people kept hiring him as the nervous best friend of the main character, a put-upon suitor to a leading lady, or the person in charge of making sure the show was a big success. A 1940 article in Time Magazine stated that “In all his contracts, Horton includes an unwritten clause that he shall not be compelled to play a married man, kiss a woman, have any children.” This does not reflect the roles Horton actually played, either before or after 1940, but it does sum up his vibe pretty well, his vibe being “gay and anxious.” It’s a wonder he’s not already tumblr’s favorite character actor! In another article about a Broadway run of Springtime for Henry (a show that Horton toured around the country, to the tune of more than 3,000 performances in his lifetime) he’s described as having a “persimmon face, crow beak nose and scissor lips” which feels pretty “scrungly” even if, at six foot two inches, Horton doesn’t really fit the definition of “little.” He steals just about every scene he’s in, thanks to his excellent expressions and impeccable comedic timing, managing to be funny and believable. Or as Horton himself said “The reason people think I’m funny is because I remind them of someone they know. Somebody who probably annoys them considerably, but for whom they really have an affection”.

Lotte Lenya (From Russia With Love)—She's a Russian assassin who tries to kill James Bond with her shoe! What a legend! And is immortalized in the song Mac the Knife.

This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Edward Everett Horton:

He was just perpetually anxious, and being around Fred Astaire trying to woo Ginger Rogers, or whatever Cary Grant was doing would make you anxious. I just feel delighted every time he graces my screen

i know he's already in but he's the funniest character actor who ever existed so have some additional propaganda for the most perpetually startled and put-upon and woe-betide-me crumpled napkin of a man to ever sigh beleagueredly on the silver screen. master of the double take, the triple take, maybe even the quadruple take. he's in SO many movies and he bumbles and scrungles his way exquisitely about all of them with the deft precision of his comic timing and the minute flicker of every facial expression. he's the odd little man i'm always happiest to see pop up anywhere. tends to play a charmingly ineffectual fussy bachelor in need of a tums who things are always happening to.

Lotte Lenya:

[lokisgoodgirl]

Public Relations [Avenger!Loki x Fem. Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my Masterlist is here Summary: A carefully planned PR appearance goes awry. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Asshole Loki! returns. Language. Smuttish. (w/c 2.1k) A/N: This is the Hostile F*cks Collection epilogue. I just really really wanted this. 🤣

The heat from the set lights was making you sweat. A live studio audience sat forward in their seats, hanging onto your every word. Onto Loki’s every word. So far he had been very well behaved, following Rogers detailed instructions to the letter. Polite. Friendly. Charming. Restrained. He had stuck to the script religiously. And that was what you were worried about.

“I gotta say when the press release came out it wasn’t a huge surprise – we all saw the infamous red carpet moment at Cannes huh?!” The man across his desk smarmed relentlessly with teeth an unnatural shade of white against his deep tan. He hadn't wasted time before referencing the time Loki had squeezed your ass in full view of a wall of paparazzi a few months prior. Your eyes darted to the god lounging beside you, totally at ease. He ran a hand though his hair, a soft smile and a chuckle playing feigned embarrassment to perfection. “You guys have such great chemistry - such a connection.” the sanctimonious asshat crooned, swivelling towards the audience who cheered in approval. News of your relationship had been officially announced earlier in the week – and it was time for the PR tour. The man swung back to face you both. “So tell me, has it always been that way?” The aching smile stretched on your face widened as you began to nod. “-Hardly.” Loki cut in. “She despised me. Couldn’t stand me. Always had a certain look in her eye like she wanted to hit me with a blunt object. It was quite hilarious.” You snapped towards the god, practised smile faltering as you threw him a death glare. “Oh, look! There it is now.” he quipped, relaxing back against the red armchair with fingertips crested together. Your hand flew to Loki’s knee amid a sea of giggles at your expense, digging in as you chuckled through gritted teeth. “He’s exaggerating.” you smiled. “Ohhh...I don’t think so.” the host drawled through a shit-eating grin, as a montage began to play on the screen to his side. Your stomach churned, watching a selection of newsreels and phone recordings from the early days of your dalliances. Endless clips of you rolling your eyes in Loki’s direction, your stare narrowed behind him as he charmed the press– and one particular damning shot of you staring shamelessly at his ass. The host cocked an eyebrow as you squirmed. Loki’s fingers intertwined with yours, lifting your death grip from his knee. He raised the back of your hand to his lips with a calculated kiss, shooting you a wink before lowering it back to his thigh. The crowd clapped and cooed. “It’s alright, darling Agent. We’re among friends. Isn’t that right?” The crowd clapped again, the cheers louder. God, he was insufferable when he was like this.

You cleared your throat, lowering your lashes and looking back at the host with devilish intent. Two could play at this game. “He made it his mission to be the biggest arsehole on the face of the planet.” you purred.

“-on most planets, actually. It’s a point of pride.” Loki interjected. The audience laughed. You shook your head with a puff. “No it was targeted” you snipped, not letting your gaze break from the host’s wide eyes as Loki huffed theatrically behind you. “He had all these...outfits. And the things he would say and the games, god it drove me mad.” “-yes, mad.” Loki smarmed playfully, placing his hands behind his head as he widened his legs against the arms of the chair. “Mad with lust, perhaps.” Your eyes flickered briefly to the audience, an elevated sea of faces turned in covert whispers and giggles to their companions. Desire was thick in the room, sexual energy pulsating in electric waves. A shared erotic experience that hung on Loki’s every movement. On his every syllable. “Tell us more about these outfits.” You looked back to the host with a coy smile. It was clear Loki was feigning some level of shyness by the coquettish squeaks rising from the crowd. Crossing your legs, you turned your body towards the desk. “Oh, well, it all started with a wetsuit…” A mass of voices ooo’ed. The collective mental imagery may as well have been projected on the wall. “A particularly slutty caftan, catholic priest vestments I’m sorry to say...and some extremely tight fencing pants among others.” you said, leaning your chin against your palm. “What in the world are fencing pants?” the interviewer gasped, before flashing the nearest camera a knowing grin. Christ, he was really laying it on thick. His eyebrows wriggled suggestively to the lens, as Loki straightened. The screaming was sudden and entirely predictable. You didn’t even have to look to know that your lover’s body was sizzling with seidr, green sparks rolling down his perfect form to reveal the aforementioned fencing pants. “Well heckers, as our mutual friend Captain Rogers would say.” The host fanned his face as he spoke while the audience lost their minds. And honestly, you couldn't blame them. With reluctance, you turned to face your lover, his thighs still sprawled wide in the chair. A long finger grazed his bottom lip, the rest curled covering a smile as he shot you a sultry wink. A pair of black fencing pants clung to his bulging muscles beneath the set lights, every dent and ripple highlighted in obscene definition. Loki’s thighs squeezed. God, they were so thick and delicious and perfect...it was all you could not to drool alongside the audience. He had forgone a shirt beneath the ensemble on this occasion, because of course he had. Thick straps were set tight like liquorice against luminously fair skin. He was wearing the socks though, you noticed. He loved those slutty socks. Chiselled abs tightened as he straightened again, rolling his shoulders back while the crowd continued to bay. This might not have been quite the PR event Rogers had in mind but you had to give it to Loki, he knew his fans. “For posterity, they are a type of training attire for the sword arts which I have grown rather fond of in your realm.” Loki drawled, sweeping his hair to expose that devastating profile to the onlookers. “Simultaneously form fitting and with enough elasticity to accommodate lunges and...other things.” He looked to you with an unmistakeable hunger which made your stomach flip. The host cleared his throat, a disappointed hum from the audience vibrating as Loki’s magic shimmered, transforming him back into his Saville Row suit. “Well frankly I can see why she never stood a chance.” the man behind the desk muttered slyly. You could feel your cheeks heating again.

“I will admit it was rather difficult to have her confess her inevitable feelings for me-” “Excuse me, I was difficult?” you gasped. “Well...yes.” Loki laughed, bringing a foot to rest on his knee. “You’re the one that won’t use my actual name in public.” you scoffed. The host leant forward, relishing the brewing tiff. “Ah, I was going to ask about that – it’s always ‘Agent’ this and ‘Agent’ that, what gives Mr Laufeyson?” You rolled your eyes, as Loki cast a coy glance in your direction. “Well to be frank...I do it to annoy her.” he admitted, a smile making his dimples flash. You nodded in confirmation towards the grinning audience. “But if she’s honest with herself, she loves it.” Loki inspected his nails before impaling you with another stare that made your breath hitch. “She finds it arousing. Don’t you...Agent?” he smirked. You brought your hands up in surrender as the crowd cheered, loving every toe-curling second of this ridiculous late-night shitstorm. “I think what Loki is trying to say, is that we’re like any other couple, really-” “-we’re not.” Loki interjected with an incredulous snort. “-and we have our...disagreements and quirks and suchlike, but you know...we love each other so -it works.” you continued un-phased, smiling sweetly to the host. His smug, botoxed grin made you want to punch him in the face. Landing this interview might even get him an Emmy. He tilted his head, a set of troubling sincerity descending on his features. “I have to ask though, what’s it like knowing that your relationship has a shelf life. Not to be indelicate but there’s an elephant in the room here with the god-normie lifespan situation.” You sucked your lips between your teeth, biting back the words that Steve would most definitely have an issue with – even past the watershed. The gentle sound of Loki’s mischievous laughter cut through the red haze swirling behind your eyes. You could tell he was shaking his head in the way that only he did when he knew he had the upper hand. You weren't sure which was worse. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, it is rather a hard concept to get your naïve mind around – but there is a simple solution.” he said. You suddenly felt Loki’s fingers slide around your waist, the firm pressure of the tips digging into your side centring you while you took a breath. “Oh?” the host goaded. “Care to share this simple solution?” There was silence from the audience as they hung on Loki’s imminent explanation. You looked away from the fool holding the cards to your infuriating lover, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he gazed into your eyes. As though you were the only people in existence. “She could marry me.” The crowd screamed. You blinked several times as the room turned to a ball of white noise. Loki's longing stare broke, snapping towards the audience with a dazzling smile. He patted down the enthusiasm with one ceremonial hand.

“In the event of such a union on Asgard and by tradition, my beloved Agent here would become a demi-goddess in her own right, with the life-span to match.” he grinned towards the host, while you continued to stare at him open-mouthed. “I take it from the look on her face that this is new information for her?” the host laughed. Loki hummed mysteriously, reclining back against the seat. “Yes, well – whenever I try to convince her of such a thing– we never quite make it as far as the details. If you catch my drift.”

“You’ve asked before? And she’s turned you down?” The interviewer gasped at the implication of the world’s most eligible figure being knocked back. Your heart thundered. “Now hold on-” you spluttered, switching between the men trying to outdo each other in being the most insufferable. “First off...he’s the god of mischief and it’s very difficult to take anything he says seriously and second-” “-My darling here would doubtless become the goddess of overthinking and inciting exasperation.” Loki chuckled, patting your leg. You grimaced, a wordless warning passing from your eyes to his. Loki cleared his throat, sensing danger. “But that is a conversation for another time.”

The next five minutes passed in an inane blur of scripted pleasantries. By the time you reached the green room, your fury had reached boiling point. “What the fuck was that, Loki?” you hissed, trying to keep your voice down. The crowd was still clapping while they tried to clear the set for the next guests. Even Rogers couldn’t argue with the buzz this would generate. Loki meandered over to the drinks trolley, inspecting a bottle of scotch. “You know very well what I want, my love. It seemed like the perfect time to let me finish the sentence without one of your well-timed sexual ambushes.” he purred, raising an eyebrow. Without another word, you strode over; pulling him into a hungry kiss. It was a messy clash of teeth and tongue, simmering anger and desire over-spilling in breathy moans as you pushed him back against the rattling drinks trolley. Loki grunted, hoisting your legs possessively around his hips one after another. He manoeuvring you easily against the opposing wall, colliding against the forest green plaster with a soft thump. The root of his solid cock pressed furiously against your stomach, stretching achingly against the trousers. “Marry me.” he growled, dark embers of his voice seeping into the crevices of your soul like smoke. His chin was tilted down, only a sliver of iris visible at the edge of his pupils beneath a fan of dark lashes. Loki’s jawline was set, bladed cheekbones taut as the muscle in his cheek twitched. The tell of all-consuming desire that he held only for you. “Why? So you can irritate me for all eternity?” you panted, feeling Loki’s fingers pull at the band of your flimsy underwear. He scoffed before you heard a rip. “Hardly eternity darling. Only several millennia or so.” You pulled his tie towards you in a fist, the aching pressure of his kiss filling you with everything you ever needed. Would any amount of time be enough? You weren't sure. His fingertips ran over your temples, carding through your hair with fervent urgency as you melted into him. The two of you broke apart with a gasp. Loki’s forehead pressed to yours, the dark curls hanging by your cheeks buffeted by shallow breaths. One of his palms spread against the wall behind you, fingers curling down the plaster. “Marry me.” he repeated solemnly. The words trembled with a rare sincerity.

“I hate you, Loki Laufeyson.” you murmured, grazing the loaded words lovingly against his chin. You sucked his bottom lip between your teeth, a hiss of desire from his throat making you buck against his hips. “I love you too...Agent.” he purred darkly, sealing your unspoken answer with a kiss.

A/N: And that's it! It it! Thank you SO MUCH for chumming me on this lil journey, you're amazing 💖 Tags @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @coldnique @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @infinitystoner @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @psychospore @littlespaceyelf

[themculibrary]

Dark Fics Masterlist

Avengers: Dark and Twisted (ao3) - IBegToDreamAndDiffer loki/tony M, 4k

Summary: The Avengers took their time figuring out that Tony wasn’t the hero they all thought he was. Not that Tony cares; this is where the real fun begins.

beware the piggy (ao3) - winter_angst jack/brock E, 5k

Summary: Brock, an addict, has been contacted about an extreme BDSM scene that pays two grand. With a drug habit, how can he refuse? He quickly learns he made a deadly choice.

Bucky Snaps (ao3) - romanrogers steve/bucky E, 14k

Summary: Bucky’s spine rippled underneath his skin, elongating, with an orchestra of cracking bones singing in the dim light, acting as Steve’s only anchor to reality. He watches in paralytic horror as Bucky groans and pounds his fist on the floor again, shattering the blood slick tile.

The faint, flickering lights overhead cast long shadows across the room, making everything that much more eerie. Steve’s legs were numb with shock, not responding to his attempts to move.

From his place on the floor, Steve could see Bucky’s sharp, lengthened canines glinting with every pained curl of his upper lip. Foreboding, an unintentional warning. An innate, primal instinct from within him screamed to run. Make yourself small and run. The guy in front of you is a predator.

Steve never was one to walk away from something that was in his best interest. Even though he most definitely should.

Coming Up Roses (ao3) - NobodysBloodyPrincess steve/tony M, 41k

Summary: Those with a death wish referred to the High Commander’s infatuation with the late Tony Stark as an ‘obsession.’ They were wrong. It had to be more than that, after all there was no word for what the High Commander was about do in the name of making things right.

No one gets a redo of life… no one except High Commander Rogers that is. Everything is coming up Roses and Sunshine for him. After all, he has a dream and it’s going to come true.

Don’t Look Down (ao3) - NamelesslyNightlock loki/tony M, 256k

Summary: When forced to decide between the lives of Tony Stark and Iron Man, Steve Rogers chose wrong.

Tony is left to deal with the consequences, but it’s not like he’s helpless, and he certainly isn’t alone.

Feral Alpha Hunter (ao3) - roe87 steve/bucky E, 13k

Summary: Steve is an undocumented alpha, living on the run in the big city.

Bucky is a sniper who hunts down feral alphas.

When Steve is captured, his choices become very limited. Bucky offers Steve a job as his new attack dog. Steve takes it, because his choices are either work with Bucky or remain imprisoned.

All Steve needs to do is to bide his time and win the omega’s trust, then he plans to break free and escape.

(A very dark and dubious Neon Noir style au!)

I could love you with my eyes closed (kiss you with a blindfold) (ao3) - pandafish steve/bucky E, 123k

Summary: Nothing really matters to Bucky, after he comes back from his last tour in a pointless war. When another veteran, Billy Russo, offers him a work that turns out not to be as legal as one might think, Bucky doesn’t care. There’s only one single thing that he does care about these days – and that is the fact that ever since he saw Steve Rogers across a crowded room, everything changed. And Steve might not know who he is, but Bucky still stalks him with the passion of a man in love and he knows that one day, that tiny little blond will be his.

OR: Bucky is a stalker and Steve just wants to be loved right

Living on Your Breath (ao3) - Sineala steve/tony E, 110k

Summary: The Avengers have faced Onslaught and come home. The team has assembled again. And Steve is finally together with Tony. They’re in love. Everything is perfect. But this happiness is all too brief, as Tony is kidnapped by forces unknown. Steve rushes off to rescue Tony, only to find that Tony has been brainwashed and turned against him. Now Steve, captured and tortured by the man he loves, must sacrifice everything he has to stop Tony from becoming a monster. Their relationship will never be the same again… if they both get out of here alive.

Making Him Mine (ao3) - Crematosis bucky/steve/tony E, 10k

Summary: Tony thought Steve would rescue him when Bucky goes into rut and is determined to make him his mate.

Unfortunately, nobody’s there to rescue him from Steve.

Oh Can’t You See, You Belong To Me (ao3) - deadto27 steve/bucky E, 79k

Summary: Bucky Barnes has recently moved to New York and things are looking up. He’s got a great new job working for Tony Stark, he has a nice apartment, and his boyfriend Peter is fun. He just needs some friends. Unfortunately Steve Rogers doesn’t seem to want to be justfriends.

—–

The train jerked suddenly and Bucky accidentally bumped into a broad chest. He looked up from where he’d been looking at the floor, to find its owner, a tall blond man, who’d put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder to steady him.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled. The dude just smiled and let go of him. Bucky went back to looking at his own feet.

Protect, Defend, Avenge (ao3) - laireshi steve/tony T, 30k

Summary: Steve Rogers has two goals: to bring HYDRA back to its former glory, and, more importantly, to keep Tony Stark safe, happy, and by Steve’s side.

Stay With Me (ao3) - sara_holmes steve/tony M, 67k

Summary: Where Steve doesn’t quite die, ends up stranded in the multiverse and would quite like to know how the hell so many versions of himself ended up sleeping with Tony Stark. Well, that’s going to make things a tad awkward when he gets home.

Stranger and the Boy With the Red Hoodie (ao3) - RevengeWitch T, 33k

Summary: Peter falls asleep in a park while waiting for Ned to arrive and meets a man named Tony Stark, who seems harmless enough. Coincidence after coincidence they gradually start to form a friendship.

While Peter has only good intentions in his mind, Tony Stark only dreams of having one thing.

And when obstacles arise, he doesn’t care about who gets hurt as long as he can reach Peter.

Swan Song (ao3) - Laily T, 21k

Summary: Loki has long doubted his place in Asgard, always playing second fiddle to Thor. When an old enemy of the Realm resurfaces under the pretence of diplomacy and threatens to destroy their family, the brothers find their bond tested beyond their wildest imagination.

A Snow Queen AU.

Terms & Conditions (ao3) - Penned bucky/tony M, 4k

Summary: Tony Stark is desperate and trusts too easily. Bucky Barnes takes advantage of that.

A mob AU with no powers, featuring a very dark, very off-kilter Bucky.

The Villian Of Your Story (ao3) - Exiti_Anima G, 4k

Summary: Tony has heard left and right that he was a monster, he was a villian to the world. He can’t make up for his mistakes or his past, he just has to grovel at the Avengers feet in hopes of pleasing them. Civil War happens, and it’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

They wanted him to be the villain of their story?

Fine, he’ll ruin their whole life.

[sweet-demiboi]

Roger Taylor x Male!Reader

Warnings: smut, obviously, light chocking, Top!Roger, Bottom!M!Reader, not really a dom/sub dynamic, you get a cramp and you have to take a break, missionary/doggy position, trans dudes/poc can read this Ig (the word dick isn't really specified and only used once for M!Reader, so I think you could imagine it as tdick)

Summary: The first time you have sex after Roger is back from a tour - with a little accident.

No Fem!Readers, please!

"Mhh, Rog~", you moaned.

Roger had been on tour, so you hadn't seen each other for weeks, the only thing you could use for a bit of contact were telephones. Usually though, you were in different time zones which made it hard for both of you to talk to the other.

The reunion after such a long period of time was always nice though, falling in each other's arms, laughing and telling stories with gleaming eyes. The first kiss was also always just as amazing. You loved Roger's soft lips all the time, but they seemed to feel even better when you hadn't kissed him for long.

And it had become a kind of tradition for you to immediately get each other out of their clothes when you set foot in your shared apartment. You both absolutely loved the get-back-together-sex. It was rough from all the emotions and lust, you both had to keep at bay for weeks.

In those moments you felt an intense connection, time seemed to slow down, the world was focused on you, and your eyes always locked.

In those moments with rough hands feeling each other up, hickeys sucked into skin, and rough fucking, there also always were soft, slow kisses, when Roger was fully inside you for the first time. There was his breath out, closing his eyes, just being at peace because he was finally able to feel you again.

Then he would smile at you, lean down, cradle one hand at your neck, and kiss your lips ever so softly. In his eyes, you deserved soft touches from him and he loved providing you with such.

Then he would start to move, making you moan and claw at his back. Often times you would cry some tears of pleasure, which deepened Roger's want.

His favorite position in this situation was you on your back, under him, and your legs spread as widely as they could go, letting him see and feel up your thighs. You being sprawled out under him was one of his favorite sights. He was able to touch you anywhere he wanted, see every emotion flickering over your face, hear every moan, grunt, or cry come out of your mouth, and watch your chest heaving with deep breaths.

He loved to see the man of his dreams like this. His perfect boyfriend. In one moment he would caress your cheek and in the next wrap his hand around your neck, making you groan.

Right in this moment, he was.

"You like that, baby?", a rhethorical question. Your eyes, hands on his wrist and glistening chest were telling him everything, already.

"Fuck, yeah", you breathed out "I missed you so much" He chuckled at that "Missed you too, baby" He squeezed your neck, making you moan lightly. He bit his lip at that "You look even better with my hand wrapped around your neck like that"

You chuckled lightly, out of breath, and searched for his eyes "I think so too" Next, you let yourself get lost in pleasure, closing your eyes allowed you to feel the contact even more intense. Him, being inside you, pulling out and pushing in, hitting your sweet spot dead on with every thrust of his hips.

His one hand wrapped around your throat, not making it particularily harder to breathe, just gripping it, which you absolutely loved.

Your hands wandered to his hips, feeling the hot skin under your fingertips as well as the motion he was creating. You could feel his muscles move, letting your hands direct him a little, gripping down on him.

This, paired with your closed eyes and breathing going faster told Roger that you were close. He smirked at that and only grazed his fingers over your sex, making you shudder. He started to massage your dick to get you over the edge and right before you were about to come, there was a pain in your thigh.

"Ah, fuck", you moaned in pain "Red, fuck, Roger, pull out" Your eyes snapped open, when your boyfriend immediately pulled out of you after hearing your safeword. You closed your legs, hand coming up over the cramped muscle in reflex. You sat up with a pained expression on your face.

"(Y/N), is everything okay?", Roger's hand was already on your shoulder, trying to provide some sort of comfort. His eyes were nervously flickering over your body, trying to find the reason of your pain "Did I hurt you? Was I being too rough?"

"No", you answered through clenched teeth "It's a cramp" - "Ah, shit, where?" - "Thigh" His hand was over yours in not even a second, pressing down on the aching muscle, until the pain left your body.

"You okay?", he asked, blue eyes looking at you worriedly "No", you cried out "I was just about to come" Roger laughed relieved "I know, love, I'm sorry for you. How about we have a short break and switch position?"

"Yeah", you replied, still a little pissed at your body for ruining your chance at an orgasm.

"That wasn't your fault", your boyfriend reassured you, giving you a kiss on top of your head, and cradling your cheek "Okay?"

"Yes, I know that", you half-smiled at him "It's just annoying when that happens. Especially when you're fucking me this good"

That made Roger grin cockily "We can get back at that" - "Hoped so" Your break was filled with making out, and touching each other, giving you butterflies. It always did, when Roger's tongue in your mouth was involved.

You decided on doggy for your next position, after you had confirmed that your thigh was okay again.

You pressed your cheek against the matraze, sticking out your ass, and arching your back. You knew that Roger loved that. It was confirmed to you after you heard a muttered "Fuck" from your boyfriend. The next thing you felt was him inside you again, pounding you roughly.

This time, you both were able to come. Much quicker than usual, due to the almost-orgasms from before.

After cleaning up, you found yourself laying on Roger's chest, his arms slung around you. "I love you so much, baby", you whispered "I love you too" Roger gave you a soft kiss on the forehead and started to caress your back until you fell asleep.

You were so glad he finally was back. You had missed cuddling like this.

[stuckybingo]

Stucky Bingo Round-Up #23 (April 21st - May 11th)

Don’t forget to fill out the submission form to be a part of the round-ups and to get your bingo badges!

Easter Party by Buckys-Wintersoldier Square filled: O1 - Slow Dancing Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Farmer Bucky, fluff, Easter party, slow dancing Summary: Steve offers his crush — James Buchanan Barnes — to help with the decoration for the Easter party. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

something flickering in the night by aspen | blackwood4stucky Square filled: O1 - vision Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: alternate universe, bucky barnes centric Summary: Go back to where you came from, sinner. Or die. — Bucky doesn’t understand why he’s being called a sinner, certain things just aren’t his fault. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Summertime Dream by Astaraiche Square filled: B3 - Holiday Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: MerMay, Mermaid Steve, Actor Bucky Barnes, Moodboard Summary: Bucky, on a well-earned summer holiday after a whirlwind year of filming and press tours, settles into a summertime dream of sun, water, and a breezy romance with the man who owns and operates the cute little B&B that Bucky rented a room at for the whole summer. Format: Art

The prince's bride by Kalee60 Square filled: N3 - Free Space Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Alternate universe - pirates, princess bride inspired, fluff and humour, light angst, memory loss Summary: As SHIELD and Hydra teeter on the edge of a faction war, a brainwashed Soldier, the Winter Prince is an unwitting pawn in a larger game and is forced into a betrothal to one Alexander Pierce. Kidnapped by mercenaries, then rescued by a pirate who is extremely familiar, the Winter Prince starts to regain his memories. In the course of his adventure’s, he’ll meet Brock - a master tactician who will do anything to get ahead in life; Hulk - a gentle giant; Natasha - the Russian who thirsts for revenge; and Gravik - the skrull mastermind behind it all. Foiling all their plans and jumping into their stories is Steve Rogers, the Soldier's one true love and a very good friend of a very dangerous pirate. Or the Princess Bride AU that literally no one wanted except me… (and maybe one other person…) Format: Part of a multichapter fic

A Filler Chapter by Astaraiche Square filled: O3 - AU: A/B/O Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: holiday fluff, alpha buck, omega steve, mating cycles/in heat Summary: Steve, Bucky, and Sasha prepare for the Christmas season. Steve and Bucky's relationship reaches an important milestone. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Thrill of the Open Road by Astaraiche Square filled: I3 - Adrenaline Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Modern Bucky Barnes, Retired Steve Rogers, Road Trip, Canon Divergance Summary: Steve, newly retired Avenger, is not sure what to do next and is feeling restless with all this spare time he suddenly has on his hands. Format: Art

[goldendiie]

Fillmores dad tries contacting Sarges family to warn them about their sons sickness

idk if i'll ever actually finish this, but here's a quick bit of nonsense that i wrote about it:

At forty-nine years old, Colonel Thomas Jones thought of himself as successful. He was married by the time he was twenty, a war hero by twenty-three, and the father of two wonderful boys by twenty-five. He worked in a mechanic shop, and he was content to grow old in the same town he had grown up in.

For the record, his sons were successful, too. His eldest, Wade, was a lineman in the next town over. He made good money, had a gorgeous wife and a little baby girl named Jolene. His youngest, Willie, had been a rather successful army man, served two tours in Vietnam; now, he apparently owned a surplus store somewhere in rural Arizona. Thomas Jones had yet to get out there, but he was proud, nonetheless. His boys had turned out to be fine young men.

Thomas thought idly about it—come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Willie in the better part of three or four years. Though, it ought to be a busy life, running a business; work always came first, anyways. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to fly him out for the holidays, if he had the time. After all, Willie probably wanted to meet Wade’s little girl. Thomas smiled at the thought: his family all together again, and his little granddaughter too. It would be nice to crack open a beer with his sons, and talk sports or whatever else.

“Tom,” His wife, Beth, said; she stuck her head into the living room, all blonde hair and dark eyes. “There’s a man at the door for you.”

“Who is it?” Thomas asked, indifferent. He looked back to the television—he had been idly watching the Sunday afternoon football game.

“I don’t know,” Beth said, disappearing again. “He just said he needs to speak with you urgently.”

Thomas rose from his seat and switched off the television, frowning at the score. He stretched quietly, snagging his beer from the end table as he made for the front door.

He did not know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what he found: there was an expensive black car in his lot, and a rather expensive man on his doorstep. He was extremely tall with graying-brown hair, wearing a crisp suit and horn-rimmed glasses; nearly like the politicians he’d see on television.

“I’m looking for Thomas Jones,” the man said, smoothly.

“That would be me,” Thomas replied, watching the man warily. “Do I know you, sir?”

“Not yet.” The man extended his hand, of which was adorned with an expensive watch. “Roger Callahan.”

“Pleasure,” Thomas said flatly. “What, exactly, do you want, Mr. Callahan?”

Roger Callahan smiled kindly; but, something strange flickered in his eyes, as though he were somehow malicious. “May I come inside?” he asked.

Thomas stared back at him, wishing that he could simply say no. Yet, he obliged, stepping aside. “Sure thing.”

They found themselves at the kitchen table. Thomas watched his wife hover around the stove, fixing a pot of coffee; she stole a wary glance at him, eyebrows raised. Roger Callahan looked almost comical: tall, lanky, and far too rich to be sitting in the kitchen of a lowly mechanic.

He began, “Mr. Jones—

“Colonel,” Thomas corrected.

“Right.” Callahan bared his teeth in something of a grin. “Colonel Jones. We have much to discuss.”

Thomas crossed his arms, disliking the man’s elusiveness. “About?”

“Your son,” Callahan said grimly. “Our sons, actually.”

Confused, Thomas raised his eyebrows. He took a swig from his beer, leaning forward to lean on the kitchen table. “I’m listening.”

In a series of well-articulated and rather upsetting sentences, Callahan told him a story that Thomas Jones found quite unbelievable. His son Willie had, apparently, not left the military by choice: actually, he had been dishonorably discharged under some backwater code that Thomas had never heard of. Callahan produced the discharge papers, sliding them across the table.

“The code is in place for a reason. As a military man yourself, I think you’d understand that,” Callahan said smoothly. “It bars homosexuals from participating in military service—and, removes those in violation of this code from their position.”

Incredulous, Thomas slid the papers back to him. “Are you implying that my son is a homosexual?”

“I’m not implying it,” Callahan replied, “I’m stating it as a fact.”

He continued, claiming that Willie and Callahan’s own son had been seeing one another romantically for the better part of two years. “I had no idea,” Callahan said, “I was actually paying your boy to keep tabs on my son, but…” He huffed, irritated, “Apparently he was taking the money and lying through his teeth about what was actually happening.”

“You must have the wrong family,” Beth cut in from beside the stove, annoyed. “Willie is a good kid. Always went to church, never acted out… This doesn’t sound like him, at all.”

“He’s been seeing my son consistently for two years, Thomas,” Callahan said, dismissively, “My son is a good-for-nothing peacenik with no future. I suppose it’s had an effect on your boy.”

“Why should we believe you?” Thomas asked. “I don’t trust anyone who calls their kid good-for-nothing."

“The discharge papers speak for themselves,” Callahan replied, “I’d think that you’d agree with the codes more than anyone else, Colonel.”

Thomas shook his head, scoffing. “Mr. Callahan, I think it’s time you got the hell off of my property.”

“Colonel Jones, you need to accept that—”

“Accept what?” Thomas snapped, rising from his seat, “That some asshole is trying to slander my son?”

“Tom,” Beth said warningly, “Back off.”

Thomas dropped back into his seat. Callahan stared back at him, expression infuriatingly even.

“I just figured that you’d want to know,” Callahan said lowly. He stood from his seat, pulling a business card from his pocket. “I’ll be going, now. Call this telephone number if you need to reach me.”

With that, he left out the way he came, shutting the front door quietly behind him.

Thomas deflated, resting his head into his hands. His wife appeared behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Do you believe him?” Thomas asked lowly.

“I don’t know,” Beth replied. “I don’t want to believe him.”

“Mm.”

Thomas was anxious for the rest of the day. He didn’t exactly know what to think: the discharge was a plain fact, but he wished to believe that the rest of Callahan’s story was untrue. In the case that it was, however… The only option he really had was to try and get help for it. Certainly, there were institutions that strove to fix illnesses like that?

That evening, he resolved to call Willie out in Arizona to speak to him personally. Beth lingered close by his shoulder at the telephone, evidently hoping to listen in.

[legends-of-time]

The Strength of a High and Noble Hill (Outlander)

Chapter 9: Returning

Masterlist

April 1968

"Brian?"

Brian, now nearly twenty-two, turns from the painting resting on the wall he'd been staring at when he hears his mother's voice. He turns to see his mother and sister standing next to each other with a man standing next to them among the many people who have gathered in this house. The man is tall and pale with short brown hair and a thick beard, but he appears nice and gentile.

"Yes?" He says as he wanders over to them.

"This is Roger Wakefield; the Reverend was his father." Mama introduces. Brian and Roger shake hands and share polite smiles.

"You seem familiar." Brian comments.

"Do I?" Roger asks.

"Maybe it's because you met, when you were small, Brian." Mama explains. "Just before you turned two. We stayed with the Reverend and Mrs Graham, you father and I before we later moved to Boston."

"Ah." Roger acknowledges, turning to Brian with a warmer smile. "And wha' ha' ye been doin' since ye last here, Brian?"

"I'm a journalist. I work for a newspaper."

Ellen scoffs good naturedly. "He's being modest. He works for the Boston Globe. It's largest paper in New England."

"And he's becoming one of their top journalists." Mama adds.

Brian blushes. "Guys..."

"Hey, no need te be modest." Roger protests. "Ye should be proud o' yer accomplishments."

Brian raises an eyebrow. "And what do you do?"

Roger shrugs with a smile. "Weel, I'm a history professor at Oxford."

Brian smirks. "No need to hide that!"

Roger shrugs with a grin. "Wha' drew ye te journalism?"

"Well, I..."

As Brian talks to Roger, Ellen watches him closely before turning to her mother. "This must be the most comfortable and at ease I've ever seen him. Scotland seems to have brought out a different side to him."

Her mother doesn't look at her, her eyes flickering everywhere but her. "Yes, it seems so."

——

Roger, Ellen and Brian stand in the middle of Fort William. Roger had been giving them a tour of the different local sights.

"You know, it's funny how at ease he is with you. It isn't usual as he's always seemed to struggle to connect with others growing up except with me and Mama." Ellen remarks as she watches her brother as he wanders ahead while she and Roger linger behind.

Roger shrugs. "I like 'im. He seems a good person."

"He is." Ellen smiles softly. "Been my and Mama's rock for as long as I can remember. I've really relied on him these couple years after Daddy died."

Up ahead, Brian looks around himself, feeling uneasy. He glances up at a wooden structure that stands in the middle. It looms over Brian ominously causing him to shiver. The grey, overcast skies add to the unnerving atmosphere. He reaches towards it as if to touch it before retreating quickly.

"Brian?" He looks over to see his sister looking at him in concern.

Brian tries to give her a reassuring smile, but it comes out as a grimace. "Sorry, it's just, um, this place is giving me the chills."

Roger nods in agreement. "Wi' good reason. Many Scottish prisoners were flogged here. A lot o' blood was spilled on this ground."

"Let's go." Ellen encourages, looking at Brian in concern.

He realises that he's actually shaking. This confuses Brian, not understanding why this place disturbs him so much.

——

Ellen, Brian and Roger riffle through the late Reverend's things. Trying to find what he had on their parents. Brian's stomach drops when he comes across a newspaper clipping.

"Hey guys, look at this." Brian calls to the other two. They both lean around him to have a look.

""Kidnapped by the Fairies"?" Ellen reads.

"'Claire Randall, wife of noted historian Frank Randall... Holiday in Inverness. Car found. Police thought she was possibly murdered.'" Roger continues to read.

"Well, obviously not. She turned up." Ellen remarks.

"Three years later." Brian points out. "'Mysteriously found wandering, dressed in rags, disoriented, incoherent and carrying a small male child.'" He stops breathing when he reads that. That's not— it can't—

"I think we've found yer "incident."" Roger remarks.

"El, look at the date..." Brian whispers.

"April 1948. I was born in November '48." Ellen murmurs.

"Were ye born early?" Roger asks.

"No, she wasn't, and anyway I was meant to have been born May '46 but it says here Mama suddenly appeared with a small boy in April '48 after being missing for three years." Brian replies.

"Then daddy, daddy's not—" Ellen struggles to say the words.

"He's not our dad." Brian finishes. If this is true, then things are finally making sense.

——

A/N: Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[undertheniall]

THIS HURTS

[nhupdates]

Niall performing Finally Free at Flicker World Tour Rogers (21.07.2018)

[niallersdirtylaundry]

Strutting his stuff (x)

[themculibrary]

Fics With Titles That Start With F Masterlist

Fake (Date) It Til You Make It (ao3) - Blizzard_Fire bruce/clint M, 6k

Summary: ‘Hey Doc,’ Clint said one morning, strolling into the lab, ‘Can you date me?’ Bruce frowned up at him. ‘Why?’ ‘To fuck with Tony, mainly.'

Bruce and Clint start fake-dating to mess with the others. But then it becomes a question of how long they can keep this up, and maybe their “dates” aren’t quite so platonic anymore…

Falling For You (Hook, Line, and Sinker) (ao3) - FestiveFerret steve/tony E, 62k

Summary: After being thawed, Steve's adrift in the 21st century. There's nothing for him here, just the endless cycle of pre-packaged food, pointless training exercises, and long hours at the gym. But when he takes on a new project, it leads him to a new friend - one who might open up all kinds of new doors, new feelings, new experiences. Or might just break his heart.

Fate Will Play Us Out (ao3) - steveandbucky steve/bucky E, 30k

Summary: Bucky has landed himself a job with Stark Industries. He doesn't know yet that the job is actually being the PR manager for the Avengers.

Bucky has also started dating Steve Rogers. He also doesn't know yet that Steve is Captain America.

Bucky's life is about to get a whole lot more exciting.

fed up with hunger (ao3) - frankoceansmoonriver steve/bucky, steve/oc N/R, 10k

Summary: the one where it's 1939 and sometimes Steve thinks that having is worse than wanting.

Figures A and B (ao3) - castiowl steve/bucky M, 7k

Summary: Steve and Bucky are finally together again, but how should they tell the rest of the Avengers? Turns out, they're plenty good at figuring it out themselves.

In which people walk in on make-out sessions, Steve accidentally goes speed-dating, and friends can actually be too accepting.

Finding Home (ao3) - ruffaled rhodey/sam T, 5k

Summary: The world is ending. Again. And after being on the run for three years, as an internationally wanted fugitive, Sam Wilson finally gets to go home.

Finding Me (And You) Along the Way (ao3) - pherryt bucky/clint T, 10k

Summary: When Clint retired - pre-Loki, pre-Avengers - he'd never expected that his leisurely world tour might be joined a couple years later by Captain America's best friend. A best friend who'd gone through things nobody should ever have had to go through and was just trying to find himself again.

Even if Clint hadn't already promised Steve to keep an eye out for Bucky, he'd have caved in the direction of helping. There was just something about him...

Fire and Water for Your Love (ao3) - dragongirlG steve/bucky, pepper/tony E, 77k

Summary: When the Avengers investigate an abandoned HYDRA base on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D., they unexpectedly encounter a dark-haired man with a torn metal arm, who leads them to an even more shocking discovery deeper inside the base. The Avengers must reconcile what they have found with the lies S.H.I.E.L.D. has been telling for decades.

(First Impressions Are) A Work in Progress (ao3) - ras_elased steve/tony M, 15k

Summary: Tony has a point system for the times he can get Steve to be less than perfect.

first one's free (ao3) - shatteredhourglass clint/tony E, 5k

Summary: Clint Barton has a crush on Iron Man. Clint Barton is also sleeping with Tony Stark on the regular. All in all, it's a mess.

Five times Steve kissed Bucky (ao3) - paragon (beverlymarshian) steve/bucky T, 16k

Summary: (+ once, finally, it was the other way around)

Flesh And Bones (ao3) - asgardianthot sam/bucky N/R, 25k

Summary: in a world where people bond with their soulmates through physical pain, living in the same compound makes the search much easier (or it should, if they weren't so damn stubborn)

Flicker (ao3) - Cinderstrato steve/bucky M, 49k

Summary: Bucky Barnes knows how to live off the grid. For someone who’s spent a solid half-century being a shadow, it’s almost too easy. Unfortunately, he’s on the run with a man who's never turned tail before in the course of his entire stubborn life.

The war’s over, and they’ve all lost.

Post-Civil War speculation.

Flirting in Formal Wear (ao3) - Rivulet027 bucky/clint T, 10k

Summary: Bucky isn't use to all the events the Avengers go to that require them to dress formally. He doesn't even have his own ties. Thankfully Clint is there to help him.

Follow in Your Footsteps (ao3) - Sineala steve/tony T, 6k

Summary: When Tony is twelve, his soulmate's name appears on his wrist. Unfortunately, it's hard to find out anything at all about Steve Rogers.

It turns out there's a reason for that.

For a Good Time Call... (ao3) - TenSpencerRiedPlease steve/tony, bucky/natasha N/R, 98k

Summary: Tony has always wanted to try calling a number on the inside of a bathroom stall, just to see what happened. So when he sees ‘for a good time call...’ followed by a number while taking a shit he figures why the hell not? It wasn’t like he was known for being the most… rational person on the planet.

“Hello?” the voice on the other end says. Tony stares at it for a second in shock, “hello?” the person asks again.

“Uh, not gunna lie, I wasn’t expecting to get this far,” Tony says.

Forgive Me My Weakness (but i don't know why ) (ao3) - Fox (Foxen) bucky/clint T, 11k

Summary: When Bucky begins to have set backs in his recovery, he's sent to Clint’s farmhouse in order to heal in peace and quiet.

Clint just can't figure out why he's been entrusted with the care of the ex-assassin when he can’t even get his own shit together.

fourth of july (ao3) - AliuIce0814 steve/bucky M, 7k

Summary: All of Steve's best and worst birthdays have somehow featured Bucky Barnes.

For Want of a Hero (ao3) - reona32 steve/tony G, 18k

Summary: It had started as a fairly normal day and went quickly down hill with the sound of crunching metal and squealing tires in Steve's ear.

Friends to Lovers And All The Dumb Ass Decisions In-between (ao3) - CaptainJimothyCarter bucky/clint E, 10k

Summary: Clint absolutely hates his English teacher for making him write letters to some kid in Brooklyn thanks to this ridiculous pen pal program she's making them all do. Things aren't so bad when he learns about his pen pal and how he finds it easy to talk to him.

Things aren't going so great in Clint's life in between bouncing around in foster homes, finally being reunited with Barney after the system tore them apart, and heavy depressive episodes.

He finds comfort in Bucky and his quick wit and awkward flirts.

From a Distance (ao3) - VolceVoice clint/phil T, 35k

Summary: “I jump into stuff,” he said. “Leap first, think later. And I’ve always seen things better from a distance. Guess I don't have to tell you that.

“So when you wanted to keep us on the QT, I assumed it was to keep the gossip down, so no one would think I was a way to get to you or that I was sleeping my way to a level five. I got too close, too fast to see that the reason you didn't want to tell anyone is that you just weren't that into me.”

[lipstickstainedred]

Champagne 2 🥂

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Reader

Word Count: 2098

Warnings: angst, DUB-CON/NON-CON (eventual), smut (eventual) NSFW (eventual), violence (eventual), kidnapping (eventual)

Champagne Masterlist

Previous Chapter

🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂

On your first day, under the Stark Industries employment contract, you ended up being late. What a great way to make a first impression, you thought. The bus commute was unusually crowded because some subway lines were down throughout the city. That wasn’t unusual but it had never made you late before. Having never been late to work a day in your life, you were nervous you’d get in trouble.

Fortunately for you, Phil was kind enough about the mistake over the phone. He just told you that you’d miss the tour of the facilities. He assured you not to worry, they’d have someone give you a quick tour after your check in with the HR department. Apparently the tour was mandatory due to some safety and security features in the building.

You had almost forgotten how extensive the security was at Stark Industries when you had come for the pitch. There were metal detectors and guards with large german shepherds, which you presumed to be some type of working dog. You even had to have your bags searched before you were granted access to the building.

Once you went through security you made your way to the elevator to head to the human resources floor. As you stepped up to the elevator and instantly saw a familiar face. Steve Rogers.

Your breath hitched upon seeing him casually leaned against the back wall of the elevator. His strong muscles clearly defined, in the button up shirt he was wearing. His stature was even more intimidating than you remembered. The super serum made him more than just strong, he looked absolutely massive. A stark comparison to your smaller frame.

You centered yourself as you entered the enclosed space and tried to keep your distance. Watching your feet, you tried not to make the mistake of tripping in your heels. You didn’t want to draw his attention to you, not like how you had when you tripped in the pitch meeting.

You were unsure why you felt so nervous around the first avenger. Perhaps your nerves made sense during your initial meeting as his eyes were on you then. Your nerves weren’t justified this time. He hadn’t even given you a glance, too entranced with the file full of papers he held in his hand.

All too quickly, the elevator began to fill with more people causing the distance you had purposefully placed between the Captain and you to dissipate. As more people entered the elevator you were forced to shift closer and closer to the large man that had you on edge.

Once the elevator was packed to the brim, oddly resembling what you’d imagine a can of sardines looked like, you were far too close to the super soldier. All of a sudden you felt claustrophobic. With Steve behind you, the wall to your right, and people surrounding your front and left side, you felt incredibly small.

The elevator doors closed and you felt an ounce of relief. At least no more people were going to cram into the already overstuffed elevator. The elevator started gliding upward toward it’s first destination and you sighed, the HR department was on the 6th floor. You hoped some of these people would get off on the next few floors. You did not enjoy being so crammed together.

As you approached the 1st floor you were disappointed when no one got off. Your disappointment slowly melted away and turned into something else as you smelt the musky cologne of the man behind you as he shifted his stance. His scent slowly drifted closer until you could sense his presence right behind you.

You froze. Completely stunned as you felt him draw closer to you. He didn’t stop his slight shifting and movement until his front was barely pressed up against your backside. He was so close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

The heat of his breath lingered on the back of your neck causing you to shudder involuntarily. Time stood still, you couldn’t focus on anything else. As his nose ghosted across the nape of your neck, you choked on the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You tried to lean forward to remove yourself from his engulfing presence, but for every millimeter you shifted forward he seemed to follow. Your meager attempts to shift away from him seemed to do nothing. You had nowhere to go.

The ding of the elevator snapped you out of your trance. The little number displayed at the top of the doors said 5 but you couldn’t bear to stay in there another minute. You would take the stairs the rest of the way.

You pushed through what remained of the crowd of people, eager to have personal space once more. Finding the stairway, you started the trek up the steps. Each step you took had you contemplating the events that just took place. The more you thought about it, the less it made sense.

What transpired in the elevator made you question your sanity. You must have imagined the warm feel of his breath against your neck. Captain America had been a bit too close to you, but the elevator was packed. Everyone was too close to each other. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that his closeness was somehow deliberate.

You reached the 6th floor and walked down the hallway until you reached the front desk of the HR department. After announcing your name to the receptionist, she seemed to understand why you were there, having been informed by someone that you’d be arriving late.

“I’m sorry dear. All HR personnel just got called into a mandatory meeting with the higher ups.” She chirped at you.

“Will I have to wait long?” you asked.

You were already late and didn’t want to leave your boss without his assistant for half of the day. You couldn’t lose this job, not when you fought tooth and nail to get it.

“I’m not sure. I can get you started on some of the paperwork but you have to go through the official tour to go over security details before you can start.” She sympathetically told you. You sighed in defeat before grabbing the paperwork she offered you.

After a while, you heard boisterous laughter and chatter down the hallway as you sat by the entrance of the office and waited. Eventually the noise stopped as footsteps made their way toward you. You didn’t bother looking up, too tired of waiting to care.

“How are you doing today, Lin?” the man asked as he popped his head in the door beside you.

“Ehhh Mondays.” The HR receptionist teased back. Your eyes slowly slid up the figure beside you as you realized the man was wearing the same outfit as Steve in the elevator.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Marketing?” Steve directed at you, his arms crossed over his chest. You weren’t sure if he was being condescending or not, but the way his cool blue eyes stared down at you sure made you feel like he was.

“Uh.. yeah. I got caught up on the bus this morning and now I’m waiting for someone to give me a tour.” You stumbled a bit through your words, your nerves again getting the best of you.

Back in school, you had learned about the first avenger. You had always loved history and learning about Captain America was no different. Reading about Steve Rogers’ life was an interesting chapter in your history book. How he overcame hardships had always been inspiring to you. Especially since you had grown up in less than desirable circumstances.

The Avenger was also commonly featured in the media. Like all of the Avengers, Captain America was shown saving the world countless times. Perhaps all of your nerves were simply because he was famous, a hero.

That was a logical explanation for your discomfort around him. You had never met anyone famous before, you tried to justify the way your stomach turned whenever you were close to him. You were just nervous.

He glanced down at his watch before directing his eyes back down at you.

“I have some time. I’m more than willing to give you a tour…” He slowed the end of his statement in search of your name.

As your eyes scanned his face, you had a feeling he already knew your name, but wanted you to give it to him. You mumbled your name to him, the same unease falling over you.

“Well, Y/N, What do you say?” He asked.

“I don’t want to be a bother. I’m sure Captain America has much more important things to do than give me a tour of the facilities.” You rationalized.

You hated the way your voice sounded so weak speaking to him. What you said was true, but you also felt unsure of being around him, especially after the elevator incident. If you could even call it an incident. You were still trying to wrap your head around whether you had imagined the whole thing.

“Please, Call me Steve.” He insisted.

“Steve.” You tasted the name on your tongue, a slight shiver coming over you as you saw the way his face changed when you said it. You weren’t sure what flickered across his face but the pit in your stomach only grew.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let me show you around.” He chuckled, outstretching his hand toward you. The use of the nickname had the hairs on the back of your neck prick up.

You were so confused. His smile seemed genuine but your gut had you reeling every time you were around him. You had to get over whatever was causing your nerves. You were working in the same building as this man, you’d have to be around him occasionally.

With a sigh you took his hand and let him help you from your seat. His eyes beamed with what looked like pride and another emotion you couldn’t quite place as your hand touched his. Your soft hand felt small in comparison to his large calloused one.

He casually walked you through the hallways and offices, telling you about anything or anyone of importance. He pointed out all the security features that you had to be aware of, even showing you how to swipe your access card.

He would make the occasional joke and you’d laugh at his corny and playful humor. Only a few times did he ever make physical contact, his hand on the small of your back to lead you one way or another. Occasionally his hand would fall on your arm as he told a joke, but it didn’t bother you. It was casual and didn’t feel forced.

It felt like the heavy fog of dread had been lifted. Despite the overall discomfort you had with your previous interactions with Steve, this one was quite pleasant. Dare you say, amiable. You still tensed a bit when he would touch you, but there didn’t seem to be any malice or ill-intent in his contact. You just chalked it up to not being used to physical contact.

He even gave you the VIP tour, showing you the upstairs levels that only the avengers had access to. It seemed the more time you spent on the tour with Steve, the more of your guard you let down.

As the tour came to an end, you felt the tiny bubbles of anxiety and doubt melt away.

He dropped you off on level 8, the marketing department, your new work home for the foreseeable future. Steve wished you a good first day as he left.

As soon as you arrived at your desk, your boss barked his usual coffee order at you, even though you already memorized it. While you made the coffee you got to thinking about the Avenger that had been plaguing your thoughts since you first met him.

With a slight chuckle, you sighed to yourself. It must have just been your nerves and imagination playing tricks on you in the elevator. You had no reason to be afraid of him, he had never actually said or done anything wrong to you. The tiny glances and touches that had your stomach turning, were probably all in your head.

You were just nervous because he was famous, you convinced yourself. He was the man frozen in time. A real life story from your history book. He had saved the world time and time again and asked for nothing in return. He was a hero, after all.

~

shout outs to the following people who either helped me edit or helped me work through ideas for this series.

@darkficsyouneveraskedfor @plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms @stargazingfangirl18 @christowhore

~Taglist

@basementwiveswritingchallenge @blithecapricorn @marvelfansworld @violetmoon74 @eralen

@ashpeace888 @stargazingfangirl18

[abbatoirablaze]

Djinn (The Genie), Chapter 2

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: cursing, manipulation of magic, character death.

Steve watched his surroundings like a hawk. Being in a new place was one thing, but a new time period was an entirely new animal that Steve was very wary of. Add in a genie that seemingly hated his guts, and he was on edge.

For the first few days, nothing had happened. He’d almost felt like he was let off a metaphorical hook. But you were always around the corner. Always watching him.

You had to.

The cuff that the council had put on you didn’t allow you to leave too far beyond your master’s reach. You had to be there if he needed you, as part of the code of conduct. So, you did little things to make sure that you were there, but your presence wasn’t obvious. The first was setting up shop, your home away from home, in his watch.

He didn’t need to know that you essentially couldn’t leave him.

Today though, you had decided to stick with him in person, by being one of the younger agents that was by Fury’s side. It was easy enough to mock the way that they looked. Dark suits. Sunglasses. Inconspicuous. It reminded you of a film that you’d remembered one of your previous masters making you see. Men in Black.

You laughed internally thinking about how ironic such an outfit would be. How weird that no one would ever really consider that type of outfit as sticking out in a crowd. Like two sore thumbs. But here you stood, in a building surrounded by people who were dressed similarly, all buzzing around as though they were part of some sort of beehive, all with their own little tasks to complete.

But every once in a while, as Steve followed Director Fury to continue on with a tour, or to talk about what had happened in the past seventy years, you would notice his eyes flicker to you. As though he were constantly assessing you and his current predicament.

‘Was he able to see through your façade?’

You attempted to shake off the thought. You’d been a genie out in the field most of your life, learning how to blend in from the best of them. There was no possible way that this human could have seen through you.

“Don’t you have better ways to hide from me?”

You hadn’t noticed his breath hot on your neck as you walked with Fury. He’d fallen behind and was quick to call you out.

‘Shit.’

With a wave of your hand, your eyes glowed slightly. As the three of you continued walking, you looked to Steve, and pushed him against the wall. Steve’s eyes followed his form, as well as yours, and director Fury’s until it disappeared. His mouth fell open, “wh-am I dead?”

“I’m not that lucky,” you growled softly, letting his form push away from yours, “it’s a simple parlor trick. We’re in your head right now. Fury’s leading us down the hall to the conference room to talk about an initiative. The Avengers initiative. You’ll agree to it.”

His gaze went to the hall where the three of you had disappeared, then back to his hands, as though he were examining them, “t-this is all in my head?”

“Yes. Now focus, Rogers,” you growled, snapping in front of his face, “you called me out…what do you want?”

“I-I-n-nothing. I just…you don’t have to hide from me is all.”

“I wasn’t hiding!” you glower, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You were.”

“I was blending in, you jackass,” you growled at the large man, poking his chest, “I can’t exactly go around exposing myself as a genie…now can I? Hell you haven’t even seen how I normally look, just what you would feel most comfortable seeing me as in your changing world.”

“I-you-you don’t have to.”

You narrowed your eyes at him once more and the purple pink glow that came from them made him take a step back, “you’re some sort of bumbling idiot if you think I can roam freely without any questions being delivered. I don’t have anything established here, other than this. How do you expect me to maintain being close enough to you? Show up as some 1940’s pin up and you just say that everything is okay?”

“W-well I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to hi-“

“I. Am not. Hiding,” you reply, cutting him off, “I’m doing my job.”

“Right…sorry.”

Your jaw clenched as you turned away from him, “don’t apologize. It makes you look weak.”

“So where do you go after?”

You flipped around, “what do you mean?”

“I-well…they set me up in an apartment, and…just…I didn’t see you around there.”

“I don’t have to be up your ass all the time.”

A lie if you ever knew one, but you didn’t feel like admitting to him just how tight your leash was, or that you were in the watch he wore most of the time when he didn’t see you.

“That-that’s not what I’m saying.”

“I’m done with this conversation, you buffoon. Don’t address me any differently, by way. I can’t afford to raise suspicion that I’m anything other than a regular agent,” you growl. And with a wave of your hand, the two of you were in the conference room with Fury as he sat a packet in front of Steve. His eyes flickered to yours and you stared straight ahead from Fury’s side, “If you open the packet, Captain Rogers, you’ll see the information you were asking about is on the inner cover.”

“Yes,” Fury commented quickly, “thank you agent. The other members of the team that we would like to recruit. Black widow, Natasha Romanoff, a former KGB intelligence officer, and member of the Black Widows, an elite women’s operation for espionage. Hawkeye, Clint Barton, master archer and member of S.H.I.E.L.D, as a weapons and tactical expert. Hulk, Dr. Bruce Banner. I’ll let you read up on him. Thor, an Asgardian prince, and Norse god. And Ironman, Tony Stark.”

“Tony Stark?”

“You knew his father,” you reminded him softly, “Howard Stark helped develop the prototypes for your shield and assisted you in numerous missions in World War two, sir.”

Fury looked to you and you bowed your head, “my assistant is right, Captain Rogers. Tony Stark is the son of Howard and Maria Stark. He’s just as talented as his father was and has developed a technology that will assist in the team. His attitude, however, leaves a little more to be desired before he’s fully considered.”

“I see.”

Steve nodded along as Fury informed him of the Avenger’s Initiative, and how they needed him to round out the team. He looked at you, before finally accepting the position, agreeing to look over the packet that Fury had provided to him when he got back to his apartment.

“Agent, would you mind seeing Captain Rogers to his apartment?” Fury asked, “we will need someone to watch over him and answer any questions that he has about the packet…and since you’re already briefed on it…”

“Director Fury…”

“I know that typically I would have more experienced agents answering to and watching after Captain Rogers…but…”

And that’s when you noticed the slightest flicker of magic around his irises. You frowned, knowing that the council was pushing you towards him.

“Of course, director.”

“I thought that you didn’t want to be around me.”

“I don’t.”

“I saw the rings around his eyes, Djinn,” Steve replied, jogging up the steps behind you, “you wouldn’t have had him suggest watching me if you didn’t want to be around me.”

“That wasn’t me,” you respond quickly, turning on your heel once you reach the landing. Even with him two steps below you, you had to look up to meet his gaze. Poking your finger firmly against his bulky pec, you growled, “that…was the council. Clearly, they think that my range is too far for their liking. That was a warning to me, Rogers. If I don’t adhere than this little gem will make me.”

You held up your wrist long enough for Steve to see the glittering silver cuff. To many it may look like a piece of jewelry, but for you it might as well be a pair of handcuffs, with the other one being invisible and attached to your enemy.

You went to turn, but he grabbed you by the wrist. You could see his eye twitch as he pulled you close to himself, “why don’t you like me?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Your dad liked me.”

This time it was your eye that twitched, “don’t. talk. About. My. Father.”

Your eyes began to glow, and he slowly released his grip on you, “it’s nothing negative. H-he was a great man.”

“He was a fool to believe in you,” you growl angrily, sniffling a little to hold back the tears that wanted to fight their way down your cheeks for him. You blinked them away, and using your magic, you opened the door mid-way down the hall, “I’ll be out here.”

“You can come in.”

“I don’t want to,” you hiss, allowing him to pass you, “if you need me, call for me.”

With a sigh he went down the hallway and into his apartment. For a while he tried to occupy his mind with the packet about the Avengers initiative, but his mind continued to go back to you.

Why did you hate him so much?

Did you really blame him for your father’s assassination?

What had you done that was so bad that you had to wear a bracelet that tethered you to his location?

Which made Steve begin to wonder where you had gone to. You had made it abundantly clear to him that you were not allowed to venture too far off, but when he popped his head out into the hall you were nowhere to be found.

Steve, however, did get the feeling that you were within walking distance of him, and before he knew what was going on, he was on the roof. Stepping out onto the gravel-lined top, he saw you, rather heard you, sniffling. He saw that the moonlight had lit up your patchy, pink-glittered cheeks, and your eyes were rimmed with an almost fluorescent pink.

You were crying.

Steve felt a panging sensation in the pit of his stomach as he took a few hesitant steps towards you. You didn’t even react to his presence on the roof. You were much too distracted by your own grief. So much so that when he reached out, your magic burst defensively back, and you threw him against the door of the roof.

As your magic swirled about his body, shocking him, he was pulled into your memory, and his eyes closed.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, nudging him lightly. While you were hidden to the rest of the people in the area, you were not hidden to the assassin. Heinz Kruger nodded at you and swiftly pulled the explosive device that looked like a pack of cigarettes, leaving it on his chair. Then he left the observation deck with the others. Steve watched as you waited for the room to empty, and then you went down the stairs silently, standing beside Kruger. Steve’s eyes went wide as he remembered that the device was an explosion. He ran up the steps and tried to grab at it, but he wasn’t able to grasp it. Then his eyes shot to you. And what he was doing before when he found you crying on the roof top. This was your memory, “now, Heinz.”

He nodded, looking away from you, then back to the room. Steve ran down the stairs, as though he would somehow be able to stop it. And as he froze on the steps, he saw how your eyes locked with your fathers.

“Djinn,” he whispered, eyes wide, “no.”

And Heinz flicked the lighter, the detonator, setting off the explosion. As the men who had gathered from the capital ducked for cover, Kruger ran to collect the unused sample, the small bit of magic that was infused into the serum.

You stared at your father, but urged Kruger to leave, “GO. I’ll hold him off.”

“STOP HIM!” your father commanded, staring at Kruger. The nervous Nazi was quick to pull his gun, firing two shots into your father’s chest as he stood in front of Steve, who’s back was turned towards the chamber as he shielded Peggy.

“NO!” you screamed, rushing towards your father. Steve had seen you freeze time, and he watched as you clambered through the crowd, dropping to your knees to hold your father, “daddy. Why did you stand in front of him? It wasn’t supposed to be you! I-I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…please don’t die.”

“I-it’s not-not your fault,” he sputtered breathlessly, his hand cupping your cheek. Your tears fell down your face, and he tried to wipe them away, ignoring the pain in his chest. He looked to a frozen Steve, “I-I need to speak to him, sweetheart…b-before I pass.”

“No daddy…don’t say that” you hiccupped tearfully, “you-you can’t die. I-I still need you.”

“My princess, things are going-going to happen in this world…that we-c-cannot stop without help from men like Ste-Steve,” he sputtered once more. He coughed, and some blue blood perched itself on his lips. He was fighting hard to keep up the illusion that he was just some scientist, “I-I need you to let go…I-h-have to talk to him.”

Your eyes went to the new super soldier, and you hatefully stared at him. You’d seen that in his last moments he was making sure that he was between the bullets and Steve. Kruger had been aiming for Steve Rogers.

“I’m so sorry, daddy,” you cried. You pulled him towards you, and Steve watched as you kissed the top of his head, “I-I’m so sorry.”

In that moment, Steve watched as he touched your temple. Your pink magic combining with his blue and turning the purple he’d seen from you the few short times he’d witnessed your magic. The glow around the older man faded and wrapped around you. You bit your lip as though you knew that he’d just willed the last of his magic to you. That he was mortal now. You blinked, and Steve watched was you disappeared from your father’s side and joined Kruger.

Chaos ensued. The voices. The gunshots. But Steve focused on your tear-stained face as you disappeared, and how in his last moments your father had asked for him, and not you. He saw the hate rise in your eyes as you helped Kruger escape.

Chapter 3

[rogertaylorlovesyou]

lazing on a sunday afternoon (roger taylor fluff)

Slowly stretching your limbs, you tear my gaze away from the TV and bring you hands up to run then through Roger's blonde hair, Labyrinth still quietly playing in the background.

"Rog-"

He answers in the form of a gentle snore.

"Honey?"

Sitting up slightly you peer over the gorgeous face beneath you taking in every detail. His eyelids slowly flutter as he peacefully sleeps despite the TV. You debate with yourself whether you should wake him up or not as the poor boy must be exhausted from his latest tour. The less reasonable side of your brain winning, you gently shake him awake in a desperate effort to regain the feeling in your thighs. After a few seconds, his eyes flicker open and he gazes up at you his blue eyes full of love and confusion.

"Did I fall asleep again love?" he asks his voice still husky from his sleep.

"Yes sweetheart but I only woke you to make some tea for us and I couldn't feel my legs anymore" you replied inching closer to him and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Mmm tea sounds lovely" Roger drawled softly climbing off my thighs and stretching his arms. Standing up leisurely, you pad into the kitchen and fill the kettle up with water longingly staring out at the picturesque country side surrounding our cottage. Reaching up to grab our mugs from the cupboard, a pair of familiar arms lovingly wrap their way around your newly exposed midriff.

"You look so beautiful today love" Roger mumbles into your neck. Whipping round to face him, still held in his grip, you wrap your arms around his neck your faces millimetres away from touching.

"You don't look too bad yourself my darling" you whisper sliding my hands down to the arse you know so well. He pulls away from you, your body feeling the sudden loss of his touch as he wanders over to your record player riffling through the many boxes of our vinyls. Having been together for well over ten years now and both having a love and passion for music from young ages your record collection has grown to more than a sensible size. With a concentrated look on his face he briefly pulls out Love at First Sting by Scorpions but after a moments consideration he puts in back and resumes his search. You could watch him for an eternity; the way his blonde hair perfectly frames his face small pieces gently falling into his eyeline causing him to blow at them to avoid the effort of using his hands; the way he is so passionate about everything he does as if something as small as the shower gel he uses for his morning shower to the new song he's working on and the way he looks good in everything he wears.

"AHA" he yells pulling you out of your trance as he produces Hunting High and Low by the one and only a-ha from the precarious stack of records in front of him. Spinning on his heels, he gently places the record into the player and slides over to you grabbing your hand just as the opening notes of Take on Me plays.

"Care to dance milady?" he questions pulling you out into the middle of the kitchen regardless of your answer and twirling you around. Lacing your arms around his shoulders you lean into him swaying to the music. You smile to yourself as you sink closer into his embrace breathing him in deep as if it's the last time you will ever feel his touch.

Pulling your head off his chest as the song ends you gaze at him drinking in every detail of his face. Smirking at you, he quips "take a picture darling, it'll last longer". Glaring at him lovingly, you remove yourself from his embrace to finish the task you started but never finished. Darting around the kitchen you go through the motions of making our tea, milk and one sugar for me and two sugars for Rog feeling his eyes watching you the entire time.

Strolling into the living room, you plop down onto the sofa handing Rog a cup of tea as you sit down. He mumbles a thank you as he throws a blanket across you wrapping an arm around you as he does: he gazes at you, his eyes flitting between your features.

"Take a picture love, it'll last longer" you joke turning to face him.

"I've missed you y/n" he muttered "I've missed you and your stupid jokes and waking up next to you in the morning and the way you can make me feel instantly at home with one touch."

As your heart swells with the pure love you have for that man, he delicately caresses your cheek pulling you in for a kiss as he does so. Your lips melt into each other's sending sparks of electricity throughout your body. Pulling his lips away from yours, Roger holds your face with his slightly calloused hands directing tender kisses towards any part of your face he could reach. Delicately falling into his comforting and secure grasp your heart swells as you realise this is everything you've ever wanted in life - someone who knows you inside and out and who you know every inch of yet is able to surprise you everyday. The sun streams through the curtains billowing in the autumn breeze and David Bowie's voice slowly sends you to sleep in the company of the one person who truly understands you.

[mercurysnitch]

1976 Guitar (200 follower celebration)

Summary: An Australian runaway walks into a London pub... and finds herself having a drink with the one and only Roger Taylor.

A/N: As promised, my little celebration piece. I actually started this after I hit 150 followers, but I put it aside because I wanted to work on other things, and then decided to keep it for my next follower milestone. Which ended up taking a lot longer than I was anticipating, but hey, we got here in the end. 

Just fyi for clarity, the reader here is Australian, but living in London after finishing journalism training. Yes, even in the 70s London was full of runaway Aussies. But it must have seemed a lot further away in the days before instant messaging and video chat and free phone calls over the internet.

Title is from a Skyhooks song, recorded well after the 70s, incidentally. The bits in italics are lyrics from the song. This isn’t a song fic, and I honestly can’t remember why this is set in 1976 (I think it just sort of popped into my head like that) but those particular lyrics seemed quite fitting.

Warnings: Drinking, light swearing

*********************************************************

...one night I met a girl at the Sebel bar

And she taught me how to play that 1976 guitar

London, 1976

You decided you liked English pubs soon after you moved to London. They were cosier than the airy places you were used to back home, and the clientele were a lot less rough. Most of the time.

Your favourite pub was your local, just around the corner from your poky little second-floor flat. Decent food, good drinks, and interesting people. The bands playing on Saturday nights were always worth a listen too. Tonight, though, was a weeknight, which meant you were there for a stiff drink and maybe a nice greasy pub meal.

You hardly looked at the bartender as you flopped onto a stool. He floated over almost instantly anyway. "What can I get yer?" "Whiskey please" you ordered, attempting to be polite but mostly sounding tired. The barman smiled. "Coming up." It was fairly empty in the pub, so he returned with your drink almost immediately. You smiled gratefully and wasted no time taking your first sip. But you'd barely swallowed it, still dealing with the afterburn, when you heard a huff of surprise from a neighbouring stool.

You turned in the direction of the noise to discover the source: a youngish bloke with shaggy, pale blonde hair and big blue eyes. He looked strangely familiar, but you couldn't think where you recognised him from. If you weren't so annoyed you would've been taken aback by how attractive he was. Instead you glared at him. "What's your problem, mate?" He flashed you an annoyingly pretty smile. "Nothing. Just don't see many girls drinking whiskey like that." "Like what?" you shot back. "Like they do it all the time. Suits you, though." He flashed the smile again, and you felt your anger ebbing away.

Seeing the smile again seemed to jolt your memory. "Fucking hell," you gasped, "you're Roger-" "Don't say it" Roger hissed, cutting off your exclamation. "You'll tell the whole pub and then I won't get a moment's peace all night." You immediately looked downcast. "Sorry." Roger smiled reassuringly. "It's alright."

You eyed Roger curiously. "So tell me, what's the drummer from Queen doing in a place like this?" He broke into a cheeky grin. "I could ask you the same question" he said flirtatiously. "I've had a very long day and I live around the corner" you told him. "What about you?" "We used to play here, in the early days" he explained. "I always liked the atmosphere, and the people are always… interesting."

Suddenly you noticed him eyeing you up with curiosity. "I like your accent but I don't recognise it. Where're you from?" he asked casually. "Australia" you told him cheerfully. You noticed his expression fall slightly. "Not from Sunbury, I hope" he joked. You grinned cheekily. "Melbourne, actually. But I don’t blame you for not liking Sunbury." Roger was shocked. "You know about that?" You nodded. "I was there. It was a great day, actually, for me at least." Suddenly you smiled. "Anyway, whoever thought booking Queen to play at Sunbury was a good idea clearly knew nothing about bloody Sunbury. Or Australians, frankly." Roger smiled grimly at the memory. "God that was a shit gig. Might be the worst reception we've ever had." "If it makes you feel any better I enjoyed your set" you told him softly. "Queen's just a bit too sophisticated for most Aussies, I think." "But not you?" he asked, smiling. "But not me" you agreed.

"So what brought you to London anyway?" Roger asked. "I got sick of Australia" you told him. "It's so… behind, culturally. Anyone who's a serious artist or writer or whatever buggers off to London or somewhere first chance they get. So when you're still there you feel so far away from everything, it really feels like you're at the arse-end of the world sometimes." Roger grinned. "Arse-end of the world. I like that" he mused. "But I don't think you've come to the other side of the world just because you thought Australia was boring." You stared at him crossly. "Oh yeah? Why d'you reckon I'm here then?" you asked, challenging him with a look. "I think you ran away from something" Roger declared softly. "As far away as it was possible to get, just about."

You stared at him in shock. Now you thought about it, he wasn't exactly wrong. Suddenly your expression darkened. "Well, I suppose I'm running away from my mother and her bloody expectations of how I should live my own bloody life" you grumbled. He quirked an eyebrow. "Expectations?" "She wants me to be like her" you explained. "Find a nice bloke with a ‘suitable’ job, get married, buy a house, pop out a few kids, be a bloody housewife for the rest of my days." 

"And you don't want that" Roger said quietly. He understood how it felt to choose a life different from the one your parents wanted for you. "No, I bloody well don't" you agreed. "I want to achieve things with my life, have a proper career." Your mother had told you several times that there was no point trying to advance in your job since you were just going to quit when you got married anyway. The recent feminist revolutions seemed to have entirely passed her by, but then Australian society in general did have a tendency to run a bit behind on things like that.

Roger's gravelly voice pulled you out of your thoughts. "And what might that career be?" You smiled. "I'm a music journalist. Well, I'm a researcher right now, but I'm trying to freelance a bit on the side." Roger nearly laughed. "Y'know, most music writers seem not to like us for some reason" he observed wryly. "But I get the impression you might be an exception." You grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” "Maybe I would" Roger quipped.

You both drank quietly for a while, Roger gazing at you curiously. "Y'know, you never did tell me what's driven you to drink on a Wednesday night" he commented, casually as could be. "You really want to know?" you asked incredulously. Roger nodded. "Wouldn't ask if I didn't, love." You sighed. "Well, I was supposed to have a date last night, but he stood me up, which was just a delightful way to spend an evening" you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then this morning my boss was even more of an arsehole than usual, and I found out my article that was supposed to be published next week got pulled from the issue, so god knows if it'll ever see the light of day now. And then when I got home the disappearing date had the nerve to ring with a pathetic excuse that I'm almost certain he made up, and apparently he was blind to the possibility I wouldn’t want to reschedule the date he missed until I spelled it out to him."

Roger winced in sympathy. "Christ, that is a shitty day." “Well, it seems to have improved since I got here” you observed, flashing a sly smile. Suddenly he grinned, not bothering to be subtle about eyeing you up again, almost appraisingly this time. “You know, I could make it even better, if you’re interested” he said smoothly. You cocked an eyebrow in interest. “Oh, really? And how exactly would you do that?” “Have dinner with you” he replied, not missing a beat.

You blinked, shocked. “You want to-to what, take me out to dinner? Why?” “You seem interesting” Roger said, shrugging. “Besides, I like having company when I’m out, being alone’s not as fun.” You had to agree with him there. “So is it a date, then?” you asked, still a little uncertain about the turn your evening was taking. Roger smiled cheekily. “If you want it to be” he said. He seemed nonchalant, but you thought you detected a flicker of uncertainty under the rock-star swagger. You grinned. “You know what, bugger it. Take me on a dinner date, Roger.”

******

There were some decisions in your life you would live to regret, but going on that first impulsive date with Roger wasn’t one of them. One date very quickly became many, and before you knew it Roger was a fixture in your life. Well, as much as a touring rock star could be, anyway. You found it oddly satisfying writing a postcard telling your mother you were going out with a shaggy-haired rock’n’roll drummer, knowing he was almost the complete opposite of the sort of person she wanted you to pair up with. You’d also finally managed to get an article published in the paper, but, predictably, your mother’s response to your postcard entirely neglected that achievement in favour of detailing every reason she thought you should leave Roger and return home immediately. None of them really held much weight, and the suggestion your actions would damage your reputation back home was in your view rather forcefully disproven by the enormous quantity of messages you received from both friends and relatives congratulating you on both the article and your choice of boyfriend.

You did eventually find the things your mother wanted for you with Roger, in a way. Technically you never actually got legally married, but you were deeply committed to each other. And you did end up with the big house and the family of your own, alongside a flourishing career in rock journalism. It wasn’t always easy, juggling everything and getting people to take you seriously as a journalist, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Sometimes, just sometimes, you were just a tiny bit grateful for that shitty day in 1976.

In '74 we got tight, in '75 we starred

Then we learned to play that 1976 guitar

**************************

A/N: I don’t think there’s too many Australianisms in here, but feel free to ask if you’re confused!

Taglist: (as always let me know if you want to be added/removed/think you should be on here but aren’t - it’s been so long some tags have changed since I added them) @wandering-at-midnight @royal-avengers @trumanjo @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark @itsametaphorbriansblog @wineandwanderings @simplyvictoria-93 @kotoamor @j1224 @florenceivy @jennyggggrrr @mercurycrowley