#i ate a whole bag for dinner and it cleared my sinuses

[thikshapeshiftr]

yumy buffy wingy

[five-rivers]

Fruits

For @greyheartwriter for the Phic Phight!  Enjoy!

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Thanks to the Fenton Faded Folio Fixer, the waterlogged, ripped, and slightly singed journal of Jack's favorite and most notorious ancestor was now readable. Or, at least, carefully scanned photographs of the pages could be read. Jack could hardly wait to read it. He and Maddie had stayed up until the small hours of the morning inputting pages.

If only they were young again, able to pull all-nighters... Alas, it was not to be.

Still, he was very high energy when he got up that morning. As usual. He bounced down the stairs in front of his wife, letting his enthusiasm out.

"Hey, Mads, what kind of cool historical ghost fighting techniques do you think we'll find in ol' John Fenton-Nightingale's journal? My grandpa told me that he once fought a demon ghost with his bare hands, can you imagine?"

He heard a choking sound from the kitchen, and bounded in to find his son, Danny, choking on his cereal. He gave Danny a hearty slap on the back, and Danny started gasping for air.

"You okay there, Danny boy?"

"I'm, yeah, I'm fine. I just- Late for school! Gotta go!"

Danny rushed out the door without any further explanation. Jack scratched his head. "Huh. Isn't it still pretty early?"

"It's Saturday," said Maddie, concerned. "Should we go get him?"

"Nah, he'll figure it out soon enough!" said Jack. "It's good to see him so eager to go! Speaking of eager, let's go see how good ol' John ripped ghosts apart in the good old days!"

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"Blood blossoms are extinct, right?" Danny asked Sam, watching her water her plants in her greenhouse, hands on his knees. "I mean, definitely and absolutely?"

"As far as I could find out," said Sam. "I talked to all of my gardening contacts. Only one had ever even heard of them, and she was convinced it was just a weird rose. I mean, even from where I was tied, I could tell they weren't, so... What's this about, anyway? Did your parents find out about them?"

"No, but they're about to. They got the Nightingale journal legible."

"Dang. I thought you trashed it."

"I tried! I really tried! But then Dad got it in his head that ghosts were trying to destroy it because it held secret ghost fighting secrets-"

"I mean, true, but go on."

"-and they got really enthusiastic about it. They build a whole machine just to read it!"

Sam put down her watering can and patted Danny on the back. "Well, hopefully there isn't anything in there that's worse than blood blossoms."

Danny groaned. "Why would you say something like that?"

.

"... and they're great on sandwiches!" exclaimed Jack.

"They certainly sound amazing," said Maddie as she typed on the lab computer. "They would be an amazing asset, but I can't find anything about them online, or even anything that looks like them. Show me the picture again? Maybe I can run it by some people."

"Sure thing, Mads!" Jack handed Maddie the relevant page. "Do you know a place called the Spine?"

"Not off the top of my head, why?"

"Because John says that's where he hid a bunch of seeds, just in case those dastardly ghosts tried to destroy them!"

"He hid them in the spine?" repeated Maddie, looking up from the computer. "Are you sure?"

"That's what he said!"

"Jack, what if he meant... the spine of the book?"

Both of them rushed across the lab to where the journal was stored in a ghost-proof box. Maddie picked up a pair of scissors.

"I'm really sorry if I'm wrong, Jack," she said.

"Don't be! It's what John would have wanted!"

She flipped up the lid and took out the wrecked book. "Maybe that's why the ghosts were so insistent on trying to destroy this, now. They knew about the seeds."

"I wouldn't put it past 'em!"

Maddie picked apart what was left of the binding, and, sure enough, a little cloth bag was nestled alongside the folded backs of the pages. Carefully, Jack picked it up and untied the top. He grinned widely and showed the shriveled red-brown fruits inside to Maddie.

"They're here, Maddie! Wait 'til I tell the kids! They'll be so excited! A little piece of family history, right here, in our hands."

"Wait, Jack," said Maddie, grabbing his arm. "I don't think we should tell them."

Jack's face fell. "Why not?"

"Well," said Maddie, frowning, "you know how they are about ghosts. I think we should keep these secret. So the ghosts don't find out, like they did with the journal."

"You don't think Jazz or Danny told the ghosts about the journal, do you?"

Maddie shook her head. "No, not necessarily. But they could have told their friends, and the ghosts could have overheard. This is just really important to our work and your family history, and I'd hate for it to be destroyed because of a mistake like that."

"Alright, we'll keep it secret, then. At least until they're ready to use! We can use the Fenton Stockades! The kids never go down there."

.

"You haven't heard any more about the journal?" Danny asked Jazz a week later. He leaned nervously against her doorjamb. He'd been having flashback nightmares to the seventeenth century or whatever hell year John Fenton-Nightingale had been from.

"What journal?" asked Jazz. "I read several. Psychology Today?"

"What?" asked Danny wrinkling his nose. "Isn't that a magazine? No, Dad's ancestor's journal. The one he and Mom thought was full of old ghost fighting stuff."

"No," said Jazz. "Why? Is it full of old ghost fighting stuff?"

Danny shrugged. "I didn't look at it super closely before I tried to torch it, but, yeah."

"That was you? Why?" asked Jazz, looking up from her book and swinging her legs off her bed.

"Because the guy tried to kill Sam," said Danny, scowling.

"Th- Our ancestor, who lived in the sixteen hundreds tried to kill Sam?" asked Jazz. "Jeez, I don't hear about half the things you guys get up to, do I? Why would he try to kill Sam?"

"He thought she was a witch. Thought I was a demon, too."

"So the demon Dad was saying he wrestled..."

"Probably me, to be honest."

"Just so you know," said Jazz, "I am intensely disturbed."

"That's two of us. Just, keep your ears out for them talking about blood blossoms or anything like that, okay?"

"Sure thing, little bro. And blood blossoms are?"

"Incredibly painful to ghosts. Or to half-ghosts who happen to be in ghost form." Danny made a face, remembering. "I was in so much pain I couldn't even think about turning back."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No," said Danny. "Not really."

"Well, if you change your mind..."

"Thanks," said Danny.

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"Heh- achoo!"

"Sounds like you've got some allergies there, Danno!" said Jack. "I used to get them when I was your age, too!"

"Yeah, yeah," grumbled Danny. When his allergies had failed to show up the year after he became half-ghost, he had thought he had seen the last of them, but apparently they had just been lying in wait, because now they were worse than ever. He resisted the urge to rub his eyes.

If he ever found out what plant was doing this to him, he was going to destroy it with extreme prejudice.

"We'll pick up some allergy medication next time we're at the store. Which kind did you like, again? Allegra? Claratin?"

"I don't care," said Danny. "Whichever."

"Well," said Maddie, putting a pot on the table, "maybe this will help you clear up your sinuses, at least for a little bit. I put lots of spices in it." She ladled rosy pink soup into first Danny's then Jazz's bowls.

"It's an old family recipe!" said Jack, proudly.

Danny was immediately suspicious. Sure, he was probably just being paranoid, but he couldn't help but remember that John Fenton-Nightingale had eaten blood blossoms. Danny doubted consuming something like that would be good for him, no matter what form he was in.

He made a show of sneezing very hard and knocked his soup off the table.

"Aw, man," he said, staring at the mess.

"Don't worry, Danny-boy! You can have some of mine!"

"No, no," said Danny. "I'm actually not feeling all that hungry... I think I'll just go to bed." He fled the dining room without waiting for a response

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"Jack," said Maddie, "do you think Danny was acting strangely at dinner today?" She still wasn't used to how her voice echoed in the Fenton Stockades, even after all these years.

"Yeah. Man, he's got some brutal allergies, huh?"

Maddie pruned a branch off of one of the larger blood blossom bushes. "Did you see the way he was looking at the blood blossom soup?" she asked.

"Not really! I was too busy looking at mine, and, man, was it delicious or what?"

"Thanks, Jack," said Maddie, smiling briefly. Her thoughts turned back to Danny, and the smile fell. "The book said that the fruits were good against overshadowing, right?"

"Right-o, Mads!"

"How long until these start bearing, do you think?"

.

The answer to the question was two weeks. For two weeks, Maddie lived not knowing whether or not her son was a ghost. For two weeks, Danny lived in a state of steadily increasing anxiety and paranoia.

He could feel Maddie watching him. He could feel her doubt. Literally. It made him sick. Or was that just the allergies? Either way it was brutal and Danny found himself taking every excuse he could to get out of the house. He rarely ate at home. He couldn't trust the food.

Jazz didn't think it was healthy. Neither did Danny, but it wasn't his fault.

"Do you have any proof?" asked Jazz, exasperated.

"Proof of what?"

"That Mom's acting weird, or that she's trying to poison you."

"No," admitted Danny. "But that doesn't mean she isn't."

"You've lost ten pounds, Danny, and you were already a stick. People will think you're anorexic." She paused. "You're not actually anorexic, are you?"

"No!" said Danny. "That's stupid. I'd eat if I could trust anything. Which I can't."

"Please, Danny. At least eat a cookie. I watched Mom make them. She didn't put in anything weird. Except for raisins, I guess."

Danny glanced down at the plate on the table, mouth watering. They smelled so good, and he was so hungry.

"Okay," he said, "but you have to watch in case I die or something."

Jazz rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said.

Danny picked up a cookie and bit into it. "Are you sure these are raisins?" he asked, picking the bite back out of his mouth.

"They were in the raisin box," said Jazz.

"They taste kind of funny," said Danny. His pulse had picked up. Crud, was he having a panic attack? Over a cookie?

"I guess they were kind of old," admitted Jazz. She took a cookie herself. "They're not bad. Danny? Are you okay?"

Danny, leaning on the counter, shook his head. "Can't breathe," he wheezed.

"Oh my gosh, you're swelling up," said Jazz.

Danny's vision tunneled and went dark.

.

"... anything new in his daily life? His diet?"

The voice was unfamiliar to Danny.

"We got some new plants last month... We've been trying them in cooking."

"In the cookies?"

"The fruits, yes, they're an heirloom variety."

"Could you bring some in? I'd like to run a few tests, but my initial diagnosis is that Danny has a severe allergy to something he ate."

There was an annoying beeping sound.

"Of course." Oh, that was his Mom. She sounded worried. "When do you think he'll wake up?"

"Any time now. But there are some other things I'd like to talk to you about that we found. Would you mind stepping out with me for a moment? Alright, so..."

"You can stop pretending to be asleep," said Jazz.

Danny groaned. "I told you so."

"You did," agreed Jazz.

"What have they noticed?" asked Danny, opening his eyes to see a hospital room.

"Not much, don't worry. I think they just want to ask about your portal scar."

"Mhm," said Danny, rubbing his chest. "So..."

"Severe allergic reaction. They hit you with an epi-pen."

"Cool. That worked?"

"Apparently."

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"Are you sure you got rid of all of it?" asked Danny, standing well clear of the front door.

"We're positive, honey," said Maddie.

"Yeah, Danno," said Jack. "We got it up with the Fenton Pollen-o-Matic! Just, let us make this up to you, okay, sport? We didn't mean for it to turn out like this."

"I know," said Danny. He squared his shoulders and walked inside.

.

Danny sat on his bed, cross-legged. He had to check this now, rather than later, even if the thought of what was probably going to happen made him cringe.

No, he had to think positively. After all, what were the odds that the universe hated him that much?

Pretty high.

Okay. Positive thoughts not working. Time to bite the bullet.

He pulled on his core, summoning his transformation rings. They appeared, bright and white around his waist. They started to separate, and-

He was hit with a wall of blinding pain. His rings snapped back together.

Typical, really.

He reached for his phone and dialed a number.

"Hey, Tucker. How long did it take for those blood blossoms to go through your system?"

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Non-Sequential [Ch. 5]

Pairing: Pre-Serum Steve Rogers/Steve Rogers x Reader

One night, Steve Rogers met a beautiful dame named Y/N. He hadn’t intended on letting her get away. But fate had other ideas. Y/N appeared and disappeared in his life so hauntingly that Steve started to wonder if she was an angel meant to watch over him.

Word Count: 3,110

A/N: Inspired by the film The Time Traveler’s Wife. But not one of those fics that just literally rips off the whole movie and plugs in characters where they please.

Chapter 4

October 18th, 1936

There weren’t many people at the funeral – mostly fellow residents of the apartment building and people from the neighborhood. All of Sarah’s family still lived in Ireland. The only person in attendance that was actually comforting Steve was Bucky standing close to his side.

Steve kept it together as the priest spoke his eulogy.

He felt too numb to cry. When his mom got sick, the doctors told him that the chances of her making it through were slim. He started expecting it, which was the worst part of all. Hoping for her to get better, but knowing there was little chance she would.

After the service, Steve stayed to watch his mother’s casket get lowered into the ground. The rest of the guests had left. But Bucky stayed at his side.

Bucky didn’t know how Steve could remain so stoic through it all.

Steve stared down at the ground, his head hung low and his hands in his pockets.

Bucky wrapped his arms around his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your apartment.”

Steve just nodded and let Bucky lead him away from his mother’s grave.

The entire walk was silent. Steve clearly didn’t want to talk and Bucky had no intention of forcing him to listen to him talk.

It wasn’t until they were climbing up the stairs to Steve’s apartment that Bucky broke the silence.

“I was gonna ask…”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck.” Steve cut him off. He started searching for his keys in his coat pockets, coming up blank.

“We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It’ll be fun.” Bucky noticed Steve had lost his keys once again. “All ya gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.” He kicked over the brick that hid the spare, giving it to Steve. “Come on,” he tried to urge.

“Thank you, Buck. But I can get by on my own.”

Bucky nodded. “The thing is… you don’t have to.” His gripped his best friend’s shoulder and lowered his head. “I’m with you ’til the end of the line, pal.”

Steve’s face softened at his friend’s words.

“You’ll come over for dinner tomorrow night?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, Buck, I’ll see you later.”

Steve went into his apartment. He expected it to feel cold and silent, that he would instantly feel the absence of his mother. 

But that wasn’t what happened. 

There was a record playing softly in the background and movement in the kitchen.

Steve’s brow furrowed. Had someone broken into his apartment?

Whoever it was, they must have heard him closing the door because their shuffling suddenly paused.

Y/N slowly walked out the kitchen and into the entranceway. Her eyes were sad and her shoulders were sagging a bit.

Just from the way she looked, Steve knew that Y/N was already aware of what had happened. “St-Steve, I’m so, so sorry,” her whisper was shaky and filled with heartbreak.

Suddenly, he rushed over to her. He buried his face in her neck and the emotions he’d kept down all this time came flooding out. His tears wet her skin and his whole body shook. She held on to him tightly and lovingly, letting him know it was okay to let his emotions show.

Eventually, Steve had no more tears to shed and his shaking stopped. He pulled away from Y/N and looked up with slight embarrassment. He wiped his tears away roughly with the back of his hand and sniffed, trying to clear his sinuses.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t at funeral. I didn’t want to make a scene,” Y/N finally muttered.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now,” he tried to smile up at her.

“I’m making some dinner for us. When’s the last time you ate?” She asked.

Steve shrugged. “Not sure, to be honest.”

If the circumstances were different, she would’ve scolded or lectured him. But now was not the time. Instead, she just gave him a sad look.

“Come on,” she nodded toward the kitchen, making her way back in.

Steve slowly followed.

She eyed him and then pointed to the dinner table, silently instructing him to take a seat.

“I’m not much of a cook. But I think I’ve at least mastered spaghetti and meatballs.”

Steve just watched her move lightly around the kitchen, grabbing various ingredients. He didn’t bother asking if he could help. He knew that she would just refuse him.

Eventually they were sitting at the table, music still playing quietly, and them eating silently. Y/N didn’t want to force him to talk. The fact that he so openly cried was such a big step that she didn’t want to push him further.

“I’m gonna have to move,” Steve finally spoke.

Y/N looked around the apartment, but didn’t respond.

“We could barely afford this place before. Now I definitely can’t afford it.”

Y/N reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “Don’t worry about that right now. You’re going to figure it out.”

Steve sighed.

“I know, because I’ve seen it,” Y/N added.

“You knew,” he whispered. “You knew that she was going to die. That’s why you wanted to meet her so badly.” 

Steve wasn’t mad. He knew Y/N couldn’t tell him things like that. He wouldn’t have even wanted to know. What kind of man would want to see a ticking clock every time he looked at his mother?

Y/N nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. I just - I can’t tell you–”

“Y/N, please. You don’t have to apologize.”

She nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t convinced.

“I wish you could stay,” Steve muttered as he looked down at the table.

“What?”

“I know you can’t control it. And I know you’ll never be able to stay. But just this once, I wish you could.” He reached over the table and grabbed her hand, as if that would keep her in his time period.

Steve knew it was selfish, but he wished he could be her anchor, keeping her in his time.

Y/N insisted on cleaning up after dinner.

Eventually, they found themselves sitting on the couch together. Y/N was sprawled out, her legs laying across Steve’s thighs. It was somehow intimate without being romantic or sexual.

Y/N did all the talking. Steve had gotten to a point where he was done reflecting on his pain, on his grief. For just a bit, he didn’t want to miss his mother. And Y/N realized this. So she told him stories about her friends, her family, and even shared little hints about the future. Steve was disappointed about the lack of flying cars. But Y/N assured him that there were much more impressive things than that, things that were almost impossible for her to describe without him seeing them for himself.

After some time, the records stopped playing and the sun slowly started to replace the moon. Steve was exhausted and he needed more than just the night to regain his strength and catch up on his sleep.

In his sleep, Steve could hear the shuffling from the night owl neighbor above him and even the crickets chirping outside.

Y/N hadn’t even shut her eyes. Instead, she watched over Steve like a hawk. Even in his sleep, she tried to protect him. She was prepared to wake him up if there were any signs that something haunted his subconscious.

Then she felt the tingly it always started at her fingertips. It was the only warning that she would be leaving soon. Her heart broke. She didn’t want to leave Steve. He needed her…more than ever.

She leaned forward and brushed some hair from his delicate and young face.

“I’m always going to be with you, Steve. Always. Even when I’m not with you here. I’ll be with you somewhere else. I’m never truly be gone,” Y/N whispered ever so quietly, careful not to rouse him from his deep sleep.

The words made their way into Steve’s dream like a spell. They echoed and sounded like a reverb in his sleeping mind. ——————

2015

Steve woke up with a weird feeling in his stomach. It felt empty. Like he hadn’t eaten in days. Something felt… off.

“FRIDAY?” His voice still rough with sleep.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” The AI answered immediately.

Steve held his breath for a moment, not wanting to get his hopes up. “Is…Is Y/N here?”

There was a pause.

“No, Captain Rogers. I’m afraid she is not.”

He let out a shaky exhale and rubbed his face. He knew better than to get his hopes up. But now he had no explanation for the weird feeling.

There was a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called.

Pepper walked in with a garment bag in her hands. Then she saw Steve’s confused face. “Oh, no. Did you forget?”

There was a moment of Steve processing. Then he hung his head. “That gala’s tonight, isn’t it?”

She looked at him sympathetically, knowing how much he hated these things. But she had assured the team that it was all for a good cause. The Avengers’ appearance could raise more money than they could possibly understand. Pepper was a master at these things.

“The suit should fit like a glove. I promise I’ll try to make tonight as painless as possible,” Pepper assured him softly. “I can’t thank you enough for attending. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

Steve shrugged her off. “Of course, Pepper. It’s nothing.”

But they both knew it was something.

Hours later, Steve was drinking whiskey in fancy glassware and schmoozing the rich guests as much as he could. 

It was still weird, the idea that people wanted to meet and talk with him. Couldn’t they see past the height and muscles? Couldn’t they see that he was still just a nobody from Brooklyn?

But the night was a success already. Every so often Pepper would give them updates on the amount of money that had already been donated.

The event had gone on and on, and Steve was getting socially exhausted. He put on a good show though and smiled his way through it.

Then he felt a presence over his shoulder. “I’ll distract the leeches. You make a run for it.”

Steve smirked at the sound of Tony’s mischievous voice. He turned slightly. “But Pepper–”

“Who do you think sent me?” Tony cut him off. “You did your job. Now get the hell outta here?”

Steve gave him a grateful look.

Tony did just what he promised and distracted the aristocrats that were dying for Captain America’s attention.  

Steve hurried his walk and dipped his head to avoid any people trying to make eye contact to stop him for a chat. 

When he got outside, Happy was waiting with various other chauffeurs.

“Had enough?” Happy asked Steve with a knowing smirk.

The gala had been in the city, of course. Why make the rich leave their penthouse apartments and go upstate?

The night was cool and the breeze felt good against Steve’s hot skin. He had started feeling claustrophobic inside.

Steve looked around. “You know what? I think I’ll take a walk.”

Happy eyed him. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll take one of the motorcycles from the tower back to the compound when I’m ready.”

Happy shrugged.

Steve gave him a smile before hurrying past the line of cars and making his way through the city. He had loosened his tie and immediately felt like he could breathe easier.

The city had changed drastically since his time before the ice. But it still had a strange hold on him. He looked into restaurants and bars, eyeing the people that seemed to fit in this world more than he did. He noted their smiles and laughs, how they interacted with each other.

His walk was slow and without purpose. He had nowhere to be.

He was walking by a laundromat. It had a neon sign above it, indicating that it was open 24/7. It was a Saturday night. Steve struggled with the idea that anyone would ever be doing their laundry at this time.

But lo and behold, there was one person folding their clothes neatly.

It wasn’t until they turned that Steve unknowingly stopped in his tracks.

Her hair was longer and she looked more like the woman he’d met when he was just a kid from Brooklyn in the 1930s.

She was wearing headphones, completely oblivious to the world around her. Steve smirked as he saw her mouthing the words to the song playing and ever so subtly swaying her hips and bobbing her head to a beat only she could hear.

He’d never seen her like this: comfortable, relaxed…present.

It was clear she wasn’t going anywhere, because he was finally in her here and now.

Steve’s body moved on its own accord. He didn’t even realize it until he heard the chime of the bell as he walked through the door.

She had yet to notice that anyone had arrived, still pleasantly listening to her music and living in her own little world.

Steve just stood and watched her, worried he’d terrify her. 

But mostly he didn’t know what to do. He’d dreamed of this moment since the day he found out the truth about Y/N. He dreamed of living beside her, both of them in the present, no time between them.

Now that it was finally here, Steve had no idea what he was doing.

Y/N was fully dancing along to her music now. She was twirling in circles. But on her third spin, she realized there’s someone watching her and she stopped abruptly.

Steve can hear her gasp when she recognized him.

They stared at each other. It was as though both of them thought it was a dream and they were waiting for one of them to wake up or disappear.

“Y/N,” Steve finally breathed.

Then she was running to him.

Steve caught her in his arms and held onto her tightly. He buried his face into her neck, letting her scent convince him that she was real.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” her words were muffled by his shoulder.

Steve reluctantly pulled away so he could look into her eyes. He grabbed her face softly, just to ground himself.

“This is your present, right? You’re not going anywhere.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle at him a bit. “I mean, I’ll disappear eventually. But not now. This is my present. I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve hugged her again. “God, I missed you so much.”

“When was the last time you saw me?”

He pulled back and shook his head. “About a month ago. You were in college.”

She nodded slowly.

“So what…you’re 24 now?” Steve did the math.

She grinned at how easily he figured it out and then nodded.

“I live just around the block. Would you like to come over?” Y/N asked him shyly.

“Yes,” Steve answered so quickly that Y/N let out a chuckle. Then he cleared his throat and added, “Absolutely.”

Steve answered so quickly that Y/N let out a chuckle.

Y/N nodded. “OK. Let me just…” But when she reached for her basket of now clean and folded clothes, Steve was already grabbing for it.

“Here. Let me,” he insisted.

Y/N blinked at the gesture. Then she was reminded of Steve’s old-fashioned habits.

If Steve noticed her confusion, he didn’t show it.

But he smirked at her and said, “Lead the way.”

A few minutes later, they were sitting at Y/N’s dinner table. Well…it couldn’t really be considered a dinner table. It was a high-top that unfolded from the wall. Y/N’s apartment was true to New York’s reputation. And it looked even smaller now that Steve was in it.

Y/N had offered to make them tea. Now the two mugs sat untouched in front of them. She really had only made it to give herself something to do.

Steve couldn’t help but realize that Y/N was struggling to look him in the eye. Meanwhile, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He didn’t think he had even blinked.

“Y/N…?” He muttered softly.

“Hmm?” But she still didn’t look up from the mug sitting snuggly between her palms.

“You OK?”

“Yep,” she answered too lightly for it to be believable.

Steve slowly reached across the table and gripped her hands. “Y/N?

“Mhmm?”

“Won’t you look at me?” He whispered.

Slowly and shakily, her gaze lifted to finally meet his. “I’m sorry,” she rushed out.

But Steve tightened his grip on her hands and shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I just can’t believe we’re both finally here. The same time, the same place. It seems too good to be true,” she admitted.

“I know,” he agreed.

Then Y/N’s lips turned into a wicked smirk. “You still scared you’re gonna corrupt me?”

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle. But he shook his head, “No, not anymore.”

“Good.” 

Then she was leaning across her small table and locked her lips to his. It was confident and powerful. 

Long gone was the scared and frightened girl that Steve had found in the grass during a raging storm. In her place was the empowered and self-assured woman Steve had met at that bus stop back in the 30s.

It took Steve a moment to respond, but then he quickly recovered and kissed her back just as passionately.  

“Stay the night,” she whispered when they pulled away for air.

It was meant to be a command, but Steve heard the questioning tone underneath. She may be confident, but she clearly was worried about pushing him too hard.

“A-Are you sure?” He stuttered.

They both knew staying the night didn’t mean innocently sharing the same bed like it had so often in the past. Y/N’s desire was clear in her eyes and in the way she’d just kissed him.

“We’ve been chasing each other through time for far too long, Steve. I don’t know about you…but I don’t want to waste another moment.”

Steve swallowed and realized how dry his throat was.

Then he watched as Y/N slowly got up from her chair and started walking to the bedroom.

When she got a few steps and realized he hadn’t moved, she turned to him. “You coming or what?”

Steve shot to his feet, “Yes, ma’am.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back her smile from being addressed so formally.

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

Chapter 6

I do not do taglists. Here is the series’ masterlist: Non-Sequential