#i changed Steve’s face from the WIP.. it needed better angling

[ahhrenata]

Steve tries to stay quiet while he gets ready for work, but Eddie hears him. He keeps his eyes closed and just listens- to Steve grumbling to himself when his hair doesn’t sit quite right, who starts to hum and whisper some catchy song. Eddie turns his sleepy gaze onto Steve as he shuffles around their room- watching quietly as he slips on his clothes, his shoes, a simple chain with Eddie’s ring around his neck. A warm, affectionate smile breaks across his face. Before he leaves, Steve glances at what he expects to be a sleeping Eddie, but instead, he’s met with a rasped, ‘Hey.’ Eddie sits himself up, stretches his arm across Steve’s side of the bed, and reaches, fingers wiggling. Steve crosses the room to cradle his face.

Their foreheads press, noses bump, and Steve brushes his fingers across scars and dimples.

He breathes a quiet,

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’

Eddie huffs a tired laugh,

‘You know I never mind.’

Because, yeah.

Every morning Steve tries to stay quiet while he gets ready for work, but Eddie always hears him.

( another one from the poll | WIP )

[usedtobecooler]

been in a writing slump for the last lil bit, i currently have seven (yes, SEVEN) almost completed WIPs in my google docs, all varying characters and scenarios, a few that are requests and others that aren't. i'm gonna pop little descriptions and excerpts from each WIP below, if you guys want to please reply and cast your vote for which one you wanna see first i'll finish the one with the most votes and post it on friday! <3

untitled - kurt kunkle x fem!reader

decription: there basically isn't one, kurt is readers spree driver and she wants to fuck him real bad lmao

“W-want you, Kurt,” You stutter, unable to hold back your tears when he tugs your hair harder. The song changes, though your ears hardly register it. From this angle you can see the streetlights out the windows, painfully aware now of how open and public this is, how if the cops came you’d both be fucked. It doesn’t help how much you’re enjoying this.

Kurt groans when you finally give him what he wants, the reply he needed, all the anger on his face changing to bliss, “Tell my fans how good my cock is,” He’s smirking at you, grinning wider when your eyes pop open in realization. You tilt your head further back, finally aware that he’s been filming this on Live the entire time, just muting the noise of his notifications so you knew no better.

me, myself and why - modern day!eddie munson x fem!reader

description: eddie and reader are in a situationship that continues on no matter how much reader claims to want out. based on me, myself and why by alana springsteen.

You sit up in the bed that you’d wound up in at least three times a week for the last four months, and you curse yourself for being so stupid. You try not to let the pain overtake your features, try not to let him see that it’s bothering you — the rejection, and how your ‘relationship’ will be over just like that, because you were stupid with your own emotions.

���I don’t know what I was thinking,” You stutter, leaning over to the side to retrieve your clothes, a quiet little chuckle escaping your lips, and you know you look crazy, all wide eyed and trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to escape, “I probably wasn’t thinking at all, post orgasm haze and whatever.”

but i do - steve harrington x plus size fem!reader

description: our fave lil steve takes an interest in a plus size girl who's typically confident, though her confidence falters when they finally have sex.

So, when he approached you and asked you out, you really had to stop yourself from laughing directly in his face. Had he really gone through every single conventionally attractive woman in Hawkins? This had to have been some kind of joke. You knew his type — tiny, petite, usually brunette but nowadays he didn’t seem picky about hair colour. You were the furthest thing from what he went for.

You weren’t ugly, and you didn’t see yourself as ugly, either. But, you carried weight in your hips, your belly, your arms, your thighs. To most, that would make you ugly by default. You were told so, too, by a lot of people. Years of relentless nasty remarks had you struggling to come to terms with your body, but once adulthood took over you found yourself caring less and less, in turn surrounding yourself with people who loved you for you.

untitled - steddie x fem!reader

description: reader and eddie are fwb's, steve has a crush on reader. cue car shenanigans.

“Don’t turn around, but—“ You don’t even get the sentence out before Eddie’s whipping his head around like an idiot, facing exactly where Steve is standing, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights, a dark flush spreading on his cheeks before he’s turning away. He couldn’t have disappeared through the door to the break room any faster if he’d tried.

“What the hell was that, Munson? I fucking said not to turn around,” You hiss through gritted teeth, leaning forward to smack Eddie’s bare arm with your sundae spoon. Eddie feigns a little hurt noise in the back of his throat, rubbing at the red patch of skin where you’d spanked him with the silverware.

untitled - eddie x fem!reader x oc fem!character

description: an established lesbian couple live in the trailer next to eddie's. they catch him watching them, and decide to play into his fantasies.

Eddie Munson is a lot of things, but he’s not a creep. Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself as he fists tightly at his cock with his ringed fingers, mouth hung open in a silent moan as he watches you throw your head back, back arching deliciously and giving him a perfect view of your pouty lips, the curve of your tits, the hand wound tightly in Michelle’s permed hair.

He’d watched the whole scene unfold as Michelle backed you up against the sink with a hand wrapped around the back of your neck, tapping your thigh to signal you to jump up onto the counter. Her head disappeared under your short skirt not long after, and the moans followed quickly.

untitled - steddie x fem!reader

description: bootriding and blowjobs. that's it. that's the fic.

“If you’re so desperate to get off, get on the floor and do it your fucking self,” Eddie snips, shoving you off of his lap until you’re dropping to the floor on your knees in shock. This seems to rouse Steve out of his own little bubble, and he looks down at you with large, bloodshot eyes. From this angle, you know your tits are spilling out from the neck of your little tank top, in Steve’s eyeline for him to gawk at — he takes the bait, eyeing up the supple flesh, shuffling in his seat uncomfortably.

“Go on then,” Eddie’s voice is dark, a tone he only ever uses when he’s annoyed at you — it’s pathetic how your pussy quivers when his words ring through your ears, because you’re in for it, he’s not going to make this easy on you, “Show Steve what a little slut you are.”

untitled - steddie x fem!reader

description: established couple eddie and reader decide they want to have fun with their new neighbour, older!steve.

“It’s okay, Steve — can I call you Steve?” Eddie asks, this shit eating grin on his face as he perches on his knees behind you, and Steve nods in return, “She’s just eager, she wants to please you. I’ll help guide her, from the straining in your pants I’d say she’s gonna need it.”

Steve whimpers, eyes going wide as they fly to watch you moving your fingers deftly to pop the button on his jeans. Eddie’s hands roam up your shirt, groping at the soft pudge of your belly, making you shiver - his own erection is as clear as day, as it digs into the small of your back.

[satashiiwrites]

Making some progress on most of my wips due to wanting to hibernate and do nothing requiring leaving home this weekend. 

From Family, Familia, ‘Ohana, Ch2. 911/Hawaii 5-0 Crossover, McDanno, Buddie, Random appearance of SWAT (tv) characters, Navy Seal Evan Buckley

Steve POV. Warnings for first draft

It didn’t take long for Buck to fall asleep in Steve’s arms. 

The younger man that he viewed like a kid brother hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d seen him but the changes that Steve did note were worrying.  The angles of Buck’s face were too razor sharp and through the thin t-shirt Steve could feel spaces between the ribs that shouldn’t be there, the sharp curve of elbow and thinness to the wrists making them appear more delicate than they should be. The dark bruises under the eyes and the chill to the skin spoke to too much stress and too little sleep along with the fine tremor in the muscles as Buck’s body tried to keep him warm. 

Buck looked like he’d been in country on a mission for months and was on his last legs—not like he’d been living at home with access to all the food and drink he could need. 

Buck had not been taking care of himself—and Steve had been one of the people responsible for drilling that lesson into the younger man until it stuck.  That sort of lesson only broke down in severe circumstances—circumstances which Steve still needed Buck to fully illuminate for him. Steve had stopped at the firehouse just long enough to ascertain that Buck wasn’t on duty before heading for his home address with a bad taste in his mouth from the brief interaction he’d had with a Captain Robert Nash. 

That other firefighter had also had marks on his hands from fighting—what exactly was going on at Buck’s work?  Suspicion slowly burned in the back of Steve’s mind but concern pushed it down. 

Buck hadn’t stopped shivering and it began to worry Steve. Managing to stand with a limp Buck in his arms, he slung Buck’s too slight weight over his shoulder and then grabbed the carton of beer with his free hand. Hondo held open the door to the stairs, having just stayed out of sight for Buck’s breakdown. 

“You got him?” he asked Steve quietly, eyes worried.

“I got him.  Get the doors.”

Buck had left his apartment door unlocked with his keys on the kitchen counter.  Steve and Hondo had already briefly looked over the place before Steve had Chin ping Buck’s cell phone location which had led them to the roof. 

Steve made a mental note to thank Chin later as he entered the loft apartment, Hondo following him and locking the door after them so they wouldn’t have any unannounced visitors. Buck’s apartment was spotless and neat, decorations and furniture running on the sparse yet functional side. Noting the bed was in the loft, Steve decided the couch would be better—he didn’t want a drunk Buck falling down the stairs and re-injuring himself. 

Carefully setting Buck down, hand cradling the younger man’s head so it didn’t hit the armrest and then rearranging the long limbs so he appeared comfortable. Hondo had retried the duvet and a pillow from the bed up in the loft and they tucked it around him. The shivering slowed and then stopped, making something release in Steve’s chest as he knelt next to the couch unsure what else to do. 

Hondo’s frown when he met Steve’s eyes was troubled. “I thought firefighter houses were like extended family.  Who’s been watching out for the kid?”

“I don’t know,” Steve muttered as he carded a hand through Buck’s hair making him snuffle down into the blankets he was cocooned in. “But whoever is supposed to be doing it isn’t doing it very well.”

“I’m going to make a few calls,” Hondo told Steve before stepping into the kitchen to give him a semblance of privacy. 

Steve frowned at Buck.  When he’d called Hondo back he’d gotten just a few more details.  Hondo had overheard randomly a mention about a firefighter dropping his lawsuit against the city and LAFD along with Buck’s name. Knowing the kid through a few nights out in LA when they’d been passing through while with the navy, Hondo had done a bit more investigating and asked his SIC to make further inquiries while he was busy with Steve. 

The information was bare bones but it seemed that Buck had won a wrongful termination lawsuit and then turned down the settlement in favor of return to full employment with the LAFD.  Both Hondo and Steve knew what that meant—Buck would have a tough time returning to the same station as most who returned to their jobs after these types of lawsuits ended up regretting it. Hostile work environments were common and there was little recourse for someone wanting to reintegrate when their coworkers were against it. 

The offered monetary settlement had been impressive but it didn’t surprise Steve that Buck had turned them down. Buck—in every email or phone call—had lived and breathed his new career. The excited way he’d talked about the first few rescues when Steve had been checking in on him more regularly had been rapturous. The kid had found his true calling and Steve had relaxed a bit and not followed him as closely.

That had been a mistake, evidently. 

He wouldn’t be repeating it. 

The silence and no updates since Christmas had rung all the alarm bells in Steve’s mind and he was glad he’d followed his instincts to know he should check up in person.  Buck had a habit of downplaying any difficulties he encountered and he’d never outgrown the habit. 

The hollowness to Buck’s cheeks and the paleness of his skin made Steve’s hackles rise. Buck shouldn’t look like this.  He let his anger simmer but he didn’t have a direction to force it in yet.  He had suspicions but no confirmations—Buck would have to give the details of what had happened. 

Hearing a soft whimper, Steve checked for the source of discomfort. Buck’s face was slightly scrunched and there was a few jerking movements to his hands as if he were fighting something but trying to hold himself still. Moving closer, Steve resumed running his hands through Buck’s close shorn hair and letting his fingers comb the hair. “Shh... I’ve got you.  Smooth Dog is here and I’ve got your six.  It’s okay and you’re safe kid,” he repeated over and over. 

It seemed to work and Buck quieted down after a minute, face smoothing back into sleep. The kid looked so young like this and made Steve feel old and tired. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket with a text.

Did you find your nephew?

Danno was obviously still miffed about how little Steve had told him—going so far as to keep up the illusion that Buck was his nephew despite knowing it was untrue.  Steve’s vague explanation of going to check on Buck hadn’t gained him any points with Danny nor had his explanation that he was leaving Danny in charge of 5-0 until he got back. Danny had been ready to come with him and hadn’t taken being left behind very well. The memory of the last time he’d left Danny behind and in charge had fouled the air between them when Steve had left—but at least he’d told Danny he was leaving this time. He hadn’t repeated that mistake. 

I did.  He’s okay for the moment but I have some things I need to do, Steve texted back. 

The response was immediate and the dots showed that Danny was typing more. 

For the moment?  What things?

Steve sighed, glancing down at Buck again who was out like a light. The kid needed this sleep.  His phone buzzed with another incoming text.  

Are you sure you don’t need me to come to LA?

Also from ch2: Eddie POV

Bobby hadn’t known what to make of the two cops that had visited last night. He’d tried to calm Eddie’s panic about Buck by saying that the officers didn’t seem interested in Buck that way.  Only that they needed to talk to Buck—and were very vague about it.  The officers hadn’t seemed worried when Bobby hadn’t known Buck’s exact whereabouts. 

Eddie didn’t believe that Bobby believed what he was telling him. The furrow between his brows and the way he’d kept glancing at his own phone and texting someone—likely Athena—all night made Eddie’s anxiety worsen. 

He’d composed five different text messages and then deleted them all unsent. How do you talk to your best friend who you’ve been at odds with for months? It wasn’t that it was awkward—it was more he didn’t even know where to start. ‘Hey Buck, how’s it going’ just didn’t seem like the right first thing to send to the man that tied Eddie’s guts into gordian knots on a daily basis. 

He’d left the moment he could after shift, barely waiting for the clock to strike noon. He even mostly obeyed traffic laws on his way over to Buck’s apartment.  If Eddie could just see Buck, talk to him.... maybe he’d know what to say. How to bridge the gap between them. 

Eddie just needed to lay eyes on Buck and know that he was okay. That he wasn’t in trouble. 

Arriving at the apartment complex, Eddie practically flew up the stairs despite having been awake for going on twenty-eight hours straight. Reaching the top floor, he ducked down the hallway to Buck’s apartment and drew himself up, taking a deep breath.  His heart beat was fast and he couldn’t stop the feeling that each breath was too tight but his hand didn’t shake when he rapped firmly on the door. 

It wasn’t Buck who answered the door. 

Taller than Eddie, this wasn’t either of the men who’d come looking for Buck last night. Tall and lean, bearded and classically handsome in that distinguished, square jawed, silver fox way with an intensity to his dark eyes that pierced through Eddie. The man was wearing tactical pants and had a badge clipped onto his belt but he also had an emblem over his left chest—Los Angeles Police Department SWAT. 

Dios. What was SWAT doing in Buck’s apartment? 

“Can I help you?” the man asked, cocking one eyebrow but otherwise studying Eddie across the threshold. His tone was measured, assessing and calm.  Business-like. 

“Is Buck home?” Eddie asked, unsure what else he could say and resisting the urge to press past the man into Buck’s home. 

“No.  Should I tell him you stopped by?” Was the mild reply, giving noting away. 

Eddie’s tongue was thick in his mouth. “Yeah.  Tell him Eddie wanted to talk to him.”

“Eddie??” the man prompted, asking for his last name.

“I’m the only Eddie he knows.”  He wasn’t giving this guy his last name.  If the man talked to Buck then Buck would know.  Otherwise there was no reason for the man to pry.  Eddie would try texting Buck—he didn’t like this.  This guy shouldn’t be in Buck’s apartment who hadn’t even given his own name. 

[lil-nastea]

the things we don’t talk about (wip)

UPDATE: The full one-shot can be found on AO3. Thank you all for your encouragement! 

“Your pussy’s so tight, Harrington,” Billy purrs, voice gravelly from the smoke, and Steve can practically feel the sound reverberate through him and coil tightly in his gut. 

He’s turned on by the sound of Billy’s voice, not by what he’s saying. In fact, what he’s saying needles Steve. His pride stings. He grits his teeth and grunts in annoyance, and maybe it sounded more like a groan, because all it seems to do is encourage Billy to keep running his mouth. 

 “Gonna leave it nice and sloppy when I’m done with you. Leave you wet and loose,” he punctuates that promise with a sudden snap of his hips, and this time Steve really does groan, the sound escaping him before he can bite it back. He doesn’t need to see Billy’s face to know that the asshole’s smirking, now, like he thinks he’s won whatever game it is they’re both playing. 

They never established its rules, much less its win conditions, but Steve refuses to lose; he refuses to let Billy get the idea in his head that Steve’s some kind of bitch. Billy Hargrove’s bitch.

“Such a cock-hungry little slut—”

The sound Steve makes is like a snarl, and he bucks back hard with an audible slap of skin-on-skin. He thrusts his elbow into Billy’s chest, jabbing him between the ribs, and is rewarded with the satisfying sound of Billy hissing through his teeth.

“Shut up, already,” Steve snaps over his shoulder, sick of hearing Billy say all that degrading shit. He usually knows better, only ever says it when he wants to get a rise out of Steve, to goad him into throwing a punch before they inevitably find themselves getting hot and heavy against a wall, or in the backseat of Billy’s Camaro. But he’s never said it mid-fuck.

Maybe Billy is getting too cocky. Maybe he wants an excuse to rough Steve up a little. 

Whatever the case, Steve can’t be sure if its fury or thrill burning in Billy’s blue eyes when he cranes his neck back to meet them; all he can tell is that there’s something unmistakably feral about the look Billy’s giving him.

Before Steve can react, the side of his face is shoved against the hood of the Camaro, and his arm is twisted around and pinned to the small of his back. The angle makes his shoulder sting, and his jaw hurts, because Billy’s got his palm pressed against his skull and is leaning his weight into it so that he can better leverage the force behind his thrusts. Steve can only lie there and take it, momentarily dazed.

“You’re such a prissy little bitch,” he can hear Billy sneering meanly, voice a little muffled by his cigarette. Steve is sure he hears an undercurrent of amusement, too, like Billy is getting off on the power-trip or the struggle. 

The worst part is, Steve’s cock is still hard and leaking against the polished blue paint of the Camaro. The change in angle means that Billy keeps hitting his sweet spot, rough and relentless. It’s infuriating how good that feels, how good it feels when Billy splits Steve open on his cock. Anger blooms in Steve’s chest. It makes him want to claw himself away. It makes him want to fight and fuck back harder. 

“Always fighting it, every damn step of the way,” Billy’s saying above him, leaning in close enough that his breath caresses Steve’s jaw. He smells like tobacco and the spice of his cologne. Steve hates it—wants to hate it, but he can’t help but breathe Billy in, relishing the claustrophobic closeness of him. “Just admit it, baby. You love it when I treat you like the whore you are.”

Steve won’t admit it, because it isn’t true. Billy’s just trying to get a rise out of him. He’s succeeding, too, but Steve can be stubborn when he’s agitated, so he bites his tongue and pushes down a moan and tries not to breathe in the smoke Billy’s still blowing in his face.

It doesn’t go over well. Billy’s twice as demanding as Steve is unyielding, and infinitely nastier.

“Tell me how much you want it.” Billy sounds like he thinks there’s authority behind his words, that Steve ought to be compelled to listen like the ‘cock-hungry little slut’ Billy thinks he is. Thing is, there’s a small part of Steve that wonders what Billy might do if he played along, for once. He thinks it might break Billy’s brain. 

He also thinks it would take Billy’s ego to an even more insufferable high.

So, he keeps his mouth shut, tongue between his teeth, nails digging crescents into his palm like Steve’s still tempted to reach back and clock him. The ensuing silence is brief, interrupted only by the hum of crickets and the sound of fucking.

Then—

“Tell. Me,” Billy hisses, every syllable accompanied by a smack of skin against the backs of Steve’s thighs. Steve can’t keep his mouth shut any longer.

“I want you—” he pushes the words through his teeth, his jaw tight, his breaths coming in sharp jolts that Billy is fucking out of him. “—to stop talking.”

Billy yanks his hair so hard that Steve’s head jerks back, his chin tilted toward the starless sky, his eyes catching on Billy who looms like a shadow over him. He can’t tell if Billy’s angry, can’t quite make out the glint of his eyes through the darkness, but for a moment he’s sure that Billy is going to do something nasty purely to spite him.

The cherry red glow of Billy’s cigarette sizzles and brightens as he takes a long drag. A moment later, he lets go of Steve’s arm so that he can pluck the cigarette from between his lips and seal his mouth over Steve’s. 

Smoke pools into his mouth. Steve can’t fight it, too shocked by the fact that Billy Hargrove just kissed him. They’d never kissed, not once, as if avoiding that kind of intimacy was the one defined rule of this indefinable game of theirs. And surely it didn’t count, because Billy is only doing it to piss him off. 

The not-kiss lasts scarcely a moment before the smoke reaches Steve’s lungs and he starts coughing. His eyes sting and water, his muscles clench and spasm, and above him, he hears Billy’s barking laughter.

Asshole.

He can’t say it aloud; his voice is shot to shit from all the coughing. But he thinks it really hard, makes an indignant sound as Billy shoves him face-first into the hood of his car again, voice slurred against the cold metal. Billy just keeps on laughing, even as he continues fucking Steve at that same relentless pace as before.

[yikeswtfmate]

Eat, Pray, Kill

Summary: Y/N has been missing, but when she comes back, Bucky might be the one to kill her. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: swearing; references of violence; references of murder

A/N: uhhhhhh listen..........i was working on those wips i told you about but this just happened in half an hour, ok? no responsibility should be my motto

Prompts: No. 5 from here! and this one from here!

masterlist

Y/N can’t breathe. Her body is currently trapped in what feels like a steel capsule, seemingly intent on crushing every single bone in her torso. There’s a small cough that escapes her lips, although she can’t be sure anyone can hear her considering her face is completely distorted, nose smashed into an unnatural angle, and what the fuck is that smell? Is that cologne?

“Listen, I enjoy this hug and all, but can you stop?” Her voice comes out more than muffled, but suddenly she’s free from Bucky’s arms, her vision full of his chest, which is still too close to trust he’d not trap her again.

“Fuck, I forgot how strong you actually are.” Which is stupid, because he’s literally pumped with super soldier serum, but she sometimes chooses to forget that tiny detail whenever she feels like fighting him.

“Where have you been?” Bucky demands, and there it is. That flash of hurt in his eyes, that made her stay away for so long. If it weren’t for the fact that she had to literally crawl into the Avengers Tower, bleeding to death all over Stark’s precious lobby, she wouldn’t have had to face that disappointment just yet.

“Yeah, I just thought I’d take the day off. You know, that whole mental health thing or whatever.” The IV tube nearly slips out when she slams back into the pillows, but she ignores it, together with Bucky’s pointed look of warning.

“You’ve been missing for two months.”

“Yeah, well, Buck, sometimes a lady goes through that special week of the month and then it just spirals into a whole thing where there are a shit ton of knives and guns involved, you know? I just needed to recharge and reconnect with my own soul.”

“By going on a killing spree around the globe?” Bucky crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, and Y/N has to admit that he’d actually look intimidating if it weren’t for the fact that that chair is so small, he looks like fucking Gulliver in it. “I’ve seen the news.”

“I’ve been detoxing?” She tries again, with a shrug of her shoulder.

“Y/N, I’m serious. What the fuck got into you? They’re calling you a vigilante now.”

“Fine, look, Bucky. I’ll tell you the truth, ok?” Bucky sighs, but eventually leans forward in his seat, a fucking bear in a hamster’s chair. “I was watching Eat, Pray, Love one night and I wanted to see what that shit’s all about.”

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N!” He stands up, toppling the chair upside down which now look like a doll’s throne? Why the fuck do I care about that chair so much, she wonders. Bucky paces in front of the bed, strands falling out of his stupid bun, and Y/N wants to comment he should dye it white and become a Witcher, but then she remembers the fossil still thinks Netflix is a brand of chips.

“Do you know how worried I was?” Here we go, she thinks, letting her head fall back with a roll of her eyes. “I’ve been going sick wondering what happened to you. I thought you were kidnapped when I got to your apartment the first night, until I noticed you actually packed a bag and then hey, look, Buck, your girlfriend just abandoned you without a word because she’s so sick of you already! Had the luck of realising you’re a fucking idiot and were up to some shit, before beating myself up, wondering if it’s my fault and let you come to your senses by yourself. But then guess what! Oh shit, man, look, she’s on the news killing some Mafia guy in fucking Sicily. Then a week later Steve comes up to me and tells me you’ve killed a whole entire village in China and then Sam says ‘wasn’t she in Brazil yesterday up in those gangsters’ business?’ So imagine my shock when Nat lets me know you’re up in Med Bay being stitched up because you almost had your right side obliterated!”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, together we would’ve made an entire functional person if it were obliterated.”

Bucky just looks at her incredulously. He sometimes wants to drill some sense into her, but for all the years he’s known her, he’s aware that there’s nothing he could do to change her. It’s like being in a relationship with Steve, if Steve were even more obnoxious and stubborn. Like a mule…or a drunk monkey. Or a baby that refuses to go to sleep.

With a sigh, he lays down on the bed next to her, after she reluctantly scoots over. His head on her arm, she kisses his forehead, but he doesn’t miss the middle finger raised in defiance, just for good measure, as she’d probably claim.

“Thanks for letting me deal with my shit on my own.” She whispers a few moments later.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy to keep my distance, especially when you’re that bad at covering your tracks.”

“You’re just good at tracking me, babe.”

“No, Y/N.” Bucky raises his head, a concerned look on his face. “Seriously, you’re shit at it. I knew what you were doing at every single moment in time.”

“Oh yeah, pick on the sick person now. Low move, considering you put a tracking device in my necklace that morning, you fuck.”

“You knew about that?” Bucky nearly stammers, but the yawn she lets out should be indication enough that she doesn’t really care.

“Buck, babe, do you seriously believe I would’ve left you without a word if I didn’t know you could find me at any moment?” She pokes his cheek with her finger, but Bucky grabs her hand and kisses her palm, closing his eyes at the feeling of having her next to him again.

“In my defence, you were going on a mission with Clint and you’re both idiots. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t get lost in the Alps.”

“Sure, babe. You better take it out before I get out of here or I’ll cut your good arm.” He nods in assent and cuddles back into her side. Her fingers brush through his now loose hair, and he swears that nothing ever felt as good as that does now.

“I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.” He murmurs.

“Missed you too. Now let me sleep.”

***

Taglist:

@miss-nerd95​ | @myboyfriendgiriboy  | @littleblackdressxx | @minbeatriz16 | @lunarmalfoy 

[shreddedparchment]

My Best Friend Pt.01

Too Young

01/23/2019

Pairing: Steve x Reader          Word Count: 4,257

Masterpost in Notes     Warnings: Language, pining, angst, some fluff

A/N: This fic came to me as a dream. It was a dream that I did not get to finish and have been wanting to write out because it actually followed a really good story until I woke up and it left me wondering what would have happened next. The first two chapters will be the dream I had and the last chapter will probably be the ending I would have hoped for. I hope you guys like this. Just a small mini-series in between my two big WIP fics. It should be noted that the disease that the reader has is the one that I have, Endometriosis. As it was me in the dream and the endo played a big part in it, I’ve decided to keep it in. As always, if you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You groan, moaning and kicking as you struggle to pull yourself up off of the floor.

“Would you keep your voice down? You sound like you’re having sex.” A tight-lipped voice says out of the corner of two pink lips, the bottom thick and juicy, the top slightly thinner but curved up in amusement.

“How do you know what I sound like when I have sex?” You grunt and then stop, whining as you give up and let the heavy weight ball fall onto your chest. “Please, help me!”

You pretend to cry and continue to whimper as you wait for assistance.

A heavy sigh, a soft chuckle, and then suddenly, hovering over you are a pair of storm blue eyes. Steve Rogers leans over you, his hands on his hips as he watches you whimper on the ground.

“You’re being dramatic.” He tells you and you glare at him for a second.

“And you didn't answer my question.”

As he continues to watch you, trapped underneath the large 45-pound weight ball, your glare slowly transitions into a pout as he smiles down at you, soft strands of his blonde hair falling onto his misted forehead.

Here are the facts. One: Steve Rogers is your best friend.

Two: You and Steve have known each other for years. You were there, as an intern, as he was pulled from the ice. You helped bring him back to life. You were glad to not have played a part in that stupid showroom he’d been put in, but you’d been outside, and he’d been so confused when he broke out that you were instantly sympathetic.

Three: Steve Rogers did not like you. Not immediately. It took persistence. Lots of it. You forced him out. You kept an eye on him and ambushed him at restaurants and cafes so that he wouldn’t be alone. It took almost a year but finally Steve Rogers didn’t dislike you. In fact, Steve Rogers looked for you. He sought you out for your opinions and suggestions. Soon after that, he just sought you out to not be alone.

Four: Steve had seen all of your ups and down. You’d been engaged before, then dumped. Dated and dumped. Dated and dumped. It’s been a rough couple of years in that department, but Steve has been there after every disappointment with a pint of ice cream and your favorite movie.

Five: You’ve tried to get Steve to date. Apparently so had his other friend, Natasha. The Black Widow. Neither of you wanted him to be alone. He needed to get back into the world. He’d been so distanced from the world, connecting only with the job and neither you nor Natasha (despite the fact that you and she have never officially met) want that kind of life for him. Of course, she’d been probably slightly more motivated to get him a date because if you’re honest…

Six: You are completely in love with Steve Rogers.

“You look like you could use some help, miss. May I be of assistance?” Steve teases.

“Steve!” You complain and push against the weight ball, struggling against it.

“Alright, alright.” He says, chuckling as he grabs the ball and lifts it off of you.

He tosses away the ball then turns back to you to offer you his hands to help you up onto your feet.

“Why are you so interested in getting fit, anyway? You never were before.” Steve wonders, turning and moving towards the leg press.

You follow, rubbing the spot on your chest where the weight ball had been resting. You stop when he does and then watch as he loads weight after weight.

“I don’t know. I’m just…” You can’t lie to Steve.

You’d been about to tell him that you’re just trying to get in shape. That you want to look good for the next guy who has enough courage to date you. But you can’t get yourself to say it, no matter how much you want to keep from showing him your newest cracks.

He freezes in his load up and watches your smile fall.

“Y/N?” He asks gently, seeing your mood shift.

“I didn’t expect for this thing I was diagnosed with to change my life as much as it has. Getting fit…I never worried about it before and now, I’m lucky if I can get out of bed in the morning.” You shrug and move to sit by the seat of the leg press.

Steve watches you, blinking slowly as he processes your words. As you sit, you force your lips into a smile.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, smiling as you sit yourself down on the floor, and obviously moving on from the uncomfortable talk of your illness.

He knows you don’t like talking about it and if you want to move from it, he's not going to stop you.

“I’m sitting down so you can do your workout.” You gesture at the machine, overloaded with weights.

“You’re supposed to be working out, not gabbing away with me.” Steve points at you, chastising you playfully, and sits himself down, angling his body so that he can put his feet in place.

“Yeah, well, that weight ball kicked my ass.” You lean back on your hands and turn to watch him.

You’ve gotten proficient at focusing when you’re around Steve. You keep a nice line drawn in the figurative sand so that he can’t tell that you’re completely smitten. But in moments like this one, as Steve pushes against the weights, his muscles constricting and flexing, it’s hard to remember that line.

“Steve?” You probe, shifting to sit facing him, still leaning back on your hands, suddenly very nervous because any time you ask Steve these kinds of questions…well, you’re a little scared, a little excited, but very worried that Steve will see though you one day.

In reality…would that be such a bad thing?

“Yeah?” He asks, grunting. He’d seriously overloaded that machine.

You watch as the machine groans against the amount of weight that he’d put. He has to really pack it on for it to do anything for him. “You’re going to break that leg press. Again.”

He stops, huffs a laugh, then reaches up to wipe at the sweat on his forehead. He hardly ever sweats. Why is he trying so hard?

“I always replace them.”

Still. You make a mental note to send in a request to maybe have a special leg press made for Steve so that it won’t break so easily.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. replaces them.” You point out.

“Is that what you were going to ask me?” He asks, pushing passed your poking but also knowing you well enough to know that you nagging at him about breaking the workout equipment was not what you had intended to say.

“No.”

“Well?” Steve urges you, going back to his workout.

“When was the last time you went out on a date?”

He drops the weights and they clang loudly.

“This again? You and Nat, I swear.” He grumbles.

“Well, we’re worried about you.” And you really are…but…

“I don’t want to go on a date.” He says, a note of finality in his tone.

He should know better. You don’t drop this particular subject easily.

“Why?”

“I just don’t want to.”

“But why?”

The weights clang again as he stops, frustrated with your persistent probing.

“I’m just not in the right headspace for dating, Y/N. I don’t want to see anyone right now. I don’t have the time.” Steve argues.

“That's such bullshit. When you like a girl, you make time for her. You shift your priorities. You can even stop seeing me so much. I’m a huge time suck.” You point out.

“Not an option.” He grunts.

“Come on, Steve. I’ll help, yeah?” You push yourself up, trying to ignore the happiness that it gives you that he's not willing to cut down his hang out time with you, and move to sit yourself on the oddly angled leg press seat.

You try not to let your heart flutter too much as Steve makes room for you quickly and then as you slide down towards the lower end of the seat, Steve lifts his arm and rests it across your lap as he sighs in frustration.

“I don’t need help. I need to finish my workout.” His hand finds your thigh and he rests it there softly, flat against your leg.

Focus Y/N.

“Trust me, you need help. Now, what are you looking for? Blonde? Brunette? Redhead? Skinny? Chubby? Straight up voluptuous?” You look around the gym and point out the body types you see.

“Y/N…” Steve begs, irritated.

“Fine. Forget looks. What about height? Short? Really short? Tall? Just right?”

“Y/N.” He says more sternly.

“Would you stop being such a grumpy old man and just play along for a little bit? Sheesh.” You growl.

You jump slightly as Steve smacks your leg. Not enough to make it hurt, just enough to grab your attention. Clearly chastising you, though.

“Hey, don’t call me an old man.”

“Well, stop acting like one.” You grumble.

The two of you stare at each other, both frowning.

“Hey, what are you two talking about?” You look up at the slightly accented voice and smile up at Annie Wong, S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent on loan from the Hong Kong office.

She's beautiful, Chinese, with long black hair pulled up into a ponytail, no makeup, dressed in standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D. logo tights. Her body is crazy nice. Fit. Tight. And in that racerback tank top and tights, she looks really good.

“I’m trying to get Steve a date.” You tell Annie. You’re her guide here, of sorts.

She's actually really nice and the two of you have hit it off really well.

She scoffs, then laughs at you.

“Good luck with that.” Then she looks at Steve. “Try not to disappoint her, she gets moody when she doesn’t get her way.”

“Don't I know it?” Steve agrees.

“Hey!” You throw your left elbow back so that it jams into his side and he laughs, looking at you as he reaches behind your back to rub that spot with his right hand.

“Can I please finish my workout now?” Steve begs, throwing his head back.

“No.” As Steve's hand squeezes your thigh again you can’t help but think about how great this really is. Sitting here with Steve's arm practically around you…nestled in against his side.

For a quick fleeting moment, you imagine that Steve really does want to hold you right here, his arm itching to be thrown around your waist. Maybe his lips even find your neck?

“Y/N?” He asks, noticing your silence.

Annie is already at a treadmill, running.

“What about age? That’s a good one. You don’t want someone too old.” You point out. “Young would be better in your case, with that slow aging and all that.”

“Young?”

“Twenty?” You ask.

“Too young.” He says.

“Twenty-four?”

“Too young.”

“Twenty-six?”

“Too young.”

“Seriously? Fifty then!” You offer, exasperated by his pickiness.

He looks at you, frowning.

“Sixty?” You shrug.

He laughs.

“Why are you laughing? I’m trying to find you a date and you’re making it impossible.”

“Sorry.” He says, with another squeeze to your thigh.

“Let's not focus on the exact number and instead a type. What about…?” Your eyes wander around the large gym room, an array of agents and clerical workers getting their fit on.

Inspiration suddenly strikes as your eyes land on Annie. She's definitely more fit than you are but you and Annie are the exact same age, your birthdays only a month apart.

“What about Annie? Or someone like Annie?” You ask, hoping you’re not being obvious.

Steve sighs heavily, clearly done with this game. He looks over at her and shakes his head.

“Too young.”

Too young. Too young. Too young?!

You can’t help the disappointment that fills you, it darkens your mood almost instantly. How long have you pined over this guy? How much time have you spent with him? Not that those moments were a waste…but…too young?

Your heart aches as you suddenly realize that Steve is never going to want you. You’re too young apparently and now with your diagnosis, no one will want you. You’re useless. Today, today is a good day. A day with little pain.

Your first day out in over two weeks.

“Can I finish my workout now?” He asks, looking at you, leaning to his left to get a better look at your face.

No. He can’t look at you. He'll see your crestfallen expression, your sadness that you’ll never be with him.

“Yeah, sorry I bugged you.” You grab his wrist and lift it off of your lap.

You move away from him, not looking back as you move towards Annie.

“Hey, wait, Y/N.” Steve calls out but you don't stop or look back. You climb up onto the treadmill beside Annie and start a slow jog.

“What happened? Couldn’t find anyone good enough for him?” Annie asks.

When you don’t answer she looks over at you.

“Ugh! Didn’t I tell him not to make you moody?” Annie asks, frowning.

You look at her as you jog, pulling the sleeves of your oversized hoodie up, trying to ignore the way you get hot extra fast thanks to your sweatpants.

She looks over at Steve and starts to motion emphatically at him. You don’t look to see if he's responding or what she might possibly be saying. You focus on reminding yourself of your proper place at Steve's side as nothing more than that pesky intern turned archivist who would never be more to him than just a friend.

For two hours you focus. Two hours! You remind yourself of the looks he's given those girls, the agents who work around him. The ones that could kick your ass. Looks that he's very good at hiding from everyone else but you because you’re always hoping he'll look your way.

You remind yourself of the nights you and Steve had slept in the same bed. He'd come home from a particularly exhausting mission and because you always called and demanded to see him immediately, he would come over without hesitation and then collapse on your bed in exhaustion.

Every morning you'd wake up and he was always on the sofa as if sleeping beside you was so unbearable he had to move in the night. And then there were the times that the two of you would wake up in the middle of the night and talk. Just chat about how hard the mission was or how tough it had been for you at work, both of you smiling, laughing, and commiseration a mere foot apart.

How many times had the two of you gone quiet on the bed? How many times had your heart pounded as he lay there, arms either under his pillow as he lay on his stomach or at the base of his chest when he laid on his back, his blue eyes boring into yours and never, not once did anything happen?

No kiss. No hug. No confession. No hand holding. Nothing.

Face it, Y/N. You’ve been friend zoned.

You finally push the large red button on your machine and follow it into a slow stop.

You look to the one beside yours and find that Annie is gone. She'd probably been gone for a while.

You scan the large room for her and find her by the bench press with Steve. He's sitting, looking up at Annie as she leans on the metal bar, talking casually as he curls his large arms, lifting what has to be about two hundred pounds. How did he even fit all those weights on that one bar?!

You pull your sleeves down and as you move towards them, you feel a small bit of pressure on your lower back. Had you pushed yourself too hard?

You ignore the discomfort as best you can because you want to hear what they’re saying.

“…it's only a month apart so we thought a joint party would be good.” Annie finishes with a shrug.

Fuck! She’s telling him about the party tonight.

“That’s a good idea.” Steve says, then when he spots you approaching he grins as wickedly as Captain America can…which is not very wicked.

It just makes him look like a cute, troublemaking toddler. Stupid goody two-shoes and his sweaty forehead and torso. That white shirt is starting to cling.

“Did you ask Y/N before you started to plan a joint party? She might throw a fit, you know how she likes to be the center of attention.” Steve teases.

He looks over at you as you stop, shoving your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie, with that same mischievous grin.

You don't smile. Right now…you just can't.

Instead you stare at him and your eyes helplessly wander over his lips. They linger there for only a second before you force them down to his chest, stomach, then lap where they stay since that spot is fairly safe at the moment.

When you don’t laugh and because you also don’t say anything in response to his poking fun, the atmosphere between the three of you grows awkward.

“Uh, well,” Annie says, quickly moving on. “ Y/N got permission to get a new sound system for the Black Pearl ballroom-"

“That’s the smallest one, right?” Steve asks. “Shouldn’t you have asked for a bigger one? I can still call Tony, see if he'll let you use one of the ones on floor seventy-nine?”

“I don’t have that many friends.” You tell him, looking back up at his face.

He's still watching you, his brow slightly furrowed. Is he worried? Confused? Probably confused. In all the time you and Steve have been friends you have been angry at him only two or three times and it was always because you were worried. He could be reckless on missions and came back more injured than you liked.

Now, you just can’t make yourself act normal. What's wrong with you?

“I’ll get the rest of the Avengers to come.” He offers.

“I’ve never even met anyone other than Sam.” You point out. “Why would they come to my birthday party?”

“I don’t know, I just thought-"

“We've already ordered the food based on our current headcount.” You throw out.

“Oh, right.” Steve says sounding slightly disappointed.

Once again silence falls between you two and it's just as awkward and tense as before. Which is super weird for you and Steve.

Annie hurries to save the conversation.

“You’re coming, right?” She asks Steve.

Steve finally looks away from you at Annie but before he can answer-

“Yo, Cap!” Sam's voice filters down from the second floor.

All three of you turn to look and find him leaning casually against the railing.

“Mission time. We gotta go.” He says. “Hi Y/N.”

He drags your name out, waving at you like he's teasing a kid about wetting his pants or something.

“Hi, Sam.” You reply, still no smile.

“Hey, Annie. You wanna come? We could use some extra hands.” Sam says, smiling a bit more flirtatiously with Annie.

Of course, even Sam doesn’t see you as a woman to flirt with. Not that you want him to but jeez.

“Sorry, Sam. Y/N and I have plans tonight. We're throwing our birthday party. We sent you an invite, did you not get it?” She asks. “Sorry it's so last minute.”

“Oh, damn, yeah. I got it. I forgot that was tonight.” And he does look genuinely disappointed to be missing your shared party.

“Don't worry about it, Sam. It's not important.” You assure him.

“What are you talking about? We'll get this mission done quick and be back in time for the cake.” He assures you but winks at Annie. “But seriously, Steve, we gotta go. I already got your suit in the jet.”

“Okay, I’m coming.” Steve tells him.

“I’ll see you girls later.” Sam promises, slaps the metal railing, then disappears to the right towards the elevators.

“I gotta go.” Steve says, putting the barbell down and standing up.

“Of course. Good luck, Steve.” Annie says with a smile.

“I’ll make it to your party, Y/N.” He says a little more quietly, talking just to you. “I promise. I'll put a rush on the mission.”

You look up at his sweaty face, his blue eyes searching yours for something. Forgiveness? Reassurance? Anger?

All you have for him is disappointment. Not just for the party but because you're Annie's age…and she's too young.

“For what? So you can do something reckless and mess up because you’re trying to get back on time?” And you really do want him at the party. You want to see him and dance with him, and laugh and talk and smile but your mouth opens up and all you can say is, “Don’t bother.”

You can feel Annie's eyes on you as she realizes how bad the mood you’re in actually is.

Steve’s face falls more and he takes a step towards you, apparently hating this dark mood you’re in too but before he can open his mouth, Sam's voice calls out again.

“Steve!”

With a heavy sigh, Steve gives you just one final confused look before he races around and up the stairs and also disappears towards the elevators.

“I’m gonna go shower.” You tell Annie as you begin to walk towards the showers.

“Y/N, are you okay? Should I come with you?” She offers, eager to make you feel better.

But this mood, it's like you’ve been infected. Maybe all the pining had finally just caught up with you?

“Why? Can't I shower by myself? Maybe I need adult supervision, right? I’m only Y/A.” You say with a bitter bite to your words but it's mostly just sad.

Annie doesn’t follow you.

As you make your way up the stairs, you suddenly feel another heavy bit of pressure in your lower back and a very sharp stab of pain near your nether regions. It shocks your feet into a stutter but luckily you catch yourself on the railing and avoid tumbling down the stairs.

You breathe lit a quick, sharp breath as the pain slowly subsides then move along.

As you shower, you rejoice in the fact that here in the showers, you can cry and no one can see your tears. Not to mention, the hot water helps with the aches you’re beginning to feel.

So many years of being friends. You'd always harbored this small bit of hope that something might happen between you and Steve. The disappointment, the heartache you feel as you finally realize that it will never happen is overwhelming.

So you release your dark mood with tears, letting them wash away into the shower drain with the rest of your sweat and grime.

You also realize that you can’t be mad at Steve. Not really. You shouldn’t be mad at him just because he doesn’t see you in that way. It's not fair to him and it's not fair to your years of friendship.

But it hurts! Your heart complains.

Feeling silly for being such an ass to Steve before he left on mission—oh, God, what if he does something stupid and gets himself seriously hurt and the last thing you told him was not to bother?!—you move out to your locker with a towel wrapped around your torso and hair.

Like this, you might pass for anyone. Especially in a foggy bathroom with other women in just their towels.

As you rifle through the extra clothes you’d packed in your locker, two of those S.H.I.E.L.D. agent girls Steve looks at discreetly walk in, wrapped in towels too.

“They're always together. They have to be dating or at the very least screwing.” The shorter of the two says.

“Don’t be stupid. Like she could ever satisfy him? She got dumped at the altar too, remember? And anyway, I was working out on the leg press behind them when they were sitting looking all cuddly and she was seriously asking him what he liked in women.” The tall one says.

“Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” Shortie asks.

“No, I swear. She was listing off things like hair color and body type. She was trying to find him a date. And ‘sides, did you see what she was wearing? Who comes to the gym dressed like that if you’re dating Captain America? No one. That's who. She's obviously not trying. And I’ve seen him checking you out.”

“Oh my God, seriously?!”

“Yes! Trust me, she's totally not his type. He needs someone more…adult. Mature. Someone who can show him how to maneuver the curves.” The tall one says as she reaches over and playfully traces her friend's sides.

Shortie laughs and you grip the handle of your locker more tightly.

“Anyway, she's too young. Or so it sounded like he was saying.”

“He told her she was too young?” Shortie asks.

“Not directly. But she suggested some girls and well, she's around the same age I think. So, make your move! That loser obviously has no chance.”

The two girls disappear into the showers as your mind is flooded with two words that effectively transition your sadness into bitter resentment. Two words that repeat over and over and over and over: Too young.

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[cameron-mckell]

WIP guessing game: "There"

Well, I’ll give credit where it’s due; you picked a word I (apparently) like to use a lot. I also have a lot of works-in-progress, so this reply is rather long. Some of these sentences are from the same works, and on a couple occasions I added in a surrounding sentence for a little bit of context (I couldn’t help myself), and here we are.

Organizing this by fandom, so...

Miscellaneous (A.K.A. crossovers):

‘“Yeah, I know, but there has to be something we canhook into wirelessly; check for webcams, cellphones, anything. I needto know what's going on in there.”’

‘There were a couple ofrequests in reply, so Bruce headed for the door, coincidentally following Tonyout with the shield for repairs.’

‘Steve walked to theother end of the mat, casually stretching as he went, “Um... Well, obviously nolethal force, and no permanent damage, though I don't personally care ifthere's a little bruising, but I tend to heal up fast, so.” He shrugged, andTony had to look away to hide his smirk; yeah, that serum made pretty shortwork of bruising.’

‘Just as he was bending down to assess the damage, and if theycould save him if they got an emergency medical team up there (and stupid, whyhadn't Tony thought of that and called them already?), Tron suddenly came backto life. With a vengeance.

One moment, he was lying there, perfectly still (still as death),and the next, he was all movement; he rolled and struck out with his legs, in amove that looked more like break dancing than fighting, and swept Steve's legsout from under him. He didn't stop there, though, using the momentum of thesweep to pull on (and twist to an uncomfortable angle) Steve's leg with hishands, while his legs twisted up, incidentally smacking Steve in the stomach,before catching his neck in a pincer-like grip, a hair's breadth away from countlesslethal finishers that even Steve probably couldn't survive.’

‘And that's when henoticed the cracks; there was a collection of thin, fine cracks over Tron'schest, centering on where Steve had hit him – they transferred between armorand suit without a pause, which was only mildly strange, until Tony saw aparticularly ambitious one that ran up slightly onto Tron's neck.’

‘Flynn stood half infront of Tron, smiling for all that his hands were in fists at his sides, andyes, there was definite recognition in his eyes, but he didn't move from hisprotective position.’

‘I'd like to avoid doingeither of these things, as JARVIS is a beautiful system – though there is sometraffic congestion on the main pathways – and your programs are friendly, andonly fulfilling their functions, but so am I.”’

‘But, wait, yesterday Itried to get in during the meeting, and you were there, so how could you havebeen –”’

‘And there was Tron.’

‘If she didn't bathe, orchange her clothes it didn't matter; there was no one around to see her oldenough to voice an opinion on her appearance. Every time she forgot to eat justmeant fewer dishes were lying around, waiting to be cleaned up.’

‘Seemingly unaware of thesuddenly self-conscious squirming of the widow, he continued on about the manydifferent options there were when it came to grief counseling, some based inTerran medical practices, while others were completely alien.’

‘They stopped,thankfully, when the group counselor spoke up, one pair of eyes crinklingslightly with welcome, while the other pair widened with concern, “Alan? Isthere something we can help you with?”’

‘He hesitated a moment,glancing guiltily at his friend, before shaking his head, “I can't today; Ihave to pick Jet up in twenty minutes, and it'll take me fifteen to get therefrom here. I'm sorry.”’

‘Something in there musthave been a reference to an in-joke, because the other man cracked a weaksmile, and gently brushed off Alan's hand on his shoulder, “Yeah, okay.’

‘Everyone ignored it, andthe session resumed, as if there had been no interruption at all.’

‘“At first, I thought I'd got zapped into the future again,”Steve commented from out of the blue right behind him, and Holy Crap, howlong had Steve been standing there?

 “Werethere flying cars?” Tony asked with a healthy dose of false cheerfulness,setting down his calipers so as to at least give Steve the appearance of havinghis full attention; to be fair, he had most of it, Tony just generally had ahard time of turning the rest of his brain off.‘

‘Were there no elevators or stairs in computer-world?’

‘There was just somany things – both more satisfying, and more productive – that he could bedoing with his time, instead of working on his phone to keep from nodding off,while a group of stuffy, greedy paper-pushers tried to gussy up their ownagendas and sell him on them.’

‘He'd been expecting twolarge contract negotiation teams – full of frosty men and women, dressed intheir corporate finest, carefully not-glaring at their not-quite businessrivals across the table, until they all turned at his not-so-fashionably lateentrance to not-glare at him then studiously ignore him, and he them, until nearthe end of the meeting, where he gave whatever-it-was the green or red light,and went back to doing important things – but there were only six people in theroom, including himself.’

‘There was a brown-hairedman standing by the window, facing out, hands clasped in the small of his back;the pose reminded Tony of one he'd caught Steve using every now and then,usually right before a mission.’

‘There was a steelinessin her spine that curbed most – but not all, that was probably impossible – ofhis inappropriate thoughts, but her expression was open and curious.’

‘He waved theconversation away, and was about to start in on another random topic or other –like what the deal was with all the motorcycle jackets – when there wassuddenly a stiletto heel threatening to crush his foot, and Pepper had takenover talking, “Please, don't mind Tony; he doesn't have much of a filterbetween his brain and mouth.’

‘There had been rumors ofa secret project that would change everything – Flynn alluded to it in some ofhis later presentations – but no one knew anything about it after he was gone,including Bradley, his best friend.’

‘A lot of advancementshave been made since then; there might not be a market for it anymore.” Or, inplain English 'We all know that there is some major emotional baggage with thisproject, are you wanting to do this for that reason, or is there an actualpoint, and possibly money to be made?' It was a little harsh, maybe, but if this was just somethingnostalgic to see through to the end without anything greater in mind, it wouldbe better for the company to refuse them, and use the space and power forbetter things – like the energy shielding project that was currently on arelatively low priority list for Tony to work on himself, because the potentialdestructive uses for the technology was rather high, and the company payoutswould be low, unless he could work out a safer design, and then there was theissue of –’

‘“There's also thesubject of your ethics policy, Mr. Stark.”’

‘His disciplinary profilewas nonexistent, not classified; there was simply nothing to put in it. Incontrast, there were very few notations of withheld information in hispsychological profile; Jim couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not.’

MCU:

‘Then there was Natasha, who was fine anyway.’

‘Tony took a moment toverify the contents of the clothing bundle – and yep, there was a sports bra inthere – and finally managed to look at Steve's face without automaticallyjerking his gaze away.’

‘There was the occasionalcultural misunderstanding – on both sides – but for the most part it waseasy to see that Thor had been raised to be a king, a diplomat.’

TRON:

‘“Who was it?” Alan asked after a moment, releasing the lockson his briefcase to pull out product mock-ups.

 “Thepolice,” he replied, almost in a daze. He'd have to skip the meeting to headdown there...’

‘He currently shared the barred space with three Users – andwhy did they use bars of metal, when force-fields offered a more complete,stronger, and transparent divider? – though there was a fourth User pressed close against one of the wallsshared with a neighboring cell.’

‘Something inside of him tried to shudder away from that toucheven though he lacked the freedom to do so, heaving against a jagged void that shouldnot be there...’

‘The unwelcome touch slid away from his few operative sensors,and he watched as the hand moved in when there shouldn't be space for itto do so, then Clu spoke again, audio output glitching with a sort of chokedsound. “I will fix this.”’

‘There was a faint hintof wonder added in Clu's tone this time, accompanied by the quiet beeps andtones of some sort of interface.’

‘“You should have seenthe display on his output, Tron, there aren't values high enough to quantifyit; I calculated for sure he was going to need a cold boot, but then he –Tron?” Ram's running commentary terminated immediately upon registering thesudden distance in the other program's usually intensely focused inputs.’

‘“Finally,” he groaned, though his visual output was smiling.“I was about to calculate the probability of her fusing into the datascape,with how little activity there's been lately.”’

‘There was little more than the queues and empty space betweenthe monitor's station and the processing junction, so Ress spent the next sixmicrocycles either idling or advancing with the Kaze before her, until shefinally passed through the doorway to Processing.’

‘There wasn't much elsehe could do now but wait, so he cycled down to save energy – different fromstandby only by categorization technicality – and evaluated the gaping hole inhis render.’

‘He's still there,” shehastened to reassure Sam as the blood drained from his face, “but when I try tocommunicate with him, or access his data, I keep getting an 'unknown error'message.”’

Young Justice:

‘The drumming grew louder, Wally was almost vibrating withexcess energy, and Dick was almost there, when –’

‘He turned away from the map to look at everyone else, handson his hips triumphantly. “There, last three minutes. Minus the glares andgravity, and in much smaller words.”’

‘There was a startlingly large amount of calculationsthat went into running at superspeed – between changes in the evenness of theground, what it was made of, the relative friction of that surface, and itsstability, without taking into account mobile and stationary obstacles muchless combat – and Wally sometimes got caught up in those calculationsinstead of trusting the relatively-new instincts of a body inclined to movethat fast.’

‘“I wasn’t going to be the first one to say anything but yeesh, yeah – when was the last time youwashed that thing?” Artemis declared, waving one hand in front of her facewhile the other pinched her nose shut, and Robin was glad he’d forgotten todrop his cape in with the rest of his laundry since his and Batman’s adventurehunting Killer Croc a few days ago, and there was apparently enough sewer-smellclinging to the fabric to catch the attention of someone looking for it.’

‘He opened his mouth to explain –

… Maybethere was something wrong with him.

– and closedit again.’

‘He needed to prove thatthere wasn't anything wrong with him, not anymore.’

‘“And it's a real possibility, but I can't let it stop me.Because there are people out there depending on me, and, well... I've got tohelp them. You understand?”

There was along moment – even by normal standards – where nothing happened, then thatfiery hair tickled his chin in a nod.’

‘Their fears were different– there was little danger of him slipping into relative time even briefly, asslow as he was – but the principles were the same.’

‘Maybe when there were others around, he could take a break,but until then... he had to help.’

And that’s all, folks.