#listen has mr. rogers ever steered you wrong?

[nokingsonlyfooles]

"Best Candidate"

Jeeeeeesus. Forgive me, but we used to call North Korea "Best Korea" on FARK, and that's stuck in my head. Kim Jong Un had the "Best Haircut" and "Best Horse," ya get me? That is a real quote from the article, though. Someone thinks he's the best. I... I have some doubts about how we're defining "best" at this point.

Given that Sanders is out there defending him and Schiff is telling him to step down, the ideological fault lines are... Well, look, I won't speculate why right now, but coming at me for being too left-leaning and critical ain't gonna patch this up. This isn't a result of ANY of the issues I have with Biden - I thought if he was too impaired for presidentin', we'd do him like Reagan, or Wilson. I didn't think the debate would move the needle. Me and the mainstream just aren't simpatico.

And the press are clearly still pissed at being gaslit and put off. They have no mercy left.

It's not possible to fight this war on THREE fronts. The people with money are turning against him. He needs money to fix his disaster campaign. He needs severance pay for whoever suggested he could pivot from "enemy of democracy" to "unity" without falling flat on his face. And yet, some of the people with money won't hear a word against him, so even if they do pick a new candidate, this campaign is going to be suffering from anemia for the foreseeable future.

Puffing up like scared kittens and walking sideways and saying "We are so strong, it's fine" is not going to help the outcome here. You know in Inside Out (the first one, *sigh*) how we learn Sadness is so people will come help you and constantly hiding behind Joy will allow your situation to deteriorate until you're stealing mom's credit cards and running away on a bus? I don't know how else to express this in nonthreatening language: It's all right to cry. We need help. Even if you think no one's gonna help you, sometimes you get a surprise.

A big part of abuse is making sure you're too scared and hopeless to cry for help, so it can continue indefinitely. I'm just putting that out there. Crying has value.

Team Biden does not want to address this. The above poll says they have to. I don't think the lugenpresse have it wrong - they're not being nice anymore, but I don't think they're wrong. "Fake news" is someone else's mantra, we don't need that. For whatever reason, voters would prefer another candidate. How will Biden respond? More denial, or action?

And how 'bout you? We've got a big problem. You don't have the money or clout to fix it and "make moderates and donors stop abandoning Biden" is not going to be on any ballot. No matter how much you want people to just go vote anyway, that's not how they work. That's the political reality you're dealing with, like the death of the Voters' Rights Act and the electoral college. Biden pissed off the press, moderates, AND his donors. The guy may not win. He certainly won't unless something improves. I'm not going to cast an evil spell and make that happen by saying it, and neither will you. So what's your plan? And if that doesn't work, what's Plan B?

[fairylightsandchai]

The Internship - Part 2

A/N: Hello, again! Just popping in again to say that I know I don’t usually post fanfic here, but I really wanted to take part in @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​‘s Pre-Code Challenge! Just ignore this if you don’t follow me for fanfiction. :) Also, I’ll be adding tags in a reblog. 

Read Part One Here!

As a side note, I’ve made a new blog since writing this dedicated to fanfic. If you wanna check it out, click here!

Pairings:  Dark!Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: >10K

Summary:  You are a student in the former-Captain America’s American History class, and you soon notice that Professor Rogers has been paying more than a professional amount of attention to you. But when he approaches you with an internship opportunity that’s too good to be true, how can you say no?

(A/N: This fic contains non-con elements, stalking, and manipulation, and this part will inclue rape, breeding kink, and kidnapping. It is also inspired by The Wild Party, a film from 1929. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.)

You let out a curse as your hand fumbled around inside of your purse; you professor would be there any second to pick you up, and your phone was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn that you’d set it down on your nightstand to charge, but it hadn’t been there that morning, and after spending the better part of an hour looking for it, you were beginning to give up hope.

           A knock sounded at your door and you swore again, finally setting your purse down next to your packed suitcase and hurrying to answer it. On its other side stood Steve, a smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He was dressed much more casually than you’d ever seen him before, wearing a pair of dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket.

           Staring between him and the bundle of daisies, you blinked once, twice before finally finding your voice again.

           “Steve! I… Are those for me?” you asked, and he let out a soft laugh.

           “Nah, they’re for the other girl who lives here,” he joked.

           “I’m sure she’s very grateful,” you managed, taking the bouquet from him and giving it a sniff. “What’s the occasion?”

           “Well,” he began, following you into your apartment as you went to locate a vase, “I know that you had your reservations about joining me, and I wanted to get you a little something for agreeing to the internship.”

           “Oh.” You finally found an old pitcher that you’d never before used and started filling it with water, watching Steve out of the corner of your eye. He seemed right at home, browsing your book collection with his hands in his pockets as he skimmed the titles. “Well thank you! They’re beautiful.”

           After setting the daisies into the water, you turned to face your professor.

           “So… Are you ready to head out?” you asked, and he quickly turned his attention back to you.

           “Sure am.”

           Before you could protest, he walked over to your suitcase and picked it up, not even batting an eye at how heavy it was. You scurried over to pick your purse up and follow him out of your apartment.

           “I might need to stop at a Best Buy on the way,” you told him as you locked the door. “I can’t seem to find my phone…”

           “You can’t go without it for a week?”

           “I mean… I can, but I would rather not have to,” you explained. “My mom might start to worry if I don’t keep in touch.”

           “Well how about you use my phone? I would hate for your family to be concerned.”

           You followed him to his car, surprised at how sleek and modern it looked; it had to be worth more than a couple years of your rent.

           “Are you sure? It won’t be too much of a bother?” you asked, moving to open the passenger door. Steve’s hand shot out faster than yours, though, opening it for you with a smile.

           “It would be no trouble at all, (Y/N),” he assured you.

           With a quiet “thank you”, you slid into your seat, flinching when Steve closed the door behind you. As you sank into the dark leather beneath you, you wondered if it was too late to turn back. You couldn’t get that meeting in his office out of your head; the way his voice had hardened, the way his face had turned stormy when you hadn’t thanked him initially, it still sent shivers down your spine. Steve had spent years as America’s ‘golden boy’, but you couldn’t shake the suspicion that there could be a darker side of him just beneath the surface.

           You jolted in your seat when you heard his door open, and you watched as he climbed into the driver’s side, his weight making the car shift as he settled in.

           After flashing a small smile your way, he pressed a button and the car started, its engine purring quietly. You were both silent as you made your way to the interstate, your apartment fading into the distance in the rear-view mirror. It was only after the car was on the highway that Steve glanced your way again.

           “You can put on the radio, if you’d like. We have a good hour of driving ahead of us, and that’s if traffic isn’t too crazy.”

           You sighed; traffic in the city was always crazy.

           You fiddled with the radio, eventually finding a station that you liked and turning it down to a low volume, just wanting some background noise.

           “Hey, I actually know this song,” Steve smiled. “Doesn’t happen too often these days; most of the music I listen to is on the records I have at home.”

           You smiled a little at that; some of the things he said really made him sound like a grandpa.

           “I like the oldies, too,” you told him, head turning to look out your window. “Do you have a favorite band?”

           Steve thought about it for a second, his thumbs tapping absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

           “Well… You’ve probably never heard of them, but I really liked The Ink Spots back in the day. Oh, and Frank Sinatra is pretty hard to beat.”

           “I happen to enjoy Sinatra myself,” you said. “I don’t know a lot of his music by name, but he has a really distinct voice.”

           “That’s true,” Steve smiled. “…You know, you have a really distinct voice, too.”

           Well, that came out of nowhere. You chuckled a little, feeling your cheeks heat up.

           “I…don’t think so,” you tried to dismiss him.

           “No, I mean it,” he insisted. “I really like your speaking voice; I imagine you’re a nice singer, too.”

           “You are… so wrong,” you informed him. “My singing voice sounds like a cat being boiled.”

           He threw his head back, his shoulders shaking with the force of his laugh.

           “And just how do you know what that sounds like?” he asked you, glancing away from the road to raise an eyebrow at you.

           You just shrugged, your smile fading slowly as you looked down at your lap.

           “Why do you do that?” you heard yourself saying.

           “Do what?”

           “Compliment me so much,” you clarified, not daring to look his way. “You always have something nice to say about me. Why?”

           It took Steve a few moments to answer, evidently pondering over his words.

           “Well,” he finally said, “I suppose I’m just used to saying what’s on my mind. Everything I’ve told you has been true, you know.”

           You felt something in your chest flutter, and you chewed on your lip as you cranked the radio louder. It wasn’t necessarily the words he’d spoken just now that unsettled you; no, it was the way he’d said them: softly, earnestly, in a tone that you don’t just use with a student or a friend. You tried to push that thought away, tried to write it off as ridiculous; he was Captain America. Why and how would he ever develop feelings for someone like you?

           The majority of the car ride passed in silence, and you watched the sun sink lower into the sky. He’d picked you up in the middle of the afternoon, and as the winter dragged on, the days were getting shorter and shorter. So when you finally made it into Brooklyn, the sky was awash in light pinks and oranges; the sun would be going down in about two hours.

           “So, I was thinking,” Steve finally spoke up, setting his right hand on the gear shift, “that we could stop for an early dinner before heading to our hotel room. I know a great pizza place close by.”

           His pinky was just barely resting against your thigh as he spoke, and even that tiny point of contact was enough to make you uncomfortable. You pressed your thighs together, putting some distance between your leg and his hand, and you thought that you saw his jaw clench at the motion.

           “U-um,” you finally spoke up, realizing he was still waiting for an answer, “yeah, that sounds good. I could go for some pizza.”

           With a nod of his head, he turned his turn signal on, turning down the next road. In no time, he’d parked the car in a parking garage and led you out onto a street. When you reached a brick building with a sign that said Lucali on it, he held open the door for you, waving you in before him.

           The smell of Italian food immediately washed over you, and you almost let out a moan as you deeply inhaled. A young, sweet-looking hostess walked to the two of you instantly, doing a double take when she saw the man you were with.

           Grabbing a few menus, she, for her credit, quickly got over her moment of being star-struck.

           “Good evening; table for two?”

           “That’d be great,” Steve said, giving her one of his trademark smiles. “We would like one in the back, if any are available.”

           “O-of course, Mr. Rogers,” she assured him, leading you both into a more secluded area. Jazz music was playing over the sound system, and as you sank into the booth you were led to, you noticed that every table had a small succulent on its surface.

           “Can I get you guys started with something to drink?” the nice girl asked, and you were about to say that you’d just take water when Steve interrupted you.

           “We’ll have a bottle of the house red blend,” he told her.

           “Oh, no,” you tried to say, “I don’t really want any wine-“

           The look Steve gave you stopped you dead in your tracks, and you were quickly taking back your words for a reason you couldn’t quite name.

           “U-um, that is, could I have a water with that?” you corrected yourself. Steve smirked, never taking his eyes off of you as the hostess hurried away.

           You squirmed in your chair, not daring to make eye contact with the man in front of you until he spoke your name softly.

           “Um… Yes?”

           “You know, I’d really like it if you were able to relax,” he said softly. “Sip some wine with me; try not to be so tense. Let yourself enjoy the evening.”

           Before you could reply, the hostess was back with your drinks, and you immediately chugged half of the glass of wine she’d poured for you – you would welcome anything that could take the edge off, at this point.

           “So,” Steve said, not touching his own glass, “I have a whole itinerary planned out for tomorrow. I thought we could start out by going to the building I grew up in; I was sure that they’d have tore it down by now, but apparently it’s still an apartment complex.”

           “We could even take some pictures,” you added, finishing off your glass. “They might be a nice inclusion to the chapter.”

           “That’s a great idea,” he smiled. “So, we’ll check it out and take some photos, and then we’ll go to Coney Island; Bucky and I used to go there all the time. Once, he made me ride this rollercoaster there until I got sick.” Steve laughed fondly at the memory. “But I got him back the next time and made him go on the tilt-a-whirl until he passed out.”

           You chuckled, feeling the wine start to tingle pleasantly through your veins.

           “Bucky? That was your best friend, right? The…the winter soldier?”

           Steve’s smile grew sad at the mention of that title, but he nodded his head, reaching over to your glass of water and taking a sip casually. If it weren’t for the wine, you were sure you’d have found that odd, but you didn’t even think twice about it.

           “He doesn’t like to be called that anymore,” he corrected you. “But he was known by that name once.”

           You were both silent as he poured you another glass, and you mumbled a quick ‘thank you’ before promptly sipping on it. The air between you felt awkward all of a sudden, and you regretted bringing up the tender subject.

           “So,” you spoke up, “what else is on your itinerary?”

           “Well…” Steve perked up, “I thought that we could head over to Central Park after Coney Island; it’s all the way in Manhattan, but I used to go there and draw when I was a kid.”

           “You like to draw?”

           “I sure do. It’s one of the things that I’ve been good at since before the serum.”

           “I’m sure that’s not true,” you assured him.

           “Oh, believe me, it is,” he grinned, and there was a softness in his eyes as he looked at you. “Other than getting in way over my head. I’ve always done that, too.”

           When the waitress came by your table, Steve ordered for the both of you, but you didn’t mind; he happened to order your favorite type of pizza, and you smiled at the coincidence. The wine was starting to make your head buzz, but you welcomed it over the constant anxiety you seemed to be facing these days.

           Your pizza came out surprisingly quick, right in the middle of a story you were telling Steve about your childhood. He was watching you so intently, his chin resting on his palm and his eyes sparkling with amusement. First one, then two more glasses of wine had been drunk (by only one of the people at your table), and when the bottle went empty he slid his still-full glass over for you to finish.

           The both of you were completely silent as you ate the pizza; it seemed that you both were hungry. You ate your fill before sitting back and watching Steve ate the majority of the meal as you sipped your wine; you’d never seen anybody eat that much pizza in one setting, but then again, you’d never dined with a super soldier before.

           The sun outside had completely disappeared by the time the two of you were finished, an entire bottle of wine sloshing in your belly as you stumbled out of the restaurant.

           “Woah there,” Steve chuckled, holding his arm out for you to support yourself on. “You ok?”

           “’M great,” you waved him off. “Just drank a little more than I was expecting to. You should’a stopped me at my second glass.”

           All Steve replied with was a deep chuckle, leading you back to the car and helping you into your seat. You blushed as he buckled your seatbelt for you, feeling like a child.

           “I can do it myself,” you tried to protest, but he batted your hands away when you reached for him.

           “I know you can. But I want to help you.”

           You huffed but made no attempt to further protest, settling in against the cushy seat as he started to drive you to the hotel. Your eyelids were slowly starting to feel heavier, and you jolted when you suddenly felt a hand descend on your shoulder.

           “Hey, doll,” Steve was saying, “We’re here. Wake up.”

           You blinked sluggishly; you hadn’t meant to drift off. Letting out a soft grunt, you opened your door and stood up on stiff legs. Your teacher smiled over at you as he unloaded your suitcases, handling all of the bags as he led you out of the parking garage and into one of the fanciest hotel lobbies you’d ever seen.

           Your shoes clicked against the marble flooring as you walked with Steve to the receptionist’s desk. The man behind the counter gave your professor a wide smile, not even sparing you a glance as he greeted the soldier.

           “Welcome, Mr. Rogers,” he grinned. “We are honored to have you staying with us, sir.”

           “Thank you,” he replied. “We have a reservation under-“

           “Rogers, yes. We have your room all set up.” The man handed Steve a keycard, and you wondered if he would start vibrating with how excited he was at having such a famous guest. “Please, do let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant.”

           “I sure will; have a good evening.”

           With that, Steve gestured for you to walk into the nearby elevator before him, pressing the button for the 11th floor.

           “I was wondering if that guy was gonna kiss you,” you joked, and he threw his head back as he laughed.

           “I…am very glad he didn’t,” he sighed. “Wouldn’t wanna make you jealous.”

           Your eyes widened, but before you could say anything, the elevator dinged open and Steve was making a beeline down the hallway. You rushed to follow him to a door marked “1110”, and the first thought you had after he unlocked the door and led you inside was…there’s only one bed. The room was gorgeous, of course. Soft carpet flooring, white linens, dark wood furniture, and you passed a spacious, luxurious bathroom as you stepped further into the room.

           “Um… Steve?”

           He turned to you as he set your bags on the dresser, eyebrows raised.

           “Yeah?”

           “There, um… There’s only one bed.”

           “Oh,” he said, looking around at the bed as if only just then noticing it, “Yeah. All of the rooms with two were taken.”

           “…Um… Alright, then,” you said, starting to sober up from the wine.

           Walking over to the bed, you pulled off one of the pillows and dropped it to the floor, gripping the comforter and moving to pull it off of the mattress.

           “What are you doing?”

           You met Steve’s eyes, halting in your movements.

           “I’m making myself a bed on the floor.”

           “The floor?”

           You nodded, wondering why it was so surprising.

           “Yeah, I don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” you said. “You paid for the room, so you deserve the bed.”

           “…Why don’t we just share it?”

           You felt your cheeks heat up at his question, feeling like a deer in headlights as he stared at you.

           “U-um, well… It’s just that you, um… you’re my teacher,” you explained, feeling dumb as you said so. “Wouldn’t that be…inappropriate?”

           “Oh, c’mon, doll,” Steve sighed, setting his hands on his hips. “We’re both adults. You don’t need to be so immature about this.”

           Your eyes were round, and your mouth hung open, not knowing what to say to that. Your chest tightened at the feeling of disappointment, for some reason feeling sick at the thought of Steve thinking of you as ‘immature’.

           “I…  I’m sorry,” you stuttered, voice small. “I’m just…going to put my pajamas on.”

           You opened your suitcase hurriedly and snatched the first tank top and pajama pants you saw before rushing into the bathroom, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You took your time dressing, not wanting to venture back out into the bedroom to face him again; why did he bother you so much? Why did you care about what he thought?

           Letting out a deep sigh, you looked at yourself in the mirror, heart sinking when you saw your shirt. Or, rather, what was showing straight through your shirt. Your nipples were clearly visible through the thin material of your white tank top, and for a second you pondered putting on your bra again. But it was stark black, sure to show through even more blatantly than your nipples.

           Staring up at the ceiling, you briefly wondered if there was some higher power out there who just liked watching you squirm, scattering awkward, embarrassing moments throughout your life like a child throwing confetti.

           Whatever, you decided, gathering up your dirty clothes and holding them against your chest. Steve thought you were immature, anyways. He probably wouldn’t spare your nipples a second glance, right?

           …Right?

           Summoning your courage, you opened the door and walked out, not once glancing over at your teacher as you headed to your suitcase. Not even when you heard him sigh and sit up straighter on the bed.

           “Doll, I didn’t mean to be mean earlier,” he was saying as you shoved the bundle in your hands into the bag. “You’re very mature for your age, and I-“

           You turned around, mouth open to speak, but you stopped when Steve’s words were cut off by a deep inhale. You glanced up shyly, just in time to see his eyes fly up from your chest to your face, his eyes a bit wide as he tried to keep his gaze fixed on yours.

           For the first time since walking back into the bedroom, you realized that he was only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, his muscles on full display as he lounged against the headboard. You hoped he didn’t see how your thighs clenched together at the sight, but his eyes caught every movement you made as you stood before him.

           “I…” he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry for calling you immature earlier.”

           You nodded, tearing your eyes away from his pectorals as you padded over to your side of the bed. Not daring to make any eye contact, you lifted the sheets, snuggling down into them and turning onto your side. You were faced away from him as you spoke next.

           “It’s ok,” you said. “I think I’m going to go to bed now.”

           “Alright, doll,” Steve murmured. “Goodnight.”

           A few moments later, you felt his weight leave the bed as he got up to turn off all the lights. Once the room was completely dark, you felt the bed dip again, and you curled up into a ball to try and take up as little space as possible.

           For a long while, you could only hear your own breathing, and one by one your muscles were beginning to relax. Just as you were on the edge of sleep, though, you heard sheets sliding against skin, and then a pair of impossibly strong arms were wrapping themselves around you.

           Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second you froze. Your heart was pounding, and you felt Steve’s hot breath against the back of your neck. Wondering if he was just latching onto you in his sleep, you tried scooting away, wriggling in his iron-like grip. But despite your best efforts, he wouldn’t budge.

           “Steve,” you whispered, “can you-“

           “Stop,” he murmured, his nose nuzzling into the side of your neck. “Just be still.”

           Your eyes widened, and you felt a rising tide of panic swell in your chest. Once more, you tried to distance yourself from him, reaching back behind you to try and push against his chest, but he only tightened his grip on you, squeezing you until it was beginning to grow harder to breathe.

           “Stay. Still,” he growled, giving you one hard shake.

           You whimpered at his tone, too shocked to say anything else. Limply, you let your hands fall back to your side, feeling the fight leave your body like water going down a drain.

           “Good girl.”

           Letting out shaky breaths, you forced your eyes to close and willed your breathing to slow down. Despite your discomfort, your exhaustion was getting the best of you, and your eyelids were once more growing heavy. Sleep was beginning to overtake you, and in the last moments before it completely won you over, you realized how warm Steve was, how nice it felt to be in someone’s arms. In any other situation, you could see yourself enjoying this.

           But tonight was different. Tonight, you were trapped, and as nice as your body felt, your mind was at war with itself as you finally succumbed to sleep.

­­­­­­­­__________

           You woke up impossibly warm. There was a comforting weight on top of you, and the pillow beneath your head was so soft, providing just the right amount of support. It was so unlike your own bed back home, filled with lumps and-

           Your breath caught in your throat as the events of the night before came flooding back to you. Your eyes flew open, falling to the blonde head currently resting against your chest – Steve. He seemed to be asleep, his arm wrapped around your stomach and his lips slightly parted. From this angle you could see how long his eyelashes were, and for a brief moment you felt a flutter of jealousy.

           But that feeling soon left when he took in a deep breath through his nose, his spine stretching and his arm flexing against you. You felt his thumb lazily trace circles against your side as he let out a yawn.

           “Good morning,” he sighed, eyes still closed.

           You gulped, feeling that familiar spike of fear inside you.

           “Good m-morning,” you whispered back. You made to swing your legs over the side of the bed, but his arm only tightened in its grip.

           Finally, he opened his eyes and looked up at you.

           “Where are you going,” he asked, voice suddenly devoid of all sleepiness.

           “Just to the bathroom,” you murmured, and thankfully, he let you go, rolling onto his back to allow you to stand up.

           You felt his eyes on you the entire time it took for you to cross the room, and you let out a sigh of relief once there was a door separating you. A door which, you knew, he could easily put his fist through if he wanted; you’d always been aware of his strength, but it hadn’t seemed real to you until you’d felt his arms caging you in against him.

           As you went about your business, you belatedly came to the realization that there was no explaining his actions anymore. You could no longer shake away the feelings of unease Steve arose within you; you could no longer call yourself ridiculous for not feeling safe with Captain America, of all people. As you washed your face and considered your countenance in the mirror, you felt your world came to a screeching halt as you accepted the fact that had been right in front of you the entire time.

           Steve wanted you.

           After gathering up your courage, you stepped out of the bathroom to find Steve already up and dressed in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. He gave you a soft smile when your eyes met, but now you could see the steel behind it.

           “I figured we could just eat breakfast here,” he told you, using such a nonchalant tone that for a second you forgot entirely about last night. “They have a buffet downstairs. After that we can head to my old stompin’ grounds and take some pictures.”

           “Th-that sounds good,” you assured him, cautiously walking over to your suitcase. “Is it ok if I take a shower first?”

           “Of course it is. You want me to get out of your hair, leave you with the room to yourself? You can just come downstairs and meet me in the dining hall when you’re all set.”

           “Oh.” You blinked in surprise. “Um, yeah, that would be great.”

           Steve gave you another warm little smile, setting his hand on your shoulder as he walked past you.

           “I’ll be waiting for you.”

           You watched him leave, waiting to hear the door click completely shut before grabbing everything you needed from your suitcase and heading back into the bathroom. You took your time in the shower, wondering what exactly you should do about all of this. You couldn’t spend an entire week with Steve, not if he continued acting so…weird around you.

           As you applied your makeup and dried your hair, you reasoned that, yes, Steve definitely had…some kind of feelings for you. Maybe it was a crush; maybe it was something more. Or maybe he just wanted to get in your pants. Either way, you had to tell him that his feelings weren’t returned, that you wanted to end the trip early. He could find another intern to finish out the week.

           For now, you decided, you would do what he wanted for today; you would go with him to his old house and take notes; you would go to Coney Island with him. But as soon as he mentioned going back to the hotel, you would lay it all out for him and get an Uber back to your apartment.

           Feeling determined, you grabbed your purse and headed down to the ground floor, almost getting lost in the vast hotel several times before you were able to locate the dining hall. Upon entering the large room, you saw Steve sitting at a table, tapping away at his phone with an already-empty plate. When he looked up at saw you, though, he hurriedly shoved the phone into his pocket and gave you a smile.

           “You look great,” he said as you passed him on the way to the buffet.

           All you could manage was a weak smile for him as you went about assembling a plate for yourself, even though you really didn’t have an appetite. You settled on some fruit salad and a muffin, grabbing a cup of orange juice as you went back to the table.

           “That’s all you’re gonna eat?” Steve asked, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. You put on a false smile and nodded as you picked at your food.

           “I’m not really hungry this morning.”

           He didn’t offer any protest as you ate, and as soon as you were done he ushered you out into the parking garage. The car ride to his old home was mostly silent, leaving you to watch the streets of Brooklyn go by.

           “This town has really changed,” Steve eventually sighed. “It’s always weird coming back here.”

           You were quiet for a few moments, thinking about what to say. He’d sounded strangely…sad.

           “You don’t think it’s changed for the best?” you finally spoke.

           “Well… I dunno. Yes and no, I think. Because modern technology is great; there’s no disputing the accomplishments we’ve made with it. But this city used to be…smaller. And not just in size; it used to be that each street had its own flavor, its own feel to it. Now, everything is so commercialized that it doesn’t even seem real anymore.”

           “…I’m sorry, Steve,” you muttered, feeling genuine sympathy for him despite how he’d made you feel. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”

           Steve nodded, parallel parking the car onto the side of the road.

           “I wouldn’t want you to, doll. The things I’ve seen sure can change a person.”

           With that, he hopped out of the car, jogging around to open your door for you. As you stepped out onto the sidewalk, you saw a three-story brick building right in front of you. The first floor was dedicated to a Chinese restaurant and, beside it, a used bookstore, but it appeared that the top two floors were used for housing.

           “That window,” Steve said, leaning closer to point it out to you, “used to be in my bedroom. And the downstairs was a clothing store back then. My mom was a tailor there when I was little, before she became a nurse.”

           He led you around the building into an alleyway, a melancholy smile on his face. The alley was not unlike any other you’d seen; trash was strewn about and trashcans were lined up against the far wall. You heard music drifting out of an open window somewhere above you, though, and some of the windows had flower boxes with overflowing ivy inside of them. Steve paused at the foot of an old stairway made of iron, resting one of his feet on the bottom step and rubbing his hand up and down its rail.

           “I used to climb these stairs every day,” he said wistfully. “And me and Bucky would play in the alleyway; I could always beat him at jacks.”

           You gave him a small smile, walking closer to him.

           “Can I borrow your phone?” you asked. “For the pictures.”

           “Oh, right.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a StarkPhone, handing it to you. He made to walk away from the steps, but you held one of your hands out.

           “No, stay there,” you instructed. “Look up at your old apartment, and uh…act natural.”

           He chuckled, moving back to his position next to the stairwell.

           “Whatever you say, Miss Photographer.”

           You snapped a few photos from different angles, liking especially one where he had his back to the camera, his profile visible as he looked up at his old front door. You quickly set a black-and-white filter over it before handing him back the device.

           “I think those all look good,” you said. “Tell me what you think.”

           Steve flipped through the photos, lingering on the one you’d made black and white.

           “These are great,” he praised you. “But they’d look much better with you in them with me.”

           He gave you a wink as he tucked the phone back into his pocket, gesturing for you to follow him back to the car before you had the chance to say anything more.

           “C’mon, it’s been decades since I’ve gone to Coney Island. I wanna see how different it is these days.”

           The rest of the day was strangely…pleasant, in spite of being with a man you knew to have some kind of strange fascination with you. Going to Coney Island with Steve kind of made you feel like a kid again. He wouldn’t go on any of the rides, but he did play some of the carnival games with you. It was his idea.

           “C’mon, we can’t come here and not have at least a little bit of fun,” he’d cajoled. You’d given in, following him to the ring toss stall.

           After that, you began to loosen up a little bit. The games were fun, despite how rigged they clearly were. Steve, though, was unsurprisingly amazing at them; he’d even broken the Strong Man game. When he’d brought the hammer down onto the button, not only did the bell ring, but it cracked in half. He’d grinned and picked a huge teddy bear off of the rack, handing it to you proudly, and you hadn’t been able to do anything but laugh and accept it with a smile.

           After stopping to get a hot dog (or three hot dogs for Steve), you’d piled back into his car, barely able to fit the bear into the backseat. On the ride to Central Park, you skimmed through Steve’s phone, picking out your favorite of the photos you’d taken at the amusement park. You laughed and showed him the one you’d taken just after he broke the game; in the picture his eyes were wide as he looked back at you sheepishly.

           When you got to the park and managed to find a parking space close by, you sensed a distinct shift in Steve’s mood. As you got out and let him guide you to the spot in the park he used to visit as a child, you felt his eyes on you constantly, and your small talk puttered out into dead silence. You felt the back of your neck prickle with discomfort as you noticed the path you were walking on becoming less and less crowded, leaving you alone with the super soldier.

           You had the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

           Eventually, the two of you came to a shady part of the path where the tree branches hung low, shielding the asphalt underfoot from sunlight. There was a small, old-looking bridge in front of you, and Steve paused when the two of you were standing overtop of it.

           “Why are we stopping?” you asked, turning to him. “Is this the place?”

           Steve didn’t answer, looking down at his hands where they rested against the bridge. You felt that familiar sense of anxiety rising up inside of you, and you fidgeted as you watched him carefully.

           “You know, I’ve thought about this moment for a while, now,” he finally said, “But hell, I’m still nervous.” He gave you a sheepish smile, but it did nothing to make you feel better. “I guess you just have that effect on me.”

           You gulped, clenching your fists at your sides.

           “Steve, what…what are you talking about?”

           “I think you know, doll.” He stepped closer to you, his chest almost touching yours. “I think you’ve known for a while.

           “You must know that I’m crazy about you by now.”

           You looked down, not able to meet his eyes, but his hand went under your chin and guided your face back up towards him.

           “Hey, look at me, baby. I-“

           “No, please don’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Steve, we can’t-“

           “I love you.”

           Your heart sank upon hearing those words, and despite how he’d treated you up to this point, it broke your heart to see how hopeful his expression was.

           “Steve, I…” You paused, and he eagerly nodded, hoping to hear something you knew you couldn’t say. “We can’t do this. You’re my teacher, and I’m your student. We could both get in huge trouble.”

           You watched the hopeful glimmer in his eyes fade away, replaced with disappointment as his face fell.

           “But…what if you weren’t my student?” he suddenly asked.

           You scrunched up your eyebrows questioningly.

           “What do you mean?”

           “(Y/N), you don’t have to go to school anymore,” he told you in a pleading voice. “I…I could take care of you. You could do your writing from home, and I could provide for us and our family. I know that you have your own plans, but now you don’t have to-“

           “Our family? Steve, I’m so… I’m confused. You expect me to just quit everything and, what? Be your housewife?”

           Steve frowned at your tone, setting a hand on your shoulder. You tried to move it away from him, but his grip was like iron.

           “Doll, I know that this is sudden, but I also know that I can make you happy. And you can’t deny that you have the same feelings that I do. I can hear your heart pounding as we speak-“

           “That’s because I’m afraid, Steve! I hardly even know you, and the only feelings you’ve given me so far have been fear and discomfort. You can’t just fucking decide that-“

           His grip on you tightened, causing you to let out a yelp of pain.

           “Watch your language, baby,” he warned you, voice hard as steel. “I won’t have you speaking to me that way. Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

           “What you’ve done for me?! You haven’t-“

           “I changed my whole life for you,” he spat, his face getting closer and closer to yours. “I moved across town into a shitty matchbox apartment just to be closer to you. I got you into my class so we could properly meet one another. I’ve given you my heart, (Y/N), and I’m ready to give you the life you’ve always wanted!”            Your head spun with his revelation of just how crazy he was. You wanted to scream in his face; you wanted to tell him just how insane he was. But you knew that wasn’t the smart thing to do in this situation, and if you wanted to make it out of this, you would have to be smart. He was stronger than you, and you were alone with no one else in sight; you couldn’t fight your way out of this.

           “S-Steve,” you whispered, forcing yourself to look into his eyes. “Steve, please. I’m sorry for being so…rude. Just… Can we talk about this? Maybe at the hotel? All of this is so sudden, just like you said. I need to think it through.” You silently willed him to believe what you were saying; if you could just make it back to the street you could try and find help.

           He seemed to turn over your words, hesitating before finally loosening his grip on you.

           “…Okay, doll,” he nodded, taking a step back. “We can talk about this. But you’d better watch the tone you take with me. Now let’s-“

           He was cut off by the sound of a ringtone emanating from his back pocket – more specifically, your ringtone. You both froze for a long moment before Steve slowly reached for it, and your blood ran cold when you saw its familiar phone case. It wasn’t the StarkPhone you’d been borrowing from your teacher all day; no, that was your phone. The one that you hadn’t been able to find yesterday.

           And Steve had it.

           “…I’m sorry about that,” he sighed, crushing the device in his palm as if it were made of paper mache. “I know that this looks bad… I was gonna give it back to you after our week together.”

           All of your reason went out the window, and on shaky legs you turned and did the only thing your brain could think about in that moment.

           You ran.

           You could hear Steve’s footfalls behind you, moving impossibly fast, and you let out a scream, making your voice as loud as possible and willing your legs to move faster. Within seconds though, his vice-like arms were around you, one of his massive palms pressing against your mouth and muffling your cries.

           “Cut it out right now,” he demanded. “You know you can’t win this fight.”

           You didn’t faulter in your frenzied movements, though, still kicking your legs blindly. It was only until you felt his hand move from your mouth to your throat that you went still, your vision slowly going black at the corners as it became harder to breathe.

           You were still trying to scream, though, begging anyone who could possibly hear you for help even as your voice became thin and strained. All too soon, though, you felt something hard hit you in the back of the head, and you felt yourself sinking into unconsciousness.

           “Shh, it’s ok,” you thought you heard Steve say. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

           And then everything went black.

________

           The first thing you became aware of as you woke up was how sore you felt. Your head was pounding, your mouth was dry, and your arms were cramping. With a low moan, you tried to move them, but something around your wrists was stopping you.

           “Shhh, doll, you’re ok. I’m so glad you’re waking up.”

           Slowly, your eyes opened and you found yourself face to face with Steve. Sucking in a deep breath, you turned and saw your wrists tied to a bedframe with a thin but strong length of rope. Judging by the rope burn on your skin and the soreness in your muscles, you’d been tied up in that position for a while.

           “I was so afraid I’d hit you too hard,” Steve was going on, perched right next to your hip on the mattress. “I’m sorry that I had to do that, but to be fair, you weren’t leaving me much of a choice.”

           Your eyes widened as you took in the room you were trapped in. The walls and floor were made out of concrete, and there were no windows in sight. There were, however, bookshelves lining an entire wall to your left, and there was a brown leather couch and two matching armchairs placed in front of them. A staircase sat in the corner to your right, and there were two visible doors in the room – one right in front of you and one to the right.

           “Doll? You okay there? Your heart is beating faster than a steam engine.”

           You turned back to face Steve so quickly that your head spun with the movement.

           “S-Steve?” Your voice was brittle, and you just then realized how much your throat hurt.

           “Oh, here, hon. Sip some water; it should help your throat feel better.” Steve stood up and retrieved a glass of water from the nightstand before once more taking his place beside you and holding it to your lips. You tried to lift your head up off the pillow as much as possible, but some of it still dribbled down your chin.

           After you’d drank your fill, Steve put the glass back on the table and leaned over you, letting one of his hands rest on your hip while the other one wiped away the water you’d spilled.

           “There you go. That feel any better?”

           You warily nodded, completely unsettled by the pleasant little smile he was wearing on his face.

           “Steve,” you tried once again. “Where am I?”

           “Don’t worry about that,” he said, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb while his other hand drew lazy circles against your hip. “You’re safe.”

           You struggled once more against your ties, but all you accomplished was aggravating your already raw skin. Steve sighed and pulled away, standing up and putting his hands on his hips.

           “Doll, I’ve already warned you about your attitude,” he chided. “If you calm down, I’ll untie you, but first you’ve gotta settle down and behave. Understood?”

           You felt tears spring to your eyes as you realized just how helpless you were in this situation, but you blinked them away as you nodded. You stopped struggling and lay still.

           “I-I understand.”

           “Good girl. Now, I’ll untie you, but if you try to run or do anything stupid, I won’t hesitate to tie you up again and leave you like that for the next week. Got it?” When you nodded your head, Steve tsked, shaking his head. “You need to do better than that. Say, ‘I promise not to run, Steve.’”

           “I-I promise not to run, Steve,” you recited, feeling a tear slide down your cheek.

           His face softened at that, and he leaned over you to wipe it away.

           “Don’t cry, baby. You’re safe here, remember? The last thing I wanna do is hurt you.”

           Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pocketknife, and you winced as he gripped the rope. With quick, deft movements, he severed both chords, and as soon as you were free you scrambled as far away from him on the bed as possible, rubbing the sore skin of your wrists while drawing your knees up to your chin. Steve sighed at your response, but all he did was sit down on the bed again.

           “Now, you said you wanted to talk earlier, right? So let’s talk. But this time, watch your tone; you’re already due for a punishment for how you spoke to me earlier.”

           You felt yourself blanch at his tone, hugging your knees tighter as you watched him; you didn’t want to talk. You didn’t even know what to say, other than to voice the one question echoing in your mind.

           “…Why?” you finally asked. “Why are you doing this?”

           “Because I love you, doll,” was his immediate response. “I know that you’re confused. I know that you’re scared, and I can understand that. Love is…scary; it’s terrifying. But I know that if you just give me a chance, you’ll see how happy we can be together.”

           You shook your head, trying to trample down the anger you felt welling up inside you; yelling at him would get you nowhere.

           “Steve…this isn’t the way to go about this,” you carefully said. “I don’t want a relationship right now. And it’s not about you; I don’t want a relationship with anybody until I’m done with college. Please, just…let me go, and I promise I won’t tell anyone, ok? We can even go on a proper date after I graduate if you still want to. Just please, please, let me go. You don’t want to do this.”

           Steve’s lips stretched into a humorless smile, and he let out a cold chuckle.

           “I don’t want this, huh? What do you know about what I want? As a matter of fact, what has anyone ever known about what I want? Or what’s more, when have they cared?

           “I never wanted to be this,” he growled, gesturing down at his body. “I didn’t want to be some super soldier; I just wanted to serve my country. I never wanted to wake up in a century I didn’t belong in. I didn’t want to fight against an alien army; I didn’t want to watch half of my friends turn to dust; I didn’t want to see the first woman I ever loved slowly die of an old age I never got to reach.

           “But I did it. I did all of that, and now? I’m tired of doing shit I don’t wanna do just because it’s what’s right. Just this once, I want something for myself. Someone for myself. I want to be happy. And baby, right now, you’re what I need to be happy.

           “I’ve given everything away, and now I’m going to collect on what I’ve rightfully fucking earned.”

           The entire time he was talking, his gaze had gone darker and darker as his voice rose, and now he stood up, marching to the side of the bed you were resting on and pulling you up with both hands wrapped around your biceps. You felt yourself being lifted completely into the air, but before you could push him away, he was kissing you.

           His lips were unforgiving as they moved against yours, his tongue shoving itself inside of your mouth ungracefully. You whimpered, pressing your hands against his chest and wriggling your body in his grip. He made no signs of budging, though, only tightening his grip on you.

           Desperate to separate yourself from him, you bit down on his tongue, feeling yourself being suddenly dropped to the hard floor as Steve let out a howl. You thought you saw blood trickle down from his lips as you staggered to your feet, but you tore your eyes away from him and quickly started rushing to the stairs. Taking two steps at a time, you climbed them until you reached the steel door at their top.

           With shaky hands, you turned its handle, but it didn’t move so much as an inch. Feeling your heart plummet to your toes, you uselessly flung yourself against it, vaguely aware of your own screaming.

           Letting out a sob, you pressed your back against the cold steel, looking down to see Steve wiping a small trail of blood off of his chin. He hadn’t moved from his spot, and in spite of his obvious pain, there was a smirk on his lips. There was no mistaking the anger in his eyes, though.

           “Get your ass,” he growled, drawing himself to his full height, “down those fucking stairs.”

           Your entire body was trembling as you realized how helpless you were.

           “NOW,” Steve suddenly shouted, and you jolted at the sound.

           Moving as if in a daze, you descended the stairs, a cold numbness spreading throughout your body as you realized you were well and truly trapped. When you stood in front of Steve once again, you felt his hand grip your chin harshly, yanking your face closer to his.

           “That,” he growled, “was a stupid thing to do.”

           He suddenly spun you around and pushed you, and you let out a shriek as you landed on the mattress. He didn’t give your body a chance to stop bouncing before he was on you, tearing at your shirt until you felt the material rip.

           “I tried to do this the right way,” he was muttering, almost to himself. “I waited for months. I watched you; I was nice to you. I had an entire evening planned for you after the park if you’d have just said yes.”

           You cried out as he yanked your pants down your legs, and you blindly kicked at him as you sobbed. With harsh, jerky movements, he pushed them apart and settled his hips over yours, settling his weight over you until you were pinned.

           “I was gonna be gentle with you,” he continued on, running his hands over your body, squeezing your breasts so hard through your bra that you yelped. “I was going to make your first time so special, baby. But then you had to go and fuck it all up.”

           Your body froze for a second, a wave of terror crashing over you at his implications. Steve used your pause as an opportunity to push his jeans down, taking his underwear with them. You tried your best not to look down at his body as he took his shirt off, but you’d still caught a glance at what lay in store for you.

           His cock was enormous, bigger than any you’d seen in any porn, and you squeezed your legs together at the thought of it inside your body. It wouldn’t fit; there was no way.

           “Please, Steve,” you were babbling, once more trying to push him away. “Please, it’s gonna hurt so bad; please, I don’t want this to be my first time. Steve, I-“

           His hand descended down over your mouth, gritting his teeth as his other hand tore off your bra.

           “I hope it does hurt, doll,” he growled. “I hope you can’t walk straight for a week. I hope that every time you even think of running away from me again, every time you so much as move your legs, you feel me fucking into your tight, virgin pussy and remember who you belong to.”

           Suddenly you were being flipped over onto your stomach, and you gripped the sheets as you felt your panties being torn off. This was it, you thought, and you braced yourself as best you could.

           But when your legs weren’t pulled apart, when you didn’t feel his hands against you for a second, your eyes opened once more. You turned your head to look over your shoulder, only to see Steve’s hand  as it slapped your ass so hard you swore you saw stars.

           You buried your face in the blankets beneath you as he spanked you over and over again, sobbing as the pain radiated throughout your entire body. Every time you tried to crawl away from him, his hands would wrap around your hips and pull you right back to where he wanted your body.

           “Nuh-uh, baby,” he growled. “You need to take your God. Damn. Punishment.”

           Each word was punctuated with a spank, and you did nothing to stop your screams as you lost count somewhere around 15. You’d had no idea how strong he was before this; you’d thought you’d sensed it when he held you in his arms last night; you’d thought you’d seen it in his bulging muscles. But it was only now, as he was using his strength to hurt you, that you fully understood it.

           By the time he stopped, you were laying limp on your stomach, crying into the sheets and trying to think of something, anything other than the pain. But when you felt yourself being maneuvered up onto your knees, you felt your panic only increase.

           He gave you no warning before he shoved his cock inside of you, but even if he had said anything, you doubt you would have heard it over your own scream. Your walls were roughly stretched as he entered you, inch by aching inch. Your chest shook with your sobs as they mingled with his moan of pleasure. A part of you wondered how he could be feeling so good while you were in such pain, but all thought left you when he started moving his hips.

           You’d always known that your first time would be at least a little painful, but nothing could have prepared you for this. The pain seemed to radiate throughout your entire body, and you couldn’t even find it in yourself to struggle as his thrusts grew more regular in their rhythm.

           “Fuck, baby,” he moaned, his hands squeezing your hips. “I knew you would feel good, knew this pussy would be so good to me-“

           He cut himself off with another moan, shifting his hips so he could fuck deeper into you. You had your eyes squeezed shut the entire time, your nails biting into the skin of your palms as you willed the pain to go away. You tried to relax against him; you even tried to enjoy it, just to ease the pain. You were desperate for it to go away, and your cries only increased when Steve started to move faster.

           Whether it was out of pity or just his own sick amusement, he slowed in his rhythm just a bit, snapping his hips almost lazily as one of his hands trailed down your back.

           “Oh, I’m sorry baby,” he breathed, dragging his cock up and down your walls, hitting a spot inside of you that made your eyes fly wide open. “I forgot that you like it nice and slow at first, right?”

           You whined at his words; the pain was still present, but with him hitting against that spot that made colors dance behind your vision, pleasure was starting to build alongside it. You were somewhat aware that you were babbling, but you couldn’t even make out your own words as he hit that spot repeatedly.

           “I used to watch you, you know,” he grunted, reaching around your body to run his finger over your clit. You jolted at the sensation, inadvertently clenching around him. “I would watch you use that little pink toy you kept in your bedside table. I – fuck - memorized how you made yourself cum, knowing I could make you feel so much better than that tiny piece of plastic ever could.”

           As he started thrusting faster once more, his fingers sped up with him, rubbing up and down against your clit until your sobs slowly started transforming into moans.

           “See, doll? I fucking knew you would love this,” he said. “Knew you would see how you were made to be mine. I’ll fucking make you see.”

           Your eyes rolled as you felt yourself moving closer and closer to the edge, and from the shouts and half-grunted words of praise spilling from Steve’s lips, he was getting close, too. His hips were moving at a brutal pace, but you were starting to crave it even through the dull haze of pain. He was filling you up so well, hitting every corner and ridge inside of your pussy so perfectly, so completely; you did nothing to stop your moans from falling out of your lips, all of your fear and agony fading away until there was nothing but Steve and the pleasure he was bringing you.

           “Steve-!” you cried out, your hips moving against his of their own accord. “P-please-“ You weren’t sure if you were begging for him to stop or begging him not to, but as you reached the edge of your climax, you found that you didn’t care.

           “I know, baby,” he growled, “I know. I-I… Fuck!”

           Suddenly, his fingers were gone from your clit, and you let out a whine as your orgasm eluded you, slipping away right through your fingers. You felt something warm flood your pussy, though, and you looked over your shoulder to see Steve’s mouth open in a silent scream, pure bliss written across his features as he came inside of your abused pussy.

           Your eyes were wide open, silently pleading with him as you squirmed beneath his body, but when he opened his eyes and saw your sad, needy face, all he did was grin.

           “I knew you would be perfect, baby,” he panted, slowly pulling his cock out of you with a wince. You ignored the sensation of his cum leaking out of your body, trying to catch your breath between the sobs that were starting to return.

           “W-why…” you started to ask, but he just leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

           “Be a good girl for me next time, and I’ll let you cum.”

           You melted against the mattress and watched him dress with unseeing eyes, the pleasant feelings in your cunt starting to fade while slowly being replaced by a dull, throbbing ache that brought fresh tears to your eyes.

           “Now, I’m going to go out and get a few things from the store,” Steve spoke, his voice steady and neutral despite what he’d just done to you. “I’ll be back in a few hours. I want you to think about what you’ve done and have a nice apology waiting for me when I come home, okay?”

           When you didn’t respond, he turned to you and raised one threatening eyebrow, not looking away until you’d given him a shaky nod.

           “Good girl. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

           After pulling his shoes on, he started climbing the stairs, pausing at the top to look back down at you with a deceptively warm, soft smile.

           “I love you, doll.”

           And with that, he left, leaving you with his cum cooling on your thighs.

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 5 - In Which Jack Attempts to Become a Semi-Respectable Member of Polite Society and Charles Succeeds in Becoming a Completely Disreputable Trophy Boyfriend

Max and Mr. Scott – probably mostly Mr. Scott, who still has his finger on the pulse of London real estate in a way that's almost frighteningly omniscient - somehow land Jack and company a lovely house that's been subjected to a series of absolutely atrocious renovations and sat empty since the late nineties. So Charles and Anne spend the first few weeks of laying low pulling out all of the hideous carpeting and knocking down the terrible wood paneling – and in one case, an entire (non load-bearing) wall, which they attack with sledge hammers and far, far too much glee. And Mary, bless her, spends the week sweeping and scrubbing and peeling wall paper. Until the house sits an empty shell, stripped down to the stately bones that lay beneath the shag carpeting and twee plasterwork.

Jack spends his weeks learning to play tennis.

He hadn't had much chance to learn growing up, being an impoverished guttersnipe and all, so he's got a lot of ground to catch up. Because, see, the counselor – the one who'd sided with the Spanish over Lord Hamilton, allowing for his final downfall, the one who controls all of London's planning permission, the one Max needs an in with. He absolutely adores tennis.

He adores it with all the fervor of a middle class man who'd seen it as the gentleman's game growing up. And now that he's a gentleman – by wealth and importance, if not by birth, which still stings him, bitterly, and is the reason for his overcompensation – then by God, he's going to play tennis.

And since Jack's first job from Max is to get the counselor on side, he's got to learn to play tennis too. Well enough that whatever skill level the counselor actually has, Jack can play to it, keep the games close. Just barely beat the counselor or just barely lose, but keep it close enough that he keeps coming back for more. Which takes considerably more skill than simply learning the game and playing to the best of his ability.

So Jack practices and practices and practices, all with the help of a draconian ex-professional instructor Max found for him at a mid-level club nowhere near where the counselor plays for the entire month his house is torn down around his ears.

Meanwhile, in the real world, Eleanor and Woodes Rogers's world is coming down around their ears as well. Anne pays Max enough visits that she's always flush with the latest gossip – the sort of thing that goes beyond the polite, antiseptic description that has been in the papers. And the long and short of it is that Woodes Rogers is ruined. Fired from his job, disowned from his family, and, most importantly, the rich person version of penniless.

So he just doesn't have any resources to come after them, if he even suspected anything. And he'll be lucky if he doesn't end up in jail because apparently Eleanor's creative approach to accounting has been helping him evade taxes for a good long while as well. And now that he's too poor to be protected – and his reputation too tarnished – he's looking at the possibility of a five stretch.

Eleanor will probably avoid seeing the inside of a cell, mores the pity. She's too cunning to be taken down with her husband. But her social capital is destroyed, along with a good portion of her money, used to bail out Woodes Rogers with the various criminal elements he was indebted to. And with this new revelation of her less than legal exploits, it means that she's been let go from her position as well – not because she'd done anything they hadn't asked her to do for them, of course. But because they can't bear to have even a whiff of scandal or people might stop trusting in the sanctity of the British financial system. And we can't be having that.

At any rate, all of this means that Jack is able to move in the open again, which is good because he needs to start establishing himself as a quasi-legitimate member of polite society sooner rather than later. So that second month, in addition to playing tennis, Jack starts an Instagram account detailing the renovations on his house.

There's pictures of Jack choosing furniture and wallpaper and fabric swatches and rugs. There's pictures of the interior of the house, featuring Anne as Jack's PA, scowling and holding a clipboard menacingly. And Charles appears frequently as Jack's muse/boytoy, posed artfully shirtless and oiled up and muscular.

Mary, as his new social media manager, has had a lot of good ideas about how to sell Jack as a flirty and flighty and nearly terminally stupid fashion designer and she and Jack and Max have worked hard to make him appear harmless. Someone with money and influence but who was too wrapped up in pretty clothes and pretty boys to ever use it. Someone who could approach the counselor – and offer him valuable access into the upper echelons of society – without appearing threatening to him like Lord Hamilton had been.

And the bitch of it is is that it works.

Jack applies for and gets a membership to the councilor's exclusive health club – and the approval committee explicitly comments on the settee he'd had reupholstered in yellow silk for the upstairs sitting room in his induction hearing, so at least someone's looking at his Instagram. And he begins playing tennis there, familiarizing himself with the layout and the staff and the other patrons. So he can just ever so coincidentally grab the court opposite Councilor Featherstone during his weekly Saturday morning game.

They don't talk much during the game itself, but afterwards. Afterwards...

There's the usual handshakes and good games and shows of good sportsmanship from both sides. Jack had just narrowly, ever so narrowly, eked out a victory. But the councilor had more than made him work for it.

So Jack gets invited to a rematch next week – a rematch he'll make sure the councilor wins, just as narrowly. Because you've got to leave them wanting. You've got to leave them hungry for it. And they won't be if they win the first time. But they'll give up if they don't win the second and third. So you've got to walk that fine line of wins and losses until the whole thing's a habit and they couldn't walk away even if they wanted to.

That's what made Jack such a success as a pusher – not his product, but his approach. His way of knowing people. And the councilor is so very eager to be known.

Certainly he starts off with polite inquiries into how Jack's settling into London. Questions about the house and the neighborhood and the progress of the renovation.

But Jack is quick to talk about how difficult he's finding London to navigate, compared to the Bahamas, where they've decided he'll be from. How stand-offish people can be. How it feels like they snub him every time they hear him speak, or they find out that he doesn't know so-and-so from such-and-such school.

Oh, he doesn't come out and complain about it or anything. Just hints at it. Plants little seeds for Counselor Featherstone's own complaints to blossom forth.

And he has complaints aplenty. How it's such an Old School Chums crowd. How many incompetent idiots run various departments based on legacy rather than any actual ability. How put upon Featherstone is by all of them. How they all ask him for favors and expect to give nothing in return – because he should be overjoyed they're even deigning to talk to him and why wouldn't he want to do things for them, everyone wants to do things for them.

And Jack makes the appropriate noises of understanding and commiseration without actually volunteering very much about himself. Because that's the other half of the sell. Make the mark think that you're their friend. That they know you as well as they know themselves so they'll spill all the dark – or in Featherstone's case, mildly frustrated – parts of their soul. Make yourself their confidant, the one they can always turn to, because you think just alike on all the important points. So if you ever disagree, well, it must be my dear friend Jack in the right, he would never steer me wrong.

Of course, you can't do it all at once. It has to be done slowly and carefully, so that the mark never cottons on. But, as born out by Jack shaking Councilor Featherstone's sweaty hand and promising same time next week, he's certainly made a start on it. So that ought to make Max happy.

Jack wipes the sweat from his brow with an obscenely high threadcount towel provided by the club and goes off to assess Charles's progress on the other half of Max's request. Because while Jack has been honing his tennis game and scoping out the club, Charles has been there as well, spending mornings in the gym and afternoons sunbathing by the pool in the smallest bathing suit they'll allow him to wear. Which is quite small indeed. And it's therefore no surprise that Charles has accrued rather a crowd of rich bored socialites around his little flotilla of deck chairs, drawn like moths to a sexy, sexy flame.

Charles just dangerous enough to be interesting. But safe, because he's taken and (presumably) gay. Just a sexy backdrop to their boring, catty lives. Able to blend right into the scenery.

Meanwhile, Charles listens to - and dutifully recounts to Max – all the idle gossip he becomes privy to due to his position as living ornament. Because, to Max, information is worth its weight in gold. And you wouldn't believe what kind of things you can overhear simply by being ignorable.

Plus, Jack thinks as he sets his bag down next to Charles's deck chair and he looks up at Jack from behind his knock-off Coach sunglasses, Charles is having far, far too much fun playing Jack's boyfriend.

As evidenced by him sprawling his thighs even more obscenely open and practically purring, “Hello, darling.”

An obscene mockery of Jack's own favored greeting. And a slight that will not stand.

Jack kneels between Charles's spread legs. “Hello yourself, Chaz.” Jack tilts his chin up for a brief peck on the lips. “Have a good day, dear?”

Charles further escalates things by pulling Jack down onto his lap and nuzzling against his ear. “Better now that you're here, darling.”

And Jack's going to have to do something drastic if Charles keeps this shit up.

But before Jack can retaliate, escalate, they're interrupted by tittering laughter.

“Aren't they just the cutest?” one of the rich ladies coos.

There's general agreement amongst the ladies. “And so fashionable,” one of them says, giving Jack's tennis outfit a once-over.

“Perks of the job darling,” Jack says lightly.

And then one of them – the leader, if the obscene amount of designer and diamonds she's wearing – says, “You both simply must come to my bachelorette party.” She studies her nails faux casually. “It's going to be a real rager.”

This is exactly the kind of thing Charles has been waiting for since Max assigned him this stupid job. And getting on Max's good side is infinitely preferable to even her neutral regard. So Charles'll be damned if he lets it slip through his fingers  – even if he has to play some boring bitch's gay best friend for a whole night.

He tips his fruity umbrella drink in her direction and looks at her over the salted rim. “Sounds like my kind of party.”

Jack resigns himself to a night of drunken socialites vomiting in the back of a limo. “We'll be there, darling. Never fear.”

It'll be an opportunity to move some blow, if nothing else.

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone --Part Twenty-Nine

Welcome back!

Last time, we watched our group visit various colleges and school in America! And Trump was impeached! Good times!

This time, we watch Okoye and her team track down General Ross’s stolen vibranium --or, at least, they try to.

Rating: T for mild language.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku and Shuri x OC.

@the-last-hair-bender, @skysynclair19

Don’t go into every match expecting a win. There’s no fault in being confident in your abilities, but arrogance is the greatest downfall any person will ever encounter. There will be times when your opponent will outsmart you, outfight you, or simply be a step ahead of you.

There’s nothing wrong with it happening. It’s life. It’s the way of the river. So, instead of beating yourself down when you lose, breathe deeply and focus on how to do better next time. Do what you can to put things to your advantage in the next match.

It’s a matter of whether you want to move forward or whether you want to stay where you are. In all things, my dears, I urge you to move forward.

“Do you know what you’re looking for?”

Okoye shook her head. “Not specifically, no. Shuri and Jhanvi tracked the cases into Northern Canada. We weren’t able to get a specific location, though. Agent Ross’s tracking device stopped transmitting during what we think was the last leg of the journey.” She folded another sweater and packed into her duffel. “We’ve got the possible location parsed out to about fifty square miles out in the forest. We’ll be searching around there for anything suspicious.”

M’Baku snorted. “So, you’ll be tramping around in the cold. In the forest.”

“Yes, my love. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me either. Fortunately, I’m taking this.” She held up the hooded fur cloak M’Baku had given her, taking a moment to enjoy her partner’s smile before tucking into her bag as well.

“What happens if you don’t find anything?”

“Well, it’ll be a wasted few days and I’ll come home with complaints and tired feet.”

M’Baku chuckled. “Well, fortunately, New Year’s will happen right after you get back. You’ll get a good vacation after that --and I’m told I’m a good listener.”

“Hm. How are your foot rubs?”

“Utterly phenomenal.”

“Well, then it sounds like my bases are covered for either outcome.” She zipped up her bag. “I need to go. Everyone else will be ready soon.”

“Alright. Be safe, my love. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“I will.” She blew him a kiss, then hung up the call, slung the strap of her duffel bag over her shoulder, and walked out of her quarters at the palace.

She had a flight to catch.

“How, exactly, did I pull shit detail and wind up in Canada on a mission to hike around in the woods while winter is still going?”

Okoye smirked at Ayo. “Because you’re the next in line to be General, and it’s important that you possess a well-rounded array of experiences before I step down so that you can handle anything that comes your way. I’m just taking my mentor-ly responsibilities seriously, dear friend of mine.”

Ayo glared murderously at her while Aneka laughed. “Next time we spar, I’m going to aim a few ‘well-rounded’ blows at your head.” Okoye grinned --then went straight faced as the other member of the mission team boarded the ship.

Steve Rogers, alias Captain America.

She didn’t miss the tension in shoulders or the darkness swimming behind his eyes. He looks like he’s spent six weeks in a war zone. She supposed, though, that it would come with the territory. 

They were tracking HYRDA, after all; the same organization that had tried to kill Mr. Rogers and tortured his best friend for decades. 

It was natural that he’d be on edge. “Sorry for being late,” Steve said quietly as he stowed his bag in one of the wall panels.

“You’re fine,” Okoye said as she hit the control to close the bay door and start the launch sequence. “We’re still on schedule.”

He nodded by way of greeting to Ayo and Aneka, then asked “What’s the plan?”

“We’re searching the last known location Agent Ross’s tracking device,” Okoye said as she steered the craft towards the outer border of Wakanda. She hit the cloaking device as they passed through the holographic shield that surrounded the inner part of the nation and steered the ship up to higher altitudes. “With any luck, we’ll find the vibranium and whatever else HYDRA has there.”

“And if we don’t?”

She could hear the anxiety in his voice, just barely constrained as it thrummed under the surface. I hope that isn’t going to be a problem. She knew enough about Captain Rogers to know that he was a capable fighter and a good leader or team member --and that, when wound up, he could be a bit of a loose cannon. If he costs us this mission, or causes one of my friends to get hurt... Okoye pursed her lips and put the thought firmly out of her head. 

Going down that path wouldn’t yield anything productive. 

“Then we go back to Wakanda and draw up another plan.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

Okoye looked up and met the man’s tense gaze. “We’ll find them, and we’ll take them out. Bottom line, we won’t let them get anywhere near Sargent Barnes. I promise.”

He relaxed a little at that, nodding and retreating back into the cabin of the ship.

Ayo walked up next to her, watching Captain Rogers while she did. “Is he going to be a problem?” she whispered in Wakandan.

Okoye sighed as quietly as she could. “Hopefully not.”

Cold. Bitter cold. Agonizing, bitter cold.

She’d acclimated better to the cold over the past year, thanks to her frequent trips to the Jabari lands.

But the Jabari lands had crackling fires. Steaming hot springs. Thick furs. And M’Baku.

Canada didn’t have any of those things.

Aneka’s teeth chattered as she peered out of the frost decorated window of the safe house they were staying in while they were on their mission. “People live out here? How is that even possible?”

“They go ice fishing, too,” Steve said as he brought in a stack of chopped wood from outside.

“Ice what?”

“They sit on frozen rivers, drill holes in the ice, and fish.”

Aneka’s eyes widened and she mouthed the word ‘insane’ before looking back outside.

Ayo walked up to her girlfriend and wrapped her arms around Aneka’s shoulders before glancing over to Okoye. “The sooner we’re out of this frozen hellscape, the better. What’s the plan?”

“We’ll spend the next few days searching the woods to the North of us. Most of it is accessible by car, but we’ll have to hike through some of it,” Okoye said as she set up a portable mini-heater on the dusty kitchen counter. “We --Captain Rogers... what are you doing?”

“Building a fire.”

Okoye exchanged a slow blink with Ayo and Aneka, then looked back at the Captain. “We... we have a heater. We don’t need a fire.”

“This cabin is drafty. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Okoye shrugged when Ayo gave her a shocked look and mouthed the words ‘just let him do it’ to her second in command. “Okay. Well, we know the last place the tracker transmitted a location was in this area, and there aren’t any airports or any other places where they could easily leave the area.”

“Did it just run out of batteries?” Steve asked as he lit the kindling with a match.

“We thought about that, but when we tried to scan the area we weren’t able to. This area is protected by a dampening field of some sort.”

Steve grimaced. “Well, that’s suspicious.”

“No kidding. If we’re going to find any hints of where they are or where they’ve gone, it’ll be here.”

Two days of nothing.

Well, if you counted all the snow they’d trudged through, it technically wasn’t nothing.

But, if you were looking for positive results, it was an assload of nothing.

The roads hadn’t yielded anything telling, so they’d had to start hiking through the dense forests for any signs of anything suspicious. So far, there weren’t any bunkers, boot marks, or any signs of life in the dense woods.

“Maybe the just drove through here while the batteries gave out,” Aneka had panted at one point, breath clouding in the cold air.

“Maybe,” Okoye had agreed as she’d adjusted the hood over her fur cloak. “But that doesn’t explain the dampening field.”

They were back out in the thick of it again, tramping into the last quadrant they needed to search.

Okoye looked over at Captain Rogers as he hiked next to her. “Are you holding up alright?”

He nodded and gave her a mildly confused look. “You know I’m a super soldier, right? I was created to handle conditions like this.”

“Where I come from, it’s considered rude not to ask.”

He let out a small huff that might’ve been a laugh. “Yeah, I’m alright. You holding up okay?”

“Well enough. I’ll be glad when I’m out of here and back in Wakanda.”

“So will I. I didn’t think fur was a standard material in Wakanda.”

Okoye lifted her gloved hand to her cloak and smiled slightly. “It isn’t, except for the Mining and Jabari tribes. This was a gift.”

“From the Jabari Chief.”

Okoye shot him a mildly startled look. “And you know that how, precisely?”

“Princess Shuri brought his sister to one of Bucky’s sessions. They mentioned your relationship then.”

Well, that makes sense.

And, if she was being honest, she didn’t mind her relationship being public knowledge as much as she used to. She’d adjusted to the idea over the past year, and trusted that M’Baku would protect the more sensitive human side of her consistently.

That, and having two teenage girls be privy to most of the details makes total privacy borderline impossible. Immersion therapy.

“What the hell?”

The Captain’s startled tone broke her out of her reverie --and she stared, shocked. “How...”

Directly in front of them was a ten foot by ten foot patch of forest that was completely taken over by dense, dark green vegetation that stood nearly as tall as Okoye. The plants and weeds seemed completely unaffected by the harsh winter weather, and not one stray shard of frost clung to the leaves or stalks of the flora.

On a hunch, Okoye took off one of her gloves and stuck her bare hand into the vegetation. “It’s warmer here. That explains why there isn’t any snow or frost.”

“Yes,” Aneka agreed as she paced around the perimeter of the spot. “But that doesn’t explain there are plants growing everywhere.”

Ayo pushed back some of the vegetation and revealed a vent in the ground that was spewing hot steam. “Something tells me that shouldn’t be here.”

“Agreed. I think we may have found our base,” Okoye agreed.

“Awesome,” Aneka said. “Now how do we get in?”

“Over here.”

They followed Captain Rogers over to a mound of snow that, when they got closer to it, was definitely too large to be a drift.

He brushed off a side and quickly found a metal door and a keypad. “I think we’ve found our base.”

“I think we have,” Okoye echoed. “We need to update the King and gather up some supplies. We’ll come back tonight.”

“It was just... out in the middle of the woods?” Shuri snorted incredulously. “That’s not a very convenient location.”

“It’s not meant to be,” Okoye said. “It’s meant to be impossible to locate without coordinates. If it hadn’t been for the vent and the vegetation, I doubt we would’ve found it.”

“About that,” Shuri said, her projection wavering as she moved around her lab. “There’s something that’s bugging me. Why were plants growing? I mean, I would’ve bought a patch where snow or ice wouldn’t form, but plants?”

“They looked really healthy, too.” Dewani squished into frame with Shuri, looping an arm around her girlfriend’s shoulders. “Which doesn’t make sense given the conditions.”

“I fail to see how it matters,” Ayo said in a polite voice. “We’ve found the base and we know how to get in. What do plants have to do with anything?”

Dewani and Shuri exchanged a long, uneasy glance.

“Well, large amounts of nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium can help plants to grow larger,” Dewani said tentatively, “but it would take a large amount of genetic modification to get them to grow out of season, added nutrients or not.”

Okoye stopped and raised an eyebrow as she eyed the two girls. “What is it?”

“Well,” Shuri said, “Phosphorus can be used to calcify organs. Potassium can be used to treat high blood pressure. Nitrous oxide is laughing gas…”

“You think they’re torturing and experimenting on people in there and that whatever they’re using leeched into the soil,” Steve surmised grimly.

“It’s one of the very few logical explanations,” Shuri said. “I doubt the HYDRA agents are hobbyist gardeners.”

Okoye grimaced. “So, we might be dealing with a group of genetically modified individuals with who knows what abilities in an underground bunker where they might also have access to vibranium and-or vibranium based weapons.” She drummed her fingers against the table as Ayo swore behind her. This just went unbelievably sideways.

They couldn’t afford to not head in. They needed to track down the missing vibranium and get it out of HYDRA’s hands.

But going on with the team they had now? 

Suicide, plain and simple.

“We’re going to need back up,” Okoye said. “Probably as much of it as we can get.”

“I can send out one of our stealth ships; I’ve been modifying the engines to work more efficiently so that it can fly at faster speeds. I could have a team to you in… six hours,” Shuri said.

“Good. I’m sending you a list of names and supplies we’ll need. This is a rush order; make sure everyone’s ready to go as quickly as possible.”

Shuri nodded. “I’m on it.”

Okoye sighed as the call ended and rubbed the back of her neck. “What is it about anything going wrong? Stanley’s law?”

“Murphy’s law,” Steve supplied helpfully.

“Right. Well, remind me to find Murphy and punch him once this all over.”

The cold was suffocating in the dark. Without the sun to warm the woods, the temperature had dropped nearly thirty degrees.

I should’ve brought M’Baku, Okoye thought as she crept through the darkened woods. He’d be right at home in all of this.

As soon as Shuri’s ship had arrived with the rest of the team --Djabi, two more Dora Milaje members, and the rest of Steve’s team save for Bucky and Scott Lang--they’d finished equipping everyone and departed for the entrance location. They closed in on the door quickly, walking as quietly as they could as the snow crunched under their boots.

Okoye nodded to Wanda and activated her spear as the Sokovian opened the door with her powers. 

When nothing leaped out of them, they filed down the stairs and into the bunker.

Here we go, Okoye thought as she turned on her night vision glasses. Bring it on.

Empty.

The damn thing was empty.

They’d searched the entire bunker --and it was smaller than expected, there was no way they missed something--to find nothing.

No vibranium.

No people.

No computers.

“They knew we were coming,” Clint Barton, alias Hawkeye, said quietly, eyes scanning the space like something was about to manifest from the walls --which, given their track record for weird happenings, wasn’t entirely impossible. “This happened recently. The dust still hasn’t settled.”

“What do you think they were doing down here?” Sam Wilson, alias Falcon, asked as he walked from empty computer bay to empty computer bay.

“If I know HYDRA,” Wanda said, accent thickening as she eyed the cells and stasis tubes, “they were experimenting on people. Again.”

Ayo turned her head to look at Okoye. “What do we do now?”

Okoye pursed her lips and sighed. “Take pictures of everything. When that’s done, we’re heading back to Wakanda.”

Halfway through the flight Aneka made the discovery.

“Agent Ross’s tracking device is transmitting again!”

They all rushed to gather around Aneka, staring down at the display projected by the younger soldier’s kimoyo beads.

“Why are they in the middle of an ocean?” Djabi asked. “Are they on a ship?”

Steve swallowed hard. “No. They’re at the Raft. They moved whatever they had in that bunker to a prison controlled by General Ross.”

Shit. Okoye hissed through her teeth. “There’s no way we’re getting that vibranium back without tipping off General Ross that we’re on to him.”

“No --especially since the only ones who know about the Raft are him, the crew that runs it, and us,” Steve agreed.

Okoye tapped at her kimoyo beads. “I’m contacting Jhanvi. I’m sure she’d like the challenge of hacking into an underwater base. We’ll have her watch and see just what they’re doing before we try and break in.”

“Why not head out now?” Aneka asked.

“Because I’d rather know if they’re making superhumans again before I send my people in there,” Okoye explained as she typed out a quick message to Jhanvi. Once she was sure the message had sent, she set her mouth in a firm line and went back to examining the pictures they’d taken of the bunker.

They’d catch General Ross and retrieve the vibranium. She was certain of it.

But will we catch him before he launches whatever he has planned?

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

Dog Years ~ Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: Hello lovelies! Another one I’ve had in my drafts but I couldn’t get to flow just right. But I’m finally happy with it I think. It’s a slight change from my normal fluff, I hope you like it. ANGST/hurt/comfort ahead! 

Summary: After Steve rejects you, you start feeling insecure. When Bucky tells him as much he comes to set the record straight. 

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson 

Rating: T for language 

Warning: Angst, insecure!Reader, anxious/overwhelmed!Cap 

Word Count: 2066 

“So, how’d it go?” Sam asked excitedly as he and Bucky leaned on the counter on either side of you.

“He’s not interested,” you informed him matter-of-factly as you sliced an apple with a bit more ferocity than necessary.

“What?” Bucky demanded in a flat tone.

“He is not interested in dating me or even going out on a date with me. So thank you both for encouraging me to make an absolute fool of myself.”

You turned on your heel and headed for your room hoping they would leave it alone. But of course they didn’t.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I need full details.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“I didn’t realize you two were so interested in my humiliation. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

They scurried to block your exit.

“Doll, you know that we care about you. We never would have told you to go for it if we thought for a second he would say no.”

Bucky stared down at you, willing you to believe him. You knew deep down that they would never set you up, but the rejection was still fresh.

“Okay, fine. I’ll tell you. But not here. Too many ears listening here. Let me go change and then you two can take me out for a nice breakfast.”

“Oh we can?” Sam snarked. “Well thank you, most gracious one.”

“Hey, I got rejected because of you two. The least you can do is buy me some pancakes.”

Sam glanced at Bucky who shrugged, conceding the point.

“We’ll be waiting in the car.”

 Once you were seated at the diner in town, you let them see a fraction of how upset you were. They both looked instantly guilty.

“What happened?” Sam asked softly, placing his hand over yours.

“I did everything the way we planned. We were cuddling on the couch, talking. And I went for it. I asked if he wanted to go out on a date with me.”

“And what was his response, exactly?” Bucky stressed the final word.

“He told me that I was a really sweet kid, and he wished he could because I’m a great person. But we weren’t right for each other.”

“And that was it?”

“I didn’t exactly feel like sticking around after that. I don’t know why you were so convinced he liked me.”

“Because he does,” Sam assured you.

“He’s just being a stubborn punk right now,” Bucky added.

“He was very clear. I’m not right for him. But that makes sense, I mean how could someone like me be right for him?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, I’m just a nobody. He’s Captain America. He’s perfect. Why would he choose me when he could have any other girl he wanted? Someone prettier, smarter, better.”

“Alright first off. You are not a nobody and I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.”

“But, I…”

Sam held up a hand to stop you from talking.

“Shhh, shhh. Shush. I’m not done. Number two, you are beautiful. Number three you are brilliant. And number four, Steve is far from perfect.”

“You know that. You’ve seen him at his worst.”

“It doesn’t matter even if I am all those things, which I’m not. The fact is, he doesn’t want me. It’s as simple as that.”

They were looking at you with sad expressions, and you were desperate to assuage their guilt.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I took my frustration out on you guys. It wasn’t fair. Look, I’ll be fine. I’m used to rejection.”

Before they could respond a waitress brought your food over and from that point you steered the conversation any direction but towards you. Thankfully, the boys let you get away with it.

Once you got back to the compound, you locked yourself in your room and turned on some sad music. Tomorrow you would act like nothing happened and go back to being an avenger, but for today you were going to wallow in the familiar feeling of inadequacy.

Once the tears started, they didn’t want to stop. You were certain anyone walking by could hear you bawling, but luckily no one disturbed you. At least not until you refused to go down to dinner.

“Mr. Stark firmly requests your presence for dinner, Miss y/l/n.”

“Tell Tony he can bite me,” you snapped at the AI.

“He says that was rude but he still loves you and requests that you come down to dinner.”

“FRIDAY, please tell the team I think I have a stomach bug and I’m quarantining myself.”

It was a lie, but the thought of having to face Steve did make you want to hurl.

“I do not detect any abnormalities in your vital functions. You are not ill.”

“FRIDAY, please,” you begged the AI.

There was a pause.

“Yes, miss. I’ll tell them.”

“Thank you.”

You knew you would regret that decision later when you were starving, but if you waited long enough you should be able to sneak downstairs for food. Or you’d make Bucky or Sam sneak you something.

Turning on the sappiest romance movie you could think of, you let the tears flow as soon as the credits started. The movie was just about over when there was a firm knock on the door.

“Go away.”

More knocking.

“Unless you have food go away.”

Your door creaked open and you honestly expected to see Nat and Wanda with a pint of ice cream. You were not prepared to come face to face with the man who had rejected you less than twenty four hours prior.

“What do you want?”

He smiled sheepishly and glanced down at the tray in his hands. “I brought soup. Thought it might help with the stomach bug.”

“Thanks. Just leave it on the desk.” He hesitated. “You should skidaddle. Wouldn’t want Captain America getting sick.”

“I can’t get sick,” he reminded you.

“Right. Enhanced immune system. How could I forget?”

“Y/n,” he sighed, putting the tray down on your desk and closing the door. “Can we talk? Please.”

“About what? You made yourself perfectly clear last night.”

“I don’t think I did,” he argued.  “Please, sweetheart. We need to talk. Especially if what Bucky said was true.”

“And what exactly did he say?” You asked in a tired tone as you sank back onto the bed.

“May I?” he gestured to the space next to you and you nodded. “Y/n, he told me that you think the reason I said no last night is because you’re not good enough for me. Is that really what you think?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I think.”

“Where did you get a crazy idea like that?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes!” he almost shouted. “Y/n, it has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh it’s not me, it’s you?” You scoffed bitterly.

He exhaled sharply, “Will you please just hear me out?”

“Do you not like spending time with me?” You asked in response.

“I love spending time with you.”

“Are you not attracted to me?”

“Of course I’m attracted to you. You’re beautiful.”

“Do I have some quirk that you find too irritating to deal with a daily basis?” You rattled off the question as you thought of it.

“Sweetheart. Y/n. I want nothing more than to date you. But we aren’t right for each other.”

“Why?”

“I’m way too old for you.”

You snorted, convinced he was joking. When you realized he was serious you gaped at him.

“Are you shitting me? Really? That’s the argument you’re going to go with? You’re only four years older than me!”

It was his turn to gape.

“I’ve been alive for ninety-nine years.”  

“You’ve only been living for twenty-nine. Jesus, Steve, you were frozen for seventy of those years. They don’t count.”

“They count for everyone else.”

“I am not everyone else. I don’t care about what year you were born in. I care about you.”

“I care about you too. You make me happier than anyone else I’ve ever known. But that’s why I can’t be with you. I would end up hurting you.”

“Why do you assume you would hurt me?”

“Because, even if you want to argue that I’ve only been living for twenty-nine years…”

“I do.”

“Regardless. I’ve aged in dog years since I came out of the ice. The shield might be a symbol of hope, but I’m not. I’m bitter and broken. You deserve someone better than me.”

“There is no one better than you,” you whispered.  

“You have this image of me. You think I’m this ideal… this golden boy. But it’s not true.”  

“I’m not getting my image of you from newspaper article or Smithsonian exhibits. Steve, I was there after Siberia, in case you forgot. I’ve seen you at your worst. And I love that part of you.”

“How can you?”

“Because I love you. All of you. The real you. Not some idea of you. You have had the weight of the world on your shoulders for so long. All I want is to be the one who reminds you that you don’t have to bear it all by yourself. You’re human. I want you to remember that.”

“All I can bring you is darkness. You deserve light in your life.”

“And you don’t?”

“Not at your expense. I have seen evil and no matter how hard I fight I can’t beat it.”

“You are so dramatic. I’m not some starry-eyed school girl who’s afraid of the dark. I have fought with you, Steve. I have been right beside facing that evil.”

“And you are still good.”

“And so are you.”

“Some days I don’t know why I fight. Maybe it’s just all I know how to do.”  

“I know you. You are smart and creative. Fighting isn’t the only thing you know how to do. If that were true, it wouldn’t matter who your opponent was. You fight because you care. You fight because you’re a good man.”

“I feel like I can’t breathe. Even when everything works out, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“That’s because you’ve had the weight of the world on your shoulders for far too long. You can’t protect everyone without help.”

“I know that. That’s why I came back to the team.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

He looked at you with tears in his eyes. The only way you could describe his expression was lost.

Bringing your hand to his cheek you kissed his forehead, the way he always did when you came back from a hard mission.

“Sometimes you have to let people take care of you.”

“I’ve never been good at that,” he admitted quietly.  

“Well, despite what they say I firmly believe you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

He sniffled out a laugh.

“Thought you said I wasn’t old?”

“I mean if we’re going by dog years,” you shrugged, making him chuckle.

He was quiet for a long moment, digesting the conversation you expected.

“I still don’t think I’m ready to date you,” he mumbled.

You were unsurprised by the conclusion, but you were grateful for his honesty.

“That’s okay. Just let me be here for you then. I already told you. You are what’s important to me.”

He looked at you with watery blue eyes, trying to plaster on a smile.

“You don’t have to be strong for me, Steve,” you said softly as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

Your words were like a pin to a balloon; all the fight went out of him in seconds. You weren’t sure how his six foot frame curled in on itself as much as it did. But he suddenly took up much less space. He allowed you to position him so his head was on your chest and you could stroke his hair.

You stayed like that for hours. He would talk about what was bothering him in fits and spurts. Occasionally, you would respond, but for the most part you just listened. It was nearly dawn when he seemed to run out of things to say. His breathing slowed and you were fairly certain he had fallen asleep, so you let yourself relax. You were just about to drift off when you felt him mumble a “thank you” into your collar bone.

“Any time,” you whispered.  

A/n: So that’s it. A little touch of fluff at the end but still angstier than normal. I hope you liked it! Feedback is appreciated. <3 

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