#not even going to get into how this relates to the moment where roger later says he made novak cry in personal conversation later

[iamsigningmylifeaway]

am I the only one who’s insane about how in 12 final days when roger is at his anxious peak about the beginning of the laver cup, apprehensively approaching and greeting the group of players in the event center, djokovic is the one to let him know impartially that he is wearing a tux shirt and not a suit shirt, wherein roger still has the time to go change which he does, and this is right after the movie frames the still remaining tense dynamic between the two and djokovic’s vaguely inexplicable and ambiguous reason for showing up today

​… …. like it’s the fact that is showing up for roger and being friendly and sympathetic and in moments like these, roger visibly awkward and not knowing where they stand, he is almost tender and all signs point to positive relationship, but he also somehow holds a relaxed almost pleased air throughout the flurry of everyone crying and mourning …

[mamamittens]

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 13)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Crew (Ft. Others) & Reader Insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: Yandere behavior and a wide variety of burn related injuries, as well as drowning. If yandere content makes you uncomfortable, please do block the tag 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as any variation of 'one piece yandere' that you feel is necessary.

This is the end of things. All that's left is the epilogue. Your choices have consequences, I've only seen them through.

Word Count: 2,325

Marco chatted with an older gentleman about the local weather, meandering his way to any strange arrivals at the island. While he didn’t see Teach, it was possible he was hiding out at an inn until Marco left.

He found himself constantly pissed and surprised at how damn clever Teach was.

Several times they managed to just barely miss him out at sea. If Marco didn’t know any better, he’d assume that someone was telling Teach exactly when it was time to leave. But that window of time had been shrinking for the past month. Where once they missed him by a week it was now a matter of hours. And Marco could feel how close they were.

“Yeah, this weather really brings out weird people, doesn’t it… Say, have you seen any shady characters around lately?” Marco asked, refraining from fiddling with his buttoned-up shirt. Not exactly subtle to question the locals with a massive Jolly Roger staring at them.

Marco didn’t even get an answer being the sound of a distant explosion reached his ear. He sighed, fully expecting to see fire on the horizon from whatever shit Ace had gotten himself into now.

First Smoker and now this?

His eyes rolled over the sea and widened with shock.

A column of fire and smoke violently erupted into the sky in the direction of the other island he’d sent Ace to investigate—wrongly assuming that he’d find less trouble with a smaller island.

Marco was airborne in an instant, speeding over the land and sea as he rushed to find out what was going on.

The minutes ticked by as his lungs filled with sea salt from diving to gain speed before gaining altitude to do it all over again. Getting faster and faster with each repetition. Boats blinking by as he crossed the expanse.

Damn near half the island was on fire in some way or another. Demolished buildings and rocks littering the sea in debris fields as people fled quickly.

Marco banked sharply, ice in his heart as he spotted the marine vessel moored nearby.

He found Ace on the other side of the island facing fucking ADMIRAL AKAINU of all fucking marines. Your familiar shape pinned to the admiral’s chest. Teach dead—where the fuck did his head go?!—just behind you both.

Marco was fit to sweep down and toss Ace into the ocean his own damn self when the young man threw a fiery punch at the admiral. Only to find that it was himself that was burned.

The literal worst case scenario matchup for Ace and you were right in the middle of it.

Marco wanted to rescue you both—he really did—but clearly Akainu wasn’t planning on killing you. The crazy bastard even shielding you from excessive blows.

At the very least, he could plan to steal you back later. But Ace was certainly not getting such consideration. Akainu planned to kill him. If it was just Ace he had to worry about, he’d go down right now and take Akainu head on with no problem—okay, a bit of a problem, he’s not an Admiral for nothing. But at any moment The Mad Dog could turn on you and Marco had no idea if your devil fruit combined with his would help. Hell, if Akainu had just slung you over his shoulder, Marco could probably pick you up with a small distraction.

But there was no way Akainu wouldn’t notice him aiming right for his chest.

And Marco—much as he ached to admit it—only had one solid plan of action.

Retreat.

Marco tilted his wings and prepared to dive at Ace. Hold onto the stubborn bastard and take them both far away.

The marines would fuck up eventually and you’d be right back where you belong. Even if ‘fucking up’ was just not having a full escort to Marineford as Marco stashed Ace somewhere he couldn’t blast his way into a fight he can’t win.

A massive ball of lava arched into the sky, the heat searing as it passed him by barely an inch. His body beneath the phoenix fire burning bright to heal the damage before it cauterized completely. Leaving a deep ache in his wing that promised to take him down if he lost his head again.

Marco reared back, soaring higher to avoid a repeat. To get a moment to think since clearly Akainu wasn’t entertaining a retreat either.

Fuck!

He had to get Ace. Fast.

--*--

You remember the first time you really understood what your devil fruit was. There weren’t any other users near you when you first ate it, so it took some time before the effects became clear.

A man came to the island. Ostensibly a traveling stage magician. He was good at crafting a compelling stage presence, but the entire time you watched him, you got this strange feeling. Like a faded memory recalled through scent. A series of seemingly unrelated images and sensations undeniably connected to one person. A vague emotion. All of it strung together like pearls. An odd sense of creeping exhaustion seeping into your skin.

Cut grass and mint. Woven daisy chains tangled in your hair during summer. Spring rain and dewdrops on misty mornings. Softer than buttercup petals and flashy like daffodils after winter.

You watched as he offered his beautiful volunteer ‘assistant’ a playing card. Flicking his wrist to then ‘magically’ present a white rose that blossomed in his hand.

The drain went from a dripping tap to a river.

The rose grew, vines wrapping around his arm with thorns and blooms sprouting until he and his unfortunate volunteer was consumed by a rose bush.

They were fine, but more than a little cut up from the thorns.

Teach’s devil fruit was like a forest gone silent and dark. Shadows in thick water dragging your feet as you walked. Breath fogging the air as the atmosphere pressed down on you. Threatening to swallow you whole if you tripped. It felt like a graveyard emptied of it’s dead and leaving you alone with ghosts. The threat of a knife still sheathed in a sleeve.

Ace’s fruit felt like a campfire at night. Consuming your view with flying embers, reaching high into the sky. Warm laughter and cinnamon smoke curling around a hearth fire wreath. Blazing with conviction so bright it dimmed the stars. Surrounding you in excess.

Marco’s fruit was like a firework. A cry shooting through the air in triumph as the atmosphere burned with it’s brilliance. The flash of the sunset and sunrise just as it slips past the edge of the horizon. Flooding your senses with thick incense as birdsong echoed. Bitter medicine and tangy sweets on your tongue.

Whitebeard’s fruit was something a little different. A tremble in your bones. Strength and uncertainty held in the same hand. The ground beneath your feet shifting on a level you could only just barely sense. Heavy bass that thrums in your heart. The short hairs on the back of your neck tingling. Senses reaching for a source with no name. An echo of something much larger than yourself.

Held in place, frozen with your heart stuttering in fear, you bathed in the feeling of Admiral Akainu’s devil fruit. Exhaustion burning away to ash as horror bled from your lungs.

Hot and cracked, uncompromisingly deadly around you. Fire pouring like thick liquid from the earth. Consuming everything in it’s path as it simply oozed forward. Belches of toxic gas as magma was ejected in thick clumps from broken rubble. Life smoldering in it’s presence before being smothered under it’s weight. Move or be moved. It smells like death and cinders as burning ash coats your lungs and skin.

You reflexively tried to curl your hand into a fist and your muscles spasmed, nerves screaming at the abuse so soon after your shoulder had been set.

Panicked, you looked at Ace, aware that your new ability would be useless if you couldn’t even hold it for a second. He would have to get close to deal damage and in that timeframe, he’d be close enough for Admiral Akainu to kill him with ease. But Ace didn’t seem to know that, his lips twisted into a snarl as he locked eyes with Admiral Akainu. Fire sparking in his hands as he clenched his fists, scorching the earth around his feet in a burst of heat.

He screamed, damn near feral as he charged forward with his arm reared back.

Ace’s fist was stopped by Admiral Akainu’s hand, a blast of heat ringing out like a shockwave. Admiral barely let his raised hand drip with magma before Ace shot back with a startled hiss, eyes wide in shock.

“Your devil fruit is beneath mine in power level, Fire Fist. And that’s before my partner got involved.” Admiral Akainu declared with a slight, smug grin.

But Ace wasn’t about to back down. Spinning on his heel as he launched a fireball at Admiral Akainu. Aside from turning to shield you from the direct path, it flew harmlessly past him.

Attack after attack was simply batted away or ignored completely. Like the Admiral was taunting Ace.

Playing with his food until he got bored.

A flicker of blue and gold in the sky drew your attention and Admiral Akainu’s.

You nearly sighed in relief at the magnificent sight of Marco preparing to dive.

Good!

T-This was good!

He could take Ace and get out of here!

Admiral Akainu threw back his fist and hurled a mass of molten lava into the sky, nearly clipping Marco. The pirate instantly scrambling to gain altitude to protect against another attack.

While you wholeheartedly believed that Marco could face Admiral Akainu, it would be a massive risk with Ace and yourself so close to the crossfire. And Ace would never leave him behind. And if you overtly tried to assist, there was every chance the marine would simply break your neck for being a traitor.

Maybe with luck, you could have ‘dialed down’ Admiral Akainu’s devil fruit to allow Marco and Ace to flee—assuming Ace even let it happen to begin with. But your damaged hands couldn’t handle the tensed position right now without flinching and breaking the bloody scabs. You weren’t sure you could repeat the feat for an appreciable amount of time either. They’d need more than a second to get the hell out, after all.

You had no doubt Akainu would explode if he realized you were helping your friends escape.

Your thoughts screeched to a halt.

Explode.

You looked around you at the devastation. Every jeer and blow Akainu delt shook the ground and brought hot magma to the surface as he wound himself up. Losing his shit as Ace refused to falter and Marco kept trying to rescue him without getting hit—he’d heal from that, right? Could he? You weren’t sure and the thought that Marco could actually get hurt scared you—

You squeezed your eyes tight. Let the world fall away as you imagined that dial again. The dizzying heat around you fading to a buzzing pressure.

The needle bouncing in and out of the red with every attack.

If you could turn it to zero, totally cutting off the power of his devil fruit, then what would happen if you pushed it the other way?

 The image of a volcano came to mind. Violently exploding as plumes of gas and smoke ejected into the atmosphere.

Akainu was already capable of such things.

Just like that magician could already create bushes from a single flower.

Ace needed to get distance. Marco needed a distraction. It wasn’t going to be fun. It certainly wasn’t going to be very safe. But it would double perfectly as both an escape for your friends and an alibi for assisting them.

A sudden, explosive volcanic eruption seemed like exactly what you needed.

You wrapped your less injured arm around Akainu, placing your bloody hand on his back as he made a soft noise of surprise. You looked up at Marco, your eyes connecting as he seemed to suddenly start to dive down instinctively.

You mouthed one word.

Run.

“Dial up: Overclock!” You pushed against the connection between your fruits, the air sucked out from your lungs.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Akainu was frozen, staring down at you with an expression bordering on awe. Heat rising between you as suddenly, the ground buckled.

Falling and then heaving up.

Ace screamed your name in horror.

Marco crying out with a sound more avian than man.

You didn’t realize the volcano would be underneath you.

Magma rushed up like a geyser, slamming Akainu and yourself into the air as though Whitebeard himself punched up beneath your feet. It happened so fast you don’t even recall the moment after.

Just thick, black smoke rushing around you until you cleared the top of the billowing cloud, almost floating for a moment. Skin scalded and cracked, bleeding from any number of burns you didn’t even have time to feel.

Akainu no longer in sight.

Then the ground rushed towards you, yanking your innards first as you screamed. Barely having time to hope you didn’t hit land before you realized you’d been ejected at an angle, skin seared and the air cutting past you as the sea rose to meet you instead.

The you hit the water as though it was made of bricks, knocking out the air from your entire body as you gasped, sinking beneath the waves motionlessly. Salt burned your wounds and eyes and lungs. Limbs frozen for any number of reasons—take your pick really—as you sank beneath the waves.

With no idea if your plan worked, you could only watch as darkness consumed you. Your heart burning as you choked on seawater.

This wasn’t how you wanted to be free.

[callalillywrites]

Anxiety-Induced Vertigo - Their Sweet Omega One-Shot

Sicktember 2024 Day 6

This Their Sweet Omega One-shot was written for @sicktember's Day 6 Prompt for Dizziness/Vertigo. In this, we have Jake and Steve concerned for their Omega who's been suffering some anxiety-related vertigo.

Series Masterlist

Relationship: Alpha!Jake Jensen / Beta!Pre-serum Steve Rogers / Omega!Reader

Word Count: ~1050

Summary: Omega has started experiencing episodes of vertigo. At first, she's able to hide it, but it's soon witnessed by her Beta and Alpha, who are rightfully concerned.

Warnings: protective-mode Jake activated, protective Steve, vertigo/dizziness, doting Jake and Steve, brief mention of possible pregnancy, mostly fluff with some light angst

A/N: It’s proofread but all mistakes are my own.

I do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

*****

The first dizzy spell only lasts moments.

It’s not enough to really even concern Omega, let alone speak of it to either Jake or Steve.

The second time it happens, the episode lasts a bit longer.

Still, she doesn’t want to bother Jake or Steve with this as they’re just as busy (or busier) than she is.

Sure, she has a big meeting with one of the largest retailers for her candles coming up. It’s with a company that can and will not only make or break her company. It’s also the possibility of making her business into what she’s only dreamed about the last few years.

The third episode has her grappling for the nearest sturdy object to keep her from falling over as dizziness sweeps through her. Nausea creeps up and has her covering her mouth as she breaths slowly through her nose.

She doesn’t realize she’s knocked over one of her knickknacks until Steve emerges from his art studio, alerted by the shattering porcelain.

Steve’s quick to have her lean on him as he walks her into the kitchen. He sits her down at their dining table before rushing to get her a glass of water and a protein bar.

“You okay, Angel?”

She gives him a shaky smile. “I’m fine. Just got up too fast, I think.”

Steve takes her word, but that doesn’t stop him from watching her a little more closely over the next few days. For the moment, he decides to keep this between them though he’s more than ready to seek out Jake should he feel it’s necessary.

That changes when he hears a louder crash a few days later, racing from his studio to find Omega sprawled across the floor. Her support also lay next to her where it toppled with her.

Steve checks her over and helps her back to the living room where he has her sit on the sofa.

“I’m calling Jake. Just stay here,” he says and hurries back to his studio where his cell phone is charging.

The call with Jake is brief and results in Jake speeding home.

While they wait for Jake’s arrival, Steve doesn’t leave Omega’s side as he does what he can to dote on her. A glass of water on the side table as well as another snack sits next to it. He’s also put a blanket over her and gotten her one of her favorite pillows from her nest, tucking it under her head.

“Can I get you anything else, Angel?”

Omega smiles at him as she says, “Just want you, Stevie.”

She motions toward the space she’s made on the sofa where he promptly slides behind her and eases himself where he can pet her head and hold her close.

“Better?”

She nods. “Better.”

This is how Jake finds them, striding into the living room and dropping to his knees. He cups Omega’s cheek and studies her with concerned eyes.

“Steve said you fell. What’s going on, Angel?” He pauses as a thought occurs to him, his eyes widening as he asks, “Are you…”

Before he can finish it, Omega shakes her head. “No, Jakey, I’m not.”

It’s a bit of relief for them all.

While they aren’t against kids, they’re more than happy with the way things are between them and aren’t ready to change their dynamics or careers or lifestyle. Maybe one day, but it’s not going to be anytime soon for them.

“Talk to us, Angel. What’s going on?” Jake keeps his voice soothing, but the fear threatening him is clear in his scent.

Omega rests one of her hands on Jake’s and the other on Steve’s.

“I’m fine. Just been dizzy now and then,” she assures them both.

They’re not assured in the least. In fact, they’re both more worried about her as this isn’t normal for her.

Jake insists on taking her to a doctor where they learn more than she’s been letting them know. The vertigo is anxiety-induced and should resolve on its own once she’s removed her source of stress.

In the meantime, the doctor asks Jake and Steve to keep an eye on her and help her when an episode happens.

That’s so easily done, too.

Jake asks and is granted permission to work from home for the next couple of weeks.

Steve makes sure his art studio door stays wide open so he can hear everything happening in the house. He doesn’t turn on the small stereo he has, which he usually does when he’s working so he can tune out other noises.

They’re never far from her with one or both keeping their eyes on her practically at all times.

Jake buys her some compression socks to help after doing some research on the matter. He’s also not above making sure she’s getting her anxiety out in other ways from massages to other stress-reducing measures.

Steve makes sure she always has food and drink nearby while she works on her presentation for her upcoming meeting.

While she assures them that she’ll be fine, she doesn’t mind their pampering and hovering as much as she might grouse now and then.

When her big meeting comes around, Jake and Steve love on her a bit more before driving her to the company’s headquarters. They promise they’ll be waiting for her, ready to take her out for a nice lunch and whatever pampering she wants. Jake’s already set up a package appointment for them all at Omega’s favorite spa.

The meeting is overwhelming, but it goes well.

Omega’s candles are about to see national exposure and find her business expanding to accommodate that.

She’s definitely pleased with the results, but she’s looking forward to spending the rest of the day with her Alpha and Beta.

As they promised, they’re waiting outside when she emerges, embracing her and pressing multiple kisses wherever they can reach until she drags them back to Jake’s Jeep.

The episodes continue for a few days, but they eventually leave her system.

It’s really helped that her Alpha and Beta have done everything they can to ease the symptoms and do what they can to ease her anxiety about this meeting.

Omega can’t help loving them all the more for what they’ve done for her and can’t wait to return the favor in some way when the time comes.

*****

Verse Masterlist / Main Masterlist

[illfoandillfie]

Hi, I'm so glad you are doing the advent calendar again!

I think someone (or maybe it was me 😅) requested this before but I would love a little blurb related to ADKOE but from Roger's point of view, could be something of a continuation of where the story is now, or one of the previous scenes from his perspective, or even a bit of a introspective moment of reflection when 'y/n' is not there.

Of course no worries if this is not something you would be interested in writing, I'm so looking forward to whatever you post 😊

Thank you! 💕

Blurb Advent 2023: Day 25

ahhh amazing, I was hoping someone would ask for this again lmao, it was the push I needed to actually finish it!

It's set in during the munch chapter. Mostly fluffy with maybe a little angst just from some of the thoughts he's having. It was a lot of fun figuring out and writing so I'd defs be open to doing more of these in the future! Also, it's officially Christmas Day for me here so for those who celebrate, merry christmas! I hope this is a decent sort of present lmao.

Warnings: Modern AU, smut, professor x student, slowburn romance, dom/sub dynamics and discussion of them, munch, conversations about bdsm/kink, body painting, mentions of Dylan, a mention of sexual abuse/rape but nothing graphic and only in a theoretical way.

Roger had been a little reluctant to leave you on your own, but you’d seemed to be doing alright talking to Daisy and Jo and he knew he couldn’t hover around you all day. So he asked Mike to join him in the kitchen, a little curious to see what the other man had made of you so far. And he didn’t have to wait long to find out.   “Well Y/N is just as lovely as you said. Bit shy but that’s understandable.” Mike said as he watched Roger crack eggs into the brownie mix, “How’s it going with her?”  “In one word, surprising.”  “Oh?”  Roger decided how best to elaborate as he mixed the batter, “I don’t want to go into too much detail-”  “Right, cause you’ve never been the sort to kiss and tell,” Mike laughed.  Roger laughed too but shook his head, “No it’s going well I think. She’s still learning, but she’s getting there. Like we played around with some dirty talk recently. Partly just cause, y’know, it’s hot, but also because you’re right, she can be a bit shy. And I’m trying to get her to feel less self-conscious when vocalising what she wants. She was hesitant at first but once she got into it some of what she came out with was...” It was impossible to explain so Roger opted to just gesture emphatically with his hands.  Mike just laughed, “That certainly does sound like fun.”  “Oh, it was.” Roger swallowed thickly as he remembered how you’d sounded admitting that you think about him. He hoped Mike wouldn’t ask too many questions because even just thinking about it now was making his cock twitch and he didn’t want to be too distracted during the munch. But it was hard when he kept hearing your whiney confessions replaying in his mind. When you’d confessed to masturbating more often than ever before. When you’d admitted that he, Roger, made you feel better than anyone else had. If he said any of that out loud Mike would assume it was just the ego boost, which he supposed was fair. He’d have thought so too if someone had told him. Heck, he’d been with women where the ego boost was nearly all he was running on. But not with you. The way you’d said it all, how hesitant you’d been to start, how you’d blushed afterwards. It wasn’t a performance with you. You meant it when you’d said it. And that’s what was turning Roger on. 

But thankfully all Mike said was, “I’m glad it’s going well. She seems like a sweet kid.”  “Yeah,” Roger chuckled, “Mostly.”  “What’d you mean?”  “Look, she is a lot of things – dedicated, intelligent, curious – but she’s also very....” he paused as he tried to find the right word, “You ever have a sub that just wants to rush into everything?”  Mike nodded sympathetically.  “She wants to know it all now, not later. And she’s always questioning the importance of what I’m trying to teach her.”  “Yeah I’ve known one or two subs like that. They think they know best even though they know nothing.”  “Yeah, exactly. I mean, we’ve had arguments about it. I try explaining why I’ve picked what I’ve picked to teach her and usually I get her to accept it even if she disagrees but last week she just wouldn’t let it go. So I got pissed off, probably snapped at her more than she deserved and basically told her it was my way or the highway.”  “I wouldn’t beat yourself up too much, everyone has moments like that.”  “Yeah but that’s not really how I want this thing with her to be. I’d just been saying it was okay if she wanted to say no to learning something or to alter kinks to suit her better, and then I turn around and tell her to suck it up and do what I say or else. That’s not the lesson I want her to learn from all this.”  “Rog I think you’re being a little harsh on yourself. I’m sure she understands the difference.” 

“I know, you’re probably right. I just....She approached me to teach her so she could impress this other guy and he is...” Roger paused again but only so he could take a steadying breath and unclench his hand from his wooden spoon, “I don’t know him, but he sounds like a real piece of work. But she is determined to have him. I just want to make sure she’s prepared and knows enough to protect herself because I worry what could happen to her.”  “You sure you’re not jealous?” Mike asked with a raised eyebrow and a joking grin, “I saw how you were watching her before.”  “I was making sure she wasn’t too overwhelmed by everything.”  “Mmhmm sure.”  “Oh shut up, it’s not jealousy. No, this guy is into some really hard stuff – CNC, free use, somnophilia. She told me he’s even joked about pimping her out to his friends. I’m genuinely worried that if she goes back to him he’ll drug and rape her and she’ll think it’s kink. I need to make sure she understands the difference.”  The smile had fallen from Mike’s face as he took Roger’s concern in, “Fuck, really?”  Roger nodded, “I’m so conscious that there’s a time limit.”  The was a pause as Mike considered what to say, “You’re a good dom Rog. You know your stuff, and I’m sure you’ll be able to teach her how to recognise danger signs, even if she gets stubborn about it first. I mean, you say something enough times it has to sink in eventually. And if she’s as smart as you say she is then she will work it out. Plus, now she’ll have more people she can go to for help if she needs it. Tina will’ve taken one look at the kid and got very mother hen about her, and you know Jo and Daisy’ll look out for her too.”  “Yeah,” Roger sighed, some of the anxiety that had started to build at the thought of Dylan easing off. He pulled a smile onto his face and changed the topic, hoping he had enough time. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

When he came back into the main room, Roger immediately looked for you, even as he was laughing at Mike’s stupid joke. Seeing you sitting with the other women was a relief. It was like Mike had said it would be, they’d all taken a shine to you and he could already see that he’d be constantly fielding questions about you from all of them. But then you looked up, and there was something in your expression that made his eyebrows furrow. He forced himself to look away as he announced dessert.  “Ooo brownie? Yes please,” Daisy sounded so excited by the prospect Roger couldn’t help but laugh.  “It’s just a packet mix, don’t get too excited.”   But Daisy hurried towards the patio all the same, closely followed by Jo and then Tina who grabbed Mike as she went, perhaps sensing Roger’s desire for a private word.   It was hard for Roger not to be concerned when you rose slower than the others and reached him after they’d all disappeared. He felt as if you’d have walked right past him if he’d not caught your arm. You seemed almost surprised to see him.  “Hey, how are you going? He asked softly, hoping he sounded normal, “Not too overwhelmed? I know they can be kind of loud but-” 

You moved quicker than Roger was prepared for and he staggered back a little as your lips met his, but nothing was as surprising as how purposeful the kiss felt. Your lips pressed hard to his, your arms wrapping around his neck and without thinking Roger tugged you in close, not sure what had brought on the sudden display of affection but not wanting to interrupt it either. He liked kissing you and it felt too nice to question it much. Thankfully you seemed to want the kiss to continue as much as he did, though that did mean the end of it was just as unexpected as the start.   “What - uh – what was that for?” Roger asked, trying to blink some sense back into his brain.  “For looking after me.”  It took a moment longer than it might have before you’d kissed him, but eventually the pieces all fell into place and he nodded his realisation, “I take it you heard about Daisy’s ex then?”  “Yeah, and some other stuff.”  Before Roger could even begin to wonder what the other stuff could be or to reassure at all, you continued.   “Sorry I’ve been so stubborn about things. I made it harder for you. But I think I understand now.”  “Understand what?”  “About why it’s not all about what Dylan wants.”   That was the last thing Roger had expected to hear and for a moment he considered whether you might have overheard his conversation with Mike. But he couldn’t deny that he was pleased with your admission, and he found himself smiling as he took you in again, “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. Do you want to talk about it later, after everyone goes?”  “Maybe.” 

He reached for your hand but thought better of it, switching instead to rubbing your arm in what he hoped was a comforting way. The last thing he wanted was to make you feel pushed into talking before you were ready and yet he was dying to know more. He wanted to send everyone else home right then so he could ask you about what made you understand. He wanted to kiss you again, kiss you a lot, too, just to show you how glad he was. And he wanted to tell you what hadn’t felt right to say the previous week. That he thinks about you too, much more often than he should. That he worries for you and wants to keep you safe. But it would have killed the mood during the last session, and it felt like too much to admit now. Too big of a conversation for right then. And besides, he’s not even sure how to say any of it properly. Mike had assumed jealousy and he doesn’t want you to think the same thing. So instead all he said was, “C’mon, you look like you need some sugar, let’s go eat dessert,” as he gently lead you outside.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

But he did get his chance later. Once again, you’ve surprised him. In a good way, of course. For someone who was so against sensory play to start you’d sure taken to it like a duck to water. He would have felt terrible if you’d found it boring or uninspiring. But instead he got to enjoy a fairly relaxed evening with you. And relaxing was what he needed after how tense he’d been throughout the munch. You needed it too, he decided. Not just because of how draining it was to meet new people and come to world shattering realisations, but also because he’d asked a lot of you over the past few weeks. You’d tried so many new things and been pulled out of your comfort zones. It felt right to offer you an intimate experience that was less intense than what you might have been expecting. He let you just enjoy the sensations and quietly process the day as he prattled on with all the stuff he’d planned for his lesson. And each time you squirmed or giggled when he painted somewhere ticklish, he felt especially pleased. Although, not quite as pleased as he felt when you asked if you could paint him. That was a good sign if ever he’d seen one. Not just that you were enjoying the moment, getting out of your head, but also that you could be interested in taking more control. Of course, wanting to paint on him was not the same as wanting to be dominant in a more explicitly kinky scene, but it was a step in that direction. He watched you closely as you painted his shoulder, wondering if he could ever interest you in testing the waters further. He could feel himself getting harder at the idea of you domming him and tried to focus on what he had to tell you about different paints. It was hard though when you were so close. He could feel your breath as you leaned in, focusing on getting the shape right, and you were so close. You’d been closer, of course, but not like this. It made him shiver as he supressed the urge to pull you into a kiss. And then you leaned back and he mentioned Margo and suddenly things had dissolved into something much sillier. He was nearly breathless from laughing but seeing his finger prints on your arse made him giggle again and something about it pleased him greatly. But then he looked down and saw his cock covered in blue, the paint more evenly distributed where your palm had been, thinner under your fingers. He swallowed hard when he realised he could see your fingerprints in the paint. 

After that things quieted down again. He liked watching you while you painted him, content not to say too much. There was nothing more he had to teach about sensation play, he’d given you all the important information. You were quiet too which was understandable. There was a lot to process from the munch and he supposed dwelling on it while mindlessly painting was as good a time as any. He was just glad to be with you, playing with paint, able to make sure you were okay. And then suddenly, apropos of nothing, you asked how he’d gotten into BDSM. It was a surprise but Roger was happy to answer and he liked that you’d asked the others too, that you’d been seeking out other perspectives. Without meaning to he started telling you about his father. It wasn’t something he’d intended to share, it wasn’t something he really talked about ever. But he wanted you to understand what an affect it had had on his approach to doming, especially now you seemed to have grasped what he’d been trying to teach you about submission and power.    “The line between kink and straight out violence can become very thin at times and there are a lot of people who don’t understand the difference, and some who do but ignore it anyway.” He wanted to tell you that maybe Dylan was one of those people, hopefully the first group more than the second. He wanted to let you know that thinking about what Dylan could do to you, what he fears he would do to you if given the chance, makes him more anxious and worried than anything else. But he didn't want to scare you. And he didn’t want you to think he’d overreacting because he doesn’t actually know Dylan at all. It’s all just assumptions based on what you’ve said. So he keeps that bit to himself, hoping that telling you what he has is enough to keep you mindful about who you engage in kink with.  

Quiet falls again but it’s comfortable, despite the heavy topic. Roger could say more but he gives you time to think about it, absorb it all. So it’s not until he takes the brush back that he asks his own question.   “Did you mean what you said in front of the mirror?”  It had just slipped out. He was going to ask what else you’d discussed at the munch, if there was anything else you wanted his perspective on. But the mirror scene was never far from the top of his thoughts at the moment and it had pushed through just as he opened his mouth.   You were clearly embarrassed to talk about it and Roger tried not to focus on how cute you were when he flustered you. He can feel your warmth when he rubs your thigh, trying to comfort you a little. He gets why you’re uncomfortable. He’s your professor, you’re his student. You’re not meant to think of each other in these ways. But he does. You’re bewitching, how could he not? And he thinks maybe if you know those thoughts you’ve been having are mutual, you won’t have as much reason to be embarrassed by them. So he admits the thing he’s not supposed to.   “I think about you too.”  This time you’re the one who looks surprised and Roger can’t help but feel a little pleased that he’s got you back, just a little, for how frequently you’ve surprised him of late. He wants to say more – that he doesn’t just think of you, that he dreams of you. That after you leave he’ll spend the next night replaying the sex in his mind, jerking off thinking about you. That he spends longer than he should planning your lessons, longer than he spends on his real lessons sometimes. He always gets caught up imagining how you’ll react to things, how you’ll respond, hoping you’ll enjoy what he plans to do to you. He wants you to know that he loves teaching you this stuff, loves how you approach everything with curiosity. Loves....your enthusiasm. But he can’t admit that. You’ve already had to absorb so much today and it’s been such a nice evening. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. So he asks you more, just to keep himself from saying too much.  

[asleeponelmstreet]

French Inhale // Arlo Dittman X Female Reader Smut

Minors DNI

The new production assistant for Magic Funhouse catches Arlo on a night where he's not being a total tool.

tags: Arlo Dittman x reader, smut, loss of virginity, mentions of a degradation kink, alcohol and marijuana use, slight OOC Arlo because he's relatively calm and I'm still working on getting his voice right

Author's note: I have no idea if there is even an audience for this, but I really want to start posting fan fiction, specifically smut and this is the first one I've ever written that I've actually finished. I have a few other WIPs that I would like to post soon for Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel, but if someone ends up liking this maybe I'll delve more into the Brandon Rogers cinematic universe.

I wanted this to be a reader fic, but its my first time writing something like this for others and I made the mistake of making the reader bi and a former stoner so it might be harder for some readers to relate to.

Last note before we get to the good stuff, this came from the fact that I have a degradation kink and would love to be screamed at by Arlo. But I realized that poor man child is a virgin and I wanted his first time to be nice.

By your second week working on the set of Magic Funhouse, you felt like you were finally getting the hang of things. The cast and crew were chaotic to say the least and the star — specifically — was a massive tool. But you were getting to know some of their little quirks and learning the best ways to deescalate the absolutely batshit insane situations they found themselves in.

As their new executive producer, you did everything from man the lights and switch board to fixing the camera whenever one of them inevitably knocked it over and going on coffee runs. It wasn’t the best job, but it was a start and you were beginning to think you might actually be good at it.

Arlo had even stopped using the air horn to tell you when you messed up, opting instead to hurl verbal insults at you. But that was the beginning to be a new problem. You had always liked to be degraded in the bedroom but you never thought it would leak its way into your professional life.

There was something about that man-child, even if he was a total dick face, that made you wish he was bending you over a table while he degraded you. It made you fight back. And in a way, that you thought at least, brought a twinkle to those crazy eyes.

You were about to leave for the night, so you thought you’d try and get a few more words in with the performer before going home and spending the rest of the night with your vibrator. You knocked on his dressing room door.

“Who the fuck is it?” He yelled out.

You opened the door and started to say, “Hey it’s me” when you realized he was quickly pulling his hand out of his pants, trying to brush it off. He looked flushed and high, but he always looked high so that wasn’t new. “Sorry, Arlo. I shouldn’t have walked in like that.” You said sheepishly, thinking about how you would be keeping this image of him in your brain for later.

“Yeah, you really fucking shouldn’t have. What FUCK do you want?” He was yelling but keeping his hands on either sides of legs, looking a bit stiff.

“Oh, I just finished everything I needed to do for the day. And I was going to head out for the night, but I wanted to see if you needed any help with anything before I left.” You felt yourself starting to ramble, nervously you fidgeted with the hem of your skirt.

“Uh, yeah. I do need your help.” He said, which honestly surprised you. You raised your eyebrows, thinking about what you assumed the man had been doing moments ago. Was that what he needed help with? Even if he made your pussy wet, you weren’t sure if that was something you’d be willing to do.

“You do?” You asked him, realizing it was almost nine and that you were the last two in the studio.

“Yeah, I need help finishing this bottle.” He grinned. “And the rest of this fucking weed.”

Umm, what? Normally, you wouldn’t get fucked up with coworkers but you knew this job was pretty unconventional. And you hadn’t had a drink in a while or touched weed since college.

You stood there for a moment trying to decide what to do, but then your curiosity and hormones got the best of you so you sat down next to him and took the bottle from his hands taking a swig. You didn’t finish swallowing before motioning to him to hand you the taxidermied cat bong he was holding.

He obliged lying back on the couch with his hands folded behind his head watching you as if he was judging you and this was some sort of initiation into a secret club. You inhaled and instantly felt like a high schooler again before exhaling the way you always did with a little French inhale.

“That was hot,” he said, looking at you his eyes looking glassy and heated. You tried not to take his comment too seriously, but you felt warmth rush to your lower stomach just at his comment. “Teach me how to do that,” he demanded.

“I don’t really know how to teach it. I learned how to do it in high school and I’ve just always done it that way ever since.” There you go rambling again. Was it extra warm in his dressing room or was it just you? “This girl I liked did it and I thought it was hot, so I thought if I did it. I’d be hot too, I guess. Glad to know it still works.”

His face turned and he looked down at his lap and you realized what a mistake you had made. Mentioning high school probably was a trigger for him. You knew his past. You knew he had been in a coma since he was a child and only woke up a few years ago. No wonder he was such an asshole, he missed all the years when everyone is an asshole before most of them grow up and grow out of it.

“I can try and teach you, but I need to hit it again to try and think of how I can explain it. It’s basically instinct to me at this point.” He handed it back to you and you took another hit, this time really thinking about the motions of what you were doing.

“Okay so you take a large puff and hold it in your mouth… then you part your lips slowly letting it escape out of your mouth and maybe like use your tongue to push it up and out. That’s when you inhale through your nose.”

“Okay, okay. I got this. Give it to me,” he snatched the bong from your hands and gave it a shot. He failed miserably and even started coughing a bit. You reached forward and patted his back in a sad attempt to comfort him. Whatever it was, it was weird and you yanked your hand back as if you were a child who just touched a hot stove.

“It’s okay. It’s a bit hard at first. I remember I used to just sit in front of the mirror and watch myself for hours before I actually got it right. I never ended up learning any other tricks. They’re all hard.” He looked up at you, eyes wide and even more bloodshot than before. You wondered how red your eyes were about to be. He looked so soft and almost sweet and you realized this was one of the most pleasant and calm moments you had ever spent with him. “Try again. Maybe jut out your jaw a bit when you release the smoke. That might make it easier.”

He hit it again and you leaned back on the couch taking a swig of the bottle as you watched him. The drink wasn’t very good but you hadn’t been properly sauced in a while and decided tonight would be as good as any. It would also calm your nerves a bit. You hoped he didn’t notice the way your hands shook when you had pulled back from touching him.

This time he wasn’t quite there but it was definitely better than before. At least he wasn’t coughing. “You’re getting better,” You said with a smile that he reciprocated. Man, almost-nice Arlo was weird.

“I’ll keep practicing. But I’ve been hogging it. Your turn.” He handed it to you, and you questioned if you should keep going. You had been a major stoner in high school and college, but you stopped when you realized how lazy it was making you. You knew that even though your tolerance had been high at one point, it most definitely wasn’t anymore. But part of you wanted to see where the night went if you lost a bit of control.

You hit it again, and realized you were already feeling really high from the first two hits. And the warmth in your belly was growing from the combination of the alcohol and being so close to such a pretty man.

You handed the bong back to him, but he just set it down on the table. “You look really stoned,” he said.

“Ugh, do I? I haven’t smoked in a few years so my tolerance is low. I thought yours would be high though Arlo, but your eyes are bloodshot as hell.”

“This is some good shit. Something with moon rocks.” Your eyes widened at that. It would be a while before you were able to drive home. You resigned to drink a little more since now you knew you were stuck here for a while longer. “Shit, I remember moon rocks. I’m already feeling it but I’m about to be fucking weird.”

“About to be?” You smacked him on the chest playfully hoping it didn’t come across too much as flirting but also wondering if that wouldn’t be so bad. This side of Arlo, without the stressors and spotlights, was actually nice.

The two of you talked for hours about so many random subjects, about the show and other crew, your rebellious past and you even broached the subject of his parents and the coma at one point. He joked and teased but you dished it right back out to him, but it was fun. You were really enjoying him for once. Not just wanting him to hate fuck you against a wall.

At a certain point, he even mastered the French inhale and you stood up on the table and applauded, having forgotten about your plans to sober up at some point you had continued to drink and smoke here and there. You were still standing on the table, doing your best impression of Cronis kissing his stacks of money when you tripped and almost fell but he caught you, a little clumsily but he caught you.

Your skirt had ridden up, certainly giving him a decent view of your lace underwear (you liked to feel pretty even if no one was going to see you in them). The feeling of your breasts pressed against his chest even through the fabric of your shirts made you exhale sharply. He huffed, eyes locking with yours for a moment before setting you down on the couch and sitting a little further away from you than before. You were a bit confused, but pretty fucked up and horny so you made a strange decision.

You got on all fours and crawled on the couch to him. The v-neck of your shirt falling down, revealing a lot of cleavage. Heat rushed to his face but he looked almost scared. You started to regret what you were doing but you felt like you had to fully commit to not embarrass yourself. Once you were practically on his lap, you looked up at him with big puppy dog eyes. “Arlo, do you want to know a secret?”

He gulped. “Uh, yes.”

“I like it when you’re a jerk to me.”

His looked very confused. “Uh-what do you mean?”

You sat down next to him, realizing this might be harder than you thought. “Don’t get me wrong. I like seeing this softer side to you. But when you berate me in front of everyone, it turns me on.”

It looked like his eyes were about to pop out of his head. You decided to go bold, and settled yourself back in his lap. Your pulse quickened as you felt him go hard underneath you but you didn’t want to go any further before you got verbal consent from him. This was probably too far but your skin was practically buzzing from all the weed and alcohol and his lap just looked so inviting.

“Aren’t you a lesbian?” He asked.

You sputtered. “What? No,” then you realized where he got that from. The girl you told him about that inspired you to learn how to French inhale. “Oh, fuck. I’m bi.”

He looked a little confused.

“I like girls and guys.” You clarified and with that his face lit up.

“Fuck, that’s hot. I forgot that was thing now.” You wanted to correct him. Bisexuality had always been a thing, just less accepted and he was in a coma when people really started to come to terms with how fluid sexuality is but he grabbed your chin and pulled you in for a frenzied kiss. The feeling of his lips against yours, especially in this drugged state, was heavenly. He was a bit of a sloppy kisser, but you didn’t care and you doubted you were giving your best performance in this state.

You deepened the kiss, prying his lips open with your tongue and pushing it into his mouth. You ran your tongue along his and he let out a groan that made you squeeze your legs forgetting that he was between your thighs. Arlo bucked his hips into yours and then his hands wrapped around your waste pulling you as close to him as you could possibly be without taking your clothes off.

The two of you made out like this for a while, grinding your hips together and both making some of the most pornographic noises you’ve ever heard from yourself and partner from what was basically just dryhumping.

Panting, you drew apart to catch your breath but pressed your forehead against his not wanting to be too far from the dickhead. You could feel his growing bulge in his pants and your panties were getting embarrassingly wet. “Do you want to—?” He started to ask, but you cut him off.

“Have sex?” You finished for him.

“Fuck, yes.” You kissed him again. This time was a bit slower, less frantic. You ground your hips down onto him, loving the feeling of his hardness against your clothed sex. Then he pulled away. “Just warning you, I don’t have much experience.”

“That’s okay,” you assured him. “You’ll figure it out.” You dove in for another kiss halting to ask, “Do you have a condom?”

“Shit, no. Do you?”

You heaved. “No.” He practically whined at that. “I have a birth control implant. And I get tested between partners. What about you?”

“I don’t take birth control. I’m a boy,” he said with a shrug.

“You’re not a boy. You’re a man, especially if you want to be having sex.” You chided him for what was either a dumb joke or pure stupidity on his part. “When’s the last time you were tested?”

“Never,” he said. Ugh, this was disappointing. You were so close and the only barrier you had was an utter lack of condom. You started to get off his lap, but he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back down. Shuddering at the feeling of you abruptly falling into his lap, he whispered the next few words. “I don’t exactly have any experience.”

“You’re a virgin?” He nodded. You guessed that made sense, but you had thought he would have had sex at some point since coming out of his coma. Especially given how frequently the subject seemed to come up on the set of the children’s television program he hosted. “Okay, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Fuck yes,” he said, before pulling you back to him with a searing kiss. His skills were improving, just in the last half hour or so since you shared your first kiss.

Just a few moments later, you pulled off your top and bra. His eyes glued to your tits, he balled up his fists into the material of your skirt. “Go ahead, touch them.” Once given permission, he didn’t need to be told twice, his hands went straight to your chest. He cupped your breasts and ran his thumbs over your pert nipples. You groaned at the touch.

“Take off your shirt, Arlo,” you ordered, but before he could even start unbuttoning it, you started it for him. You pushed it off his shoulders and placed your hands flat against his chest. “Pants too,” the two of you parted quickly. Both stripping down to nothing.

As soon as those boxers were down his hips, you grabbed a hold of cock and he let out of whine as you pushed him back down on the couch. You gathered saliva in your mouth, spitting it on his dick to lube it up before pumping it into your hand. As you stroked him, you could feel him throbbing in your tight grip. The sensation sent a rush of heat to your core and made you gush so much you were dripping down your thighs with arousal. You reached down and touched your own sex with the your hand, gathering slick with your digit.

Usually, you refused to have sex with anyone who wouldn’t go down on you first but you were already soaking and it was his first time so you didn’t want to put too much pressure on him to do anything he didn’t want to do. “F-fuck, Arlo, you still good? You ready?” He grabbed your head by the hair at the back of your neck, yanking your head in for another kiss in response.

You took that as Yes, so you pushed him to lie on his back and crawled back on top of him. You locked eyes with him before lining up his tip with your entrance and sinking down on him, reveling in the feeling of him filling you. You both groaned and Once he was fully sheathed in you, you stayed there for a moment giving him time to take in the sensations. He may not have been the one getting stretched, but you knew he was a twenty nine year-old virgin and you wanted to make it last as long as you could. You had a feeling he wouldn’t last long though by the way his face contorted in pleasure from the mere feeling of your warmth around him. You leaned down to plant a short and sweet kiss on his lips before you started rocking against his hips.

You started with slow, languid movements at first, but he clearly became fed up with this teasing because he began thrusting his hips in time with each of your bounces. He looked so beautiful between your legs and that normally loud mouth of his was shut other than the moans that escaped from his lips.

His hands wandered all over your body before settling back on your breasts. He groped them rougher this time, looking intently at the way your nipples pebbled at his touch. He rolled them between his fingers, making your thrusts onto him falter. The performer leaned down, sucking as much of your right breast into his mouth that he could fit.

“F-fuck, Arlo. That feels good,” you said praising him and he suckled on your nipple before, slowly released with a slight graze of his teeth against your bud. He dragged a kiss from one mound to the other on your chest and replicated the same motions in your other nipple. You were surprised he was even putting this much effort in, not just sitting back and enjoying the show like you expected him to but you were grateful because the divine feeling went straight to your neglected clit.

You decided you would take matters into your own hands so you reached down and grazed tight circles around the swollen bundle of nerves. The movement distracted him from his attention to your chest, he hungrily watched your deft fingers playing with yourself as he disappeared into your greedy cunt.

He slapped your hand away and you were about to protest, but he replaced it with his own. He grazed his thumb lightly across your clit, before circling it and trying his best to copy what he remembered you doing moments before.

The touch from him, though clearly a new action for him, made your thighs quiver and your thrusts falter so you were glad by now he was pulling a lot of the weight in that department. The sound of smacking flesh was music to your ears as he jackhammered into you. Tension began to coil in your lower belly and you started to lose any semblance on composure you had before. Your moans grew louder and louder with each thrust.

“Fuck, I-I’m going to cum,” he yelled out and you were about to tell him to cum anywhere he likes but you were too late. His hips stuttered and you could feel his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside of you. Spent, you collapsed onto him as soon as he finished painting your walls with his seed and kissed him hard. You wrapped your arms around each other and basked in the afterglow of the mess you made of one another.

You may not have cum, but you were spent from all the tension. You really didn’t expect to once you learned it would be his first time. And he came pretty close to getting you over that threshold, which you thought was actually pretty impressive for his first time.

He stayed inside of you for a few minutes as the both of you gasped for air. The room was silent, the sounds of sex having ceased and both of you too tired to utter a word. But even after he pulled out, he clung on to you like a life raft keeping him afloat. It was so nice to be held like this. It has been so long since someone had wanted to cuddle after sex. You were so lost in your thoughts it took you a moment to realize his seed was spilling out of you. You jumped up, surprising him and looked around the room for something to clean yourself up with.

His brows furrowed, “What’s wrong?”

“I need something to clean up your cum,” you said, your eyes scanning the room for something you could use. He put one hand on your hip, keeping you on top of him as he reached down under the couch to grab a box of tissues. He handed them to you and you thanked him before really thinking about how it was a strange place to put them. “Why were these under your couch?” You asked.

“You interrupted my post-show jack off session. I had to hide them somewhere,” you giggled a bit at that as you patted yourself clean before moving on to wipe away the cum that spilled out on to him and the couch.

“I fucking knew it, so you were just trying to get your dick wet when you offered me a drink?”

“I was trying to get to know my favorite employee,” he said nuzzling his face into your chest sheepishly, before retreating slightly to add, “I thought about what it would be like to fuck you but I’ve convinced myself I’d be a virgin forever.”

“Well, now you know that’s not true.” You said before pressing your lips to sweat soaked forehead.

[cloudinterlude]

I get to dump all my Steve Rogers takes here!

I barely know where to start! I guess in general, Steve's character arc in the MCU is straight up depressing. Like, I didn't fully realize until I re-watched the movies how tragic his story is. I mean, the end of his first movie is him sacrificing himself for the world, freezing to death and waking up 70 years later where his entire world is completely gone and everyone he knows is dead and only TWO WEEKS LATER he has to suck it up and lead the Avengers into battle in Avengers 1. That's insane! We don't really get a lot of superhero character-centered movies with such hopeless endings like that. His last lines are "I think I missed a date" - That's dark when you really think about what it was like in that very moment to realize what's happening to him.

And going into his second movie, his current world is tilted once again. He's been unknowingly working for HYDRA who he lost his life fighting against, who he hates more than anything and everything quickly goes to shit when he realizes that his absolute best friend was alive but being tortured for the 70 years he was asleep. The only person in the entire world who could possibly relate to him a little bit - the only person who knew him before he was "worth" knowing doesn't even remember him because Steve dropped him. All that guilt and horror is way too hard to imagine. There's a lot more to say about TWS but God...yeah, horrific.

And Civil War...His world is tilted AGAIN. I cannot explain to you or anyone else how absolutely gobsmacked I was when I came out of that movie loving Steve Rogers just to find out everyone fucking hated him. I am very obviously team Cap, but only because I agree with his position, his actions and his morals. Imagine you just found out the government is HYDRA and now some rando (Ross) walks in with your teammate in tow to tell you to sign over all your civil rights to the government that will not only put you in danger but also set a dangerous standard for how enhanced people can be treated. I read what was in the Accords (and Steve was the only character on-screen looking over it). It's beyond reprehensible. I wouldn't sign it either especially since it was sprung up on the whole team with only 3 days to review it. Despite that, Steve was open to the idea of signing it as long as safeguards were put into place (he explicitly states this)...until he found out that they were somehow already enforcing the damn thing by keeping Wanda in internment. So, since the only two options are sign this or retire - he leaves. During all this he learns that Peggy dies, goes to her funeral, deals with Bucky being framed.

[I just found this deep in my drafts and realized I'm never finishing this jkdshfkjsdf, so here y'all go! <3 TLDR Steve's life is a big ball of pain and he deals with it better than any other character or person would and honestly, I don't blame him for any of the deicions he decided to take because he deserves the space, time, and freedom to do whatever tf he wants after his tragedy we call a life.]

[intrepidacious]

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

palpable echo

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 720

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s walking in circles.

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

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

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

Steve stops.

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

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

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

Her tail starts wiggling.

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s never that easy.

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

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

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

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

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

The dog nuzzles his hand.

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

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

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

You turn around.

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

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

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

[akehoshimystar]

Chapter 10

Ito: Sorry for a sudden request, Toku-san. Please take us to the address I told you earlier. Toku: Right away, ma’am.

Shido-san made a quick decision and called Toku-san, the driver who was waiting nearby. After calling an ambulance, Mao-san, who knows her, Onda-san, the ST Dept. member, and I, the liaison, headed to Mari-san's place.

Mao: Thanks to everyone, the operation went well. Thank you. Ito: (Operation, huh…)

Mao: [Everyone, stay where you are and listen.] [If that customer makes any moves, show him to a private room. I think he's probably someone related to the letter that was sent. My goal is to find out the truth.] [I don't know what he’s going to do, so I want Tomose to stand by behind the hidden door.]

Tomose: Copy that. Should I get a signal from you before it’s my cue to act? Mao: [I'll leave the timing up to you.] [That's Tomose’s area of ​​expertise, isn't it?] Tomose: Roger.

Mao: Your timing couldn’t have gotten better than that, thank you so much. Tomose: No need to thank me. It was Ukyo who managed to rip off his mask, you’re very skilled. Mao: I wouldn’t go so far to say that. Since I ended up getting too emotional and said more than necessary. Sorry for making you keeping me company for so long. Tomose: It seemed perfectly rational to me, though. Mao: ……Oh yeah?

I thought there was a casual tension between these two. But it wasn't tense at all. It was a unique tension that only the two of them have because they each has a strong sense of responsibility.

Ito: (…Ah, so it’s not drawing a line for another purpose.)

It's not a line that distances the other person, but a line that can be drawn because they believe in each other's work. A form of respect that aims to secure the space necessary for each other to maximize their abilities without getting in each other's way. A distance that allows them to reach out the hand when they really need to. As I listened to their conversation, I thought to myself that such a thing might exist.

A red police light was flickering in the upscale residential area. When we arrived at Mari-san’s house, there lied a woman being carried away on a stretcher. The woman in pajamas, who appeared to be Mari-san, seemed emaciated and had an injury on her face.

Mao: Mari-san! Mari: ……………Kazuki? Mao: Sorry, it's me. Mao.

Mari-san finally caught sight of Mao-san with her unfocused eyes.

Mari: Oh…. My dear Mao…. Not like this….. Even though I was planning on giving you a surprised visit today. Sorry~ If my son showed up… I was planning to go get the jewel and give it to him. Everything didn't go as planned at all. Seriously… I'm tired of all this. Mao: It's okay. It's better not to talk now. Mari: ………Didn't my dumbass child behave badly? Mao: ………

Mao-san thought for a moment, then smiled gently.

Mao: I'm sorry. I called your dearest precious, precious son "an incorrigible piece of trash.” Mari: ! …Ahaha… I see… .……Thank you. Mao: Oh, I think it’s going to need a lot of beating to get that thing back in shape. If you need anything, just ask for my help. I’m always up for that special request just for you.

Mari-san smiled with a tear-brimming face. She nodded softly at first, then repeatedly. "Thank you," she said in a husky voice, over and over again.

A few months later.

Ito: Welcome. Let me change the towel for you. Mari: Oh my, thanks! How thoughtful. Every household really could use one of you! Want to come to my house? Just kidding! Ohohohoho. Ito: It’s an honor to hear that. (I'm glad she's completely healed.)

Mari-san has recovered enough to be able to walk now, and today she showed up at Aporia for the first time in a while.

Mao: Mari-san's energy is incredible, isn't it? It almost looks like she's sucking all the life out of me.

Mao-san, who was playing chess with her, let out a soft chuckle. Right now, Mao-san is in the middle of his request of accompanying her as a friend. It all started when Mari-san came to the office to apologize for the whole commotion and to pay the fee for taking care of her jewels.

Ito: …..So, Mari-san is here at the store right now. I wonder if we should accept her payment. I feel like there's something else we can do for her… Ai: The custody service ended up being carried out. It is only natural that we should receive payment. As for if there is anything else we can do, I would like you to make a reservation for the friend service each time she needs it. Ito: Each time, huh…..

Seeing Mari-san playing chess with such enjoyment, I realized something. By making sure that there is a free slot for Mari-san, she has the will to live.

Ito: (It was true that she was suffering from a malignant tumor and afflicted by the disease.) (But while undergoing treatment, she is enjoying life in her own way.)

Her way of life is simply wonderful, and I hope I could be of some help.

Mari: OMG! I totally forgot about that knight~ Mao: Mari-san, have your skills gotten rusty? Mari: It’s more like you have learned some naughty tricks since we last met.

Watching the exchange between them made me smile.

Ito: Well, that's all for me. Do enjoy your time. Mari: Thank you!

I bowed to them and left the cafe.

Mao: Have you had a little less time to yourself? Mari: Yeah, I guess so. My son was released soon after. Maybe he's trying to repent his wrongdoings, but now he shows up so often that I get sick of him. Mao: Really? It’s good to hear you didn’t give in. Mari: Seriously… Let me apologize again for my idiot of a son. Mao: You don’t need to do that anymore. No one was hurt…. Well, except for that guy. Mari: That's fine. He deserves it. But of course, I'm also responsible. Since he’s my offspring. Mao: That's true. Mari: How merciless of you.

Mao: ………….Sorry. Mari: For what? Mao: Mari-san, you wanted Kazuki-san to find out himself… Otherwise, it would be meaningless. I knew your aim, but I blurted out the answer anyway. Mari: ………. Mao: I don’t think I did a great job taking care of that jewel. Mari: ……What is this kiddo blabbering about? Don't get too cocky now! Mao: Ouch.

Mari-san flicked my forehead with her finger and smirked.

Mari: I can't stand it when you made it look like the simplest thing in the world and told him what I couldn't convey for a decade. Mao: ……Mari-san. Mari: It seems like even a veteran like me couldn’t win this game. But you know what? I have my own pride. I'm not going to let a newbie like you run past me that easy. Mao: ……… Mari: That's why….. For this occasion, I'm beyond grateful. I'm glad I left it in good hands. Thanks a lot, Mao. Mao: ………. You're very welcome.

After gently narrowing her eyes while nodding, Mari-san picked up the piece and began to look over the chessboard again.

Mari: Anyway, I'm glad I was able to say what I wanted to say while I am still alive! When I was playing that horror game, I was so moved by how abundant a mother's love is to want to meet someone even after death. …….Once you die, it's all over. You have to meet the people you care about before your last moment. Mao: ………. You’re absolutely right.

When I heard those words, a certain face suddenly came to mind. Along with the small laughter we shared, that image melted away into the noise of the bustling store.

Mao: Thank you. Please come again. Ito: Thank you very much. (It's pretty busy today as per usual.) Mao: Ito, you can take a break, you know? Ito: Right now? Mao: It's okay. If you keep going like this, there would be no break and it will be peak time in the blink of an eye.

Seeing us, Onda-san peeked out from the kitchen. And then….

Mao: Tomose. Sorry, can you help me a bit? Ito: ! Tomose: Sure. I’ll leave taking the order to you, though. Mao: Alright. But it should be fine for now, the first batch of order has all been taken. Ito: …….. Mao: What's wrong, Ito? You can go, I don’t mind. Ito: Okay…. Well then, I will excuse myself. Mao: Alright, I'll go to the table in the back. Tomose: I'll put out Earl Grey for table A. Mao: Copy that.

Their crisp and clear conversation was somewhat pleasant. Leaving behind the two reliable people, I quickly untied my apron.

[scottwbeattie]

Review: Captain America Epic Collection 14: The Captain

Some Really Great Plotting

I have always considered myself to be a big Cap fan, yet had only read the Brubaker and Remender runs, plus some of the Nick Spencer run and parts of the Silver Age material, so I really wanted to read more. Given that Mark Gruenwald’s run on the character is generally regarded as one of the high points of the title, I came into this volume with high expectations, and, for the most part, I wasn’t disappointed.

From the outset, it’s important to note that although Gruenwald was an excellent plotter, he was not a great writer of dialogue. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of Marvel continuity that he loved to incorporate into his stories, however, instead of using narration boxes to offer recaps, characters relate it to one another, and the result is always clunky. Gruenwald also has a great grasp on the characters, but they are all saddled with wooden dialogue at various points, especially Cap when he’s giving impromptu speeches. The Captain also includes Iron Man #228, and, to be honest, it creates an unflattering comparison for Gruenwald when you see how much better the dialogue is for the same characters when it’s written by David Micheline and Bob Layton. That said, the story in The Captain is so good that wooden dialogue can only weigh it down so much.

When the volume opens, Steve Rogers has just quit as Captain America after coming into conflict with the committee that oversees him. The first few issues are solely dedicated to establishing the new Captain (John Walker, formerly Super-Patriot). Only later does the title go back to Steve Rogers, who takes on the identity as the Captain in order to continue to help any way that he can.

I really like the way that Gruenwald writes John Walker. At first he’s dismissive of his predecessor, thinking that he’s an outdated relic, only to realize how difficult it is to fill those shoes. My understanding is that Walker is later written as psychotic, but here he’s a guy who is genuinely doing his best to live up the ideal but is temperamentally unsuited for it. His story becomes tragic rather than villainous as severe emotional trauma drives him over the edge and makes him more violent and excessive. Even his inevitable confrontation with Steve Rogers is not something that either of them wanted. That said, once the two lock up, the story really comes alive as they deliver haymaker after haymaker to each other.

The extended storyline involving the Serpent Society was another highlight. The idea of a villains’ trade union, which faces internal conflict to the point where one side has to make a desperation call to their superhero antagonist, is very clever, and Gruenwald does a lot with it. I also like the idea of Diamondback being a romantic interest for Steve, which hits a lot of the same notes as Batman and Catwoman, but with a character who is even more of a paragon in his universe in Captain America. My only complaint was that I didn’t really get a feel for most of the individuals in the Serpent Society, but I also have yet to read any of Gruenwald’s run before or after this volume.

Tom Morgan and Kieron Dwyer split the art duties in this volume. Both of them are very meat-and-potatoes; the art is perfectly solid but it doesn’t stand out. It’s probably just as well, given that there are a few extremely violent moments in this volume, and I don’t know if a more graphic style would have added to them or taken away from them. I do wonder, however, if this arc would get more acclaim from casual readers if the art were more stylized. One of the advantages that Brubaker’s run has over Gruenwald’s is that the art was very striking with its moody color palettes and gritty feel.

I’m quite curious to see where Gruenwald takes the title in the next volume. There’s only one (admittedly, major) dangling plot thread, so it will be interesting to see if he follows up on that immediately or starts a brand-new plot. As for this volume, it does live up to most of its hype, and it’s also a very easy entry point for anyone wanting to read some of the better Captain America comics.

[mrsstruggle]

The Lost Child - Chapter 32 // Teen Wolf x Marvel AU

Summary: Y/N Stark was taken from her family when she was three years old. It's fifteen years later and her family believes she is dead. Then how is she living in Beacon Hills?

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death/Injury/Grief/Torture, Mentions of Past Grooming, Possible Grammar Mistakes (please let me know if there is anything else)

Pairings: Derek Hale x Reader, Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner x Natasha Romanoff, Vision x Wanda Maximoff, & More To Come

Previous Pairings: Tony Stark x Pepper Potts, Scott McCall x Allison Argent

Words: 4.6k

Note: I'm sorry this is so late. I've had zero motivation to do anything for months now but I'm trying to get back into everything. To everyone who messaged me, thank you for checking up on me and I'm sorry I didn't respond!

Additional Note: While this is a Teen Wolf x Marvel AU, not everything is true to the shows/movies/comics. I had to change things for the story. This also loosely follows Teen Wolf Season 4.

One Last Note: Y/N was adopted by Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. I did this so more people can see themselves in this story.

***I do not own Teen Wolf or Marvel or any related characters. This is a work of fanfiction and is meant for entertainment only.***

Masterlist

The Lost Child Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

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

"What the fuck?" Y/N stares at Kate in anger and confusion.

Kate smirks back at Y/N and leans against the doorframe, "We haven't seen each other in months. I see the two love birds have moved in together."

"Why are you here?" Scott moves to stand beside Derek. He glances down at the wolf before training his eyes back on Kate.

"Well, I had an interesting phone call with my dad the other day. He was telling me about how my information was right. He told me that the Stilinski daughter was really the lost Stark daughter." Kate pushes herself off the doorframe and takes a few steps into the loft. "The first time I saw you I knew you looked familiar. It wasn't until our last meeting that I started to do a little digging. I always wondered where you got some of your power from and it didn't take me long to find out who you really are."

"I'm surprised you didn't tell Hydra yourself," Y/N rolls her eyes.

"I know all about Hydra. I knew that there was no way that a few tricks with shadows was all you can do. I wasn't about to be there when you found out what you are truly capable of."

"I'd be more than happy to show you now."

"I almost forgot how funny you are."

"Why wait?" Stiles asks. "If you knew that she was even more powerful, why did you wait until she had it under control?"

Kate scoffs, "It's been what, like a day? I'm sure if I piss her off enough, she'll kill all of you for me."

"I think you'd be surprised. I mean I've somehow been able to control the urge to kill you for a few years now." Y/N smirks at her.

"You still haven't explained why you're here." Scott points out. "You're stupid but you're not stupid enough to attack us right now. You're outnumbered."

"Leave. Now." Everyone whips their head around to see Derek staring at Kate with a murderous glare. He now stands naked in the place he was a wolf a moment before.

Kate lets out a low whistle as she looks Derek up and down, "You've grown since the last time I saw you like this. You're...bigger."

"Wasn't he a child the last time you saw him like this?" Y/N takes a step in front of Derek to block him from Kate's view.

"He was old enough to make his own decisions. I didn't force him to do anything he didn't want to do."

"He was still a child."

"You will never let this go, will you? I was just coming to see how you're doing and to let you know that you might look yourself up online. Hell, you might want to look outside your window." Kate winks before walking out of the loft and shutting the door behind her.

"Should one of us follow her?" Stiles questions. He looks at the others before quickly shutting his eyes after they land on Derek, "Dude, put some clothes on!"

Derek rolls his eyes and grabs a blanket off the couch, wrapping it around his waist, "Happy?"

"We will come back to how you went from recovering in bed to a wolf and I know I'm going to regret this, but should we look out the window? Or probably we should look off the balcony if we want to see anything." Y/N points towards the large window with a questioning look.

"Why do you think she wants us to?" Scott asks.

"I don't know but we might as well do it. It's not like we have anything else to do." Y/N murmurs before walking towards the balcony door. She opens the door and walks out onto the balcony as the others follow.

They slowly look over the balcony to see a large group of people gathered on the sidewalk outside of the apartment building. Some of them are older people who are holding large cameras and the rest appear to be teenagers and college students. They seem to be waiting for someone.

"I'm so confused," Scott mumbles.

"Well, she also said to look you up online so let's do that," Stiles pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks up Y/N Stilinski. His face visibly falls as he scrolls and clicks deeper into his online search.

"What is it?" Y/N asks.

Stiles sighs and looks up at Y/N, "Everyone knows."

"Everyone knows what?"

"Everyone knows that you're Y/N Stark."

---

"Tony!"

Tony sighs as he hears someone call for him. He decides to ignore them as he doesn't want to talk about Y/N anymore. He doesn't want to think about the situation they are in right now. He just wants to stay in bed for a week and then go talk to Y/N and figure out what's going to happen next.

"Tony!"

Tony groans before slowly getting out of bed. He grabs the robe thrown across the chair near his bed and slips it on as he makes his way downstairs. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he turns to see the rest of the Avengers gathered in the living room. Some of them look angry while others look worried. The TV is quietly playing some gossip channel. "What?"

"See for yourself." Bruce turns up the volume on the tv.

"Sources tell us she had no idea of her true identity, but the real question is how did she end up in Beacon Hills? It was only a few years ago that the discovery of her supposed death rocked the Avengers. The official report was that her remains were discovered and identified in a secret Hydra facility. Now, thanks to a leaked report, we have DNA test results that prove that Y/N Stilinski is actually Y/N Stark. We will keep you upda–" Bruce turns the tv off.

"Wh...How?" Tony stutters as he stares at the tv in disbelief. DNA test? Leaked report? Sources? They just found out who she was a few days ago. How do other people know? Did someone sell her out or did someone sell them out?

"It's not just that, it's also all over every social media platform there is," Peter states, not looking up from his phone from his spot on the floor.

"Her identity has been leaked and most of what people are saying isn't even true. Some people are claiming that the Sheriff has ties with Hydra and that's why he's had her this whole time. Some are saying that he's actually a relative and we sent her to live with him and faked the whole kidnapping thing because we were 'falling off' and needed more attention on us." Natasha lets out an annoyed huff as she scrolls through more news articles on her laptop.

"People on Twitter have come to the conclusion that she's not the real Y/N Stark, she's the 'source' and that she's lying to exploit money from you. I guess people have decided to completely dig into her life in every way possible and found out that the sheriff is a bit late on hospital bills for something and that's why she needs your money. They also think she just wants attention and that she doctored these supposed DNA tests by using her hospital connections from being a nurse. Right now, the hashtag '#SABRINASTILINSKIISALIAR' is trending."

"How do people even know about her in the first place?" Tony asks. He still can't seem to wrap his head around what's happening. They don't really know anything about her themselves but how have people just decided that she's using them for money?

"The first article that leaked said they received this information from a reliable source who provided pictures proving that the information they were given was true. The source told them that Y/N has been living in Beacon Hills for the last several years after she was taken from a Hydra facility. The source didn't reveal any other information besides Y/N's name and pictures from when she was held by Hydra." Steve informs him.

Tony runs his hand through his hair in a stressed manner. How has something so great turned out to be such a mess? They can't even have a moment to celebrate the fact that they found his daughter alive. They find out she's alive, but she has a whole other family, they found out Pepper was the one who gave her to Hydra, Y/N will never be the same Y/N they remember, and now the world has decided to chime in with their thoughts, opinions, and assumptions about who she is.

He wanted to until they were in a good spot before they said anything about finding her. Being the Avengers, they are used to people saying things about them or the whole viewing them in a certain way. He wanted time to prepare Y/N for the fallout of what would happen when they told the world they found her. He wanted to do it on their own terms so there wasn't any room for assumptions.

"Now the hashtag '#JUSTICEFORPETER' is trending because everyone now feels sorry for me because they think Y/N manipulated me first because someone said they saw me injured at the hospital and she's the one who took care of me. They think that's when she decided to pretend to be the lost Stark child." Peter states.

"How do people come up with this stuff?" Wanda questions.

"Well since the Avengers are the people who announced to the world that they found her dead in a Hydra facility years ago, it makes sense why no one believes this."

"Someone on YouTube apparently has already posted an hour-long conspiracy video about what they think happened," Natasha mutters.

"People are posting their conspiracies on TikTok as well."

"What are they saying?" Wanda asks.

Peter turns up the volume on his phone as he scoots closer to Wanda to show her the TikTok currently playing on his phone, "–hy I believe the Winter Soldier sold Y/N to Hydra and why I also believe that the sheriff works for Hydra as well.

"We all know the story of how Bucky Barnes famously became the Winter Soldier and was a major asset for Hydra. We also know how he was eventually freed from Hydra's hold and soon became an Avenger. But what if that was all a lie? What if he was never brainwashed by Hydra? What if he actually just worked for Hydra? What if he's still working for them?

"Out of everyone in the Avengers and out of everyone who was there the night Y/N was taken, he is the one with the biggest connection to Hydra. While the Scarlet Witch also has connections to Hydra, Barnes' connection runs a lot deeper. He knows the compound and he easily could've handed Y/N off to Hydra and returned back to the party before anyone could notice anything suspicious is going on.

"He also was the one who led a lot of the Hydra searches for Y/N. We all know they tore every Hydra facility they could find apart while they searched for her. With his connection to Hydra and his knowledge of them, it makes sense why he would've been a leader or at least a major player in these searches. We also know how several of these facilities would be completely empty when they were searched. Someone must have tipped them off. And if Y/N Stilinski really is Y/N Stark, someone on one of those searches had to say they found Y/N dead in order to get the Avengers to stop looking for her. Follow for part tw–" Peter turns off his phone and looks to where Bucky is standing.

Bucky can almost feel himself shaking from anger and sadness. Do people think he played a part in Y/N ending up in Hydra's grip? He's used to hearing things all the time about him and about his time under Hydra's control. He's gotten to the point where it doesn't really affect him any more thanks to Steve and time in therapy. But this? They can say whatever they want to about him but how dare they think that he would give Y/N to Hydra. To the people who have caused him and so many others so much pain. To some of the worst people on the planet.

Bucky is so upset that he doesn't notice Steve approaching him. Steve grabs the metal hand that is clenched tightly into a fist and lowly whispers to him, "Ignore it. That's just one person. We knew that conspiracies were going to happen when the truth came out. Once we figure this out, everyone will know the truth."

Bucky looks at Steve with unshed tears in his eyes, "How could they think I would ever do anything to hurt her?" The Avengers look away from Steve and Bucky as Steve whispers reassuring things to Bucky.

"They aren't just digging into her life and our lives but the people around her as well." Peter states. "People are posting about the death of Claudia Stilinski, her brother's history of staying at a mental health treatment facility, and the fact that practically her boyfriend's entire family died in a house fire years ago. Why are people doing this? We don't even know these things!"

"It's because we didn't want to know these things. If we wanted to know, we could've found everything out about her in minutes, but we decided she should be the one to tell us these things." Bruce states.

"What do we do?" Thor looks to Tony for an answer.

"We should probably all go over to her apartment and decide what we want to do there. As much as I would love to set the record straight right now, we aren't the only people affected by this." Tony states.

"Who are you and what did you do with Tony?" Wanda asks.

"Should one of us call her and let her know that we are going over?" Sam asks.

"I'll text her that we are going over. Do I need to tell her why?" Peter asks.

"She probably already knows why."

---

"What do you mean everyone knows I'm Y/N Stark?" Y/N looks at Stiles with a confused look on her face.

Stiles turns his phone around to show her the article he has pulled up on his phone. Y/N quickly snatches the phone out of his hands and starts angrily scrolling through the article titled 'Y/N Stark Found Alive in Beacon Hills.’

"Kate must have sold you out just like she did to Hydra," Scott mumbles as he scrolls through his own online search on his phone.

"We should go inside," Derek states, ushering them inside the loft as he sees more people gathering outside.

"Scott, will you please go get my phone from mine and Derek's room? I need to call dad and let him know what's going on since people have decided to make up lies about him." Y/N grumbles, not looking up from Stiles' phone.

"What are they saying?" Stiles asks as Scott runs up the stairs in the loft to grab Y/N's phone.

"Some people have decided that he secretly works for Hydra and that's why I've been living with him almost my whole life. He's apparently the person they decided I would live with because no one would ever suspect him to be harboring a stolen child. There's also some other bullshit theories that are even dumber than that."

"What does Kate gain from telling people who you are?" Derek questions.

"It's probably a distraction. With us having to deal with this, it gives her time to do whatever it is she plans on doing. All eyes are on us right now as well. She wants to make sure we don't have time to be looking at her."

Y/N hands Stiles his phone back as Scott hands her hers. "When I grabbed your phone, a text came in saying Peter and them are coming over. It didn't say why but I'm sure they saw the news."

"Why would Peter care?" Derek asks, confused.

"Not your uncle Peter, Avengers Peter."

"I should probably call him and tell them not to come over. We should probably meet them where they're staying. If they come here, it's just going to make it worse." Y/N quickly calls Peter to let him know to stay where he is and they will meet up with them.

After she hangs up, she plops down on the couch and continues to scroll through articles online. She huffs in frustration as she reads through another article speculating on her life. Another article wondering if she's known this whole time who she is and if her dad is involved with a terrorist group. Another article wondering if she is 'saying something now' because she needs money. She had no idea that her dad still owed money to Eichen House. If she did, she would've helped him out.

She's so caught up in scrolling through more articles and posts that she doesn't notice Derek, now fully clothed, sitting down next to her. Derek nudges her a little to get her attention, "I've called your dad and let him know what's going on."

"Did you let him know that the world thinks he's a part of a terrorist organization and that he's brainwashed me into believing I'm someone else?"

"Stiles is currently on the phone with him explaining everything to him. I just told him that your identity had been leaked and to keep an eye out for Kate or any unusual activity." Y/N grumbles in acknowledgment, not looking up from her phone. Derek slowly reaches over and turns off her phone before she can get more sucked in than she already is. "You shouldn't be reading any of this."

"How can I not?" Y/N looks at him with tears in her eyes. "Have you seen any of this? It's not just me they're talking about. They are talking about you as well. There was a tweet that said you probably work with Hydra as well and that you killed your family for the money. It had like 10k likes!"

"I don't care what they think about me. I only care about what you think about me."

"How are you so calm right now? How are you not angry?"

"After my family died, I became this boy who no one could look at anymore. If they did, it was always with looks of pity or sometimes with fear. People started coming up with their own scenarios to make the story of my family burning to death more interesting for them. Our house became a scary attraction that kids would make bets with their friends that they wouldn't even touch the front door. No one cared about how that made me feel. They only cared about the story they preferred. It's why I left before coming back for Laura."

Y/N wipes away the tears that had fallen from her eyes, "What does that have to do with this? Shouldn't this make you more angry?"

"I am angry. I'm angry that you have to go through this. I'm angry that Kate is trying to ruin my family again. I'm angry that people don't seem to care about us and only care about the story. But I'm more worried about you. You don't deserve any of this and neither does your dad and whoever else they're talking about. Right now, I'd rather comfort you and then take my anger out when I rip Kate to shreds later." Derek playfully nudges her a little as she snorts at his last sentence.

"If you keep saying things like this, people might think you have a heart." Y/N playfully nudges him back.

"Only for you."

They quickly turn their heads when they hear a retching sound beside them. "That was probably one of the most disgusting things I've ever heard." Stiles looks at them with disgust.

"Do you have to ruin all of our moments?" Y/N rolls her eyes at her brother.

"Yes."

"We should go before more people show up downstairs. I can hear them all talking about how the lost Stark girl lives here and how more people are on their way to catch a first glimpse." Scott informs them.

"I can take us in the jeep. I know where we're going and there's enough room for Y/N to duck down in the back."

"Why do I have to duck down in the back?" Y/N asks.

"People are outside ready to take a million pictures of you. If you duck down in the back, then they won't get any pictures, and maybe we can get out of here without anyone noticing."

"Fine. Let me change and then let's go." Y/N quickly runs upstairs and changes into some comfortable clothes before running back downstairs ready to go.

They quietly leave the apartment and make their way down to the parking garage. They quickly get into the jeep and are somehow able to leave without anyone noticing them. "That was so much easier than I thought it was going to be," Scott mutters.

"How do they know where I live?" Y/N sits up from her crouched position in the back seat.

"You can find anything on the internet." Stiles states.

"But everything's in Derek's name?"

"And people in town know who your boyfriend is and where he lives. I'm pretty sure most people know you live with him too." Scott informs her.

"People need to get a life." Derek mumbles.

"Your address is probably one of the least invasive things people have already dug up on you," Stiles says, gripping the steering wheel a little longer as he speeds towards the Avenger's cabin. "They've dug up mom's death, every death that's happened in Derek's family, your adoption records, and more. If they're willing to dig that up, they're willing to dig up your address."

They sit in silence for the rest of the car ride. All of them lost in their own thoughts.

Y/N watches as the scenery changes as they drive out of the middle of town and into the woods. Her mind is racing with a million thoughts. She just wishes her life could go back to the way it was a week ago. Back to when she was just Y/N Stilinski. She feels bad for thinking like that because she's had time to do some research about the Avengers and she knows how hard her disappearance affected all of them.

After spending a few years on Earth searching for her, Thor eventually left and disappeared for two years. No one knows where he went or what he did. He completely disappeared. There are rumors that he drank until even his godly liver could barely take it anymore.

Bucky Barnes and Natasha Romanoff pushed themselves to the brink while trying to find her. There are rumors that all they did was channel their anger into searching for her. Other than the raid where they supposedly found her body, they both went on every mission that was involved in the search for her. No one knows why Bucky wasn't on that raid. After her funeral, they started going on more missions. They pushed themselves until they couldn't be pushed anymore.

Tony Stark was affected the most. His marriage fell apart, he drank a lot, he stopped focusing on the Avengers and his businesses, and he became a person no one recognized. After a few years of hurting himself and the people around him, he checked himself into rehab and got himself the help that he needed. There wasn't much online about what exactly happened after that, but from what she was able to find, it helped him with his destructive habits, but it didn't help him with his pain.

She couldn't find anything on the rest of the Avengers. Everyone else seemed to either keep to themselves or disappear from the public view for a while. While they all came back together at some point and became the Avengers again, it's clear that it was never the same. It's clear that her disappearance, and eventual 'death', affected them a lot.

She's shaken from her thoughts when Stiles' jeep comes to a halt in front of the cabin. Peter is standing on the porch waiting for them to come in.

"I'm assuming you've seen the news," Stiles states looking at Peter.

"We've seen it all." Peter answers. "Right now, we are trying to figure out who told the press in the first place."

"Well, you can stop your search because we already know who did it," Scott states, following Peter inside the cabin.

"You know who leaked this?" Sam asks as they enter the living room.

"It was Kate who told them."

"Who's Kate?"

"She's a hunter. She's Gerard's daughter."

"She's also Derek's ex-girlfriend," Stiles adds.

"I wouldn't call her that," Y/N mutters under her breath.

"Why wouldn't you call her that?" Natasha questions, barely catching what Y/N said.

"Would you call a grown woman who preyed on you as a teenager after your first love died and then burned your entire family alive in a house fire your ex-girlfriend?" The room goes silent as Y/N quietly looks around the cabin. There's something about it that feels so familiar to her, but she doesn't know what.

"Why would she leak this to the press and why did she not leak much? No one seems to know about your abilities or anything else. They only really know your name and whatever they can find about you on the internet. Why didn't she tell them anything else?" Sam questions.

"We think it's a distraction." Scott states.

"A distraction from what?" Steve asks.

"We don't know but it has to be something big."

"Like what?"

"She's building an army." Everyone's heads whip towards Stiles. He's looking down at his phone.

"Why do you say that?" Scott questions.

"I just got a text from Chris. She's building an army to rid the world of supernatural beings."

"But she's one herself?" Y/N doesn't understand why Kate would do this.

"Yeah well, this time it isn't assassins working separately to kill all of you. Now it's a collective army that is gathering outside of town and getting ready to take over Beacon Hills. They start storming in in two hours."

"That means her telling the press wasn't a distraction." Scott states.

"Why do you think that?" Peter asks.

"If she needed a distraction, she wouldn't already have an army in place. She told the press because that means all eyes are on Y/N and on us. She plans on exposing who Y/N really is. She's waiting for all the news and press people to come into Beacon Hills so they can show the world the kind of person Y/N. She wants the world to be afraid of her and to be afraid of us. She wants to turn everyone against us."

"She wants to expose me being a werewolf and expose what Hydra did to me." Y/N mumbles. "She knows that she'll never beat us on her own or even with a small army, but if she makes the whole world fear us, we will lose. Fear can make people do horrible things. If people start to look at us as the villains instead of the heroes, we won't survive for long."

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

I'm going to put this on Wattpad for more people to see and I've created two possible covers for it (they aren't great but whatever). If y'all have an opinion on which on you like better, please let me know!

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

@vicmc624 @mrspetxrs @freyathehuntress @fheresm @stefans-wife @llamaproblem @taketimeandappreciate @youralphawolf72 @ornella0910 @shedsblood @ts1mp0ne @beautifulgrungekid @emily-roberts @danielle-leah1997 @itmejado @me-unitentionally @ivettt @james-bucky-barnes-bitch @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @darkenwolfie @inyourmomsworld @lokiandbuckywife @xx-narcissa @elite4cekalyma @thecrazytealady @ladyjenjay @misshale21 @cevans-winchester @fayhay14 @wtfcas @spencerreidsbookclub @depressedsleepysloth @hinata7346 @randomhoex @mirakeul @n1ght5h4d3-24 @allthingsavenger-y @belovacc @speedy-object-dream @pepelachanel @dark-night-sky-99 @missnyxsblog @xoxoloverb @ilearnedthatfromethepizzaman @kingshitonly @isnt-itstrange @twsssmlmaa @navs-bhat @zealouspostwitch @saahmi @distantsighs @jayxxace @a--1--1--3 @cutelittlepurplesouls @mermaid--dreamer @maliagurl @peterpangirl21 @kneelforloki @slutformaddyperez @teenybean @small-town-wayward-daughter @labellapeaky @dabria14 @geeksareunique

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

[nightowlwriting]

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

[swimmingleo]

The Wizard of Oz: yet another conspiracy

It's about the infamous spinning around parallel, this one:

Why... would they do this.

Point is I've gone too far, Harryween happened, I fell into a Wizard of Oz rabbithole and found this that for some reason I've missed all this time, which happens to be mf Pink Floyd related because why wouldn't it be.

I promise it kind of adds up in the end, but it's mostly me... clowning.

The Dark Side of the Rainbow:

It's an old Pink Floyd theory and one of the most well-known in the band's lore: it started around the 80's with the popularization of videotapes. One day, someone just had the idea to mute the Wizard of Oz (1939) and play The Dark Side of the Moon (1973) over it right at the beginning of the movie (the third roar from the MGM lion). A scarily accurate synchronization resulted, to the point where one could ask themselves if the album was indeed produced as an alternate soundtrack to the film.

cut, im pouring mercy on the dash

Just your average fan theory, which really took off in the 90s and surprisingly received a lot of response. The album's audio engineer called it "eyewash" and an impossible thing to do with the technology they had back then. (which is. really not true. You could do it, it was just terribly impractical. then again if you're crazy enough..)

David Gilmour and Nick Mason, guitarist and drummer of the band, also vehemently denied the theory: total non sense and a waste of time.

basically everyone got real pressed for no reason lol it's a cute fan theory guys not gAy rUmOuRs cmon

HOWEVER, there is one person who never denied it and it's the guy who literally conceptualized the entire album. Indeed, Roger Waters found the theory "amusing" and had even referenced Over The Rainbow in later album The Wall (and seeing how frustrated he gets when the audience doesn't engage with their music the way he'd like, it almost feels like he was encouraging the theory but then again. pure assumption idk shit)

So yeah, make what you want of this dysfunctional band's response to the theory.

Okay but does it really work ?

There have been psychological explanations of the phenomenon: the theory has been dismissed as the brain always finding connections and parallels between different elements: if you're looking for something, you find it. Yes, this explains various fan theories like the Beatles' ''Paul is dead'', or crispy audios we have around here (pReTtY uNfoRtUnaTe) where the perception is influenced by what we're told to hear or what we want to see. If you play any random music over any random movie, you will always find synchronized moments. But I think the Dark Side of The Rainbow goes beyond that: you can actually make out obvious interpretations and patterns that make sense with the rest of their discography or what they said about certain things/songs. The album actually matches the movie’s narration or the transitions between scenes. But once again, the theory has been associated with crazy delusional fans on acid who live on conspiracies so... (so larrie of em)

Here you have the full movie, with the album playing on loop over it (cuz it's an album designed to be played on loop). Most little moments feel like those funny coincidences I mentioned before, like a character moving, dancing or speaking on beat, but some others are like... too much for me to dismiss as coincidences, because they carry some deep PF-esque meaning. I won't get much into it here cuz we don't have time for that~ but if you're a PF fan interested by the topic feel free to send me an ask and we'll rant about it it's honestly so cool ffgeifzji

Still, I really recommend to watch this specific part:

There isn't any kind of edit to make it fit. It just naturally goes smooth like that.

CMON IT'S. IT'S WEIRD.

Also the front and back cover of the album:

...No colour > Colour > Back to no colour // Sepia > Technicolor > Back to sepia.

If you're wondering why Roger Pink Floyd would go this far to hint at a movie which had a massive impact on queer culture ever since WW2, and how it could be even more relevant to Larry, here <3

AND LARRY BITCH??

Do we know other weirdos with too much time on their hands who do weird shit with synchronization in their art yes we doooo.

So, the shot of them filmed by a camera spinning like a tornado, in an already spinning setting (twirling dancers) in MVs loaded with queer symbolism.

last one just because... SOTT sounds a lot like The Great Gig in the Sky to me. Also he's flying passing by a rainbow at some point so.

The tornado scene is the core of the Dark Side of the Rainbow theory. The music and image go incredibly well together: the piano starting on the first gust of wind, the music gradually getting louder with the chaos on screen until it suddenly calms down when Dorothy’s unconscious in the eye of the tornado. Music ends when the tornado stops for good. But also the symbolism of that song and that scene combined: The Great Gig in The Sky is part of the transition between the first and the second part of the album and it evokes death. The tornado in Oz is the transition between sepia and technicolor, two different worlds and technically.. it's Dorothy's departure from earth to somewhere over the rainbow.

Meanwhile, TPWK is in black and white, Walls is colorized. Both songs represent a significant milestone in their respectives careers. That theme of "I used to feel bad, but I've made peace with myself and now I feel better".

The TPWK/Walls parallel starts at 1:41. Solely based on that film video I linked earlier, The Wizard of Oz is 1:41:47 long. So like. If they wanted to be little shits and choose a precise timestamp that would hint at the Oz synchronicity theory...

... I just like the idea of Harry and Louis scanning the internet for some rbb/sbb ideas, stumbling upon (or already knowing) the Dark Side of the Rainbow and being like.. aha, we could do that at some point. Because in the end, whether it's intentional or not, it's a pretty big pop culture fan theory, and they've both already hinted at PF and Oz.

All in all, the first person who had the idea to play Pink Floyd's album over the Wizard of Oz would have made an excellent delusional larrie and I wish they were here.

[fanficimagery]

When Enough is Enough pt. II

Imagine being let down one too many times by your best friend, only to end up making some new ones in the process.

Words: 8.5K Author’s Note: Okay so some of you asked to only be added to part 2 of this while others asked to be added everything Bucky.. and a few others weren’t exactly clear. So if you want to be tagged in any future Bucky related imagines please let me know so I can get your blog name written down on my list.

Tags:  @aya-fay @70s-chic @sipsteacasually @kaitlyn2907 @scarlettwitch99 @thingsforimagination  @mimilh @felicityofbakerstreet @eternalharry @eliwinchester99 @intothesoul​ @wintershadowkat  @b1sexualtonystark  @meredeph @miszswan

The Sunday before you are to return to work, you sleep in until nine in the morning. Your thoughts are immediately on Bucky's impending arrival and you couldn't help the butterflies that took flight in your stomach. He's a friend, just as all the others are, but you couldn't help but notice just how attractive this new friend of yours is. But not only does his attractiveness draw you in, his easy-going teasing and protectiveness does too. However, Bucky Barnes is still a man trying to find his footing in this world after all that's been done to him and finally getting his name cleared, and if he finds comfort with you then you're going to try your best and be the friend he needs.

So since you're not dressing to impress, you dress in your favorite lazy outfit after your shower- leggings, sports bra, a faded sleeveless band tee with the arm holes having been cut down to around your ribs, and a pair of socks. Damp hair gets gathered up into a messy bun and you walk around your apartment to pick up some things you had unknowingly left out.

You've skipped breakfast, so when there's a knock on your door and you open up to find Bucky standing there, you groan in relief. He raises both hands with paper bags hanging from each. "I come bearing sushi. Wanda let it slip how much you love it."

"Yesss." You step back, quickly taking in his own comfort outfit of sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt under an opened jacket. "Did you bring plenty of wasabi? And you can just kick off your shoes anywhere."

"Of course." He hands you the bags so he can kick off his shoes and strip out of his jacket before hanging it up. You don't know why, but seeing him in a short sleeve shirt makes you happy, knowing full well he was weird about his metal arm being out in the open. "And plenty of dipping sauce as well. Wanda was more than happy to give me advice."

"Wanda, huh?" You chuckle, leading the way to your kitchen. "You actually told her where'd you be?"

"Apparently I looked very pensive this morning. She asked and I figured she was a better confidant than Steve or Sam who would have made a big deal about us hanging out."

"True." Setting the bags down, you let him empty them while you head to the fridge. "Beer?"

"Yeah."

Grabbing him a beer and yourself a can of Cola, you return to the table and your eyes widen at the sight of all the sushi. "Damn, Barnes. That's a lot of sushi."

"Don't act like you won't eat half of it."

You laugh as you take a seat, handing him his beer and pulling a few trays to your side of the table. You take a container of wasabi and dipping sauce for yourself, and grab a pair of chopsticks to start digging in.

You moan in delight at your first taste, happily shimmying in your seat before taking another. Eventually, you ask, "So what are you going to do when I'm back at work and I can't keep you entertained by getting shitfaced?"

Bucky grins around his mouthful of food before chasing it down with a swig of his beer. "We actually got a mission comin' up so I'll be leavin' around mid-week."

"Well that sucks." You sigh. "Now who am I going to send random pictures to when I have downtime at work?"

He grins. "You can still send them to me. I just won't get back to you until after the mission's complete."

"Yeah, yeah."

The two of you continue to eat- Bucky dodging Steve's texts about where he is and when he's coming back, and you sending the middle finger emoji over and over to Wanda who keeps wondering how your date is going. Then once most of the sushi is gone and Bucky puts what little is left into the fridge, the two of you head to the living room. You immediately flop onto the couch as Bucky takes the plush recliner, only for you to hear him moving the chair into its reclined position seconds later.

"Oh. I definitely need to get one of these."

You laugh as he snuggles down and you pick up the remote to bring up your streaming services. "Anything you've been meaning to watch?"

"Not really. Just show me your favorites."

You start off with some humor by playing the Goonies. It's a movie that no matter how many times you've seen it, it always seems to make you laugh. And it seems Bucky is not immune either when they make Chunk to the truffle shuffle. Titanic plays afterwards, but only after making sure Bucky found it somewhat interesting after reading the movie summary to him. He is interested from beginning to end and doesn't even laugh at you when you shed a few tears for the old married couple who opt to stay in their bed as the room floods.

When a break is needed, you head off towards the bathroom as Bucky finishes off the leftover sushi. Both of you check your phones and read each other the missed text messages from Steve and his worrying behavior.

"Wanna tell Steve to fuck off via video message?" Bucky takes a moment to think on it before he grins and nods. "Excellent. Sit in the recliner. I'm gonna crawl up all in your business. That okay?"

"Yeah."

As Bucky gets comfortable in the recliner, you sit on the armrest before sliding down sideways onto his lap. You bring up the camera app on your phone and switch it to video, sliding your right arm behind Bucky's neck while holding your left arm out to capture the two of you on the screen. "Ready?"

"Sure, doll."

You chuckle quietly and then smirk mischievously as Bucky relaxes his expression into his best resting bitch face. After you hit record, you say, "Hey Rogers, stop being a little bitch and sending us text after text. I'm tryin' to fuck your best friend here." Bucky's expression cracks as he barks out a laugh and you turn to face him while grinning. You share a laugh with him before facing the camera once more. "Only joking, but seriously stop buggin' us. I promise to send him back in one piece."

As you prepare to send the text to Steve, Bucky says, "You're terrible."

"Whatever. Admit it, you adore me."

"Occasionally."

You huff another laugh as the video message finally sends. You and Bucky both watch as the delivered status turns to read, and then those three little dots appear as Steve starts typing his reply.

"Tell Bucky to wrap it before he taps it." You burst out laughing at Steve's text, Bucky's rumbling laughter only fueling yours even more. "God I hate your best friend sometimes." And before you climb off Bucky's lap, because honestly you were getting a little too comfortable, you send Steve a few middle finger emojis before deciding on a third movie to watch.

The third movie you choose is one that never fails to make you laugh- Bridesmaids. You had a moment of hesitancy because of the sex scenes, but you figured they were ridiculous enough that it wouldn't be awkward. Thankfully you're correct and you get the added bonus of hearing Bucky's laughter again during Megan's scenes, especially when they get food poisoning and are all fighting for the bathroom.

You and Bucky take yet another break after the film, just stretching and finding something to drink.

"So what's the verdict, Barnes? Are you enjoying the films?"

He grins. "Your taste is all over the place, huh? That last one we watched was raunchy."

"But hilarious! You need to watch the Hangover trilogy, but you definitely need to watch that with Steve and then watch him squirm at the pictures that roll with the credits."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Jurassic Park holds his attention and he can't help but comment how stupid one has to be to replicate dinosaur DNA and then open up a park with live dinosaurs. You laugh, but don't bother commenting. You'll tell him later there are more movies involved, with yet another idiotic man who felt he could get the park up and running once more.

It's getting dark, but it's still a little too early for dinner. One more movie and then you'll order or go out and pick something up.

"So this last one for the day is a movie that's directed more towards the female viewers, but you did ask for my favorite films and Practical Magic is my absolute favorite."

"Well put it on, doll."

As you press play on Practical Magic, you quickly grab a throw blanket and snuggle in. Instead of watching Bucky, you watch the film and mumble certain quotes to yourself. The magic scenes always bring a soft smile to your face just as Gary's confession to Sally of I wished for you too breaks your heart, and Sally and Gillian's heartfelt sister moment makes you cry.

Afterwards, Bucky hums in thought. "So that's your favorite?"

"Absolutely." You tell him. He's watching you curiously and you grin. "If I show you something, you promise not to laugh?"

"I'll try."

"Whatever. That's good enough for me." Standing up, you walk towards him and kneel, and tell him to pull your shirt sideways by the armhole next to your left arm. There on the back of your left shoulder and forever etched into your skin is a salt shaker, a rosemary plant, a lavender plant, and a heart. You then rattle off one of your favorite quotes to him. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."

Bucky chuckles as you get up, retaking your spot on the sofa. "You really are a fan of the movie."

You nod. "As a little girl, I was fascinated by magic. I thought I'd grow out of it, but I only grew more fond of it. And then I found Practical Magic and it had a bit of everything I adored."

"So what's the one scene that just gets you every time?"

"Ugh. You're making me choose?!" You feign being distraught and he grins. As you think about it, you keep coming back to two scenes in particular. "So there's two," you tell him, "and I'm not choosing between them." Bucky nods, awaiting your answer. "Gillian's possession. When Sally calls together the other mothers who were mean to her in order to make a temporary coven to save her sister, and Gillian begs Sally to just let her ghost ex have her."

Bucky hums. "That was a bit sad, doll. I saw you shedding a few tears over that."

"Mhm. And the other scene is when Sally comes clean to Gary and admits that she did a spell as a child to call forth her perfect love thinking it wouldn't exist, only it did. When Gary tells Sally that he wished for her too, it just breaks my fuckin' heart."

"Let me guess, you were one of the girls who cast her own spell after seeing that scene." You stay quiet for a moment and the second you feel your face heat, Bucky laughs. "What did you wish for?"

You groan quietly. "If I tell you, you can't laugh!" He only smiles in response and you know he won't drop it until you tell him. "Fine. So even though I knew it would never work, I gathered the weirdest objects and wished for a significant other with dark hair and colored eyes. He had to be protective and funny and love me for me. Simple."

For some reason you can't seem to meet Bucky's gaze then and you feel awkward the longer the silence stretches on.

"So dinner?" He asks.

"Oh god, yes please. Pizza and wings?"

"Sounds good."

You have the nearby pizza place on speed dial, so after finding out Bucky's preferences you make the call and place the order. It's going to be about a thirty minute wait, so you fill the time sending Steve pic after pic of Bucky who's none the wiser as he scrolls through his own phone and adding the most asinine comments to each picture. Steve thinks it's absolutely hilarious.

Then when the pizza and wings arrive, you beat Bucky to the door and thrust several bills at the delivery boy. He's more than happy with his tip and you hurriedly wave him off before shutting the door. You laugh at Bucky's disgruntled expression and then place everything on the table while gathering a beer for both you and him.

"Don't let me have more than two," you tell him while handing him his own bottle of beer.

Bucky agrees and the two of you dig into your own personal pizzas and boxes of wings once you're situated around the table. As you're eating, Bucky asks about what other movies you hold near and dear. You fill him in on a few others and he hesitantly puts it out there that he'd be up for another movie marathon when you both have a day off. You agree that that's doable.

Halfway through dinner, as you and Bucky are chuckling over the thought of making Steve sit through Bridesmaids, there's a sound of glass breaking from your living room and a muffled curse. The two of you immediately cease making any type of noise and Bucky is up with a gun in hand.

"Where the hell did that come from?! You hiss.

The telltale sound of a window then sliding shut can be heard.

"Shut up and get behind me."

The authority in his voice makes you freeze and your heart flutter at the same time, and you have to mentally scold yourself before you quickly do as he says. You follow Bucky towards the living, ready to duck at the ready, only to sigh and roll your eyes when you see who it is.

Bucky stands tall and lowers his gun. "Parker." You can practically hear the annoyance in his voice.

"Mr. Barnes?" Peeking around his shoulder, you raise your eyebrow at your best friend who's been too busy for you and is now frowning at Bucky. When he catches sight of you, he asks, "What's going on?"

"Uh, well we were having dinner until we thought someone was breaking in."

"Alone?!"

Your brow furrows at Peter's incredulousness, only for him to realize you're not impressed with his tone. You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms over your chest. "Did you need something?"

"Oh, um, yeah." He shifts from foot to foot, gesturing to his face where there's a scrape on his cheekbone. "My ribs took a beating too. Can you patch me up?"

"Sure." You sigh. "Why not."

Before you can leave to go to the bathroom to get the supplies you need, Bucky says, "I'll just get out of your way then."

You stop and face him. "What? But we haven't even finished our food. It won't take me long."

"It's fine, doll." He grins when he realizes you're trying to get him to stay. "You gotta hit the hay early anyway. We'll talk soon."

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, sighing when he won't budge. "Well at least take your food with you. No use in it going to waste."

Bucky nods and heads back to the kitchen, collecting his food. You watch him and then follow him to the door, holding his food while he bends over to lace up his boots. Once he retakes his food and you open the door, he thanks you for the time away from the tower and disappears down the hall.

Shutting the door and then heading back into the living room, you tell Peter to get back into his regular clothes so you can get to his ribs while you go gather your medical supplies.

Meeting Peter back in the living room and setting everything down on the coffee table, he says, "So you and Bucky-"

"Don't." You pick up the peroxide bottle and soak a cotton ball in it. "Bucky and I are friends."

Peter manages to keep his mouth shut as you clean the scrape on his cheek and place a small bandage on it. Then when you've checked his ribs and tell him he just needs to ice them, he mumbles, "Friends who apparently lick each other." You snort and think nothing of his sullen tone, but when you look at his face you see he's actually being quite serious. There's no chuckle or boyish grin and for a moment you're absolutely floored at his attitude. "I don't think I'm comfortable with Bucky being alone with you in your apartment."

"Are you- are you kidding me?" You huff and take a step back from him. When Peter just continues to frown, you shake your head at him. "First of all, I'm an adult woman who can make her own decisions."

"I know, but-"

"I'm not finished!" You snap. Peter's eyes widen, but he smartly ceases talking. "I am allowed to have friends whether you like them or not. We have a pact, Petey, and since I'm still abiding by it I would hope that you would too."

"Yeah, but that's for significant others!"

"Significant others or friends, it doesn't matter. And you should be grateful I've kept my mouth shut when it comes to you and Leslie because let me tell you, I've been biting my tongue a lot these past few weeks. Bucky and the others have stepped up since you've abandoned me, so you have absolutely no room to tell me that you're uncomfortable with him or any of them being around me."

"Leslie isn't that bad and I have not abandoned you." You snort, but don't bother opening that can of worms even further. He finally gets annoyed with your quietness. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You're here because you needed a bandage. Tell me, Peter, where are you going after here? Where are you going after making five minutes of small talk and calling it a night?" He opens his mouth and then snaps it shut, shrugs, and you shake your head at him once more in disappointment. "Exactly. Just go, Peter. I'm so over this conversation right now and I have work in the morning."

"Wait, but we promised we'd never leave a conversation where we were still annoyed with each other!"

"And we also promised we'd never judge who the other decided to spend time with, but here we are." He frowns at you. "Go to your girlfriend, Peter. We'll talk again in another few days or weeks or whenever. I don't care right now."

Peter stands there, gaping, before he pulls himself together and makes his way back towards the window he had crawled through. He glances at you one last time, but you merely keep staring until his mask encompasses his head once more and he lifts the window before taking his leave.

As the window shuts behind him, you sag in on yourself and your breathing stutters in your chest as your eyes fill with tears. You've never been this angry at Peter and the fact that he thinks it's okay to ignore you until he needs something and then has an opinion about who you hang out with was just too much for you to let slide.

You quickly gather everything from your coffee table and return it to its rightful place in your bathroom, and throw away the trash. Your appetite is long gone, so you put up what's left of your food and then head to your room to gather some clothes so you can shower and get into bed.

By the time you've crawled into bed, you're still a bit annoyed. So grabbing your phone, you pull up your text messages and click on Bucky's thread.

To Bucky: Well that was a shit show. I don't think I've ever made Petey leave my apartment while we were still angry with each other.

From Bucky: I'm sorry, doll. Anything I can do?

To Bucky: If he gives you attitude, get a non-serum individual to punch him. You, Steve, and probably Nat will send him flying into the wall.

From Bucky: If I remember..

To Bucky: Well I mean if you forget, I won't complain. I'll probably laugh when he comes crying to me.

From Bucky: You're a terrible human being.

To Bucky: Whatever. You adore me just the way I am. And now I should get some shut eye. I'll talk to you soon. Night, Sarge.

From Bucky: Night, sweetheart.

For the next couple of weeks, you keep yourself busy with work. Bucky and a few others do go on a mission as he said they would, so you keep your texts to a minimum of three each day- a good morning, a random story from that day, and a good night. They're gone for four days and in those four days you've not heard from Peter. The only reason you know he's not completely done with you is the fact he likes your posts that you put up on social media.

But since you're not currently speaking to your best friend and are too exhausted to hang out with anyone else, you're in a bit of a funk and completely caught off guard one evening when the patient a police officer brings in smacks you right across the face. You had been trying to insert an IV into his arm when he completely lost his shit, and then you were hit so hard that you were strewn across the gurney behind you. And in your vulnerable position, a fistful of your hair had been grabbed and yanked right before the police officer had intervened and pulled the patient off of you.

You had been given a bit of time to ice your cheek before you had to get back to work, but your face and scalp were hurting you the entire time.

On your way home, however, you're surprised to receive a call from Pepper. You're heading towards your apartment complex when she invites you to dinner there at the tower since Darcy is finally back in town, and you hate to do it, but you're not exactly up to be around such a rowdy bunch. So you apologize to Pepper and ask her to apologize to Darcy for you, and take a rain check. Immediately she knows something is wrong, but you only tell her you had a rough night at work and all you want is a hot shower and to crawl into bed. She hesitates but wishes you well, and the call ends moments later.

When you get home, you waste no time in locking the door behind you and heading straight for your bathroom. You strip down and take the hottest shower your body is capable of handling, and let yourself relax in the steam-filled room. Afterwards, as you're drying off, you gently dry your hair since your scalp is still sensitive and then get dressed in some of your comfort clothes.

Then heading out into the kitchen, you find some leftovers in your fridge and heat those up, tiredly sitting at your kitchen table and digging in. Just as you're done with your food and heading towards the living room, someone pounds on your apartment door. You sigh, hoping they go away, and have only plopped down onto the sofa when a familiar gruff voice speaks through the wood.

You quietly groan as Bucky tells you he knows you're there and you get up to open the door for him. He's on the verge of knocking again when you swing the door open. "Hey. Pepper said-" He trails off as he takes in your appearance, expression going slack before his jaw clenches in anger. "Who?"

You shake your head, gesturing him inside as you turn around and walk towards your sofa. You hear your door click shut before the footsteps follow you. "Work got a little hectic. No need to hunt down anyone, Barnes. I'm fine."

"Half your face is bruised, doll. You are not fine."

"It's all part of my job." You shrug and plop down onto the sofa once more. Pulling a blanket over your lap, you stare up at your friend. "There will always be a drunk and disorderly patient. I was just lucky he didn't do more damage."

Bucky frowns, but he doesn't push you on it. Instead, he walks over and sits next to you, angling his body towards yours when gentle fingers grasp your chin to angle your face more towards him. "What exactly happened?" He asks as his eyes dart over every inch of your face.

"Some petty criminal did some damage to his head in the back of a patrol car. Police officer brought him in and he seemed pretty docile up until I jabbed him with the IV. He got the drop on me. It happens." Gentle fingers brush along your cheekbone and you flinch. Tears sting your eyes as you sniffle. "I'm fine."

"Just because you keep sayin' that doesn't mean it's true."

Your bottom lip wobbles at his words and you lose the battle with keeping the tears at bay. The moment they fall, Bucky pulls you into a hug and you cry into his shoulder. "Dammit," you mumble. "See what you started!"

Bucky chuckles and he holds you a few moments longer, rubbing a hand up and your back to offer a semblance of comfort. When he lets you go, you fall back against the sofa cushions and wipe the tears away with your blanket. "So what are we watching?" He asks while settling in next to you and draping an arm behind your head.

"Shouldn't you go back to the tower and have dinner with the rest of them? I'm-"

"If you say you're fine one more time, I will drag you back to the tower and let Steve motherhen you."

You sigh. "Low blow, Buckaroo."

"And for that horrendous nickname, you've lost the privilege of choosing what we're going to watch."

You laugh and don't bother arguing with him about it as he leans across you to snag up the remote. When he settles back down and you snuggle into his side, you huff a small laugh when he settles on TLC which is showing 90 Day Fiancé.

"Why this show?" You ask.

"Because it blows my mind that some people are so oblivious and can't see that their chosen partner is only in it for the green card."

As you let his reasoning sink in, you can't help but giggle as you picture Bucky sitting in his own apartment and bad mouthing the TV because he didn't like the decisions the people were making in their love life. You watch along with him, cringing at the more obvious couples that are only headed for future divorce and smiling when one of the couples is actually in it for love.

You manage to almost watch a complete two hour episode when there's a knock on your door, but you're too comfortable to get up and answer it.

"You get it," you say as you nudge Bucky.

He nudges you back. "It's your apartment."

"Yeah, but I don't feel like getting up."

"You could have at least come up with a better excuse."

You grin, finally taking your eyes off the screen and glancing up at Bucky. "M'too tired. Brain's not working fast enough." He continues to give you a deadpan stare until you jut out your bottom lip. "Please?"

The second Bucky's lips twitch, you know you've won. He huffs and roughly pushes himself up off the sofa as if answering the door is a hardship, and you go back to watching TV. At least until you hear a familiar voice stammer, "Uh, h-hey Mr. Barnes. Is Y/N home?"

Your gaze snaps towards the door where Peter is standing out in the hallway, hands in his pockets as he sheepishly stares at Bucky. The man in question turns and raises an eyebrow at you as if saying what do I do and you give him a terse nod to let him know it's okay. Bucky steps aside and Peter readily walks in.

"I should be getting back to the tower," Bucky suddenly says. "You kids have fun."

This time it's your turn to give him a deadpan stare and he smirks right before slipping his boots back on. Then as soon as they're laced up, he's walking out the door and shutting it behind him. Peter, who hadn't stopped staring at the intimidating man, finally turns to look at you. And when he does, his eyes widen.

"What happened to your face?!"

You sigh. "I'm fine. Just had a little incident at work."

"And Mr. Barnes was what? Comforting you?"

"First of all, can you stop calling him Mr. Barnes? You two avenge together and what not. I'm pretty sure that means you're on a first name basis." Peter grins as he takes a seat on the recliner near you, shrugging. "And Bucky was here because when I turned down dinner at the tower, Pepper figured something was wrong. Bucky took it upon himself to check in."

"So are you two like a thing or something?" He wonders.

"We're just.. friends," you say. "For some unknown reason we clicked and we're comfortable in each other's company."

For a moment Peter doesn't say anything, nor will he meet your gaze, but then he's looking at you and sighing. "I'm sorry." You blink at him, surprised to hear the apology. "I shouldn't have freaked out that one night. Who you are friends with and who you decide to date is your business."

You finally smile, even though it's rather small. "Thank you. And don't get me wrong, I know you meant well, but you should have dropped it and just trusted my judgment."

"Yeah. I know," he mumbles.

"Soo.. are we good?" You ask.

"Yeah."

"Good. I was getting tired of you liking my posts and not commenting on them."

Peter snorts. A moment of silence passes and then he says, "So you'll be glad to know that Leslie and I aren't together anymore. I broke it off earlier tonight."

You wince. "Sorry."

"Nah. Don't be. She was totally using me for access to the tower." You're torn between being smug about being right and being sad for your friend who just ended his relationship. "I only realized it earlier when she got upset because Mr. Rogers posted a picture of you and Mr. Barnes together, and she had a few choice words to say about it."

"What? Steve posted a picture of us?" You quickly pull out your phone, checking social media for any notifications. There are none, but as you get on Instagram you check Steve's page and sure enough there's a new pic that shows Bucky staring fondly at you as you laugh at something on your phone. "That little shit didn't tag us!"

As your thumbs move furiously to give Steve a piece of your mind and to comment how adorable you and Bucky look, Peter can't help but say, "You're attracted to him."

Your texting falters and you quickly glance at your friend to gauge his reaction, but when he just looks amused, you shrug. "I mean have you seen him? How could I not be attracted to him?"

"Does he know?"

"I have a feeling he does. Asshole likes to fluster me every now and then."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure he likes you back." You snort and go back to finishing up the comment on Steve's post. "I'm serious. When we stopped talking, he threatened me. He was pissed that I made you cry and said I was lucky. He's actually really scary when you're on his bad side."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in and when they do you can feel your ears heating up, followed by your cheeks. Peter starts to laugh and you groan in embarrassment. "Why is this so weird? Dating should be easy!"

"Well he is an Avenger.."

"I don't care about that! He's just- he's really, really hot. It's intimidating."

"Wait, what?" Peter huffs. "So you're intimidated by his hotness and not because he's a super-soldier with a metal arm?"

"Well yeah."

Expression melting into one of confusion, your friend eventually shakes his head at you. "You're on your own with that. Good luck."

You hadn't realized how much everyone had known about your and Peter's brief falling out until the two of you were laughing together once again at the tower. It seemed like everyone had sagged in relief now that the two of you were poking fun at one another once more, and you had to apologize for apparently making it awkward for them.

And now that your best friend knew of your crush on a certain super-soldier, there was lots of teasing material. Of course you kept him in line when you could, but there was no stopping the force of Peter, Wanda, and Darcy combined.

It's a random Tuesday night when you've driven over to the Tower, Bucky having called you over for dinner with a few friends. You had the day off so you didn't mind heading on over, but as the elevator doors slide open after having ridden up to the communal floor, you yelp in surprise as the small gathered crows that shout, "Happy birthday!", at you.

Steve, Wanda, Sam, and Peter pop confetti poppers as you step out of the elevator, eyes wide as you glance between each of them. "My birthday is not until tomorrow!" You hiss.

"But you work tomorrow." Wanda frowns.

"Mhm." Your eyes then narrow, glancing behind them at the streamers and balloons hanging from the ceiling. "And how'd you guys even know?"

Everyone glances at Peter and he takes a step back when your gaze slides to him. He chuckles sheepishly. "I might have hid your birthday cupcake here and Steve found it."

"Petey," you groan. "Why couldn't you just hide it at aunt May's like usual? You know I dislike birthday celebrations."

"You don't dislike them. You just dislike all the attention being on you."

"Whatever. Where's Barnes? He's the one who lured me here under false pretenses. I got a bone to pick with him too."

Everyone turns around and Bucky's head appears from around the corner. He smirks and you glare at him. "Not false pretenses. We are having dinner," he says. "It just so happens to be a birthday dinner. And it's running a little bit late, so until the food gets here you get to open presents."

"You guys all suck."

Peter and Wanda each take a hand and drag you further into the room, heading towards the kitchen. Bucky fully steps out from behind the wall and you aim a kick at his shin as you're walking by. He laughs as he easily dodges it and then you're standing by the kitchen island that's been cleared of everything other than birthday presents.

You huff a small laugh and shake your head fondly at them. "I love you guys, but you do know you didn't have to get me anything, right?"

"Shut up and open the presents," Bucky says.

"Open mine first," Sam says, reaching into the small pile and pulling out a white envelope. "Unlike the others, I was literally told within the last thirty minutes we were doing this so yeah. It's not the best present, but I think you'll enjoy it."

You smile at Sam as you open it, chuckling at the plain birthday card and his brief personal message written inside. But it's what else that's inside that makes you meet Sam's gaze once more, smiling fondly at him. "Thank you. I can't get enough of bubble tea and I'm sure I can do some damage with this gift card."

"You're welcome."

"Mine next." Peter reaches in for a medium-sized box and hands it over to you. "I know you're not a fan of presents, so I got you something I actually knew you'd enjoy."

Raising an eyebrow at him, you pull the lid off of the box. Then glancing down, you snort before pulling out a bottle of Patron Silver Tequila. "I knew we were best friends for a reason."

Steve groans. "Please drink responsibly."

"Please. Responsible is my middle name, Rogers." Everyone snorts and instead of trying to remain serious and feign offense, you end up laughing. "Sam and Buck are good babysitters. You have nothing to worry about."

"That's to be determined," he says. "Here. Open mine. I honestly had no idea what to get you, but Peter assured me you'd enjoy this."

Putting the bottle of tequila back in its box, you accept Steve's gift. Pulling off the ribbon, you can't help but laugh when you see what's inside. "Cards Against Humanity." Peter cheers. "We're playing this the next time I have off," you say, grinning at Steve.

"What is Cards Against Humanity?" He wonders. "I just picked it up and boxed it."

"It's possibly one of the most confusing card games or raunchy card games you'll ever play," Sam says. "I, for one, am looking forward to it."

"Thank you, Steve. I seriously can't wait to play it."

"You're welcome."

Wanda claps her hands. "Mine and Darcy's next. She ordered online and I had to pick it up earlier. But, um, I'm not sure you want to open it up in front of everyone."

"Oh god. Don't tell me it's a vibrator."

Sam laughs out loud as both Peter and Steve start blushing. Bucky looks rather amused and intrigued as Wanda slides two boxes over to you. She shakes her head, giggling. "Not quite."

For a brief moment you're relieved, but then her answer sinks in and you're hesitant all over again. You groan. "Is yours safer? I feel like it is. Which one is it?"

Wanda only smirks as she pushes her box towards you. You open it, marvel at its contents, and then put the lid back on much to the boys' displeasure. Trying to keep a straight face, you look at Wanda. "How many sets did you get?"

"There's four. All in colors that will look amazing against your skin tone."

"Thank you. I'll send you pictures when I wear them."

"Yes please! Natasha wants to know how they fit as well. She was the one who suggested them."

"I'll send them to the ladies group chat then."

"Well that's not fair," Sam complains. "First for not showing us what's inside the box and then you guys have a ladies only group chat. I wanna be in the ladies only group chat."

"But then that defeats the purpose of it being a ladies only group chat," you muse.

"Come on," Peter then whines. "What was the present?"

Your gaze slides to Peter, but instead of outright saying what it is, you say, "Think back to that one Halloween night where you wouldn't let me out of the dorm until I switched costumes."

It takes him only a minute to understand and when he does, he snorts. "That wasn't a costume! That was lingerie."

"Whoa, what?" Sam exclaims, grinning.

"Lingerie can be worn as a costume?" Steve wonders.

"I was actually a Victoria's Secret Angel, complete with the most amazing set of wings, and Petey forbade me from leaving the room. It was a sad, sad night."

"As much as I wanna get into that," Sam says, "I wanna know what Barnes got you more."

You chuckle and glance at Bucky, smile faltering when you see him tense. But then he seems to shake himself out of it and offers you a grin. "Open the bigger one first."

Wanda clears away the other presents as Bucky slides his two towards you. You feel giddy as you grab the bigger box, untying the black silk ribbons and lifting the lid. There's tissue paper you open up and you gasp, happily giggling. "You didn't?!"

"Well you did say it was your favorite movie, sweetheart."

"Yes!" You glance up, beaming at Bucky, and your heart swells at his own smile being directed at you. "I really, really love this. I can't wait to hang it up."

"What is it?" Peter wonders, trying to peer across the island.

"It's a quote from Practical Magic," you say and Peter huffs a laugh, knowing full well your love for that movie. You carefully pick it up and turn it around so everyone can see it as you read it off by heart. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."

"Aw," Wanda coos. "That's adorable."

"I made Bucky watch this movie a while back," you say. "I need to show it to you one of these days."

"I'm looking forward to it," she says.

With nothing else to say, you place it back in its box and set it aside in favor for the second box. It's a little smaller, but you're excited for it nonetheless. Untying the ribbon and lifting the lid, you immediately laugh at the white petals scattered atop the tissue paper.

"Barnes, you smooth sonuvabitch," Sam mutters.

Steve and Peter laugh, but you're so focused on the notecard that's under some of the petals. Lifting it up, you read the note to yourself because immediately you know it's personal. My better half has to be funny, get along with my friends, won't judge me for my past, and has decent taste in movies.

Heart fluttering, you bite the corner of your lip when it feels like you're smiling way too much.

"Well what does Prince Charming have to say?" Sam asks.

"That's none of your business." You close the note and then tuck into your back pocket, chuckling when Sam and Wanda complain. When you meet Bucky's gaze, you immediately flush and mentally curse yourself when you see him smirk in return.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you center yourself and then part the tissue paper. You look at the second portrait and gasp after you read it.

"What? What is it?" Peter wonders.

This second portrait is of a hand drawn bowl with a tipped over salt shaker, a small bundle of lavender, a small bundle of rosemary, and a heart beneath it. Above the bowl is a swirl of flower petals and inside the swirl of petals, in very pretty cursive writing, are the words I wished for you too.

Did he just- did he confess his own feelings by using a Practical Magic quote? Or was this just you overthinking his present? You glance to meet Bucky's gaze and at his gauging expression your eyes fill with tears.

"What did you do, Barnes?!" Sam scolds him. "You made the poor girl cry at her own birthday celebration!"

But Bucky isn't paying him any attention, instead he's solely focused on you. You set the present aside and walk around the kitchen island on shaky legs, and Bucky readily reaches for your waist as you grab his face and pull him down into a kiss.

You can't believe you're kissing Bucky, but then he squeezes your waist and returns the kiss, and you know you made the right choice.

Someone gasps, but then the following words let you know exactly who it is. "Darcy is going to be so angry she missed this." Wanda. That is Wanda.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam wonders. "What type of present can cause this type of reaction?"

You smile against Bucky's mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before falling flat on your feet after having been on the tips of your toes in order to reach his mouth.

"It's my favorite quote from my favorite movie," you say. You turn around to address your friends, but Bucky doesn't let you go far. He wraps one arm around your waist and tugs you back so you're resting against his chest and tucked beneath his chin. "It's a movie about witches," you explain. "These two little girls are being raised by their aunts and they see them performing love spells for a local woman. Basically, one of the young girls refuses to fall in love after witnessing a love spell gone wrong and she does her own spell to call forward a love that would be impossible to find- a man who's favorite shape would be a star and who had one green eye, one blue. Years down the road, the sisters accidentally murder a man."

Sam snorts. "How the hell does one accidentally murder someone?"

"Shush." Wanda admonishes him. "I want to hear the story behind the gift."

You and Bucky chuckle, and you continue to explain. "Anyway, they send in an US Marshall to investigate the disappearance and the one who had done the love spell at a young age starts to fall for this man. She ends up telling him about the murder, but he doesn't quite believe her. Then they're on the verge of hooking up when she gets a good look at his eyes- one green eye, one blue."

"Oh my god. That's so cute!" Wanda says.

"It gets cuter. And sadder," you say. "So she explains to this man about her family, the murder, and how she can't be with him because he's only attracted to her because of a love spell she did when she was just a little girl. At first he's skeptical about this spell bringing him to her, but then he ends up believing her. And as he's walking away from her, he stops to tell her I wished for you too."

"So you made out with Barnes because of that?" Sam shakes his head, chuckling. "Wow."

"It's fuckin' adorable. Stop ruining the moment, Samuel!" Bucky laughs at your words and pulls you closer to him.

"So while I'm happy for Buck," Steve says, "I'm still really curious about what Darcy's gift is."

Peter nods. "Same."

Wanda giggles, but says nothing as she grabs the box and slides it over to you. You groan because you know it can be nothing good, but you still open it since everyone is watching and waiting. As soon as you part the tissue paper and read the box, alongside taking in the picture on the box, your face flames as you shove the lid back on. Wanda cackles.

"I hate her."

"She said to give the remote to-"

"Don't!" You cut Wanda off, blushing even further. "I know who she means to have control of that."

"They- they make underwear that does that?" Bucky muses and you die a little on the inside in embarrassment. You elbow him as he starts to laugh behind you.

Sam instantly knows what the gift is now and starts to laugh, but Steve and Peter apparently need some help.

"Lewis got you vibrating panties, didn't she?"

"Oh my god, Sam, if you don't shut up I'm gonna punch you in the throat."

Steve is torn between laughing and trying not to make you even more uncomfortable, but his amusement wins out. "Given Y/N's flustered state, I'm assuming Darcy wants Bucky to have the remote."

"I mean this seems like it could make for an interesting night."

Everyone laughs at Bucky's sudden interest in the box you're doing your damnedest to keep shut, but luckily Peter steps in. "As much I love watching Y/N squirm, can we get ready to eat? I'm starving."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go wait downstairs for it, kid."

Sam and Peter head for the elevator to take them down to the lobby, and you turn around in Bucky's hold. "Help me take this stuff to my car so I don't have to do it later?"

"Sure thing, doll." He grins. But instead of stepping away, he pushes you further into the kitchen island. You smile as he cages you in and then huff a laugh when he reaches for the box behind you. "So exactly how long do we have to be dating before we can test these out?"

You slowly lean upward so your lips brush his as you say, "I'd say very, very soon if you would put your ass into gear and help me move these presents like I asked."

Bucky laughs and presses a quick kiss to your lips. "Then let's get to it."

The telltale sound of a phone's camera goes off and you turn your face towards the sound. Wanda is beaming, her phone pointed towards you and Bucky. "Darcy wanted evidence I wasn't lying. She's going to be so happy."

Bucky turns his face to look at her then, his cheek brushing against yours where he's yet to back off from you. "Tell Lewis I said thanks for the present. I'll give her my review of them in a few weeks."

Wanda's eyes widen and you immediately blurt, "Don't you dare!" But she's already texting and you know the group chat full of ladies is going to be full of messages that you'll have to reply to later. Quietly groaning, you slap your hands against Bucky's waist and push him back. Looking up at him, you shake your head but the corner of your lips turn up in amusement. "You're terrible. I would threaten to withhold sex, but I've been looking forward to that for a while. I'd just be punishing us both."

"Just tell me when and where, sweetheart, and I'll be there."

"Oh no. You guys are going to be that couple," Steve complains.

And without missing a beat, you face him and say, "Fuck off, Rogers!" Bucky snorts.

"You're cranky when you haven't gotten laid."

You gasp as Bucky bursts out laughing right in your ear, but he quickly catches you as you try to lunge for his best friend. "You know what, I was going to be discreet when banging your best friend, but now I'm going to tell you all the filthy things Bucky likes to do just to annoy you. I will go into excruciating detail about the look and taste of his dick!"

Steve blanches as it's Wanda's turn to burst out laughing. "You've done it now, Steve."

And as Steve looks to Bucky for help, he merely shrugs. "You brought this on yourself, Stevie. Hope you enjoy the play by plays."

Relaxing in Bucky's hold and moving so you're hip to hip with him, you slide your arm behind his waist and hook your thumb into the belt loop of his jeans. "We're going to have so much fun."

[kpopxx]

Spy Games [Chapter 1] : More Than It Seems

Characters: Twice Momo, Male Reader

4579 words

Authors Note: This is literally the first fiction writing I have done since I was a little kid writing stories about a town full of hamburgers. I was inspired to try my hand at writing by the plethora of amazing kpop smut writers out there right now, but by @lockefanfic​, @nsfwtwicecatcher​, @nsfwflint​, and @ggidolsmuts​ in particular. If there are any similarities between my writing and theirs, please forgive me as I’ve spent more hours than I’d care to admit “researching” their work. 

One thing that amazes me is how the hell everyone cranks out thousands of words with such frequency, as this post isn’t even 5k and it took forever to write. I can’t begin to explain how much respect I have for all the authors out there who can write so much and maintain such high levels of quality.

As a new writer, I welcome any and all feedback! Feel free to drop me a line if you have any critiques, or if you just want to chat!

***

“Coming up on the target now.” 

“Roger that, remember the office is on the top floor. Let us know when you’re inside. And remember, no elevators...” teases your handler, Choa.

“Thanks for the reminder,” you reply sarcastically.

You survey the skyscraper against the night sky--it would be impressive if it weren’t one of a hundred just like it downtown Seoul--and wonder what you had done to deserve getting the short end of the stick. Of course, you knew there was a reason to avoid the elevators: they sat directly in front of the building’s concierge and the cameras in the lobby, while the stairwell lay in a remote part of the first floor. The logic behind your impending hike didn’t make the reality any less abhorrent.

“Meanwhile, Seolhyun gets to infiltrate an organization in the Caymans. Just my fucking luck.” you grumble to yourself.

“Oh, stop whining, you big baby,” says Choa, reminding you to keep your thoughts to yourself.

You sneak past the lobby and towards the back of the floor you find the entrance to the stairwell in a poorly lit area.

“Beginning my climb.” you report, shaking out your legs as you prepare to go up.

“Sir, I-I’m getting some interference over comms,” chimes in the timid voice of the girl you knew to be your newest team member, Yoo Jeongyeon. “It could just be local chatter, but I want to make sure it’s not someone trying to listen in.”

“Probably nothing to worry about, but we’ll let you know if there’s anything you need to worry about.” Choa assures you. 

As you climb up the stairs, you wonder why anyone would want to listen in on this particular mission. This was a run-of-the-mill operation to investigate money laundering at an accounting firm. You’d infiltrated foreign governments, broken into and bugged the offices of billionaire CEOs, and tailed enemy agents. You could understand people wanting to hear those comms, but this? Either someone wanted something to listen to as a sleep aid, or this mission was more interesting than it looked.

A tip had come in through one of the new girls at the Intel Desk reporting that there was some fishy activity related to organized crime going on at the accounting firm. This was routine and you’d gone on dozens of similar recon missions before: break in, find suspicious intel, get out. But if someone wanted so badly to hear what was going on, the new girl may have stumbled onto something worthy of a promotion. Hayoung, you think her name was. Her chestnut, shoulder-length hair along with her well-endowed physique reminded you of a young mother, but her mature beauty belied her young age. You had caught yourself more than a few times fantasizing about her in your off hours…

You stop mid-way in the stairwell, scolding yourself for losing focus. Too often over the course of the last year you found yourself fantasizing about the women in your life. Sure, before the incident with Eunha you had sexual thoughts about your coworkers--you were surrounded by beautiful women, after all. But recently you noticed that your life was increasingly preoccupied with sex: both in your thoughts and the real-life exploits you carried out. 

Much longer than a few minutes later, you reach the 63rd floor out of breath and sweating, wishing more than ever that it was you and not Seolhyun lounging on the beach. You take a moment to compose yourself before peeking out into the office floor to see if the coast is clear.

“We may have a problem, boss. Jeongyeon looked into the comms disturbance and someone much more sophisticated than the average joe is definitely trying to tap in,” Choa says. “Jeongyeon’s kicking their ass right now blocking their access, but there’s only so much she can do alone. Eventually we’re going to lose control of this channel.”

“Dammit. I knew something was off with this op,” you grumble. “If they want to listen in to whatever I find, it must be important. We’ll go dark. Recon says this should be a quick in and out anyways. I’ll tag you once I’m out.”

“Be careful. Signal us if anything goes wrong. Just don’t do anything stupid.” replies Choa. 

“What do you think they pay me all this money for?” you tease, wanting to put her nerves at ease. “See you on the other side. Over and out.”

You could hear the concern in her voice. Even though keeping you safe was part of her job, you knew she cared about you. You also knew as well as she did that anything could go wrong even in the five minutes it would take you to break in, especially when it appeared that someone knew exactly what you were doing.

You switch off your comms link and head out the door and into the office.

It looked exactly as you expected--rows and rows of non-descript cubicles, with a princely office lined with glass walls occupying the far corner. Jeongyeon had retrieved the floor plan by hacking into the building’s security database earlier in the week, and you knew after her effort tonight in detecting and fending off the comms interference that Choa would want you to acknowledge the work the new girl had been putting in. She certainly was more skilled than the five previous team members you��d fired after Eunha, but you found it difficult to bring yourself to praise her. The Ops Officer position she occupied was a sore point for you, after all.

You deftly pick the lock on the corner office door and immediately sit down in front of the terminal on the desk, logging in with the security bypass Jeongyeon drew up. 

Again your thoughts drift to Eunha. Eunha was your longtime Ops Officer--highly skilled, you trusted her more than anyone. It also helped that she was your fiance. It made you sad to think about her; about what could have been, what should have been. Over the past year, you were constantly reminded of her absence by the utter incompetence of her replacements. You suppose it was nice that at the very least, Jeongyeon didn’t give you many opportunities to bemoan her performance in the same way--to remind you of Eunha.

You shake your head, compelling yourself to rise out of your funk and get on with the mission.

As you scroll through files, you stop on one with a familiar signature. Reading its contents, your eyes open wider--suddenly you understand why someone would be interested to listen in to your communications. You quickly save the file to your flash drive and stand up to leave, only to be startled by a figure in the doorway.

“Care to tell me what’s on that?” comes a familiar voice from the darkness that you knew to be Hirai Momo’s. Momo was an agent for a foreign espionage agency--you had as friendly a rivalry as you could have when working for different governments. 

“What was the point of trying to hack our comms if you were just going to show up and ask me that?”

“I had no intention of coming until you decided to ghost your girlfriends,” teases Momo. “Besides, I like showing you how much better I am at sneaking around.”

Momo flicks on the light and she comes into focus. The Japanese government made a good decision when they hired her, you think. She was built for the job of a seductive spy. Her perfectly toned legs had a lovely sheen all the way up to her short skirt, while her cleavage suggested that her tits were ready to burst out of her tight, patterned blouse. Where most of your attention was drawn, however, was her lustrous blue hair, which fell to her shoulders.

“I may actually need your help with this, once you see what’s on it,” you say, nodding your head at the flash drive.

“Oh, so you’re willing to give it to me? I thought I was going to have to fuck you for it,” she says sarcastically. You knew behind the humor was more than a nugget of truth, though. Sex had been the primary vehicle for information trading with Momo over the years. You decide to test your reading of the situation.

“Just because I need your help doesn’t mean I’m giving it for free…”

Momo brings her thumb to her mouth and bites gently as she ponders your not-so-subtle proposition. She takes her turn to look you up and down, making you feel more than a little self conscious in her gaze of judgment. After so many years in the dangerous world of espionage, there were only a handful women who could make you feel so small. Then again, Momo was no regular girl. 

Once she’s satisfied she has properly appraised your worth, Momo lets go of her thumb and straightens her blouse.

“Fine,” she says matter-of-factly, “let’s get to it,” unbuttoning her blouse as she walks towards you.

You are surprised by the lack of fight she put up, but you thought it best to keep that to yourself. Her tone reminds you of a business meeting--that is, if you hadn’t seen her pull her top off as she approached you. She sits in your lap on the chair, wrapping her arms around your neck as you meet her lips for a kiss. Momo’s mouth was familiar to you, introduced to you many times throughout your career. It seemed like every time you ran across her you had sex. One thing you adored about your relationship with her was that it was absolutely without strings attached. You fucked for work, but just because it was part of the job didn’t mean you both didn’t enjoy it. 

Momo, however, was loath to admit the pleasure she got out of her liaisons with you. Call it pride, call it being professional, whatever--Momo refused to act like sex with you was anything other than work, no different than working in a spreadsheet.

You feel her reach down to your pants, quickly unbuttoning them as she sinks to her knees in front of you. You smirk--her eagerness to please you betrayed her air of ambivalence.

Momo wastes no time getting down to business. You are certain the Japanese trained her very well in tender foreplay, but it seems she doesn’t care much for subtlety at the moment. Instead, she utilizes a more direct method to extract your pleasure--one that must have required its own fair share of training--as she spits on your cock before immediately forcing it as deeply in her mouth as she can take it. One, two, three bobs is all it takes for her to reach the base of your cock, her nose buried in your pelvis.

“Fuuuck me, that’s good,” you groan as you hold her head in place for several seconds, and Momo replies in turn with a cough that spits a healthy serving of saliva on to your cock. You release your grip on the back of her head to give her a chance to breathe, but she surprises you when she simply continues to work her mouth on your increasingly saliva-drenched cock, swirling her tongue around your base. Most of the other women you had slept with in recent months would be gasping for air by now, but Momo’s demeanor was cool, calm, and collected. Almost as if she was reading your mind, Momo paused her slurping and pulled her mouth off your shaft--but not forgetting to continue stroking it with achingly deft corkscrew motions.

“What’s the matter? Girls in your department not able to take care of your cock like a real woman?” Momo clicks her tongue and grins. “I’ve told you for years, you’d never be treated so poorly if you came to work for a professional outfit like ours.”

“Shut up and suck my cock.”

Momo shrugs, and gets back to the task at hand. Slobbering even more as she takes you into your mouth again, you pause to thank your lucky stars that you had a job that paid you in part to fuck women like Momo. You gaze upon her face, which has become just as messy as your cock. Momo’s sloppy blowjob has not only left liberal amounts of spit on your cock, but on her face as well--with strands of her blue hair plastered to her cheeks. Even though you thought it impossible, you feel your cock get harder at the sight of Momo’s messy face.

For several minutes, Momo continues inhaling your cock as you find yourself nearing the point of no return, you yank Momo’s head off your throbbing cock in order to prolong your session. A bit too forcefully, it seems, as Momo falls over onto her side.

“What the fuck!” yelps Momo as she picks herself back up, glaring at you. “I suck your cock and you thank me by throwing me on the ground?

“I didn’t mean to, I’m just not ready to cum yet. We both know you would’ve ignored me if I had asked you to stop.”

“I guess you’re right about that,” Momo replies sheepishly. You knew from previous run-ins with her that she loved nothing more than swallowing cum. Even though you had just denied her that favor, you were already thinking about how to make it up to her in a few minutes.

“How about I repay your kindness? Get up on the table and let me eat you.”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries. I’ll get up on the table, but you’re going to fuck me.”

“Someone’s eager to see what’s in this thumb drive,” you tease, inadvertently reminding yourself that this was a transactional liaison. You suspected that Momo’s interest in you extended beyond her desire for the information at hand, and part of you yearned to take her outside of the confines of work. You’re skeptical such a day would ever come, however, given how ambitious Momo was. 

You knew her story--she applied for a job in the Japanese spy agency several years ago, making it all the way through the process before being cut at the very end. She ended up receiving an offer shortly after one of the other finalists died in a ‘training accident’, but Momo lived with a chip on her shoulder ever since. She lived and worked with a pathological drive to prove the agency wrong in their original decision to cut her. Already the youngest lead operative in her country’s history, she had an eye on the directorship and seemed destined for it. So, you supposed, it was nice to be able to fuck her before she became famous.

Momo hops on up on the desk, hiking up her skirt to reveal a delicious-looking blue thong that matches her hair. She looks behind towards you with lust heavy in her eyes as she pulls her thong to the side, revealing her glistening pussy--already dripping, you noted.

“I don’t have all night.”

More than happy to oblige, you line your painfully throbbing cock up with her pussy and you can feel the warmth radiating from it. You take a second to appreciate Momo’s incredible physique as your hands graze downward from her upper back, to her hips, and finally to her ass. As you rub it, you cannot help but appreciate how sublimely taut it is. 

“Jeeze, you act like this is the first time you’ve seen a woman naked,” Momo jabs, interrupting your reverie.

You are starting to get annoyed with Momo’s demeanor. It was nothing new, really--she always carried an air of superiority--but it nonetheless grates on your nerves to see her be so dismissive. You are mature enough to understand that at least a part of this aggravation had to do with the fact that you knew Momo slept with plenty of men for work. Not so mature, however, to be able to stifle the primal urge deep inside of you that wanted Momo to see you as the best of all her lovers. More than ever, it seemed that sexual vanity mattered a great deal to your self-confidence.

With a renewed sense of purpose and your cock in hand, you enter Momo slowly with a long stroke until you fill her to the hilt. In unison with your initial insertion, Momo lets out a whine that crescendos as you bottom out.

As you begin to thrust in and out Momo settles in and widens her stance ever so little, which has the added benefit of allowing you to go even deeper into her warm, wet pussy. Momo was not a girl of surprises. Her face was gorgeous, capable of angelic beauty and fiery lust. Her body reflected the many hours she spent in the gym with ample breasts, insanely tight abs, and a toned ass to match. Her pussy feels exactly as sublime as her beautiful face and incredible body suggested. The perfect combination for a woman who used her body to seduce and take advantage of brainless men. You decide to push out your mind the realization that at this very moment, you are in fact one of those men.

You wanted to make sure Momo felt each and every drive into her hot flesh. Momo continued to moan quietly, each breath punctuated with a new thrust and the sound of your skin meeting hers.

“Looks like someone’s gotten real quiet all of a sudden,” you say, noticing her haughty attitude had subsided as pleasure took you both over.

“Oh, get over yourself,” Momo says, looking back at you with rekindled determination in her eyes, “you’re no better than half the guys I’ve been with. I’m here for the file, not for whatever you call this.” She cooly turns her head to face front again, leaving you seething.

Your twinge of annoyance was now a bubbling boil.

You slow down before withdrawing your cock from her warmth--Momo lets out the faintest whine of disappointment, betraying her dissatisfied front.

Just as Momo turns her head again to complain, you quickly slam your cock deep inside her. Momo yelps, and you notice her eyes bulge as you move your hips in a circular motion with your cock filled to the hilt, scraping deep inside her pussy. After several seconds of this you grab a makeshift ponytail out of her hair and yank backwards, causing her to gasp and arch her back instinctively. As much as she bothered you with her air of indifference, you had to admit that the image in front of you was the stuff of dreams.

Taking advantage of the highly erotic sight before you and the increased leverage offered by your grasp of her hair, you began to truly fuck her with quick and powerful strokes.

“Take it, Momo,” you grunted, beads of sweat beginning to form on your forehead.

Momo said nothing, emitting only breathless gasps from her open mouth. You noticed that their intensity was gradually increasing, so you increased the speed of your shaft penetrating her young, sinful body. You knew she was enjoying this, but you wouldn’t be satisfied until you broke her facade. You wanted her to lose herself to you.

You speed up even more, and the volume of your skin slapping together increases as her pussy drips wetter and wetter, mixing with your leaking precum. You are slamming your cock into her now, and Momo has to grab on to the table to steady herself. Slowly but surely her pretense was crumbling.

“You want it, don’t you Momo? You want more?”

“Fuck yeah,” Momo gasps hoarsely, struggling to speak with her hair being pulled, “Give it to me...o-oh...fuck, give it to me!”

Satisfied that she had succumbed to her pleasure, you relax your grip on her hair slightly and lean over to growl in her ear.

“I’ll give it to you. I’m gonna make sure you remember this, make sure every time you’re with another man you wish it was me.”

Momo acknowledges your promise with a deep groan, giving you great pleasure as you resumed fucking her gorgeous body.

Your eyes drift downward to her glorious ass, now shining with sweat and jiggling violently with each crash of your cock inside her. Inspired by the sight, you release her hair and put one hand on her hip and begin striking her ass with your other. Momo shrieks in surprise, but quickly looks back at you with lidded eyes while biting her lip to tell you she wanted more.

Again you oblige, and it was quickly becoming clear that lust and pleasure were staging a coup of Momo’s senses. She’s making lots of noise, but nothing intelligible. Nothing but guttural moans interspersed with high-pitched squeals. You continue spanking her ass, alternating cheeks--noticing a deep pink beginning to form on both. She’d most likely be dealing with soreness for several days after this, you think.

“You wanna cum, Momo? Cum for me, I know you want to.”

“Mmmmm...Ah, ah, AH! Unggghh,” comes Momo’s response.

“Come on Momo, fucking cum baby...cum all over this cock,” you shout, sincerely hoping there was no one working in an adjacent floor to hear.

“FUUUUCK!” Momo screams eloquently, suddenly dropping her head as her body begins convulsing. You knew what to expect having slept with her before, but you are nonetheless surprised to see how completely overtaken her body was by pleasure. Her upper body jerks spastically as her legs tremble with your cock plunged deep inside her pussy, all the while letting out a high-pitched whine that turns into a soft whimper. Just a few minutes before she was defiant and happy to throw insults at you...now she was a mewling, writhing mess incapable of speaking. The dark, primal part of you is satisfied by her tacit recognition of your talent.

After a short while, Momo begins to compose herself and lifts her upper body from the table. You take it as a sign to slowly resume taking your cock in and out of her. You decide to give her now glowing pink ass a rest and caress her back, tracing long lines with your nails.

“Mmmmm, that feels good,” Momo says, her eyes still closed, “you fuck me so good.”

You slowly begin ramping up the pace, rolling your hips with each stroke. You want to make sure your cock pleases every inch of Momo’s pussy, and make sure it craves you when she’s alone at night. 

After several minutes of this tender, softer version of lovemaking, Momo comes back to her senses. She arches her back again and turns her head to gaze in your eyes as you continue to take her. She begins to move her ass back and forth on your cock in unison with your own strokes.

“Oh my god, you feel so good in my fucking pussy! Every...fucking...stroke!” Momo gasps, the final words punctuated by the force of her majestic ass crashing against your cock.

“You’re a bad girl, Momo,” you tease, “you like being taken and shown who’s boss, don’t you? You like me grabbing your hair and slapping your ass?”

“Yes!” she gasps, “Yes I love it! Mmmmm...I want you to fuck me until you cum. Fuck me until you cum!”

There was no command in the world easier to follow.

Satisfied that you had fulfilled your vain, immature desire to see her acknowledge your skill as a lover, you now focus yourself on extracting pleasure from the young woman beneath you. You settle into a pace with rough strokes, fiercely pounding her over and over. Your pleasure rises with each thrust, aided not only by the mindblowing caress of her pussy, but by the incredible sight of Momo on all fours before you moaning with each strike of your cock inside her.

“Fuck Momo...I don’t think I have much longer, I’m gonna fucking cum so hard!”

“Yes,” comes the response from Momo, “Yes, yes! Fucking cum baby, I want your cum so bad!”

A few more thrusts and you can feel the point of no return coming. For a brief moment you contemplate cumming inside Momo, to truly claim her. You quickly reconsider, wanting to give her what she truly wanted--to swallow your load.

And so, you quickly withdraw your cock from Momo’s now sopping wet pussy and she instinctively turns around and drops to her knees on the floor. Stroking your cock with great fervor, her mouth wide open begging for what was to come.

“Please give me your cum, please, please! I want it...I need it! Cum for me!”

Your head tilts backward as a long groan escapes your lips. Your cum explodes from your shaft, shooting long, thick ropes of semen into her mouth and onto her cheeks and nose. Over and over, your cum splashes on her beautiful face until you finally reach the end of your orgasm, panting and exhausted. Momo’s face is a pornographic picture of lust, her eyes rolled back in pleasure as she swallows the mass of cum you deposited in her mouth.

“I fucking love your cum,” Momo says as she wipes the remaining cum off her face with her finger and promptly brings it to her tongue before swallowing it down as well.

“I’m glad we were both able to get what we wanted,” you say, struggling to catch your breath.

“Speaking of getting what I wanted…” Momo says, nodding her head to the part of the floor where the USB drive now sits, evidently thrown from the table during the session that had just taken place.

“Right,” you say, suddenly remembering you’re here for work, “make a copy and let’s get out of here.”

“Great,” says Momo, still on the floor with a satisfied smile of content on her face, “Hey, I meant what I said about having you join our team. As much shit as I give you, we could really use someone with your talent.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m better off staying put. Don’t think the Korean government would let me live if I tried defecting.”

“Probably true,” says Momo as she begins picking up her clothes, “Never hurts to ask, though.”

***

A few minutes later, you and Momo had both gotten dressed and copied the file onto a drive for her. Momo disappeared into an adjoining hallway and you set off to traverse the stairwell again. As you prepare yourself for the descent, you also steel yourself for the repercussions of giving the intel to a foreign spy agency. With the information you saw in the file, you knew the Japanese would have to be looped in sooner or later. If it was going to happen eventually, you thought it made the most sense to entrust that intel to the agent on the other side you knew would make sure things got done correctly. As logical as it seemed to you, however, you knew it wouldn’t be taken well back at the office.

You click on your comms link, now knowing there’s nothing to fear. 

“Hey Choa, I’m on my way back to the rendezvous.”

“Oh thank god! That took forever, I was about to call for a tac team!” Choa sighs with audible relief, “I take it you got everything you needed?”

“Got more than I needed, actually,” you say, nervous about Choa’s reaction to what you say next, “Listen, there’s one small thing you should know...”

“You did WHAT?!”

[ravennm84]

Marinette’s Family Court Circus

I got this idea from a post @unmaskedagain and decided to put my own little spin to it. It’s a bit sad and does have my usual Lila-Salt spin, but I really loved writing this. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

The day of her greatest triumph was also her greatest tragedy. Hawkmoth had finally been defeated, the butterfly and peacock miraculous back in the miracle box where they belonged, and Paris was finally safe. 

However, when Gabriel Agreste was revealed to be the magical terrorist and his assistant, Nathalie, his accomplice, Adrien had been devastated. When the Paris police sought to find out the extent of Adrien's involvement, he had no choice but to reveal in a private interrogation room with only the mayor, Officer Roger, the chief of police, and Ladybug herself, his identity as Chat Noir. After which, Adrien said a tearful goodbye to Plagg and surrendered the ring of destruction to Ladybug. A press conference was held within an hour, absolving Adrien of any crimes in relation to his father, and his bodyguard would also be absolved four days later.

That night, after Ladybug had returned home and tearfully placed the ring, broch, and pin back in the miracle box; her parents and Grandma Gina had told her that they were going out to dinner to celebrate; Gina had even rented a car so they wouldn’t need to walk or take the subway. How Marinette wished that they had just gotten on the subway.

She woke up the following afternoon in the hospital. Apparently, her family weren’t the only people celebrating Hawkmoth’s defeat, and a car load of university students had celebrated too hard and T-boned their car while running a light. The doctors told her that her grandmother and father had died on impact and her mother passed away during surgery. Marinette had been extremely lucky to survive without any life threatening injuries; a broken leg, arm, collar bone, two cracked ribs, and a few lacerations across her body. 

She was hardly paying attention to what the doctors were saying. Too shocked by the whole situation. There was no Miraculous Cure that could fix this. In the span of a single day, she had defeated her enemy, saved Paris, lost her partner, lost her grandmother, and her parents. She was alone.

When her family’s lawyer, M. Contere came to talk about custody, it was revealed that her grandmother was supposed to take custody in the event of her parents' deaths. Her grandfather would have been the next logical choice, but he had recently suffered a stroke and had been placed in a nursing home. This left the lawyer scrambling to find someone to take the girl or risk having her surrendered to the city of Paris.

Going through the Dupain-Chengs’ contact list, M. Contere made phone calls to numbers listed as family friends or emergency contacts. There were three that particularly stood out to him, all listed under the title of ‘uncle’. 

The first was to an ‘Uncle J’; a woman answered the phone, introducing herself as Penny. When Contere told her it had to do with the Dupain-Chengs, the phone was handed to a man with a distinctly British accent. He sounded devastated to hear that Tom, Sabine, and Gina had all passed away before going into a panic and asking if Marinette was alright, showing absolute relief that she had survived the crash. When Contere mentioned the custody hearing, the man practically demanded to know the date, time, and place before promising that he would be there.

The second contact that stood out was labeled as ‘Uncle Tony’. That call was answered by an assistant named Jarvis before transferring the call to Tony. Again, Contere could hear the surprise and hurt at hearing that his friends had passed away before asking if Marinette had been in the car. When told that she had survived, there was relief and he mentioned that Peter would have probably cried for a week if he’d lost his childhood friend. Tony then offered to take custody of Marinette and Contere quickly told him the details.

Although M. Contere was relieved that at least two family friends/possible relatives seemed more than willing to take Marinette, he knew how fickle and difficult the courts could be and wanted as many options as possible for the girl, which led to the third contact labeled ‘Uncle Bruce’. 

The phone was answered by an older sounding gentleman named Alfred before transferring the call. Contere could hear multiple voices in the background, most sounding like young men, and when he told Bruce about the passing of Tom, Sabine, and Gina; it went very quiet for a moment before all the voices began speaking at once demanding to know what happened, who was responsible, and if Marinette was okay. M.Contere answered the questions that he could and told them that Marinette was in need of a legal guardian. Bruce said Gina had been a great friend and mentor to him when he was younger and that he would be honored to care for her granddaughter. So he told him the details of the court hearing with the promise that he would make sure that Marinette was taken care of until then.

After hanging up, M. Contere had a strange feeling that he couldn’t shake. A feeling that told him that those three ‘Uncles’ were either going to make his job of getting Marinette into a stable home a lot easier… or it would be a total nightmare.

~oOo~

The day of the hearing was a Monday and Marinette's case was the first on the docket, which was a relief. If things went smoothly, she could be placed with one of her respective uncles by the end of the week and be taken care of. When the two of them stepped into the room, with Marinette rolling beside him in her wheelchair, M. Contere was surprised to see multiple familiar faces in the courtroom that he had not expected. Jagged Stone, Bruce Wayne, and Tony Stark were glaring, arguing, and puffing out their chests at each other; ignoring everyone else in the room. He also noticed how each man seemed to have an entire team of lawyers backing them up.

The tension and glaring match only broke when the two women; Pepper Potts and Penny Rolling, and the four Wayne boys; Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damien, noticed Marinette’s arrival. 

“Marinette, sweetie, how are you feeling?” Penny asked as she walked away from Jagged to kneel beside Marinette’s wheelchair.

“Been better, but I’m glad to see some familiar faces,” she said with a weak smile.

Pepper leaned over a bit to give the girl a gentle hug while minding her injuries. “We’re here for you, Mari. No matter what.”

Then the four boys were almost surrounding her, offering to hunt down the people that took away their family and pile so many lawsuits on them that they’ll die of papercuts. This made her chuckle and grimace a bit from the pain, telling the boys that was sweet but unnecessary.

Jagged, Bruce, and Tony immediately put their argument on hold as they hurried over to check on the girl as well. Contere found it to be a good sign that Marinette seemed familiar with the three men, that they all asked how she was and if she wanted anything, as well as promising that they would take care of her. That last one, the three said at the same time and got them glaring at each other again. This caused Contere to sweat and Marinette to give her head a resigned shake.

What followed would probably go down as the most intense, well argued, and most headache-inducing case in the history of the Paris Family Court System with all three men vying for custody of the teenage girl. 

Being able to provide financial stability wasn’t a concern as Jagged Stone was currently the most successful rockstar in Europe, Asia, Australia, and the Americas; while Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne were two of the wealthiest businessmen in the entire world. All three even offered to completely cover Marinette’s tuition to any school she wanted, so long as she was accepted.

Her safety turned out to be a large factor with all three men, and they were willing to hire their own private security to make sure that she stayed safe at all times. However, the three men also argued how the others lived in unsafe environments. 

Jagged mostly lived in tour buses and out of hotels, which was a factor; but he was willing to call off his tours during the school year and only go on tour during school breaks so Marinette would never be without her guardian. Penny was also willing to help Jagged at every turn, stating that she loved Marinette like a niece and would make sure that she had a strong female role model in her life as well.

Tony’s reputation as a playboy and his identity as Iron Man brought up the possibility of attracting a dangerous element. He argued that his homes were equipped with the most advanced security systems on the planet. As well as being friends with an actual “God-Alien”, who had met Marinette and liked her a great deal. Tony was also willing to make Marinette her own personal Iron Suit that would be programmed to protect and fly her to a safe location at the first sign of danger. Pepper also offered to share custody as she already took care of Tony’s daily life as his assistant, taking care of Marinette would be easy and she was looking forward to having her around.

Bruce’s residence in Gotham, the most crime ridden city in North America, was a big factor. Bruce made a point that he already had experience as a guardian of his three adopted sons and his biological son, and they were kept safe. That he also had a top of the line security system at his home, which was located outside of city limits. Dick, Jason, and Tim also commented that they thought of Marinette like a little sister and that Wayne Enterprises had locations all over the world. If the judge decided that Gotham was too dangerous, one of them would gladly take up residency in a city that the judge approved and would stay there to watch over Marinette while still working and providing for her.

After two hours of listening to the back and forth of the three men and their lawyers, the judge decided that he’d heard enough for the day and set the next meeting for the following Thursday after lunch. He also recommended that the men bring proof that they have the mental capability of caring for a teenage girl, lists of schools near their homes to show that she will continue her education, and character witnesses, if available. 

The three men wanted to take Marinette out to get something to eat after the court was adjourned, but M. Contere was forced to tell them that it would not be appropriate during the legal proceedings. He also recommended that they follow the judge’s instructions and make sure that they had everything needed, otherwise they would likely not qualify. Hearing that got all three men, their assistants, family, and lawyers moving at top speeds to get everything they needed for court in a few days. 

Once they were out of sight, the lawyer couldn’t help but let out a stress induced sigh as he raised one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. This custody battle had the potential to turn into a total circus, and although it could do great things for his career in the long run, he was more worried about how this would affect Marinette. 

Speaking of, he was brought from his thoughts when he felt her small hand gently pat the hand that was holding his briefcase. When he looked down at her, she gave him a kind, though slightly amused smile. “You had no idea about the can of worms you were opening when you made those phone calls, did you?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “How was I supposed to know that Uncle J, Uncle Tony, and Uncle Bruce would turn out to be three of the most influential men in the world? How does your family even know all of them?”

“Uncle Bruce was raised by the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth, after his parents died. Grandma Gina and Alfred were best friends when they were younger. After the Waynes died, Gina would go check on them in Gotham, she liked to brag that she helped get Bruce back out of his shell. Uncle Tony knew my parents back in university, he was a lot younger and smarter than the other students and you can guess that didn’t go over well with some of them. My parents looked out for him and they became friends, and even after he got busy when he took over the company, he always made time to be there for the big moments in our lives; my parents’ wedding, their baby shower, and when I was born. I’ve actually spent a few summers in Gotham and New York visiting them.”

“And Jagged Stone?”

“He’s the most recent of my honorary uncles. I’m his personal designer, but he got unofficially adopted into my family after the tv show that took place in my parents’ bakery. Uncle Jagged made a bread guitar and sang rock songs with my dad. Once the show was over, Mom invited him and Penny to stay for dinner. During the course of the night, Dad claimed him as a new little brother. Jagged was so happy that he started calling my parents big brother and big sister, and started calling me his niece. Since then, he’s come over at least once a month to just relax and be a family with us.”

M. Contere couldn’t help but smile at that. From the sound of it and what he had seen, all three men truly cared about this girl and were willing to bend over backwards for her. That was a good thing, but he still worried that a custody battle between these three men could go for a long time and possibly cause mental distress for Marinette. Although the final decision was ultimately up to the judge, he was allowed to make recommendations if they were in the best interests of the child. 

With that in mind, he knelt down beside Marinette. “You know the three of them and what they’re living situations are like better than I do. And even though you’re not 15 years old yet, I could petition the judge to factor your opinion. Which of them would you like to have guardian status?”

When Marinette gave him a knowing smile, he just knew that things might get more complicated.

~oOo~

It got a lot more complicated.

The media had caught wind of the custody battle, causing a giant crowd of paparazzi to stake out the courthouse to catch a glimpse of the rockstar, billionaire, and the self proclaimed “genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist” who was also a superhero. To their credit, the three only said that they were devastated by the loss of the Dupain-Chengs and wanted to do what was best for Marinette and left all the other questions at the door.

In the courtroom; all three men, as well as their assistants and Bruce’s boys, had done mental evaluations that their lawyers submitted to the judge. They also provided lists of different schools that Marinette was free to choose from; including public schools, private, and even schools that specialized in fashion. But the absolute kicker was the character witnesses.

Jagged Stone had brought other music stars, movie stars, and production mega stars that made Contere wonder for a moment if he’d accidentally walked into an award ceremony. Tony Stark had brought the Avengers, The Avengers, as his character witnesses. Contere wasn’t too proud to admit that he was a bit starstruck when Thor himself came over to great Marinette and complimented her on her ‘battle scars’, saying that they were a testament to her strength. If that wasn’t enough, Bruce brought multiple members of the Billionaire’s Club as character witnesses, many of whom had been suspected of being members of the Justice League. 

The judge looked just as surprised, though somewhat irritated, by the people crowding his courtroom. He quietly looked over the mental health evaluations that had been provided, as well as the lists of schools; finding that everything was in order and that any of them would have been wonderful guardians to the girl. He was tempted to call another recess and pick this back up the following week until Marinette’s lawyer raised his hand.

“If it would please the court,” the judge motioned for him to continue, “although Mlle. Dupain-Cheng is not yet of legal age to make a final decision on the matter of custody, I felt that she was old enough to state her opinion. We have discussed it over the past few days and I believe we came up with a proposal that will satisfy all parties involved while still being in the best interest of the child.” M. Contere presented the four copies of the proposal to the bailiff, who handed one to the judge, and the three lead lawyers.

The judge read the summary at the top before looking at the lawyer in surprise. “You’re proposing joint custody?”

“Yes, your honor. My client and I feel that due to the influence that these men hold, as you can see by the character witnesses that have come here to speak on their behalf, that this custody hearing could be drawn out for a long time, which could have mental repercussions on Marinette.” Contere didn’t miss the ‘you ain’t kidding’ roll of his eyes, or the looks of shame that the three men shared at the thought of hurting Marinette.

“Keeping that in mind, my client came up with an outline for a possible custody agreement. M. Stark would retain custody during school as he has listed one of the top fashion schools in America, which would further Marinette’s future career. The weekends would be spent with M. Wayne, as Wayne Enterprises has connections to the fashion industry and would be able to give her training to help her successfully run her own business. M. Stone would have custody during summer breaks, so Marinette may continue gaining experience as his personal designer, a position she has held for close to a year and has already earned her recognition in the industry.”

The judge grew quiet again as he contemplated the proposal and read over the details. He didn’t want to deal with these three powerful, and in a lot of ways eccentric, men for the next few months while attempting to figure out the best placement for the child. Nor did he want to deal with the media frenzy that this case had already brought on. If anything, this was likely the best option, if he could get the men to agree to the terms.

“Do you have any objections to this proposal?”

There was a moment of silence as the lawyers continued to look over the proposal and spoke to their clients. Jagged’s lawyer was the first to respond. “No, your honor. M. Stone believes that this would be best for Marinette, but we would like to add a clause that M. Stone be permitted to call and visit Mlle. Dupain-Cheng so long as it does not interfere with her school work.”

“My client would also like that clause added to the proposal, your honor,” said the Wayne lawyer. “As well as the clause that Messieurs Stone and Stark work together with M. Wayne in securing Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s safety. As previously stated, all three men could be considered high-priority targets and normally require bodyguards. M. Wayne has proposed that any potential bodyguard be vetted and approved by all parties involved before being hired.”

The judge looked to Stark’s lawyer. “And do you have any stipulations you would want to see added to the proposal?”

“Only that there be an open line of communication between Messieurs Stone, Wayne, and Stark at all times in reference to Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s well being and any possible travel. As all three men are known to travel the world for business; there will be occasions for the child to travel as well. When this occurs, the other guardians should receive notice of the country, city, and address that she resides; so, in case of an emergency, they will be able to be present to assist and protect her.”

“My client has no objections to these clauses,” said Jagged’s lawyer.

“And you, M. Wayne?”

The Wayne lawyer nodded. “The clauses are more than reasonable and are in the best interest of Mlle. Dupain-Cheng. Although I only speak for my client, I do not believe that I would be out of line to say that is the main focus of Messieurs Stone and Stark as well.”

The lawyers hid their relief when the judge nodded in agreement. “As the proposal was presented by the child and the three of you are in agreement, I’m scheduling a meeting in my chambers for next Tuesday to go over the finer details of the custodial agreement. I will allow your clients and one lawyer each to attend; this includes you and your client, M. Contere.”

“Yes, your honor.”

“And as for you, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng,” Marinette’s head snapped up to meet the judge’s gaze. “It seems that you have gained three extremely powerful, influential, and in many ways crazy guardians. I don’t know if I should congratulate you or give you my sympathies. What I will do is wish you the best of luck and hope that you are prepared for the future. Court is adjourned.”

There was a hum of surprise and joy that spread through the courtroom as Jagged, Bruce, and Tony stepped up to each other and shook hands before approaching Marinette and M. Contere. 

“Of course, my niece would come up with a way to keep everyone happy, she’s so rock n’ roll that way.” Jagged beamed with pride as Tony and Bruce nodded in agreement.

“Would it be alright if all of us went to dinner to celebrate,” Bruce asked Contere, indicating the ‘all’ to be himself and his boys, Jagged and Penny, and Tony and Pepper; along with Marinette and Contere.

“So long as there’s no discussion of custody and everyone stays civil, I don’t see any harm in it.”

Everyone smiled in agreement while Pepper mentioned that she’d just finished making reservations for all eleven of them at a nice restaurant that had the best view of the Eiffel Tower.

As the others began filing out of the courtroom, Marinette patted his hand and gave him a sympathetic look. “You just opened your second can.”

M. Contere wasn’t sure about what she’d meant until after the meal was over and the waitress brought the check, and then watched as the three billionaires fought over it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he only hoped that this would all be over on Tuesday and he could go back to his normal, boring cases.

[nevenabadr]

It's a Twin Thing: Part 1. Bucky Barnes & Sebastian Stan x Female!Reader

Note: English is not my first language or Romanian. Also, this was written in a hurry as I was babysitting.

Y/A: your name

The story is in second-person, thus, the reader is the main character.

Inspiration: this is inspired by:

My Sebastian Stan’s fan chats on WhatsApp; we support Supernatural too, that’s why the Winchester are mentioned.

Word count: 2568

Warnings: Smut–this is +21 and not for everyone.

Enjoy reading and please comment with your feedback, please. 🖤…

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

It was a hot summer's day when you came home early to surprise your boyfriend, who is finally off from his duties as an actor and having a little time off for a holiday. You and Sebbie, your boyfriend of a year, now decided to stay in New York, as he missed being in his favourite place on earth.

You were early, holding lots of bags that were blocking your sight to the door. All worth it, because you will be able to cook him a homemade meal and show him that new lingerie you have got. If he forgot, you will remind him where home is.

You put everything down and took off your shoes; you started unbuttoning your blouse and taking off your pants. You were eager to take a shower and start cook for him.

You opened the bathroom door, and he was standing there fixing his hair in front of the mirror, yet he turned to face you. Before he spills a word.

You muttered, "Hey, I did not know you will be early."

You narrowed the gap between the two of you and taking his lips to meet yours in an intense kiss.

You missed him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you, making the kiss sensual and he had no problem putting his hands on the curves of your waist pulling you closer to him.

When you broke the kiss, you took a moment to look into his eyes “Bebelus, there is something different about you."

He was blushing and puzzled "Yes!" He sighed, "you have mistaken me for Seabase, did not you."

You jumped a step forward in panic "James? Oh, my God! I am so sorry."

You were trying to cover your body and confusion took over you.

"But you kissed me back." You were angry that almost slapped him, but he dodged your hand.

"Easy doll, I am sorry?" He came off guilty.

"I heard things about you. I did not know you would be your e." You spoke while your eyes gazed upon the floor.

"My plane arrived this morning. I am so sorry that Seabass did not tell you." He kept fixing his hair, which is identical to Sebastian.

"We got on the wrong foot your e, but can you please give me a moment?" You pointed at your body as you were wearing nothing but your undergarments.

"Oh! I will be outside." He shut the door behind him as he left.

You turned on the water and let it run, washing away your impressment.

James is Sebastian's identical twin. James Buchanan Barns and Sebastian Stan Barnes. Stan was Sebastian's middle name, something related to his mother's Romanian roots.

James has a military classified job, while his brother made a career for himself in acting.

Not even their mother could tell them apart, except that Sebastian is a dork and James, as they call him Bucky, is an easy-going ladies-man.

When you finished showing and dressing up. The sound from the kitchen seemed as if your boyfriend was having a loud conversation with himself.

They even sound identical, you thought to yourself, gathered your strength and stepped into the kitchen.

"Hey, guys," you waved for both of them.

"Oh, baby! Bucky told me about the incident" the twin with jogging clothes came and wrapped his arms around you.

You almost stopped him "Sebbie, baby, is that you?"

Yes, Y/N." He kissed your forehead and then your lips.

"I am so sorry, that I forgot to mention that Bucky was coming." He soothed you with another sweet kiss.

"We were not introduced properly," Bucky said playfully

"This is Y/A, my girlfriend and lady of the house." He said, then pointed at Bucky, "this is the famous, James Buchanan, Bucky, my mysterious brother."

"Seabase told poems of you. I am sorry that we have that incident," he implied the earlier kiss.

"No, worries" you am smiled and extend a hand "Welcome to our home, Bucky" he took your hand and smiled calmly.

At the dinner table, Sebastian and Bucky were laughing and catching up. You were calm and just appreciating the home-cooked dinner by Bucky.

"You are talented at cooking." You were enjoying the cuisine.

"I, the chief, and Seabase were the tidy one." He looked at his brother, "we are a team of cooking and cleaning."

Except that, I don't cook," Sebastian said joked

“Bucky, you know it is today?” Sebastien was busy eating.

Bucky was stunned “a family and friends gathering!” “You are going to see the gang.” Sebastien was rather excited about this more than anything you have seen before.

Georgeta Orlovschi, or as her official name now, Georgetta Stan was a lovely woman, a Romanian immigrant who fell in love with an American to a marriage that brought the best thing in her to the world, the twins; James and Sebastian.

As a violinist and part of the New York Opera House, she met their father, Mr William Barnes, a well-known handsome conductor who made her world perfect.

The world was perfect until she had to change diapers and stay up with William by her side.

William was of a well-known wealthy family, but Mrs Barnes was an Eastern European woman. She wanted to have deities by herself and not to have servants to do all the work.

Her friend Mary Winchester, the wife of William's closest friend, John — was the nicest woman you can meet, a Taxes woman. Mary was like Mrs Barnes. She did not like servants to do the job; she took upon duties of her firstborn, Dean, and later she had Sam, a few years before the Twins.

The boys grow up together.

Dean took the eldest brother's duties to the bone. Even when the new kid, Steve Rogers, became best friends with Bucky; he took him under his wing.

The gang, no one could touch his brother or their friends.

Soon after they entered Middle School and Dean was a senior, Steve got into a fight. Dean came close to the boys to find Bucky just leaving his book aside and taking the ground by his friend.

Sebastian was the one in front of both. No one hurt Steve.

Sam hurried to Dean for safety. Dean arrived and tried to calm everyone down "Steve said he was sorry." He smirked at the boy, who was angry and demanded to bully Steve.

While Sebastian and Sam were trying to hold Steve back, "I can do this all day."

Bucky did not give anyone else a chance to speak as he bunched the bully right in the nose, which got everyone in trouble, which Dean wanted to take the responsibility for. Detention and forever to be recorded in his file.

Dean Winchester did not care for his record, just the young boys to be well.

But finally, the boys came clean to their father; Bucky was homeschooled for the rest of the year and Sebastian refused to go back to school until his brother joined him back.

They were all a mischievous gang with Dean Winchester as the head.

Days passed, and each got into their ways; Dean with Harvard school as his father pulled a connection to forget the file problem. Dean was already qualified enough.

Sam went to Stanford, Bucky and Steve picked a military life, and Sebastian was all about acting.

It was his first time alone overseas, the Shakespeare's Globe yet had another surprise for him, a friend; Anthony Mackie, an American talent who became Sebastian's best friend.

The gang was getting bigger and louder.

Mrs Barnes had the entire gang and their families for a gathering. James, Bucky, as he liked to be called, is finally back after an entire year in God-knows-what military work.

After dinner, the gang was laughing and drinking.

Dean smirked at Sebastian "You got a good girl over here."

"A great kisser too." Bucky teased.

"What do you have in mind, Dean?" Sam teased Dean because he knows what he will spill next.

"You gotta do the twin thing." Dean raised his bottle of beer.

Steve's eyes widened "what twin thing, exactly"

"My man, Dean wants Seabase to go wild." Anthony laughed at the idea.

Dean explained, "a sandwich with her in the middle and the outer layers are twins."

Sam tried to elaborate "if the middle was a girl unless other preferences and so."

Steve was blushing at the idea while Bucky and Sebastian were looking at each other.

"Don't scrunch your nose" Sebastian looked at Bucky.

Bucky tilted his head and give him the puppy eyes "adventures, please."

Then Dean joined him for bagging "please."

"Alright, Alright." Sebastian took a sip of his beer "only with consent.

At that moment Anthony gives Dean ten "You won."

Steve was just irritated at the idea and he kept eyeing his bottle "I can't believe you, guys"

"Dean always wins," Sam shrugged.

You were heading closer to the boys, who were laughing.

"Are not we going home?" You asked Sebastian.

"Yes, babe."

He excused the gang and Bucky followed with the boys waving and clapping.

"They seem happy and excited. Are not they." You waved at them while speaking to Sebastian, but the reply came from Bucky "they should be. And hopefully, will be,"

Back in the car, Sebastian hesitated, but he told you why they were laughing.

“Dean wants you to try what?” You were completely shocked.

“The twin-thing.” Bucky sounded excited.

Sebastian took your hand in his, “baby, it’s a silly boys’ bet.”

You looked at him, “are you going to let Dean win?” and you smirked.

Bucky explained the rules. It has to be a sex sandwich with both of them, but no sex while they are in their mum's house.

“God only knows how she might react to this.” Sebastiana sighed.

Bucky laughed and explained, “an eastern European woman, she might get them a priest to perform an exorcism on us.”

“Or sanctify the house.” Sebastien completed his twin’s explanation.

They agreed Bucky will stay at Sebastian’s house for the night until they plan the twins’ thing.

The next morning, after you all had eaten breakfast together, you were cleaning the table. You will keep bumping into Bucky.

His torso to your back, kissing the exposed parts of your skin. You titled your head on your back to give him room.

His hands will travel under your clothes. His girl was wearing nothing but your skill PJ of pair of shorts and a top.

Dean's words have got straight to Bucky’s head, that he has been imagining having the twin-thing with his brother’s girlfriend.

Bucky reached the kitchen, and he almost dropped the plates.

His brother was kissing Y/N, who closed his eyes completely as Sebastian was squeezing your butt with a hand and they together are caressing your nipple about the silk.

You moaned; Bucky felt himself getting hard.

Yet, you felt Sebastian's hard length against your butt. You turned to kiss him with parted lips, looking to consume him.

Their tongue met and the sounds of their kissing made Bucky, who was at the edge and impulsively tried to hide his aroused length.

Sebastian opened his eyes as he parted from the kiss. Y/A twirled to meet Bucky's eyes and peeking at his lower body.

"Poor Bucky." You stepped closer to him, you kissed him first, yet he opened his eyes, waiting for Sebastian's approval, who gave him a wave to go ahead.

You kissed Bucky and slides your hand to stock his length above the sweat pants he was wearing.

Bucky moaned against your lips and wrapped his arms around you for a moment to deepen the kiss.

At that same time, Sebastian paced to lay kisses on your shoulder and squeeze your butt.

You started moaning, parted from Bucky, to meet Sebastian at a kiss

"Better take it to the bedroom." You said in between your moaning and breath.

You walked with the twin brothers to the bedroom, yet could not take off their hands off your body.

In the bedroom, Sebastian pulled down your shorts, and Bucky took off your top.

"Bucky, you are beautiful, Y/A," he said as he keeps kissing the soft spot under your ears and lowers down your breast.

"You better underdress to boys," you ordered and both of them took off their clothes at once.

Before starting anything, Bucky looked at Sebastien, who understood his brother immediately.

“Second drawer in the nightstand near his bed.” Sebastian pointed to Bucky, who was full of condoms, lubricant, and some toys.

You twirled around Bucky for a moment "nothing I have not seen before" you

Ran your fingers on his skin till touching his length and teasing his slit that was dripping pre-cum.

Yet, before Bucky put the condom on his length, you got down and tasted him, “tasty,” you whipped your lips and helped him to wear the condom

Then moved to Sebastian and kissed him "oh, that chest is getting rough again." You kissed his lips and lower to his jaw and neck.

Then you winked at Sebastian playfully to drop on four to take his full length between your lips.

You sucked him slowly. Bucky was watching your butt against him and your inviting lady delicate area was pumping with a need that he could not keep himself from entering you all at once.

You clenched him inside you, milking him and you were bobbing your head, milking Sebastian with your mouth as squeezing his balls.

Sebastian gripped your hair and Bucky put his hands on your hips, entering you, as you were getting tighter and closer.

"I am closed," Sebastian muttered breathlessly as he came inside your mouth. You swallowed him whole.

On the other hand, Bucky was close, Sebastian took a step back to let you rest on four, you were moaning and Bucky banging himself harder against you. The voice of their skin clashing and moaning were loud that the rest Sebastian was getting harder again.

Bucky wanted you closer to him, he pulled you up and rested your head on his chest and squeezed your breasts "cum for me now doll," he ordered as biting the side of your neck and squeezing your breasts and you were so tight that Sebastian came close and stocked your clitoris to give you more pleasure. You were standing between the skin of the two brothers.

With almost shut eyes, looking at Sebastian who was stocking your clitoris, then he kissed you down till his tongue reached your soft part. After two strokes with his tongue on your clitoris. You were so tight around Bucky that he could not see in front of him as he cum hard at the same time you felt the shaking electric power of your orgasm.

You were about to collapse that Sebastian carried you to the bed. You laid together between the two brothers.

"That was wow," Bucky muttered breathlessly.

Sebastian asserted playfully, "round two"

"Maybe later tonight?" You rolled and kissed Sebastian.

The three of you were laughing and Bucky closed his eyes to rest.

You put a leg on Sebastian's tights, getting closer to his body, feeling Bucky's chest hugging you from behind.

The head of their bodies calmed that the three of you slept in harmony.

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

My tag list:

@shafverani

@imsebastiansta-n

@brokenwitty

@sinner-as-saint

@zemosimp05

@fallloverfanfiction