#or rather is forever defensive about this. all the musicals you know tonys will be comfortable with b/c they're gently ''edgily'' Serious..

[unproduciblesmackdown]

the most recognized as comedic song being the best part of the movie musical because the conventions that serve as a mode of communicating ideas, for example "people just bursting into song" or "choreography" or "'noticeably stylized' cinematography" that accentuates nonliteral nonrealism-invoking choices, are regarded as Silly or Frivolous. and the effort to shove everything else that's more "serious" into what is expected to be read as dramatic cinema that's not stylized in any ways that seem too "Genre" which only makes [but someone's singing?] underwhelming and out of place because no other elements are supporting it

[weirdochick56]

I love you too, you big dork- Bucky Barnes One Shot

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language. Fluff. A bit of angst.

Disclaimers: I don’t own any MCU characters/plots.

Word Count: 6, 034 words

Summary: Bucky and the Reader are best friends. Best friends who are in love with eachother, that is. When the Reader walks in on a conversation Bucky is having with Sam, Steve and Thor in which he says he doesn’t love her, she’s too heartbroken to face him. But maybe a little bit of distance is all it takes to make someone realize that they need someone more than they realize. 

A/N: Guys, I literally refuse to watch Endgame. I’m so scared someone I love (literally the entire cast) is gonna die so yeah. I’m good staying in my world where Infinity War and Endgame don’t exist. (I’m joking. I’m sure I’ll watch it eventually.)

*

You groan softly as another strand of hair gets caught in your lip gloss, and begin peeling it off your lip slowly. Your eyes darted everywhere, hand clutching your small purse so tight, your knuckles turned white. 

There were a lot of people here. Too many to count, actually, and you found yourself bumping into partying bodies every five minutes and having to stumble past in your tall heels after muttering a small ‘sorry’. It was a bit overwhelming. 

When Tony said he was going to be throwing a party to celebrate your latest win, you expected something of a more...intimate nature. Just the Avengers and a few close friends. Not such a huge party, with all the lights and bar filled with drinks and snacks.. and you certainly didn’t expect this many people to be invited. Most of which were celebrities and world-renowned corporate leaders, no less.

You weren’t afraid to admit that although being a superhero and working alongside the world’s mightiest heroes, you felt utterly inferior to all the beautiful models and actresses surrounding your every angle. I mean they were all so tall and slender and just...mesmerizing. And you were just, well, you. Good old’ Y/n. Ordinary and safe. Dull. Tedious. Boring.

You weren’t big on all the glitz and glamour and mystique that came with being an internationally-known hero. Your abilities had given you an advantage when it came to war tactics and fighting and being a wonderful warrior on the field- which granted, also gave you a great advantage work-wise, but other than that, there wasn’t much more to you. 

Most of your life had been miserable thanks to how ‘special’ your abilities made you and consequently, most of it was spent inside your own head rather than caring about your outer appearance and social habitats. It wasn't until you’d been recruited into SHIELD and later on the Avengers and found a purpose- that you started caring about the way you presented yourself to the rest of the world.

Even now, clad in a gorgeous black bodycon cocktail dress, soft curves all on display, and your hair pinned up into an elegant bun with only a few strands framing your delicately-painted face- you couldn’t help but feel utterly uncomfortable. Out of place in this glamorous party entirely.

Your gaze finally lands on a familiar face amidst the colorful party lights huge party crowd and you can't help but heave a relieved sigh.

“Tony!” You tap on his shoulder, having to practically yell over the music. Tony halts his conversation with the famous party guests. 

“...uh sorry, just hold on a sec.”  He smirks charmingly then he spins around to face you. “Ye-” he stops mid-sentence when his gaze lands on you, eyes widening like two saucers and jaw snapping open. “Holy shit,” he breathes, eyes wandering over your face and body a hundred miles per minute, his gaze unbelieving. 

“Damn, kiddo. I knew you were a stunner but damn.” His eyes are practically bulging from his head. 

You feel yourself blush aggressively, smiling in your usual shy manner to hide how much you didn’t believe what he was saying. “Thank you.”

“You look stunning, kiddo.” He smiles brightly, flashing you those pearly whites.

You roll your eyes at him, shaking off the compliment as smoothly as you can. “Thanks. Hey, have you seen Bucky?” You frown, looking around for your best friend. “I know he said he didn’t wanna mingle, but I thought he’d be chilling out in a secluded corner or something for sure. I mean, it’s what he usually does.”  

When you face him again, Tony is smiling down at you, all..knowing and self-important.

You instantly shrink away from his condescending silence, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “What?”

He laughs smugly. “Nothing. I’m just wondering what exactly it will take for either of you to admit that you love eachother.” 

You’re taken aback by Tony’s words, freezing momentarily with shock. You can’t help it when your heart races at the idea of James Buchanan Barnes actually loving you back but quickly shake the notion off, not wanting to dwell on something that could never happen and as a consequence only hurt you. 

You push an innocent smile out onto your face, ignoring the extreme resistance from your facial muscles and how sick to your gut your next words make you feel. “Well, of course I love Bucky. He’s my best friend.” 

Your shrill tone causes you to mentally cringe as you leisurely swallow the bile creeping out your throat, physically forcing it back down your esophagus.

But Tony sees right through your poorly-executed act, sighing and shaking his head as if he knew. And he did know.

“We both know exactly what I mean kiddo. You can’t keep acting like you’re not completely head over heels for eachother forever.”

You suppress your fluttering heart as much as possible, opting to instead paint a measured smile that could fool the pants off anyone on your face. Choosing your words carefully, you are even more careful to speak them with a breezy kind of casualness to your tone. 

“Ugh. Me and Bucky? Pfft, that’s honestly gross. He’s like a brother. Can you imagine dating a brother?” You scrunch your nose up in disgust then force an amused chuckle as if the notion is absolutely ludicrous even though it’s literally been the only thing on your mind for the past year. “Nothing like that could ever happen between us.”

Every word that comes out of your mouth is a single stab to your chest, but you try to keep your voice leveled and light as a feather. You hadn’t expected it to be as painful to say out loud as it was, though, and despite your resolve to fool Iron Man, your voice wavers slightly. You cringe mentally when Tony raises a single, skeptical, dark brow. 

He knew. He always knew, dammit.  

“Whatever floats your boat kiddo. I guess.” He sighs. “I’m pretty sure I saw him hanging out with Thor, Steve, and Sam out on the balcony.”

You facepalm, eyes lighting. “Oh shit, yeah! How come I didn’t think of that!?” You smile brightly up at Tony, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Tony. love ya’!”

You hurry off as fast as you can in heels (which is a surprising amount). You hear Tony laugh behind you, mumbling under his breath. 

“It’s only a matter of time, kiddo.” 

*

When you approach the balcony, you see all four men seated across from eachother, loud laughter erupting from their mouths and a bottle of some unknown substance settled in between them. 

Bucky sat with his back to you, and you lick your lips when you notice his long hair gelled back into a neat man-bun, your favorite hairstyle on him. His suit jacket was carelessly thrown over the couch he was sitting on and the sleeves of his dressing shirt were rolled up, exposing his veiny flesh arm and his menacing steel one. His back muscles flexed whenever he shifted positions and for a moment you genuinely questioned if James Buchanan Barnes could be considered a kink. 

Literally, anything and everything the man did was sexy. God, he made the most mundane things sexy. Like frowning, or making pancakes or laughing. You sigh, thinking about all the cute facial expressions that handsome face could twist and spread into. 

Interrupting your train of thoughts, you focus back on your friends. They seemed to be having a great time, and you were slightly jealous about not being invited to be a part of the mini-celebration. 

You raise a determined brow, ready to join the party when something abruptly stops you mid-step. It’s Bucky’s voice. It sounds...off.

It’s hushed and pissed-off, very unlike the demeanor the rest of the group gave off with their boisterous laughter and witty smirks. So unlike it, in fact, that it forces you to nestle behind the slightly cracked balcony door and eavesdrop on their conversation. 

Okay, yeah, not your proudest moment, but you were curious as to what the trio of friends could’ve possibly said to Bucky to get him so worked up. His teeth were gritted and his hands were clenched into fists as he leaned threateningly forward. 

“Would you stop fucking saying that? She’s a kid, for fuck’s sake! I could never feel something like that for her.” 

You frown. Who was he talking about? You? You decide not to jump to conclusions, secretly holding onto the hope that it wasn’t, because deep down you know if it was, your heart would be broken.

“...I could never feel something like that for her.” You shudder, waiting for someone else to speak with a racing heart.

Steve sighs. “Buck, man, I love you. You know you’re like a brother to me, but that’s exactly why I have to be completely honest with you.” He leans in, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips as he pats Bucky’s shoulder comfortingly. “You’re in love with Y/n. There’s no way around it, man, I’m sorry. You’ll have to stop denying it to yourself eventually.”

You swallow a gasp, heart fluttering. Shit, they are talking about me, you cursed mentally, clutching your hands to your chest and pursing your lips tightly. 

The seconds seem to drag on into minutes and then into hours until finally, Bucky speaks up again, voice somewhat defeated. 

“She’s a kid and my best friend. I can’t have feelings for her,” he mumbles decisively and your chest clenches, eyes prickling with unshed tears.  

Sam clicks his tongue sympathetically. “That’s the irony of love, man. You don’t really get to choose who you feel it towards.” 

Thor frowns. “But...Y/n is extremely beautiful. An astonishing character, as well. And she is without engagement.” His frown deepens. “I’m failing to see exactly what the issue is?”

Bucky sighs defeatedly then he turns to the god with a small sad smile that makes your chest ache. It’s devoid of any and all hope which slowly begins to kill yours as well. 

“She is stunning, isn’t she?” His smile lightens up a bit, light grey eyes getting a far-off look. “I always thought she was a classic beauty. Like the ones you saw back in our time, Steve.” He looks at his best friend, who smiles and nods warmly in quiet response. “She’s so smart, too. Do you remember when she first arrived here? How she fixed that problem Tony had been struggling with in his lab for weeks in just a few minutes?” He pauses to laugh incredulously. “It was like-” he motions his head blowing up, making explosion sounds. 

You suppress a giddy giggle, pressing a hand to your mouth as you listen closely. 

“A-and she’s so fucking kind and giving. She never says no to doing you a favor. Ever, no matter what it is or how hard it may be. She’s always more worried about our comfort than her own. It’s so sweet.” He chuckles. “Most of the time I’m worried she’ll neglect herself if she’s hurt in our stead. Because that’s just the kind of person she is.” 

His expression grows serious but still soft and tender. “She wakes up earlier than all of us and goes to sleep later than all of us, working. She thinks no one knows or notices because she thinks no one cares enough to want to know or notice. But I do. I always do,” he mumbles softly, picking at his fingernails. 

A long silence stretches and your heart is beating so erratically in your chest, you’re sure it’s in the process of bursting from your ribcage.

Finally, Steve speaks. “See? You can lie to us all you want Bucky, but it’s yourself who you can’t run away from.”

Bucky blinks as if snapping out of a trance. He clenches his jaw tightly, plunging his fingers into his hair and rubbing hard, messing it up. “Fuck,” he growls, frustrated. 

“I don’t love her. I don’t.”

You take that as your cue to walk in, a disturbingly convincing smile plastered on your face. 

“You don’t love who, Buck?” You play it off smoothly, casually strutting into the balcony.

Sam’s, Steve’s and Thor’s eyes immediately snapped towards you. Bucky, took a few seconds to fully view you. 

He stiffens up at first, then slowly shifts to you, a small smile on his face. It freezes there, though, when his eyes land on you, all dolled up. 

It wasn’t like you at all to dress up. Most of the time, you opted to hide underneath big hoodies and baggy shirts and pants. You just didn’t feel comfortable giving anyone the power to be able to judge your appearance in any way, shape, or form. 

As a superhero, you usually hid behind a large cloak, shielding a bit of your face and body effectively from the public. You’d decided you’d try something out of your comfort zone today. 

So the shock factor was already there, but watching Bucky’s face morph from a very forced relaxed smile to completely gobsmacked expression, lips parted, pupils dilated, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed thickly was absolutely worthy of a picture. 

Sam interrupts your little moment, wolf-whistling.

“Well shit, Y/n. I had no idea you all of that underneath...” he laughs lightly, gesturing towards you lightly. 

Steve elbows him sharply as you raise a brow at Sam. 

“Really Sam?”

He shrugs, rubbing the sore spot on his ribs. “What? It’s true.” 

Steve sighs, rolling his eyes at his best friend before turning to you with his usual chivalrous, soft smile. “You look gorgeous, kid.”

Thor’s smile is brighter than the sun as he takes you in shamelessly. “You are quite the sight, Y/n. Such beauty has never been heard of or seen in all the nine worlds!”

Fighting off a raging blush, you snorted in a very unladylike manner. “C’ mon guys. Stop trying to make me feel good about myself. We all know I’m not that much to look at.”

They all immediately shut your statement down. “Y/n, babe, have you seen yourself already? You’re gorgeous,” Sam huffs, rolling his eyes. 

You try to protest, but Thor quickly cuts you off, a wolfish grin spread on his handsome face. “Y/n, you underestimate your beauty. It shines brighter than many of the stars in this galaxy, I’ll tell you that much.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying really hard not to cry with adoration. You didn’t need their approval to feel good about yourself, but it sure was nice to have the accolades of a demi-god.  

“Y/n,” Steve pulls your attention back to him, a comforting smile pulled over his lips. “You’re a beautiful woman.”

With their earnest faces and watchful eyes, you give in to the urge and hide your boiling hot face in your hands, groaning. “You guys! I’m gonna cry.” 

They quiet down and you slowly pull your hands from your face. You’re met with Bucky’s soft gaze, pure, earnest admiration lining every part of his gorgeous face, making his eyes shimmer with a certain honest beauty you’d never seen on him. 

Your breath hitches at the beauty of the way he looked at you. The softness, the sincerity. The support.

You pause, looking at him and for a moment forgetting other people were in the same room as you. right now, only he and you existed. 

You waited with a caught breath for him to say something. His eyes watered, you bite back a gasp at how raw emotion lining his eyes and expression to the brim was.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers quietly. “Absolutely beautiful.” 

Your heart races and a soft smile tugs at your lips. “Thank you, Buck.” 

He stares at you for a minute longer before swallowing sharply and looking back at his others friends, almost like he just realized they were there. 

You notice the trio looking at him with ‘told you so’ expressions, smug smirks curling their lips. Sam snickers. 

You have hope for a split second. Hope that he’ll turn back around and declare that he’s been in love with you too, that he wants you just as much as you do him. And your heart inflates with happiness and love and you hold onto that emotion for safekeeping. 

And then it’s broken when Bucky shakes his head firmly ‘no’. 

The guys’ faces fall. They know what that means. They don’t know that you also know what that means, but it doesn’t matter because somehow Bucky has once again managed to fix and break your heart in the matter of a few seconds. 

He turns back around to face you and you notice that although he still has that tenderness to him, that softness you saw a few minutes ago, it now looks tortured in his gaze. Repressed.  

He smirks playfully as if to cover it up, but it looks forced. 

“Maybe we could wingman eachother. I’ll get you some hot Hollywood actor only if you promise to get me a Victoria’s Secret model.” He chuckles and winks at you. 

You suppress the fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over and force a small smile. 

“I think I’m good, thanks. I’ll uh-” you push past the huge lump in your throat. “I’ll see you guys later.” You spin on your heels headed for the door.

With one last glance over your shoulder, you catch Steve’s eye. He smiles sympathetically. And mouths a small ‘sorry.’

Before you fully make it outside, you catch a small bit of their upcoming conversation. 

“Really dude!? Friend zoning her? Why can’t you just admit you’re absolutely gaga about her?!”

Bucky groans under his breath, exasperated. “Have you thought maybe it’s cause I’m not?”

You walk away faster, unable to hear more of the conversation. Too painful.

*

The next morning, you walk into the kitchen and find Bucky sitting on a stool, sipping on a cup of coffee. 

You barely spare him a glance, headed straight for the fridge. Normally, you’d be chatting him up, hanging onto his every word and watching with ever-growing excitement and intent as he told you about whatever new adventure he’d been on to conquer the still-unknown 21st century. But not today.

“Oh, mornin’ doll,” he chirps happily, excited to see you. 

You merely smile politely, closing the fridge door behind you softly. “Morning James.” 

And then you simply walk out, water bottle in hand. 

Bucky freezes, raising a brow. 

“James?” he mumbles under his breath. 

*

That afternoon, Bucky is lounging on the living room couch, watching one of your favorite movies of all time, Scream.

When he sees you, he instantly perks up, excited at the prospect of watching a movie with you. “Hey doll, look I’ve got-” 

You cut him off sheepishly. “Sorry Buck, I can’t speak right now, I’m a bit busy.”

He visibly deflates with disappointment but smiles understandingly nonetheless. “Oh..okay.” 

 And with that, he sees you leave in a hurry, suspicion nudging him in the back of his mind. 

He gets worried. Were you...were you mad? But why? What did he do?...

*

The next time Bucky sees you, it’s been a few days since he’s talked to you. You were always rushing off somewhere, suddenly entirely busy. He was getting suspicious...and hurt. You never seemed to have time to be more than just polite to him. 

The other Avengers, on the other hand, got more than just a few minutes of your time.

He was convinced he’d done something to anger you. He just didn’t know what and it was driving him nuts to try and figure it out. 

He’d asked Steve and Sam for help earlier that week but all they’d done is make him feel worse about the whole thing. 

“I just don’t know what I’ve done,” Bucky growls, frustrated. 

Sam and Steve look at eachother, snickering. 

“What?” Bucky frowns. 

Sam sighs. “I think we’ve called you out on your bullshit enough times, Buck. You’re a grown-ass man. Figure it out.”

So he decided to ask the only other person who could tell him what was wrong with you; you. 

And so Bucky waited, hiding out in your room until you come back in.

You sigh as you step into your room, kicking your shoes off and curling your fingers around the ends of your crop top and tugging upwards, intending fully to take it off. 

 “Oh my God, doll, stop!” Bucky’s gruff yell startles you so much, you accidentally send a vase hurtling towards his head.

 He shrieks, ducking down just in time to dodge it. It crashes on the wall behind him, breaking into a milling tiny pieces.

Holding a hand to your rapidly-beating heart, your huff. “Jesus fucking- Bucky! You scared the living heck out of me, you dickhead!” 

He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, doll.” 

“What are you even doing here?” you breathe, brows furrowing in confusion.

He suddenly grows stern, posture straightening out and eyes leveling with yours, arms crossed over his broad, muscular chest. “Can I know why the hell you have you been avoiding me?” 

You’re taken aback by his bluntness, but manage to mask your shock fairly well with fake innocence, pretending to be busy taking your socks off.

“Avoiding you?” You snort. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I haven’t been avoiding you.” 

He chuckles humorlessly, voice gruff with simmering anger. “Oh, don’t lie to me, doll. We both know I’m able to see through your bullshit easily.” 

Something about how sure he sounded in the last statement hit a nerve within you. Your blood boils. How can someone so oblivious to how you felt about them be so sure that they know you so well?

“Stop, Bucky. Okay? I haven’t been avoiding you, so just...leave me alone,” you heave a tired sigh. 

“No.” His response is so quick, so resolute, it nearly gives you whiplash.

You laugh incredulously, raising a brow at him. “No?”

“No.” 

His response is easy. Almost too easy. 

You scoff. “Why?”

He snorts, looking at you like you’d grown two heads. “Because you’re angry with me and I have no idea why, doll.”

“No, I’m not,” you mumble quietly.

“Yes, you are.” 

“Okay. How do you know that for sure?” You challenge. 

The corner of his mouth curls arrogantly. “Your fists are clenched and you’re biting the inside of your cheek.”

He was right. Ugh, of course, he was. You slowly release your clenched fists and relax your tense jaw, sucking on your teeth and avoiding his smug gaze. Your blood boils, even more, swarming your head with angry thoughts. 

“Stop acting like you know me,” you suddenly snap, eyes watering. 

Gosh, why did he know you so well? Why did he have to make not loving him so hard? Why did he have to know small cute details like that? And why did he have to be so- perfect and beautiful?

“But...I do know you,” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like there was no other answer but that one.

You wanted him to stop having the upper hand here. But who were you kidding? He always would. Because you were in love with him and he wasn’t in love with you. 

“No, you don’t,” you hiss, hands slowly clenching into fists again, trying to contain your ever-growing anger.

“Yes, I do,” he insists again, so sure of himself. 

“No, you don’t,” you growl. 

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you-”

“Why are we even arguing about this!?” He snaps aggressively before his tone softens. “C’mon doll, we sound like children.” He sighs, licking his lips and runs his fingers through his hair. “l- look, the point is, you’re pissed at me. I just need to what the hell it is I did to deserve it, is all, alright?” 

You bite your lip. “Listen, James just leave me alone please I’m-”

“No, see!? Since when do you call me James? Honestly, Y/n! What the hell have I done to you to deserve you treating me like this?”  His voice cracks as he steps closer to you, hands reaching out to touch you. “Why are you pushing me away?” He whispers softly, hurt.  

That’s it. You can’t hold back all the overwhelming emotions bubbling within you for the past few years anymore. All the hurt and anger of years upon years of loving a man who could never love you back like you did him, come bubbling to the surface. You break like a festering sore after it’s been holding back all it had inside for far too long.

“You made me fall in love with you!” Your scream is powerful, deafening. 

Bucky’s eyes widen, mouth snapping shut, body freezing. If it weren’t for the situation, you would’ve laughed at him. he looked like a deer caught in headlights. 

But you can’t stop now that you’ve started. Unable to avoid vomiting your confession onto him, you continue, fingers gripping your hair.

“Y-you‘re just- there,” you breathe, licking your lips to moisten up your dry mouth. “In me, all the time. Every fucking second of every-fucking-day and I just-“ you lick your lips then chuckle humorlessly. “I’ve tried so fucking hard to fight it off when I realized what was happening. So, so hard. But that only made it worse and before I knew it, BAM!” You clap your hands together. “There you were Bucky Barnes. Everywhere within me.”

Bucky breathes in a sharp breath. “Doll I-“

“And it just drives me absolutely insane. Like- why couldn’t you just stay my best friend? Why couldn’t you just make me want you as a friend? W-why did you have to go ahead and be all sweet and kind and gorgeous and perfect and just-God. You give me butterflies.” You open your eyes as wide as they’ll go. “Did you know that? Butterflies Bucky, I mean...who the fuck gets butterflies?”

“Doll.”

“And I’m just so...” you laugh humorlessly, searching for the correct words to describe what you felt towards this man. This man who- despite everything- you couldn’t help but love.

“Doll.”

“...pissed at you. Because you can’t fucking love me back. Yeah, that’s why I’m pissed! Because here I am, young n’ foolish Y/n; entirely, completely, undoubtedly, fully, stupidly, ludicrously in love with you, James Buchanan Barnes. And there you are, treating me like a kid you can never love back. as anything other than your little sister. So ther-!”

It happens in just a few seconds and you don’t feel it until it’s happening, but Bucky strides up to you in just a few steps, gripping your jaw in his big warm hands before tipping your head back gently. 

Your eyes meet and you swear your limbs are live wires, full with charged electricity every time you look into his beautiful stormy irises. There is so much tender care in them. So much pain and hope and beauty all swirling and creating such a divine turmoil that the breath gets knocked straight out of your lungs, almost like you’ve been punched in the gut or something. 

“Buck?”

Then he crashes his lips against yours and it’s...not everything you dreamed of. No, because what you dreamed of could never compare to what Bucky’s lips on yours felt in real life.

Soft unlike anything you could’ve ever imagined, but firm and anchoring all at once, you can’t help it when you suck in a sharp breath through your nose. Kissing him was like feeding your greatest craving and sedating your every heartache momentarily. Kissing him was like having someone charge you with electricity, your fingertips tingled and your cheeks heated up and you’d never felt more alive. 

It takes a moment for your brain to somewhat process what was happening right now. Bucky kissed you. He was kissing you right now. And it’s only when you begin to comprehend what’s happening, that you respond to the kiss, hands gripping his neck and fingers tangling in his soft strands of hair as you kissed back with all the passion and hurt and anger and love you felt towards him. 

He pushes back, deepening the kiss. Everything about it was demanding and soft and somehow you couldn’t help but think that it fits you and him too well. Like it was how it was always meant to happen. In a heat-of-the-moment kind of way that also said so much more than words ever could. But also soft and kind of inconvenient. Unexpected and all-consuming. You and Bucky. 

The kiss is gone almost as soon as it started and before you know it, Bucky pulls back. You’re both panting softly, and you can feel his warm breath caressing your nose and nothing has ever felt so incredible. 

You’re still unable to fully process what had just happened, your heart is still beating erratically in your chest and your lips are tingly with all sorts of emotions you can’t fully make out right now. 

His hands, all warm and rough and big, are still cupping your jaw, as he tenderly traces a finger over your cheekbone and he’s gazing into your eyes, searching. Searching for an answer. 

“Say something, doll. Please,” he begs quietly.

You blink several times before responding in a passing breath. “Why?” 

He sighs, slumping slightly against you. “Because I love you. As more than just a friend.”

And there it was. All you’d ever wanted to hear the past few years. What haunted your sleep, the very heaviness in your heart that only grew with each passing day. And there it was, staring you right in the eyes. 

You instantly push away from him, tears blurring your vision. “Don’t lie to me like that,” you rasp, voice broken with overwhelming emotions. 

Bucky sputters, panic rising in his stormy grey eyes. “Oh my God doll, no! That’s not it at all, I would never-” 

“I heard you the other night. At the party,” you sob, aggressively wiping at your tears as they rolled down your cheeks. “You told Sam, Steve, and Thor that you could never feel something like that for me. And you meant it.” 

He shakes his head, face twisted into a regretful frown. He says nothing.

Your anger and immense hurt at his silence rise within you in uncontrollable waves of emotion. Your lips quiver in preparation for another wrecked sob to escape your lips.

“I understand,” you rasp. “Can you just-“ you sigh, turning away from him to hide the tears the rolled down your cheeks insistingly. “Leave please?”

“No.”

You wipe a fresh set of tears rolling down your face before spinning around to face him, indignantly livid. “You-!”

“I love you.” His eyes are a stormy grey that leaves you breathless and for the second time, you catch wind of that same raw feeling in his eyes as when he’d seen you all dressed up in that balcony. Vulnerable, raw, carnal.

“I’ll repeat that in case you couldn’t hear it. I. Love. You.”

Your breath catches at his words as he leisurely steps closer to you in short, cautious steps. His eyes never leave yours, their intensity blazing through your very being, alighting your nerves and making your heart pound erratically. You’re frozen in place at the certainty with which he says his words. Astounded.

“I am in love with you,” he gulps, his voice breaking with emotion. “So entirely, completely, undoubtedly, fully, stupidly, ludicrously in love with you, Y/f/n Y/l/n,” he laughs a little as he uses your own words against you.

A joy so unlike anything you’ve ever felt blossoms in your chest and you swallow the growing lump in your throat. “A-are you...serious?”

You don’t know if you’ve mumbled anything coherent, seeing as your heart is thumping so erratically in your ears you can’t hear anything else.

He’s close enough to kiss now, his breath warm and inviting as they softly caress your cheeks. He gently grips your hands in his and leans his face closer to yours.

His nose is brushing against yours, his eyelashes flutter and tickle your own eyelids and your breath gets lodged in your throat, lips parted as they anxiously await his own. They never come though, and just when you think he’ll kiss you again, his lips switch directions and press against your cheek instead, kissing away a tear with a touch so tender and caring, you shiver.

You swallow hard, voice raspy and breathless. “Really?”

His metal hand is cool against your flushed skin as he pulls back to look into your eyes again, earnest and kind.

“Doll I am so confused and unsure about so many things.” He chuckles softly, then turns serious. “But you are not one of those things. Never have been, never will be.”

The vigor in his honesty is striking.

He looks you in the eye. “The only reason I force myself to wake up every damn morning is because I know I’ll be able to see your face. It’s because no matter how dark it gets in here,” he points to his head, then grips your hand and slowly brings it to his chest so it rests over his fast-beating heart. “Or here, I know I’ll always get to see your beautiful smile the very next day. The only light at the end of the tunnel. I just- sometimes my head gets so dark and my heart just breaks over and over again without repair and I think I’ll never get out but-”

“Buck,” you whimper in interruption, too pained at the rawness of his hurt and suffering. 

“No, let me finish, please.” His voice cracks but he still smiling at you with such overpouring joy, you don’t know if he’s sad or happy or both.

 “But then I remember I have you. Even if it’s just as a friend. And that was completely fine by me, doll. Because I got to know you. And I mean really know you, I got to see all your sides. The dedicated, hard-working, focused one. The funny, sarcastic, goofy one. The passionate, fiery one. God, you have no idea how much I love it when your eyes light up when you’re pissed or fired up or when you laugh.” His smile widens. “I also got to see the honest, kind, loving caring side of you. You were always there when I fell apart and you were the only thing that got me through it. All of it. You’re loyal and sweet and selfless and I didn’t care that I wouldn’t get to hold you in my arms or kiss you or call you mine if it meant that I wouldn’t have you anymore.” His eyes water and he grips your fingers tighter as if holding you back from running away. 

“I’ve never met a more beautiful human being in my life. You’re the opposite of me. You’re light and hope and kindness and love and I just- I didn’t want to ruin that. You. Us.”

He laughs incredulously. “But I love you. I love you. God, I’ll never get tired of saying that. It feels so good,” he breathes out to himself giddily. 

It takes a while for him to notice that you haven’t said anything in the span of the past few minutes, but when he’s snapped out of his own ecstasy,  he turns to look at you, the smile falling off his face. 

You’re frozen in your spot, tears freely rolling down your cheeks. 

Bucky groans. “Oh God. I’ve completely messed this up, haven’t I.” He begins freaking out. “I-I’m s-so sorry doll. I didn’t mean to scare you into anything. We can just stay friends just please don’t avoid me again. I promise I won’t-”

“Bucky,” you finally speak up, stopping him with a stoic and expressionless face.

He gulps loudly, “yeah?”

A sweet, tearful smile breaks out on your face.  “I love you too, you big dork.” 

He laughs, relieved. 

You smirk. “Kiss me. Now.”

 He quirks a brow but returns your smirk. “Gladly.”

Then you both lean in and just when your lips are about to meet again, a voice comes booming from the intercom in your room. Or well, many of them. 

“FINALLY.”

 ***

Honestly, IDK. I need some fluffy romance in my life so here it is. 

A Special thanks to:

@wildefire - my Marvel tag (thank you!)

And of course my incredible forevers!

@jessikared97

@lilypalmer1987

@ladyofletters67

@meowsekai

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

Music composed - Clint’s day

A/N: Day four of the avengers tickle fic week and we keep counting. :) It’s my favorite day of the week since it’s Clint Barton’s day. This features Clint and Thor, also Steve, Tony and Natasha.

“I despise long car rides.”  Steve couldn’t help the small startled reaction at Thor’s sudden approach in between the two front seats of the car. He gave him a half-sympathetic, half-ironic smirk - yes, only Steve Rogers could pull that mixture off - before focusing on the road again. 

Natasha had called shotgun, so obviously she was on the passenger seat. Her eyes were fixed on the trees, an almost dreamy look in them.

“Some music. Might help.” Tony had talked in half sentences ever since they had started the ride from the Tower to SHIELD head quarters. He was squeezed to the left window, Thor’s giant shoulders taking up most of the space in the middle of the backseat. Clint was pretty quiet on his seat behind Natasha. Like her he was gazing out of the window. 

Steve noticed that he wasn’t wearing his hearing-aids. He hated it when Clint left them out. You just never knew what the day might bring. Therefore he stretched his right arm out behind Natasha’s seat and squeezed Clint’s closest leg, making the archer jump in his seat. Clint wrapped his hands around Steve’s with a desperate smile and tried to pull it off his sensitive body immediately. Steve had totally forgotten about Clint’s ticklish legs for a second there and couldn’t help himself. Smirking he continued tweaking and prodding at his knees, getting more and more defensive kicking out of his friend. Clint didn’t like making noises when he couldn’t hear himself. Therefore he made a whiny face at Steve after several tweaks had brought him close to laughing. Steve’s hand retracted then, so the supersoldier could tap his ear with a meaningful look. 

Clint rolled his eyes and grabbed the hearing aids out of his jeans pocket to plug them in. “You feel better now, tickle monster?” He asked, exasperatedly. 

Steve grinned, obscenely proud of that name, and raised his thumb appreciatingly. 

���Tell me again. Why didn’t we take the jet?” With his phone in his hand Tony tried to distract himself from the situation he was caught in. Even though his eyes didn’t meet Steve’s, the supersoldier could hear the frustration in his voice. Ever the impatient genius. 

Despite being a major believer in “eyes on the road” Steve just couldn’t resist the urge to roll them. “We can’t just grab the jet and fly everywhere, Tony. It’s literally just an hour’s drive to SHIELD. Taking the jet for ten minutes? Doesn’t that seem a little off, even to you?” 

With the glare of the century Tony met Steve’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Music. Now.” 

Natasha sighed and turned on the radio. A male voice summed up football game happenstances. The Black Widow immediately turned the radio back off. She searched for a CD, a tape, an iPod and didn’t find anything. “Whose car is this anyway?” 

“Bruce’s.” Steve responded, getting annoyed with the general hostility. 

Tony snorted. “Not surprised there isn’t much pop lying around.”

“Bruce prefers the classics.” Thor agreed - obviously having stolen that line from some previous conversation that had taken place among the Avengers who knew what the classics were. ... What were the classics? “You mean Pink Floyd?” Natasha asked and looked back. 

“I mean...” Thor hesitated, realizing he had forgotten the name of the composer Bruce had told him about. He chuckled insecurely and ... guessed. “Beehiven.”

There was a beat. Steve furrowed his brows in wonder, Tony looked up from his phone, Natasha turned around to face him disbelievingly. And Clint? This man tended to lose all self-control when he was around his friends. He only took a second to process Thor’s mistake and then burst into a bubble of laughter. It was always incredibly infectuous hearing him laugh. Steve tried to cough it away, while Natasha shook her head with a smirk. Even Tony had to grin.

The god of thunder actually blushed and pushed Clint against the window with one giant forearm. “Do you want to experience my wrath?”

Hawkeye giggled cheekily, not very impressed with Thor’s threat. “I’m so glad I had my hearing aids in!!” Then he was lost to another laughing fit. 

“Isn’t Beehive correct?” Thor dropped his hands, only to raise them angrily again when Clint practically started crying with laughter.

“BEEHIVE!!”  Natasha hid her grin behind her hands while Steve desperately tried to remain serious. Tony was shaking ever so lightly on Thor’s other side, covering his smile with his phone.

The god of thunder did not like being laughed at. What he absoutely double-disliked was the urge to join into the laughter. Imagine the picture of a quite thoughtful young man (Clint) with a rather traumatizing deafening event in his recent past suddenly breaking out into the laughing fit of the century. It could get to you. Even if you were the reason for mentioned laughing fit. Thor figured this was the perfect moment for two things: 1. keep the archer laughing and 2. make him pay for his moment of shame.

“Oh, you want something to laugh about? How about that?” Thor grabbed for Clint’s legs the way Steve had done before, kneading and squeezing away at them, forcing the most adorable squeaky laughter out of the archer,

“NOOHOOHOHO!!! I’M SOHOHOHORRY!!! B-BUT BEEHIVE!! BWAHAHHAA THOHOHOR STAHAHHAP IT!!! THAT TICKLES!!!” Clint really started squealing when Thor leaned in to move these big hands that could cover his entire thigh with one grasp up his sides and ribs, getting at literally every spot that kept Clint in stitches. 

“I have seen the Captain do that to you many times before. I know just how much it tickles you.” Thor announced, his voice softening already at the noises he was tickling out of his friend. 

Steve rolled his eyes softly - yes, Steve could do that softly - and allowed himself a short glance in Natasha’s direction. She was beaming. Clint’s laughter was really a music genre of its own. Tony watched the scenario happily, finally getting some distratction from the bleak car ride. 

“HEEHHEHELP!!! HEHELP ME!! I���VE GOT- EHEHEHHE NOHOHOHTHING ON HIIIM!!!” Clint cried out in laughter as Thor’s fingertips furiously wiggled into his armpits, causing him to basically fidget into Thor’s lap in an attempt to protect himself. Which worked out great of course, leaving Clint’s middle out in the open, inviting Thor’s fingers to dive all over his belly. Natasha chuckled when one of Clint’s purple converse hit against her headrest. Steve wondered whether Clint’s seatbelt would hold. Obviously they were not going to help him.

“This’ll teach you not to laugh at me, you little worm!” Thor growled playfully, dearest fondness in his words as he watched the archer flail and shriek in his grasp. Clint had by now managed to trap Thor’s hands under his arms, regretting it badly when he realized that the fingertips caught in his armpits still tickled more thoroughly than he could handle as they wiggled around as much as they could. He couldn’t move his arms away though since the ticklish pits would then be completely out in the open. The sensations were already overwhelming when Thor decided to add even more to the game. With a shriek Clint tried to push his shoulder to his ear when he felt Thor’s beard tickle at the back of his neck.

“NOHOHOOH NOOOO!!! PLEHEHHEASE!!! DON’T DOHOOH THAT!!! I HAHAHAHTE IHIHIT!! THOHOHOR!!” 

“I am not doing anything!” 

“YOU WILL BLOOW ON MY NEHEHHECK!!!”

“No I won’t.”

Steve knew that Thor was totally going to do it. The god of thunder was copying all of Steve’s tickle attacks, from the squeezing of Clint’s legs to the coming raspberry on his neck, the one thing that always finished the archer. As you might notice Steve was in fact the tickle monster of the team. It had become his go-to-move when he didn’t want to hurt anyone with his strength yet still have some fun with them. Only months ago, Clint had repetitively provoked Steve into those tickle fights during sparring matches, always glowing up with giggles whenever Steve had playfully overpowered him. This had stopped after his accident. The loss of his hearing had taken some of Clint’s humor away. To hear his carefree booming laughter now was a pretty emotional experience for the team after they had spent so many hours worrying.

Thor gave a fake regrettable sigh, a smirk on his features. “You’re right, Clint, I totally will.”

With a disbelieving shriek Clint raised his arms, doubling over with laughter when Thor’s fingertips started dancing around in his armpits. It tickled so much that he could not focus on protecting his neck anymore. The raspberry on his nape felt like lightning bolts were sizzling into his nerve system - and maybe they were which would have been a really mean way to intensify the ticklish effect. He could barely breathe anymore as tears started to glisten in his eyes.

“EHEHEHHEE NOHOHOOT THAHHAHAT!!”

“You mean this?”

“ThOOHOHOOHOHR!!” Clint complained, howling with laughter as the second raspberry hit its mark just underneath his ear. His eyes were squeezed shut by now as he kicked and twisted around in his seat, laughter going silent. Thor could have gone on forever.

If it hadn’t been for Steve sending Thor a reprimanding glance in the rearview mirror, reminding him that Clint was only human and could probably explode when tickled too much. Thor acknowledged it with a chuckle and leaned back slightly, slowing down his fingers on Clint’s sides, but not quite taking them away yet. 

“I believe you have learned your lesson, youngling.” Thor exclaimed extra formally as Clint slumped down into his seat with a sharp intake of breath still fidgeting and giggling a little at the remaining spidering tickle traces Thor was drawing down his sides. 

“Then staahahhahap pleehhease *EEK*, Thohoor!!” 

“I will. But first, tell me the true name of the composer I have mentioned.” 

Clint’s laughter turned up a notch at the memory which Thor copied by tickling him a little harder again. “OKAY OKAHAHHAY!! IT’S BEETHOVEN!!!” 

Mercy was finally upon him as Thor took away his hands and made a low recognizing noise at the mentioning of that name. “Yes. Beethoven.” 

“Beethoven.” Natasha added unnecessarily as she turned around to get a better look at her best friend who was gasping, wheezing and just about shining from all the laughter. “You good there?”

Clint giggled, still a little hysterical, but in the best way possible. He gently nudged Thor who showed him the biggest smile in return. “I’m really good.” 

“Does this mean,” Steve asked ironically, “I can “cheat” again during our training sessions?”

“You will do no such thing!” Clint exclaimed without any harshness or seriousness or really any kind of persuasion in his voice. “And leave away the air quotes, Cap! It is cheating when you tickle someone into calling defeat!” 

Steve just hummed with a smile. 

Tony raised his voice. He looked happy. “I have to say, this is not the music I had asked for. But it was definitely some kind of music Thor has just composed there.” 

Clint crossed his arms in front of his chest, two strands of hair falling into his forehead, making him look a little tousled. “Well, we will not hear it again!” 

Steve, Tony and Natasha all gave little disappointed “Awe”s at that making Clint roll his eyes sheepishly. He put his head on Thor’s shoulder. The tall thundergod gave him a fond look and gently patted his hand in return.

They drove on in companionable silence when suddenly Clint started snickering again. He was trying to suppress it, but it just wouldn’t work. 

“Spill it, Barton!” Tony demanded, narrowing his eyes at him.

“I just thought that...” Clint shrinked when Thor sent him a threatening glance, but he continued giggling. 

“Yes?” Thor exacted in an overtly soft voice. 

“Oh, you know, who has composed this music Tony just spoke of?” Clint dared to go on with sharing his thoughts.

“Well, it was I!” Thor said, furrowing his brows.

“No. It was Thor Ode’n’Song!” 

Steve hit the wheel as he started laughing at that, Natasha and Tony joining in quickly. Clint nervously looked at Thor’s hands as he himself chuckled at his own joke. But Thor couldn’t keep up his glare for long. Soon enough he was laughing just as much as the others. 

None of them would have expected the car ride to be as cheerful as it had turned out to be. And all that thanks to a laughing archer who had fortunately had his hearing-aids plugged in.  

Steve was right. You just never knew what the day might bring.

[spidercakes]

Non-powered starker AU featuring a bit of an exhibitionist kink on Peter’s end and some smut.

*

Peter looks rumpled with his button down askew and his hair all over the place and his cheeks are still a little pink but he looks satiated and Tony has to admit he’s a little less stressed. Peter’s always been good at calming him down and getting rid of his nervous energy. He leans into Tony, pants still undone and Tony wraps his arms around him, one hand settling on his hip and the other on his ass. “I can’t believe we didn’t get busted that time,” he says, sparing a glance over his shoulder and shit, Tony’s surprised too. Its not like this is a club bathroom, or some random ally that Peter has dragged Tony into, it’s a gala and all that’s playing is classical music from the live band and the chatter of voices. Peter isn’t exactly quiet either so they mostly got lucky.

He grins, dragging Peter into a kiss. “Good luck,” he murmurs as Peter melts into him.

“Guess so. Feel better, baby?” he asks and Tony shrugs.

“Some, sure. Helps that you’ll be there,” Tony murmurs. At first he thought he was going to have to deal with his asshole father and his fucking brother alone but Peter had offered to come and he’s close with his mom. He talked her into letting him bring Peter to the cabin on account of they’ve never met before and wouldn’t it be nice to invite him to family bonding? Never mind that they don’t ever really bondso much as scream at each other and then avoid each other for the next three days before leaving and not talking to each other for another six months only to do it all over again.

Still, Tony feels better with Peter coming along even if he’s still stressed about it. Peter pouts at him and Tony kind of wants to kiss it away but Peter speaks before he can. “What, need me to drag you off to some other dark corner to test our luck?” he asks, eyes wide like he’s innocent and he’s so not.

“Mm as much as I would love that I have to speak so I’ll have to take a rain check,” he says, giving Peter’s ass a squeeze.

Peter lets out a soft ‘hmph’ before he grins, leaning back into Tony. “Well, if it makes you feel better we can always up the stakes of our little game, hmm? I’m sure the family cabin has a few fun hidey holes,” he says and Jesus Tony has no idea where Peter pulls this shit from.

“Really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow because he has no idea how to feel about this suggestion. On one hand, sex with Peter is always great. On the other hand he’s not looking to get busted fucking Peter by a family member. Even if he hates two thirds of the people that are invited.

Peter shrugs, “you’re somehow already the family disappointment despite being like, a billion times more successful than your brother. Its not like this would land you loweron the totem pole,” Peter points out.

Yeah, he’s not wrong there. “You know what, we’ll see how stressed I get. Now come on baby, get yourself together. I have a speech to make.”

Peter pretends to be affronted but he’s not, Tony knows. God, he’s so lucky to have him. “Have you ever thought of pointing out that Rhodey is more successful than Steve in the military and younger too?” Peter asks, threading his fingers through his and pulling Tony back towards the gathering of people.

He lets out a sharp laugh, “oh, every time I see him,” he says. And unlike Steve Rhodey didn’t need daddy’s connections to get him there because Rhodey’s a badass.

“Maybe you should say something,” Peter says. He gives Tony another one of those innocent looks and Tony really doesn’t know how he does it, looking so sweet like he isn’t constantly dragging Tony into some barely secluded dark corner of some public space to fuck him silly. He would have thought he’d be the frisky adventurous one but he’s got nothing on Peter.

*

Honestly, Peter kind of thought Tony was exaggerating about his family. He’s got a flair for the dramatic so he thinks he can be forgiven for that but within the first five seconds of knowing Howard he insults Tony, insults what he’s done with the company despite it being more profitable now than it ever was under Howard. He then goes on to imply Peter is twelve and if thatdoesn’t leave him seething with rage. So he looks young, he knowshe does and he knowshe’s significantly younger than Tony but he’s twenty fucking five.

“Baby,” Tony murmurs in his ear, “don’t listen to him. He’s a fuckass anyway.” Tony isn’t exactly wrong but still. “Get us a drink?” he adds, kissing his cheek. Peter sighs and nods, making an effort to walk back to the cabin rather than stomp. He sees no reason to encourage the line of thinking that leaves him a fucking forever child.

He’s digging around in the fridge when he hears someone walk up behind him. “You must be Peter, then,” the person says and he turns to find a tall blonde there. He reminds Peter of that Ken doll he and MJ set on fire as kids to amuse themselves and he knows Tony was nervous about him meeting Steve because he feels inferior but Peter has no clue why. Sure, he’s good looking but he’s not Peter’s type whatsoever. Reminds him of a blonde version of his ex, except Quentin had more striking features while Steve looks… manufactured.

“Yeah. I assume you’re Steve,” he says, a little standoffish. Tony wasn’t exaggerating about Howard so he doubts he’s exaggerating about Steve now. He feels bad for doubting Tony to begin with.

“So Tony did mention me,” he says and takes a small step back, looking out the glass doors of the cabin before turning back. “He’s treating you alright, right?” he asks and Peter prickles fast.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snaps. He knowshe’s overreacting, still a little pissed off about the whole Howard thing but he doesn’t much care for the implications of Steve’s words either.

Steve shakes his head, “nothing really, its just that he’s a little too much like dad and-”

“Tony isn’t anything like Howard and he treats me fucking fantastic so lets get that straight,” Peter snaps and this time he does stomp off, back out to Tony.

He looks a little confused when Peter comes back empty handed but notices Steve trailing behind him fast. “You must have just got here so what the hell did you do to my baby to piss him off so much?” Tony asks, circling an arm around his waist.

“Outright compared you to your father,” Peter mumbles darkly but its nothing compared to the look on Tony’s face and Peter is pretty sure there’s some kind of history there.

“Fuck you,” Tony snaps, pulling Peter away while Maria, who seems to be the only half way decent member of this family, looks on in something akin to horror.

*

They remain curled up next to each other while Tony runs his fingers up and down Peter’s bare back. “Sorry about dragging you into this, baby,” he murmurs, kissing Peter softly.

He shrugs because he volunteered for this. “Its okay. S’not like you can help that your family sucks, and in Steve’s slight defense he was trying to not suck even if he totally does.” Failed miserably at it given his apparently quite low opinion of his brother and Peter is sure that’s unfounded. Or if its not it hasn’t been true in some time.

Tony sighs, “yeah, in his defense I amtoo much like Howard,” he murmurs and Peter perks up, giving him the side eye because he might not know Tony’s father well but he knows that he and Howard are nothing alike. Aside from looks, they dohave a lot in common there.

“No you aren’t,” Peter says confidently.

“You didn’t know me when I was young,” Tony murmurs like that matters.

“Don’t need to. If you were like Howard you wouldn’t be the way you are now, would you? Whatever you did when you were young doesn’t really matter if you don’t do those things now,” he points out.

Tony smiles a little, arm tightening around him. “How come you’re the wise one?” he murmurs.

“Probably that time my parents both died and also my uncle Ben,” Peter says in too chipper a tone, laughing when Tony almost chokes.

“Baby!” he says, trying his best not to laugh not that he’s doing a good job.

“What? Its true. You want a mature young person traumatize them a bunch. Worked pretty well on me.” Tony shakes his head and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“I love you,” he murmurs and Peter smiles.

“Love you too,” he says back, snuggling in closer to Tony.

*

If Peter has to sit and listen to Howard’s yammering for another god damn minute he might throw the man off the dock that his damn yacht is attached to. “I swear to god if he keeps talking,” Peter mumbles to Tony, who laughs a little behind his hand.

“Hope you got him to sign a prenup,” Howard says despite the fact that Peter isn’t wearing a ring.

Peter makes an irritated noise. “Oh please old man, if I wanted his money I would have chosen someone who has one foot on the banana peel and the other in the grave so all I had to do was give him a gentle nudge before I was set for life but unfortunately Maria bit the bullet and already married your ancient ass,” he snaps. “So I figured the younger, hotter, more successful model with an actual personality would suffice.”

Howard somehow manages to look at him like he’s a bug to be smushed instead of taking offense. “I can see why you like him. He’s got a smart mouth despite it being better off shut.”

Tony gives him an absolutely poisonous look, “oh shut up, Howard. You haven’t had anything useful to offer since the seventies,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“And lets be real, the biggest contribution you’ve made to the world was Tony,” Peter says, earning a sharp snort out of Tony.

Howard rolls his eyes, “oh what would you know, have you even left high school?” he asks and Peter grits his teeth.

“The PhD program I recently finished gives a good indication that I know what the fuck I’m talking about. I’d offer you my I.D to prove my age but I’m pretty sure you lost your bifocals in the Great Depression.” Tony lets out another snort and even Steve cracks a smile at that one. Maria just looks stressed and Peter supposed he might too, if he assumed anyone here would get along for more than five seconds.

“Okay, I’m going to go for a walk with Peter,” Tony says, pulling Peter from his seat. “And then we’re going to bed. Very tired,” he lies as he drags them both out of there.

“No wonder you hate your father,” Peter says, curling an arm around Tony’s waist.

“Oh he was on his best behavior tonight so you can imagine what he’s like normally,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “You dropped some nice lines though,” he murmurs, pulling Peter into the cabin.

Yeah, he did. Probably because he’s been spending so much time with Tony and if anything the man is good with a one liner. “Mm, well, learned from the best,” he murmurs as he draws Tony into a kiss. Tony goes, hands settling on his hips as Peter pushes him into the nearest room, shutting the door behind him before pressing Tony up against it. Tony lets out a soft moan and Peter knowshow much he likes it when he takes control. He likes to pretend like he’s a control freak but nothing gets him hotter than Peter taking over, pushing him around and telling him what to do.

Tony’s hands run down his body, pulling the shirt he has tucked into his pants out. “Baby this is Steve’s room,” he murmurs into the kiss and Peter shrugs.

“So? Get that jacket off,” he tells Tony, pushing it off his shoulders. Tony all but throws it on the ground and pulls Peter back into a kiss as he works at undoing the buttons on Tony’s shirt. Tony doesn’t bother with his buttons at all; he just pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it aside.

“You sure about this?” Tony asks as Peter grabs his hips and spins them around, directing him towards the bed.

Once Tony’s legs hit the edge of the bed he shoves him onto it, grinning when Tony bounces a little and crawling into his lap immediately. “Think the golden boy keeps condoms and lube around?” he asks, kissing Tony fiercely. Tony moans into it as Peter frantically undoes his belt, pulling it from its loops and throwing it somewhere that’s not near him.

“GodI love you,” Tony tells him, hands making their way down the back of his pants as he grabs Peter’s ass.

“You better,” Peter murmurs. “Move up while I dig around,” he tells him. Tony whines at the loss of Peter in his lap but if they’ve got luck he’ll be back in his lap soon enough. Peter crawls across the bed to the bed side table and yanks open the drawer, snickering at what he finds there. He pulls out the cuffs and dangles them where Tony can see and Tony wrinkles his nose.

“Ew, not something I ever needed to see, baby,” he says.

“What? Don’t want to borrow them for a little fun?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Tony’s nose wrinkles more, “no fucking thanks, I don’t know who those were on last and I don’t want to find out. Besides, we have nicer ones at home,” he says.

Peter’s lips quirk up, “mm, yeah we do. And they look so pretty around your wrists while I ride you,” he murmurs, leaning back over to kiss Tony. He runs his fingers along Tony’s jaw, carefully tilting his head up so he can meet Peter’s mouth better before pulling away.

“Baby,” Tony murmurs softly as Peter pulls back.

“Gimmie a minute,” he says, turning back to the drawer and rattling around in it. He tosses the cuffs aside, and a few other things that aren’t useful to him until he gets luck. “Ha! Great, because I would have been pretty pissed if I had to go hunting around,” he says, tossing the condoms and lube close to Tony before crawling back into his lap.

Tony pulls him back in immediately, kisses sloppy and passionate as he feels his way up and down Peter’s back. God, he loves Tony like this, touching him like he’s never does it before. “Clothes off,” Tony tells him and Peter snorts.

“You don’t get to give the orders around here, baby, that’s my job,” Peter tells him but he pulls the button of his pants open anyway because he damn well wants Tony yesterdayand things aren’t moving fast enough. He shimmies out of his pants and starts pulling at Tony’s, shedding them and adding them to the pile of clothing tossed about the room. “Lube,” Peter tells him, “and make this quick yeah? want to be on your cock,” he says, kissing Tony again.

Tony moans into it, groping around on the bed until he finds what he’s looking for. “Fast and dirty, hmm? That how you want it?”

“Fucking right,” Peter tells him, “make it good. S’been a shitty day and I want something good out of it.”

“Me too, baby,” Tony murmurs as he presses two fingers into his hole and they both moan. “Gunna be so good,” Tony says, “always good.”

Peter nods, pressing his ass back into Tony’s fingers. “Mm yeah. Gunna ride you hard, love the way you feel inside me,” Peter murmurs, “get the condom.”

Tony curls his fingers a bit and Peter’s back arches into him. “You looks do damn beautiful like this baby,” Tony tells him. “Love the look on your face when I make you feel good.”

He lets out a few short pants before he reaches out himself, finding the condom he threw over here himself and all but tossing it at Tony. “Make be feel better if you get this on so I can fuck you proper,” he says and Tony lets out a soft laugh.

“FuckI want you so bad,” he murmurs into Peter’s mouth, pulling the condom package open and putting it on.

Yeah, Peter too so as soon as Tony’s done with the condom he sinks himself down on Tony’s dick and they both groan. He sits like that for a moment, adjusting before Tony is pawing at his hips, urging him to move as he mouths at Peter’s neck. He curls his fingers into Tony’s hair and settles an arm around his shoulders to balance himself as he begins to move.

“God baby yeah, like that,” Tony tells him as he shifts his hips just right and Peter bites his lip and tilts his head back. Tony moans into his neck, nipping at the spots he’s sucked kisses into and Peter lets out a soft, breathy noise of pleasure.

“Oh godI love having you like this,” Peter tells him. “Love the way you feel when I ride you,” he murmurs.

One of Tony’s hands tightens on his hip while the other runs up Peter’s back and back down again, curling over his ass and squeezing it. “You’re to god damn tight, baby,” Tony moans into his ear. “Fuck me faster.”

Peter nods, shifting his position slightly and moving faster, delighting in the sharp moans Tony lets out. Peter knows he’s loud, doesn’t much care what people think of it either, but he fucking loves when Tony gets loud too. He’s always the one holding back, especially in they’re in public, and Peter likes it when he lets go and just feels it. “Like that, baby?” he asks and Tony lets out another moan into his neck.

“Oh god, ‘m close,” he tells Peter and he bites his lip at the flush of arousal that results.

“Come on, baby,” Peter murmurs to him. “Wanna hear you.”

The hand Tony has on his hip grows tighter as he shifts his hips up into Peter’s keeping with the pace Peter set. He doesn’t expect to let out a loud moan but he does, breathing picking up as Tony slams his hips up into Peter’s again. “Tony,” Peter says, grip on his hair tightening as he pulls it a little. “Do that again,” he tells him, throwing his head back when he does. “Tony!” he says, louder this time.

“Gunna cum with me?” Tony asks and Peter nods frantically.

“Yeah baby, just keep doing that oh Tony!” he yells, grip on Tony’s hair growing tighter as Tony presses his hips up into Peter’s for the last time, yelling Peter’s name as he cums too. For a moment they just sit there and pant while Peter all but melts into Tony, muscles going loose. Then Tony swears and Peter stirs, “hmm?” he asks, only half interested in the response.

“Baby, that was loud,” Tony tells him and he shrugs. Tony lets out a soft laugh, “yeah, you don’t care now but when you have to look my mother in the eye,” he murmurs, prodding Peter off his lap. He whines about it but follows Tony’s instructions while he pads over to the large window that happens to have curtains on it, not that it would have mattered if they turned the lights on. Which they hadn’t so at least Tony doesn’t need to worry about that. “Oh thank god, no one has moved. Come on, before we get busted. I don’t want to listen to Steve whine,” he says, pulling Peter off the bed despite his protests.

*

Tony’s more than content with Peter curled up into his side, one leg drawn up over his hip, when Steve bursts in. He jumps, annoyed but he doesn’t look as annoyed as Peter does. Steve all but throws the clothes that he and Peter must have forgot in his room into Tony’s space looking pretty pissed. Peter’s cheeks turn bright red as his eyes go wide and yeah, Tony thought so. Its one thing to have the thrill of getting caught, its another to actually get busted. Peter mumbles something Tony doesn’t catch and drags the blanket over his head as he slinks closer to Tony.

“What the fuck?” Steve snaps and Tony shrugs.

“It was the first door we ran into,” he says in their defense.

Steve makes a disgusted face, “oh that was cute when you were nineteen, its not so fucking cute now,” he says and Tony wrinkles his nose because gross, bad choice in words.

“You were the one who chose that room, I wanted it but youhad to have it enough to bitch at mom about it,” Tony says, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t expect my little brother to constantly fuck in it!” Steve snaps.

“Oh Christ, it was like three times. Get over it,” Tony mumbles.

“Three times? You stole like five of my girlfriends and slept with all of them in my room you asshole!”

Peter pokes his head out of the blanket looking amused. “You’ve done this before?” he asks, eyes bright.

“Yeah, and I’m fucking sick of it. Why the hell do you always do this?” Steve snaps.

Tony shrugs, “believe it or not this time was Peter’s idea so blame him,” he says and Peter makes a soft noise of betrayal, slinking back into his blanket hideaway and jabbing Tony in the side with a finger. He jumps, grumbling at Peter but Steve clearly doesn’t believe him anyway.

“Don’t blame this on him, like he knew that was my room! And did you two use my fucking handcuffs?” he asks.

“No, we have nicer ones at home,” he says and he laughs as Steve’s face turns more red than Peter’s had been a few minutes ago.

Steve sputters, clearly at a loss of what to say as he throws his hands up in frustration. “Oh Steve, what could Tony have possibly done to you now? He’s been in bed for over an hour,” his mom says and Tony swears to fucking god if Steve rats him out he’s calling Rhodey to get Steve’s ass canned and he knows Rhodey will do it too.

“He has fucking not! Tell him to stop fucking in my room!” Steve says, so pissed off that apparently he forgot to censor himself in front of their mother.

“I fucking hate you, you know that?” Tony tells him as Peter lets out a soft groan under the blanket and Tony can feel him shriveling up under there in shame.

“Well I hate you too! You can’t even manage to fuck your boyfriend in your own damn room!” Steve yells.

“Well if you’re so damn bothered by it just give the damn room that’s the first door on the way in and this wouldn’t be an issue anymore!” Tony tells him and Maria throws her hands up.

“Oh for the love of godyou two are still fighting over who got that damn room? You’re grown men, stop acting like children!” Maria tells them. “And Tony, really? You’d be pissed off if Steve did that to you,” she points out.

“He doesn’t have the balls and also myroom is across the damn cabin so it doesn’t even make sense to do that, his room is closer to all entrances and exits. Not my fault I got sequestered to the bad child corner,” he points out.

“No fucking wonder you did considering you can’t even manage to fuck in your own damn room! Now I have to wash my sheets and did you even use a condom? What the hell am I going to find in there?” Steve snaps.

“Grab a black light, it’s a Jackson Pollock painting,” Tony tells him and Peter lets out another soft groan. Poor thing, Tony almost feels bad for him but this is half his fault so he doesn’t.

Steve makes a disgusted face, recoiling. “You’re fucking disgusting!”

Tony shrugs, “quick and dirty is my style, what can I say?”

“Oh my god stop,” Peter and, of all people, Maria say in sync though in vastly different tones.

“Steve, go to your room. Tony… go clean Steve’s room,” she says. Tony goes to open his mouth to protest but he gets fixed with a nasty glare. “I have found out waymore about you than I ever wanted to know tonight. Go. Clean. Steve’s. Room,” she tells him, walking off with that.

He turns to look at Steve. “I’m not cleaning your room. I don’t even know how to do laundry so I’d be useless anyway. Good luck,” he says, slipping out of bed and shutting the door in Steve’s face.

Peter sticks his head out of the blanket. “Please tell me we can leave as soon as everyone is asleep oh my god,” he says, looking horrified.

Tony walks back over and crawls over Peter’s body, crowding him into the mattress. “Aw, only an exhibitionist when you don’t get caught?” he asks, leaning in and kissing him softly.

“Caught? Oh, that’s not the problem. The problem is that I probably can’t avoid not inviting your entire family to the wedding and I don’t know how to look at Steve after being busted fucking in his room,” he says. “And apparently this isn’t even the first time you’ve done that.”

He shrugs, “dad was always on about Steve this, Steve that, be more like Steve, Steve’s the son I always dreamed of and you’re a disappointment so I figured fuck it, Steve’s a low bar to hit. To be fair everyone who’s slept with us both says I’m better so guess Steve should be more like me,” he says, grinning as Peter rolls his eyes.

“Oh my god Tony. Just tell me we can leave as soon as everyone is asleep,” he says.

He laughs but nods, giving Peter’s nose a kiss. “Yeah baby, we can leave as soon as they’re asleep. And speaking of weddings,” he murmurs, pulling himself off the bed and grabbing the pants Steve so lovingly threw back into his room.

Thankfully the ring didn’t fall out of the pocket because he’d worked hard to find something Peter would like. He hands it off to him and sits, “I don’t expect you to sign a fucking prenup either, Howard can eat shit.”

Peter stares at it, stunned. “Seriously? Is this like, an actual proposal or is this just a ring?”

Tony draws him in for a kiss. “Of course it’s a proposal, you don’t not sign prenups for ‘just rings,’” he points out.

Peter squeals and throws his arms around him, “oh my god, yes!”

[tarithenurse]

Agent of Hope - 27

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: Brock Rumlow x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Errors (trying to stay awake to switch to night shifts), pain, detailed violence, quite nasty hints, angst, fluff, sadness, basically everything horrible you can imagine. A/N: You’ll find the previous chapters through my masterlist. Lots of love for liking and reblogging!!

27 - Kick Ass and chew Bubble Gum

It’s a tension at the back of your knees. It’s muscles itching to work overtime – fight or flight. It’s a sour taste at the back of your mouth at the point where no amount of water can wash it away. Still it doesn’t matter because what you’re doing, your mission of sorts, is going to be worth everything.

It’s taken much too long to get to this point where your walking up the dusty lane towards an inconspicuous house in the outskirt of…where’s this again? Somewhere in Sierra Leone. You had known, memorized the town’s name as well as anything else. Memorized the plan. Now, however, it’s replaced by a memory of something that hasn’t even happened yet, making your skin crawl as cold shivers run down the spine. Red sand clings to the boots (much too warm for the temperature). Like blood.

“Something nice…” you mumble, grasping at a flicker spark of joy before it’s swallowed, “…something nice…”

Red like fiery hair. And suddenly, it’s possible to recognize the blue of the sky in the teasing sparkle of a pair of grey eyes capable of looking into your very soul, making you feel safe and at home. The churning lead in your guts lessens. Now you can let the shoulders sink and even look up towards the goal: a heavy door painted green behind which Rumlow waits.

 …   Rumlow   …

Every single note and stick-figure drawing Brock has received from [Y/N] is kept in a tin as evidence. At first her replies had been brief, hesitant in the wording and quite confrontational…but that was to be expected. She has still to admit her feelings for him, but it’s obvious as the communication extends how she recognizes the true nature of the Avengers. Why spend resources on catching someone, when they are willing to come on their own.

Brock isn’t a fool. Far from. There’s always the risk of a double-cross, his own plan mirrored to out him or more of Hydra. And regardless of the reasoning for [Y/N] to come today, she will have to be processed and vetted before he will allow himself to trust her. But it will be much easier this time.

Watching the screen, the ex boyfriend sees the hesitation melt away from the figure to be replaced with resolution. Come to me, baby. All the other screens show…nothing. No, would-be heroes. No pesky Mister Rogers with a shield and the American flag so far up his ass that he can’t relax. No red-head traitor. All alone? It’s hard to believe, so Brock doesn’t, flicking a switch instead that light a tiny, orange diode in the two free-rooms, as the team have started calling the scan-blocking basement sections. On your marks.

There’s a muted sound of footsteps outside preceding the knocking on the door. Twice, a pause, and once. Good girl.

He’s smiling as he unlocks and pulls the door aside just a crack to see the nervousness on [Y/N]’s face, but it’s not enough to drown the stubborn set of the jaw or the air of…excitement? Eager to come home?

“What’s a girl like ya doin’ in a place like this…?” Such a cliché, but it rolls off Brock’s tongue with a neat drawl.

The hint of an eyeroll also hints at times passed. “Girl’s just wanna have fun. Nice decoy to free me up from ‘em.”

Them. Not Natasha or Steve or whatever. “Only the best for ya, as always.” She has said the password but hesitates to enter when Brock opens the door fully. “C’m’on in, babe.”

“How long we got?”

“They’re smart, but th’ain’t that smart…I’ll guess an hour.” There’s a tickle of something he can’t place in the woman’s smile. “The cool air’s escaping, get it.”

Like in a dream, she really does step over the threshold, carefully keeping a bit of distance between them. I should’ve expected that. It still gnaws inside Brock, tugs at the side of him that needs the bitch to understand, to accept her place. But he bites it back. All the anger and possessiveness is shoved deep down somewhere dark because he knows he’ll bring her to her senses. Soon.

Brock casts a brief glance to a screen out of the girl’s view showing a mix of live feeds from local and global news stations, a few of them covering the draught and the lack of safe drinking water while the majority heralds the wedding of some celebrity. No breaking news. It’s not typical of the Avengers to work quietly, especially not if the glorified tin can is flying around blasting rock music. Well…at least one of those idiots has style. Haven’t they taken the bait?

“All alone?” There’s an air of something studied mixing with the playful tone. “I’d half begun to think I was –“

“Shut up.” Thankfully, [Y/N] does as told, body ripe with fear to the point where he almost can smell it. “Why’re ya here? Really?”

“Really?” Perfect confusion. Innocence. “’Cause we’re not over yet, Brock.”

Something beeps from the console of screens and the hydra agent is about to turn to see what has caused the alarm to go off when [Y/N] reaches for him. Such a simple gesture, still it sparks an old habit in the man and he takes the hand in his for a long second – one he would wish could last forever. But he has to let go, hand slightly sticky from her sweaty touch. Another alarm begins, and he can hear the sound of the agents in the free-rooms banging on the doors though an oceans rush in his head. The world sways, unfocused. What the fuck? Oh, yeah, there comes the sea sickness even if he hasn’t felt it since he was a kid.

“You know,” [Y/N] softly whispers from far away into his ear, “when I said we’re not over…” She has a stronger grip than expect on his arm and shoulder, somehow forcing him on his knees. “I should’ve said I’m not done with you, Rumlow.”

The world might be reduced to a stormy sea, but he can still feel the nauseating pain as the shoulder dislocates. I’ve had…worse. That much is true. It’s not even the pain, really, making him sick to the stomach, rather the knowledge of what [Y/N] wants to get even for.

“[Y/N],” he slurs, the tongue too thick in the mouth, “I-I-I…lllo’ ya…” That lands his face pressed onto the dirty floor at an uncomfortable angle. She’s…holding my ass…

“No, Rumlow, you don’t love.” There’s a sound of metal against metal. “Let me demonstrate what you do.”

 …   Romanoff   …

“Damn, sweetie…”

Even Nat is impressed, and slightly grossed out, at the creativity her girlfriend has shown. So much so, she almost feels sorry for Rumlow who’s passed out on the floor in a sticky pool of almost every bodily liquid of his own. Well if almost means not at all.

Sam had taken one look and then gone outside to hurl, and even Thor looks shocked. “My lady, your enemies will surely know not to stir your wrath from this day forth.”

“My track record with coping mechanisms isn’t great…so…” Tony can’t look at it either, but at least he hasn’t lost the bad humour. “Let me know if’t works, ‘kay?”

“Oh, it feels very…cathartic…” [Y/N] looks at the guy with a distanced calmed.

Too calm. Cathartic or not, this will undoubtedly have consequences both legally and emotionally for Rumlow’s former prisoner. None of it can be explained away as self defense. It can’t be by the time the person is face down, ass up, and the metal sheathed where the sun don’t shine.

“I’m gonna take her to the quinjet, you guys stabilize him and see if he can talk…ever…”

And so Natasha leaves the men behind, steering a dazed woman by the arm across the uneven terrain through a patch of dried out shrubs behind which the plane is waiting.

Once onboard, she observes the mechanic reactions as [Y/N] complies with every order without uttering a single word. Come back to me, baby. The former assassin can only hope that the words reach far enough, somehow breaking through the shell her girlfriend’s mind has build in record time to prevent any of the grotesque happenings from settling. Eventually the good advice of reason are spent, leaving nothing behind but an insufferable ache.

You were doing so well, why did I let you go? “I’m sorry, love,” Nat whispers hoarsely, fingers stroking the blank face, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have been here. It’s my fault, please come back. You can get through this too, alright?”

On and on, the pleas dripple out similar to a hushed prayer that knows no end. The tears falling aren’t [Y/N]’s this time because for once Natasha can’t be the strong one. Kneeling before [Y/N], she wraps her arms around the living statue’s waist and buries the face in the heat of the soft breasts where she can hear the heartbeat. Slow and steady as opposed to Nat’s own that beats so frantically, she couldn’t hold her hands still if she tried.

Some things change the very foundation of a person.

In the Red Room, the girls were taught not to show mercy, to follow orders unblinkingly even if it meant the death of an other. Though the first fatalities weren’t at the students’ own hands, they knew what the consequences were once they forced another child to give up or be flunked. The changed had already started. By the time a girl graduated, became an adult though never a woman, the transformation was completed. It was expected. A flinch. A faint taste of regret in the dark of night. Nothing more.

Outside the Red Room, for people growing up in normal lives, only a low percentage of people are prepared for the Graduation, and most of those never have to complete the change themselves. For the lucky ones, violence and unnatural death will not become a habit of theirs.

[Y/N] had been one of the lucky ones until the day Hydra captured her, placing her at the mercy of Rumlow. Her change had been forced upon her, nearly killing her in the process. Perhaps Natasha, the team, even the victim herself had been fools for thinking she would be alright and the metamorphosis never would be complete. My fault. Today had been Graduation, and the ex-Russian brought the student to the test.

“Shhh,” gentle and soothing against red hair, “It’s okay, Tash, I’m here…it’ll be okay.” Gentle fingers cart through the fiery strands, nails scraping against the scalp in a calm rhythm. “I know what I did…I’ll never do it again.”

They’re both crying as they lock gazes.

“Do you know that?” Be honest. “Have you seen it?”

“This is the first time you ask me what I’ve seen.” The smile is gentle and almost reaches the [Y/E/C] eyes. “I have to continue therapy, but yeah��never again.” Soft lips kiss the salty water away from the upturned face. “I’m all yours now.”

 …   Reader   …

Of course the clock isn’t ticking. After ages of therapy, you should be used to that…instead it makes the silence way heavier than strictly necessary. Or maybe it’s because this session is so important? Double session, actually. Pinching your brows, you manage to divert the attention from the missing tick-tock to the bit of dirt under a nail as you wait for the team consisting of a psychiatrist and a psychologist to ask the question they want to. It’s silly really. Anyone can rehearse an answer fitting with the “need”.

“So, how are you feeling, [Y/N]?” one of them final begins, glasses dangling from between to fingers and a pen in the other hand.

You take a moment, do a mini body scan. “Right now I’m nervous…” They both nod at your answer. “Generally speaking…pretty good. Still get the odd nightmare where it’s like I’m back.”

“Back?”

“M-hm.”

They want you to define the term, but it’s fun to see them try to be correct and direct at the same time. “To when Rumlow first held you against your will or…?”

“Or when I took revenge? Both.” You give them time to scribble ferociously before continuing, “I don’t think there’s some specific reason it’s one situation instead of the other…not always at least. And the technique to guide myself away from the nightmare is beginning to work a bit.”

The glasses are pulled down again, so the Psychologist can look at you directly. “Is there a difference in the intensity?”

“No. Both…events were horrible. For different reasons, sure, but horrible. What I did…” Both doctors hold their breaths as you ponder your words. “There’s an explanation for it…but no excuse. I know that.”

With all the nodding they’re doing, it seems only fair if they get a kink in the neck eventually. Sometimes the bobble-heads ask more questions, about the house arrest in the tower or your relationship with the Avengers. They never once get into specific about Natasha and you, although it’s there like some elephant in the room. Even professionals can have issues.

By the time the two hours are up, you’ve got them smiling genuinely. Perhaps, maybe, if you’re lucky…will they clear you?

…

“Who sends letters nowadays?” Tony scoffs, dumping a big, brown envelope on the newspaper you’re reading.

Justice Department! It’s damn near impossible to tear open the thick paper because your hands a shaking so much, and when you finally do, the words barely make any sense, so you don’t protest when the genius billionaire snags it out of your hands.

It feels like forever, longer than the months you’ve waited to hear what the psychiatrist’s and psychologist’s decision is, before Tony finally looks up. “Jarvis!”

“Yes, sir.”

You can’t read his face, allowing the nerves to run amok. “Call the team, Pepper, and Happy.”

“May I inquire as to the occasion?”

“Yeah.” Finally, his face splits into a huge smile. “We’re gonna celebrate.”

[southsidewrites]

The One with All the Kissing (Sweet Pea x Reader)

Summary: Pretty much exactly what the request says, first fic in my Southside Serpents as F.R.I.E.N.D.S. series.

Word Count: 1184

Request: “You know Friends the tv show? Well how about this. A Sweet Pea imagine where the reader and him have a secret relationship and one day he gets up to leave and forgets that they aren’t alone and kisses her. But everyone is like THE DITTLY FUCK WAS THAT. So he proceeds to kiss everyone.”

Author’s Note: Thanks for the person who requested and @arielle-mari for ideas!  This is like my favorite scene in all of Friends, so I hope you enjoy it!

Read this Fic on A03 or Below! 

My Masterlist

~~~~~

You rested your head on the dingy couch and took another sip of your beer.  It was starting to get late, and it was a school night, but none of you wanted to leave the Whyte Wyrm yet.  A bunch of kids had just been initiated, and everyone was having too good of a time.  You were sitting on the couch next to Sweet Pea, a careful few inches of space between you.  Ever since you'd started dating, you'd both been hyper-aware of your behavior when you were together.  The last thing you needed was for everyone to know, especially after Toni had made everyone swear off friend-group dating after a particularly awkward game of truth or dare.  

You hadn't tried to get together—it just kind of happened.  The two of you had been friends since you were kindergarten together that Southside Elementary, so when the River Vixen he'd been enamored with broke his heart at the beginning of senior year, you were there for him.  A few late-night Pop's trips later, you found yourself making out in the parking lot behind the diner.  It was exhilarating until you remembered that you had all sworn not to date.

"C'mon, Pea, it's been how long since you've had a date now?  Three months?  Four?  I'm worried." Toni was giving him an amused look from where she was sitting on the empty pool table. "It's unlike you to go so long without finding some desperate Northsider trying to piss off daddy."

Sweet Pea rolled his eyes, and you saw his grip on the arm of the couch tighten. "I'm taking some time to myself, Toni."

"Bullshit," Jughead replied. "They've just realized that you're a living, breathing bad idea."

Fangs laughed. "Or maybe he's secretly in love with someone, and she's rejecting his desperate ass."

"Ha, ha, guys, so funny," Sweet Pea drawled, taking a big sip of beer. "At least I'm not dating the sheriff's son."

"I wouldn't say we're dating," Fangs replied defensively. "Just friends."

"I usually don't touch my friend's dicks," Jughead remarked. "Like, never, actually, but if that's what you consider friendship, I may need to reconsider ours."

Everyone laughed, and Toni redirected her gaze to you. "And what about you, Miss Forever Single?  Any guys breaking through your walls of unapproachability?"

You rolled your eyes.  Being a Serpent, and a Serpent that spent a lot of time with Sweet Pea, you had a bit of a reputation for being un-dateable.  Only the bravest guys made it through your tall, angry best friend, and those who did never seemed to last long.  You had never minded, though, especially now that you did have a boyfriend.

"I'll have you know that once again, I've sworn off guys."

"And what did we do this time, Y/N?" Jughead asked.

"Well, Reggie Mantle asked me if I wanted to Netflix and chill with him after the basketball game.  I legit thought that was just something people on the internet said."

Toni laughed, shaking her head. "That guy's just gross.  You'd think he'd have grown out of it by now."

You sighed, pulling your legs underneath yourself and resting your arm on the couch behind Sweet Pea. "I guess I'm just doomed to be alone."

Sweet Pea smirked, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.  Of the two of you, you were by far the better liar, having had to cover for his slip-ups on more than one occasion.  Luckily, no one seemed to be suspicious yet.

A phone rang, and Sweet Pea groaned. "I swear to god, if that's F.P." He tugged the phone out of his pocket and climbed off the couch to talk to him.

"Looks like someone's missing class again tomorrow," you observed, watching as Sweet Pea paced around the back of the bar, his phone pressed to his ear.  You felt a twinge of worry for him—he looked stressed, and although he wouldn't admit it, he hated missing school for Serpent jobs.

"I just hope it's not a two-person job," Fangs said. "I have a math test first hour that I'd rather not make up."

A moment later, Sweet Pea walked back over and slumped onto the couch. "Well, it looks like I need to go make a run to Greendale."

You frowned, doing your best to look like no more than a concerned friend. "Leaving now?"

He nodded.  Then, not thinking, he turned to you, grabbed your cheek, and pulled you in for a kiss.  A brief moment later, he pulled back with a smile. "See you--" His eyes widened in horror, and you both turned slowly to look at your friends.  

Their jaws had all dropped, leaving all five of you sitting there like a bunch of dumb-ass frogs trying to catch the world's slowest flies.

You didn't know what to do—no lie would cover this one.  Then, Sweet Pea sprang into action crossing over to the pool table, grabbing Toni's hips, and pressing his mouth to hers for a kiss.

Toni's eyes were wide, and her hands were frozen at her sides.  Sweet Pea was giving the kiss his all, and she had no idea how to react.

What the--?

Sweet Pea broke away. "See you later, Topaz."  Then, he moved to the chair where Fangs was sitting, grabbed the front of his leather coat, and pulled him to his feet for a startlingly passionate kiss.

Fangs seemed slightly less surprised than Toni, but he was still frozen in place as Pea kissed him.  His hands lifted like he might push him away, but he wasn't sure that he should.

Your eyes were darting around, trying to read your friend's expressions.  If they had been shocked before, now they were goddamn befuddled.

Sweet Pea broke away from Fangs, grinned, winked, and turned to face Jughead.  His eyes fixed on his friend who looked about ready to leap out the window.

"Oh no, big guy.  No fucking chance."

Sweet Pea shrugged, still smirking. "No problem, Jones.  You'd probably be a shitty kisser anyways." He looked around at everyone, his gaze resting on you long enough for a quick wink. "See you guys later." He strode to the door, a subtle swagger in his step.  If he had any anxiety about kissing his friends, it sure wasn't showing.  

Tall Boy, who had seen the whole encounter go down, was giving him a skeptical look, his eyebrows rising in unamused distaste.

"Tall Boy!" Sweet Pea grabbed his face with a grin and planted a kiss on the older man's lips. "My man, see you later!"

You nearly choked, gasping loudly as you watched your boyfriend walk unharmed past a confused, pissed off Tall Boy.  The whole bar was staring now, and the only sound was the music from the jukebox.

A moment later, Fangs snapped his jaw shut. "What the fuck was that?" he asked, still reeling from Sweet Pea's dramatic exit.

You shook your head dumbly. "I have no clue."

Jughead had a look of disgust on his face. "I need some new fucking friends."

~~~~~

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, check out my Masterlist.  You can also let me know if you’d like to be added to my Sweet Pea taglist. 

[bruciewayne]

would you lie with me (and just forget the world)

Steve Rogers isn't doing well, Tony's trying to be a better boyfriend.

emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, implied depression, 1492

[ao3]

“Have you seen Steve?” Natasha asked him without any preamble, suddenly appearing in the kitchen. Ignoring Tony's grumble about cat bells and alarms, she pushed on, “We usually go out on Wednesdays and you know it's not like him to stand me up.”

Tony looked up from the sandwich he was making, It was Wednesday? Damn, he's been in his workshop way longer than he thought.

“I, I don't know,” jesus he was a bad boyfriend, “We're not attached by the hip, you know that right.” Tony's instinctive defensive snark took over, but Natasha saw right through him.

“Tony,” she said, slightly softer, “where is your boyfriend?”

Tony looked away, god, he was meant to better than this, even all the times when he was overseas he’d still manage to talk or text Steve at least once everyday, the only times they didn’t was when Steve had a mission and he wasn’t allowed any communications because of ‘security reasons’.

Tony remembers mocking Fury about the first no-comm mission, a week after they had started dating, but he would rather have steve alive and never lay eyes on him again over Steve being dead because of him, just because he couldn’t go a day without him.

Jesus, had he fallen for him, hard. The tiny, tiny part of his brain was terrified, of being let down, again, of being betrayed, again. And that part of his brain wanted to run as far as possible. But he loved him so so so much and he was still a selfish man, he wanted him in his life so so so much more than the safety of knowing nobody could hurt him.

Tony found Steve on the first try - on their floor, and literally on the floor.

He's in their bedroom, with what looks like every blanket ever wrapped around him and an abandoned sketchbook and Starkpad lying a foot away from him.

He wasn't doing much, just watching the rain run down the huge ceiling to floor window.

The sight breaks Tony's heart a little bit.

As he comes closer to the Steve-blanket mountain, he can hear the faint strains of music.

Alan Silvestri, his mind helpfully supplies when he's close enough to hear Steves breathing.

“Steve,” he says softly.

He twists in the blankets, trying to face Tony. His eyes are rimmed with red and his usually bright, bright blue eyes that make Tony just a little weak, were dulled to a stormy, blue-tinted grey.

“Hey” Steve manages to say, in a croaky whisper, attempting to smile at Tony, maybe going for reassuring.

Tony wasn't buying it.

“Steve” he started, moving to sit crossed-legged in front of him. He reached up and cupped his face in his hands, smiling softly at him when Steve leaned into his touch.

“Are you ok?” Steve took a steadying breath, opened his mouth, seemingly thought better of it then shook his head.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He shrugged.

“Do you want company?”

“Yeah,” his voice was barely a whisper, “can-can you stay?” He asked him so, so hesitatingly and uncharacteristically unsure of himself, as if he thought Tony would say no.

“Yeah, of course, baby, always, you want to move to bed?” Steve nodded, looking up at Tony with adoration and hope and pure love in his eyes.

And maybe a little surprise, as if he’d thought Tony would say no.

Steve lifted himself up in one, mostly smooth motion, taking all his blankets with him. Tony guided him to their bed and helped him lift his blankets onto it.

They maneuvered themselves so Tony was lying on their bed on his back and Steve had his head on his chest, they both had their arms around each other, Tony was lightly running his fingers through Steve’s hair and the other one was in Steve’s, not really holding hands, just touching and feeling, Steve was drawing random, trailing patterns across the nearest expanse of Tony’s skin.

After a while, maybe a minute, maybe thirty, Steve spoke up, in the same quiet, slightly disused voice, “Thank you, Tony, I know you have important work and I’m sorry for th-”

“Steve, Steve baby, don’t be sorry, ever, no work I have will ever be more important than you, honey. If you ever need me, baby, I’ll be there, always.”

He bent his neck slightly to kiss Steve’s forehead, lingering there for a few seconds. Steve turned his head and pressed a kiss to the scarred mass of Tony’s chest, saying so, so much more than he could ever convey with words.

They stayed like that for another liquid measure of time, wrapped in each other, occasionally pressing kisses onto skin, sometimes trailing fingers, sometimes light, light massages, never really entirely still.

All the sound in their room was limited solely to the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain drops, their steady breathing, and the film music they never turned off, until Steve spoke up, in a whisper, not wanting to break their little bubble.

“I, I’m not meant to be like this anymore, not after the serum, I used to get like this, before, but they told me that the serum would fix every illness I had, but then, now, I,” he swallowed and turned his face into Tony’s chest, the rest coming out in a half-mumble, “sometimes it feels like I never left the ice, I, sometimes it’s numb, sometimes I miss everyone so fucking much, sometimes I just want to sleep for another 70 years” he paused, “fuck, Tony, I’m so, so goddamn sorry, I, most days I can keep it down and it’s not so bad, and you make me want to stay in this, in this century and I want to want to but I, I just can’t want to and I don’t know why and why can’t I-” he choked and Tony felt a few tears on his chest.

“Tony, I, you don’t need this you have-” He tried to get up, moving away from Tony. Tony didn’t try to trap him but kept his hands around him, still stroking him. “Steve, Steve honey, you can talk to me about anything, nothing I ever have will ever mean you can’t talk to me. You’re not a burden, Steve, baby, I love you.”

Steve stopped struggling and collapsed on back Tony, retaking his previous position. “Tony, I’m sor-”

“Steve, baby, you don’t have to be sorry, it’s not your fault, you’re allowed to be sad and numb and everything you feel, you may be a super-soldier but there’s still a human there, just because Captain America can’t be, doesn’t mean Steve Rogers can’t, Steve, honey you can.

”

Steve hummed, stayed quiet for a bit, mulling over Tony’s words and then lifted himself up again, but this time, to press a kiss to Tony’s lips, “Thank you, Tony, for staying, I love you so, so much.” he whispered against his lips. Tony kissed him back, “I love you so, so much too, honey.”

They traded kisses back and forth, trailing down necks, across shoulders, not really going any further but not wanting to, staying in their bubble, not noticing the rain stopping or the sky growing darker and darker until they were highlighted by the moonlight, silver light filling the room, reflecting off them.

Tony pulled back slightly and tilted his head to the side, his undivided focus on Steve, studying him, his marks given to him by Tony, already fading and barely visible in the moonlight, his eyes, reflecting the silver, enhancing the blue, still a little grey but infinitely bluer and brighter than before, shining with love, pure love.

God, he was so, so beautiful, he loved him so fucking much.

“Steve, Steve, baby, I love you, I love you so much, honey.”

Steve smiled softly at him and pressed another kiss to his jaw and rested his forehead on Tony’s shoulder, he pressed kisses along his collarbone and neck, whispering ‘I love you’s to him over and over and over.

They carried on until they both fell asleep, when the moon was at the edge of the horizon, lips slightly swollen, light marks littered across skin, arms around each other, not going anywhere.

Tony knew that just because Steve was maybe fine now didn’t mean that he was going to be stable forever and he knew that he needed to get him the help he needed, but for now, he was going to stay here, with him, for as long as he needed.

Steve didn’t know why the serum had fixed everything but his head or why it was him that had to be sent to another century or why Tony, in all his wonderful, show-stealing, glory, in all his indescribable, captivating energy would choose him, but he did know that given the choice, everytime, every single time, he would choose to stay here, to stay with Tony, if he’d let him.

[shaniahnoel]

Buttercup Pt 8/?

Word Count: 3164

Warnings: Maybe swearing?

Master List

“Sweet Pea! Stop!” Sophia yelled, shoving her hands into his chest.

“Nope,” he smirked, attacking her sides once more. Her protests gave way to laughter as she writhed under him. Sweet Pea inhaled sharply as her foot flailed between his legs. Grunting, he rolled onto his side while Sophia sat up horrified.

“Geez, you coulda just said stop.”

“Y’know what? I don’t even feel bad, you deserved it.” She glared playfully as his lips curved into an easy smile.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you dare start again,” she commanded the Serpent who slithered towards her.

He tackled her, pressing her softly into the carpet. His large hands easily captured hers, pinning them above her head. Rolling himself gently, he crossed her hips with his own, keeping her legs behind him. The annoyance slipped out of her eyes as they met his playful expression. Silently he dared her to try and stop him. She relaxed under him, the apparent submission causing him to loosen his grip. Sophia pressed her advantage and rolled him quickly. Now she had his hands over his head, staring triumphantly into his shocked eyes.

“Right,” he muttered, “my girlfriend is a self-defense guru.”

“Nope. You’re just not as strong as you think you are.”

The familiar bristling that crept up at her joke was all too easy to subdue. It was pleasantly strange for him to find how calm he’d become in the few weeks since that night at the Wyrm. He was determined to be the person that Sophia deserved, and her voice echoed in his head whenever he felt that he wasn’t. If life were Harry Potter, he may have considered her his Patronus, a happiness that clung to his every fiber. He still got into just as many fights, so few people of the South Side realized the beginning of this transformation. Of course, none of them saw him like this, giggling like a four-year-old and stealing forehead kisses as if they’d run out. Well, except Fangs and Toni.

“Could you get a room? We wanna watch the game!”

“No one’s stopping you,” Sweet Pea said smugly, settled over Sophia once again.

“Well, I’d like to see what’s happening and your head is huge,” Toni quipped as she settled onto the loveseat behind them.

“For you, Topaz.” Sweet Pea conceded, pulling Sophia to her feet and throwing her into Toni’s lap in one quick motion. “Whoops”

“Sweet Pea!” They yelled in unison while Fangs joined him in laughter.

“You’re a child,” Sophia rolled her eyes as he crammed his way between them, throwing an arm around both.

“An overgrown child,” Toni chimed in.

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Fangs muttered, prompting the girls to launch throw pillows at his head.

“You’re just as bad, Fogarty.” Sweet Pea smirked.

Rachel came to stand in the doorway, chuckling softly as the scene before her. Fangs sat in the worn armchair, arms raised to deflect the pillows that headed his way while the other three looked comfortably squished into the too small loveseat. It reminded her of why she’d joined the Serpents years ago, why she stood by her husband now—the Serpents were family and here was part of the next generation. She’d always worried about Sweet Pea, fearing that the anger of her son’s best friend would be the death of him. Her smile grew as she looked at him now, smiling easily and relaxed with her niece under his arm. Sophia looked happy, too, it was the happiest Rachel had ever seen her. The four teens groaned in unison as the flash on Rachel’s phone went off. Shrugging at their protests, she sauntered back into the kitchen.  After the game, Sophia resumed her studying for the exam the next day.

“Ugh, how am I supposed to tell everyone that I’m dating a nerd,” Sweet Pea groaned, throwing himself back on the bed dramatically.

“The same way I’ll own up to dating a child, now leave my socks alone!”

Sweet Pea snickered, backing away from her flailing legs. He was attempting to behave himself, but she was too cute when she studied and even cuter when annoyed. It didn’t help that he knew she couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes. On cue, her eyes softened, and she let out a sigh.

“Why aren’t you studying for calc? Everyone says Lewell’s tests are the worst.”

“Eh, it’ll average out to a D.”

The pencil that she’d been absentmindedly twirling spun out of her hand. The perfectionist within was having a heart attack, and she was confused.

“You’re not a D student.”

“This’ll be my third year, I’m big on commitment.”

“You committed to becoming a D student?”

Sweet Pea burst out laughing; Sophia’s voice and face both indicated that he’d just admitted to kicking puppies as a hobby.

“Well, not exactly. I just decided I’d be what the lovely educators at South Side High thought I’d be the day I came to school with this.”

He gestured to his neck carelessly, the Serpent partially obscured by the hoodie he wore. Sophia could detect the slightest hint of anger in his voice. It was an old wound, clearly, but she could tell it had never healed quite right. She replaced her bookmark and snapped the book closed. Sweet Pea looked up eagerly, expression falling slightly when he saw her face.

“Yesssss?” he hissed, playfully encouraging her to say whatever was on her mind.

“Why would you wanna prove them right?”

“I’m not jumping through hoops. It’s all stupid. I’ve seen Serpents try and they get accused of cheating or get a bunch of lectures about wasting their life away with us. It’s just easier to coast.”

“You could do so well though!”

“I’m not concerned about that.”

“Don’t you wanna go to college?”

“Nope.” He popped the “p” and watched her face. Shock flickered across it.

“Why?”

“What do I need college for? Nothing on the South Side requires it.”

“So, you just want to stay in the South Side, forever?”

“What’s wrong with the South Side?” He challenged, working harder to subdue the frustration. Sophia sighed.

“Don’t make this something it’s not, P. I’m just saying it’s nice to have options and with a mind like yours, you could have so many.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Sophia stared at him, but he averted his gaze to the ceiling, practicing his deep breathing. She bit her lip and opened her book again. Sometimes it was best not to push. While she flipped through the pages searching for key phrases that might be on the exam, Sweet Pea stared a hole into the ceiling. Finally, he sighed and threw himself gently onto Sophia. He supported most of his weight, but she still felt the pressure of the 6’5 Serpent. A gentle kiss on the back of her neck was his apology and she rolled under him to accept.

“I don’t want to make you be something you’re not. I just want you to be all that you can be.”

“I think we have different opinions on what that looks like,” he said as he leaned into her hand on his cheek.

“I’ll try not to push,” she promised solemnly, but they both smiled knowing that she could never resist pushing if she believed it would help.

School buildings must exist outside of the realm of time, Sophia was absolutely sure. Second period dragged on as the teacher discussed math formulas that she’d already memorized. It wasn’t necessarily that she was smarter, just that her prep school had been more academically rigorous. Rather than focus on the lesson, she began drafting up a song. The lyrics had floated around in her head for weeks putting into words what the South Side made her feel. It’d been months since her hands had tickled the ivories, but it’d have been a cold day in hell before her mother allowed her to have their piano, and the South Side had no true music program. Her heart ached as she considered the hours that she and her brother had spent together, him patiently teaching her how to let her fingers flow rather than rigidly strike.

When the bell rang, she decided to skip her third period to find a piano. Surely there had to be some instruments somewhere, it was a high school after all. Ten minutes later she found herself outside of a door with a peeling sign on the window identifying it as the music room. The door swung open easily, but the lack of use was apparent. The music stands, and instrument cases were covered in dust making the disconformity of the bare patch on the floor even more uncomfortable as Sophia tried not to consider the other uses of this room. In the corner of the room sat the piano looking as desperate to be played as Sophia was to play it.

Sliding back the cover, Sophia straightened her back and let her fingers go to work. She started simple, going back through her paces. It was something her brother had always insisted upon as an exercise of humility. After progressing through her scales and warming her fingers up, the music inside bubbled out. The keys told a story of darkness giving way to light and hope bubbling forth. She thought of Sweet Pea and the music became light and airy with a deeper beat resounding through. By the time she finished, her heart was beating loudly. For her, music was always an emotional experience and she’d been so engrossed in it that she hadn’t heard the door close as someone else entered the room.

“That was beautiful.”

Sophia stifled a scream, whirling around on the bench to find herself face to face with Jughead.

“Jug you can’t do that to people!”

“You’re right. Too many compliments and everyone will think I like people.”

“Ugh, Serpent boys are the bane of my existence.”

“That lie aside, seriously that was amazing. How long have you played?”

“Since I was six months old.” Her serious and pompous manner lasted mere seconds before she lost it at Jughead incredulous face. “Okay, okay, if you’re counting when I started slamming the keys every time my brother tried to play, it’s six months. If you’re not, I formally started learning when I was five so nearly twelve years.”

The bell rang again, and she scrambled to grab her belongings. Jughead shook his head in amusement as he watched her realize that she’d skipped class for the first time. He threw an arm over her shoulders and pulled her along to lunch, assuring her that her Mrs. Phelps probably hadn’t even noticed. As they walked through the lunch room doors, Sweet Pea’s head turned. His eyes narrowed slightly at Jughead’s arm, but Fangs elbowed him in the ribs. Jealousy was still his weak spot, but he was learning to relax. It didn’t help that their relationship wasn’t explicitly public and, so he had to endure the scum of the student body try to woo his girl. Every time he brought it up, Sophia reminded him that it was his idea to keep the relationship quiet.

“Fangs did you know your cousin is basically Beethoven?”

“Oh, yeah, her last concert was amazing. I mean, I hated the music, but the way her fingers flew was insane.”

“You were there?” Sophia’s eyes were wide.

“We scrammed before you came off the stage, so your mom wouldn’t ruin your moment.”

“I had no idea. Thanks,” Sophia replied, emotion constricting her throat. Sweet Pea leaned forwards.

“I didn’t know you played?” There was note of jealousy in his voice, probably spawning from his interest in Jughead knowing before him.

“That’s ‘cause I haven’t since I came here from the prep. I, uh, I actually skipped last period to track down a piano and played.” Her face reddened despite knowing that all of them skipped class, sometimes entire school days just for the heck of it.

“And of course, I had to investigate the possibility of Mozart being resurrected in the midst of South Side High.”

Sophia rolled her eyes, but flushed under Jughead’s praise. She’d missed playing more than anything. While her joy in it came from the feeling of creating something beautiful, it helped that her mother considered it an appropriate hobby. When she played, her mother would sit and listen and until the last note sounded, it felt like they were connected. She blinked back tears as Sweet Pea’s hand found hers under the table. Maybe playing had been a mistake.

“Play for me?” The Serpent whispered in her ear. She raised her eyes to his, their warmth flushing out the sudden chill.

After the final bell rang, Sweet Pea and Sophia made their way to the music room. She waited to the side of the door as he unceremoniously booted a couple from the room. The guy turned halfway out of the room, but Sweet Pea crossed his arms and hardened his face and the protest died in his throat. When they left, Sophia went to the piano while Sweet Pea hovered uncertainly. Only ever allowing her brother to join her on the bench, she directed him to a nearby chair.

Sweet Pea sat quietly as she began. The start up was basic, things he could probably play if he wanted to. He realized that she was only warming up as her fingers flowed into the true piece. The music she played was light and delicate, a stark contrast from what he was used to. It was even more surprising because she listened to, and said she liked, all his heavier music. Music moved him, but he’d never been moved like this. Instead of feeding his aggression, this music was calming and happy. He moved to stand behind her, resting a hand gently on the small of her back, watching as her fingers danced.

She was beautiful. Her eyes were closed, relaxed as if she were asleep. He could tell she’d played the next piece thousands of times and could play it thousands more. The movements were effortless, and the sound was hauntingly delightful. Any mistakes she made were apparent only in the smallest of creases in her forehead which quickly smoothed over as she pushed herself on. Time passed without notice as Sophia continued to play, Sweet Pea lost in the beauty. The key changed, the music slowed, and suddenly he realized Sophia was crying. She stopped playing and put her head in her hands as he quickly straddled the bench to hold her.

“What’s wrong? You did great.”

“N-nothing. I just, I had started playing one of my father’s favorites.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Sophia chuckled at the puzzled concern in his voice.

“No, it just… It’s been so long since I’ve been allowed to play it.”

“Allowed?”

“Not here,” she muttered into his chest.

Without a word he stood up and took her by the hand, leading her out to his bike. He cruised through the street lazily, taking the longer route. The bike had made her nervous at first, but now it was something immensely relaxing for her. They finally ended up at their place—the park where they’d first really talked. As before, Sophia took the only swing while Sweet Pea flopped on the ground. This time, he sat up straight, arms around his knees loosely, and looked at her expectantly. She took a deep breath, playing with her fingers.

“My dad was my best friend. I’ve told you a little about him, I think. He was a doctor and he wanted either my brother or I to follow in those footsteps. I actually hated that.”

“I thought it was your dream since you were five?”

“Sort of. I first decided that when I was five because that’s when dad got sick. He told us that he hoped he would live on through one of us becoming a doctor, and I took that statement very literally. My heart wasn’t in it though, not like Marcus. He wanted to be a neurosurgeon. Anyways, my dad went into remission, but the cancer kept coming back. Mom started to act different. She was testier, more concerned about appearances. She wanted us to be the best, the absolute best, in whatever we were doing. In some ways, that was great. In others it was overwhelming. That’s when Marcus’ anxiety really started to take off. Then, when I was 9, I caught my mom cheating on my father.”

Sweet Pea’s fists clenched as he looked up to see tears falling freely down her face. Her hands were curled into tight balls, and her teeth sank into her lip. He wavered, uncertain of what to do. Sadness still wasn’t his forte. If it were him, he’d be punching something right about now to cope. Her next words came out, shaky with tears.

“She told me it was none of my concern and not to tell my father. I didn’t know what to do. A year later, he left. Before he left, he told me that he knew that I had known, but that it was okay. He understood my dilemma. I didn’t understand why he left us with my mother until a few months later when he died. The cancer had come back, and no one had told me or my brother.”

At this, Sweet Pea was on his feet. He wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed. The hate that he thought he’d had for her mother was nothing, nothing at all, compared to this. Betrayal of trust was an unforgivable sin for Sweet Pea and in his mind, she had failed both her husband and children in that regard. Reflexively his arms tensed around Sophia. They sat like that for a while, Sophia sobbing and Sweet Pea fuming. Eventually, she was able to continue.

“That’s when everything really changed. Mom became a dictator. I think the affair made her feel guilty. Anything that called her character into question had to go. Eventually that meant Marcus. He overdosed on a mixture of alcohol and pills and that was it. My dad was never to be brought up: my doctor goal was gone, his favorite pieces forbidden.”

“I’m so sorry, Soph,” Sweet Pea whispered, pressing his lips to her temple.

“It’s okay. I’m away from her now. I can be the doctor my brother wanted to be, fulfilling my father’s dream. I can play freely again. There are good things in my life that weren’t there before.”

She unconsciously stroked his arm as she spoke. It was such a strange feeling. No one had ever considered him a good thing in their life. Nor had he met someone so fragile and strong. She had lost her father, was missing her brother, and her mother had taken everything from her, but she was still fighting. It was so frustrating. He could fight his way through anything, but he couldn’t fight this for her.

Taglist @serpentsweetspea @reinadelaserpiente Here’s a late Christmas gift for you, I hope you enjoy!! Feedback is always welcome! <3

A/N: Obviously I don’t own any of the Riverdale characters, but Sophia and her relationship with our beloved Sweet Pea are my personal creation as well as the plot lines herein. There may be some basis on events currently happening in Riverdale, but not necessarily.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

A Million Reasons, part 10

Characters: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matt Murdock

Warnings: angst.

A/N: If you want a happy ending sort of story, please refrain from reading any further. If you want a more realistic take on a relationship and how easily things can fall apart  - then here you go.

Summary:  It’s simple really. Girl joins S.H.I.E.L.D. Boy gets unfrozen after 70 years. Girl meets boy. They fall in love. They get engage. They have a baby. Then shit hits the fan. Add some drama, flashbacks, a cute kid, meddling Natasha/Bucky duo and maybe another love interest in the mix - one in the form of a hot lawyer from Hell’s Kitchen.

Masterlist

A little body bounced on the bed and you grinned, pretending to still be asleep. Your head rested to the right of your pillow and you snored playfully until a finger poked your cheek.

“Daddy, Mommy’s still sleeping.”

“Coulson,” Steve sighed, holding a tray of food in his hands. “Be careful with Mommy, she still is hurt.”

“I forgot,” Coulson whispered, moving down next to you. “Yo Gabba Gabba, Dad!”

“Yeah, Steve, I’m in the mood for a party in my tummmmy!”

The boy yelped as your eyes snapped open and you reached for him, giving his sides tickles. He giggled and giggled until he started coughing and Steve shook his head.

“You two want breakfast or not?”

“We do!”

“Yeah, the kid’s right. I’m starving,” you motioned for Steve to hand over the tray, so he walked around to your side of the bed and watched you carefully as you sat up against the headboard. Gently, he eased the tray over your lap and Coulson quickly crawled over to your legs to sit on your knees. You chuckled and thanked Steve for the food, noticing three plates on the tray.

“Joining us?”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted shyly. “You don’t mind? Bucky and Nat left early this morning, Tony’s gone and the rest are doing their own thing.”

You glanced over to your son, whose eyes matched his father’s and smiled. “Yeah, the more the merrier. Come hop on the Yo Gabba Gabba train,” you said, patting the empty spot next to you.

Without hesitation, Steve walked around the queen sized bed, sat above the blankets and grabbed the remote off the night stand. You handed Coulson a piece of toast and took a sip of orange juice, yelping when Steve passed the correct channel. He laughed and held his hands up when you confiscated the remote and went back to the channel. Coulson whipped his head around and started singing along to the song playing, making you grin.

“You look better,” Steve pointed out.

You felt better too.

It had been two weeks since that night and things had been a stand still. Matt had walked into the room shortly after Steve, Bucky, and Nat left. He had sat with you and held your hand, made a few horrible lawyer jokes and then his smile fell. His fingers grazed your skin and you knew then, he heard everything you had.

“Listen,” Matt cleared his throat and sighed. “You need some time to heal, to be with Coulson.”

“Matthew,” you stuttered out, pulling his hand toward you, but he just flashed his signature smile - sweet and full of confidence.

“Hey, it’s going to be fine. I just want you to get better and you’ll get that help with your friends.”

Knowing there was no room to argue with the stubborn man, you asked for a kiss. Matt chuckled and leaned down, a hand on the bed railing as his head hovered over yours. You looked up at him and brought a hand to the side of his face. Your heart beated fast, because on the tip of your tongue were those three words that could and would change everything. The words you wanted to say, but couldn’t, so you didn’t. Instead you kissed him hard and eagerly, hoping he’d get the message.

“Hey, you okay?”

Steve’s voice sprung you from your own mind and you smiled over at him. “Yeah, these eggs look delicious.”

“Years of practice.”

“Right, I was there, I know,” you expressed dramatically, picking up a piece of toast. “So, how is Sharon?”

Your question caught him off guard, because he had not utter her name, at least in front of you, since he brought you to the Tower.  Not knowing why or if it had anything to do with what was said between him and your friends, you decided to keep quiet until he was ready to talk. But two weeks had came and went and you were ready to press.

“She’s good, sends her regards.”

“How are you two?”

Steve forked around the food on his plate and gave a weak shrug. “We could be better.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

And you were, you liked Sharon and thought she was good for Steve. She could do what you couldn’t in your relationship - stand up for herself.

“You got a good thing with her, Steve. Don't mess it up.”

“Like I messed us up,” he responded dryly.

You stared at Steve, the sound of upbeat music filled the room as your eyes shifted from him to Coulson. The little boy was sitting on his knees, chewing on the toast, his head bobbing back and forth to the song.

“It is what it is,” you finally said, giving Steve a weak smile. “I mean, look at him.”

Your eyes led Steve to Coulson and you shrugged. “He’s happy, I’m happy.”

Steve sighed softly and grinned. “Yeah, that’s all that matters, huh?”

“Exactly, now shh,” you nodded to the tv. “This is my favorite episode.”

…..

Natasha watched with cautious eyes as Steve helped you into the kitchen, his hand on your back and a light smile on his face. You winced in pain when you took one too many steps toward the table and Steve stopped, asking if you were okay.

“Yeah, just help me to a chair.”

He did and when you sat down, he quickly left the room to go get your pain medication. Sighing, you reached over for the discarded day old newspaper and looked up when Nat cleared her throat rather loudly.

“What?”

“Have you talked to Matt since the hospital?”

You folded the newspaper and gazed over at her. “We texted a few nights ago, he thinks I need space to spend time with Coulson.”

“And you didn’t tell him otherwise?”

Noting the accusation in Nat’s voice, you glared at the woman. “Just spit it out, Romanoff.”

“Fine,” she snapped, walking over to the table and putting her hands on the table. “Don’t get back with Rogers.”

Your face fell in confusion and you held up a hand in defense. “Where the fuck did that came from, Natasha.”

She pursed her lips just as Steve walked in, a white bag in hand and a curious look on his face.

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” she stood up and stared right into your eyes. “I don’t know much of anything nowadays. I’m going to go get Coulson, Bucky promised we’d take him to the park.”

“Sounds good,” Steve smiled, unaware of the tension, and started unpacking the bag of medication, while Nat eyed you carefully before disappearing out the door.

As you sat there quietly, Steve walked over to the fridge for a glass of water and Nat’s words repeated in your mind. Whatever she was implying, it got you thinking and when Steve placed a glass down in front of you, along with a few white pills, everything hit you at once.

Putting the pills in your mouth, you drank the entire glass of cold water, letting it wake your body up.

“I gotta go train with Sam, you want help back to the room?”

Steve’s voice rang in your ears and you shook your head. “No, I’ll be fine. I gotta go see Tony.”

“Everything okay?”

“Mhmm,” you smiled absentmindedly up at your ex. “Everything’s good.”

….

You walked into Tony’s lab, taking small carefully steps. The pain medication was helping, along with the ton of rest you were getting, but it was time to get back to the norm, at least..a different norm.

“Tony,” you called out to the billionaire, who was fidgeting with a tablet.

“Hmm?”

“Can we talk,” you asked, leaning against a metal table.

He looked up and, as if he hadn’t realized it was you, smiled brightly. “It’s good to see you up and moving. You scared me for a second, kid.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you replied quietly. “Are you busy?”

“Never,” he smirked, walking over to you. “What’s going on?”

Nerves wrecked your bones, not knowing how he’d react to what you were about to say.

“Well…” you voice faded off and Tony reached over to your shoulder, giving it a lightly squeeze.

“What’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, your eyes met Tony’s.

“I’m quitting the Avengers.”

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[cooperandjonesinc]

No Lyrics, Just Words

A secret santa gift for @no-denying-shes-a-funny-girl as part of the Bughead Secret Santa gift exchange!

Rating: G

Words: 2478

Summary: Even though they’re both writers, Betty and Jughead were never any good at communicating. That’s why long before there was an exchange of kisses, there was an exchange of music.

(A fluffy New Years fic with way too many song references.)

It starts just before Betty leaves for her summer internship. She starts a group chat with Jughead and Archie, Jughead isn’t sure why he qualifies or why she thinks he cares, but he finds himself scrolling through anyway, hating every minute. The first song she ever sends him is actually to both of the boys. It’s Despacito. Later he will be grateful that at least she sent the original all Spanish version rather than the Beiber remix.

The issue is that he kind of likes it. It’s got a good beat, it’s sexy. He can imagine Betty dancing around her room mumbling along to the words she doesn’t understand. In his mind’s eye she dances in short shorts and a tank top that rides up exposing a hint of skin at her belly. That’s where he cuts the thought off. The day she arrives at her internship he sends her Welcome to Paradise by Greenday. Someone has to expose her to good music. A month later, after he’s heard the song dozens of times, he feels differently about that Latin beat.

During the months they are apart they talk very little. Even Archie barely hears from her, but he begins to fade away into his music too. She sends Jughead some songs that indulge his taste in music. Say It Ain’t So by Weezer floats through the trailer for a solid week after she reminds him that it exists. He retaliates with Here by Alessia Cara after Archie drags him to one summer bonfire thrown by the evil redheaded twins. It’s nice. It makes him feel connected to her even though no words are exchanged. He means to continue the tradition through the year, but Jason Blossom’s body washes ashore and suddenly there’s no time to worry about things like that anymore.

Betty misses the music as they run around town unraveling the mysteries of the bloody murder and cover up. When he cups her face in his hands and forever changes how she sees him she realizes that something started between them long before. She’d just been too blinded by a shock of red hair to notice. After the baby shower among their text messages she slips in a link to Paramore’s The Only Exception. She expects to receive back something sentimental. Instead he sends her Creep. As a jest she throws a boyband song back his way. The next time they meet he laughs at her, but she has trouble returning it. Part of her knows he means it, that he believes in those lyrics. When she finally admits to the crescent scars on her hands they share a set of headphones listening to The Monster with Eminem and Rihanna sharing space with their thoughts.

FP’s arrest, finding the tape, Cliff’s death, Cheryl’s suicide attempt, Fred’s shooting. All of it happens in 72 hours. The Sound of Silence echoes heavy in their consciousness.

When Jughead moves to Southside High the music stops again. For the first few days Betty hopes it’s for the same reason they stopped before. Their relationship was strong, they didn’t need to exchange songs when everything they needed to say they just shared with each other. But it’s not like that at all. It’s a scarce few miles between the two sides, but it may as well have been continents. The Black Hood complicates things even further. They break up without a single note left hanging in the air. When she comes to her senses and finally spills every secret she’s been holding in they get back together in a whirl of hushed whispers and hurried kisses. Unable to part from him she spends her nights in his bed.

The first song he ever sends her after joining the Serpents is Lydia by Highly Suspect. It isn’t just a spotify link to the song either. He sends her a link to the video. It starts with a shot of a girl underwater. The camera never leaves her. Two minutes in and she’s still submerged, tied down. There are no breaks, no cut aways. Betty is simply watching this girl drown. When her vision swims and her world starts to tilt Betty realizes that in sympathy she’s been holding her own breath. Her lungs fill with fire as she heaves air in. Suddenly she’s hyperventilating, she’s panicking. She can’t breathe. Jughead can’t breathe. He’s drowning with the Serpents, in over his head with no where to go. The song ends. The girl is still in the water, and Betty knows what she has to do. She has to dive into the pool with the Serpents to help Jughead get out.

For some reason it never even occurs to her that instead of setting Jughead free, she’d just get tangled into the same mess. The music stops.

It also never crossed her mind that she might just end up being actual friends with Toni. It starts with Toni pulling her aside after the disastrous dance.

“Mad respect for pulling it out like that, but you know dancing isn’t the only step to becoming a Serpent, right?”

No, she didn’t know. Jughead told her a little bit about his initiation, but not enough.

She knows, of course, that it’s a gang. She knows she’s entering into a world of blackmail, drugs, and other nefarious activities. But it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like being welcomed into a family. The Whyte Wyrm is an amalgam of bad Thanksgiving cliches. Yeah, your drunk racist aunt is chain smoking in the corner, but the rest of the group are people who get you in a way no one else will. The Coopers never felt right to Betty. Apparently she’d just been spending time with the wrong half of her DNA. Maybe she always belonged with the snakes. Well, most of them anyway.

Word travels fast about the Snake Charmer. The ruthless vicious part of Betty that nearly drowned Chuck is gloriously pleased at the vengeance. Her conscience quickly admonishes itself for thinking such things. No one deserves to have swaths of flesh cut off their arm. Then her rationale cuts in. This woman is not someone to be trifled with. She’d be looking for retribution of her own.

It’s Toni’s job to hide the streaming camera that catches Penny typing in her password. When Betty breaks into the office that night she hums Secret by the Pierces to herself. Because two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.

Predictably Tall Boy is the one Penny calls to her defense. “They cornered me!” She screeches to the crowd in the Wyrm. “They cut the snake right off my skin! Is that what Serpents do to each other?”

She’s chosen a day when Jughead is at school, obviously trying to start a revolt, “This can not stand!”

“Here Here! We’ve had nothing but trouble coming down on our heads since F.P’s boy got it in his head to try and take over.” Tall Boy adds to the growing restlessness.

“Hey Penny,” Betty shouts over the din, “Remind me why the kids jumped you.”

She sneered, “Because they weren’t willing to paid an agreed upon price. Is that what we want the next generation to be, welshers?” The crowd roared their approval.

“So you weren’t blackmailing them?” Toni stood tall at her side. They made a formidable team.

“I do what it takes to get the job done. Hey, I didn’t want to, but the Jones’ haven’t been trustworthy.”

“Not trustworthy?” Betty shook her head, “I think going to jail without a word was pretty high up. Tell me, Tall Boy, what have you done that made you not worthy of Ms. Peabody’s trust?”

“The hell you mean?” Tall Boy asked.

“Well,” Betty pulled out a few photos she’d taken upon herself to download. “She has several photos of you. Tell me, how long is the statute of limitations on aggravated assault? Because however long it is, that’s how long she owns you.”

As he flipped through the photos Tall Boy’s face grew redder.

“Now, I can explain that.” Penny pleaded

“Can you explain all of them? Because I think there’s something in here on every single person in this bar right now. Is this your way of never betraying your own? Is this how you make sure a Serpent never stands alone?”

Betty doesn’t have to say another word. The crowd took it away from her. Penny was forced to flee out the back. In all the commotion somehow Betty ends up with a jacket with a Serpent patch.

“Damn, B, you’re kind of ruthless.” Toni remarks.

“Dark. Most people call it dark.”

It feels like home.

++++++++++++

The snow falling on New Year’s eve is that glittering snow that falls in huge wet flakes. It’s snowman weather since it all clings together on mittens and eyelashes. In the house behind Betty a New Year’s bash rages. Reggie volunteered to host, followed swiftly by Cheryl commandeering the role since Reggie was apparently useless at planning anything. It was a great party, or at least everyone else seemed to think so since Betty was the only person avoiding it by sitting in the snow. Loud bass reverberated against the windows making them shudder. It was only a matter of time before the Sheriff would get called.

“Hey, Betts.” Jughead’s voice was soft in the twilight.

“Are you coming out here to smoke? Seems to be the only reason people step outside.” She shivered. Her dress barely went to her knees, so even with her cloak covering her upper half she was freezing.

Jughead smirked, “I thought you knew me better than that, Ms. Cooper. Nah, I think I’m just going to go. There’s nothing here for me.”

“Me too. I think I’ll head out soon.”

“What you’re not here to find romance?” He said. He tried to come off joking, but the bitterness clung.

“Nope. I kissed someone just for saying, ‘I need you Betty Cooper’ not too long ago. I think my judgment is compromised. If only the kiss had felt as good as hearing the words.”

Jughead stepped down next to her, his heavy boots thumped on the wooden steps. “Didn’t turn out well?” he asked as he sat next to her.

“I’m pretty sure I gave him a look that can only be classified as, ‘Horrified’, so yeah, I’d say not good is putting it mildly.”

They chuckled, “Can I ask who the lucky guy was or would that be weird?”

“Not weird.” She swallowed, “Archie. During the four seconds he was broken up with Ronnie.”

Quietly Jughead said, “You finally snagged the football star and didn’t like it?”

“No. He tasted like old dreams and disappointment. I don’t know what I was expecting, but not that. Actually, I do know what I was expecting. I was expecting it to be like it was with you. A revelation.”

“A revelation, huh?” He sounded rather smug, “Speaking of, I hear you finished the job I started on the Snake Charmer. You shouldn’t have done that, Betty. You’re in her crosshairs now.”

Betty groaned, “Can we not? I think something’s too dangerous for you, so I leave you behind. You think something is too dangerous for me and leave me behind. I’m going to do stupid things without you, the darkness is there even when you’re not. Let’s quit thinking we know what’s best for each other. It’s getting exhausting.”

“Yeah, I guess. But that seems to be all we can say to each other. If we’re not going to talk, what do you suggest we do?”

Just then the first few strands of Despacito floated through the walls. Betty giggled as she pulled Jughead to his feet. He reluctantly allowed her to move him into some semblance of a dance that ended with them giggling furiously in each other’s arms.

“Betty, can I tell you a secret?” He pulled her in close so that his breath was on her neck.

“Anything.” She whispered back, basking in his heat.

“I really, really, hate this God damned song.”

Betty was over come with another wave of giggles. “How is that a secret?”

“Most people who say they hate it secretly like it. Hell, I used to be one of them. Now I just plain hate it, but I listen to it all the time.”

“Why listen to a song you hate?”

“Because it was the first song you ever sent me.” He said with a shrug. “Did you know that despite it being the song of the summer it was actually released January 7th? So, happy song-versary I guess.”

She ran a finger down his cheek, “You too, Jughead. I wish we had made it as far.”

He tilted his head down, hers went up. Their mouths inched closer together.

Jughead pulled abruptly back, “No wait. This is stupid. We can’t do this again.”

“Why is it stupid? I mean it Jug, tell me why we shouldn’t keep fighting for each other.”

“Because you know what people say about repetition and insanity. Nothing’s different. We’ll just loop around again, breaking each other’s hearts in the process.”

“Then let’s break the circle. Let’s do something different this time.” Betty said.

“What?”

She took his hands in hers, “No more songs. I’m not saying we shouldn’t also send each other music, I’m just saying that we have to actually talk to each other. You have to stop believing that you’re protecting me from situations by jumping off a cliff and laving me stranded in a field. Just give me the option of taking your hand and leaping with you. Half the time I’m doing the same thing from the other side of the ledge anyway. We’ve said no more secrets before, but broke it so quickly. I’m never going to be that golden girl I was before I left for the internship. I know who I am now. This time, let’s mean it. Let’s go down swinging together.”

Through the windows came the sounds of the countdown to midnight.

“What do you say, Juggie? New Year’s resolution?”

6… 5… 4…

He kissed her hand, then let go so he could cup her cheek, “This year we leap together. No more lyrics, just words.”

3… 2… 1…

He leaned in and kissed her. Yeah, it was going to be a great year.

[hedgehog-goulash7]

Coffee and Toast and the Alhambra - A Travel Parable

So yesterday and today I’ve been feeling a little overwhelmed by fandom and especially the angry Discourse (TM) in the MCU fandom right now, and the spillover into the angry Counter-Intuitive Attacks on the character of Tony Stark in the media since “Spider-Man: Homecoming” came out. (And it’s SO SAD - because it’s all happening just as we were all feeling so happy about the new movie and Tony seeming to finally turn a corner and take up his journey toward Becoming a Better Human again...). And I’m a little weary of again, constantly putting hands to keyboard and writing detailed defenses, which seem to go nowhere except, hopefully, helping a few of the Iron Man family here feel better...which is something, for sure.

So, I’m tired and trying not to be emotional over a fictional character -- except that THAT’S WHAT WE DO in fandom, right? It’s our job! -- I was trying to identify just what this all was reminding me of. This sort of over-stimulated, intense feeling that’s really quite draining?

And then I remembered - it reminds me of a situation I experienced last summer, during my summer vacation trip from my home in Southern California  to Spain.

Now -- two things about that trip. I had never been to Spain before and was REALLY looking forward to it (been to a lot of other places in Europe - just not Spain...). And I was traveling for the first time on a long trip with the guy I’d been dating for a while.

And you know how it is with traveling with a person -- you tend to learn a lot about them?  Well, my erstwhile laid-back, mellow man turned into a sort of annoying Army drill sergeant on the road -- his main interests were in ticking off the most places to see that could possibly fit into a day, sticking to a pre-planned itinerary and not deviating from it, and getting the best and most photos that he could upload onto his social media. I’m pretty much the opposite -- I love to linger in places, to not really have a travel agenda or to ignore and change it creatively as much as possible when I come across things I really want to spend more time experiencing, and really soaking in the flavors of a city or a neighborhood. (I think my preferences in travel style really fit with Spain, too, where the culture is pretty much like my style...!) But more often than not, being quieter than he is, I’d end up being quick-marched across a city, on and off various buses and trams and Ubers as we tried to squeeze in as many sights as we possibly could. And, to be fair, we did see a lot.

This went on from Madrid to Segovia to Toledo. By which time I was becoming pretty mentally exhausted and also a little perturbed. (Not to mention that for some reason on trips he snores like a chainsaw and I’m wide awake half the night...but I digress.

When we arrived in Granada I had finally had enough. We’d bought tickets to the Alhambra - one of the world’s most beautiful sites, the glorious and graceful Moorish palace complex dating back to the 13th century that floats almost weightlessly above bustling Granada. The Alhambra was MY top wished-for stop on the trip. I’d been dreaming of going there since I first read about it as a child, probably in an old National Geographic or something, and certainly since I’d started studying art and art history in college. So I was very excited and looking forward to seeing it.

So, in the morning, we arrived at our allotted entry time and walked onto the Alhambra grounds. And into a mass of other tourists doing the same thing. Which -- of course I should have expected, it being August and the high tourist season. The Boyfriend quickly initiated another quick march along the route through the various palaces and gardens. At about the same time, I noticed a family of cats -- a mom cat and her kittens - playing among the rose bushes on the side of the trail. I stopped to take photos. “Come on, we have a lot to see,” urged the boyfriend.  I looked at him calmly (as I should have probably done days before...) and said, “Hon, why don’t you go on ahead and I’ll catch up later? I have some personal communing with the Alhambra to do.” (I mean -- we have cell phones, and we’re not attached at the hip!)  He looked at me quizzically but then nodded and said, “Ok - sure, we’ll catch up later.” And went off.

So, hmmm, THAT WAS EASY.

So -- now I was alone (well, alone among hundreds of tourists) in my dreamed-of spot. And it was actually rather lovely. I felt quite a bit of anxiety drop away from me. I’m at the ALHAMBRA - and I can take as long as I like to wander through it. I can pause to watch the cats playing and smell the heady scent of the roses. I can laze along behind the gangs of tourists so I can listen to the wind in the cedar trees. I can imagine the Moorish royals coming here for peace and quiet and to admire the beauties of nature and the wonders of the architecture, like frozen music against the bright blue sky.

I walked slowly up the hill and listened to my own thoughts.  Along the way I spied a little cafe, a bit off the trail, and decided that it felt like a wonderful time to have a leisurely cup of coffee. (As usual, we’d breakfasted on some trail bars at the hotel, and the Boyfriend doesn’t drink coffee, though I run on the stuff...although to his credit he’d sat at a couple of cafes with me along the trip route while I coffeed up...he’s not a complete drill sergeant...).  So I sat at on the outdoor balcony of the cafe, put my camera on the table, ordered a cup of coffee and some toast and Spanish marmalade, and sat there, just sat there, for about an hour, gazing up at the Generalife gardens, listening to the sounds of the Alhambra: the songs of a thousand birds, the trickle and rush of water through fountains and channels, the wind in the trees. A Moorish woman back in the 1200s may have passed here and heard the very same sounds. It was relaxing and an utter escape from the racing and the anxiety. It was -- when I look back on it -- my favorite memory from the Alhambra. (I recorded a little of it on my phone, and took the photo above, so I could always remember -- but I didn’t really need to.  It’s in my mind forever...)

Later I walked on through the rest of the Alhambra and Generalife, meeting up with the Boyfriend late in the afternoon. And you know what -- we had one of our most interesting conversations of the whole trip.  BECAUSE we’d split up and gone off on our own, we’d each seen some different things and had different stories to tell. I told him about the cafe and the astonishment I’d felt at seeing the Court of the Lions and the astonishing carvings and stalactites of the Hall of the Abencerrajes. He told me about the guided tour he’d joined up with and how much he’d learned about the history of the place. We were both caught up in wonderment and I think we both maybe grew up a little that day. We’re NOT the same person. We’re NOT joined at the hip. We like different things and we have different approaches to life -- and that’s completely OK. A relationship is all about recognizing differences and learning to live with, if not honor, them.  It’s about sometimes being annoyed but working together to get past that.

And I’d learned that when things get a little overwhelming, you need to take charge of the proceedings, sometimes by just bending away from them. This week when fandom got to be a little much, I stepped away for a bit, had some coffee, read some books on art and history and decidedly NON-fannish things, and came back refueled to take on some more vastly uninformed writers.

And last summer, on our last stop in Spain, Barcelona, the Boyfriend and I continued our new way of traveling sometimes-not-together.  I wanted to see the Gaudi landmarks; he wanted to go on a guided wine and pintxos (Basque tapas) tour -- so we split up again, and we again had great stories and photos to share later.

We’re hitting England and Scotland this fall, with the same plan in mind. We’ll do some things together and some things apart. We’re two different people who have enough in common to love each other and to accommodate each other. I kind of wish fandom could be the same: recognize and honor the fact that we like different things and we shouldn’t need to go through hate and acrimony for it. If nothing else, we should simply live and let live.

But perhaps, in fandom, my hopes are too high. When the acrimony gets to feeling like too much, though, I’ll try to remember that cafe balcony and coffee and toast at the Alhambra, and maybe I’ll feel a little better.

[newstfionline]

I wrote ‘The Art of the Deal’ with Trump. His self-sabotage is rooted in his past.

By Tony Schwartz, Washington Post, May 16, 2017

Why does Donald Trump behave in the dangerous and seemingly self-destructive ways he does?

Three decades ago, I spent nearly a year hanging around Trump to write his first book, “The Art of the Deal,” and got to know him very well. I spent hundreds of hours listening to him, watching him in action and interviewing him about his life. For me, none of what he has said or done over the past four months as president comes as a surprise. The way he has behaved over the past week--firing FBI Director James B. Comey, undercutting his own aides as they tried to explain the decision and then disclosing sensitive information to Russian officials--is also entirely predictable.

Early on, I recognized that Trump’s sense of self-worth is forever at risk. When he feels aggrieved, he reacts impulsively and defensively, constructing a self-justifying story that doesn’t depend on facts and always directs the blame to others.

The Trump I first met in 1985 had lived nearly all his life in survival mode. By his own description, his father, Fred, was relentlessly demanding, difficult and driven. Here’s how I phrased it in “The Art of the Deal”: “My father is a wonderful man, but he is also very much a business guy and strong and tough as hell.” As Trump saw it, his older brother, Fred Jr., who became an alcoholic and died at age 42, was overwhelmed by his father. Or as I euphemized it in the book: “There were confrontations between them. In most cases, Freddy came out on the short end.”

Trump’s worldview was profoundly and self-protectively shaped by his father. “I was drawn to business very early, and I was never intimidated by my father, the way most people were,” is the way I wrote it in the book. “I stood up to my father and he respected that. We had a relationship that was almost businesslike.”

To survive, I concluded from our conversations, Trump felt compelled to go to war with the world. It was a binary, zero-sum choice for him: You either dominated or you submitted. You either created and exploited fear or you succumbed to it--as he thought his older brother had. This narrow, defensive worldview took hold at a very early age. “When I look at myself today and I look at myself in the first grade,” he told a recent biographer, “I’m basically the same.”

Trump grew up fighting for his life and taking no prisoners. In countless conversations, he made it clear to me that he treated every encounter as a contest he had to win, because the only other option from his perspective was to lose, and that was the equivalent of obliteration. Many of the deals in “The Art of the Deal” were massive failures--among them the casinos he owned and the launch of a league to rival the National Football League--but Trump had me describe each of them as huge successes.

With evident pride, Trump explained to me that he was “an assertive, aggressive” kid from an early age and that he had once punched a music teacher in the eye and nearly been expelled from elementary school for his behavior.

Like so much about Trump, who knows whether that story is true? What’s clear is that he has spent his life seeking to dominate others, whatever that requires, and whatever collateral damage it creates along the way. In “The Art of the Deal,” he speaks with streetfighting relish about competing in the world of New York real estate: “They are some of toughest, and most vicious people in the world. I happen to love to go up against them, and I love to beat them.” I never sensed from Trump any guilt or contrition about anything he’d done, and he certainly never shared any misgivings publicly. From his perspective, he operated in a jungle full of predators who were forever out to get him, and he did what he must to survive.

Trump simply didn’t traffic in emotions or interest in others. The life he lived was all transactional, all the time. Having never expanded his emotional, intellectual or moral universe, he has his story down, and he’s sticking to it.

A key part of that story is that facts are whatever Trump deems them to be on any given day. When he is challenged, he instinctively doubles down--even when what he has just said is demonstrably false. I saw that countless times, whether it was as trivial as exaggerating the number of floors at Trump Tower or as consequential as telling me that his casinos were performing well when they were actually going bankrupt. In the same way, Trump sees no contradiction at all in changing his story about why he fired Comey and then undermining the explanatory statements of his aides, or in any other lie he tells. His aim is never accuracy; it’s domination.

Trump derives his sense of significance from conquests and accomplishments. “Can you believe it, Tony?” he would often begin late-night conversations with me, and then go on to describe some new example of his brilliance. But the reassurance he got from even his biggest achievements was always ephemeral and unreliable--and that appears to include being elected president. On the face of it, Trump has more opportunities now to feel significant and accomplished than almost any human being on the planet. But that’s like saying that a heroin addict has his problem licked once he has free and continuous access to the drug. Trump also now has a far bigger and more public stage on which to fail and to feel unworthy.

Beneath his bluff exterior, I always sensed a hurt, incredibly vulnerable little boy who just wanted to be loved.

What Trump craves most deeply is the adulation he has found so ephemeral. This goes a long way toward explaining his need for control and why he simply couldn’t abide Comey, who reportedly refused to accede to Trump’s demand for loyalty and whose continuing investigation into Russian interference in the election campaign last year threatened to bring down his presidency.

As we saw countless times during the campaign and since the election, Trump can devolve into survival mode on a moment’s notice. Look no further than the thousands of tweets he wrote attacking his perceived enemies over the past year. In neurochemical terms, when he feels threatened or thwarted, Trump moves into fight or flight. His amygdala gets triggered, his hypothalamic-adrenal-pituitary axis activates, and his prefrontal cortex--the part of the brain that makes us capable of rationality and reflection--shuts down. He reacts rather than reflects, and damn the consequences.

No importuning by his advisers would stand a chance of constraining him when he feels this deeply triggered. The more he feels at the mercy of forces he cannot control--and he is surely feeling that now--the more resentful, desperate and impulsive he becomes.

Even 30 years later, I vividly remember the ominous feeling when Trump got angry about some perceived slight. Everyone around him knew that you were best off keeping your distance at those times, or, if that wasn’t possible, to resist disagreeing with him in any way.

In the hundreds of Trump’s phone calls I listened in on with his consent, and the dozens of meetings I attended with him, I can never remember anyone disagreeing with him about anything.

The most recent time I spoke to Trump--and the first such occasion in nearly three decades--was July 14, 2016, shortly before the New Yorker published an article by Jane Mayer about my experience writing “The Art of the Deal.” Trump was just about to win the Republican nomination for president. I was driving in my car when my cellphone rang. It was Trump. He had just gotten off a call with a fact-checker for the New Yorker, and he didn’t mince words.

“I just want to tell you that I think you’re very disloyal,” he started in. Then he berated and threatened me for a few minutes. I pushed back, gently but firmly. And then suddenly, as abruptly as he began the call, he ended it. “Have a nice life,” he said, and hung up.

[poorcap]

A Family (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Summary: It started off with you hating them, hating him. For what they’d done, you hated them with every thing in you, and you wanted to see them controlled, or better yet, gone forever. But your little sister managed to change your mind. And now, sitting in a room surrounded by the Avengers, cuddled up to your boyfriend, Steve Rogers, you reflect. 

Word Count: 916 

Warning(s): n/a

A/N: Apologies for the long wait!

Prompt:  hi, could I request an imagine where the avengers are having a party and they're all sitting together and reader is dating Steve and they're cuddled up on the couch. Then the readers little sister comes in and the just act like idiots and Steve looks at reader in awe, thank you! Xx - anon

“Listen, listen, I fight like an Avenger just like the rest of ya, let me have just one teeny-tiny beer, Mr. Stark. Remember that time I took down that little guy that became this huge, gigantic guy all by myself for you? Maybe, I don’t know, maybe I could have one beer as thanks. Come o—”

“Sure, sure, I’ll just call up Aunt May, and—”

“No! No, no, don’t tell Aunt May she’ll…”

The conversation between Queens’ odd little spider-boy and Tony faded into the background, even with them sitting just on the other end of the couch, meshing into the thumping bass line of whatever Tony had deemed as good party music. Instead, what grabbed your attention was the comforting, sculpted arm that curled around your shoulders and invited you into his warmth.

Steve.

He must have noticed the little shiver that ran up your spine. Tony always insisted on keeping the common area’s temperature down when they held parties at the Avengers Tower, convinced that it made people want to drink more to try and get some heat into their fingers and toes. Sometimes you wished that you had some crazy superpower like the rest of them, preferably something fire related so you weren’t chilled right to the bone every get together.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear, and the shiver that captivated you then wasn’t from the cold as he murmured, “Cold?”

A smile tugged at your mouth, and you instinctively nestled yourself into his side, to which he gratefully took as encouragement to pull you closer. “Not anymore.”

“Oh great,” Natasha scoffed playfully from the other couch. “The lovebirds are at it again.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve turned his head towards her as he gave your shoulder a small rub. “Hey, we’re just enjoying the time we have. I learned the hard way to make sure to cherish every moment.”

There was a unified groan from the entire group.

But your cheeks flushed with color as you bashfully nuzzled your face into Steve’s chest, hiding in the blue knit sweater that hugged his muscles. And that only earned yet another harmonious noise of disgust.

“I’m proud an’ all of ya, pal, but even you have to admit that was chock full of cheese,” Bucky grumbled, pointing a metal finger towards his best friend, even though there was the beginnings of a smirk beneath all hard exterior.

You felt Steve shrug and turned your eyes back towards the rest of the Avengers as they sat around the two of you. “Maybe a little,” You said in his defense, and with a small smile and a brief adoring look up at your boyfriend, you played into that cheese. “But I love it nonetheless.”

Just as you were about to get yet another rise out of everyone, a tiny, but loud cry of your name pierced the jumping music, and in came your little toddler sister, screaming her head off with laughter as she crashed the party and inevitably jumped right on top of you.

She was the only real mother figure she knew. Your parents had been casualties in New York, which was what brought you to the Avengers to the first place; initially, you’d been a protester like the many that surfaced especially around the time of the Sokovian Accords. But when you were finally faced with them, something changed your mind. Or rather, your sister did. She immediately ran and hugged Steve’s leg, crying about how he was her favorite superhero, and from that moment on, slowly, Steve became your superhero, too.

“Hi, (Y/N)!” She giggled, bouncing on your lap. But it only took a few seconds before her attention derailed from you right to the man on your right and she moved from your lap right to his.

“Well, hello, Bitty,” Steve laughed, carefully removing his arm from around your shoulder (to your dismay) and holding on to her little waist so she didn’t fall back. Elizabeth loved when he used her nickname, evident with the loud, bubbly giggle before she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Everyone in the room cooed. Funny, when you thought you were cuter.

“Right, everyone thinks she’s adorable,” You made a face, joking, and poked your little sister in the side. “But she’s just a boyfriend stealer.”

Elizabeth turned her head and stuck her tongue out at you before burying her face into Steve’s chest again. Steve only chuckled and rubbed her back, while you continued to pout.

“Aw, come on, (Y/N), your sister looks up to the Captain. Do I call you captain? Sir? Mr. Rogers? I-I, uh, don’t really know, um. I’ll shut up. Right,” Peter rambled on, scratching the back of his neck when Tony shot him another death glare.

“Steve is fine, Peter. We’re all friends here.” Steve pressed a small kiss to Elizabeth’s forehead before sending a sweet smile your way. “There’s no reason to be jealous. You’re the only girl I have eyes for.”

Everyone groans.

“And we’re back to nauseating,” Sam mumbled.

But even with Elizabeth now the one pouting, the way Steve was looking at you made it so that nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the dangers that always lurked, not the future. Just him, you, your sister, your friends. A family.

The Avengers were your family now.

Steve was your family.

And you couldn’t think of a better change of heart than your own about them.

[transcendencenyu]

terrie//complementary

“You’re very handsome.” We stood outside the restaurant, watching some of the others file in, some mingling outside before entering, because out here was safe. In there, we could already tell: it was a war zone. We were dressed for battle, only the finest gear to keep us protected in there, weapons drawn and ready to defend ourselves no matter what happened. My battle armor was simple, skin tight, and fit perfectly to keep in time with my body should I need to run or dodge out of the way of an attack: a short black dress, definitely one for the summer, the back mostly exposed, and the interior silken cloth covered by a harder exterior shell, a laced flowery design that pulled in the otherwise loose fabric toward my frame. Naturally, I detested dresses, but it was one that Paisley adored, one she made me buy because she “could tell” it made me look hot, although I knew she just loved the feel of it. I also rocked some sweet red converse, naturally, my boots ready to trudge through the muds of our soon-to-be bloodied arena. To anyone else, it seemed like a simple summer outfit, but Bucky and Stephen could tell it was something more, a shield against the dark forces that threatened our kingdom. I needed all the help I could get to go up against a godlike entity and the heroes around that were easily swayed by his power and charm. David, meet Goliath.

“I know,” Stephen replied shortly. “I don’t need you to tell me.”

It took a moment to pull my stare from the gates to hell, looking back to Stephen, my special weapon to ward off the most stubborn kind of ignorant asshole, and here he was, reminding me why I never complimented him. “It’s kind of the thing people do, when they want to, you know, compliment someone? It wouldn’t kill you to try it sometime,” I replied. I’d learned the best way to deal with Stephen was giving him the same amount of attitude—so long as it checked out factually—and he’d be subdued temporarily. We definitely were opposites in many regards, but we always found a way to meet in the middle. My sarcastic assholeism did the job well.

“Right. I typically don’t bother with pleasantries. They get in the way.”

A huge sigh said, “I know,” and I looked back to the Colosseum, knowing that lingering too long was a sure sign of weakness. No, we had to go in, chests out, like we were the ones in control. It was a fight to the death, and I hadn’t lost yet.

We found our seats beside Bucky and Steve, Stephen beside Tony. Honestly, I hadn’t spoken to the narcissistic dick in a while, but if anyone could put up steel defenses against this intruder, it was Tony. Even Steve seemed a little guarded today, and Bucky was ready to throw down (although this was normal for him). Bruce beside Tony—yet another person I hadn’t spoken with properly in a while—was wary as ever, concealed by his timid behavior, when really he could lash out at any given moment should things go wrong. Quickly, as the night officially began, we could tell there was a civil war brewing among the two sides of the table.

Natasha and Clint sat beside Paisley, held hostage by her new man, and our giant friend who, really, would go along with anything. I only received one look from Clint, but it was enough to remind me he was forever on Paisley’s side, pitting me against him so that I’d be opposite of my best friend. Already, they were getting distracted in music selection, but my eyes narrowed and locked on my target from the moment he spoke his first word. Straight across from me, Peter and I both knew we were entering our very own Cold War. A standoff against two assholes for Paisley’s attention and approval, and the games had already begun. You could tell he was nervous, no doubt guilty of something, just by the way he addressed the crowd, completing a rather impressive feat by meeting us all at once--his foolish and fatal mistake. He had some allies, sure, but I wouldn’t bet his team over mine any day.

I couldn’t help but lean forward, intrigued by his mannerisms, his not-so-careful phrasing of it all, calling it, us, a trial. He must have thought us judges, his executioners even, but this was much more than a hearing. No, this was a test, a skill challenge to see how much he could endure before he’d finally break and decide for himself that Paisley wasn’t worth the trouble (like any worthless man would). We were all here to find that out, to see how fast the little one would squirm. To see how the mighty fall when they see true power. Tony was especially good at this, making small, almost silent comments to Bruce and Stephen and me, making it nearly impossible to keep from giggling, or at least smiling this sly, twisted grin in Peter’s direction. Had my hatred been misdirected, I would have been the equivalent to a high school mean girl, but since I felt the bitterness was well deserved, Tony actually made the night quite pleasant, and rather straining for Quill. I knew I’d have to speak to Tony later, privately, on the matter, maybe even with drinks. If he wasn’t still a major asshole.

Then came the questions. Steve started out small—god, did it sound like an interview of some kind: “Can you please tell us about a time when you acted as a leader to accomplish a task with your girlfriend?” The whole time I was imagining him imagining Paisley naked (which was unfortunately very easy to do since I had), my nails trying to dig into the very fabric that was keeping me safe while my senses told me to relax. Sure, maybe Peter hadn’t done anything wrong yet. The only way to know was to ask, right? Unless either of them knew how to lie (totally sure that wouldn’t be the case). I could see Peter, already tense, locking eyes with Steve. As if the bastard hadn’t done enough already, he attacked Steve with his previous relationship, one I’m sure Paisley told him in confidence. I was caught off guard, trying to consider how a twisted sicko could use his supposed girlfriend’s words against her good friend, and I spit out the first thing I could think of to keep him off Steve.

“I picked those out, the glasses.” His attention shifted, fighting between Steve and me, like he was sizing the two of us up, considering which one was the weaker link, which one could go down in less hits. He hadn’t decided yet.

Bucky was brave enough to ask the million dollar question--one that would have made me laugh for hours had it not been so serious--yet Paisley’s answer meant almost nothing to me. In a room full of her closest friends, trying to impress them? She’d lie. Peter too, unless he didn’t know any better. With sex temporarily out of the way, however, conversations began to break off, and I was left staring at Peter, emotionless but challenging. He held his ground, staring back, never shifting, but his eyes expressed his discomfort--a weakness to take advantage of. In sizing me up, he’d let his barrier down just long enough for me to find an opening.

“So. Pete,” my tongue clicked as I held him down, my eyes like hands around his neck, firm yet nonlethal for the time being.

“It’s Peter, actually.”

The corners of my mouth twitched upward just barely, and I leaned back into my chair for the first time since seeing him this up close, relaxed and comfortable with the dominance I had over him. “Right. Tell me, Pete, what do you like to do for fun?”

The question, obviously trapped, was phase one in a plan listed with many phases. Of course, I would start small, working my way up to the Earth shattering bombs only if needed, wanting to leave zero casualties in his selfish war. “Okay, yeah, I’m usually looking for the next dance battle, or enjoying the last of what the universe gave us of Bowie and his sick storytelling ability.”

“Lovely. Very practical.”

“Well, when you’re trying to save the world one flash mob at a time, it’s best to come prepared.”

“Your family must be so proud,” I said, monotone in every response, while he tried his best to give me enough sass to flood the area.

“Yeah. Do you ever smile? Your face change at all, or is it just stuck like that?”

“You want me to smile?” I narrowed my eyes and gave a smirk, a gentle one, then looked away, nearly scoffing. The man who made faces at me wanted me to smile. Adorable.

Peter cranes his head back a bit, perplexed. “Okay, I see why you don’t. Damn.”

My resting bitch face came back, and I continued to delve into his brittle soul. “I’m sure you’ve told your friends all about your girlfriend. Why haven’t we met them?” Anything personal was a good place to start, although the atmosphere of chattering and clinking didn’t set the tone for any of the real questions I wanted to get to. Of course, I wasn’t a dick, I wouldn’t try and make him cry, but I did want to see him angry.

Quickly, his attention is pulled away, and my emotionless stare burns into a fiery, dark rage. Honestly, I hated few people in this world, but god did he want to be one of them. I wanted to cut him with the sharpest of words, but I just had to find the right ones. Tony had been watching Peter and me mostly, intrigued but realizing I wasn’t getting anywhere--yet. He took it upon himself to cut me off and inquire about Peter’s major, explaining another disappointment that only Peter could accomplish. An astronomy major in Missouri? Yeah, right. The only thing more pointless than a worthless major was going to college without a major. At least Paisley realized that, shooting back at me with a similar contempt I had for Pete. Peter, meanwhile, laughed everything off, sending more fire through my veins, my very own flood of fuel which worsened the flames with each word he spoke. I felt the pressure welling up inside of me, threatening to burst. Paisley pretending he was so perfect and so wonderful killed me, and I turned my head finally, tearing my eyes from Peter to sigh and growl under my breath to Stephen, “Why did we even try to come?” For once, Stephen took initiative then, seeing my struggle and speaking up.

“What do you want, Paisley? A stamp of approval?” My man slowly reached his hand from underneath the table, not to grab mine, but to touch my thigh gently with the back of his hand, to be present while I was mentally wringing Peter’s neck. I’d almost killed him in my head, too, when he interrupted that sweet, sweet imaginary visage of his bloodied smolder weakening. I could tell in an instant, that after the staring, the prodding, and the waiting, Peter was getting tired of being on the defense. He knew he’d lose if he kept taking blow after blow, so he turned himself to me, and he began to make his attack. I guess you could say he’d decided on the weaker link.

Of course, I had come prepared to fight. Nothing he could say would throw me off, nothing that I hadn’t already prepared for, and I knew this, staring him down as he charged ahead. His words cut instantly through Paisley, then Bucky, then Steve, and slowly I began to realize one small gap in my plan: I couldn’t have possibly prepared for something I didn’t know existed.

He saw my barrier exposed now, my internal struggle to flee before he could get any closer, and he took the chance to light a fuse and run. “Yeah. When you and Steve dated, she was jealous. That was the plan, right? So, they’d get together?” He disappeared with Paisley, the others were speaking, but I no longer made out words. I glanced over slowly to Steve, head still in his hands, then at Bucky who couldn’t even look back. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. My heart was pounding--I could hear thick, heavy pulses of blood thrumming against my eardrums and causing my eyes to weaken, my vision darkening. I couldn’t even process the information, only movements, my body slowly rising, then shifting, moving like a dismembered body held together with tacks and paperclips, until I was outside without really understanding why. God, did Rio look beautiful at night.

I don’t know how long I was out. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before someone finally came to check up on me, coming to rest at the same bench my broken body had slumped into. Even at night, the wind blew nothing but hot breaths of air into my face and hair, tugging at the corners of my dress with pubescent curiosity. I didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Everyone is wondering if you’ll be joining us again,” he said, his low voice melding with the wind to create a harmonious hum for me. “They thought it would be best to give you space.”

I looked over, trying to focus, my mind unwillingly blocking out sights and sounds around me as I fell somewhere deep within my mind palace. “And what do you think is best, Stephen?”

His eyes were moving around, observing the area despite being somewhere lost on his own beside me. “I’m sorry, about which problem?” Was there a hint of sarcasm there? I couldn’t tell.

“About.. About Peter. About.. this dinner. What should I do?” My eyes found him then, searching his face for an answer, his mind a chasm full of knowledge and insight that didn’t begin to cover the rather unimpressive crack in the pavement that fit mine.

“Well, for starters, I think you need to stop letting the past influence your decisions with this man. We clearly don’t know enough about him, and this isn’t exactly the best way to do it.” It was different with Stephen, something I never felt with Grant, the way his mere presence felt comforting, felt sheltered. He was rarely physical, but his near proximity was enough. It was exactly what I needed after the way Grant treated me, not having to worry about flinching or pulling away from contact, not offending Stephen for still having memories crawl back to the center of my world when I least expected them. His temper was just as bad when it got to that point, but he kept to himself, respecting my space and only letting me make moves (which he didn’t even want half the time). He was his absolute best when he was alone, just him and me, and his secret playful side that would come out on rare occasions. Nothing like Steve.

“Why give him a chance to hurt her? If he does, Clint will fucking blame it on me, and I’ll blame myself, and I’ll have failed her twice, and Paisley.. She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves the right man at the right time, and him, right now? He’s not it.” Slowly, as I was speaking, I felt emotion come back to me, feeling the weight of my body, feeling exhausted and drained, feeling my body vibrate from the sheer force of the shock. I’d have to accept that Steve and Bucky and Paisley all lied to me about something so stupid, something that very well could have ruined my chances with Steve, but it wasn’t like that mattered, right? I was with Stephen. Everything worked out. It was better this way.

“We don’t know he isn’t, and we shouldn’t control her for our own selfish fears. I agree, he isn’t.. quite what I was expecting, but it’s ultimately Paisley’s decision, and as her friend, you have to honor that.” I looked back at the entrance, wondering if Pai and Peter had rejoined the group, if they even missed us. “Right now, she just needs you to support her, Terrance. Just be there for her.” He paused, seeing my hesitation, considering whether or not it was safe to say anything else, to push his luck. He’d witnessed my anger, knew it was eating away at my judgement, but mentioning it could very well make it worse. It was too unpredictable to really say. “Tell me, if you managed to be the perfect friend for Paisley, would you finally stop acting like her?”

“I don’t act like Paisley. Far from it—”

“You know she’s not who I’m referring to.” There was a palpable pause, my heart skipping a beat, my body tensing up once more from shock, like the way I locked up during horror films ( “You’ll definitely love this one, Terrie. It’s not even scary!” said the worst liar ever, AKA Bucky, AKA not my best friend anymore).

“I.. honestly don’t know,” I admitted lamely. Stephen never mentioned my past, both of us knowing he was aware of it, but him deciding to be respectful of it. It was chilling how observant he was, how he could distinguish lies from the truth like that. “Right now, I just.. I want to not fail Paisley again. I just want to see her smile and laugh again, like the real Pai we knew and loved.”

“She wants that too. This is her way of trying.” Suddenly, my eyes were clouded with tears that just seemed to appear, and I leaned over to find Stephen, resting against him. He gingerly wrapped his arm around my waist to allow me to move closer, and I took in a deep breath only to sigh and wipe my eyes. 

“What should I do? I mean, I can’t just walk back in there and pretend nothing happened, can I?”

“I believe that’s what everyone else is doing. It’s a good step one.”

I nodded once, sniffling and wiping at my eyes again, trying to quickly end the tears and let the redness fade again so we could rejoin the others. By now, my eyelashes were matted together, tangled and clumped, loose ones tearing away easily as I tried to fix them. What a wonderful life it was for me to not worry about makeup. “God, I’m a mess,” I said, letting out some amalgamation from trying to laugh and cry at the same time.

“..You look alluring. Ah, beautiful.” He gave a very slight smile, and I couldn’t help but laugh again and smile back, weak as ever but stable in my current condition thanks to Stephen. We sat in silence for one last moment, my head on his chest while I listened to the beating of his heart and wondered if mine would ever beat the same again, then together we braved the storm that was beginning again.