#outside the law || about steve

[luveline]

(𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞) 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

Steve hears you wrong, thinks he’s your boyfriend, and begins to act accordingly. You try your best to go along with it until you can’t anymore. 3k, fem. requested here ♡ 

cw shy(ish)!reader, misunderstandings, steve being a huge sweetheart, fluff, hurt/comfort, bonus fluff scene 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The arcade is loud and brisk this evening, doors thrown open to allow for the constant ebb and flow of younglings, the machine music turned up to account for so many voices. You’re lost in a sea of rainbow flashing lights and the ticklish smell of sugar. Without Steve’s hand behind your shoulder, you’re pretty sure you would’ve gotten lost and trampled half an hour ago. 

A candy necklace pinwheels past your heads like a torpedo, forcing you closer together, your shoulders tight with a flinch. 

“We can leave,” Steve says immediately. He’s weirdly thoughtful. Before he asked you out you had no idea he thought so much about other people, but he’s always thinking about other people. You could argue he thinks a little too much, like you. 

“I wanna see Max.” 

“She has to be here somewhere.” 

That theory proves less and less likely. Steve’s hand falls away from you, tugging through his hair in a marker of stress as you circle the Palace Arcade for the tenth time. “Maybe she quit?” you suggest. 

Steve’s eyebrows pinch together as he gives the arcade another sweep. Max’s rough patch freaked him out, as it freaked you out, because ‘rough patch’ is a kind way to describe it. She could’ve got a whole lot worse; she was suffering, capital S. It’s nice to see her returning to society, but not if she isn’t actually settling in. That’s the whole reason you’re here. 

Steve frowns at you worriedly. 

“Who died?” asks a new voice.

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Max!” Steve cheers. 

“That’s me,” Max says, looking at you both sceptically. Her ginger hair is pulled into two tight braids either side of her face, her cheeks flushed red. Mascara paints her usually pale lashes a darker brown, and a rosy tinted chapstick shines on her lips. 

“Hey, the uniform looks good on you,” he says affectionately. “You look like a valued member of society.”

“A society in need of better labour laws. I’m pretty sure this is child abuse.” She rolls her eyes. 

“Is it awful?” you ask. 

“It’s fine. Better when your stupid friends aren’t here making themselves sick on candy like they’re nine years old,” she says pointedly to Steve. “Are you going to throw up too? You look–” she grimaces in place of insult. 

“Who’s throwing up?” you ask. 

“Dustin. He’s outside.” 

Steve sighs and gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “I’ll be right back,” he says, squaring his expression. “Goddamn kids.” 

He sounds like an old man, you think to yourself with a small smile. Disgruntled, he still goes to make sure everyone’s alright. He’s nice, even when that nice is begrudging and tiresome and plain gross sometimes. 

“Why are you smiling at him like that?” Max asks.

You school your impression. “Like what?” 

“Like you like him.” 

You shake your head. “Tell me about work, Max. What’s it like here? Are they giving you your breaks?” 

She drags you over to the counter to sit in the seat waiting behind. She glares at any kid who approaches, but besides that she seems in good spirits. The job isn’t hard, it’s just a job. She’d much rather be at home reading, but wouldn’t everyone? “And I get this sweet uniform,” she says, pointing at the embroidered icon on her shirt pocket. “What’s with you and Steve?” 

“Nothing,” you say, though it’s something. You’re mortified to have been caught having feelings. 

“Looks like something. Are you dating?” 

“I mean, this is a date,” you say, almost whispering as heat floods your face. “But we’re not together.” 

“He was touching you a lot.” 

“Max, he’s really nice. He’s a really nice guy,” you say gently, “and we’re not together, but if he does ask me out eventually, maybe I’ll say yes.” You realise what you’re saying and attempt to backtrack —you do like Steve, but Max doesn’t need to know that. “It’s not like he’s my boyfriend,” you say strangely. 

“Ew,” Max says with a laugh. 

“Not ew,” you correct. You hadn’t meant it in a bad way, it’s— 

“Not ew,” Steve says from behind you, his arm a heavy weight across your shoulder. 

You look wide-eyed up at his face, surprised by his huge beaming smile, an intense loveliness about him as he gives you a half hug. 

“What’s ew about that?” he asks you softly. 

Oh, boy, you think. 

As it turns out, being Steve’s girlfriend is kind of nice, but you aren’t ready.

From that afternoon at the Palace Arcade onward, he treats you like you’re made of gold. And it’s great, he’s so kind, he brings you flowers and takes you out for breakfast, where he pays the tab without any flourishes and talks to you as casually as always. You almost hope he hasn’t got it wrong at all, and that his soft tone a few days ago had been down to a brief overwhelming fondness. You’d get that. You have your moments with him, you’re falling for him, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re desperately in love, you’re sure, but then the waitress asks if you need anything else and he says, “Just a water for my girl,” and you realise you’re not getting off easy. 

Dating is sort of like being good friends; you’d planned to spend the day together anyways. You enjoy his company. It’s clear he’s eager, optioning off the day’s agenda as you return to the car, the bottom of your face hidden in your bouquet. 

“We could go to the movies,” he says, opening the passenger door, his smile seemingly permanent as you climb inside. “No science fiction, I promise.” 

“I kind of like sci-fi.” Petals press fragrant to your top lip.

“Well, we don’t have to go to the Hawk. We could go into the city. I bet they’re playing any movie you wanna see.” He checks that your leg is properly inside the car before he closes the door, jogging around to the driver’s side and practically throwing himself inside. He’s giggling like a kid. “Shit, I’ll see anything you want to.” 

“Steve.” 

“Or we can go do nothing? Until dinner.” 

“Steve,” you say again, thinking you’ll tell him. Nothing good ever comes from dishonesty. 

“What?” he asks. 

His eyes are so brown. Billions of people with brown eyes and you swear you’ve never seen anything like it before, their centres like hot honey, the sweetheart shape to them when he smiles 

You sigh. His smile is contagious, even while your stomach hurts. “Nothing. Let’s go see a movie.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“What?” 

“What do you mean, what? You sounded weird.” 

“I sounded weird?” 

“No!” He winces. “I mean, yeah, you sounded weird for you, like you… I don’t know. Sorry.” 

You feel bad, then. His apology is earnest, his hand resting open on the console for you to take if you could manage the flustering heat of it. 

“I wanna go to the movies,” you say, ‘cos you really do. 

“Alright, good. It’s just, I think my last relationship, I– I didn’t pay enough attention, and I want to do that better this time around. So yeah. Sorry.” 

Oh, Steve, you think. How are you supposed to tell him now? You’re gonna have to pretend to be ready for a relationship with him until you really are, it seems. He doesn’t deserve to have his heart played with twice. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you say gently. “Let’s go watch a movie, okay? I want to go, with you, we’ll watch a shitty daytime flick and then get dinner after. It’ll be fun.” 

You aren’t lying to him about what you want. It’s clear to everybody, Steve and his friends and especially you, that you like him, that you want to be around him and make him laugh. Maybe being his girlfriend won’t even be that different to being his something. 

After all, what’s romantic about seeing a movie? 

“You good?” he asks, half an hour later, your agony prolonged. 

You’re at the back of the movies where the seats have the most leg room, more popcorn and candy than you could ever eat at your feet and a litre cup stuffed into the armrest between you. Steve is tucking his shirt back into his jeans, his head parting the light of the projector and leaving a silhouette in the previews. 

“Steve,” you advise, gesturing for him to lean down out of the way. 

He leans down, further and further, face to face with you with his hands on his hips. A flirtatious teasing makes its way onto his lips. “What?” he asks, amused. 

“You were in the way of the light.” 

“That what it was?”

“Seriously!” you whisper-shout, laughing despite yourself. 

“You’re so cute,” he whispers back. “Want to take your jacket off?” 

Your lips part at his good suggestion. You hold your arm out and start to peel from your jacket, but he takes your sleeve and helps you out of it before folding it and sitting in the seat next to you, your jacket on his thigh. “How’s that, babe?” he asks. 

“It’s good.” 

“Okay, perfect.” He beams at you. He’s always smiling when he’s with you, like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. Like he loves you. “Tell me if you need something, yeah? I know you’re kinda shy.” 

He settles back in his seat with your jacket still in his lap and no indication that he might want to move it. Your knees touch as he relaxes, your knuckles as he puts his arm on the rest between you, a picture of contentedness as the movie begins and the opening credits play. “That’s us,” he says without looking at you. 

Two people walk down the street holding hands as the title of the movie blazes in yellow font with thick red outlines. A Day In Paradise! 

You bite down on a slither of the inside of your lip until it stings. You try to fight it off but the longer you sit there, the more your eyes burn, thinking about Steve and what he deserves and how unfortunate this whole thing is, and yeah, you’re overwhelmed, too. You aren’t ready for so much sweetness all at once. You don’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve this. 

You force the tears away. The movie goes on and on, the lights low, the chatter of moviegoers and the occasional popcorn crush not nearly loud enough to cover the sound of Steve’s breathing. 

He pushes his hair out of his face. Somebody on screen makes a joke, his hand brushes against yours, and then takes it gently as he laughs. 

You pull your hand away and tip your head down, a frantic tear flicking from your lashes. 

“You okay?” he whispers. 

You try to answer. You whimper instead, a terrible, sorry sound stuck to your throat —you can’t hold it in anymore. It’s too much. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble tearily, looking up, a tear rolling fast down the bump of your cheek. 

Steve sits still in moderate horror. “Why are you crying?” he whispers.

The thing about Steve that people tend to forget is that, while he takes care of people the best that he can, he’s really young. He doesn’t always know what to do. He stares at you now like you’re a foreign object, hand tucked back into his abdomen. 

A tear drips onto your lip. It tastes salty. “Sorry,” you say. 

“Why?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“I really like you, Steve.” 

He stares at you. “…But?”

“But I–” His frown hurts your heart. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this, I never– never had someone like me like this, I don’t know why I’m crying.” You say that last part to yourself rather than him, scrubbing your cheeks with your hands roughly before hiding your face completely. “It’s not you.” 

“I thought…” And of course he did. 

“I know,” you say. “I’m sorry, Steve. I thought it wouldn’t matter but everything’s going so fast.” 

He touches your arm gently. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought you wanted this. You– you said I was your boyfriend, to Max? I thought you liked me.” 

“I do like you,” you insist, meeting his eyes. 

“Can I wipe your tears away? They’re everywhere,” he says. You struggle to read his expression, but there’s no resentment or anger there for you. He looks quite serious. 

“Yeah.” 

Steve bends in his seat to wipe your tears off of your face gently. They really are everywhere, on your cheeks, your top lip, your chin, even down the arc of your neck. “I don’t understand,” he says, going back to your cheek for a missed streak, “but you don’t have to be upset. Please. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, I promise.” 

“Steve, when I was talking to Max, I said,” —you wince— “that it’s not like you’re my boyfriend. She was asking me about you, and I got all panicky because I like you, but I’m too weird about this stuff, I’m panicking now–”

“Don’t.” His hand lingers on your face, before a sorry flash of dejection passes over him, and he drops your face altogether. 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe me.” 

“Of course I believe you.” He grimaces at you, and the heartbreak turns to something more manageable, like he’s brushing himself off. “I’m sorry. For getting the wrong idea.” 

“I like you,” you whisper. Your voice is nearly lost to the rustle of popcorn and drinks. 

“I like you too!” he says loudly. 

A few seats down, somebody turns, an angry whirl of hair and clicky nails. “Can you guys shut up?” 

You and Steve leave your mountain of snacks behind to stand in the theatre hallway, where the winter air is cool on your flushed skin, and the silence is stifling. You lean against a wood feature wall and try to calm down, because he’s the one who should be upset (or maybe he’s not that fussed about you). He stands a half foot away with his arms crossed, looking down at his shoes, though occasionally he glances at you for a split-second and looks away again. 

“You okay?” he asks tightly. 

“I’m sorry.”

He pokes his cheek with his tongue. “So you don’t want to be together?” 

You don’t know. He deserves the truth, even if you barely understand it yourself, and it stings to say. “I do, I like you, but I… I want to take things slowly.” 

He stands there without talking for a while. When he does talk again, he’s laughing, that achy awful sadness he’d worn a far off memory. “You’re this upset because you want us to take things slow?” 

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” 

“You haven’t,” he promises. “That would never hurt my feelings. I knew when I heard it that it was too good to be true.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I gotta earn the title like everybody else does. Is that… cool?” 

You nod vehemently. 

Steve blows a relieved breath of air up his face, his hair ruffling off of his forehead. “I thought I was gonna lose you completely,” he says, smiling. “This is fine. I can work with slow. Slow’s my middle name.”

—♡—

The sun is a blistering heat today. “Can’t believe it’s only spring,” you murmur, eyes covered by the back of your arm. 

A weight sits down on the blanket beside you, the sound of dry grass crushed underfoot. He brings the fresh scent of lemon slices with him, the zest sticking to his hands.

“I think I might melt.” 

“I’d never let that happen,” Steve says, laying down beside you. 

“You can be my parasol.” 

“Your what?” 

“It’s a sun umbrella.” 

“Like this?” he asks, gently laying himself across your front, his face on the slip of your stomach that’s bare, his arms sneaking behind your thighs to hug them as you bring them up. 

You reach down to stroke his hair, taking your fingers through the silky lengths of it, fingernails scratching ever so slightly at his scalp. “Thanks,” you say.

He kisses your naked leg. “You’re welcome, honey.” 

If he’d done that at the beginning of your relationship, you’d have frozen up; not because he would’ve done it differently, not because he wasn't always your handsome sweetheart, but because being comfortable with someone this intimately takes time, and that’s okay. 

“Your face is digging into my hip,” you murmur. 

He shifts back, his ear above your belly button. “Is that better?” 

“That’s perfect.” 

“Are you falling asleep?” he asks softly. 

“No… I’m thinking.” 

“Nothing good ever comes of that.” 

“I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“I love talking to you,” he says. He sounds as though he might fall asleep himself, his tongue heavy in his mouth. 

You stroke his hair away from his face by touch alone. Long, warm minutes pass without conversation. You aren’t scared to tell him how you’re feeling. He’s proved to you over time that he’s someone you’ll always be able to trust, and that whatever you have to say will hold weight. 

“It’s a question.” 

He turns in your hold to face you. You raise your arm, greeted by the image of him sun-kissed and lazing, laid out across you without a care in the world. 

“Don’t tell me then,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, you’re terrifying.” 

“Would you wanna be my boyfriend?”

He narrows his eyes at you. A myriad of emotions pass between you both, until he’s smiling, and you know he’s sitting up for a kiss seconds before he actually does. He presses his lips to yours carefully. “Baby,” he says as he pulls away, voice as mild as his soft kiss, “I think we’ve passed that point.” 

“I realised I’d never asked you, is all.” 

His hair falls down into his eyes. You tuck it behind his ear. It’s pretty clear now you’re together, even after such a bumpy start. 

“Can I get it in writing this time?” he asks, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours, your eyes fluttering closed in tandem. 

“Give you anything you want if you kiss me,” you murmur. 

His laugh fans over your lips. He cups your cheek, your heart a hummingbird drilling at your ribs as Steve moves in to kiss you properly. Your lips part under the pressure, your head tilting a touch to one side to accommodate him as he searches down for you, melty hot pleasure and nerves that never seem to fade arising as his thumb moves up your cheek, a semi-circle of touch. It promises undulating care whenever you want it. 

You tip your head aside to catch your breath.

“Better late than never,” you joke. 

Steve talks into the soft skin beside your mouth. “You weren’t late, babe. I was early, and I didn’t mind waiting.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank u for reading!! pretty please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed cos it means so much to me and inspires me to write even more!!! but either way i hope u enjoyed❤️❤️❤️

[jewishrat420]

No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.

And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.

And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."

Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.

Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.

For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.

And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.

And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.

But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.

And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.

But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.

Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.

They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.

Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.

"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."

"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."

Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.

"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."

And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.

This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."

He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.

His next words come out without effort, without intent.

"Don't call me that."

He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.

"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"

Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.

"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"

Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.

His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.

"...You know."

Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.

Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.

Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.

"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."

Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.

"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."

Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.

"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"

Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."

Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.

"Yeah?"

Steve hums again.

"What about... sweetheart?"

Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.

"Yeah."

Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.

"Honey?"

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."

Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"

Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.

"Especially big boy."

Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.

Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.

"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"

Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."

Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.

His response is overwhelming.

Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.

And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.

He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.

Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.

"You know which one's my favorite?"

Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"

"Look at me."

Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.

It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.

Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.

The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.

"Baby."

Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.

"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.

"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."

This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.

"Think that can be arranged, baby."

[crowsofdarkness]

Soulmates: One Shot

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Trope : Soulmates

Word Count: 6,945

Content Warnings: language, angst, mentions of death/murder, mention of drinking.

Summary: Growing up, reader had been told stories about how you would dream your soulmates memories, something you never believed in. That was until someone new moves in next door and nightmares plague you every night.

A soft sigh left my lips as I finally stepped foot into my apartment. After the long day of law school and a double bartender shift, I was beyond exhausted. I tossed my bags and keys on the kitchen table and fell onto the sofa with a loud groan. 

“Ugh, I wish someone was here to massage my feet,” I groaned to myself. 

With a quiet meow, my black cat named Salem, jumped up on my stomach and purred his demands for ear scratches. 

“As much as I love you Salem, I don’t think your paws are big enough to massage out the knots in my feet from today.” I smiled. 

After a meow of disappointment, he jumped off my lap and retreated to his chair in the corner of the living room. I let out a disgusting loud yawn as I made my way towards my kitchen, hoping I could find some form of leftovers that I could call dinner. 

“Nothing like cold pizza for the third night in a row,” I said while taking a large bite. 

The silence throughout my apartment was deafening. It was only Salem and I for the past six years and I wouldn’t change it for anything. 

A relationship wouldn’t actually be the worst thing in the world but between law school five days a week and shifts at the bar four days a week, I barely had enough time to go grocery shopping or clean my apartment. On my off days, I spent it either showering or sleeping for half of the day. 

My mother used to tell me of an old folk lore that her family used to believe while she was growing up. ‘Soulmate dreamers.’ She claimed that two people who are destined to be together dream of each other's memories; soulmates. My parents were soulmates but I still couldn’t believe the folk tale. Every single night I wouldn’t dream, just a blackness. It had been like that every night since I turned eighteen and as the years passed, I started to give up hope. 

“Buck, be careful with that. GOD DAMNIT!” 

Squinting my eyes at the sudden crash coming from the hallway, I ran over to my door and slowly opened it. Two men stood outside my door, both bent at the knees picking up a pile of books that seemed to have fallen out of a box. With the sound of my locks coming undone, the two men looked up and with a sheepish smile, the blonde nodded towards me. 

“I’m so sorry if we woke you.” His lips turned down in a small frown underneath his beard. 

I shook my head. “No, you didn’t. I just heard a crash and some yelling.” 

“Yeah butterfingers over here let the box slip,” the blonde nodded towards the other man. 

He had longer hair than the blonde and his beard was shorter than the blondes but something about his eyes froze me in place. Under his long sleeves, I could see his muscles tensed as he lifted up a large pile of books. 

“Uh-moving out?” I questioned after forcing myself to look away from the muscles. 

“In,” the blonde set down another box before extending his hand. “Steve.” 

My hand was small in his and the roughness of it scratched my palm. 

“Y/N.” 

I looked over to the other man but noticed that his back was towards me. He walked down the hall a few steps before stepping through an open door into the apartment right next to my own. 

“Buck’s not that great with new people,” Steve defended. 

My brows quirked up. “Buck?”

“Bucky or James. But I call him Buck,” Steve informed.

“Well, Steve, what brings you and Bucky here to Brooklyn?” I questioned while leaning against my open door frame. 

“Retirement.” 

“Aren't you guys a little young to retire?” I joked. 

He shrugged with a laugh. “We started our careers really young. Now we’re looking for something quiet.” 

“Well you guys are in luck because nothing happens here. It’s a pretty boring part of town.” I said. 

“Eh, doesn’t seem that bad. The neighbors are pretty cute,” Steve smirked. 

My cheeks blushed warm and after a quick nod, I pointed over my shoulder. “Goodnight Steve.”

Steve returned my smile. “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

My body felt trapped as if someone was sitting on my chest while my arms and legs thrashed around my bed. I tried to speak, to yell, but my voice was in a vice grip as the nightmare forced me to listen to the screams and cries of strangers. Flash images of a sniper and a man dressed in black faded in and out before completely fading to black. 

I awoke in bed with a scream and looked around my room. The fear that I felt from those strangers in my dream ate away at me, something I couldn't shake; no matter how hard I tried. My heart hammered against its cage in my chest as I took deep breaths to calm myself down.  

“What a freak nightmare,” I groaned while rubbing the sleep from my eyes. 

Falling back to sleep was a distant memory and I had to force myself out of bed as another fun day of school all day with a closing bar shift right after standing in front of me. 

“Salem, do you want breakfast?” I questioned my feline companion as I came out of the bathroom, dressed for the long day ahead of me. 

After a quick scratch to Salem's head, I grabbed my bags and was out the door, large coffee in hand. 

“Morning, Y/N.”

“FUCK!” I cursed, almost dropping the large cup and placing a hand over my chest. 

Steve stood in front of me, hands up in defense. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

I let out a small breath of relief. “Oh, Steve. It’s okay, it's not your fault. I didn’t sleep much last night so I’m a little jumpy.” 

“That would explain the extra large coffee,” Steve smiled. 

“I wouldn’t survive law school without it,” I admitted. 

Steve’s eyes raised. “Law school, huh?” 

“Yeah, I’m in my final year. I’ve got exams today and Monday so I need all the coffee I can consume.” I smiled proudly. 

“Well, I’ll let you get going. Have a good day, Y/N.” Steve gave me a small smile. 

“You too, Steve.”

“You’re late.” 

Giving a sheepish grin to my manager, I said a quick apology while throwing my bags underneath the bar. “My exam ran long. But I can stay late if you need me.” 

A laugh erupted from my manager, Kim. “Nice try, Y/N. You’re already closing.” 

“Well it's the thought that counts,” I joked. 

It was well past six in the evening and the bar was jam packed, wall to wall with bodies getting ready to watch the football game. Friday nights were my favorite nights to work; a lot of people getting drunk and literally throwing their money towards me. 

Yet I also hated working Friday nights; the countless men throwing vulgar sayings towards me and trying their hardest to get my number. 

The next couple hours blurred together as I made drinks and small talk with many of my regulars. I had my back turned to the only two empty seats alongside the bar as I had an all too familiar conversation with one of my regulars, Becky. 

“Y/N, you’ve got to get out there and meet someone!” She slurred while raising her beer. “How long has it been since you’ve gone on a date?”

“The only dates I get are the ones with you and my homework,” I smiled at her. 

“Here’s your chance! Look at the two new guys at the other end of the bar. I haven’t seen them here before,” she hiccuped. 

Looking over my shoulder, I found myself smiling at the familiar blonde and brunette who had their eyes glued to the drink menu. 

Excusing myself from Kim’s rant about how she would like to “take them to bed”, I stopped in front of Steve and Bucky with a large smile on my face. 

“Well look who we have here,” I sang while placing my forearms on the bar and leaning over towards them. 

It was hard to hear in the packed bar. 

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Steve smiled. 

Bucky remained quiet, eyes still glued towards the drink menu so I kept my attention on Steve. 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Steve.” I reminded him. “So what are we drinking?”

Steve and Bucky had a quick and quiet conversation before Bucky nodded behind me. 

“Whatever you have on tap is fine.” 

I couldn’t help but freeze and blink at the sound of his voice. Something about it rang a large bell in my brain but I couldn't put a finger on what. 

“Uh, yeah sure. Of course.” I nodded. 

My hands shook as I poured their drinks, trying to calm my shaking hands. I let out a few breaths before returning back to them, a smile playing at my lips. 

“Here ya go. Did you want to keep your tab open?” I asked. 

Steve nodded. “Yeah we’re not in a rush.” 

I nodded back and as I placed their drinks in front of them, I noticed Bucky went to grab it with his left hand that was covered with a leather glove. Not wanting to stare and be weird, I coughed while throwing a thumb over my shoulder. 

“I’ve got to make my rounds. Let me know if you guys need something.” 

A quick ten minutes passed by as I refilled many drinks and small talked before I decided to check on Bucky and Steve. I noticed, however, that Steve’s stool was empty and Bucky was staring at the TV behind the bar. 

The same weird feeling filled my veins and I took a deep breath hoping that whatever this feeling was that it would disappear soon. 

“Need a refill?” I motioned towards his almost empty glass. 

“Sure, thank you,” He nodded. 

“Would Steve like one?” I asked. 

“Yeah, he only stepped out for a call.” 

After filling up their glasses, I placed it back on the bar. “Let me know if you need anything else.” 

I could tell by the way his shoulders tensed and the way he kept his hands grasped together on the bar that he did not want to have a conversation, he wanted to be left alone. 

As the night went on, I couldn’t help but think of why Bucky wore the glove on his left hand. Maybe he was missing fingers? Or maybe his left hand gets colder than his right? 

“Christ Y/N, you don’t even know him and you can't stop thinking about him,” I muttered to myself as I wiped down the counter.

“Thinking about who?” Kim asked as she came up from behind me. 

“Can you not give your best bartender a heart attack, please?” I exasperated while clutching my chest. 

“Could you be thinking about the two men sitting at the end of the bar?” Kim raised her eyebrows in a suggestive way. 

Giving a quick glance over her shoulder, I noticed that Steve and Bucky were still in their same spots, slowly nursing their third beer. They both looked like they were not in a rush to leave. 

Not that I was complaining. 

“They’re my new neighbors,” I admitted. “I can’t help but wonder about them.” 

“That’s a threesome I would love to be a part of.” Kim giggled. 

Shaking my head with a laugh, I motioned towards the stack of clean cups that were just placed on the bar. “I have work to do, Kim.” 

As I stacked the cups on the bar, I sensed someone sitting in the seat in front of me. I didn’t have to look up to see who it was, I could feel the creepiness ooze out of him. 

“What do you want, Mike?” I asked, not stopping what I was doing. 

“Go out with me,” Mike slurred while finishing off his beer. 

I shook my head. “You ask me out every Friday night and I always say no. When are you going to get it?” 

“C’mon. You’re saying no because you don’t know what you’re missing. Just one date.” 

“The reason why I always say no is because of your pregnant wife that waits for you to come home every night,” I informed while finally meeting his gaze. 

“She doesn’t have to know,” Mike grabbed my hand, a little too rough for my liking. 

“I’m only going to say this once, let go.” I stated, voice firm and not faltering. 

“Just one kiss?” His lips puckered as he started to lean over the bar. 

“She already said no. If you need help understanding, I’d be happy to help.” 

My eyes landed on Bucky who was now standing next to Mike and the way his shoulders tensed under his leather jacket made my stomach tingle. Mike dropped my hand before sauteing away, embarrassed he was turned down yet again. 

“Thank you,” I said to Bucky. “He comes in every Friday and still won’t take the hint I’m not interested.”

Bucky nodded with a small smile. “Anytime.” 

We fell in silence as our eyes locked and the blue color of his eyes rang that bell in my brain again. Something about those eyes were so familiar but I couldn’t tell how. 

“Um, did you and Steve need anything?” I asked, hoping to ease the sudden tension between us. 

“We’re ready to close the tab,” he stuttered for a moment, obviously feeling the sudden weird feeling that wrapped around us. 

A quick second later, I handed him the receipt with a quick thank you. “I’ll see you guys around?” 

Bucky nodded and handed back the receipt signed before walking out of the bar with Steve, who gave me a quick wave goodnight. 

I paid no attention to the name on the receipt, the $100 tip clipped to it immediately taking my attention. 

“Mom, I still have one more semester before I graduate. We shouldn’t be planning a party yet. Yes, I passed all of my exams. I have a two week break before classes start up again. No, I think I’m going to stay home and enjoy some me time. Oh god, no mother I will not go ask my neighbors to hang with me! I really wish I never told you about them. Alright, I’m hanging up now, love you.” 

With a loud sigh, I ended the call and tossed my phone onto the couch with my body following. I had finished my last exams the other day and after passing them all, I decided to celebrate with a two week vacation from work. Just Salem and I in our apartment watching crappy movies and eating crappy food. 

I didn’t want to tell my mom that another reason why I wanted to stay home and recoup is because of the nightmares I was having. Every night for the last two weeks, I dream of people screaming and dying. The terrors kept me up and I was amazed that I was able to finish this semester without failing. 

“Where is that cat anyway?” I questioned while standing up from the couch. “Salem, baby, where are you?”

After looking in all of his favorite hiding spots twice, it was when I walked back into the living room that I finally noticed the front door was open just a tad; enough for him to walk through. 

I was on the phone with my mom when I returned back from my morning shift at work and must have forgotten to shut the door behind me. 

“Fuck,” I cursed while running out into the hall. “Salem?!” 

A door clicked open and Steve was in the hall, a worried look on his face. “Hey, everything alright?” 

Letting out a shaky breath, I shook my head. “My cat got out and I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Is he black?” Steve questioned while leaning against his doorframe. 

“Yeah, have you seen him?” I asked, hopeful. 

Steve only nodded and motioned for me to follow him. 

Once in his apartment, I found myself breathing a large sigh of relief at the sight in front of me. Salem was lounging on their couch cuddling with a beautiful white, long haired cat. 

“It seems like Salem found himself a girlfriend,” Steve laughed. 

“I didn’t know you guys had a cat,” I said while picking up Salem and giving him love. 

Steve motioned me to sit on the couch, which I happily obliged. “Alpine is Bucky’s.”

“Well, she’s adorable. If Salem goes missing again, I’ll know where to look.” I giggled as Salem jumped from my lap and laid next to Alpine again. “Thank you for finding him.”

“Would you like anything to drink?” Steve questioned. 

Immediately I shook my head. “No, I should probably go. We’ve imposed enough.” 

I said the last part towards Salem mostly and went to leave but Steve shook his head. 

“You’re not. Salem is welcome here anytime. You too.” 

Steve’s small smile warmed my heart and I found myself lounging into the couch. “Thank you.”

We made small talk for a while, him asking how my semester finished at school, and I swore I never told him about finishing but waved it off. I’ve been so tired lately that I could have easily forgotten to tell him. 

“So how are you and Bucky liking Brooklyn?” I asked. 

Steve leaned back into the couch and rested his arm across the back of it. “We both actually grew up here. We left for work and decided to spend the rest of our days here.” 

Something about the way that Steve said put a little fear and hesitation in me. Even with his long hair slicked back and his full beard covering his face, something about him rang some sort of familiarity in me. 

“So,” I started, deciding to change the subject hoping the fear would disappear, “Where is Bucky?”

Steve’s brows perked at my interest in his roommate's whereabouts. “What, I’m not good enough for the company?” 

A loud giggle left my lips. “Eh, you’re alright.” 

We both shared a loud laugh and suddenly, the front door opened and a very sweaty Bucky entered the apartment. My eyes locked in on his broad chest that the muscles were defined in his extra tight Henley. The long sleeves encased his large arms and when I noticed the leather glove on his left hand again, I quickly averted my gaze back to his face. To my surprise, he was doing the same to me. 

His eyes took in my tired appearance and when they rested on Salem next to me, a small smile came to his lips. “You just can't stay away from Alpine, can ya buddy?” 

My eyes doubled in size. “He’s been here before?!” 

Bucky walked into the kitchen and took a long swig of water before nodding. “A few times now. I found out he walks through the fire escape and comes in through the open window in my bedroom.” 

I looked at Salem, appalled that he was having these little rendezvous. 

“So that’s what you’ve been doing while I’ve been gone?” I asked him. 

His face said everything he would if he could talk. 

Absolutely zero fucks given. 

“I’m so sorry that he keeps on bothering you guys.” I apologized to them. 

“It’s alright, we don’t mind him.” Steve informed as Salem jumped into his lap. 

The clock on the wall let me know that I was here for over an hour. “Well, I’ll let you guys get back to your night.”

Salem followed suit as Steve walked us to the door, showing us out. Bucky remained in his place in the kitchen and I felt his gaze on me as I walked out.

“No, please!” 

My body was locked into place on my bed, the nightmare pressing down on me. 

“I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me!”

Soft whimpers escaped my closed lips as hands wrapped around a throat, cutting off their airway. 

The scene changed to a large room with a chair in the middle. Screams were heard bouncing off the walls, screams of pain and despair. A man dressed in an old army uniform stood in front of me, a language I had not known coming from his lips. He only spoke ten words. 

Longing. 

Rusted. 

Seventeen. 

Daybreak.

Furnace. 

Nine. 

Benign. 

Homecoming. 

One.

Freight car. 

Even though it was in a language I hadn’t heard before, I understood every single word. 

“Soldat?” 

“Ready to comply.” 

The voice came from my own throat and I awoke in a quick start, a loud scream ringing throughout my apartment. I shook with fear, that voice sounded so familiar and it shook me to the core knowing that a different voice came through me. 

A loud knock sounding at my front door caused me to jump from my bed, my body falling onto the floor with a hard thud. I backed myself into the corner of my room as the knocking continued, afraid that whatever nightmare I was having was coming true. 

“Y/N?” 

Bucky’s soft voice sounded outside my front door and with a quick jump, I was at my door, opening it slightly. 

I was met with his very tired eyes and suddenly felt guilty for waking him up from my nightmares. 

“Hey, I heard you screaming. Is everything alright?” He questioned while peaking over my head into my apartment. 

“I’m sorry for waking you. I just had a bad dream, that’s all.” 

My voice came out hoarse and quiet. 

Bucky nodded. “Okay. Well, let me know if you need anything, alright?” 

Giving him a small smile of thanks, I shut the door and quickly locked it. Not before noticing that he only kept his left hand in his pocket the entire time. 

I sat up in bed, arms wrapped around my knees that were pulled up against my chest, afraid that if I fell asleep again that I would have another nightmare. The sun was casting a golden glow in my room and the warmth felt nothing against my cold skin. 

After Bucky left, I couldn’t find it in myself to fall back asleep so I tried everything I could to stay awake; multiple cups of coffee, listening to music, and watching countless movies. I was starting to lose the fight, feeling exhausted and before I could stop myself my body fell onto the mattress, sleep winning. 

Two men dressed in suits walked up stairs to an apartment. The warm summer breeze blowing through their hair. My hand extended towards the other man, the face being so familiar but yet unknown to me, and he took the key with gratitude. 

“Thank you but I can get by on my own.” The smaller man said. 

“The thing is, you don’t have too.” 

Words escaped through my lips again, in a different voice. 

This dream was different from all the others. I didn't feel death or scared; I felt warmth and love. 

My hand was placed on the smaller man's shoulders. “I’m with you till the end of the line, punk.” 

“I know, jerk.”

My dream shifted to another memory and I found myself being surrounded with trees and a large group of people around me. I was invisible to them, no one noticed I was there. There were cheers and applause, something worth celebrating for. 

“Hey! Let’s hear it for Captain America!” 

I awoke and found myself back into my own apartment, Salem laying softly next to me with a quiet purr coming from him. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, I rolled out of bed and walked into the open main living space of my apartment and was getting ready to find something for breakfast but my feet froze when I noticed what time it exactly was. 

“Six o'clock?! What the hell, did I sleep the whole day away?” I groaned. 

Debating on what I would do with the rest of my night, I decided that I would try and relax by taking a hot bubble bath. After that much needed bath, I walked back into the living room in my usual pjs that consisted of an oversized t-shirt and an old pair of an ex's boxers, and noticed that Salem was not alone on the couch; Alpine had decided to join us tonight. 

“Well hello, does your dad know you’re over here?” 

As soon as the words left my lips, there was a knock at my door. 

Blue eyes pierced my own as the door opened and I was overtaken with an urge to jump into Bucky’s arms; I didn’t. 

It was already awkward enough that I was standing in front of him looking like a hot mess. 

“I’m guessing Alpine is over here?” He asked while leaning against the door frame. 

I nodded with a smile. “Yeah. I can send her back home if you’d like but I do have to say, they look pretty comfortable.” 

Moving to the side, I let Bucky peek into my apartment at the couch where our two cats laid cuddled together. 

“You can send her home later,” Bucky laughed. “I’ll let you get back to your night.” 

Before I could stop myself, I gently grabbed his right arm to stop him. “Actually, if you want to stay you can. I was going to order some food and watch a movie.” 

Bucky stuffed his hands in his sweater pocket and hesitated. “I don’t want to impose.” 

“Not at all,” I spoke with a smile and opened the door more to let him inside. 

“Uh, Steve was actually picking up some Chinese for us. I could tell him to pick something up for you too,” Bucky suggested. 

“That would be great, thank you. I’m fine with whatever you guys are having.” 

While Bucky was on the phone with Steve, I quickly excused myself to change. I suddenly found myself wanting to impress Bucky. After deciding on a pair of skin tight leggings and an oversized white knit sweater, I tossed my hair a bit, giving it some type of wave, before walking out into the main living area. 

“Steve is going to be awhile. The Chinese place is busy,” Bucky informed me. 

I waved him off, saying it was alright. “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“Beer is fine, thank you.” 

After giving him one, I sat on the opposite side of the couch while pulling my feet under me. 

“How long have you and Steve known each other?” I asked. 

“Uh, since we were kids. We basically grew up on the playground together.” 

Something about him and my nightmares had this weird connection that I wasn’t able to put my finger on. If my mother had a say in it she would tell me that it was the whole ‘soulmate dreamers’ but I never believed in that stuff. It was an old wise tale that  her great-great-great grandparents told her.

“Well what do you want to know about me? Ask me anything,” I offered. 

Bucky placed his empty bottle on the table in front of him before leaning back into the couch. His arm rested on the back, fingers close to my knees. 

“Steve said that you’re in law school?” He asked. 

“Yup, I’ve got one semester left before I graduate.” I spoke proudly. “My parents have six kids, me being the oldest, so being the first one to graduate is big. My mom wants to start planning a party.”

“She seems very proud,” Bucky noted. 

I nodded. “She is. I don’t see my family very much, they live in Greece. I moved here at eighteen for school.” 

“That sounds tough.” 

“It can be at times.” I admitted. 

A silence fell between us and I looked over to his arm that rested on the back of the couch, noticing he was wearing the glove again. I then remembered that he only ever wore long sleeves when I was around. I knew it was none of my business but I couldn’t help but wonder what was underneath his shirt and glove. 

Suddenly I found myself wondering what was underneath his black sweatpants and heat spread through my body. Flash images of two people in bed together played in my mind. Sweaty, hot bodies pressed against each other and their moans were in sync. 

“Y/N?” 

Looking towards Bucky, the images disappeared from my mind, and I bit my lip. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” 

He nodded towards the door. “Steve’s here.” 

“Oh, sorry.”

I let Steve in with a smile, saying thank you for picking up some food. 

“Was I interrupting something?” He questioned while nodding towards Bucky's beer bottle and my empty wine glass. 

“Not at all, we were just talking.” I said. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

As I set out the food on the table, Steve punched Bucky in the shoulder. 

“Next time you’re picking up the food, punk.” 

Bucky laughed. “Sure thing, jerk.” 

My body froze when I heard those familiar words. 

Punk. 

Jerk.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Steve asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Uh, actually I’m not feeling well. I’m sorry guys but I’m going to have to cut the night short.” I lied. 

Bucky went to speak but I stopped him by nodding towards the door. “Can you lock up for me?” 

Not bothering to hear their response, I ran into my room and locked the door behind me. 

Weeks had passed by, me busying myself with school and work, as I tried to avoid Steve and Bucky. Ever since that night we all hung out, I tried to make sense of this whole situation. I didn’t know much about them and was afraid of what I would find out. 

The nightmares had ended after that night and I could sleep easier knowing that the screams of death would no longer haunt me. 

I still felt guilty, however, ignoring Steve and Bucky. They both had been nothing but nice and sweet to me and I cut them out of my life with no explanation. 

Letting out a soft sigh, I let my door close behind me as I made my way towards the laundry room on my floor. My laundry had started to pile up and I knew I couldn't keep hiding out in my apartment. I was running out of clean clothes. 

A soft tune from the 1940’s played through my phone, me finding this music relaxing, as I was shut out of the outside world. My hips swayed to the music and I was oblivious to the man who entered the room.

“You’ll never know how many dreams. I’ve dreamed about you or just how empty they all seemed without you. So kiss me once, then kiss me twice then kiss me once again. It’s been a long, long time,” I softly sang the words. 

“This has to be one of my favorite songs.” 

Dropping my basket of clothes on the ground, I turned on my heels and was face to face with one of the men I was avoiding. 

“How long have you been standing there?” I questioned. 

Bucky set his basket of clothes down on the table. “Since the start of the song.” 

“Well, I’m just about finished.” I rushed while picking up the clothes that fell out of my basket.

“Y/N, did we do something?” Bucky asked. 

I shook my head. “I’ve been busy with school and work. Speaking of which, I’ve got a paper due in an hour so I should get started.”

As I tried to walk out, Bucky stepped in front of me to stop me. “If I did anything to make you feel uncomfortable, I’m sorry.” 

“Bucky, you didn’t do anything. I’ve just been really busy.” I admitted with a sigh. 

Finally looking up at him, I noticed how close we were and I sucked in a breath. His lips were plump and punk from underneath his beard and I fought the urge to see how they tasted. 

He gently raised a hand to move a strand of hair from my face. “You’re a terrible liar.” 

His voice was soft and quiet.  

“I really should get started on that paper,” I whispered.

Gloved fingers grazed my chin and forced me to look into his eyes. I couldn't ignore the coldness that seeped through the leather.  

“Before you go,” Bucky’s breath fanned over my lips and his other hand reached around my hip, “You don’t want to forget this.” 

My eyes looked away from him and my cheeks burned with fire when I noticed that he was holding up one of my red lace bra and panty sets. I hastily grabbed them and tossed them into my basket. 

“I bet red looks really good on you,” He murmured into my neck.

Heat filled my veins at the gruffness of his voice and I shifted on my feet trying to hide my arousal. 

“I’ll-uh-see you around, Bucky.” I muttered while quickly running out of the room back to my apartment to take a long, cold shower. 

Tightness engulfed my throat as the air was being sucked out of me. I tried to yell, scream, but nothing would come out. The hand around my throat tightened with every fight and my vision became hazy. Life was being squeezed out of me and there was nothing I could do to stop it. 

My eyes, before fading to black, looked from the dark eyes peeking through the long strands of hair and down towards the arm that was wrapped around my neck. Except it wasn't a normal arm, it was cold and hard. 

It was metal. 

A loud knock woke me from my nap on the couch and I let out a big sigh of relief that I was able to breathe again. This was the first nightmare I had in weeks and this one felt so real; I truly thought I was going to die. 

Another knock sounded on the door. 

“Coming!” I yelled while getting up from the couch. 

“Let’s go.” 

Steve grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my apartment, locking the door behind me. 

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to plant my feet in place. 

“You’ve been ignoring us for weeks, Y/N. You’re hanging out with us tonight.” 

“But-,” I started. 

We stopped in front of Steve’s door and he shook his head. “Bucky said you’ve been busy with school and work so you’re relaxing with beers and crappy movies, okay?”

Realizing that this was a fight I wasn’t going to win, I sighed. “Fine but you’re paying for the beers. And I want an extra large cheese pizza.” 

“Deal,” Steve smiled. 

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back soon.” Steve let me into his apartment and with a quick wave, he was down the stairs. 

I could hear water running behind a door and I figured that Bucky was in the shower. Biting my lip, I tried to picture what he looked like with the water cascading down his broad chest to his hips and even lower.

“Get a hold of yourself, Y/N.” I muttered while sitting on the couch. 

I spent the next few minutes cuddling with Alpine, waiting for Steve to return, and when the bathroom door clicked open my previous thoughts had come true. 

Bucky stood in front of me with a black towel wrapped loosely around his waist, obviously not expecting me to be sitting in front of him. Water dripped from his hair and I followed it down his naked torso. My mouth ran dry when I noticed the glistening shine coming from his arm. 

His metal arm. 

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, not bothering to tighten the towel around him. 

I could tell that he was nervous when he saw that I couldn’t take my eyes off his left arm. 

“Uh-Steve, he uh, went to get something to eat,” I stammered over my words. 

The man that I had been dreaming about, having nightmares about, was standing in front of me and I realized that the folklore my mom used to tell me growing up was in fact true. 

Bucky was my soulmate. 

“Your arm,” I pointed towards it. “Oh my god, you killed people.” 

Bucky shifted, his body tensed. “I can explain.” 

I stood on my feet and made a run for the door. Bucky stepped in front of me to stop me. His bare chest was in front of me and I refused to look into his eyes. 

“Please let me explain, Y/N,” He pleaded. 

I shook my head, voice almost gone. “I really should go.” 

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” His hands cupped my face and forced me to look at him. “I’m not that person anymore. That was years ago.” 

When I didn’t fight him, he sighed before continuing. “Just give me five minutes and I can tell you wherever you want to know.”

“I already know what I need to know. I dreamed of your memories for months, their screams and cries kept me up every single night,” I stated. 

Before I could register what was going on, Bucky had me over his shoulder and was walking towards his room. My butt fell onto his bed with a soft thud and he kicked the door shut. I backed up as far as I could, my back hitting his headboard. 

“Y/N, please,” Bucky begged. “If I wanted to hurt you, don’t you think I would have done so already?” 

When I was silent, he knew that I couldn’t argue with that question. 

“Why’d you do it?” I questioned, voice shaky with sobs. 

“I’ll explain everything as long as you’ll let me but can I get dressed first?” He motioned towards the towel.

Giving a small nod, I turned my back to him, allowing him to get dressed. When the bed dipped down next to me, I looked over to him and noticed he opted out of putting on a shirt. His metal arm out on full display. 

“I never thought it was true; soulmate dreamers. My mom would tell me these stories growing up but that's all I thought they were. Stories,” I said. 

“That’s why you dreamed of my memories?” Bucky asked. 

I nodded. “They weren’t all bad. I dreamt of times with both you and Steve. You two were in a war and you called him Captain America?” 

That was when Bucky explained everything. How after his time in the war, he was kidnapped by this highly known terrorist group called Hydra and they used him and his arm as a weapon of destruction. They would freeze him then unfreeze him when they needed him to kill someone. When he was done, they would wipe his memory and freeze him again. Which would explain why he looked so young; he was born in 1917. 

“I don’t understand. I’ve been living in New York for years and I can’t believe I’ve never heard of you guys before,” I said astonished. “And Steve was frozen in ice for over 70 years?”

“After everything we’ve been through, we decided to come back home and try to live normally,” Bucky said. 

I sat up on my knees. “Did you ever have dreams of me?” 

A warm smile played on Bucky's lips. “Every night.” 

“Of what?” 

“When you were five years old and your parents surprised you with the puppy you’d been wanting for so long. Or the time that after your 16th birthday, you snuck out of your house to see a boy but after you climbed down the tree, your dad was outside waiting for you.” 

A giggle left my lips. “I got in so much trouble.” 

“My favorite is when you were singing in the laundry room to my favorite song. That was when I knew I was in love with you,” Bucky admitted. 

“That happened earlier today,” I reminded him. 

Bucky nodded. “I knew it from the moment I saw you when I moved in that you were my soulmate. I dreamt of you for months before meeting you.” 

“What does this mean now?” I wondered while reaching for his metal hand. “We both know that we’re meant to be together but what do we do?”

His flesh fingers brought my face closer to his and without saying a word, our lips collided together. The kiss was fast, needy, but slow at the same time. His lips tasted exactly how I thought they would; minty. I climbed into his lap while running my hands through his hair, deepening the kiss. 

“Bucky,” I mumbled into his lips.

“Hm?” 

“I. really. Don't. want. To,” I spoke in between kisses. “I don’t want to ruin the moment but we’ve got four eyes staring at us.” 

Bucky pulled away and we both looked over to the window where both Alpine and Salem stood, watching us. 

“It seems like we’re not the only soulmates,” I giggled, feeling Bucky’s lips brush against the sensitive skin of my neck. 

“You know what I’m wondering?” He pondered. 

“What's that?” I breathed while brushing the hair out of his face. 

“If you’re wearing that red number underneath these clothes,” Bucky groaned. 

I raised my eyebrows in seduction. “Why don’t you find out?” 

Our laughs and moans were heard throughout his apartment. That night I slept with a warm body next to mine and the nightmares had stopped; for good. 

[justanothervoreblog]

Big Brother's Indulgence

Martin had been warned so many times about the noise. Once was an honest mistake, two was recklessness, and three was just a blatant disregard. Kyle had to lay down the law. He pardons himself from the game chat that he was on and makes his way towards Martin's room. Martin had a friend over, Sam, the two of them together were a nightmare. However, both of them together would be delicious.

Kyle opens up the door and interrupts both of the noisemakers. Right before he was about to grab them, he could see cans of Coke all over the floor. So not only had Martin failed to entertain his guests at unreasonable noise levels, but he went right into Kyle's secret stash of sodas. Now this was more than just punishment, this was earned gluttony.

Kyle's belly growled out in anticipation and Martin immediately realized that he had fucked up. He had watched Kyle swallow up a couple of religious solicitors once. Martin was fully aware of what his brother could do and began to plead for his mercy. Sam foolishly believed that this was a punishment was relegated family members to try to make a subtle exit. Kyle grabs him by the shoulders and opens his mouth possibly wide. Sam screams but it is immediately cut off by the muscled walls of Kyle's throat. To make sure that Martin doesn't try a similar stunt, Kyle seizes Martin by the shirt. He gets a front-row ticket to his brother's gluttony.

Kyle shoves Sam into his mouth. The saliva slicks up the shoulders and helps them slide past that pink tongue. Afterward, the lean chest and abs follow quickly. Martin's room is filled with Kyle's gluttony and satisfied moans. His stomach greedily awaited the arrival of Sam. It gets its first bit of food when Sam's head pops past that tight stomach ring. It was an uninviting and hostile place, Kyle's belly. Inside was digesting Pizza and leftovers, and he was pretty sure that there was a Best Buy t-shirt. All that remains of the unhelpful worker that Kyle had snapped up.

Martin watched as Sam's legs uselessly outside of his brother's maw. His thighs are slowly reduced down to the calves. Kyle removes the sneakers from Martin's feet. He leaves the socks though, it was always a bit of a kink of his. Then Martin watches as Sam goes from best friend to brother food with a single gulp. The bulge passes down into Kyle's throat and then expands inside of his belly. Martin can hear Sam's cries from inside. He watches Kyle rub over that belly and Martin trapped within. Martin knows that it was fucked up way to think, but he silently hopes that Sam was enough for Kyle's hunger.

For a moment, Kyle just pushes his brother's face up against his expanding dome. Martin could feel every twitch that Sam made and realized that if he ever wanted to see Sam again, he'd have to ask Kyle to lift his shirt. Kyle didn't usually let his meals go and this wasn't the first time that he had snacked on Martin's friends. Billy, Josh, and Steve had all made their way down Kyle's throat.

Then a rumbling vibrates Kyle's belly and Martin knows exactly what was about to happen. With a loud burp, the nastiest-smelling air is expelled. It was wet too, bits of spittle landing on Martin's face. All of it, unfortunately, smelled like Sam. The dome slightly shrinks to reveal Martin continuing to struggle. The fight inside the belly becomes clear for a moment. Then the belly expands again leaving the prey obscured.

Kyle's eyes then drift down to Martin, his little brother. For a moment there is an exchange, no words. Could Kyle eat his brother? His own flesh and blood? Was that a line that he could cross? Martin hoped that there was some limit to Kyle's gluttony. Maybe eating one of his friends was enough and Kyle would let him go? Perhaps, there was a chance. Kyle lifted him so that Martin was close enough to smell Kyle's Sam-scented breath. The pool of saliva building up at the back of his mouth was intimidating. Still, Kyle wouldn't actually do it right, right?

Martin's hopes get dashed as Kyle licks his lips. Martin doesn't remember what Kyle says after that. Something about how the second course is always sweeter or something along that line. What Martin does remember is Kyle opening up his mouth and his world turning to darkness…

Kyle could feel the weight of his gaming chair creek. Other chairs he had owned would have broken by now, but this one had been properly reinforced. If Kyle was going to eat like a pig, then he should have a chair that fits him like one. Martin and Sam had saved him only one Coke. So who is the real pig here? It was still Kyle, now with Martin and Sam trapped inside of his belly.

The struggle had calmed down a while ago, both boys accepting their fate as food for Kyle. Kyle savors their taste with a refreshing Coke as he texts the game chat that he will be a moment. He was going to order some more food for himself and in a way, Martin and Sam. Of course, if they ate the food that already came down, it was their business. Kyle had already gotten his.

So while Kyle waited for the food delivery, his hands roamed over that mighty gut. His little brother was trapped inside, wondering if he would see the sun again. Kyle wasn't sure if his little brother would be let out. Sam would be a permanent resident, much like his other little friends. Kyle thought about the questions his dad might ask. It was enough to make him reconsider or… Kyle could just show his dad where Martin had gone. The thought of that makes him chuckle as he rubs his fat gut. As he daydreams about the scenario, Martin plays with his belly button.

The doorbell cuts him out of his delusions. He stands with his hefty belly and stretches realizing that the food was here. Right before he was about to head to the door, his belly growled.

The question is this: Did Kyle want thirds?

[neil-gaiman]

Can you explain about IATSE 839? I’m confused about why those folks are still working.

Because they aren't the WGA and aren't on strike.

They support the WGA.

Beyond that, you can read their FAQs on the strike and their obligations at

But these questions and answers may explain it for you.

How does the WGA strike affect you as a TAG member?

Most animation writing work in Los Angeles County is performed under The Animation Guild, IATSE Local 839, agreements. These contracts are separate from the WGA contract. If you are working under a TAG contract, you can continue working.

What if I am working on a show or production with WGA writers?

Several productions where animation work is covered under TAG collective bargaining agreements are also staffed by WGA writers. You can continue performing your work duties as requested, but do not perform any WGA covered work. Remember, struck work can include small requests like, “can you punch up this joke?” If you are approached to do WGA work, please contact TAG Business Representative Steve Kaplan at Steve.Kaplan@tag839.org. Also, be prepared that you may face a picket line at your studio and be asked to honor it.

What should I do if there is a picket line outside of my studio? Will I be protected for honoring it?

It’s your personal decision to choose whether to cross the picket line or honor it. Honoring a picket line shows your support for the WGA writers, their union, and the labor movement. The TAG agreements do not expressly prohibit employees from honoring lawful picket lines. Therefore, employees working under the agreement retain their right granted by the NLRA (National Labor Relations Act) to honor a lawful picket line. However, should you honor the picket line, it is the employer’s right to temporarily and/or permanently replace you through due process.

Can my employer fire me if I honor a lawful picket line?

Under existing law, employers have a legal right to temporarily replace any employee who refuses to cross a picket line with employees who are willing to work. Different laws apply depending on whether the strike is considered economic or in protest of unfair labor practices. The WGA strike would most likely be considered an economic strike.

What if I work remotely? Am I protected for honoring a picket line if I don’t have to cross one physically?

Workers who are remote are not presented with a picket line. Therefore, they should continue to work. Unless a worker encounters a physical picket line, they may continue their work. Any collective work-stoppage may become a plausible violation of a collective bargaining agreement. 

[fairy-writes]

MY BEST GIRL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8 

Pairing(s): Hibino Kafka x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Pregnant!Reader, Reader is smaller than Kafka, Childbirth

Notes: The title is inspired by what Steve Rogers said to Peggy Carter in “The Winter Soldier.”

PART ONE LINKED HERE

__________________________________________________________________________

Ichikawa Reno knew something was off about Hibino Kafka when he came to work the next day, obviously sullen and downtrodden. He kept fidgeting with his wedding ring, something Reno knew he only did when he had something on his mind.

But he wouldn’t say anything.

At least, not until Iharu found out about his marriage three months later.

“You’re WHAT?!” He gaped at Kafka, who looked spooked. His chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth, and he glanced around at the room, which had gone dead silent in shock.

“I’m what?” He asked, dumbfounded until Iharu lunged across the table to grab his left hand and point at the wedding band.

“Reno said you’re married! Since when?!” He demanded, and now everyone was getting interested. Conversations petered out as they all looked over at the commotion.

Kafka noticed everyone staring and promptly panicked. Reno couldn’t help but hide a smile at his flushed pink face and neck.

“We’ve been married for four years! Together for eight!” He squawked awkwardly, and Iharu recoiled as if smacked.

“No way! I don’t believe you!” He complained and looked to Reno, “You don’t believe him either, right?!” He asked, and Reno shrugged.

“I’ve met her. She’s nice.” Was all he said.

That caused an explosion of noise. 

And Reno noticed that Kafka snuck out in the middle of it all.

Of course, he followed him! He waited until Haruichi and Iharu were bickering and slipped out to find Kafka sitting against the wall just outside the dining room, staring blankly at his phone screen.

It was a picture of the both of you, his hand on your belly as the two of you celebrated finding out about your pregnancy. It was the one thing Kafka never shut up about until suddenly, he just stopped talking about it altogether. In fact, Reno was fairly certain that no one besides him and Kafka even knew about it.

Just what had happened?

“Is everything okay?” He asked and Kafka jumped, slamming his head back against the wall.

“Oh, Ichikawa! Yeah… Everything just… Got a bit noisy, is all.” He mumbled the last bit and that’s when Reno knew something was really wrong.

But, as clever as he was, he didn’t know how to make it better.

Hibino Kafka rolled over in bed until he was on his back and stared at the ceiling. 

His apartment felt empty. 

Cold.

He felt alone.

It had been four months since he had last seen you. By now, you would’ve been close to thirty-somewhat weeks along in your pregnancy. Had you picked out a name? Had you learned the gender yet? What was going to happen to your relationship with him? Were you really going to throw eight years down the drain?

He was just on the edge of dozing when his phone buzzed. He slapped a hand over it, dragging it closer to his face as he rolled onto his side.

Who was texting so late?

Probably Furuhashi sending a cat meme or something…

But it was like a bucket of cold water had been splashed in his face as he read the text.

It was from Haru. Your best friend and older brother. His brother-in-law.

“She’s in labor. She needs you.” 

Straight and to the point, just like he knew Haru to be. Another text and this time it was the address to the hospital. But Kafka already knew how to get there. He could do it with his eyes closed. He hurriedly threw on some clothes and shoes and was out the door before he could even really process what was happening.

You were in labor.

But it was too early! An entire month early! Sure, the baby was likely going to survive, but would you? You were a high-risk pregnancy, especially with this being your first!

Would you be okay?

He made it to the hospital in record time. He all but sprinted up to the labor and delivery ward and met Haru in the hallway. He stopped him in his tracks.

“You came.” He said bluntly, and Kafka huffed,

“Of course I did. Is she okay?” He demanded, and Haru gestured to the room.

“See for yourself.”

He checked in with the nurse coming out of your room, explaining that he was your husband and that you were asking for him. He barely said his name before the nurse ushered him into the room.

You were tired. That much was obvious. The midwife patted the sweat on your forehead with a damp towel, coaxing you through a contraction as you clenched your fists in the blanket as the wave of pain washed over you. But when you heard the door open and shut, you opened your eyes and spotted him. 

“You came.” You whispered, and he gently took the midwife’s spot next to your bed, reaching out to hold your hand. He ignored the pain of your hand squeezing the life out of his and instead smiled, 

“I couldn’t leave my best girl. Not when she needs me.” He replied and saw tears well up in your eyes. 

“But I’ve been horrible to you!” You begin to cry, and he hushes you softly, gently, like he is quieting your child, who is going to be here soon. 

“I made a vow when I married you, didn’t I? I promised I’d be there for you no matter what!” He said firmly but no less gently than he had before. 

Another contraction and the doctor instructed you to push. You let out a guttural scream as you tried with all your might. 

And a baby cried. 

[vintagegeekculture]

So, a friend of mine on Discord said something interesting, and I feel like you might have thoughts on it. So. What do you think of the idea of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as being "The Shaw Brothers for kids", a sort of gateway drug for "the kung fu genre"?

Not the Shaw Brothers, but Golden Harvest. Let me explain: 

I’m going to sound like a conspiracy theorist when I say this, but I believe the New Line Cinema “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” (1990) movie was actually a money laundering scheme by the Chinese Mafia, specifically, the Sun Yee On Triad. 

Looking into the role of organized crime in martial arts cinema is a rabbit hole that goes very, very, very deep...and comes out somewhere very shocking at the end.

You mention the Shaw Brothers, but there was another Hong Kong Producer who was the only credible rival to the Shaw Brothers (and who eventually surpassed the Shaws) in martial arts movies: Golden Harvest’s Raymond Chow….a man who started off as the Shaw Brothers’ talent division, but who eventually founded his own rival studio to the Shaws (with rumored triad financial backing), and who made Bruce Lee, Angela Mao and Jackie Chan stars. Raymond Chow is widely, and extremely credibly, believed to be a middleman for the Hong Kong Triad, the Sun Yee On, who used Golden Harvest as a front facing money laundering scheme, as claimed by Frederic Dannen in "Hong Kong Babylon," and Yiu Kong Chiu in "The Triads as Business," books I recommend if you are at all interested in the topic of organized crime in the Hong Kong film industry.

Raymond Chow was also the producer and primary funder of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movies. I mean, what does it mean when your movie is entirely produced and funded by a guy well known for being a triad middleman and money launderer?

And all of this happened at New Line Cinema, a borderline independent film company…one known for having dodgy financials it’s entire existence, no less, which ultimately doomed it? One of the most extraordinary things about the 1990 Ninja Turtles movie is that it was, essentially, an independent film. New Line would later become a powerhouse as a studio and created Lord of the Rings, but at the time, it was a mainly low rent operation, rather like Cannon films, known for the success of the slasher series “Nightmare on Elm Street.” So yes, I do believe "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" (1990) was a money laundering scheme by the Chinese Mafia.

The triads in Hong Kong, Macao, and Taiwan take enormous interest in financing martial arts movies for the same reason that they take a tremendous interest in financing porn movies: they’re quick, cheap, dirty, and can be used as a mechanism for laundering money, and a way to claim money from illegal sources (say, heroin) comes from a clean and legal source that can be claimed on taxes, like say, a movie studio. In addition, Hong Kong’s strict rating system, the Category III (equivalent to a far stricter R-rating) meant that very violent movies were handled in ways that were outside the law in ways similar to pornography. And according to several Senate investigations in 1991 ("Hearings on Asian Organized Crime"), the triads were actively involved in money laundering as well outside of Hong Kong, including currency trading and real estate, and the idea they could back a studio is entirely possible.

Everyone working in Hong Kong cinema has a story of dealing with the triads, who are interwoven into the city. Anita Mui's manager was was shot dead by mafiosos. Jimmy Wang Yu, the first Kung Fu star, was a suspected member of the Bamboo Union triad, and once borrowed money from one triad to pay another....and may have used his reported connections with the Triads to get Jackie Chan out of his initial contract with Golden Harvest, a favor Jackie repaid. Golden Harvest studios were actually firebombed in 1984, an event suspected to be due to Triad activity. Raymond Chow’s fellow producer and good friend who discovered Steven Chow, film producer Charles Heung, is well known to be the son of Heung Chin, who founded the Sun Yee On Triad, the largest in Hong Kong with over 25,000 members. And you don’t have to take my word for it; a US Senate Committee in 1991 on Asian Organized Crime identified Cheung as a leader of the Sun Yee On along with his brothers. Because of his association with Charles Heung and the Sun Yee On, Steven Chow, director of Kung Fu Hustle, cannot enter Canada legally.

Jackie Chan asserted Raymond Chow’s triad connections in his autobiography, and also claimed that he only hired triad members and other people who were mobbed up at Golden Harvest. One example would be producer Ng See Yuen, who produced Once Upon a Time in China for Golden Harvest, and who Jet Li refused to work with ever again after his manager was assassinated by triad gunmen (Jet Li blamed Ng See Yuen for his manager's death).

There's also Lo Wei, a Shaw Brothers director and known “Red Pole” enforcer of the Sun Yee On Triad, who came over to Golden Harvest, where he directed Bruce Lee’s Chinese Connection and Big Boss, and also directed Jackie Chan’s earliest “period” historical movies for GH. Jackie Chan, in his autobiography, stated that the reason he initially left Hong Kong to go to the United States for an American career was because Lo Wei, his director on Laughing Hyena, put a hit out on him for refusing to make Laughing Hyena 2, and Jackie had to flee the city when Lo Wei sent gunmen to his house to abduct him. When arriving in the United States, he had to avoid some men with machine guns at the airport. To this day, whenever possible, Jackie Chan goes out in public armed for fear of gangsters. 

Even Jackie Chan though, never made the assertion that Raymond Chow and the Sun Yee On had Bruce Lee killed. This is important to mention because if you talk to any Chinese person, nearly all of them believe with unshakable, absolute certainty that the Chinese Mafia killed Bruce Lee, which is literally the plot of Game of Death (which, incidentally, Raymond Chow produced). Everyone around Bruce was mobbed up, because everyone in the Hong Kong film industry was mobbed up; in fact, it’s an open question how much it existed for its own sake. It’s notable Bruce Lee died at the home of Betty Lo Ting Pei, Golden Harvest actress, and his known mistress…who was married to a triad gangster. It’s also known that the first person that Betty Lo Ting Pei called when Bruce died was not medical services but Raymond Chow, something that to this day, she has not attempted to explain. 

It can be hard to imagine what the motive is for Raymond Chow and the triads to kill Bruce Lee. After all, wouldn’t Bruce Lee be more useful to Raymond Chow alive than dead? I never saw the angle, here. But then, you consider that in the last few months of his life, Bruce Lee started to set the stage for his transition to behind the scenes roles like producer, and was assembling a lot of stunt talent around him (a lot of productions down the pipeline intended to have Bruce Lee in producer roles, like Circle of Iron). The rumor among the stunt players, as recounted by Sammo Hung, was that Bruce was attempting to form his own stunt and film production company (as Chiba later did successfully in Japan) and that would involve organizing and peeling off half the talent in Hong Kong….in a deeply triad controlled industry, no less. There was also a story recounted by witnesses that Bruce Lee, a temperamental and explosively violent man, physically assaulted Raymond Chow in his office with punches and kicks when he heard Chow had two sets of books in their shared production company, as Bruce was always keen to keep the triads out of his films. Ten days later, Bruce Lee was dead. And for weeks before his death, Lee told his friends "Hong Kong is getting too hot, I have to get out."

And you know something? A Ninja Turtles movie from 1990 is probably the least of it. In 2020, a few documents were declassified by the Taiwanese government that showed that the members of the Bamboo Union Triad had 19 top governmental positions in Taiwan from 1955-1984 (the era when Taiwan was in a complete state of military rule), including the National Security Bureau and all branches of the armed forces. In other words, Taiwan during the military rule era wasn't just corrupted by the triads, the triads were the government.

I never cease to be amazed at the incuriousness of the journalistic professions. Governments don't declassify documents - especially something as damning as triad involvement in government - unless they have to. So why would the Tsai Ing-Wen government reveal this now in 2020, especially when anti-corruption is the driving force of Taiwanese politics, and anti-corruption sentiment pushed the KMT out of power since the 90s? Outsiders believe that the single biggest question in Taiwanese politics is their relationship with the mainland. Kinda...the status quo is more or less a settled question. It's actually anti-corruption and anti-triad infiltration, which is why the DPP are the ruling party now.

The answer, I suspect, is that the triads are no longer working with the Taiwanese government, but with the mainland government. In the 1980s, Wong Man Fong, editor of the Xinhua paper of Hong Kong, said in several interviews he was asked by the People's Republic of China to reach out to the triads to help make a deal: no government interference in their activities, if they pledge to keep order in the city after the handover in 1997. I strongly suspect the mainland now has a similar arrangement with the Bamboo Union, Green Gang, and the Si Hai Bang they did in Hong Kong, especially since so much money is going back and forth with the release of trade to the mainland. In other words, the triads in Taiwan are active agents of the PRC.

Backdoor deals between government and the mob aren't out of the question, just ask the CIA, who used Giancana Crime Family assassins sent to kill Castro as a key plank of the Bay of Pigs Invasion, the role of the mafia in the Kennedy Assassination, or how control of opium was a key under-the-table reason for the invasion of Afghanistan.

What I suspect happened is, the Taipei government is turning on organized crime now after decades and decades of ludicrous and obvious corruption, because to the triads, the money to be made with the mainland and unification is far more lucrative. It's no coincidence that the largest pro-unification party in Taiwan is led by a triad gangster who spent time in jail for racketeering, Chang An Lo, nicknamed "the White Wolf." Like John Gotti, everyone knows he's a mobster and that's even part of the White Wolf's coolness and appeal (if you could vote for Tony "Scarface" Montana, boy, I bet a lot of guys would), but nobody can touch him. In fact, combined with how the "light world" financial institutions are intertwined along with the underworld, there's an argument to be made that the reason the PRC hasn't tried to take Taiwan is that for all intents and purposes, they already have it.

In other words, the triads have gone from using the Ninja Turtles to money launder to essentially setting global geopolitics.

[amysnotdeadyet]

Good Steve

Another! And then I have to go cook dinner. Stupid reality.

My darling @newtypeshadow asked for a somewhat complicated Steddie from Stranger Things plot, so she gets 555 words.

If there was one thing Eddie Munson was known for — besides shredding on the guitar — it was being protective of his boyfriend. Corroded Coffin were big enough that when they got outed the subsequent dip in record sales didn't tank their careers.

The metal scene was all about people living their lives outside of social conventions, after all.

Eddie did a cover of Judas Priest's "Breaking the Law" to open every concert that tour. Steve came along the way he always did. Instead of hanging with the other WAGs, he wore a staff shirt and assisted everywhere backstage. He'd learned a ton of useful skills in his years touring with them, and was always happy to help.

It took new guys some time to figure that out, though.

"Why the fuck is he here?" asked the guy who would be known as Bad Steve for the duration of his employment. He was a lighting expert of some renown, but he'd been caught in traffic on the way to the gig, so Steve had started setup while they waited.

"You're late," said Nate through the headset.

Steve emerged from beneath the boards already talking. "They need to solder #17, it's just not connecting." He turned to Bad Steve with a charming, boyish grin. "Oh, hey! I'm Steve, happy to lend a hand."

"You're Munson's boytoy." Bad Steve, unfortunately, had not muted his headset.

A dark 'ooooh' went through the line from several sources.

Steve's expression shuttered. "Check it or don't, but don't blame me if it goes out. Chart's over there."

Eddie came crashing into the booth, looking like a hot mess. "Stevie, baby, I need your touch."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You need me to do your eyeliner again because you smudged it already."

"Yep," said Eddie. "Oh, and Bad Steve, do consider who might be listening, hm?"

Steve let Eddie put his hands in the back pocket of his admittedly small jeans shorts, not even bothering to glance back to where Bad Steve was fuming.

A few hours later, when #17 had been soldered and the show was underway, Bad Steve got to see why Eddie's Steve was the favorite.

A nazi punk managed to get onstage while security was breaking up a fight elsewhere, and Steve flew out of wings with fire in his eyes to tackle the guy before he got past the monitors. Long legs pinned the guy's back to the floor, and he palmed the guy's head like a basketball, leaning in to say something there was no mic to pick up.

The guy tried to get up and got his face slammed into the stage for his trouble, Steve clearly in control even when the punk tried to swipe with a switchblade. The knife clattered away as Steve brought his own arm down on the guy's hand, smashing it into the monitor with a crunching sound and the screech of feedback.

The rest of security finally arrived to confiscate the knife and the nazi. Steve let him up, holding his own hands out while they hauled him away.

At that point, no one could blame Eddie for the scorching kiss that followed.

"Well," said Eddie into the mic, once Steve was safely offstage. "That was fuckin' hot, right?"

The cheers that followed were almost as deafening as the music.

[apomaro-mellow]

Hawkins Confidential Part 1 of ?

Read on AO3

Steddie; other minor pairings; omegaverse; 1990s

Richard Harrington is dead and finally, as Steve's husband, Tommy is set to inherit quite a lot. Unfortunately for him, there is a condition in the will and that means Steve has to contact the true sire of his pup, Eddie. aka here's that soap opera au i've been wanting to do >:3c

The organ droned as people walked up solemnly and gave their respects.The air was stale except for the few who went without scent blockers, children mostly. And not everyone in high society thought it was prudent to hide their scent. Steve was one of them.

“Everyone can smell your grief”, his mother whispered as she leaned over. 

“I’m grieving. It’s a funeral”, Steve whispered back.

“I know you didn’t care for your father that much. It’s perfectly natural to care about your child but Dustin still has breath in his lungs, thank God. Your father deserves to at least have your respect in death.” She whipped her fan open and fanned herself and Steve knew that was the end of that conversation.

When the procession moved to the grave plot, Steve walked with his mother on one side and his husband Tommy on the other. Tommy had his arm around Steve’s shoulder. A show of solidarity. His father was laid to rest and Steve had a sliver of hope that the leash around his neck would finally loosen.

“It’s our time now, Stevie”, Tommy murmured in his ear.

And Steve knew what that meant. The three of them, his mother, Tommy, and he went to meet with the executor of his father’s will. There wasn’t anything in it that surprised Steve. His mother got what she expected and so did Steve. 

“And to my son-in-law Thomas, who has graciously taken the Harrington name, per our agreement, I leave the entirety of my shares of Harrington Industries, along with my land ownings and the houses in California and Virginia. All this is yours, provided you have had a healthy heir with my son Steven.”

Tommy smirked. Smug and just barely holding back from whooping with glee. He was not wearing blockers so everyone in the room could smell it.

“Well, that’s that, isn’t it?”, Tommy said. “Where do I sign?”

“Not so fast, Mr. Harrington”, the executor held up a withered hand. “Richard Harrington specified a healthy heir. And as I understand, your son is in the hospital?”

Tommy’s smirk fell. “Yeah. But what of it? He’s gonna make a recovery!”

“And when he does, we may sign away. But until such a time…”, the old man trailed off to let Tommy fill in the blanks.

Steve didn’t want to think about his pup not getting better. If he lost his Dustin-

“What happens if they don’t have an heir?”, his mother asked.

“Should that happen, madam, your husband has outlined instructions that I am to keep concealed until it is certain that these two have failed their condition.”

Tommy grumbled all the way out of the office. They were on their way to the hospital. Steve visited everyday, but now he was sure Tommy’s coming along was just to see if Dustin’s health had improved. Steve smiled and nodded to the nurses he saw regularly. It felt almost like bad luck to see his pup when he was still wearing black from the funeral. But he had wanted to see him right away.

Steve could look at Dustin, pale and limp in the bed and knew he wasn’t getting any better. Tommy discussed at length with the doctor outside anyway. Steve could hear his husband getting more and more agitated even behind the closed door. He chose to ignore it for now, grabbing Dustin’s hand and rubbing his knuckles.

“We said goodbye to grandpa today. Everyone came out to see him, even Aunt Seline and you know how she is.”

Of course, the unconscious boy wasn’t responsive. His chest moved up and down slowly. But that was it. Steve sniffed back tears and scent both Dustin and the little stuffed giraffe he kept under his pillow that he thought no one knew about. Steve put it back under the pillow right when Tommy opened the door and crooked his finger for Steve to come out into the hallway.

Steve obeyed with a sigh and walked out, closing the door just in time for Tommy to start raising his voice.

“I can’t believe this! First that cranio bullshit-”

“Cleidocranial dysplasia”, Steve corrected for what must be the millionth time.

“And now this!”, Tommy pressed on. “His genes are shit, Steve.”

“That’s your son!”, Steve hissed.

“That pup isn’t mine! He never fucking was!”

“You’ve been raising him for eight years and all of a sudden-”

“We need to have another child”, Tommy suddenly said.

The air left Steve’s lungs. “...H…what? What’re you-you’re not replacing my pup!”

“If he’s not going to make it-”

“He can! He could!” Steve’s heart was beating rapidly. “He needs an operation and a donor.”

“Then why the fuck haven’t we done that already?”, Tommy growled.

“Because my dad forbid me from contacting the only man who can do it”, Steve glared. “And you said it yourself that if I ever did you would leave me and Dustin out on the streets.”

Tommy looked conflicted, which was new for him. He didn’t always make the most noble decision, but he did always make it quickly. After a moment, he swallowed and nodded.

“Call him and get him here by the end of the week. Or you and I are going to have some marital duties to take care of.”

Steve sighed. The odds were against him and the clock was ticking. They went home together and Steve changed, hoping Chrissy would be at the country club today. He wore a red sweater to combat the fall chill and was glad to see her at her usual table. 

“Chrissy Carver, as I live and breathe”, Steve said, his greeting well practiced.

“Steve Harrington, I wasn’t expecting to see you here today. Come, sit”, she offered graciously.

Carol and Heather were seated too. Carol had been at the funeral. Heather too. Chrissy was the only one who had not attended.

“I’m sorry about your father. My condolences”, Chrissy said.

“She would have joined your family in mourning if she’d gotten an invitation”, Carol said before bringing her cup of coffee up to her lips to sip.

“And we would have appreciated the Carver’s presence”, Steve said. “But my mother…old grudges, you know.”

“I know”, Chrissy nodded with compassion.

“Actually, I was hoping I could talk with you about some of the student events coming up this semester. I think Dustin’s on the mend, which means he’ll be going back to school soon and I wouldn’t want any of the activities to be too strenuous for him.”

“Oh, we can absolutely talk about that”, Chrissy said. “And since this involves sensitive student info…ladies?”

Carol and Heather stood up and walked off, taking their coffees with them. Any other time, Steve would be wary of them finding out. But considering what he was really going to ask, he was sure his secret was safe with Chrissy.

“So what is this really about?”, Chrissy asked.

“I need you to tell me how to get into contact with Eddie.”

Chrissy’s eyes widened and she sat back in her chair. “Oh…wow I…I haven’t heard that name in a while. Steve, are you sure now is a good time?”

“Dustin might not have time if I wait any longer.”

Chrissy took her planner out of her pocketbook and wrote something down. “We don’t talk. Not really. But he keeps me up to date with his numbers just in case I….well, you know, just in case.” She tore the page out and handed it to Steve.

“I hope he answers.”

“He will”, Chrissy smiled, her eyes a little watery. “And don’t worry about the vultures. I’ll throw them off the trail.”

“Thank you”, Steve breathed out.

When he got home, he paced about the phone, trying to work up the courage before dialing. It rang and his heart jumped in his throat only to hear the voicemail message.

“You’ve reached Eddie Munson. I mean, you haven’t but you know what I mean. Leave a message or whatever.”

Steve scoffed, incredulous and hung up before dialing again. He clicked to leave a voicemail but all he could get out what “The nerve!”, before slamming the phone back down. Then he dialed again, knowing he had to leave more information than that.

“You’re a grown man, your outgoing message should be more professional than that, you might as well be using an air horn.” Click.

“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be berating you in the first place, that’s not why I called I…I wanted to tell you….” Click.

Steve moved from the bedroom to the kitchen. He was going to need more alcohol to make this call. He made his next call after two glasses. And then a few more after a full bottle. And then he decided to move on to beer. Steve was awakened the next day by the sound of their chef, Scott, coming on.

“Mr. Harrington, you’ve got to get up now.”

Steve groaned, his head swimming. Then he realized where he was and what time it was. 

“Oh god. Did Tommy?”

“He’s still asleep and he will be until he’s served breakfast. But you’ve got to get.”

Steve had enough sense to be sure Eddie’s number was still on him and not just lying around. Tommy might have urged him to call. But if he found out Steve had been drunk dialing him all night…he didn’t even want to think about it. He went upstairs to change and shower off the stench of beer and wine. He knew he must have really sounded like a fool and could only hope Eddie would parse through the nonsense and get his message.

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

Eddie was surprised to come that night to his phone blinking red, telling him he had messages. He was about to press the button, then refrained.

“It’s probably the shop. And I am off the clock.” He turned the tv on and kicked his feet up, lounging the night away and falling asleep on the couch.

The next morning, he woke up to the phone ringing and picked up. “Yeah? Yeah, hello? I’m up.”

“Hey, how satisfied are you with your current auto insurance?”

“Very”, Eddie said before hanging up. Damn telemarketers. That was probably who left a message yesterday. Eddie pressed the button to listen, ready to just start deleting when he heard that there were twelve new messages. That is until he heard the voice on the other end.

“You’re a grown man, your outgoing message should be more professional than that, you might as well be using an air horn.”

A bit snooty and bratty, just as he remembered it. And then they went on and there was that warmth he remembered too. And then he started to get sloppy and Eddie could tell he’d started drinking.

“The wine bottle’s empty and I don’t feel like goin to the cellar so beer it is. Remember, ‘member when you and I would drink? Do you still like Pabst Blue Ribbon?” Steve snickered on the line. “That time, that time you and I were drinkin’ and we ran out of-god I don’t even remember THAT beer-but we ran out so we a-started drinking PBR and then you panicked because you had your PBR and Wayne had his and we had drunk his and so we were gonna make beer cheese soup for him but then we had to use more PBR and we were high too so we thought Wayne was gonna kill us so we just sat in his room and waited to be punished?”

Eddie most certainly did remember nights like that. His chest tightened, wondering if Steve was just calling him because he felt nostalgic when-

“I can’t remember if I told you already why I’m calling. It’s uh…it’s your son. Our son.” Steve sniffed and took a deep breath. “He’s so beautiful Eddie. And I’m-I’m sorry that you haven’t gotten to see how amazing he is. He’s smart. Smart like you. He doesn’t get shit from me except being a wiseass and that’s mostly you too. But he….he’s sick. Our pup is dy-he’s not doing too well. He needs you. He needs a donor and you’re the only one who can help. You don’t have to worry about my father. He’s dead. Please. I know I fucked up but our baby deserves to live.”

That was the last message. Eddie hung up and then ran upstairs to start packing. It’d take him at least a day to get back to Indiana. But if he put the lead out, maybe he could cut it in half. 

“Time for a reunion.”

Part 2

[winterhawkkisses]

Reality sometimes feels kinda like a soap bubble, waiting to pop. Gravity's a law, and it's not like Bucky's used to breaking those.

His therapist says it's all part of his recovery, that it's normal, and he'd like to be grateful for her perspective and all but sometimes the weird euphoria of freedom, twisting tight and shaky in his stomach, makes him feel like he's gonna fall upwards and he's never gonna stop.

He can't fit under his own bed. This is now a thing he knows.

Everywhere in the Avengers base is too goddamn big. Cavernous rooms, airplane hangers with sofas in, even his own bedroom feels like the walls are gonna disappear. Sometimes he shoves himself into the corner of his shower cubicle until the water runs cold.

He didn't know to miss Steve, but he's grateful he's around. Only it seems like Steve feels an opposite sort of way to him, takes Bucky up onto the flat roof and doesn't notice how hard Bucky's got to press his hands into the gravelled floor.

The sky is just so goddamn big.

*

It's a middle of the night kinda feeling, even if it's only just getting dark outside; Bucky has slept through the day and woken up to a place his dreams are still lurking in the corners. He has no idea what day of the week it is but it feels like a Sunday, that empty feeling before the week gets going when everything's hushed for no reason, the echoing hours impossible to fill.

He shuffles out into the communal spaces, lifeless and empty until he climbs up to the strange kinda gantry that's almost a living room, like a spotlighted stage set where they have to act like it's home. It's disorienting for a moment, unfamiliar in a way that's different to all the other unfamiliarities, but then he sees that the couch has been shoved against railings, an armchair pulled in front of it, layered mismatched blankets pulled over it all.

Bucky edges closer and then - when he recognises battered purple sneakers - ducks down so he can see if there's space for him to crawl inside. He doesn't know Clint, not exactly, but he's not entirely convinced he knows himself so they've become something that could almost pass for friends.

"Hey Buck," Clint says, and he grins around the candy necklace that's shoved in his mouth, frayed elastic strung between his teeth. He looks exhausted and battered and uncomplicatedly happy to see him, so Bucky crawls into the weird little blanket fort so they're almost on top of each other, woven over and under and Clint's crooked knee sprawled over his legs until it's practically holding him down.

Bucky reaches out before he's even really thought about it, gently tracing skin below a bruise that's crested on Clint's cheekbone.

"I mostly won," Clint says, chipper, and Bucky raises an eyebrow and then looks up at the blankets that hang low above them before looking back at Clint.

"Eh," says Clint, deflating a little (his leg lowering, weight and warmth against Bucky's thigh). "Haven't made it home if I'm still in a fuckin' airport."

"Welcome home then," Bucky says, smirking slightly, and Clint grins too wide, and his eyes are too blue, and Bucky feels like he's falling.

(The sky is just so goddamn big.)

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

COMING SOON!!!

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Ballerina Reader

(I do my best to be as non-descriptive as possible, but I do use she / her and mention that reader is a ballerina)

Inspired by the question: Have you ever tried to eat at a restaurant, which happened to be a mafia / mob front, but you didn’t know that, and everyone inside just stared as you walked in because nobody actually eats there?

I FINALLY decided what I want my first piece back to be and I’m so excited shdiznejfns it’s very funny if I do say so myself. Once I got the idea I rushed and typed it on my phone and I already KNOW there are so many spelling errors because I have auto correct turned off and right now it looks like shit hahdndisfn. BUUUUT I just need to give it a quick read through / fix errors on my laptop and we’ll be good to go! Full preview below the cut :)

It had been Bucky’s idea to name the restaurant Tony’s. After their dear friend who had given his life in a war that should’ve never been fought.

It had been Peter’s idea to ‘open a restaurant’. He pointed out that it would be the perfect realistic cover, though Steve argued that they didn’t really need one. Everyone in Brooklyn and the neighboring cities knew who they were, why did they need to put up any sort of front?

In the end, Bucky sided with Peter. They needed a place to talk shop and handle business, and it had to be somewhere that the outside wouldn’t attract any trouble (aka law enforcement). A warehouse was too obvious and was practically begging to be raided. He agreed with Steve, though, in that everyone knew who they were and what their business really was. He pointed out that it was actually a good thing. It would be pretty obvious that the restaurant wasn’t a restaurant, and they wouldn’t attract actual customers. But they’d make it legit, so that they couldn’t be shut down. Like Peter said, they needed a realistic cover.

Within a month, Tony’s was up and running. Running, as in the lights were on during what would be deemed normal business hours. The door was kept locked, but that didn’t matter because as Bucky predicted, no one tried to actually eat there.

Until one day when rehearsal ran nearly 2 hours late. You were tired, exhausted mentally and physically, and you just wanted some comfort food before heading back to your apartment to enjoy the next 2 days off. Still somewhat new to the city, you decided to get off of the subway one stop earlier, and find a restaurant on your way home.

Luckily for you, a neon sign reading TONY’S caught your eye. Unbeknownst to you, there was a meeting going on inside, and someone had forgotten to lock the front entrance.

As you pushed the door open, you had no idea the events that were about to unfold.

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE TAGGED WHEN I POST FOR BUCKY, LET ME KNOW!!

[steddieas-shegoes]

moments filled with everything

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is wanting to do everything together' AND for @starryeyedjanai's birthday! Happiest of birthdays to you! there's no spice this time, but i hope you enjoy anyway!

rated t | 1,369 words | cw: mention of injury/hospital | tags: soulmate au, getting together, love confessions

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

The inconvenience of finding your soulmate when he’s on the run from the law and citizens of the town is pretty annoying. Especially when said soulmate insisted on trying to protect everyone and almost dies in the process.

The problem is that when you touch your soulmate for the first time, the connection becomes unbreakable, and the first few weeks are usually spent constantly touching in some way.

The problem is that they don’t have that option during the end of the world.

The problem is Eddie is under close watch of doctors and nurses, and Hopper, while they sort out his health and clearing his name, and that means Steve can only stop by during regular visiting hours.

The problem is that everyone else also only visits during normal visiting hours and they agreed not to tell anyone about their soulmate situation until he was home and safe.

Steve could feel the constant pull to touch him, to comfort him when the pain started to get to be too much. It was almost painful to have distance between them, but with the kids constantly fighting for Eddie’s attention, and Wayne sitting right next to him most days, Steve could barely get a quick brush of their hands.

They hadn’t even kissed yet.

It’s been 11 days since they touched. 11 days since Steve’s entire life became ‘get him out of this so you can love him.’

The loving him part was easy; only took a couple of days of watching him with the kids and with his uncle and with Robin for Steve to know he loved Eddie. But he wasn’t stupid, and he knew that Eddie probably didn’t feel the same yet. Why would he? He barely knew him, barely saw who he was outside of emergency mode.

And Eddie had made a passing comment right before he almost died, something Steve couldn’t quite get out of his head.

”A soulmate is someone you wanna do everything with, and I just don’t think I’ll get that.”

He didn’t know Steve could hear him, and probably wouldn’t have said it if he did, but if that’s how he felt after knowing Steve was his soulmate, then he didn’t think the love was going to be returned anytime soon, if ever. He could be patient. He was trying to be. But he wasn’t that hopeful.

Sometimes Eddie’s eyes would land on his across the hospital room, and they’d settle there for far longer than was considered normal for friends. They’d search Steve’s face for long enough that Steve could feel the warmth of a blush across his cheeks. He’d look away, but he’d feel Eddie’s gaze remain, sometimes for a few more seconds, sometimes more.

The pull got worse by the day.

By the two week mark, Steve was literally itching to be closer. He paced outside the door for ten minutes while he waited for Wayne to leave, grateful that the kids had all been brought up to volunteer at the school for the day and he would have at least a minute alone with Eddie without interruption.

Wayne opened the door and smirked at Steve. “Surprised you’ve been this patient. He’s about ready to pull out his IV in there, so you better hurry up and hold his hand or somethin’.”

Steve didn’t reply, just pushed through the door and rushed to Eddie’s bed.

Eddie was, in fact, picking at the tape around his IV, like if he was given enough alone time he would tear it off and escape out the window.

“I know I’m not what you wanted-” Steve started, his hands balled into fists to resist reaching out before Eddie was ready. “But I promise I’m gonna try to be what you need. I don’t know how to yet, but I want to. And I desperately need to touch you. Like, just holding your hand is fine, but I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t so-”

“What do you mean you’re not what I wanted?” Eddie interrupted, casually sliding his hand into Steve’s. Both of them gasped at the spark, but the tension seemed to drain from both of them at the same time. “Why do you think that?”

“I mean, I’m sure I’m not really your type. And I mean, I know I’m not like I was in high school, but I let my friends do some shitty things to you then.” Steve looked down at their joined hands, perfectly fit together in a way he’d never had with anyone he’d been with before. “And I know you don’t think we’re a great match or whatever, but I think I’d like to do stuff with you all the time. If you’d want to.”

“Why do you think I think that?”

“Because you said you didn’t think you’d wanna do everything with your soulmate.”

Eddie seemed to realize what Steve was referring to as soon as Steve started to pull his hand away. His grip tightened and he shook his head.

“I didn’t mean that.” Eddie bit his lip. “I was scared that I would wanna do everything with you and you wouldn’t wanna do everything with me.”

“Eds, I love you. I wanna do everything with you, always.”

“You love me?” Eddie whispered.

Steve hadn’t meant to say it, but it’s not like he didn’t mean it, so he doubled down.

“Yeah. I do. I know it’s probably stupid, but I watched you give everything to protect us, I brought you back here almost dead, and ever since you woke up from surgery, I’ve watched you light up the room. I see how smart you are and how funny you are and how kind you are, even when you’re teasing someone. And I just. I love it. I love you.”

“Stevie-”

“I know you don’t love me. It’s okay. Maybe someday you will, maybe you won’t. Sometimes the soulmate shit is stupid, right? Fate gets it wrong or whatever.” Steve shrugged, tried to pull his hand free. He felt too vulnerable like this, standing by Eddie’s bed waiting for him to reject him. “But I just need you to know that fate got it right for me.”

“You don’t plan on following that up with a kiss?” Eddie finally asked after too long with just silence.

Steve’s mouth opened, closed, opened again as he tried to think of what to say or do.

“C’mere sweetheart. I think I owe you something,” Eddie smiled up at him as he tugged on his hand to get him closer.

Their first kiss was a lot like that first touch: overwhelming and scary, but electric and intense.

Filled with love.

When they broke apart, everything had shifted.

“I can’t wait to do everything with you, Stevie,” Eddie said before a knock on the door pulled them further apart.

Steve didn’t go far, just held his hand while the nurse looked over some of his bandages.

*****

When Eddie finally got out of the hospital, the first thing he did was tell everyone that Steve was his soulmate.

Wayne had already known, but went along with his dramatics because it’s what he was used to.

Robin had already known too after walking in on Steve sitting in Eddie’s lap, carefully braiding his hair while Eddie read to him. She didn’t even say anything, just sat down in the chair across from the bed and listened when Eddie started reading again.

After, she slapped Steve on the arm and told him to never hide shit from her again.

The kids took it well, though Mike and Dustin were pretty surprised they managed to hide it for so long.

Eddie still had a lot of healing to do.

But he did it with Steve by his side.

He did everything with Steve by his side.

When he made a sandwich, Steve was next to him, slicing the tomatoes.

When he was taking a shower, Steve was in it with him, or sitting on the toilet lid talking about his day.

When he was folding laundry, Steve was using dish detergent to get oil stains out of his jeans.

Every day was filled with moments together, and each moment was everything.

[steves-sub]

Prologue

Summary: Steve comes up with an idea

Warning(s): Dark!Team Cap (Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff), MINOR DNI, Drinking, Implied non-con, and kidnapping. 

WC: 312 (I promise these will be longer)

Taglist; @marvel-fandom23

Since the events in Germany, Steve Rogers has been hiding out in the cabin with Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, and Wanda Maximoff. On the run from the law, they only had each other to rely on. Since then, nothing has happened with his sexual life. Due to the fact that everyone there was a Dom, he couldn't turn to his teammates for assistance. So while sitting with the rest of the team outside, Steve decided to propose an idea. 

"So, I've been thinking recently," he said to the group of people around him. “Anyone else been extremely horny?” He questioned as he took a sip of his beer. In response, Bucky offered a chuckle, "If you are proposing what I think you are, I’m out.” Sam agreed, "No way." Steve realized his mistake and stopped them. "Oh no, not like that.” 

“So what are you thinking then, Captain?” Natasha asked as she crossed her legs. “Look, we've been stuck in the cabin for a while. It doesn't seem like we're getting out anytime soon. So," he paused, "how about bringing someone in to help us?" Wanda looked at him with a questioning face, “Like a stripper?” He laughed at her answer with a smirk. “I was thinking of a more permanent solution.”

Suddenly, the only sound they heard was the cackling of the fire they sat around. Steve knew this was a big proposition. Bucky was the first to speak. “If we do it, how do we go about it?” He spoke as he twisted the top off the beer with his metal arm. “We can figure that out together, but I think that we all need to meet the person before we take them,” Steve responded. “Sounds like you already have someone in mind,” Natasha smirked.

Steve let out an exhale, “I got the perfect little sunflower for us.”

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS FOR THIS SERIES!! Would love input

[logansgaar]

as someone who knows very little about the American governmental system... is it even realistic that Bucky is a senator/candidate, outside of the simple fact that it goes against everything we know about his character for the last 13 years and is deeply ooc and weird?

Can someone with his history actually become a senator? Dude has killed like...a lot of people, specifically American citizens to keep it relevant to this context, and he's openly broken the law and gone against multiple governments in some of the most wild displays of anarchy alongside Steve and the Avengers. Also I don't think he's been a consistent enough resident of any state even if you take out the Blip?? At least 9 years right? Bro has maybe been on American soil for 3 years, pre AND post Blip, and that's being generous assuming Thunderbolts takes place in 2024-2025.

I don't know how realistic it is that he's even able to run for senate? I'm not an expert, not American, but it just seems absurd.

The main take really is that Bucky Barnes as a senator is one of the stupidest things, what the hell

[denim-mixtapes]

Nothin' but a Good Time - [1/?]

Wealthy!Steve Harrington x Fem!Stripper!Reader Rating: Eventually E, this chapter contains no smut yet but mentions drug and alcohol use and strip clubs. Words: 3.7k

AO3

It's 1996 and Steve Harrington has found himself, somehow, with the fancy office job and lush apartment and more than enough disposable income to spend on booze and drugs and one night stands to distract himself from how much he HATES his scummy corporate law job and too-big, too-empty apartment. You, after years of saving, begging cheapskates and creeps for tips as a waitress by day and dancing for bigger tips from bigger creeps after dark, finally afford yourself the opportunity to move into the fancy downtown apartment of your dreams. When you move in next door to Steve Harrington, there's no way of knowing if you've just met the next great love(r) of your life or the biggest pain in your ass you'll ever know. It's entirely possible that it could be both.

November, 1996 – Steve

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

A faint rhythm builds from behind the door of Steve Harrington’s office, slow, steady, louder and louder until eventually the sound is muffled and interrupted by a low groan. 

“Fuck!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just outside the door, his secretary is left aghast, wondering when she missed the arrival of this midday rendezvous and exactly when Harrington had become so daring. Sure, she’s seen her fair share of interns and lower level assistants escorted into his office after late stressful nights or the occasional holiday party, but he’s never been so brave as to interrupt the work day for a bit of afternoon delight. The kid may be a little dense sometimes, but he isn’t that dumb. 

Usually Harrington is by the book, strictly on schedule and often working through lunch to stay on the boss’ good side. So the fact that he’s running late to a meeting in favor of a roll in the hay, well, she is shocked to say the least. 

Corralling all of her bravery into one swift motion, she knocks on the door and is surprised to hear his, “come in,” right away. Maybe a little haggard and hushed in one breath, but immediate nonetheless. Needless to say, the stout woman is nervous about what she’ll find on the other side of the door when she opens it. 

What she finds, however, is nothing more than a slightly rumpled version of Steve Harrington. Tie undone, sleeves of his collared shirt shoved up to the elbows, and his glasses placed gingerly on the desk beside him. His hair is a riot from where he was just repeatedly banging his forehead against the desk, sporting a wide swath of plump red skin above his eyebrows as evidence of the act. No, she hadn’t walked in on anything indecent, only the culmination of stress and burnout on her young boss. 

“Sorry for the noise, Linda,” he breathes, scrubbing a palm over one tired eye and down his cheek. “I just– there’s no elaborate explanation here. It’s just been a day.” He types something quickly into the computer before him and then presses the power button on the boxy monitor, turning to give her his full attention with his hands folded on the desk in front of him. “What can I do for you?”

She mirrors his posture, fingers laced together but hanging limp at her midsection, “I was just wondering if I should call Mr. Greene and inform him you won’t be able to make it to the 3 o’clock partner meeting.”  

Eyeing the clock on the wall beside him, Steve’s eyes widen to saucers and his chair scrapes loudly against hardwood floor as he stands up in a haste, collecting paperwork and wayward supplies into his briefcase as he does. “Shit.” His brows knit in a gesture of apology for his language, but Linda simply chuckles and steps out of his way. “Sorry, sorry! Thank you, Lin!” 

—

No matter how hard he tries to act the part of a corporate bigwig asshole, Steve is convinced he may never get the hang of it. If he were to be honest, he isn’t entirely sure how he made it this far. Truthfully, he’s hanging on by the skin of his teeth and the Harrington name. 

After a year of hopping from minimum wage job to minimum wage job, he finally broke down and listened to his father’s demands. Just get the damn degree, Steven, he’d said, I have a job all ready to be laid at your feet, all you have to do is pull your head out of your ass and get the degree. So he did. He sucked it up, used the influence of his family name and a bit more of the Harrington fortune to attend the most prestigious law school he never would have been able to get into with his academic record alone. When he graduated, as promised, he was offered a position just above entry level with a 401k and a more than generous benefits package. He wasn’t sure how many strings his father had to pull or how much bribing it took, but he landed this cushy job that got him out of his childhood home and into an apartment of his own, something that he’s sure benefited not only himself, but also the parents who were clearly sick of putting him up well past 18. Over the better half of the last decade, he took ‘Fake it till you make it’ to heart and managed to charm his way up the corporate ladder, and now here he is: pushing thirty with a private corner office, the title of junior partner, representing corporations he didn’t care much for and working under senior lawyers he liked even less…but this job pays more than generously. It affords him luxuries like the latest new apartment with more square footage than he knows what to do with and the city view from his living room window. It affords him as many trips out to Massachusetts to visit Robin and Nancy as he’d like, stunning suits and flashy watches he never could have dreamed of affording when he worked at Family video and refused his family fortune. And then there’s the extravagant gifts for said family that make up for his absence at Christmas dinner.

This job is draining, but it’s purchased his peace, in a way, so he does what he has to do to make it worth it.

Lately, what he has to do to make it worth it is party until he forgets how much he hates it. 

If he had to recall the names of everyone in his apartment at this moment, he would fail. There’s faces he recognizes, sure, people from work and their friends he’s seen at many other parties. Clark from down the hall, who always manages to have the best coke, is in the corner making friends, and Eddie is around here somewhere peddling his own stash…but between the thumping bass and raucous laughter and the blur of lights, there’s about 25 to 30 other people he doesn’t recognize. When a bottle is thrust into his periphery, he gladly takes a swig, drowning the worry of strangers in his apartment and the stress from the day at work with amber liquor. 

Clark beckons him over to the mirrored coffee table where he’s set up shop, offering a rolled twenty with one hand and clapping Steve’s shoulder in a shallow gesture of friendship.

Fuck it, it’s Friday. 

November, 1996 – You

Dropping one last box at the foot of the doorman’s desk, you sigh and brush cardboard dust from your hands. The two men from the moving company just went upstairs with the last of your large furniture and are set to take off when they return to ground level, having only been paid through 11 AM. So you managed to unload the back of your car and the rest of the boxes from the moving truck into the lobby, promising the doorman – whose name you swear you’ll memorize soon – that it will all be out of the way momentarily. He graciously offered to make sure nobody messed with it in the meantime. 

It’s hard to even wrap your head around the fact that you’re moving into an apartment with a doorman in the heart of the city at all, let alone one within walking distance of your diner waitress job, and close enough to a bus route to the club where you danced. You’ll have to remember to pay your grandma a visit in her new nursing home and thank her for keeping her rent-controlled lease and illegally subletting it to you. Just another thing to add to your overflowing calendar. 

When you make it up to your shiny new apartment on the ninth floor, you say your goodbyes to the movers who are on their way out, sign the appropriate paperwork for them, and drop off your armload of boxes before heading back down. 

It takes quite a few trips on your own, but after another half hour, you exit the elevator in the lobby to see only three boxes remain and heave another sigh of relief. The end is in sight, and by the grace of whichever God is looking out for you, you might even be able to sneak in a nap before work tonight. You bend over to pick up one of the last few boxes of your belongings and suddenly feel the all too familiar prickling heat of someone’s intense stare. Rolling your shoulders, you let go of the cardboard handles and stand to turn and face whoever is continuing to stare.

Behind you, leaning one hip against the front desk, is exactly the kind of man you would expect to live in a building like this. Slightly older than you, but not by much, tall and lean, but the sleeves of his tight white tee shirt show off the perfect sculpt of his bicep. The man is etched in sleep, draped in it like the blankets he surely just crawled out of, the fluffy length of his hair sticking out in every direction, pushed up and out of his face by round wire-framed glasses. He smiles in a way that feels friendly, but has the sly kind of charm behind it that makes you want to shy from it. 

“You know,” he says, grinning wide, “I know I had a hard time waking up today, but something tells me I might still be dreaming, pretty thing like you moving into my building.” 

You want to scoff at his comment, knowing exactly how you must look right now. Sweat drying on your skin, messy bun practically falling out of its hold, sporting a plain black tank top and a pair of your ex’s old basketball shorts rolled at the waist. You manage to hold back the scoff, but do roll your eyes with a soft smile at your new neighbor. “Cute, you use that line often?” 

His sharp jaw ticks, but his smile softens around a friendly laugh as he rubs tiredly at one eye. “Can’t say I do,” then, dropping the hand in favor of offering it to you to shake, “I’m Steve, need a hand with these?” 

Accepting his secondary offer and shaking his hand, you smile in return and introduce yourself, but decline the first. “Thank you, but I’m sure you were headed somewhere. Don’t let me keep you from your plans.” 

“Nonsense.” When he shakes his head, there’s a pinch to his forehead, eyes slamming shut at the motion, but he recovers quickly and hides the pain. This man is clearly fighting a monster hangover, and yet he insists. “I was just going to pick up some coffee. It can wait.” Without waiting for you to agree, he takes the smallest box and stacks it atop another, picking them both up and tacking on, “lead the way.” 

You decide there’s no arguing with him, so you grab the last remaining box and head back to the elevator, punching the 9 button once inside. 

“No way,” he says in disbelief, “ninth floor?” 

“Mhm,” you mumble softly, “9C.” 

Your eyes are drawn to the crinkle around his eyes when he laughs again despite the dark circles below, the two moles just below his cheekbone that dance when he smiles. Damn it, he really is pretty. 

“I’m in 9B, right next door! You’re moving into Ms. Ruth’s old place?” 

There’s practically a lightbulb above your head when you make the connection, and in comical time with it, the elevator dings, signaling your arrival. “Oh, so you’re the Steve Grandma warned me about!”

All color drains from his face. “W-what did she say?” 

Steve follows you down the hall to your front door, and you can’t help but giggle at his change in demeanor. Both of you set the boxes down just inside your front room and you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Just that you’re too handsome for your own good and a habitual flirt. Both of which I’m finding to be true already.” 

“Oh, well,” not only does his color return, but his cheeks pink noticeably. He gives a small nod that tips his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and sends a tuft of hair curling into his face – he couldn’t have choreographed it better if he tried. With an exaggerated wink, he continues, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.” 

You scoff, “sure, sure,” and lightly push his shoulder out toward the hallway. “Thanks for your help.” 

He strides down the hall back to the elevator and points at his own front door as he passes it. “Anytime…and you know where to find me if you need anything. You know, cup of sugar, little company. Whatever.” 

With a shake of your head and the elevator doors closing around him, you punctuate, “bye, Steve.” 

—

Later the same night, in the dressing room before your shift, you’re practically glowing from the long afternoon nap you allowed yourself in place of unpacking. You did your makeup at home – never really did care to leave your expensive products in the locker room, no matter how much you trust the other girls –  so all you have left to do is get changed. There’s a lounge just outside the locker rooms for the dancers and bar staff. It isn’t much, a cracked and peeling old leather couch, a few folding chairs around a card table, and a kitchenette for snacks and drinks, but it serves its purpose. After changing into your first outfit of the night, a bedazzled fishnet body suit over a metallic hot pink matching set, you practically bounce into the lounge and land gracefully on one end of the couch, heels in hand. 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” comes a sleepy voice from the kitchenette where Eddie Munson, club security, resident dealer, and occasional fill-in DJ, makes his routine evening coffee. 

“Didn’t you hear?” One of the other dancers, Charity – though you’re not sure her real name, stage names only even back here, that’s the rule – asks, draping herself onto the other end of the couch. She pokes at your thigh with the toe of her heel and scrunches her button nose in your direction. “Honey here is fancy now, moved into that luxurious new apartment of hers today.” 

“It’s true,” you boast with a dramatic lean into the couch, lazing, a cat to sunbathe under the fluorescent lights and clutching at pretend pearls, “I am one with the fat cats, now.” 

“The fat cats living off their granny’s handouts, maybe,” Says Felicity, the club manager, through a playful snort as she enters the room. 

You concede, “yeah fine, I could never afford this place if it wasn’t for her subletting it to me, but it’s all a part of my master plan.” 

Eddie settles into one of the folding chairs, propping his feet up on the armrest of the couch beside you. “Master plan? Do go on.” 

“You know,” you swat at the heavy, thick-soled boots before leaning forward to don your shoes and look up at him over your shoulder flirtatiously, “find a rich, hot man who can afford to live in the building and make him fall in love with me.” 

“Solid plan, how’s that working out for you so far?” Charity laughs playfully. 

It’s quiet for a moment as you contemplate the question. You were joking, of course, but when she asked the first thought that came to mind was of your interaction with Steve. It could be nothing, after all Grandma Ruth did warn you that her next door neighbor is a major flirt and for all you know that’s how he interacts with every woman he meets – maybe even every man, you don’t judge. On the other hand, it could be something. You never know.

“Well, actually there was this guy–” 

You’re interrupted by one of the bartenders leaning in the doorway. “Eddie, we’re about to open, need you at the door!” 

On his way out the door, Eddie twists his mess of curls up into a bunch atop his head and as a goodbye, says, “fill me in later, ladies, duty calls.”

—

The next time you see Steve, it’s under wildly different circumstances. For him, anyway. 

You’re still sweaty and worn out after a long morning shift at the diner and the walk home under blazing July sun. Your fifties-style uniform wrinkled and stained with sticky syrup and dried milkshake from the bratty kid who “accidentally” dumped it on you in passing. Your apron is slung over your arm carelessly and you have just let your hair loose from its scrunchie when you entered the building so you have no idea how wild it actually looks. 

Steve, however, is nothing short of stunning when you run into him at the mailboxes. He’s sporting a navy blue suit that fits him so well it must be tailored, still slightly disheveled at the end of his workday but clean cut and endlessly handsome despite it. There’s a dusting of five o’clock shadow along his sharp jaw, and his glasses are perched low on the tip of his nose as he sorts through the small stack of bills before tucking them into the inside pocket of his blazer. When he looks up and meets your eye, he visibly brightens.

“Well hi, neighbor,“ he greets with a warm grin dimpling his cheeks. He leans with one arm above your head against the wall of mailboxes and looks softly down his nose at you. “How’re you settling in?” 

Shifting the strap of your bag up higher onto your shoulder, you try to cover up the stains, once again shying under his attention. You’re more than used to attention from men, used to their intense stares and acute observation, but only when you have prepared for it. When your makeup is done to perfection and you’re fresh and clean as a whistle. Not now. Not smelling of fryer grease and pancakes and the sweat of a hard day’s work, with melted makeup and dried mascara flakes accentuating the bags under your eyes. You finally answer, “alright I guess. I’ve been working a lot lately so there hasn’t been much time for settling, but I’ll get there eventually.” 

He scrutinizes your outfit with a playful sneer. “I can imagine how hard it is, having to commute back to the fifties every time you have a shift.” He reaches out to untuck the collar of your dress that folded itself inward on your walk, smoothing it down with a caress of the thumb. “This suits you, by the way. ‘S cute.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm away with the apron in hand. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it. I wouldn’t have chosen it, otherwise.” 

Without ceremony, you both start walking to the elevator, step in step as if this was routine, as if you’ve been doing together for years. He presses the elevator button and shakes his head as you wait for the doors to open. “Does it, though?”

Swallowing your offense, you give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?” 

Together you step into the elevators, and Steve holds out an arm to make sure the doors don’t close on you as you pass through. An unnecessary gesture, as the doors don’t close if they detect motion, but it’s appreciated nonetheless. 

“Not that I’m judging, because I am not, I just find it a little hard to believe that you can afford this place as just a waitress. What else have you got up your sleeve?” 

The elevator once again signals your arrival with an overhead ding, and you just shrug as you brush past him toward your door. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

—

Working two jobs to keep up with your discounted rent is tough. You’ve never been ashamed of either job, both of them honest work and both of them something you’re good at and damn proud of, but there’s no denying that it’s tough sometimes. 

The late hours at the club, though not every day, followed by an early wakeup call for the breakfast shift at the diner often called for little to no sleep, trudging into the building well past three AM with only enough time to shower and fall into bed for two hours before the alarm went off again at 5:30. But you made it work. Naps in the middle of the day and strategically planning which days you went into the club, you always made it work. Which means on the off nights you choose not to go into the club, you value your time and the opportunity to go to bed before midnight. 

It’s a rare Saturday night that you choose to stay home a few weeks after your move. Usually Fridays and Saturdays are your biggest tip nights so it’s rare that you skip, but it had been a particularly rough day at the diner and you have to go in even earlier than usual tomorrow to cover the overnight server’s vacation, so you decide it isn’t worth the added stress. You’ll just take a nice relaxing bath, maybe watch a movie on cable, and get to bed early.

Only, ever since Steve got home, there’s been a constant flow of people outside your front door, trailing from the elevator to Steve’s, some knocking, some letting themselves right in with a slam of the front door, most of them shouting. Their voices echoed off the walls and floated through the crack under your door. You wrote it off as a simple get-together and hoped it would die down soon, but to no such luck. The swell of voices and bass heavy music and generic party ambiance only grew louder as the night went on, and here you are. 

It’s two AM, your alarm is supposed to go off in just over an hour, and you’re wide awake, no, kept awake by the thumping of the party music on the other side of your shared wall and the boisterous laughter of Steve’s guests. 

You try not to be annoyed, really. Sure, it’s well past midnight, but it’s also Saturday, and you’re no square. Obviously people can have a good time and enjoy their weekend, but God, it’s so hard to not let the noise get to you, your anger bubbling just under your skin the longer the ruckus keeps you awake. 

Angrily shoving a pillow over your face, clamping it around your ears, you make note to say something to Steve the next time you see him. 

[ghostofaboy]

Finally and Final

Pairing: Javier Peña/Steve Murphy Rating: Explicit. Serious over 18s only Word count: 2444

Warnings: Hand job, period typical homophobia, infidelity

Summary: At first, Javi believes Steve is angry with him, but it turns out it's something else entirely.

Note: This has not been beta read, so I apologize for any mistakes. My first time writing Stavier, but I fucking love them as a pairing. This was a request from Anonymous as part of my 100 Follower Celebration.

It was clear Steve was still mad at him. Only the week before, he'd shoved Javi up against the wall in the embassy, hissing accusations in his face before storming off. Javi hadn’t done what Steve accused him of, of course he hadn’t, but he did need Steve to be onboard with what came next in the fight with Escobar. 

But in that moment, instead of defending himself, all Javi had been able to think about was Steve's breath on his face, how warm his hands were and how hard Steve had made him. Heading home, Javi had jacked off to the thought in the shower, covering the tiles in his come before climbing into bed and pushing the deviant thoughts of his partner out of his mind.

Now Escobar was out of his bullshit prison and the hunt was back on, that should have been good news. Except, Steve’s wife Connie had also returned to Miami, leaving Steve a drunken mess. He’d been damn lucky Messina hadn’t sent him home then and there. Javi had vouched for him, explained the situation, and that seemed to be good enough for their new boss. Javi had thought it would also be good enough to win Steven over. But apparently not.

Now Steve was glaring at him as they went over tedious reports filled with nothing that was remotely helpful to their goals for finding Escobar once more. As he looked up from his desk, Javi could see those blue eyes were analyzing him, watching his every movement, taking in every detail.

“What?” Javi finally snapped, prompting a smirk from Steve. “You’ve been staring at me all fucking day.”

“No law against it.” Steve’s drawl sounded thicker than usual and as he glanced to the other agent’s left, Javi spotted an empty whiskey glass sitting on Steve’s desk.

“Damn it Murphy.” Javi ran a hand down his face, dropping his voice to a whisper. “You’re drunk? Here? Are you serious?”

“I’m not fuckin’ drunk.” Steve scowled.

“Then quit fucking staring at me.” Javi frowned. “Or else people’ll think you’re sweet on me.”

It had been a throwaway line. A joke meant to break the tension. Something that Javi had said to Steve a thousand times before and gotten a “fuck you” or a laugh from. But as the words left his mouth, Javi watched in fascination as Steve’s face flushed, his eyes trained on Javi’s lips and a flicker of embarrassment danced across his handsome face.

“Fuck this.” Steve muttered, pushing himself up from his desk abruptly and striding out of the office space. “I need a break.”

Javi just sat there watching Steve’s ass as he left, the realization of the moment hitting him and twisting inside him uncomfortably. Sure, he’d been lusting after Steve since the blond had landed in Bogotá, but Steve was married. And up until very recently happily married. Lusting after someone he knew he couldn’t have was one thing, Javi was used to it whenever he met a handsome man. But the slither of possibility that Steve’s eyes had offered him just then was something Javi hadn’t had to deal with before, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

#####

Steve hadn’t returned to his desk by the time the sky went dark outside and the men of the Search Bloc were chatting about calling it a day. Glancing around as they filled out, Javi knew he had to go find Steve, but quietly without drawing attention. Grabbing his gun, jacket and pack of cigarettes, Javi set out to start checking all the places the blond could have slipped off to.

It had taken a surprisingly short amount of time to find Steve. After checking the cafeteria, bunks and bathrooms, Javi had remembered something Steve had said about an unsecured outbuilding on the every edge of the school grounds where Search Bloc, and themselves, were now based. It was filled with old boxes of files, the original contents of which were far too water damaged to make sense of. Whatever it had originally been used for, Javi had no idea, but as he quietly made his way over to the boarded up structure, sure enough there was a small light inside.

Sitting on a chair that looked like it was a stiff breeze away from collapsing was Steve, thumbing through a very beat up looking magazine. At his feet an old lantern was giving off a soft warm glow, although how wise it was to have that in a room filled with paper, Javi wasn’t sure. Approaching the slightly ajar door, Javi coughed lightly, prompting Steve to quickly roll up the magazine and raise his head to meet his partner’s gaze before dropping it back down slowly.

“What are you doing out here, Murphy?” Javi slipped inside before leaning against the door frame. The whole room smelt of damp, musty paper and sweat.

“Just thinkin’.” Steve offered a lopsided smile, still not meeting Javi’s eyes. “You were lookin’ for me?”

“Course I was.” Javi took a step forward to crouch in front of Steve, trying to get him to look at Javi. “Was worried about you.”

“Yeah?” Steve let out a mirthless laugh. “I’m ok. I just needed…” Steve trailed off, shrugging and running his thumb over the worn magazine.

“Look, about before-”

“Forget it.” Steve shook his head. “Look, get outta here, man. You’ve got better things to do than babysit my sorry ass.”

“True.” Javi gave a small laugh. “But I don’t want to just leave you here like… this. You wanna go grab a drink?”

Steve just shook his head. “Not really in a social mood.”

“Fair enough.” Javi nodded, letting silence fill the space. Not moving from his position in front of Steve, Javi found his eyes being drawn to the rolled up magazine that the other man was still clutching. 

Steve had rolled it up as soon as Javi had come in, not letting the other man get a look at what it was. Small pieces of the faded cover peeked out from between Steve’s fingers, and Javi knew immediately what kind of magazine it was. He had plenty of them at home and the more he looked, the more skin he could see, then a nipple. Yeah, he had plenty of these at his apartment.

Looking over Steve slyly, Javi started to take in the details he’d missed when he’d first entered the small building. Steve’s flushed cheeks, the crumpled up pieces of paper he’d used to clean up with, and the most obvious, the not quite zipped up fly of his jeans.

“You, er, you want me to leave you for some more quality alone time?” Javi chuckled, motioning to the magazine in Steve’s hand, watching as the other man’s face grew redder.

“It’s not like that.” Steve’s eyes shot up. “I mean, I just found it and-”

“Hey, I’m not judging.” Javi held his hands up in mock surrender. “You know how many of those I’ve got at my place? Which one is it, maybe I’ve got it?”

Steve didn’t answer, his hands curling tighter around the magazine, as his eyes studied Javi’s face. At first, Javi was confused. Sure, Steve was married, but every guy jacks off, right? So what if he’d found a dirty magazine and spanked one out. But then, achingly slowly, it started to dawn on Javi why Steve was reacting like this. The beads of sweat on his temple, his large dark pupils as he watched Javi lick his bottom lip, the twitch under his jeans that not even the thick denim could hide.

“Like I said,” Javi swallowed hard, locking eyes with Steve, “maybe I’ve got that one.”

Steve nodded, understanding Javi’s meaning, and slowly loosened his grip on the magazine. Gradually, it unfurled in Steve’s trembling hand, letting Javi get a better glimpse at the oiled up ass cheeks on the man on the cover. Huh, he did have that one at home, Javi thought as he pushed down an amused chuckle. 

“You got a favorite in there?” Javi growled out, locking his eyes with Steve’s again as he reached for the zipper of the other man’s jeans. “I like the one near the end. The one dressed like a cowboy.” Tugging the denim open, Javi carefully pulled out Steve’s hardening cock. “I like his ass. You?”

“Yeah.” Steven nodded, licking his lips and shifting his hips to help Javi free his dick. “Yeah, he’s… he’s hot. Nice thick… fuck… nice cock.”

“Yeah.” Javi began to slowly pump Steve, pulling a gasp from the blond. “You know, I used to watch the guys my dad would hire. There was one, when I was about 16, he’d get changed in the barn. He knew I watched.”

“You ever… fuck… you ever do anythin’ with him?” Steve moaned out, bucking his hip slightly as Javi stroked his cock steadily. 

“First cock I ever sucked.” Javi chuckled, reaching out with his other hand to clumsily free his own trapped erection. “You ever done anything like this before?”

“No.” Steve’s voice was little more than a whisper as his eyes drifted down to Javi’s thick cock. “Fuck, can we… I mean… shit…”

“Not here.” Javi continued to pump both cocks, gently thumbing over Steve’s head to collect the precum that was beginning to flow. “But another time, somewhere more private. Sure. We can have some fun.”

“Fuck.” A small smile creeped across Steve’s lips as he let his head drop back, exposing his neck, while Javi began to pick up the pace.

The strokes had been slow at first as Javi tested how much Steve would let him do. So each stroke had been tender and leisurely, his fingers sliding down Steve’s shaft pulling quiet gasps and moans from the other man. But now Javi needed to come, he needed to watch Steve come. The spell might break any second, someone could come find them, anything could happen that could mean this might be the only chance Javi got. 

Javi’s pumps became more rhythmic, quicker, as he stroked himself and Steve in time. Another time, if he got another shot at this, he’d want to bring their erections together, to touch them, and let the friction of the other's shaft add to the heat. But for now Javi settled for this as his skin prickled with arousal. The coiling tension inside him building with each motion as his whole body throbbed with need.

Steve’s eyes were fixed on Javi’s hands, watching as his thick fingers skirted over hot flesh and pulsing veins coated in their own arousal. His plush lips were slightly parted, flushed as pink as his cheeks, and Javi longed to plunder Steve’s mouth. The only thing stopping him was the thought that actually might be too intimate just yet. A hand job was one thing, a kiss was another. An act more sensual than sexual. Javi didn’t want to rush Steve, he wanted to savor everything he could get.

They were both breathing heavier now, the burning fire inside them desperate to explode, so Javi increased the pace again. It was time for them to finish. And so Javi began to quicken his hand until the stroke turned into frenzied jerks that had Steve clasping a hand over his mouth and Javi biting down on his bottom lip. If anyone were to come in now, he wouldn’t be able to stop, wouldn’t be able to hide what they were doing together. So Javi pushed on, frantically pulling him and Steve to the edge.

Steve came first with a muffled cry. The thick white ropes flying from his cock, coating Javi’s hand and hitting his forearm. The hot release cooling on his skin as Steve trembled in his seat. Javi had only just let go of Steve’s dick and let himself fall back slightly to give the other man a good view before he too came. Letting his head drop back, Javi pinched his eyes shut and growled out a curse as he painted the floor of the room with his seed. 

For a moment, the world melted away as Javi allowed himself to dissolve into the pleasure of the moment. His thighs shook as his whole body vibrated with his orgasm, and all Javi could do was ride the brief high. Finally, as it ebbed away, Javi opened his eyes to find Steve slumped in the chair gazing at him.

“Fuck.” Javi panted out, looking around the space for something to clean himself up with. Grabbing some crumpled paper and roughly wiping his arm and hands, Javi turned back to Steve.

The other man seemed in a daze, watching Javi without really seeing, his soft cock still hanging from his open jeans. Tucking himself away, Javi watched as Steve seemed to slowly come back to reality once Javi’s dick was out of view. In a flash, Steve redressed and ran a shaking hand down his flushed, glistening face.

“I… um… shit.” Steve frowned up at Javi. 

Opening his mouth to answer, Javi jumped as voices began to drift in through the still ajar door. The two voices, both speaking Spanish, were still a way off, but the effect on Steve was immediate. Leaping up out of the chair, Steve rushed over to the door and peered out.

“Relax.” Javi tried to soothe him, taking in the scene in the area. Come spattered the floor, alongside gay porn, and the scent of sex hung in the air. “Come on, as soon as they pass we’ll leave. Get somewhere more… well… more private.”

Still staring out the door, Steve just nodded. Then after a few moments waved Javi over for the two of them to leave. Walking briskly across the campus, Javi could see Search Bloc officers jogging in the distance, others were walking and chatting while he and Steve made a beeline for the bunk room and straight to their sparse room. If only they knew of what the two gringos had just done in that outbuilding.

Once safely inside, Javi slumped down onto the thin mattress of his bed, while Steve shakily lit a cigarette before offering the pack to Javi. As they sat smoking in silence, Javi had a sinking feeling that this was never going to be mentioned again by Steve. Once the sun came up, it would be as though he never happened as far as Steve was concerned. He’d go back to trying to fix things with Connie, and Javi would have to return to his hookers. And the worst part was, Javi was almost sure he could live with that.