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bangaveragewhitewine · 1 year ago

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soft slow, morning glow

Steve Harrington x Reader

A prosaic peek at Steve Harrington’s inability to sleep in and stay in bed and his reasons for changing his ways.

October 1997; a cosy easy morning, where kisses are shared and ABBA songs are sung as a lullaby.

Word count: 4.3K

Content/Warnings: TW for talk of bleeding during pregnancy, borderline neglectful parents.

Mention of sex (18+), not explicit. This contains dad!Steve & mom! reader toward the end; pregnant reader. Kinda rambling. Very soft. Low angst (but not none).

Note: Thank you to my ST rewatch for making me fall for Steve all over again.

Proofread by @specialagentmonkey | Divider by @silkholland

Steve Harrington was always an early riser.

As a honey-haired little boy, he spent Saturday mornings on the sofa watching cartoons with the volume dialled low as his parents slept. He knew not to make a mess with the cereal, or the milk, rewarded with a stack of pancakes or a new toy for keeping himself amused as Richard and Katherine Harrington slept off the previous evening’s dinner party hangover.

Always the first awake at sleepovers, he would wait with bated breath for Tommy to stir or feign a sneeze to wake him.

He never had to be dragged from bed to go to school during the week, always up and at ‘em to go see his friends, play tag and swap baseball cards on the playground.

As a sporty and popular teenager, he started running when he didn’t have early swim practice or basketball. Steve rose with the sun and waved to his neighbours politely as his shiny sneakers slapped the pavements of Loch Nora.

He was never sure what he was running from, or towards, but the burn of chilly morning air in his lungs made him feel alive.

When he started going to house parties and hangouts on Saturday nights, his Sundays still started early, dragged to show face at his parent’s church. It was less about faith and god and all about appearances. He snuck out of bedroom windows, hopped white picket fences as the sun rose, fought hangovers as the priest’s voice droned and caught the eyes of pretty girls from the convent school a town over - they always blushed when he smiled at them or dropped them a sly little wink as the collection plate was passed around.

When his parents started travelling more, after the shortlived re-commitment to the church, Steve’s Sunday morning hangovers were kept at bay with cold swims in the pool or hot coffee and loud music in the kitchen as he tried and failed to focus on homework.

Steve started working right out of school as punishment for unsubmitted college applications and lower-than-predicted grades. He volunteered for the opening shifts in Scoops Ahoy and Family Video - he liked the responsibility and having a purpose, having an excuse to be out of the house before his parents could tutt and fuss and lecture him. It was easier when they weren’t there; when the office in Indy needed Richard’s attention more than his wife and son did, when Katherine spotted smears of lipstick on his collars again and insisted she spend some time with him in the city apartment.

In their absence, the Harrington house was a mausoleum of failure that Steve couldn’t bear to be in. So he raised his hand for early delivery shifts and stock takes and drove his friends to school when he didn’t have to, already awake after another night of nightmares, memories of flying fists.

Steve Harrington rose early and burned bright; burned out quickly when he realised he didn’t know what to do with himself or what his purpose was.

He filled his time with making himself useful to other people, chasing and seeking a purpose or a person to fill the gaps and spaces in his chest; the hollows once reserved for the people who didn’t return the outpouring of love he offered so freely, so innocently. He found and made a rag-bag bunch of friends, a found family, who returned the love he deserved in the ways they knew how. Woven and knotted friendship bracelets, squished candy bars, mixtapes, weed sold and rolled at buddy rates or for nothing at all.

Steve Harrington moved to the city with his best friends; a Beemer and a battered van filled with boxes and suitcases. The early morning drive made Steve Harrington glow golden in the rising sun, his excited eyes hidden behind dark-tinted sunglasses as Robin Buckley snored in the passenger seat and Eddie Munson listened to metal at an ear-bleeding volume in his van and flipped Steve off with that big grin in the rearview mirror. They stopped for strong coffee and sweet pancakes and started a new chapter in the city.

When you fell in love with Steve in 1990, he found a reason to stay in bed a little longer. A reason to slow down, soak up the sunshine glow you shone on him.

You spent Saturday nights with friends, a patchwork group cheering on Corroded Coffin and selling T-shirts and tapes at a merch table when they scored a bigger venue and a bigger crowd. Movie nights and takeout Chinese food and a stack of new and old movies from Blockbuster. Date nights at swanky bars and restaurants, with flickering candles and pizza on the way home because you didn’t want the night to end yet. You spent hours in bed together, night and morning, talking about everything under the rising sun and dwindling moon, learning about each other’s life and mapping each other’s body with kisses and gentle touches.

In the morning he gazed at your sleepy softness and took his own pulse to make sure he wasn’t dying. No heart attack, just falling in love.

He brought you cups of coffee and sweet pastries from the bakery a block away when his limbs felt restless. He always got back into bed with you to cuddle and while away the morning without a moment wasted. With Steve, those mornings were syrupy slow; he worshipped you between your thighs and held your hands as the headboard bashed against the wall.

You became Mrs. Steve Harrington in the spring of ‘94.

A small wedding. A big party for your friends. A honeymoon week where every morning felt like a perfect lazy Saturday.

When Steve found his reason to stay in bed, together you created a reason that kept you from it.

Bethany Rose Harrington. Born June 21st 1995.

Beth had her Daddy’s eyes and her Mama’s nose, and the sweetest little dimples in her smiley pink cheeks. She was her Daddy’s little doughnut, her Mama’s little bee. She inherited Steve’s charm and wrapped her extensive collection of doting uncles and aunts right around her tiny finger. She took after you in the way that Steve was completely and utterly in love with her.

Just like her Dad, Beth liked to start the day early. After a few weeks of seeking out and settling into a routine, Steve spent the earliest part of the day feeding his little Bethie her bottle of milk in the cosy armchair nestled in the corner of her pale yellow nursery. As he watched her big brown eyes gaze and blink, felt her tiny fist wrap around his finger, Steve decided that these were the happiest mornings of his life.

On those soft and slow mornings, you could hear Steve’s low murmur to your little girl through the baby monitor when his excitement to see her gummy smile or stop her sad fat tears bypassed the off-switch. You fell back asleep to the sound of Steve telling Beth about how the Cubs and the Bulls (their teams now) were doing this season, or about the walk in the park you were going to go on once ‘beautiful mama’ was awake. He sang to her; never typical lullabies, Queen and ABBA and Dusty Springfield.

Steve basked in the joy of her little smiles, soaked in the soft cooing noises as Beth found her voice to talk back to her Daddy. When she fell asleep again, milk-drunk with her cheek against his heartbeat, Steve watched the morning sky shift and brighten and listened out for the sound of your waking time. The soft thud and shuffle from bed to bathroom, running water, your yawn and stretch, the gentle steps to seek and find him and your little treasure. You filled reams of camera film, documenting Steve as a Dad, your little girl's first weeks and months. Lit by morning light, by afternoon sun and the shade of the tree in your yard, and dusky nighttime lit by nightlights.

When your laundry list of chores allowed it, you took one of your three options on those mornings of parenthood - take turns to bask in the warmth of lavender and milk-scented baby cuddles while the other showered; bring the sleeping beauty back to your bed to gaze at the ten fingers and ten toes you had created together; or leave the sleepy and full-tummied grub to sleep in her crib again to spend the slow dawn hours holding each other and trading kisses, and knotting yourselves up in the sheets together once the doctor gave you the all-clear and a prescription for birth control.

You did plenty of all three.

Summer turned to Autumn, then Winter, and Steve balanced being a father and husband with keeping a roof over your heads and the final year of his programme to get his qualification to become a guidance counsellor. His mornings with Beth were part of his routine, leaving her smiling and drooly for you when he kissed his girls goodbye. Missing him during full days of supervised sessions and hours in the college library when he wasn’t in classes bonded you and Beth, thick as thieves and lovestruck for the golden Harrington boy-turned-man. You made sure that he never missed a moment with how many pictures you took, and Beth saved all of her firsts for when he was home. You coached her to say ‘dada’ in Steve’s absence and he sobbed happy tears when she parroted it back. (He had been coaching her to say ‘mama’ during their early mornings together).

Your late nights of talking turned to early-to-bed nights, sleeping when the baby slept and when your little home was some semblance of clean and tidy. Steve fell asleep to the sound of Bethie’s breath on the monitor, your heart under his cheek and the soft stroke of your fingers in his hair, along the length of his arm.

Both of you were exhausted. Neither of you had ever been happier.

When he graduated in the Summer, you and Beth cheered and clapped for your golden boy along with his best friends - the loudest bunch in the college auditorium. A picture of the Harrington trio - Steve in his shirt and tie and graduation gown balancing a smiley baby and his degree as you kiss his cheek and tickle Beth’s tummy for the camera - was placed with pride on his desk when he started a counsellor job that landed in his lap in the late summer of ‘96. He coached basketball two afternoons a week on the side; it was perfect for him.

You go back to work part-time and you balance taking care of Beth and each other with the utmost care. With help from your family and Steve’s trust fund from the Harrington’s, you make it work. You are what he holds dear, pride of place in the centre of his chest, once vacant and hollow. The gaping space he yearned to fill with the wrong friends, the wrong girls, watery beer and too many cigarettes.

By the Fall of ‘97, Steve had learned to sleep again. Sleep when the baby sleeps. Enjoy your days off. Enjoy every moment. He is. He’s so tired but never happier.

This morning, you wake first.

Your little house in the Chicago suburbs is bathed in autumn darkness on a lazy Saturday. Six a.m. and Steve snores peacefully.

Beth is silent, dreaming of her two favourite things: fairies and pancakes. That top five list favourites is rounded out by her Daddy and Mama and Mrs. Murphy’s orange cat that visits the backyard.

The littlest Harrington is an early bird too, twirling in your tummy beneath Steve’s protective hand. Until Steve can take the morning shift, you are the early riser.

Beth is your sleepy little dreamer, she loves her bed like her Mama. She sneaks in between you and Steve (and the bump now too) when she wakes too early; you spend those mornings gazing and counting fingers and toes again like when she was a tiny thing.

This baby however seems to take after her father’s love of sport, the way she practices the aim and strength of her kicks on your bladder. You don’t officially know yet (they were less than cooperative at the last ultrasound), but you know it’s a girl. Steve swayed to boy for a day or two before realising you were right. Maybe next time…

The flush and sigh-groan from your aching back pulls Steve from sleep. When you pad back in from the little bathroom, he’s just about upright and wild-haired.

“Y’okay?” Eyes swollen with sleep, he reaches blindly for you to help you back into the cosy nest of blankets.

“Mm, needed to pee.”

You try to keep your cold feet away but Steve sandwiches them between his own size fourteen and always warm feet. His lips brush your shoulder and the back of your neck when you settle into a comfortable position; Bump dictates what will suffice as ‘comfortable’ and settles under her father’s comforting hand. Harrington’s magic touch is famed in your home; settling gassy babies and working out knotted shoulders, fixing leaky faucets and carrying all of the groceries inside in two heavy handfuls, making shadow-puppet shows on the bedroom wall and holding back your hair when you’re not well.

Slowly, small-spooned by Steve’s bigger body, you drift again. Sleep comes and goes like an inconsistent tide, and you are anchored safely in his arms. Baby names ebb and flow into your tired head and you wish Steve was awake to tell you what he thought of ‘Heather’ or ‘Ava’. Whether your (very slow) re-read of Little Women was influencing you too much to ‘Josie’. You wonder about how much candy you should get for the trick-or-treaters, and whether Beth will be too scared to help you answer the door to them this year.

You wish he was awake - because you always wish your every waking moment was spent with Steve Harrington - but you’re so glad he is sleeping soundly, snoring sweetly behind you. You wish you could take more responsibility, take the pressure he puts on his own shoulders from him, but this pregnancy is less easy than the first and you hate that you can’t do it all anymore. You take solace in the fact that Steve is asleep, not awake worrying or nesting.

Turning in his sleepy hold, you place his hand back on the bump to keep the littlest Harrington settled and content, and watch your handsome husband look like the teenager you wish you had known. You map the laughter lines instead of the ones etched by worry, counting the happy memories (which are insurmountable) as you fall back to sleep with him at last.

Sleeping Beauty herself slumbers on until almost 8 a.m., meaning that both you and Steve sleep until almost 8 a.m. too - later on you will toast coffee (decaf for you) over that parent win. For the next few months, the weekends mean Steve will be hitting snooze on his body clock when the chances arise.

This morning Beth’s little voice sings his name down the hall. Steve wakes with a smile and kisses your sleepy face as you stretch and peel your eyes open.

“You’re up, Coach.” Your voice is a tired yawn, mumbled into the fluffy duvet Steve untangles himself from.

“Bring her in for cuddles please.” You pout for a tired kiss and hum happily when he grants your wish.

Steve’s ankles crack as he walks from your room to Beth’s. She’s wide awake and wild-haired, matching her Dad, and she sits up in her bed with her bunny-teddy clutched in her fist.

“Hi bumblebee,” he gasps, his tiredness swept away by his genuine joy to see her. Steve lays down on her too-small-for-him baby bed and pretends to get comfy to sleep again. “Sleepover?” he asks, opening his arm for her.

“Nooooo, yo’bed!” Her sweet voice crackles with sleepiness and the remnants of a cold she picked up as the seasons changed.

In the warmth of your bed, you can hear the mini-eye-roll she’s giving her Dad as he plays up to her dramatics. Uncle Dustin has a lot to answer for.

“Bethie,” you call from your nest, “I miss you.”

Steve watches with barely restrained amusement as her face beams bright like sunshine before leaving him in the lurch to seek out Mama. “Hey! What about me?!”

You can hear his grumbling as he hauls himself up from the tiny toddler bed but your focus is the bundle of sunshine that bounds her way to your room in her sky-blue jammies. Pushing messy hair from her face, she squeaks happily as you lift her before Steve can beat you to it. You didn’t want another moment apart from your girl and she burrows against your chest under the toasty-warm duvet.

“Morning Betty Boop.” You press kisses to her smiling face and hear Steve stomp and flop back into the room and into the bed.

“Is Daddy not invited to this love-in? Just for Mama and Beth?” he asks, scowling at your smushed-together faces.

You cuddle Beth and stroke her back as the girl shifts her impish gaze to Steve. “What do you think, Betty? Kisses for Dada?”

She can never ever resist him and reach-grabs out to be gathered in his big strong arms for kisses and cuddles.

Steve lights up, features relaxing from his feigned annoyance, as he gives and receives morning kisses. You are gathered up alongside the titch of a girl and with her help, you smother kisses all over Steve’s happy face.

“Never ever not invited to the love-in, my love.” You kiss his shadowed jaw once and tuck yourself under his arm.

“Kiss d’baby?” Beth’s messy head pops up and looks at you hopefully.

“You wanna say good morning to Baby?” Steve asks, and she nods. “Mama?”

“I think she’s asleep, but I bet she’ll wake up when she hears Big Sis and Dada.” Beneath the pitched tent of the duvet, you lift Steve’s t-shirt and present the rounded bump for inclusion in the morning love-in.

Beth has been immensely eager to meet her baby since she took notice of your bump and realised the new baby was actually in there.

The little girl’s pillow-soft cheek rests against the curve as she hugs around your middle. “Moh’nin, baby.” Her little voice is still a little stuffed up, nasal.

Your heart and tears swell as you watch her with Steve, who kisses the bump and murmurs hello. You’re at that point of pregnancy where you could cry when the wind changes and you cover your eyes so Beth won’t go out in sympathy-tears with you.

Steve’s big hand squeezes your hand as he distracts Beth, who babbles in toddler talk to her sibling. His eyes are wide and worried as he looks up and sees the hitch of your chest. He’s had that worried look since you bled at ten weeks and the doctor put you on bed rest, just three weeks into actually knowing you were pregnant. Everything has settled bar your hormones and emotions; two perfect heartbeats, an active healthy baby, a happy but tired Mom. Steve is more scared now than he was with Beth but pretends to be brave for you.

You swipe at your hot tears, dry your hand in your t-shirt before reaching down to stroke through Steve’s thick hair.

“M’okay.” You give him a watery smile. “She’s just… so sweet, Stevie.”

Moving up to lie along your side, Steve wipes your cheek and presses a kiss to the trail of the tears left behind. “Sweetest. Sweet Bee. Feelin’ okay?”

His hand stays on top of your bump and then passes over Bethany’s bedhead when she looks up curiously.

Seeing that she is missing out, Beth decides she has had enough and wants to cuddle with you instead of the baby who won’t kick back hello. She wiggles up to lie on Steve’s chest, little fingers poking into the freckles and moles as he pulls the duvet back around you all like a cosy cocoon.

“Feeling good. You okay?”

Steve has tucked away his worry again, but you still see the pinch in his brow - though the curious little fingers might be the reason for that.

“Peachy.” He chases the poking fingers with a growling kiss, pulling a shrieking giggle from Beth. “Hello, can I help you? Why are we poking Daddy this morning, huh?”

You giggle with Beth and kiss where her fingers had pressed, modelling the gentle sweetness you know she possesses in multitudes. “Poor Daddy. See, Betty? Gentle kissies.” A kiss is snuck onto his mouth for good measure.

“Daddy,” Beth sing-songs, patting his cheek lovingly.

“Bethie,” Steve sings back to her, echoing her melody. He accepts a wet baby-kiss as you curl close to them both.

You twirl a finger in the messy wave of her hair. “What will we do today? Do you want to get some library books? Or we could… go to the park?”

Steve pats her back gently. “Oh wow. All the possibilities, huh?” His lips press to Beth’s forehead as she cuddles up to him, her fingers distracted by the gold chain he wears around his neck. “Gentle, please.” He kisses her head again and looks at you. “We can do both… Go get a t-r-e-a-t?”

You smile and nod, covering Steve’s hand on Beth’s small back. “I like t-r-e-a-ts. What do you want to do, big guy?”

Steve’s fingers slot with yours. His lips brush your head as you share his pillow - the firm one to help with his neck pain. “Just be with you two. Could stay right here all day and I’d be the happiest guy.”

You press your nose against his cheek and close your eyes; you’re both surrounded by your favourite people, it is utter bliss.

“I love you.” Your voice is soft and tired against his stubbly jaw.

“Love you. So much, babe.”

Steve tilts his head so you can share a morning-breath-be-damned kiss. He wishes he had woke up sooner, before the wide-eyed toddler, so that he could have showered you with kisses, made out like teenagers (despite the baby bump between you).

“No! Me!” The frustrated little whine makes you smile apologetically to each other, chancing one more peck before you both look to scowling Beth.

“Sorry, Bee. Mama’s too delicious for me to resist.”

“Steve!” you tuck your face in his neck as you laugh, an affectionate headbutt.

“What? The kid’s gotta know.”

The two-year-old smushes her face to her Dad’s chest, still too little to comprehend her Dad’s silly banter when she just wants to be the centre of both of your attention. You have a few months left to figure that out before the baby arrives, but it scares you that she might feel like she’s not the best thing that ever happened you (bar her Dad, of course).

Your pout matches hers and you push back the stinging Mom Guilt Tears. She is only coaxed away with sweet little cheek-kisses from you as you hum-sing Take a Chance on Me (accompanied by Steve’s tapping fingers on her back ‘take a chance, take a chance, take a, take a chance-chance.)

The girl's smile splits her frustrated face, a quiet giggle as she is serenaded by her current favourite song (you have just got I Was Made For Lovin’ You out of your head after Steve had introduced her to KISS in the car). Her little arm hooks around your head as you whisper how much you love her, soft voice tickling her ear and cheek.

Beth’s laughter coaxes a fluttering kick against your belly, which Steve feels against his side as you spoon against him. He wears the same wide-eyed joy on his face every time he has felt your babies kick.

“Oo, she’s awake again. Finally joining the party.” You rest your hand against the side of your rounded belly and telepathically tell the tiny one how much you love them too, how you can’t wait to meet them but please stay in there until they’re fully cooked and ready.

Steve’s free hand - the one not keeping Beth upright as she sits up on his torso - joins yours and echoes your telepathic communication to the littlest Harrington - I love you, I can’t wait to hold you, please stay safe in there and be nice to your Mom.

His wide palm on your bump settles the fluttering before she aims her kick right against it Hi Dad! Okay, Dad!

You share a secret little smile with him and kiss his cheek as his eyes shimmer before rolling onto your achy back, feeling the satisfaction of the pop and crack as your spine relaxes against the mattress. Steve’s hand stays on your belly, and you hug his arm to your chest, as Beth sings her toddler-babble version of an ABBA mashup for you both from her throne.

Steve’s face hurts from smiling as he listens to her, hears some semblance of the lyrics in Beth-speak. He doesn’t remember mornings like this with his parents, few and far between were the times he was even allowed to cuddle with them in bed on a weekend morning.

You glance at his face, watching shifting emotions come and go as he remembers, tries to forget and focuses on the memories being made right now in your cosy nest of a bed. You squeeze his arm and hold his hand on your belly - matching gold wedding rings clicking against each other as your fingers intertwine.

Steve squeezes your hand, three pulses. There is simply nowhere he would rather be.

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thebearer · 1 year ago

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autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: target, halloween, carmen, and you. or a short, fluffy work about halloween shopping with target bc why not? 'tis the season.

contains: fluff. that's it lol. mentions to past family memories and some insecure carmen, but honestly just fluff!

“Oh, look at this one!” You coo, snatching the tiny ghost figurine off the shelf.

“Cute.” Carmen muttered, one hand on the obnoxiously red cart, the other on your lower back. “Put it in.” He nodded towards the cart that was slowly starting to fill up.

The speakers droned out some dull pop song, your coffee and his melting away in the drink carriers on the cart. Carmen didn’t usually prefer Starbucks, much more of a fan of the local coffee spot a block over from The Bear. They knew his regular, made it for him as soon as he walked in. No fuss, no forced conversation- just the way he liked it.

But you liked Starbucks, well, in the right circumstance. You liked going to Target, you liked having a coffee to sip on while you “browsed”. Browsed, Carmen had grinned when you told him that.

“You don’t just go out and browse sometimes? Look at things? Window shop to make yourself feel happier?” You’d asked him earlier in the car, head tilting to the side.

“No, baby. I, uh, I don’t.” Carmen looked over at you, his hand still holding yours in the center console. “But maybe you’re onto somethin’.”

Carmen’s lack of decorations was deemed a crime in your eyes, which inspired the trip. Halloween trinkets filling the cart, the sly smile you’d give him when you’d slip another one in, just like you were doing now.

“It’s my treat.” You’d remind him, with a little wink. Carmen let you think that. Like he’d ever let you pay. And miss out on a chance to spoil you? No way.

“Where’re you gonna put all this?” Carmen hummed, watching you situate the tiny ghost next to the plastic cauldron and iridescent ornaments- something you saw on TikTok that you were going to attempt to DIY. “My place isn’t that big.”

“I’ll find a place, don’t worry.” You hum, sliding back in beside him, swiping your cup out of the basket. “You’ve got a bathroom, and the kitchen, and the bedroom-”

“-Bedroom?” Carmen grinned lightly, his hand snaking to your waist while his free hand pushed the cart. “You gonna put this creepy shit in there?”

“It’s not creepy.” You huff at him. “It’s cute, festive. Makes the place feel more… homey.”

Carmen decided then, he’d let you put a full fucking skeleton in his room if it made you feel that way. He’d get rid of all his shit, didn’t need it anyways, so you’d have room for all your holiday stuff. Carmen’s heart fluttered at the thought of what Christmas would look like. Would you put up a tree? He hoped you would. He’d go and chop one down if he had to. Where in Chicago he’d find a tree? He wasn’t sure, but he’d find one for you. If it made you as happy as this did.

“Ok,” You pulled him out of his thoughts, stopping the cart lightly. You plucked the bright orange bag up. “Did you know these are my absolute weakness?” Pumpkin shaped Reese’s, in their bright orange and purple glory.

“Yeah?” Carmen grinned. “This is it, huh?”

“Yes, in any shape too. But I prefer the pumpkin.” You went to set it back, Carmen’s hand grabbing the bag lightly and putting it in the cart.

“‘M more of a Christmas Tree fan.” Carmen shrugged. “You know Cicero- uh, Jimmy-” You nodded, slipping back into his side. “He, uh, he used to bring a bag of these to Christmas every year when I was little. He’d always have to hide ‘em, ya know? My dad… My dad didn’t want us havin’ all that sugar before dinner. Jimmy would come in where all the kids were, toss ‘em to me or Mikey or Richie when he started hangin’ around. Tell us not to get caught, and Merry Christmas, and hide the evidence. We’d eat them before goin’ to Mass, and he did it every year until I got in high school.”

You smiled softly, hand sliding down his back. “That’s sweet.” You hum, squeezing his hip lovingly. “You should get him some for Christmas this year. Return the favor.”

“Yeah,” Carmen scoffed lightly. “Yeah, I think he’d like that.”

A silence fell between the two of you, chatter from the surrounding people, the scratchy-screech of the cart. Carmen’s heart hammered, mind racing. Why the fuck did you tell her that? Fuckin’ ruined the moment. Stupid, fuckin’ stupid.

“Hey, uh,” Carmen’s hands shook lightly, fingers drumming on the red plastic over the cart. “I-I didn’t mean to… ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to say all that, ya know? Ruin the-the… I just, I dunno, you said that and-and I-”

“-What?” You asked softly, brows creasing lightly. “What are you talking about? Say what?”

“The, uh, the thing with Jimmy. I-I didn’t mean to make it awkward-”

“Why is it awkward?” You pressed, setting down the candle you were smelling. “I thought it was sweet.”

“Yeah? I-I just… I dunno why I said it, I’m sorry.” Carmen rambled, a hand falling over his face, hoping you couldn’t see the blush growing over his face.

“Don’t be sorry, Carm. There’s nothin’ to be sorry about.” You shook your head, waving him off. “It’s a sweet story. I like that you told me that.”

“Yeah?” Carmen asked softly.

You nodded, smiling at him. “You know I do, bear.” The nickname rolls off your tongue so effortlessly, calmly- Carmen’s sure he’s going to melt into the floor.

“Here,” You twist the lid off the next candle. “This one has caramel. You like that, right?”

Carmen wasn’t sure how you remembered that. He’d mentioned it once, in passing, that he liked whatever you were burning at your apartment when he was over. It was caramel and coffee, you’d remembered, because you showed up at his house with the same candle the next day. A love present, you’d called it, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You didn’t want anything in return, no strings, just buying him something because you wanted to; because he liked it. It was still a new concept to Carmen, how you could love him without wanting anything other than love in return.

Carmen ducked down, the brim of his hat bumping your wrist lightly. “Yeah, I like that one.” He nods. “Smells like that other one.”

“Yeah? Not too pumpkinny?” You tilt your head to the side.

“No.” Carmen laughs, breathy and light. “I don’t smell any pumpkin. Is there pumpkin?”

“Caramel Pumpkin Latte.” You tilt the label towards him. “They’re saying it’s in there.” Carmen hummed lightly. “You calling them a liar?” You giggle playfully.

“No, but I am sayin’ there’s not pumpkin in there.” Carmen snorted lightly, putting the candle in the cart anyways. “Not real pumpkin, anyways.”

“Maybe if this chef thing doesn’t work out, you could be a candle critic.” You tease, falling into slow steps beside him. “Be a candle blogger or something.”

“Candle blogger?” Carmen repeats with an amused smile. “That’s not real.”

You look at him, eyes wide in excitement. “Oh, Berzatto, am I about to blow your mind.”

“No? Really?” Carmen laughed. “You’re fuckin’ with me?”

“No! It’s a real thing, Carmen.” You laugh, pulling out your phone. “There was this woman that, like, went viral because she was going insane about Bath and Body Works not having her candle or something.” You giggle, typing slowly in the search bar.

“That’s fuckin’ insane.” Carmen rolled his eyes.

“Yeah.” You smirk. “Think she might’ve started a trend.”

“Well, can’t do that then.” Carmen shrugged, loading the items on the small platform at the self checkout. “Don’t wanna go up against her, baby. She’s intense.”

“Yeah, good call.” You grin, pocketing your phone, opening the bags while he scanned the ghost. “Guess you’ll have to stick to cooking.”

“Guess so.” Carmen muttered, putting the plush pumpkins in the bag, reaching for his wallet.

“Eh! No!” You click your tongue, eyes flashing at him. “I told you I was buying it.” You put a hand over the card slot, glaring at Carmen with a frown.

“C’mon,” Carmen shook his head lightly, pushing your hand away lightly. “You got a number you wanna put in?” He nodded towards the screen.

You pouted, pausing for a moment. “Yes.” You mutter, typing in your number quickly, pivoting your body in front of the card machine.

“You gonna move?” Carmen looked at you, already reaching around to put his card in.

“No, I told you it was my treat.” You mutter, twisting with your phone in your hand. One look at the screen, and you were tapping your phone against the screen. The ding chimed, your smug smile spreading across your lips when the receipt printed.

Carmen was stunned, card still in his hand. “What- How did you-”

“Gotta be quicker than that, Berzatto.” You grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Carmen looked down at his card in his hand, shoving it back into his wallet. Maybe Sugar was right, maybe he did need to actually learn how to use his phone. He grabbed the bags from you, swatting your hand away while you pushed the basket back.

“Shoulda let me pay.” Carmen grumbled, walking beside you out the sliding doors. It had started to get chilly, leaves tinging with warm color and the temperature beginning to drop. “Stuff’s for me anyways.”

“Yeah, but I wanted you to get it.” You bump your hip playfully with his. “Besides, I told you it was my treat.”

Carmen didn’t respond, unlocking the trunk and putting the bags in carefully, but the frown didn’t fade. Brows still furrowed and lips still in a hard line.

“Hey,” You call, stopping him before he could close the trunk. “I told you I wanted to buy it for you.”

“Yeah,” Carmen’s brows furrowed. “But you shouldn’t’ve-”

“-Carm.” You groan lightly. “I wanted to pay, ok? You always get me stuff. Let me get this for you, ok?” You say lightly, arms snaking around his shoulders, looping behind his neck. “Let me spoil you, bear. Lemme be your sugar mama.”

Carmen snorts, lips curling in a grin lightly. “Shut up.” He mutters, your lips closing over his in a sweet kiss.

You pulled apart, blushed and swooned in a Target parking lot. “You gotta put the stuff up anyways.” You tease, hands sliding down his toned arms, over his color block jacket.

“Yeah?” Carmen snorts lightly, pulling the trunk shut. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“I’ll be directing.” You declare, pinching his butt lightly, grinning at how he jumped and flushed. Sliding into the passenger side, you lean across the console to Carmen. “I’ll make sure the ambiance is there.”

Carmen nodded, starting the car, eyes bright when they met yours. “Light the candle?”

“Yes.” You laugh. “And I’ll pick out a movie.”

Carmen snorted lightly, his free hand moving behind your head rest while he backed out. It made your tummy flip with excitement. “Yeah? Casper?”

You give him a feigned unimpressed look. “You know I’m more of a Hocus Pocus girl.”

“Right, my bad.” Carmen laughed, hand gripping your thigh lightly, thumb rubbing patterns over the material of your leggings. Your heart skipped. “Fine. As long as you open those Reese’s.”

“Deal.” You grin, kissing his forearm gently.

Hours later, wrappers piled on the coffee table, the candle burning in the kitchen, and the orange lights glowing from where Carmen string them over the TV stand in the living room. One Jack-O-Lantern fleece blanket thrown over both of your legs, your head on Carmen’s while the beginning credits of Beetlejuice played on the TV. Carmen decided right there that you were right. This was more homey. Felt… right and content. He wasn’t so sure it was the decorations, more likely it was the girl who picked them out.

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moonsaver · 1 year ago

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You've had the unfortunate privilege of being on the recieving end of Sunday's influence.

He's no ordinary man, at least by status. Penacony, although now a huge tourism spot, had it's plethora of secrets, and The Family seeks to keep it as just that. With secrets comes trouble, and with trouble comes opportunity. Sunday is a man who seizes it when he has the chance.

And you suppose his nature has rubbed off on you. The moment a flicker of freedom sparked before you, you didn't hesitate to seize your opportunity, grabbing tightly, and running into it headfirst.

The fact you've made it this far surprises even you, as your legs ache from the sheer amount of distance you've had to cover on land, the splinters and cuts on your feet burning as you drag yourself as far away as you can, hop planet to plant if you must, to escape Sunday at all costs.

Of course.. you haven't been in the best physical condition ever since you decided freedom was worth it. Hair messy, fingers bruised, and your lips bloodied as you gnawed on them continuously from the sheer dread and fear. You've managed to make it on Belobog's icy cold planet that's only starting to warm up, and to your dismay, the snow only worsens just how bad your splinters and cuts hurt.

It's not long before you make it to the city. You go through a lengthy procedure and are finally taken in, provided for and hidden under wraps by your own request. You suppose the silver-haired girl didn't need much convincing from the long struggles your body seems to have endured.

However, word reaches fast.

Its also not long before there's representatives and ambassadors sent from different branches of the Families in Penacony, and a few unfamiliar names. Your ears stay close to the wall as you try to make out their words.

It seems Sunday has chosen to brand you as a dangerous, wanted criminal instead of his lover. But perhaps you'd prefer that?

And the countless visits put a strain on legal relations. The silver-haired girl has to let up with resignation, and informs you Belobog cannot house you. Not anymore.

However, even in your desperate, anxious state, you can clearly tell Sunday was desperate. It seems he's managed to rope the IPC into it aswell, given the talkative, sly blonde man who keeps droning on about how excited he is to help Sunday out as a favor. You get the impression he's not keen on really making friends, but rather debts.

As for Sunday.. he hasn't heard from you in a few weeks. It's been your longest time missing, evidently. He sighs grimly as he reviews reports, clearly fabricated. The last time you really were seen after the expedition of that retrieval group, was with none other than Aventurine.

That peacock just loves seizing his opportunity, doesn't he?

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dustedmagazine · 7 months ago

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Workers Comp — S-T (Ever/Never)

Workers Comp raises a raucous, twanging ruckus on this self-titled debut, spitting home-spun poetry about dead-end jobs off the back end of a bucking blues-vamp. Disappointments are rife, the struggle is real, but it’s always music o’clock somewhere, and that’s something to celebrate.

A stripped-down trio, Workers Comp marshals the talents of Deadbeat Beat’s Joshua Gillis on guitar, Luke Reddick of Divorce Horse on bass and Ryan McKeever of Staffers on drums. Fair warning, however, the new band sounds not much at all like any of its three predecessors. Instead, it evokes the humorous wallop of the Strapping Field Hands, and the drunken rave-ups of Hootenany-era Replacements. This country viewed through a cracked mirror, amped up and agitated, but also extremely articulate.

The disc starts with its honkey-tonk-i-est track, the Cash-worshiping “When I’m Here,” which starts in profanity and an aborted count, and goes from there. Gills drawls in an uncertain croak, but the lines include some doozies (My favorite: “Labor day in Baltimore/that’s time and a half/planting flowers on a plot between a joke and a laugh/if irony were ecstasy we’d rave until we die, eating bubblegum for breakfast or McDonald’s apple pie.” ) Indeed, the combination of absolute commitment and sly subversion might remind you of Ryan Davis.

It’s a good first track, but also a bit of a head fake. The rest of the songs run more to rock than roadhouse, though of a rootsy, blues-fired, early 1960s variety. And, these dear reader, are the good ones. “Pick and Choose,” rolls like a semi-truck on a steep down-grade, driver frantically looking for an off-ramp. “High on the Job,” maybe the disc’s best cut, flares out of a box drum cadence, its blues riff jutting off towards the horizon, as the singer spouts poetry. “Tripping hard in the parking lot of a quick stop on the go/feeling like an open mic at a lip-sync funeral,” drones Gillis, and it make sense in a lurid, trance-y way.

Gillis sings most of the cuts, but Luke Reddick takes over vocals on “Peel Away” and “It’s Fine” have a noticeably different tone to them, less sardonic, more anthemic and with the singing coming from a different place in the mix. In addition, Anna McClelland stops by to sing “Never Have I Ever,” slipping a bit of sweetness into Workers Comp’s bleak, hyperverbal dystopias, and it makes you think about what a different band they’d be with her as the singer. Still furious, still clanging hard, still letting loose an ecstatic “Whooo!” at unpredictable intervals, but lots more pop.

The music is consistently excellent, rough-edged and full of heart, but brainy enough to catch you up short. I played “Gilt Rigs” for a member of the family and asked him if he heard any Dire Straits in the guitars. “It’s like Dire Straits played by the Fall,” he said, and if you want to know what that sounds like, get on Workers Comp.

Jennifer Kelly

#workers comp #ever never #jennifer kelly #albumreview #dusted magazine #punk rock #country #cow punk #replacements #strapping fieldhands

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morningwalksposts · 1 day ago

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27.02.2025

thursday ~ 27.02.2025

sly & the family drone - glistening benevolence

sly & the family drone - going in

sly & the family drone - cuban funeral sandwich

sly & the family drone - joyless austere post-war biscuits

#music playlist #morning #morning walk #music #walks #minimalism #foggy morning #sly & the family drone

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hayleyhearts · 2 years ago

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Ao3 is down so I decided to post a cut scene from an early draft of my latest Timkon 50k friends with benefits fic! In this version of the story, Tim thinks they’re fuck buddies and Kon thinks they’re already dating lmaooo enjoy!

“Are you scared to tell your family?” Kon asked, lying on his stomach across the picnic blanket on the grass. He’d planned a late lunch for them on a secluded New York beach. It was a crappy beach, with a polluted ocean and grassy hills pressed right up against the sand which was mostly sharp pebbles. It had an endless blue sky and guaranteed privacy though, which was what Kon had been looking for.

Tim poured himself a glass of wine.

“I’m not scared. I’m preemptively annoyed, because none of them have any sense of boundaries.”

Kon gave him a look.

“I can be annoyed and a hypocrite. My private life is none of their business. And my sexuality shouldn’t change anything, so why do I need to shout it from the rooftops?”

Kon held out his empty glass and when Tim didn’t refill it, used his TTK to tilt the bottle.

“I would’ve made a move way sooner if I knew you were gay.”

Tim was too flattered to give him a proper eye roll.

“How much sooner?”

Kon swirled the wine in his glass and pretended to think about it.

“3, 4 years.”

This time, Tim rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m so serious,” he said, forcing a light-hearted tone that betrayed a touch of insecurity. That made Tim pause. Maybe he was serious.

“What about you?” Kon asked, sitting up, “I mean— when was it, for you?”

“Well, when you kissed me, I figured, what the hell?”

Kon crawled on top of him and Tim let him, setting his wine glass on the charcuterie board with a smirk.

“Yeah, right,” Kon parroted back to him, pinning him to the blanket. “I bet it was the Costa Rica mission. I looked really sexy in that wet suit.”

“I was pretty distracted by the robot sharks.”

“No, I know what it was,” his eyes lit up, “After we fought Luthor and the drones, back when I still wore my leather jacket. I got pissed off at everybody, stole a motorcycle, and just drove off like a badass.”

“I think I was probably upset. And worried about you.”

“But you were a little into it,” he gave him sly look, “Because you have a thing for bad boys. Obviously.”

“Oh, right. Because of my crush on Jaime.”

Kon scooped him up and rolled to flip their positions, but kept him wrapped in his arms. Tim smiled down on him.

“You’re full of shit. I’m the baddest boy you know.”

“Remember when you baked a second batch of cookies because you felt bad you didn’t save one for Bart.”

“Totally irrelevant.”

“Remember when you— what are you doing?”

Kon grinned. He floated three feet into the air, Tim lying on top of him.

“Remember that time we had sky sex?”

Tim raised his eyebrows, but he was smiling too.

“No way. You’ll lose concentration and drop.”

“You don’t think I can keep it up?”

Tim reached down and unzipped Kon’s pants. He didn’t ask if Kon had done this before, because if he had, they all would’ve heard about it for weeks. It was exciting, getting to do something together for the first time. Even if it was something stupid that was probably going to end with something sprained. He sat up, balancing with his knees on Kon’s legs until he felt his TTK wrap him up securely in position.

“I’ll do it as an exercise to improve your concentration.”

“Ooh, yeah, baby. Tell me my mission objective.”

Tim couldn’t tell him anything because he swallowed his dick into his mouth. To his credit, he managed to stay in the air until he came, and Tim didn’t sprain anything because Kon broke his fall. The wine glasses were collateral damage, but they still had half a bottle protected carefully in the picnic basket.

They laid on the blanket face to face, with the smell of salt in the air and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

“Happy one month,” Kon joked. “You’re— I’ve been… um. It’s been cool.”

Tim knew it’d been a month since this whole friends with benefits thing started, but he didn’t expect Kon to remember something like that. It was probably because they got together on the night of the Wendy premiere, a date he’d never forget. A part of Tim wondered if this spontaneous picnic was supposed to be a joke, or maybe just an excuse to hook up on the beach. Kon was really into beach sex.

“You didn’t get me flowers?” Tim pretended to be disappointed. Kon went from zero to hundred, looking so panic stricken that Tim had to give up the joke of a real anniversary and laugh.

Kon started laughing, too.

“Just you wait. I’m gonna give you the most obnoxious, cheesy flowers ever.”

Tim kept laughing, but suddenly the joke wasn’t funny.

The problem was Kon didn’t do serious relationships. He hadn’t since Cassie. And he’d defended his casual sex lifestyle a million times, outlining the ways it was more fun, more convenient, and more practical in their line of work.

He might’ve thought Tim was hot, but he thought a lot of people were hot.

Tim had to ask him to be his boyfriend at just the right moment. Once he made himself an integral part of Kon’s schedule. After he’d convinced him that monogamy could be convenient, too. Once he was confident that he was the best sex of his life, and proved to him that he could be whatever he needed. And of course he’d need to do more research, figure out if Kon was seeing other people, or if Kon saw him as more than a friend who would fuck him.

He couldn’t rush this. It was a mission that deserved his time and 100 percent effort, maybe the most important mission of his life. Maybe they could get married one day.

Tim felt sick. They’d been fucking around for a month and he was thinking about marriage. It was so easy to delude himself, like now, watching Kon pack up the picnic he’d prepared for them. His hair, blowing in the wind, his ass in the air as he put the food back in the basket. It was so ordinary that it wrapped back around to being a scene from his wildest dreams. A paper napkin got caught in the wind and Kon flew after it. It was a tiny piece of litter, but that’s the kind of person he was. Of course he’d plan a perfect lunch like this for a friend. It was like the cookies for Bart. He went above and beyond for the people he loved.

Tim clung to the scrap of hope that one day, Kon would love him in a different way.

#timkon #timkon fic #batman #ao3

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gerogerigaogaigar · 2 years ago

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Curtis Mayfield - Curtis

The sprawling funk/soul explorations of Curtis Mayfield display a masterful talent for bombastic arrangements and biting political commentary. The calls for unity are par for the course when it comes to 70s funk, but rather than the both sides-ism of Sly And The Family Stone, Mayfield would like to remind us that we're all gonna fucking die if we don't work together. As for the music, the lush horns, frenetic percussion, frequent harp parts, and aspects of psychedelia make for an incredibly unique album, especially for it's time.

The Byrds - Sweetheart Of The Rodeo

Gram Parsons wanted country rock to be a thing so bad. He was willing to completely overhaul half the personnel of his band and tank their careers just so he could have his country album. Sweetheart Of The Rodeo has been severely vindicated by history considering how big of a genre country rock wound up being in the 70s and all the conservatives who got mad that long haired hippies were ruining their music can suck it. The album consists almost entirely of covers including artists like The Louvin Brothers, Merle Haggard, and Woody Guthrie. It feels very authentic. Acoustic guitar, fiddle, pedal steel, and honky tonk piano abound as Parsons croons over some decidedly non hippie country songs. It's clear they're being a little cheeky when they do The Louvin Brothers' song The Christian Life after all.

Gang Of Four - Entertainment!

What's better than angular, funky, post punk? Angular, funk, Communist post punk obviously! Frustrations about commodity fetishism make up like half of this albums lyrical content. But beyond just the politics the music is also revolutionary. The jittery guitars are matched by punchy drums and staccato singing. It's disorienting, it's angry, it's hugely influential. Come join the proletariat dance party.

Velvet Underground - White Light/White Heat

This album is completely feral. Half the songs are about people dying horrifically and there's a seventeen minute jam describing an orgy. No joke for real content warning ⚠️ this album features a very stark and realistic portrayal of how trans people were treated back in the 60s. We have to talk about Lady Godiva's Operation. It's a song about a transgender woman dying in the operating table due to a botched lobotomy. It's brutal and has always been one of the only songs that really scares me. The song's attitude is intensely sympathetic to it's subject, the only hint of Lady Godiva's trans status is one line were a doctor misgenders her and the fact that she was going in for a lobotomy at all (by the 60s they were mainly reserved for gay men and trans women). The humanity of the character in the first half of the song versus the indifference of the doctors in the latter half is an incredibly succinct condemnation of how society treated queer people at the time. ⚠️ Ok content warning over y'all can open your eyes again. Putting the subject matter aside White Light/White Heat is musically unhinged. The guitars are so scrungy and fuzzed out that it can be hard to understand what's going on. Songs like Here She Comes Now and the title track are basically 50s rock and roll with the most fucked up guitars imaginable. The Gift, Lady Godiva's Operation, and Sister Ray are weird droning things with mostly spoken word lyrics. And the guitar solos on Sister Ray are beyond punk and more like noise rock or even just noise. This album is not for everyone, hell it might not be for anyone, but I really like it. I have a soft spot for weird anomalies.

Mary J. Blige - What's The 411?

I'm usually pretty harsh on lengthy 90s R&B fuck jams, but this album is really good at being that thing. 92 was probably the exact time for a funky Hip hop influenced R&B album to be really good by my standards specifically. The beats, produced by Puff Daddy, are very reminiscent of late 80s style hip hop and the vocals are spaced out, very echoey. They combine nicely to create an effect where the vocals encompass you while the beats hit you in the face. A lot of the songs structure are more focused on layering vocals to create a sound more similar to P-Funk than soul, it stops the longer tracks from being boring since they need the four to five minutes length to explore those layers.

Kacey Musgraves - The Golden Hour

Unbelievably boring. I don't care at all about this album. Did you know that Weird Al also has a song called Velvet Elvis? It's basically the exact same song but it's a joke and it came out in the 80s.

#500 album gauntlet #curtis mayfield #the byrds #gang of four #velvet underground #mary j blige #kacey musgraves

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waywardxrhea · 1 year ago

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Part Thirteen - Transitionary Period

[slow burn romance between you, a SHIELD investigative journalist, and Steve Rogers]

Warnings: 18+, contains humor, fluff, mental health, family trauma, romance, angst, language, violence, friends to lovers trope, smut later on.

installment list

Word count: 2.3k

Just a quick little chapter talking about life working at Stark Industries as well as the mutual feelings growing between you and Steve.

Within the next week, you got settled into a hotel for a few days while the tenant living in your Brooklyn apartment got packed up. After the artist packed up her stuff and thanked you for the beautiful view, you finally got to be back in your loft. Maria helped you move in, and the two of you have a little housewarming party at the apartment once everything was all put together and liveable once more.

Getting used to the old space again took a few weeks filled with calls to Sam when your anxiety spiked from being alone in the apartment as well as video chats with Steve between jobs at Stark Industries. With work keeping you so busy, you didn't realize that it had already been a couple of months back in New York until you were rushing through the halls of the Avengers Tower with some paperwork on a HYDRA lead you found. While you rounded the corner to get the papers to Maria, you ran smack into someone turning the same corner.

"I'm so, so sorry, I was not paying attention! I'm such a clutz," you said in a panic while picking up your papers off the ground. You scrambled to hide anything that could leak the lead, just in case the person you ran into was another hero fan that was taking a tour of the tower. Or worse, a HYDRA agent that snuck their way into the building.

"It's nice to see you," came the sly voice of Steve Rogers as he crouched down to help you pick up the papers.

You turned your head slightly up and made contact with Steve's blue eyes after hearing his voice. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw them, you forgot how much you missed them. How much comfort you found in them. In him. "Hey!" you greeted him joyfully while picking up the last of the papers. "What happened to that movie marathon you promised when you got up here?"

"I just got here actually," Steve replied, handing over the papers he collected off the ground for you. "Stark has me set up in my own area of the tower. He said he wanted a quick response time if anything were to happen, so he's moving all of the Avengers in here."

"Oh that's cool of him," you replied as you shuffled the papers back together in order. "I might just have one of your first missions here then. Stark has some of his people training me on tracking and tracing people, and I came across a potential lead."

"Let's walk and talk then," Steve said. "I'm sure Stark doesn't want to be kept waiting."

"That I don't," Stark said as he walked up to the pair of you. "I don't need leads going cold, Spangles."

"Sorry, it was my bad," you told him, seeing Steve tense up in response to his attitude. "I was double checking my work and didn't see Steve as I turned the corner."

"Well if that's the case, then it was a simple mistake. Thank you for your honesty." Stark smirked at his own comment before adding, "But really, get this up to Hill ASAP so we can get some more eyes on it."

"On it," you said with a nod and briskly walked off with Steve on your heels.

"So how are you liking the new job?" Steve asked.

"I like it," you replied with a small smile. "I get to keep busy. Stark got me set up with a new surveillance drone that he built, and I get to do a lot of stuff I never would have gotten to at SHIELD. I'm back in my old apartment, so that's really nice. Being back in the city, I've started working on my blog more again. All in all, things have been looking up for the most part."

"For the most part?" Steve asked curiously.

"Well, it's just..." you trailed off, not wanting to admit how bad your anxiety had been since the attacks in DC and not having Grammie to talk to anymore. Steve patiently waited for your response while you thought through your words, not wanting to rush you. After a few moments, you finally decided on saying, "Work keeps me busy enough, and I go out with Maria in my spare time like we used to, but when I have time just to myself..."

"You remember DC don't you?" Steve supplied when a silence filled the air.

"Exactly..." you said, not wanting to talk about the whole Winter Soldier-Bucky thing. You plastered a smile on and continued, asking, "How about you though? What have you been up to all this time?"

Steve took the change of subject in stride and answered with, "Sam and I did some damage control from the aftermath of the fall at first. Then we started a little side project with some of the intel that was leaked. Our leads ran cold back in DC, though, so now we're here to help Stark out."

"Oh, Sam's here too?" you asked as you both turned another corner.

"Yeah, we wanted to surprise you, but here we are," Steve told you with a quiet laugh.

"Well hey, I'm still thoroughly surprised. Again, I'm sorry for running into you."

"No worries, I'm sorry for making you drop all your papers," Steve said, leaning against the wall as you came to a stop outside one of the rooms. Again with the damn leaning against the wall thing you thought to yourself as you took in finally being back with Steve in person.

"We're even then," you replied. Glancing at the door behind you, you said, "But I do need to get this paperwork to Maria, talk later?"

"Talk to you then. We can discuss that movie marathon."

"I'm counting on it," you told him with a smile as you opened the door and slipped into the room.

Was he flirting with you or were you just reading way too into things? It's gotta be the latter, who are you kidding, you thought as you delivered your work to Maria who began typing away into her computer with the intel.

A week later, Steve got settled into his living space in Avengers Tower. To break in the high-tech area, the two of you decided to have the movie marathon there. You also invited Maria and Sam so they could catch up and chat before the movies.

While watching the Star Wars prequels, Steve paused the movie and asked, "Does that Jedi look familiar to you guys? You know...just like Fury?"

You looked at Steve and scrunched your eyebrows before laughing. With an incredulous look on your face, you asked, "Steve, are you implying that Director Fury was an actor before becoming the head of SHIELD?"

"Not that, it's just..." Steve tried but was interrupted by Sam.

"Steve the man's got an eye scratched out."

"Yeah, it's been like that for decades. He doesn't tell the story of what happened, not even to me," Maria added in.

Steve looked at the three of you exasperatedly and asked, "So, none of you see the resemblance?" You all just shake your heads in response, to which Steve threw his hands in the air in surrender before starting the movie again.

Later on in their marathon, you watched Han and Leia's budding romance and your mind began to wander a bit from the movie. Your mind, of course, went to the man sitting in the chair beside your perch on the couch. After the fall of SHIELD and your status as an agent being taken away, you had more freedom to confess your feelings to Steve, and some days you almost got the courage to do so, but then the thoughts in the back of your mind started to convince you otherwise.

You will totally ruin your friendship, they said, and, Why would someone like Steve Rogers have an interest in you? The thought of losing Steve as a friend petrified you every time, so you decided it was best to leave it be for now...even though there wasn't much more in the world you wanted than to just get it all off your chest.

Over the next few months, during your off days, you and Sam began to teach Steve how to play video games, most notably Mario Kart. You started off easy, showing him the controls on easy maps with the game handicaps on. One weekend afternoon though, Steve found confidence in his skills and said, "Okay come on guys, I think I can handle the harder levels now."

Sam shot you a look with a devilish smirk upon hearing Steve say this. Your jaw dropped dramatically and you said scandalously, "Samuel, if you're thinking what I think you are, that's just pure evil."

"Oh come on, it'll be fun!" Sam retorted with a laugh.

"Not for Steve!" you countered, trying not to laugh.

"Anyone want to loop me in on what's going on?" Steve asked, looking between the two of you.

You and Sam glared at each other playfully for a moment, trying to keep your composure as you stared each other down. "I'm doing it," Sam said quickly and selected Rainbow Road, taking off all the handicaps.

"Oh you are evil," you told him. You glanced over at Steve who sported a very confused look and said, "He's putting on one of the hardest levels and taking off all the handicaps you've had this whole time."

Steve shrugged, saying, "I should be fine. I think I can handle a video game."

He could not handle a video game.

You tried to be supportive of Steve as he played and kept falling off the track, but you couldn't help but fall into fits of laughter because you just thought Steve's frustration was so funny and cute. At the end of the race when the time was up, you fell over on the couch giggling. "I'm sorry, it isn't you! I swear."

Steve looked at you and how happy you were, and cracks a smile starting to laugh with you and Sam. "I will admit that was a bit rough," Steve admitted as he put his controller down.

"A bit?" Sam asked with a laugh. The three of you continued on with the day together with laughs and smiles, creating memories that would last for years to come.

Over the next year, you joined the Stark agents as well as the Avengers as they followed leads on HYDRA camps that were still active. You got used to the new drone that Tony made you and grew quite attached to it as you went on more and more missions. It just operated so smoothly, the feed was virtually flawless, and it had a much better range for control and stealth as well, which made your job a lot easier because you never had to worry that you would be giving someone's position away. Some days after missions, you caught herself geeking out over the drone to Steve who listened intently, even though a lot of the things you were saying saying went right over his head.

Some days though, missions took a harder mental toll on you than you would like to admit. So afterward when you got anxious, you made your way to a coffee shop near the tower that nearly always had live music playing, usually piano and guitar players. That chill type of music plus a warm drink always managed to ease your nerves. You almost always went alone though, slipping off from everyone and the after-mission celebration.

One day Steve noticed you slipping out of the room after your debriefing, and decided to see where you went after missions. The celebratory atmosphere was too much for him today, and he just felt compelled to be in your company rather than the team's.

He followed you to the coffee shop, and the bells hanging from the door chimed together as Steve entered the small shop that was dimly lit by vintage lights hanging from the ceiling. The smell of coffee and tea was strong in the air, with the scent of lingering cigarettes mixing in as well. The aroma crowded Steves' senses as he looked around to find you sitting alone at a corner table watching the performer on the small makeshift stage. He walked up to the counter and ordered a drink before making his way over to the table you were at.

"Is this seat taken?" Steve asked as he approached.

You turned your head in the direction of Steve's voice and smiled, telling him, "It's all yours." Steve sat down across from you, and you said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take you away from the festivities."

"It's nothing I haven't attended many times before," Steve assured you. His curiosity got the better of him, so he asked, "Why don't you stay?"

You simply shrugged in response. As you did, both of the drinks were brought over and you took a sip of yours before telling Steve, "Truth is, going after HYDRA occasionally triggers a bit of anxiety, so I come here to relax after missions. Sometimes Banner joins me after particularly stressful ones. It's a lot more peaceful than drinking with Thor and Tony if I'm one hundred percent honest with you."

"I had no clue these missions were hard on you," Steve replied softly with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"I do my best to hide it," you told him. "I don't want anyone to worry about me while on missions."

I'll always worry about you Steve thought to himself. His feelings for you had only gotten stronger over the past few months, but he wasn't ever sure the timing was right to bring it up. The Avengers were always being sent off on another mission. The atmosphere of the coffee shop felt just right, but Steve's mind convinced him otherwise, so he just said, "If you ever need someone to talk to remember I'm always here. Same with Sam, okay?"

"Okay," you said with a nod. You paused for a second before telling him, "You did great on the mission, by the way."

Steve smiled and took a sip of his drink before saying, "All in a day's work." The gesture was small, but the way Steve's lips curled into a smile made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn't help but smile back.

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