#steve: that’s real considerate thanks

[livwritesstuff]

tw: somewhat flippant conversation about death

Steve returns from a long run one Saturday afternoon to a loud kind of pandemonium in the kitchen.

Hazel is crying, which in and of itself isn’t exactly odd, and Moe and Robbie seem to be trying to tandem-argue between themselves and soothe their younger sister.

Steve looks at Eddie for any kind of clarity. Unfortunately, Eddie seems just as baffled as Steve feels.

“What the hell is going on?” he finally asks.

“Well,” Robbie starts, “Hazel realized that she’s gonna be the last one of us to die.”

Sweet Jesus, Steve thought, because why don’t they get upset about normal shit like shoes or whatever?

“And she’s sad because she’ll go to all our funerals and none of us will be at hers,” Robbie finishes.

Yep, Steve hates that. He hates that so much.

“Hey, I had a solution,” Moe argues, “All three of us can just die at the same time. That’s fair, right?”

Hazel manages a nod.

“Nope,” Steve shook his head, “We’re not talking about this. Let’s move on please.”

For a few blissful moments, the kitchen is quiet aside from Hazel’s occasional sniffles.

When the silence stretches a little too long, Robbie opens her mouth.

“So which one of you is gonna die first and skip out on all the funerals?” she asks, because she’s an instigating monster just like Eddie.

“That’s so rude,” Moe comments as she slings an arm over Hazel’s shoulders and swipes at her tears with the pad of her thumb. She waits a beat and then she adds, “Bet it’ll be Dad.”

“Hey!” Ed protested, sounding like he was actually offended, “Why me?”

“Pop’s, like, way healthier than you.”

“Says who?”

“Says Pop goes on runs and you were all winded getting the mail.”

[agreeewrites]

what about 1000 glances with steve 🥺

anything for my doomsdaybby 🫶🏻

1000 glances | S.H.

feat. Steve Harrington x bartender!reader

cw: MDNI 18+, making out/heavy petting, bar setting, drinking, creepy drunk men, lots of banter, sorry to edge you at the end lol

1000 things prompt list | masterlist

“Well, well. If it isn’t Hawkins most troublesome trio,” you called, flipping up the tap on the beer you were pouring.

Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, and Steve Harrington shuffled up to your bar looking thirsty. Steve in particular, though you could tell by his wandering eye that it wasn't booze he craved.

The music from the band thumped loudly through the packed bar, rattling the bottles behind you. The Hideaway was busier than usual tonight, and you'd been running ragged your entire shift, but you couldn't help but pause for your favorite regulars.

“Hello gorgeous,” Eddie cooed, bracing his hands on the bar and leaning towards you. “Band tonight's dog shit, eh?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just because it's not Corroded Cattails or whatever—”

“Coffin! You smartass,” Eddie huffed, flipping you the bird.

“Yeah, yeah. Ever think about getting yourself some real friends, Buckley?” You asked, glancing at the brunette picking pretzels out of the snack bowl.

Robin shrugged. “They keep the rednecks away.”

“Fair enough,” you replied. “And what's your excuse, Harrington? Lost your invite to country club?”

Steve chuckled, his hip leaned against the bar. “Something like that.” His eyes flicked up from your corset top, meeting yours with the intensity of a thunderclap.

You told yourself that you wore it for the extra tips, and not because you knew Steve would be there tonight, but it was a lie. As soon as you saw the burgundy leather, held together with string and prayer, you thought of Steve, and how quickly he could get it off of you.

And it seemed that Steve was thinking the same thing, his brown eyes melting like honey as he stared at you.

“So, what'll it be?” You asked, breaking the prolonged eye contact. “Jack and coke and two PBR’s?”

“Yes ma’am!” Eddie chirped.

“Comin’ right up.” You turned back to your station, starting on Eddie’s Jack and coke, but could feel Steve's eyes lingering on you, stealing glances at you between people watching and his friends.

You were just as guilty, glancing up at him between pours, while scooping ice, while rummaging through the cooler. You couldn't help it, he looked particularly handsome tonight in his white t-shirt and blue bomber jacket, light wash jeans hugging his thighs and hips perfectly—

“Hey, y/n, uh, you're overflowing,” a customer called out to you, jerking you out of your stupor. Coke was pouring over the glass and all over your hand.

“Shit! Thanks,” you said, setting Eddies drink aside and running your hand under the sink. You prayed Steve didn't see, but when your risked a glance at him, he was smiling, lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Alright, one Jack and coke, and two cans of ice cold piss.” You set the drinks on the bar, avoiding Steve's eye.

“Thanks, honey,” Steve said, his finger tips brushing yours when he took the chilled can, sending a wave of tingles up your arm, your heart pounding in your chest.

You hurried away to tend to other customers, the line having piled up in just that few minutes you were talking to them. The perfect distraction from the all-consuming presence of Steve Harrington.

The two of you had been making eyes at each other for months, stolen glances across bars and over heads, but neither of you had made a move towards one another. You avoided bar-related dalliances at all costs, and Steve was, well, an incorrigible flirt despite having matured considerably since graduation. You chalked his attention up to old habits, and left it that.

But Steve was growing hard to resist, especially when your reasoning for keeping him at arms length was as flimsy as the half-cooked french fries the kitchen put out.

You wanted him. Bad. And from the flush crawling up his neck and the way he kept shifting his weight, he wanted you just as badly.

Your proof came twenty minutes later when you went to grab Steve and Robin's empty cans. Beneath Steve's can was a napkin, blue ink scribbled across the bottom.

New top?

Your heart skipped a beat, and when you brought them fresh ones, you left a return note under Steve's.

You noticed? Creep.

Steve huffed a laugh after you turned your back.

Ten minutes later, they put in an order from some burgers, and you noticed another note written on the opposite corner of yours, facing you.

Can't help myself.

You placed their order with the kitchen, giving the line cook a stern word about properly cooked meat, and when you brought out the loaded up tray, you left another note under Steve's cheeseburger.

Just going to stare?

It was a bold move, far bolder than you typically like to be, but you had a feeling Steve would reciprocate.

Your suspicions were confirmed when you brought them a round of whiskey shots, with an extra tequila one for yourself for courage. There was a note folded at the end of the tray.

When does your shift end?

Steve grinned when you lifted your shot with them, earning a cheer from Eddie and Robin. You licked the rim and slammed the clear liquor back, savoring the pleasant burn of tequila and lime as it slid down your throat.

Holding Steve's openly appreciative stare, you licked the extra salt off the rim of the glass. “One,” you said and he smirked, dipping his chin in acknowledgment.

You lost track of the trio not long after that, all of them dispensing out to the dance floor or pit. But when you clocked out and gathered your things, stepping out from the humid bar and into the cool night, you found Steve was waiting for you, sitting on the open tailgate of a baby blue pickup truck.

“You’re late,” He teased, sliding off the back of the truck with a smile.

“It is—” you checked your watch “—1:03, to be exact.”

“Longest three minutes of my life,” he said, one of his hands reaching for your hip and drawing you closer.

“So impatient,” you hummed, leaning into his chest and looking up at him, your head barely reaching his clavicle.

“Been waiting a long time for you to work up the courage to talk to me.”

You barked a laugh, giddy excitement surging through you, and he caught the sound with a soft kiss. It was a barely a brush, a shameless tease, but it has your body practically purring with desire.

“This okay?” He asked, his voice a bit more breathless than it was before, his nose bumping against yours

You nodded, rising on your toes to kiss him again, tasting the booze on his lips, poorly masked by the mint he must have popped before you came out. God, he was adorable.

Without breaking the kiss, Steve took your things from your arms and set them on the edge of the tailgate, freeing your arms. He embraced you again, one hand on your lower back bringing your bodies flush together, the other cupping your face to angle your head just right. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, inquisitive, and you welcomed him, gliding your tongue against his.

The kiss quickly turned sensual, his fingertips trailing beneath the hem of your shirt to feel the smooth skin of your hip, his hand tangling in your hair. You melted into him, allowing yourself to get swept up in the moment, enjoy the taste and feel of Steve Harrington’s self-control unraveling just for you.

A burst of voices coming out of the bar yanked you from the moment, though, startling you enough to break the kiss. You could feel their eyes on you, slimy, cancerous stares that made your skin crawl.

“Hey, it's y/n!” One of them called, your name slurring on their tongue.

“C’mon, baby! Whatcha doin’ with that boy? Girl like you needs a man!”

Steve pulled you tighter to him, mouth set in a hard line as he glared across the parking lot.

“Take your limp dick back home to your wife, Shaw!” You shouted back. “See how manly you are then, flopping on top of her like a goddamn fish!”

The drunks roared in protest. Steve grabbed your things and hurried you back around the truck, shaking his head and trying very hard to look stern despite the smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

“You're a menace,” he murmured, his voice honeyed with affection as he pressed you back against the passenger door. He leaned in again, but instead of kissing you his lips found your neck, trailing kisses along the column of your throat.

“Mhm—does your truck have a bench seat?” You asked, tilting your head back against the window.

He nodded, smirking against your skin. “Leather, too,” he said, nipping at a soft spot he found beneath your ear.

“Steve Harrington,” you gasped, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging his head up. “I had no idea you could be so bold.”

“What can I say? I'm full of surprises.”

“Prove it,” you taunted.

In a quick motion, he pulled you forward and opened the passenger door, then was tossing you up onto the seat.

“Oh, baby. I intend to.”

[ronearoundblindly]

Forgot to add In our modern days please

So we've got: ☑️ relaxing ☑️ domestic ☑️ established relationship ☑️ with Steve

Since it's *me,* there's some deep feels in there... plus hearty laughs.

No warnings. It's just headcanon-style fluff!

He likes the warmth of the clothes right out of the dryer, so Steve always thunders over to the laundry room the instant the machine stops. There could be a no-holds-barred action sequence blaring from the TV. There could be real gunshots outside. Doesn't matter. He heard it. As long as you're not in immediate danger, he's going to run and plunge himself shoulder-deep into toasty fabric.

That wasn't a thing when he was a kid. Now, Steve would rather wear out sheets faster than dry them on low heat. He will pay the money. It's worth it.

For the holidays last year, you bought him a huge, fluffy, heated blanket, and he absolutely uses it--keeps himself tucked in until sweating then kicks it off in frustration--but the laundry addiction never stops.

Every time he showers with you at home, you warm his towel in the dryer for a few minutes.

There is nothing, nothing, quite as cute as Steve Rogers burying his face in a fresh towel and hugging it to leech out each extra degree Fahrenheit...or Celsius. He's not picky.

When it's a load of mixed clothing, he scoops it all up and carries it like a boulder over to the bed, bending at his Disney princess waist to press himself in.

Just a minute. Just give him a few deep breaths and a minute.

He likes to fold sheets with you taking one end and him taking the other, coming together in the middle, because no matter how long you two have been a couple, Steve still gets a thrill at his fingers grazing across yours as he takes a corner, as he hands you another. He's a simple man with simple pleasures.

Now, sweaters are a different story.

Steve will wash and dry those however keeps them softest for longest, even if it means putting them on that rack he constantly stubs his toe on. Worth it. Sure. Can we just always put that stupid thing away quickly? He's going to keel over one night trying to get to the bathroom in the dark. Seriously, it's a hazard!

Steve won't wear shoes in the house, which might seem obvious to a lot of people--he's a pretty clean and considerate man, of course he'd want to not bring crap inside, both physically and mentally--but Steve also likes to be barefoot in his home. He doesn't have slippers, but he insists on the floors being pristine.

He vacuums the rugs and carpet constantly because it feels best on his feet that way. Wiggling his toes is part of a grounding ritual he does once home.

Sometimes it's as simple as holding you for a while, savoring a long hug, methodically rubbing your back, and letting you lightly scratch at his.

He prays, in his own way, at that time. What he's grateful for. What he's hopeful for. Thanking whoever or whatever is out there for you.

He's a research fiend. As good as he is about keeping the floors clean, Steve will litter every other surface with books, newspapers, files, magazines, printed articles, and anything else necessary to get the answers he's looking for. He does not like to just search online. He's the weirdo who makes note of the citation online and finds that source at the library.

At some point, you have to put a moratorium on bringing books home when he's deep in that research phase. He's a fast reader; he can scan some there. Steve may be able to check out unlimited volumes, but your home has a finite volume.

You're not discouraging learning, though, just trying to keep it reasonable. No need for him to be possessed by the Ghost of Knowledge Past...

You can tell he's good and properly lost in an art project when supplies are everywhere. Unless it's going to stain/damage something, Steve does not clean-as-he-draws. The colors are out and they are accessible.

You love this; he's happy like this. You let him do it.

Steve gets really, really picky about what art hangs where in your home. He's knows you like his art, but it's nothing compared to the printed and canvased work of the masters. He pitches a fit if you try to display his as predominantly, but you refuse to stick them on the fridge like he's a child.

It's his hobby, he loves it, and he improves in different ways every time he picks up a pencil (or pen). He often has the most casual and fun conversations when he's splitting his brainpower. Steve doesn't particularly know he's doing it (how could he? he'd stop and overthink it if he did), but you can see the stress-thickened aura on him melt away if he's distracted for long enough.

Focusing on cooking with you has the same effect. These activities have become therapy for him--and you--and act as multitasking which is wonderful in the sometimes limited spans he gets to stay at home.

Once almost everything inside your home is setup nicely--there's always room for improvement or redecorating 🤗--Steve makes you two a nook outside to stargaze. He loves to stare and let his mind wander, but he especially loves to have you there in his arms. It's not limited to nighttime either. He's equally thrilled with watching clouds or, if you're under cover, watching storms roll in.

He likes to have you sit between his legs and lean against him. The pressure on his chest is soothing, but he can rest his cheek to yours. Steve gets to use a soft voice then, not his usual, commanding one. With you so close, he can whisper. It's just you two in the whole wide world.

Steve may not be much of a singer, but he uses that same, sweet whisper to share lullabies from his Ma as you fall asleep at night. Not every night, but still. It's magical.

He insists on trying something new every single time he goes to the grocery store. Doesn't matter if it's a condiment or a side dish or a little treat, a new cut of meat or fancy nut milk, Steve has to explore (safely).

He is, of course, still appalled at the price tags, but he also can't judge when something is too expensive since it all is to him. This is how he ended up with a single, $12 dipped pretzel, and you nearly fainted.

It was quite delicious, but never again!

There's a code, a safeword of sorts, for really bad days. Doesn't matter the reason, could be as simple as your brain just can't brain, but it means the user (you or Steve) get to call the shots. You might want to be alone, you might want him to hold you until the sun rises, you might want to watch the cringiest romcoms or ugly cry reading your 'stories.' No questions.

Shawarma.

It came from an early moment once Steve was out of the ice. The whole battle was a disaster from start to finish. He was so overwhelmed, but so was the makeshift team. They all sat in silence. Ate. Didn't eat. Fell asleep sitting up. Fell asleep in their food. No one cared. That's the idea. He needs that sometimes, as he figures everyone does.

Whatever the other wants.

Unsurprisingly, this often winds up mutually beneficial. Sometimes being quiet for the other's sake lets both just breathe. He looks at you and can see your pain, your strain, your fatigue. Steve always ends up smiling, though, because he loves you. There's a type of beauty in your sadness--this gravitational pull to bring him closer, to let him in, to let him lift you back up--that makes him feel needed. This home is where he shields you from the world. On his worst days, he still gets to protect you, to do good, and to make you happy. That is all he's ever wanted in his whole life

Also sometimes shawarma sounds good for dinner, but if that's the case, it's specified. No one is surprised when the whole night is spent just caring for each other. The 'code' means you're starting at an ultra-low place that day or night, but with understanding and respect, you always balance back out.

And finally, a freebie for shiggles: Steve finds flatulence hysterical. Not all potty humor, not jokes in bad taste, but he just cannot keep it together if he or someone else farts. I'm sorry, he can't. It's too funny. The noises???? He's dying laughing.

The team at some point figures this out, and at a dinner at your home--a perfectly reputable affair with proper china and all--the group proceeded to fake (or not fake) fart noises. Steve almost peed himself. Tears of joy were streaming down his face. It was adorable.

See, he doesn't care that it happens; the human body is the human body is the human body. Obviously, he can be concerned if there's like a medical issue, and he's allowed to poke a little fun if your toots (or his) smell, but mostly...he just finds them hilarious.

That is the most childish thing about Steve Rogers, a holdover from a bygone era, and that's kinda the best part. After all he's been through, Steve has an inner child. He just needs to let it rip! 🤭😂

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[anonymityisfunwriter]

To Know Him Is To Love Him

summary: to know steve rogers is to love him. to know him is to keep handing over your heart over and over again. to know him is to be broken by him.

pairing: steve rogers x reader

an: quick someone give this to a boy to read and ask him what steve did wrong. it's for science.

Anon's 1K Celebration

to know him is to love him.

to know him is to stand by him.

to know him is to allow him to break your heart over and over again.

to know him is to hope that one day he'll finally see.

to know him is to be broken by him.

you can't count how many times he put you here, put in this situation. and worse, you can't count how many times you've let him put you in this situation.

three months ago...

you fix steve's tie, patting his shoulder to send him off on yet another date - after he invited himself into your apartment to get him ready for his date. you hated this feeling, the feeling of unrequited love.

you can't blame him, he doesn't know. at least, you think he doesn't know. in fact, you're sure he doesn't, he would never hurt you like that.

"i swear if this date doesn't go well, i'm swearing off women for good."

"does that mean i'm out a friend?" you tease.

"no, of course not," steve laughs. "you're my best friend. you don't count."

your smile falls at the words fall out of his mouth with ease. you don't count. you're not even a consideration. "i don't count as a woman?"

"you know what i meant. you're my friend."

you don't know what he meant. not in the slightest.

"right," you clear your throat, shaking your head with furrowed brows. "good luck on your date."

two months ago...

"i would tell him, but he's just - he's confusing," you admit. "i get a lot of mixed signals."

"men are just idiots," nat offers in consolation. "someday, he'll see. you're perfect for each other."

"thanks." you smile, walking back to your table with a fresh round of drinks. "what are you guys talking about?"

"about steve's terrible dating record," sam jokes.

"ah," you hum, you settle in the booth beside him, leaving plenty of room between the two of you.

steve frowns at you, reaching behind you and gripping your waist. without a word, he slides you until you're pressed against his thigh.

sam humorously snorts, "i don't get you two. you're attached at the hip. you're both attractive singles. make it official already."

you look to steve's reaction for any indication of what he's feeling. steve leans over, kissing your temple, "she knows she's my other half, my soulmate. we don't need labels."

"soulmate?" sam teases.

you shift uncomfortably. he never asked you that, never asked you if you wanted a label. he's never even asked you on a real date, but now he's declaring that he's your soulmate.

how blind can he be?

one month ago...

"please, i miss you, sweetheart." you squeeze your eyes shut. the term of endearment rolls so easily off his tongue. "i feel like i haven't seen you in forever."

it's intentional. you're trying to get over him. to move past these feelings. he doesn't make it easy. "i know, i've just been busy."

"how about dinner tonight? my place at 8?"

you chew on the inside of your cheek, hesitant to accept his dinner invite, "i don't know, steve."

"please, i need you."

putting distance between you and steve rogers didn't work. not when he so dutifully sought you out. not when he told you over and over again that he missed you. that he didn't know how to be without you.

his words toy with your head just enough to convince that it's a good idea to enter his gravitational orbit again.

you're not strong enough to resist the pull. you're not strong enough to to say no. you never have been.

you decide that you can't do this. you're going to tell him. you'll tell him. you'll tell him that you want to count. you'll tell him that you want him to see you.

to know him is to love him, you remember. the moment you see him, you crumble. that smile that makes it feel like your life is worthwhile. the eyes that send your rational mind into a haze. to know him is to love him.

he doesn't make it easy for you or your heart. he greets you at the door with a beaming grin, his eyes lighting up. it makes you feel like this is more than just a dinner. it feels like you're finally coming home to him.

you falter as his fingers graze your skin to take off your jacket. the apartment isn't his usual scene either. it feels like so much more than just a normal hangout. it feels... romantic. music spinning on his record player, marvin gaye, you recognize. candles lit in the center of the table. the smell of a home cooked meal simmering over the stove.

you turn to him with a nervous smile, "i thought you we were ordering pizza or something."

"i wanted to do something nice for my best girl."

his best girl.

he spends the whole dinner fawning over you. his hand rests on your leg. the other occasionally grazing the back of your hand. he asks you all about your work, about your love life.

"i missed you so much."

you're so entranced by him that your carefully thought out speech is gone, replaced by a soft whisper, "i love you."

"i love you, too." he smiles down at him. his eyes shining bright and blue. it doesn't even occur to him that you're professing your love for him. "i can't imagine my life without you."

you shake your head, reminding yourself that you had to tell him. you needed to move forward, one way or another. "no, steve, i - i'm in love with you."

an anxious chuckle leaves his mouth. his hand drops from your thigh, leaving you feeling cold, hollow, and abandoned. "what?"

you know a rejection when you see one. at least you can move on now. your heart can begin to heal. maybe in time, you could be friends again. "i just had to tell you. just once."

"i don't -" he licks his lips. "i'm sorry, i don't feel the same."

"i understand."

2 weeks ago...

you sigh at yourself, hearing the familiar ding of another voicemail on your phone.

each one chips away at your resolve, each one shatters your broken heart even more.

you told him you understood. you told him that it was okay. you spent the night consoling him. you soothed his fears that he would lose you.

in return, he made you promise to always be in his life. with a broken heart and wounded pride, you weren't strong enough to say no. you simply asked for time and a little space.

time and space that steve had no interest in giving you.

you made it easy for him. you retreated from mutual friends. from social spaces you occupied. you no longer texted or called first. you just needed time.

still, he sought you out.

you've gained enough strength to stop answering his every call and text. you've stuck to your boundaries, at least, the ones steve doesn't seem intent on steamrolling past.

you clutch your kitchen counter with your head hung low. with a couple deep breaths and reminders that he doesn't feel the same for you, you're slowly glad you didn't answer. you're proud of yourself for being strong and doing what's best for you.

at least, you're glad until there's a banging at your door.

your mending heart regrets the moment you answer.

"steve?"

"you weren't answering," he pants, clutching the frame of your doorway, "i wanted to hear your voice."

"steve..." you sputter. "this isn't - it's-"

"i just miss you," he cuts you off. he looks so heartbroken, so sincere. he misses you. you try to not make anything more of it, but then he says it again, "i miss you so much."

you stand to the side, allowing him to pass, "come in."

"thank you," he sighs in relief.

"what happened?"

"the worst date of my life."

you swear you can feel your heart fracturing. the air feels like its being squeezed out of your lungs.

and still, you stand before him trying to look as unaffected as possible. you don't know how effective it is. you don't think he sees you enough to notice either way. "you were on a date?"

"it was awful. she was vapid and boring and - and pretentious - and - and she wasn't you."

you suck in a breath, "steve..."

these were words from a man who did not love you, from a man that did not count you. they sounded an awful lot like the love he claimed he didn't feel.

suddenly, he cups your face, standing too close to you. this wasn't what friends did. this isn't how friends treated each other. you know that.

and then he kisses you. soft and tenderly. his lips mold against yours perfectly. you swear it's a sigh of relief that leaves his mouth when you don't pull away.

you smile against his lips. a sense of rightness overtakes you. he overwhelms you. he consumes you. he grips your waist tightly. the other hand caressing your cheek.

"steve.." you sigh against his lips.

and he freezes. his hands drop as though you burned him. his lips slightly swollen and shining from the kiss. he wipes his mouth, "i should go."

you shake your head. you don't want to believe that this is happening right now. this is steve. the person you loved with every fiber of your being. your friend. you trusted him. you believed in him. he wouldn't hurt you like that. even if he didn't love you, even as just a friend, he wouldn't take advantage of your love for him like that. "what?"

"i should go."

and he leaves without another word.

your heart isn't just broken anymore, it's crumbled into a million little pieces. you're not sure you'll ever be able to fix it.

1 week ago...

he's blown past all your defenses. he's drained every ounce of strength from you. he's taken everything except your broken heart and your love for him. that's all that's left of you.

to know him is to love him. to know him is to be broken by him.

he calls and this time, you answer. you fear him coming back to your apartment like he did before. your heart couldn't take it anymore.

"hi, steve." your voice is so gravelly and hollow, a shell of the fullness and life it used to contain.

you noticed everything about him. his likes, his dislikes. you could tell the day he was having by the way he said hi, by the sort of smile he gave you. you're not sure why you just realized that it's not reciprocated at all. he once told you he loved the sound of your voice, how could he not hear the broken tone? if he notices, which you're sure he doesn't, he doesn't ask.

you can hear the smile in his voice, "i'm so glad you answered."

you're not even sure that he realizes you've put the phone down. after all, you're just his space filler.

now...

you don't know why you're surprised he showed up at your door again. you're not surprised that you opened the door. you're not surprised that you let him back into your home. you're not even surprised that he's talking to you like everything is normal.

the only thing that takes you by surprise is your unwillingness to hear about the misadventures of his dating life.

"steve," you try to interrupt.

"and all i want -"

"steve."

"is for someone to really hear me, to see -"

"steve." you're surprised by the harshness in your own voice. his eyes flash over to you, widened slightly in shock. "you - you have to go now."

his brow furrow, he's taken aback. it occurs to you that he has no idea what he's done wrong. "why?"

"you know why," you spit at him.

"no, you said you understood. you said we could still be friends."

"friends?" you bitterly chuckle. "friends don't hurt their friends over and over again."

"i don't understand."

"that's the problem, steve. you don't get it. you don't get that i don't want to hear about the girls you date. you don't get that it hurts hearing you talk about what you're looking for in a woman. it hurts when call me at the end of the night because you want to hear my voice."

"they why do you answer the phone?"

"because i love you!" you hopelessly exclaim. "because i’ll do anything for you. i’ll do anything you say. and i think you know that."

"am i just supposed to know that you didn’t want to hear about them?"

"no girl wants that," you whisper. "no one wants to hear about everything they don’t have."

"i don't understand what's happening here. you promised me that you would always be in my life!" his accusing tone offends you far more than it should.

a tear slips down your cheek. "that was before."

"before? before what?"

each word hurts. he really doesn't know. he doesn't think about you at all. not as a consideration. not as a woman. not even as just a friend. he doesn't see you at all. "i can do this anymore. it’s too hard. i can - i can’t keep letting you break my heart."

"i told you that i didn’t feel the same. you knew i wasn’t in a space to - to reciprocate."

"and then you kissed me!"

he stiffens at the kiss that he refused to mention. all those nights he spent on the phone with you, talking to you. it was the one thing he never spoke about. "i - i know that wasn’t right. and i’m sorry, okay? i’m sorry i did that. i was hurting."

"you were hurting?" your breaths come out in fragments, with each heave of your chest you can hear the whistle of emptiness where your heart used to reside. "you - you knew how i felt and you knew you didn’t feel the same and you kissed me anyway."

"it was a mistake. i'm sorry."

your hands ball up in frustration, tear burn at the corners of your eyes. "it’s not just about the kiss. it’s - it’s everything. it’s you. you won’t let me go. let me move on. please."

steve staggers back, "i don’t- i'm not trying to hold on to you."

"why did you call me the other night?"

"because you’re my friend. you’re the person i wanted to talk to. you understand. you always understand."

"i don’t. i don’t understand. it crushed me."

he reaches out for your hand. hurt flashes in his eyes when you snatch it out of his reach. you can't let him blind you this time. "you’re always there for me. even when no one else is, you are."

you snort, "you don’t even know what you did wrong, do you?"

"you’re my best friend. i just - i wanted you hear your voice."

"you see? you keep messing with my head. you tell me that i'm the person you want to talk to at the end of the night. you tell people that i'm your soulmate. you tell me that you don’t feel the same. i tell you i want to move on. you kiss me. then you go on a date with another girl. when it doesn’t work out, you call me. i'm done. i can’t do this anymore. loving you is breaking me far beyond repair."

"i do love you."

you fervently shake your head over and over again, "you don’t mean that."

"i love you and i know it’s not in the same way but maybe - just give me time."

"time isn’t going to fix this. you don’t love me. you love the way i make you feel. you love being loved."

he scoffs, shooting a glare at you, "that’s not fair."

"no, it’s not," you agree. "and it’s not fair that you know how i feel and yet you just keep hurting me. you do it over and over again. and i keep letting you."

steve reaches for you again, "we can fix this."

you shake him off, striding to your door, opening it for him, "you should go."

"please," steve begs.

"goodbye, steve."

you don't know how you gather the strength to close the door on the man you love more than anything, let alone the man begging to stay in your life. the door clicks shut behind him.

a choked sob escapes your mouth as tears freely fall.

to know him is to love him, and you don't want to know a thing about steve rogers anymore.

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[scariusaquarius]

chicken à la king.

Bucky Barnes x Empath! Fem! Reader

Summary: His blue eyes met yours, and his body responded almost instantly: a slight tremor up his spine, a feeling of breathlessness from the caring expression on your face, and he could feel his fingers tightening around the mug in his hand slightly from the boyish nervousness that suddenly aroused from deep within his mind.

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A/n: I swear to god this wasn't meant to be a huge fic. It was supposed to be a cute little oneshot that turned into this huge yearning. God, i missed writing for Bucky Barnes a;lkdfj;sdjf

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Genre: Romance, Friends to Lovers Rated: Everyone Warning: Slight Angst, Fluff, Bucky's a bit awkward, Mentions of PTSD/Anxiety symptoms, Dark/Crude Humor, Mentions of HYDRA, Mentions of Torture

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Author: ScariusAquarius

-

The last time he had been on a real date was when he went home for a week-long furlough back in June of 1943. It was the last time he remembered Steve Rogers as the way he'd been before Project: Rebirth made him into the big soldier he was today; small, frail, and knuckles busted from getting into another fight.

James Buchanan Barnes could still remember a time when Steve had to stuff his shoes with newspapers because his feet were too small. Granted, that was during a time when you weren't allowed to be stingy with money, but Bucky digressed.

Three dollars then was a mere blink for today's world, and though Bucky was still getting adjusted to the way the new world was, he wasn't exactly thrilled to find out that a simple cup of black coffee costed a whole five dollars in comparison to a nickel in the 30's and 40's.

But that was the difference that stood out the most: Bucky just wasn't meant for this time.

Like Steve, he was also a man out of time; forced to wake up for tasks he didn't want to do and his mind scrambled over and over for the littlest mistake and sometimes just because. HYDRA, and the world, had been unforgiving to Bucky, but he couldn't complain.

He could only adapt. Like a soldier.

I am not the Winter Soldier. I am James Buchanan Barnes.

I am Bucky.

Bucky's blue eyes fell to his cup of steaming coffee; his reflection almost distorted completely as he raised the drink to take a sip. The bitter taste and burn distracted his nerves for a moment, but he was deftly reminded by the way the December sun glinted on his left hand and the metal shined right into his eyes.

Constant noise and stimulation made his body tense, but when your voice filtered through the chaos, it seemed to melt everything away until he was enveloped in a cocoon of quiet, comfortable distractions.

"You seem like you got a lot on your mind, Bucky."

His blue eyes met yours, and his body responded almost instantly: a slight tremor up his spine, a feeling of breathlessness from the caring expression on your face, and he could feel his fingers tightening around the mug in his hand slightly from the boyish nervousness that suddenly aroused from deep within his mind.

While these feelings were flooding his brain, there was the other part of him that was chastising him for letting his guard down.

A good soldier never feels anything but the need to complete the mission.

'You're my mission,' metal to flesh; the feeling of the wind searing against his face; the smell of smoke and gunfire invading his nostrils as the man beneath him allowed him to carry out his duty.

'then finish it-'

"I'm doing perfectly fine, thanks for asking."

Bucky curses internally at the way his tone comes off as sharp and defensive; apologies beginning to string along his tongue like a Chatty Cathy, but your voice cuts him off before he can say anything more; his head instinctively ducking.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. Would you wanna go somewhere less crowded?"

The consideration within your voice makes Bucky want to second-guess your intentions, but he has to remind himself that he knows you.

He's looked into everything about you. You're not a threat to him.

But you could be. Bucky can't predict the future and he doesn't know what happens when you go home from visiting him.

The thoughts that race through his mind make him almost guilty from how untrusting he is of you, but you never made it a point to be upset with him about it. As someone who had also been a prisoner of war, you seemed to understand him better than most.

He met you through Dr. Raynor, his court-appointed therapist that he was required to see despite being pardoned for years and years of crimes while working under HYDRA (under no consent of his, mind you). His therapy hadn't really been going anywhere, and so Christina had suggested meeting with someone that was like him.

The words always left a bitter taste in his mouth, and the scribbling of her pen made the feeling even worse.

You weren't anything like him when it came down to it. While yes, you had been taken prisoner and experimented on and conditioned, you weren't as seasoned as he was; as broken and old and confused.

Bucky wasn't sure what to say. His chest was starting to tighten, his eyes darting for the door, and Bucky was becoming aware of the weight of the knife in his boot. He was starting to look for danger, but your hand on his made Bucky snap his attention straight to you; the feeling of wanting to recoil making the muscles in his forearm tense.

"Hey, it's okay."

It was simple, short, and sweet. Just two words that held more weight than you realized, and the man couldn't help but to hold his breath. Your touch was soft; a far-cry from what he was used to, but it was working.

You were bringing his heartrate to a slow; his body instantly relaxing, and there was a part of Bucky that wanted to hate the subtle golden glow that shined within your (color) irises.

This was why Raynor wanted you two to become friends: you were an empath. Not exactly like Wanda Maximoff, but you were close; a natural-borne mutant. You hadn't been able to use your abilities for good until him; HYDRA made sure to squash any thought of using your powers outside of missions before you even realized it was a thought.

When you were recovered from HYDRA, Dr. Raynor had been your therapist while you were learning how to use your ability at S.H.I.E.L.D when it was led by Phil Coulson. But then, Coulson was killed, and things became different.

Then, it was discovered that HYDRA had infiltrated the agency, and you went under the radar in fear of what HYDRA would do once they got your hands on you.

You were only found when you showed up unexpectedly in Raynor's home, apparently after a run-in with him.

The Winter Soldier.

He wasn't sure what had possessed Raynor to pair the two of you together for therapy sessions, but from what Bucky had gathered, it was because you had asked to be seated with him.

You asked.

Maybe it was due to the new-but-not-new 'exposure tactics' that most therapists used nowadays. He remembered it being huge back in the 20's when a developmental psychologist named Mary Cover Jones and other psychologists began to use desensitization tactics as a different form of therapy.

Bucky was a bit of a skeptic, but when Raynor suggested that it would be good for the both of you, Bucky had relented and now here you two were months later: having a cup of coffee together while you held his hand.

It wasn't exactly a date, but Bucky wondered if you had begun to think of it that way like he had.

Bucky liked your company. You didn't poke and prod at him; didn't expect him to answer when he didn't know what to say; didn't wait for him to come to the rescue when he was knee-deep in his own shit; didn't get angry at him for what he did when he was the Winter Soldier.

You just held his hand, sent nice feelings to him, and grounded him when his vision began to grow shadowed in the corners and unfocused. You helped him to feel normal, and it was a dangerous game that he played with you.

He was getting attached, that much Bucky knew. Anytime you two went out in public, Bucky kept an eye out for suspicious activity because you were there; not because of his conditioning. He'd search for exits that he could get you through, he'd walk slightly in-front so he could shield you from attacks if need be, he made sure you were completely in your apartment and then-some so he knew that you were safe, the list was endless.

Bucky tried to tell himself that he was just doing this because it was courtesy and amendment; that inner-gentleman that never was completely conditioned out of him, but even Sam could tell that it was deeper than that.

Though, Sam Wilson seemed to know everything about Bucky while knowing completely nothing.

Bucky couldn't keep his fingers from brushing against yours as he intertwined your hands together, and he murmured, shaking his head slightly.

"I hate it when you do that."

"Promise it's just output. No meddling into that big head of yours."

Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes, but the words brought him comfort.

He was deathly afraid of what you would see if you ever took a dive; drowning in the fucked up shit he'd gotten himself into. While befriending an empath with telepathic abilities wasn't exactly comforting, it helped that you allowed him the choice.

A choice he never had while he was with HYDRA.

"My head isn't that damn big."

"I don't know, the longer hair kind of hid that."

His blue eyes were unamused as he looked at you, and you couldn't help but to chuckle, and the golden hue of your eyes went away and he was no longer under the blanket of your powers. Bucky, however, felt rejuvenated; like he'd just gotten 10 hours of peaceful sleep, and his back straightened just the slightest as he asked you.

"Is that offer to get out of here still open?"

Your eyes twinkled, nodding, and Bucky made sure to [begrudgingly] lay a ten dollar bill on the table before the two of you left. Brooklyn was hustling as the new year began to close in; the air still crisp and freezing, and he held the door open for you on the way out.

He was walking close to you; shoulders brushing with every step, and instinctively, Bucky's eyes began to scan the area; looking for danger, and your quiet chuckle snapped him out his focus. Bucky glanced down at you with a raised eyebrow, and your voice held a tone of teasing to it; your expression soft.

"There's nobody out here to get us right now, Bucky."

"Can't be too sure."

And that was that. You didn't fight him on it; didn't question his thinking. You just let him be, and Bucky didn't know whether to thank you or to feel bad because even he could tell that your shoulders were tense.

War never left.

While the physical remnants would fade; leaving off-colored skin and metal parts and ribbons and awards and dog tags that dangled too loudly despite the fact that there was no heart to remove them...it was still active mentally.

Streets were zones, people were potentially dangerous, and there was always a question of 'what if' that lingered in the air like a foreboding warning sign that never shut off no matter how badly the neon flickered.

The conditioning never left, but when you had someone to sit with in the trenches, it wasn't so bad. A deep breath left his body, and you hummed as you took a sip of your coffee, your eyes looking up at the lights that were strung along the street lamps; lit up despite the dim light of morning.

"Are you excited for the new year? You're gonna be what, 107-past-ancient?"

"You kids have no sense of respect for your elders these days."

You giggled while Bucky's eyes lit up with amusement, his lips curling up slightly despite his best effort to keep a poker face.

"So, you do admit that you're old?"

The words slipped from his mouth before he could help it, wincing to himself slightly from the embarrassment.

"Only in mind, sugar."

You didn't say anything, but Bucky could tell that you had heard him loud and clear by the way you had broken your own poker face; biting your lip to keep a laugh from slipping out. Shaking his head slightly, Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the sound of something approaching fast before he turned back to front and placed a hand against your waist and tugged you to him when a skateboarder came from around you; startling you.

You melted into his side, the warmth of your body heat mixing with his, and you both paused as you breathed a sigh of a relief. Before Bucky could ask if you were alright, you were already smiling up at him, eyes crinkling in the corners as you exclaimed.

"You saved me again! This time from an oblivious skateboarder. Wasn't it a raccoon in a trashcan last time?"

Bucky's cheeks burned, and he pinched your ear, making you yelp and giggle as he quickly let go the second your hand swatted at his.

"Listen, punk, I really thought someone was there."

"The look on your face was priceless, but it's the thought that counts."

Bucky rolled his eyes, and he couldn't help but to wonder if you were more trouble than anything else. Trouble that he liked. Trouble that he was starting to indulge a little too much in.

Trouble that he wanted to get more of.

Shaking his head slightly, Bucky let out a breath again as you continued to chuckle quietly to yourself, and when he made it to your apartment with you, Bucky respectively stood on the outside mat that read 'welcome!' in big black rubber letters.

You turned to him, the key to your door lodged into the lock while your hand was still on the doorknob, and Bucky was giving you his undivided attention.

"Do you have any plans for tonight at all?"

Bucky shook his head, shrugging his shoulders.

"Not that I know of, but I can let you know if it changes."

You were suddenly nervous, Bucky's eyes zeroing in on the way that you swallowed slightly; throat undulating, and he became alert. If he listened closely, he could hear the way that your heart was starting to race; your hands trembling just the slightest as you looked lost-in-thought and unsure of what to say exactly.

"Um, would you...like to come inside? I was...thinking of trying a new recipe and it'd be nice to have someone to test it out with me."

Bucky hadn't been expecting it, if he was honest. In his mind, you'd become nervous because you had sensed some sort of presence or danger and it was going to be a fight.

Not because you wanted to invite him inside.

It was actually cute.

Bucky's shoulders relaxed inconspicuously, and he replied with a tilt of his head.

"You want me to be your test subject? Not the worst torture I've been subjected to."

The joke was in poor taste, and Bucky felt awful for saying it; his mouth running faster than his mind could think, but you were laughing at him; your head thrown back as if the words didn't apply to you either.

"I didn't realize my cooking was that bad."

"I wouldn't know-"

Bucky thought for a moment, and when you opened your mouth to reply, Bucky responded confidently despite the sweat running down the side of his neck from the nervousness.

"-but I'd like to...if you'd have me."

Suddenly, he was back on Sarah Rogers doorstep, a much-younger Steve looking at him with surprise as his mother stood at the stove with a kind smile, inviting him in but making sure to let him know that 'he can't just run away from his folks every time they get onto him' or something like that, Bucky couldn't quite remember what Sarah had said to him that day.

He just remembered how damn good her Hoover stew was despite the Great Depression taking a huge toll. Bucky was brought back to the present by you chuckling and unlocking the door, gesturing with your head to come in.

"You'll always have a place at my table, Bucky."

There was a part of him that expected you to say the same thing that Sarah had, but you didn't say anything else. You just walked inside, hung your coat on the rack, and left the door open for him, and Bucky was washed with the lovely scent of your apartment from the candles he had gifted you for Christmas.

Raynor's idea, but Bucky was happy that you liked the gift.

While Bucky's apartment was bare, yours was furnished down to the last bit of space. Antiques were hung on walls or sat on shelves, some of them things that he'd seen and used back in the day, and Bucky shut the door and locked it tightly, kicking his shoes off at the door and walking into the kitchen where you had a familiar cookbook open.

"I was thinking of making Chicken à la King."

You looked embarrassed and nervous, but Bucky was given such huge whiplash that the poor man didn't even notice.

"You know about Chicken à la King?"

Your heart was racing, sounding like a drum within your ears, and you averted your gaze; looking nervous and embarrassed while you fidgeted from foot to foot. Your throat was tight, the words getting caught in your throat, and Bucky was surprised by how small you seemed to look.

Had he not been a super soldier, he probably would have missed the words that you whispered softly.

"I...wanted to make it for you."

Bucky's heart began to race, drowning out the sound of your own as blood rushed through his ears, and his face began to get hot. Bucky could feel his toes and fingers tingling, and it was almost a fight to stay rooted in place.

You wanted to make him dinner...a dinner that he hadn't tasted since his childhood, no less...damn near forgotten about it until the words had slipped past your lips in a nervous little whisper that he wanted to swallow.

"You...wanted to make me dinner?"

"Specifically this, yes."

You picked up the book, and Bucky's eyes damn-near bulged from his head when he finally got a good look at the familiar cover.. In your hands was an antique cookbook by Fannie Farmer, almost seeming brand-new judging by the leather cover despite the yellowed paging giving away the age. Bucky stepped forward, and he asked you as he looked at the cookbook.

"Where did you get this?"

"Believe it or not: the internet."

Bucky damn-near rolled his eyes, but he relented, shaking his head.

"I'm surprised you even know about this thing."

"I did some research...looked up what was popular back then, and I just settled on this. It seemed easy...nothing too complicated. I just...thought...maybe that you would like it."

You were curling in on yourself; second-guessing your reasoning, and Bucky would have melted if he didn't notice the tell-tale signs of anxiety. Gently placing his hand on your shoulder, he was taken back by the speed your head turned to look at him; eyes wide as you relaxed beneath his touch.

"If you want the truth: I haven't had this for...a very long time...so I'm not even sure if I remember what it tastes like. I remember how to make it though. I can help...if you'd let me."

A bridge was beginning to solidify between you; a trust between you two becoming reinforced and growing and Bucky wasn't afraid of it this time. In fact, he was beginning to cross that very bridge; searching for your hand and your presence and the calming comfort that came with (Y/n) (L/n).

"You don't think it's weird? I mean, I thought it was a bit weird when Raynor suggested it...I asked for her advice on what you might like cause I wanted to do something nice for you, but then I started to think about it and what better way to the heart than through the stomach? I mean, I'm not exactly the best cook, but I wasn't sure what else to do for you-"

Your nervous rambles were cut off by the feeling of his finger against your lips, a soft look on Bucky's face as he smiled with amusement. Your ears were burning, and you almost fainted when he asked you softly.

"You know what you could do?"

Your eyes were wide; doe-like and staring up at him as if he was the only thing in the world, and Bucky's voice became shaky as he asked you.

"Kiss me?"

The cookbook dropped from your hands, your heart skipping a beat, and you rose onto the tips of your toes to grasp at his cheeks, and Bucky cupped your own so he finger was out of the way. Lips crashing into his own, Bucky was finally in heaven. Whether you had meant to or not, your power was going haywire, your emotions flooding into his and vice versa; almost as if the bridge was finally complete.

You never needed to tell him that you loved him. Bucky knew it with the way you handled him even in the beginning when your friendship was just a suggestion made by a court-appointed therapist that somehow turned into more because you both were ripped from the same cloth despite the differences in timeline because you understood each other.

Despite the fact that there was a time where he was supposed to hunt you down and eliminate you due to the fact that you knew too much, you never faulted him for that as if you knew what was hiding beneath that mask at the time.

Bucky wouldn't know that it was because you did.

You had been able to access those locked parts of his mind because of your telepathic abilities at the time, but to be fair, he had never asked. Whether it was because he was uncertain or didn't think it was the right time, you didn't think anything more of it.

Just like now: there were no thoughts except for Bucky. Just him. And he could feel it; hear it even within his mind. Whether you meant for your control to become null in that moment, Bucky felt damn near accomplished for being able to make you falter.

If there was one thing you prided yourself on, it was your control.

Fingers danced at the nape of his neck, and a shiver ran down his spine, and though Bucky was damn-near thoughtless, he refrained from swiping the shit on your counter onto the floor so he could seat you atop of it. Instead, Bucky slowly pulled away from the feverish kiss, and you were vibrating within his grasp. Your voice was quiet, shaky and breathless.

"Bucky, would you...want to start dinner and stay the night?"

"Nice to know I'm not so out-of-practice after so many years."

The moment was broken, but you were giggling; looking shy as you took a tempered step back, and Bucky winced slightly. Probably in poor-taste, but you were still smiling, so he wondered if he should keep going or stop before he got too-ahead of himself.

"Would you...like to help me make dinner?"

Bucky nodded almost enthusiastically.

"I would be honored."

If Bucky thought hard enough, he could hear Steve's smug chuckling as you tied a frilly apron around his waist despite Bucky's protests; grumbling to himself as he began to dress the chicken while you put on a record that Bucky knew all-too-well.

"Shut up, punk,"

No, I don't think I will.

[END]

[katethetank]

Possession of the Heart - Chapter 2

Rating: 18+ minors gtfo Chapter Summary: Tommy hosts a party as their debut into California society, and Steve gets some unwanted attention from an Alpha who attends. Tired of being trapped in the manor, he explores the land around him until he stumbles upon the gamekeeper's cottage. CW: Alcohol consumption, Billy is a creep Pairing: Alpha!Tommy x Omega!Steve - Alpha!Eddie x Omega!Steve Word Count: 3.5k

Chapter 1<<Masterlist>>Chapter 3

The first two weeks of living at Hagan Manor are lonely ones. Steve sequesters himself to his quarters, only coming out for silent meals with his husband, refusing to speak another word of the arrangement offered. Tommy busies himself with work, making phone calls and meeting with oil barons, politicians, and the high society of the area. 

Steve refuses to show his face.

His tears ran out by the third day, utterly devastated that the man whose family paid to wed him would dare think so little of him when he was once considered something of a treasure. Steve never really saw himself that way, but going from Madonna to whore so quickly in the eyes of his spouse completely shattered any hope of happiness they could have together. Any semblance of trust is gone, not to mention respect. Clearly Tommy has none for Steve, demanding that he bed any Alpha who is willing. And Steve now has none for Tommy, knowing how little he thinks of him. 

His avoidance of his husband comes to an end when Tommy insists on hosting a soiree as a formal entrance into California society. Steve has no choice but to attend and play the part of the dutiful spouse, and begrudgingly puts on his finest attire. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, black waistcoat and tie, black trousers, and shoes shined to perfection, he descends the stairs to be greeted by his husband. Tommy is dressed in a similar fashion, but is also wearing a suit coat. He had instructed Steve to go without one, stating that it would do a disservice to his figure. It leaves him feeling like a lamb being led to slaughter. 

Guests soon arrive and so many introductions are made that Steve can’t keep anyone straight. Bows and greetings of thank you for having us Lord and Gentleman Hagan happen so often that Steve doesn’t even hear it anymore and just gives a demure nod of his head on pure reflex. And the mingling scents of so many Alphas in one space is overwhelming to the point where he can feel a headache blooming behind his eyes. This evening cannot end soon enough.

After all the guests are accounted for, Steve is able to leave Tommy’s side and ease some of his stress with a bit of champagne. He makes his way across the parlor, giving polite smiles to the people he passes, and before he can reach the bar, a hand appears in front of him holding a glass of bubbling libations.

“Pardon me, but an Omega of your standing shouldn’t have to retrieve their own drink.”

Steve turns to find himself being looked over by a man with golden curls and piercing blue eyes. He’s sure he greeted him at the door, but he has no real recollection of anyone who has entered his home. The chivalrous act, no matter how small it is, is appreciated in his current state. 

He takes the glass from this stranger and has to resist the urge to drink all its contents in one go. “That’s very considerate, thank you Mister…”

The man chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth. “You don’t remember our introduction?”

Steve flushes in embarrassment and takes a sip of the dry champagne. “You’ll have to forgive me. I met everyone in this room just this evening and recalling all their names is simply not something I’ll be able to do.”

The man laughs, but not unkindly. “William. William Hargrove. But those close to me call me Billy.” He offers his hand and Steve takes it without a second thought. Instead of giving him a cordial handshake, William bends down, and without breaking eye contact, places a kiss to the back of his hand. “And it’s an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The gesture is far too forward, and something in his gaze makes Steve want to flee. Surely this man is well aware that Steve is the Gentleman of the house and this behavior is incredibly inappropriate. His instinct is to slap this Alpha across the face, but making such a scene at their first event will do more harm than he could ever imagine. Not having much choice in what he can do, Steve forces a smile and withdraws his hand from William’s grasp.

“Well. Thank you again, Mr. Hargrove. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my husband.”

He begins to make his leave when there’s a hand placed on his lower back and William’s lips far too close to his ear. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Steve pulls away abruptly and begins to cross the room back to Tommy’s side. He only takes a few steps before he realizes that his husband has watched the entire interaction and is glaring daggers at Mr. Hargrove. If he cannot handle seeing another Alpha place a single hand on Steve, how can he possibly be able to cope with one knotting him?

When he returns to his husband, he is met with a cold glance and nothing more. All Steve wants to do is retire to his quarters and pretend this evening never happened. But he does what is expected of him and stands by Tommy’s side making polite small talk with their guests and feigning interest in discussions of oil and lumber and the money to be made. 

Steve takes his leave after some time and heads to the washroom. After relieving himself, he makes sure that his attire is perfect and not a hair is out of place. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, readying himself for another round of dreadfully boring discussions that he plans to ease the tension of with another glass of champagne. However, when he opens the door and steps out, he runs into a broad chest. Before he has a chance to stumble or lose his footing, the hand of William Hargrove grasps onto his waist to steady him. The heat from his palm can be felt through Steve’s clothing and it makes his insides churn.

“Careful there, Omega. We can’t have someone as pretty as you hurting themselves now can we?”

Steve glances around and is struck with fear realizing that they are the only two in this wing of the manor. His mind flashes with the image of this brutish Alpha pushing him into the washroom and having his way with him, exactly what Tommy has requested he do, and it makes him want to scream and run as far from this estate as his legs can carry him. He’s been treated as an ornament since his betrothal to Tommy, but this is the first time he has truly felt like an object. Something that others can take and use however they like. Something his husband can lend out and reap the benefits of. 

A part of him wants to accept these advances just to get it over with. 

But his self respect is far too great to let a man like this, with a predatory smile and lecherous gaze, lay a single finger on him. Steve steps out of his hold and tips his chin up. “You’ll be wise to keep your distance, Mr. Hargrove.”

His dark laugh echoes off the walls of the hall and he takes a step closer. “I can’t help that you’re so magnetic. You draw the gaze of everyone here, sweet thing. Lord Hagan sure was fortunate to find such a beautiful specimen. If only we all could be so lucky. What I wouldn't give to have someone like you in my bed.” 

He lifts his hand and the back of his knuckles graze over Steve’s cheek. It sends a cold shiver down his spine and he slaps the hand away reflexively. “Keep your hands to yourself and your vile words behind your teeth. Good day sir.” Steve spins on his heel and walks as quickly as he can back to the party with William’s laughter trailing after him like a ghost. 

Thoroughly shaken from the interaction, Steve grabs a fresh glass of champagne off the bar and goes in search of his husband. He’s not in the parlor with the majority of his guests, so he makes his way to the study, following the scent of cigar smoke. As he approaches the open doors, he stops at the sound of Tommy’s boasting. 

“Gentleman, I suspect I should have news of a pup any day now. Just because my legs have lost their functionality doesn’t mean everything else has.” There’s a round of hearty laughter and the clinking of glasses, congratulations and slaps on the back. Steve’s eyes begin to water and he abandons his plan of staying next to his husband until all their guests leave, and makes his way to the stairs.

Once he’s locked in his room, Steve downs the entire glass and removes his formalwear while tears fall freely down his flushed cheeks. He dresses in his bedclothes, finding much comfort in the silk shirt and pants, and takes a seat at the window overlooking the estate. It’s a clear night and the moon casts a white glow on the rolling hills and treetops. This manor has been a prison for him since the day he arrived, and he vows to himself that starting tomorrow, he’ll do his best to spend as little time inside as possible. 

The next morning he joins Tommy for breakfast and says nothing when he mentions that they’ll be having another party the following week. “It was such a success, don’t you agree? I think we might make this a regular occurrence, darling. Everyone had a wonderful time and mentioned how lovely it was to meet you. You certainly were the belle of the ball, though I should expect no less.”

Steve quietly eats his soft boiled egg and toast, and tries not to think about the unwelcomed touches and comments. But his eyes snap up when Tommy tacks on, “I shan’t be inviting that Billy Hargrove back, though. I didn’t like the look of him.”

He didn’t like the way Billy looked at Steve, is what he means. 

“As is your right, Tommy. This is your home.”

Tommy appraises him for a moment and asks, “So you didn’t care for his company?”

Steve isn’t entirely certain that Tommy is asking him if he just didn’t like the man, or if he didn’t find him to be a suitable partner to bed. But either way, the answer is the same. “No. I did not.”

His husband nods in approval and turns back to his breakfast. “Very well then.”

The weeks in between these now regularly occurring parties are spent outside the confines of his room. Steve has found much comfort in whiling away the hours in the garden, either practicing sewing and needlepoint, or finding escape in the books he’s pilfered from Tommy’s study. He’s walked the grounds a bit, but hasn’t gone far. The ownership of the land is much more expansive than he realized, reaching past the grassy hills and deep into the wooded areas surrounding the estate. Hunting land, as Tommy told him. Perhaps Steve will venture further if his need for escape can no longer be done in the pages he holds. 

If only he could escape these godforsaken parties. Every weekend it’s much of the same; suffocating attire, champagne that’s lost it’s decadence, the choking smoke of cigars and pipes, forced smiles, awkward small talk, and Steve finding any excuse he can to retire to his room early. And every weekend he endures lustful gazes from Tommy’s associates and spiteful glares from their Omega partners. William Hargrove is now not the only one who’s invitation has been rescinded. Deputy Callahan hasn’t been invited back after he spoke to Steve for too long and stood too close. English nobleman Duke Henry Creel asked Steve to dance, and hasn’t been seen at their home again since. Judge Robert Newby made the mistake of being kind to Steve and getting a genuine laugh from him. That hasn’t happened since they moved here.

With Tommy slowly removing everyone that he deems a potential threat, Steve is unsure how his husband expects him to produce an heir. He has no desire to do such a thing to begin with, especially not with any of the men brought into his home who look at him like he’s a meal to devour. But if Tommy is bull headed enough to keep insisting that Steve find a temporary bed partner, he sure isn’t making things easy. 

After another long event dodging unwanted attention, faking another headache in order to duck out early, and sitting through another breakfast of Tommy declaring which Alpha is no longer going to be in attendance at their next soiree, Steve takes his leave and settles himself in the garden. Try as he might, the book he is reading isn’t helping to shake off the unsettling feelings, and escaping between the pages seems impossible. He sets down his book and looks out over the grounds. It’s a sunny day, and the breeze is enough to keep his skin from overheating, so he decides on taking a walk and seeing how far he can wander.

He roams the hills aimlessly, smiling at the grasshoppers who leap out of his way and the birds who grace him with their songs. Wildflowers speckle the landscape and he stops to collect the different ones he finds, making a small bouquet to take back to his room when his little exploration is over. His task leads him to the tree line where a path wide enough for perhaps a horse and cart to get through draws his attention. He follows it through the wooded area, collecting more blossoms as he goes and enjoying the break from the heat of the sun shining high overhead. It must be nearing lunch time, but Steve is happy to skip a meal with his husband in favor of this small taste of freedom.

The path eventually leads him to a clearing where he’s delighted to find a wide stream. It looks deep enough to take a dip should he desire, and the water is crystal clear, sparkling under the rays of the sun. A stone bridge connects to the other side and Steve crosses it, following the path further down to see where it leads. The trees are thinner here, allowing more light to shine through and illuminating the tall grasses and wildflowers. Steve adds more to his collection until the path ends and he’s met with a moderately sized stone cottage. Moss grows on the sloping roof and the ivy here looks magical compared to the vines that still choke the outside of Hagan Manor. It’s quaint and looks like something out of a fairy tale he read when he was young. 

He approaches and walks around the perimeter, attempting to assess if this dwelling is occupied or abandoned. He gets his answer when he turns a corner and sees a covered wood porch that houses several cages of pheasants. He quietly steps up onto the porch so as not to disturb them, and peers inside the cage closest to him. A pheasant is sleeping peacefully while sitting atop a nest. It’s mostly covered, but Steve can see just a peek of the eggs she’s guarding. He smiles at the sight and walks slowly around the porch observing all the others. “Nice day for a nap, isn’t it ladies,” he says quietly. 

Steve nearly jumps out of his skin when a voice calls out, “No need to whisper. They don’t startle easily.” He clutches his chest and spins around, his wide eyes landing on a man who just stepped out of a path he didn’t see previously. “But clearly you do. My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Steve hasn’t seen this man before. He absolutely would have remembered him if he were in attendance at the parties Tommy has hosted. He’s tall and lean. The leather boots on his feet are scuffed and dusted with dirt, indicating they’re well worn and see a lot of work. Cuffed brown trousers sit high around his waist, held up with suspenders that stretch over broad shoulders. His shirt, most likely once a crisp white, is faded and softened with use. The sleeves are rolled up just below his elbows, highlighting the veins in his forearms, and the top buttons are open, exposing a glistening patch of his smooth chest. He has long dark hair that’s pulled back into a low bun at the base of his neck, and a brown flat cap rests atop his head. Underneath the brim of the cap, large dark eyes blink up at him from the bottom of the steps. His features are masculine, but there’s a softness to his look. The curve of his nose and fullness of his lips offset his strong jaw and chin. He’s handsome, and Steve realizes too late that he’s been staring.

“No, no it’s fine. Are these pheasants yours?”

The man smiles, and it’s devastating. Dimples crease his face and Steve has never seen anyone look at him this way. Like he’s a person. “I believe they’re actually yours. You are the Gentleman of the house, are you not?”

“Oh. Yes, I am. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The man sets down the rifle slung over his shoulder and places his hand on his chest. Bowing slightly, he introduces himself. “Edward Munson, the estate’s gamekeeper. Friends call me Eddie. And these lovely ladies have no names, but are happy to be employed by Lord and Gentleman Hagan.”

Steve finds himself genuinely smiling back, immediately charmed by this man. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And please, call me Steve.” 

Eddie smiles politely and tucks his hands in his pockets. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too. What brings you out this way, if you don’t mind my asking?”

He realizes again, a little too late, that he’s invited himself to this man’s home unannounced. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just taking a walk and the path I found led me here. I can go, I had no intention of disturbing you.” Steve descends the stairs and is surprised that Eddie takes several steps back, giving him a wide berth. 

“No apologies needed. You’re welcome to come visit them any time. It shouldn’t be much longer before the chicks start to hatch.”

Steve smiles at the thought of seeing what the baby pheasants look like and decides he might just need to come back. “I think I would like to see that. You don’t mind my checking in?”

Eddie shakes his head and looks at him kindly. “Not one bit. This is your land after all. I’m just your humble servant. And should you find the desire, follow the stream south. There’s a few more clearings where you’ll find some lilacs that are blooming.”

Steve is confused for a moment until Eddie nods down at his hand that’s holding his bunch of wild flowers. “Oh! Thank you, I’ll do that. I should be going, I’m sure I’ve missed lunch by now and if I dally much longer I’ll miss supper as well. It was nice meeting you Eddie.” Raised in high society, Steve is so accustomed to addressing people by their proper name, that he surprises himself by how effortlessly the casual farewell rolls off his tongue.

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice or mind. He just tips his hat and says, “Come back any time, Steve.”

He turns and makes his way back around the cottage to the path that he came in on. Before he reaches the trees, Steve hears the rapid approach of boots on the ground. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees Eddie rushing over. Steve stops, wondering what might be the trouble. Eddie comes within an arm’s reach and holds out a shining red apple. “For you. Since you missed your lunch.”

Something flutters in Steve’s chest and he takes the fruit from Eddie’s hand, shivering as their fingers just barely graze each other. Standing much closer now than they were before, he picks up Eddie’s fragrance of suede and cedar. It’s an intoxicating combination and Steve has to fight his urge to lean into his space to breathe it in deeper.

He takes a step back, ignoring the rapid beating of his heart, and looks up into those captivating eyes. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

Eddie bows again and starts to back away towards the cottage. “It’s no trouble at all.”

As Steve makes his way back down the path, savoring the sweetness of the apple and the man who gave it to him, he decides that he will definitely be returning. He spends the remainder of the day trying to convince himself that his reasons lie with the blooming lilacs and hatching chicks. Yet as he drifts off to sleep that night, he dreams not of flowers and nests, but dark eyes and a bright smile.

Chapter 1<<Masterlist>>Chapter 3

*********************************************

Well well well...what do we have here?

Taglist is open! Likes, comments, and reblogs are all greatly appreciated!!

@mrsjellymunson @the-unforgivenn @watermelonmite @hiscrimsonangel @micheledawn1975 @stedestielfrattficlover @disrespectedgoatman @orie-jai

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

The Jackass Guys Taking Care of You while you’re Sick HCs!

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader, Chris Pontius X Fem!Reader, Steve-O X Fem!Reader, Bam Margera X Fem!Reader, Ryan Dunn X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of illness, pet names (ie. darlin’), alcohol

An: While writing this, I was actually bed bound for two days to to a nasty respiratory illness, so I think you could guess where my inspiration came from XD Ironically enough, in between writing this and coming out I got sick again. Boy, what an immune system I have! I get sick frequently and one thing I can always count on making me feel better is writing about the guys :)

You had no appetite, you could barely leave your bed, and you had a temperature of 101.9. Yep, with how sick you were, there was no way you’d be able to go to work.

So you called your boyfriend to help take care of you

Johnny

“Oh, darlin’…”

You were in sore shape, and like the amazing boyfriend he was, Johnny went to helping you feel better right away!

Really, he missed his calling as a doctor or nurse with how sweet and considerate he is to you

Helping you out of bed if you’re weak on your feet and to the shower, assuring you how much better you’ll feel after you get a lil’ steam in your system <3

And after you get out, he’d sit behind you and gently comb/brush our hair for you, no matter how many times you mumbled to him that yes, you were sick, but you could take care of your basic needs yourself

But you secretly enjoyed being babied by him

If you couldn’t stomach much, he’d bring you some warm tea and fruit with a kiss on the forehead before he went to set up the humidifier

When Robitussin and NyQuill weren’t making a dent in your fever, Johnny got a little creative,

“If it doesn’t make you better, you’ll forget you were sick in the first place!” He explained, handing you the mug of hot water, lemon, and a splash of bourbon

A hot toddy, he told you it was called, something his mama used to give him when he was sick at home

And that thing worked.

Your eyes were falling close as you murmured, half asleep already,

“Thank you, Dr. Knoxville…”

Bam

“You look like shit.”

Lack of bedside manner aside, he is probably the last person you want taking care of you while you’re sick.

“Well thanks, Bam- I feel like shit.”

Feeling a little bad for you he asked if you needed anything

So you asked for something to eat- maybe soup and warm tea?

But all you received was an uncrustqble (which you bought because bam doesn’t like the crusts on his sandwiches) and a bottle of water lobbed onto your bed from the doorway.

“D’you think you could grab me some tissues too?”

With a groan, Bam disappeared into the bathroom before you heard all this thudding and an exasperated, “Fuck!”

Before he emerged with a roll of toilet paper.

Sure, maybe he wasn’t Florence Nightingale, but he did what you asked and you honestly didn’t even expect this much from him

He mumbled, disticnt affectionate tone in his voice as a smile crept onto his face as he walked by your bedside to ruffle your hair a little,

“You’re a real pain in the ass, Y/N.”

Chris

“Time for your sponge bath!”

Chris is a firm believer in the fact that laughter is the best medicine

So that’s why he walked into your room wearing one of those sexy nurse outfits.

And while you appreciated the sentiment, you didn’t really need the sponge bath

You also didn’t need the rectal thermometer he proudly offered to you,

“Time to take your temperature! Roll over!” He chuckled that sweet stoner laugh of his, “Kidding, kidding- it’s one’a the normal ones.”

Or when Chris pretended to “accidentally” drop said thermometer next to your bed and bend over to pick it up with his ass in full veiw.

Soon, you began to recognize the click clack of cherry red high heels as the sounds of Nurse Pontius,

And you’d come to anticipate his spectacular bedside manner ;)

In fact, this whole ordeal just left you more endeared to him

Yes, even when he asked to warm your boobies up because in his words, they looked really cold.

“You know, your probably the best nurse I’ve ever had.”

Steve-O

“What’s goin’ on?”

He stumbled into your room, having kind of forgotten why you called him,

Steve isn’t so much of a caregiver as he is a heating pad

But damn it if he isn’t a good heating pad

He’d just walk into the room and lay down next to you, all warm and cozy- a heaven for your shivering, sick body

Despite how nice it felt to cling to him, he isn’t much help besides that given the fact he fell asleep five minutes ago (not that you noticed)

“Hey, do you think you could grab me some-“ Yep. Out cold

So you had to tear yourself from the comfort of your bed to make yourself soup

And when you return, all shivering as you slip back under the covers,

Of course that’s when he wakes up.

You had already started eating when Steve took the bowl from where it was resting on your lap to steal a few bites himself

When you pointed out that he just used the same spoon you did (and would probably get sick too), he just shrugged,

“So what? I don’t care.”

Ryan

“Are you dead yet?”

While there was an unmistakeable tone of sarcasm in Ryan’s voice, he really was concerned

Out of all the guys, he would be the one to get worried sick (no pun intended) about his ill girlfriend :(

But he played it off well, saying that he didn’t have anything to do that weekend despite canceling plans with Bam to look over you

So he might as well sit by your bedside to make sure you’re okay!

Or that he just conveniently rented all of your favorite movies because he wanted to watch them, but you’re free to join him if you wanna watch

And, despite your warnings that you’ll get him sick, he’d have no problem with laying down next to you if you can’t sleep

Because that’s what the two of you usually do! No reason to break routine because of a stupid cold.

“C’mon! With you shiverin’ like that, how could I not? It’s like seein’ a kitten out in the rain…”

[gummydummy19]

Movie night

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x male reader

Summary: The boys catch their girl getting an early start on movie night and it makes the night take an interesting turn.

Content Warnings: Threesome, smut, dom/sub dynamics, watching porn, squirting, P/V sex, mentions of anal

A/N: I'm genuinely ashamed at how long this took me to write... thank you @hauntedkittenfun for the request and the incredible patience lol

Word Count: 2800+

You were out with Steve, walking around the grocery store looking for snacks. Tonight was movie night. It was a tradition Steve and Natasha had for years and when you joined the Avengers, it didn't take long before they invited you to join. The three of you were basically inseparable. Always goofing around together, flirting and teasing.

'Found it! Steve chirped, dropping two big bags of popcorn in the shopping cart you were pushing.

'Great, I think that's about it' you said, scanning the cart to make sure you had everything.

The both of you loaded your shopping bags in the car and drove back to the compound.

You glanced over at Steve who was sitting in the passenger seat, looking all pretty.

'Hey, eyes on the road,' he joked

'Aye aye, captain,' you grinned back

When you arrived home, you expected Nat to come out and help you put the groceries away, but she was nowhere to be found.

You had agreed to watch the movie in the living room since that room had the biggest TV. So that's where you decided to look first.

'Do you...do you hear something?' Steve mumbled halfway down the hall.

'No...what do you hear?' you asked Steve, knowing his super hearing never let him down.

'I...uhm...' there was an undeniable blush creeping up Steve's cheeks, and quite frankly...it was adorable.

You raised your brow, curious at what he was hearing, so you walked closer to his door.

As you got closer to the living room, you started hearing it too. Soft moans combined with high-pitched ones.

It couldn't be? Right?

Well, only one way to find out. Your hand moved faster than your brain as you threw open the door, catching Nat in the middle of the couch with her hand between her legs, watching a very...interesting piece of film.

"That's not the movie we agreed on missy," you grinned.

Steve stood behind you red as a tomato and very quiet.

“I thought I had more time before you guys came home...” Nat pouted. She didn't look embarrassed at all. It was almost like she wanted to get caught...

'Is that so?' you teased, 'Well, don't let us spoil your fun...'

'Want me to keep going?' she asked innocently

'Hmm...' you dared.

'Only if you guys join me...'

You raised your brow again, only a tiny bit surprised at her request.

'What do you think, Stevie?' you asked, looking slightly over your shoulder.

He was a mess already. His cock had been straining against his pants since he heard the sounds from the hallway.

You backed up a bit into him, letting your ass rub slightly against his bulge as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

'Should we join her?'

You slowly guided Steve to the couch with you. You could tell he was having trouble deciding where to look; you, Nat, or the girl wantonly pounding her own pussy with a considerably large sex toy on the television.

The decision was made quite rapidly when said girl suddenly let out a particularly loud moan. The three of you simultaneously turned your heads toward the screen, just in time to catch the girl squirt all over her bed.

'Christ...' Steve nervously mumbled, 'there's no way that's real...'

It was Natasha's turn to raise her brow, as she gave Steve a curious look.

'Sure it is, Stevie...why wouldn't it be real?'

'It's just...it's so...I just don't buy.' He stated

'Steve, I'm telling you it's real, I swear. It's called squirting.' she explained

'Oh yeah? Well...prove it then.' He dared, clearly gaining a bit more confidence as his brain turned to full on horny-mode

'Yeah? Want me to show you?' she drawled

'Hmm...'

Natasha wasted no time in turning off the TV and placing herself down in the middle of the coffee table.

You and Steve plopped down on the couch, watching Natasha as she started teasing her fingers up and down her folds before sliding two of them inside her pussy in one swift motion.

She had been playing with herself for quite some time before she got caught and it had left her wetter than ever.

The sight of her with her legs spread and her head thrown back is better than any porn video you'd ever seen. You couldn't help but slide your hand down to your crotch, squeezing your bulge.

'You can't do it, Nat.' Steve taunted, trying to keep his voice steady.

fucking brat, you thought.

'O-oh no?...' she moaned, speeding up her movements.

Barely a couple seconds later she let wailed out as she started squirting so hard you felt your dick twitch, making you groan.

You looked over to Steve and noticed his face was a little wet...

'That's what you get for calling me a liar...' Nat mumbled cheekily, making you chuckle.

'Look at that, Stevie, Nat's not the only one who is wet anymore...' you laughed, pressing a kiss against his cheek to sneak a taste.

'I wanna see that again...' was all that Steve said before getting on his knees in front of Nat.

'Hey, don't get greedy...sharing is caring, Stevie,' you pouted, taking a seat next to him as he gave you a warm smile.

'You're right...' he mumbled, pulling you closer, 'C'mere...'

Steve pressed a needy kiss to your lips as you felt his big hands rub all over your crotch, making you groan in his mouth.

'Can you...?' he questioned, glancing over to Natasha's glistening pussy. 'You're better at this...show me how to do it...'

God. How could anyone ever say no to him?

Your eyes moved from Steve's pleading gaze to Nat's desperate one.

'Can I?' you checked, although you were pretty sure what the answer was gonna be.

'Please...' she whined, wiggling her hips a little.

'Open up,' you told Steve before gently putting two of your fingers into his greedy mouth. He sucked on them eagerly, making your cock twitch again.

'Take my cock out,' you commanded, 'but keep your eyes on her pussy, you don't wanna miss anything now do you, Stevie?'

'No, Sir' he whispered after he released your fingers, moving quickly to do as he was told.

You rubbed your spit-covered fingers over Nat’s clit first, making her shudder.

'See that, that's a very important spot when you wanna make her cum,' you explained as Steve took out your throbbing cock.

'But we don't wanna wear her out too soon, do we?' you taunted, letting your finger slide down a bit before stopping at her dripping hole.

'No, we wanna get her a little desperate first...' your finger teased around her entrance.

You looked at Steve to see his eyes glued on Natasha's pussy just like you told him to, all while he kept stroking your cock perfectly.

'Good boy, Stevie...' you praised lowly, 'now this next part is very important...'

You slowly pushed both fingers inside of her, immediately curling them up against that sensitive, spongy spot, making her whine and buck her hips a bit.

'Theeerree we go...' you chuckled, moving your fingers a little.

'This spot right here, Stevie....that's a very important one when you wanna make her squirt...'

Natasha moaned louder as you kept pumping your fingers inside of her. You slowly picked up the pace, hitting her spot a bit rougher each time.

'Feel that pressure build, baby?' you looked at Nat.

'Yeah...fuck...oh...' she whined, throwing her head back again.

Your free hand reached down to stop Steve's movements. You brought his hand up to your mouth and sucked his fingers

'Still watching, Stevie? The next part is gonna be really fun...' you groaned as you felt his grip tighten on your cock.

All he could do was nod furiously as he watched you move even quicker. Natasha let out another loud moan and before you knew it she was squirting again.

'That's a good fucking girl,' you groaned.

Steve had halted his movements. Too mesmerized to focus on jerking you off.

When Nat blinked her eyes back open she noticed both you and Steve and a couple drops on your shirts and faces.

She let out a tired giggle, hiding her face in embarrassing as she let herself lay back on the coffee table.

‘Oh my god…’ she mumbles with her hands still covering her face. ‘I wanna apologize but technically it’s really not my fault…’

'Hmm...don't be embarrassed, baby' you chuckle, hungrily licking your fingers clean. 'Tastes even sweeter than the popcorn...'

"I wanna try..." Steve mumbled, pushing your hand away to make room for his own.

Nat immediately moans at the touch, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as Steve stuffs his large fingers in her pussy.

'M'sensitive, Stevie...' she whines.

'Yeah? What if I find that special spot, huh? Is it sensitive there?' he taunted, his demeanor switching from subby to dominant in an instant as he wiggled his fingers a bit, immediately hitting the spot he was talking about.

Natasha keened in response, arching her back off the table as she squirted again.

'Fuccckkk!!' she whined as Steve moved his other hand to press on her lower belly, stretching out his thumb to rub circles over her swollen clit.

'SHIT I'M CUMMING! DADDY!' she screamed out, squirting even harder than before.

Steve fingered her through her orgasm with the smuggest of smiles before pulling his fingers out of her.

He was going to lick them clean, but you grabbed his hand and put his fingers in your own mouth instead, moaning as you tastes Nat's wetness.

'Don't forget who's in charge here, baby.' you teased before pulling him in for a dirty kiss.

'Lay down.' You commanded him and he happily obliged, wiggling off his jeans in the process.

You turned to Nat, who was just starting to come back to her senses before you kissed her breathless again.

'Get on top of him.'

'Yes sir...' she said with a smile, eagerly obliging just like Steve.

The second Natasha sinks down on his dick, Steve enters his dominant mode again, grinning at her as she struggled to take his cock.

'There you go...take all of me.' Steve groaned, guiding Nat down on his cock with his hands on her hips.

Nat huffed out a breath as she adjusted to his size, planting her palms against Steve's broad chest as she slowly started to bounce up and down on his cock.

Steve allowed her to have her fun.

For a minute...

'My turn now, sweetheart.' he smirked as he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her down on his cock as he started pounding into her.

Hard.

It didn't take long for her to squirt again all over his cock and stomach, making her moan out as she did so.

'Look at that, Stevie. You're turning our girl into a damn water fountain,' you joked as you watched him pound into her, stroking your cock as you observed.

Hearing you call her 'your girl' made Natasha's stomach flip. If it wasn't for Steve holding her up, she would have toppled over as another orgasm coursed through her body.

Steve really put his super soldier stamina to good use, pounding into her with no signs of stopping.

'Shit, shit, S-Steveee....' Nat whined, trying to push her hands against his stomach to get him to slow down.

'P-please, please stop, please...' she begged until he finally let up with a big grin plastered on his face.

'Too much?' he chuckled as she dropped her head to his neck, trying to catch her breath.

'Hmm...' she mumbled, unable to speak, making him chuckle again before he pressed a kiss in her hair.

'You okay?' you asked, sitting closer to the two of them as you gently rubbed up and down her back.

'Yeah...more than okay,' Nat smiled shyly.

God, she was so fucking gorgeous.

'Okay enough for another round?' you smirked

Her grin told you all you needed to know and you wasted no time in helping her off Steve's lap.

'Holy fuck...' Steve chuckled, finally admiring all the wetness that covered his body. 'how do you even squirt that much?'

'Well, I don't know...just kinda happens when you have a huge cock ramming into your g-spot over and over again...' she joked, making Steve throw you a smug look.

'Yeah yeah, keep smiling like that, Stevie. I bet you I can make her squirt harder.' you teased, crawling on top of Nat as she laid back on the floor.

'You're just talking shit, dude.' Steve shot back

'Oh yeah? Let's see who can make her squirt the most then.'

'Deal.'

You started pounding into Nat again almost immediately. The three of you went at it for hours. Leaving not only Natasha but the entire living room a mess.

'There we go....give me another one...' you groaned, making Nat squirt for the 6th time, 'good fucking girl...'

A few messy kisses later, Steve was pumping into her from behind, making her drip all over the carpet, groaning all kinds of filthy stuff in her ears.

It was kinda hot seeing him get all dominant with her, knowing he got all subby for you in the blink of an eye.

'What was that now, huh? Number 10? Number 11?' Steve taunted.

Nat was a blubbering mess. Mascara streaked down her cheeks as she giggled through the tears, all blissed out.

'I...I don't...just...uh...I-' she tried to string a sentence together but to no avail.

'My turn again.' You grinned, flipper her over so you were lying on top of her as you slid your throbbing cock into her abused hole.

You leaned down to kiss her, slow and passionate as you picked up the pace a little, making her whine.

'Need to cum...gonna let me cum in that fucked out pussy of yours?' you groaned, grinning when she nodded a bit too fast.

'Please...fill me, Daddy...need it so bad."

After basically edging yourself for yours, it didn't take long before you blew your load into Nat's pussy, letting your head drop against her shoulder, relishing in the way she ran her nails over your scalp.

'fuck....that was...jesus christ...' you huffed out, trying to catch your breath.

'Hmmm...' she smiled sweetly

'I think I lost track tho...Stevie, do you remember how many times that was?'

'M'not sure....maybe we should start over' he grinned, causing Natasha to throw the nearest pillow to his face.

'Next time we can check to see who out of the two of you can cum the most…I wonder if you will still laugh as much then'

'Okay okay...m'sorry...' you chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead before pulling out.

As you moved to lay down next to Nat, Steve got a full view of Natasha's open legs. Watching as your cum leaked out of her made his eyes twinkle.

'See something you like?' Nat giggled, seeing how Steve licked his lips as he stared at her cunt like it was his favorite snack on the planet.

'Hmm...lay back, princess....just let me have one more taste...' he mumbled before attaching his lips to her stuffed hole.

'Fuck...Steve....' She moaned while he ate her out with vigor.

Nat was too caught up to notice, but you didn't miss Steve bucking his hips into the pillow you threw at him earling as he whined at your taste leaking out of Nat's pussy.

Soon he stuffed two of his think fingers inside her, pressing that sensitive spot one more time.

'Just give me a last one...just one more...' he moaned, attaching his lips to her pussy as he fingered her.

Nat trembled as she came hard, squirting right into Steve's mouth while he groaned loudly, bucking his hips into the pillow fervently, covering it in his cum.

'fuck,' Steve groaned out, the blush on his cheeks increasing by the second.

'U okay there, Stevie?' you teased, making him hide his face in embarrassment.

'Shit...that was not how that was supposed to go down...' he explained, 'It was just so hot, and it tasted so fucking good....'

You laughed at Steve's adorable embarrassed face, pulling them both close to you on the large couch.

'Are you guys okay?' you asked earnestly as they snuggled up to you

'Hmm...' It sounded from both sides before silence took over for a minute.

'I definitely won, tho' you stated smugly, anticipating Steve's reaction.

'The hell you did!' he shot up, making you laugh

'Maybe we need a rematch sometime…' Natasha weighed in, making you both turn to her with a hopeful look

'You wanna do this with us again?' You asked

Your heart lit up a little when she gave you an adorable nod, snuggling close to you again.

'That was the best sex of my life...and besides...I've had a crush on you guys for months...' she admitted.

'Y-You...You have?' Steve studdered.

'Yeah....I was hoping you would walk in on me earlier...'

'I'm glad we did.' You promised, relishing in the feeling of your two favorite people snuggled up to you, warm and satisfied.

Taglist;

@metalbuckaroo @princessayveke @montsepliego @scxrletrecsmarvel @hopelesslyrogers @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @tfandtws @vicmc624 @ahahafudge @enchantedbarnes @wickedravyn @pono-pura-vida @amayaraestyles @matchat3a @fictional-hooman @sebastianexplicit @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @jamneuromain @tryingtoliveonmywishes @mrsevans90 @daybreak96 @tiredqueen73 @fallingforunrealisticromance @identity2212 @randomweirdoss @ragamuffin285 @juliaorpll78 @geralts-yenn @imjusthereforliam @bangtanstoeart @squeezyvalkyrie @enchantedbytomandhenry @superduckmilkshake @kingliam2019 @bascmve01 @missgaygurl @foxyjwls007 @mollymal

[testingthewatersss]

Where you left me Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, flashbacks etc. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 5 5600 words fluffy, fluff, mild angst. 18+ MDNI

Truths, bets and burgers

Tony leaves in an uncharacteristic silence. She decides to drop food off to the lab later, she knows talking about his parents still hurts, even though he’d been the one to broach the topic so publicly.

There’s a beat of silence following his departure, it’s only broken when Y/N pushes up from the games table she’s been leaning on, meeting Natasha’s waiting gaze.

“So are you gonna call, or would you rather I took care of it?” she asks patiently, “You seem to understand the process fairly well-”

“I thought-”

Y/N rolls her eyes at Steve’s interruption, and shrugs at Nat’s offer.

“and now Tony thinks” the red-head explains, as though she’s speaking to a toddler, “he has to know that he can’t just keep her locked up in here for safe keeping”

“Smart” Bucky says, understanding, if a little quiet.

Y/N clicks her tongue, considerate, eyes still on Romanoff despite the way she can see that Steve is still burning with questions he wants to ask.

“I want to swing by, pick up some bits, the rest can go into storage” she decides, “There’s not much I need to hang on too, no point carting it all here just to put it into boxes and ship it to a warehouse later.”

“Good call” Nat agrees, “Can you go tomorrow? If you can, I can have the place emptied by Thursday?”

“Sure I can” Y/N says, beaming gratefully, “Thanks, Nat.”

“No problem” she replies, before making to leave, “you can owe me one.”

The laugh that answers her is real, but so is the nod that follows it.

“I’m gonna regret that” she murmurs, turning back to the boys that are watching her, somewhat bewildered.

“I didn’t know you worked for SHEILD” Steve says first, letting himself start to press for answers he didn’t know he’d wanted until a few minutes earlier, “Must’ve been before my time”

“Must’ve been” Y/N agrees, “Although, I’m sure you were off ice when I was around, not that I payed the whole ‘Captan America’ thing much attention”

He gives her a scoff and paws anxiously at his hair. She thinks he looks an awful lot like the man beside him, especially when he locks his jaw and readies himself to continue his line of questioning.

“Did you get up to much ground work?”

“Ground work?” Bucky echos, confusion showing in the crease between his brow.

“Y’know? as a medic-”

“-I wasn’t strictly employed as a medic” she replies somewhat cryptically, “But I guess ground work would cover what I actually did, too”

He hums, unsatisfied, and she can’t help but notice how her partner’s attention is clearly spiked, too.

She sighs, and faces them fully.

“I was trained in basic combat before I got pulled in” she explains, “Tony was fresh out of the whole ‘torture in the desert, hole in the chest’ thing’- I’d helped patch him up, and then the whole situation with Obidias came to a head. It was quiet for a month or two, but then I got a call from Tony, out of the blue, saying he needed my help.”

Steve nods, urging her to continue;

“That was a big deal” she says, “especially back then, y’know? He was Iron Man, and, well… he was Tony, I’d known him most of my life, and he never asked for help, not unless he was really in trouble- so, I agreed, he turned up at my apartment, and took me to a meeting with Fury, they were trying to recruit him for the avengers initiative, I figured the same as he did, to start- that they wanted him to pick up where his dad left off, makin’ things to help them fight- but, it got heated pretty quick, they all started yellin’-He stormed off, and I stayed behind, ended up being recruited in his place, as a kind of middle man, the idea was that I’d work on the front lines so he wouldn’t have to, and then I’d report back, and bring him in if I deemed it necessary”

Both men are silenced by her recollection. Neither of them were expecting that level of background information, and it’s clear they don’t know what to do with it, now they have it.

“It worked, too” she continues, “for the most part, anyway- T was angry, when we told him, but I was still spending a tone of time with him, fixing his chest piece and all that, so, he made peace with it, I was paired up with agent Hill first, worked some low-level reckon jobs, and then they shipped me off to France, as part of a unit that were tracking some suspected HYDRA activity in Paris.”

Bucky’s head snaps up,

“I remember you tellin’ me ‘bout that” he recalls, “Y’said Stark pulled you out?”

Y/N smiles at him and nods, moving towards the juice on the counter, to take another swig.

“That’s right” she confirms, wiping her mouth on the back of my hand, “He heard that SHEILD had commissioned me for active combat, and he freaked out, got in his suite, and half dragged me back to the states”

He looks content with that, Steve, however, does not.

“You were a field agent?”

“Kind of-”, She shrugs, “- I guess that was their plan for me, but after Paris, Even though I collared Tony, told him he couldn’t do anything like that, ever, again, it didn’t quite sink in the way I’d hoped. I helped out on a few missions without him, but, he was too paranoid, kept causin’ a scene, fightin’ with Fury, anytime my name came up. We compromised eventually, decided I should just work directly with him and Rhodey, they didn’t really need a medical officer, not with the suites, but havin’ a sniper came in handy, and I made a pretty good decoy every now and then.”

“Decoy?” Steve repeats, like this information is blowing his mind,

“Mhm- It might have passed ya’ by, Cap, but the whole Iron-Man, War Machine, thing, doesn’t lend itself to espionage, they both lack subtlety, and havin’ a pretty girl on the ground to weasel information out of perps made a lot of things run smoother”

Bucky gives her a chuckle that Y/N thinks sounds awfully awed.

The expression on his face is one of total admiration. She averts her gaze before she can blush.

“Why’d ya stop?” is all Steve can think to ask,

“Because” she begins, “Just before the whole Loki invades New York Episode- I was workin’ with them, takin’ out some underground arms dealers, and one of the bad guys noticed that Tony had a soft spot for me, scooped me up to use as bait”

He looks horrified-

“I got out before Tony even had time to find me” she promises, using a deliberately calm tone, “I’d had tones of training by then, I can handle myself well enough- but it scared him, he begged me to stop workin’ for SHEILD, told me that with HYDRA making such bold moves it was only a matter of time before I got hurt, and I-” she stops herself, looking at the pair genuinely before running her hand through her hair, “and I, knew, that if I didn’t, if I didn’t stop- that he was going to end up gettin’ hurt tryin’ to keep me safe- I couldn’t have lived with that.”

Steve nods, understanding, a contrite look on his face.

“and that’s just the tip of the ice-burg” she teases, sensing how overwhelmed he is, “We grew up together, Steve- We were always makin’ trouble, that didn’t stop just because we got old”

“I bet it didn’t” Bucky murmurs, opening his arms in what looks like an awfully hopeful invitation, she obliges, sinking down into his lap, kicking her legs up across the other mans thighs, “I’m sorry, doll- ‘bout Howard, I didn’t know-”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Buck” Steve cuts in, palm settling on Y/N’s shins, “It wasn’t-”

“Don’t start, Steve” he gristles, “You know damn well I have plenty to be-”

“Boys” Y/N chides softly, silencing the blonde before he can argue back, “it’s alright” she says, pressing a kiss to Barnes’ cheek-

He turns into the contact, ignoring Rodgers awkward position as he catches her lips instead.

The weight of her in his lap is grounding. The fact that she’s still willing to be so close to him, to be pressed against his chest is everything, to him right now.

With the new knowledge that she’d been close to a man he’d killed, that she’d been so involved with a family he’d destroyed, it’s more than he could’ve wished for.

The fact that his oldest friends eyes are on him as he kisses her, doesn’t seem to matter.

“So what is your plan, for the hospital?” Steve asks, coughing to try and distract from the couples affectionate display.

Y/N smiles, stroking Bucky’s cheek as she turns to look at the other man,

“I’ve taken a few days leave” she answers, letting Bucky wrap an arm around her shoulder, “when that’s up, I’ll work from here for a week or two, then if everything’s under control, I’ll get back to it properly, it’s not a bad commute, and I bet Tony’ll give me my pick of the cars”

“I’ll drive ya, Doll” Bucky is quick to offer, nuzzling her hair, “You don’t have to-”

“You’re not my chafer” she replies playfully, “but I gotta say, a ride home now and then wouldn’t go a miss”

He laughs softly, holding her as tightly as he dares. He hopes Steve can’t see how delicate he is, although when he offers the other man a smile, and receives a sympathetic look in response, he suspects it’s showing, anyway.

“I’m sure we’ll work some kinda roster out” Rodgers says, “between all of us, you won’t ever have to make your own way”

“Christ” Y/N says, “Cut it out, already”

Steve laughs, giving her knee a squeeze.

“It’s just” he sighs, “real nice, havin’ you here, Y/N/N- I know we all just wanna make it easy on you-”

“It’s already easy, Steve” she says, “This is probably the most expensive place to get a room in the whole of New York city, and I’ve got one for free-”

“Oh is that why you’re stayin, doll?” Bucky teases, “The rent in your old place gettin’ too much for ya? You just tryin’ to find a cheap bed for awhile?”

She laughs, letting him stroke her cheek,

“Or maybe it’s the company”

When she looks back at Steve, he’s beaming, it’s clear that seeing the pair engaged in such a jovial exchange is worth the blatant awkwardness he’s experiencing. She smiles back at him, settling back to listen as Bucky starts to run through a plan for sparing and grabbing something to eat.

Y/N barely tunes in, already knowing that she’s going to decline their offer of going with them to the gym;

“Whattd’ya say, darl?” Rodgers asks, “You’re always welcome to join”

“No thanks” she says politely, “You boys might ‘swell actually get some exercise in without me crampin’ your style”

Bucky snorts, but strokes her arm, letting her know he’s getting ready to move,

“I’ll go to the labs, check in with work, see if there’s any jobs I can do for the day”

Steve nods, and Barnes pecks at her brow as she moves to stand.

“I’ll come find ya for lunch?”

There’s an edge to his voice that Y/N really doesn’t like. It’s almost as if he expects her to say no, but it’s more than that, she thinks, it’s like he expects her to say no, cruelly.

“Sure, sweetheart-” she’s quick to accept, “Lunch sounds good”

Bucky’s smile splits his face. His cheeks flush red, as he whispers out an “It’s a date” that she thinks is awfully charming.

“It sure is” Y/N agrees, giving both men a hug, before leaving the room, back turned on where her lover is watching her walk away with a wistful expression.

It turns out, the board of directors over seeing her requested leave have decided that there is nothing for her to do for the remainder of the week.

The general consensus of everyone she manages to speak to seems to be that she’s owed time off, and that if anything comes up that requires her attention before she’s back on her regular schedule, they will be sure to let her know.

She suspects Tony at first; it wouldn’t be totally unrealistic to hear that he’s bribed a couple of higher ups to give her an easier time, but that moment of distrust passes as soon as she sees him, sitting behind an angle grinder in one of his ‘dirty labs’.

It’s essentially an overly stocked garage.

He wipes a smudge of oil from his cheek with the back of his hand, and asks her why she looks so glum.

“Bored” is the only word she has to say, for him to understand.

Music is blaring from inside the metal door, when Bucky arrives to collect her.

He’s surprised the pair can stand it, the volume must be nearly unbareable, if the vibrating of the concrete wall is anything to go by.

Or maybe he’s just sensitive.

“Lover boy’s outside” Tony’s voice rings through the intercom, “Better get your coat-”

“I don’t have a coat”

Laughter mixes with static as the door buzzes open, Y/N emerges in the same jeans and t-shirt she’d been wearing that morning, but her hair is tied back now, and there’s a streak of oil by her temple.

Bucky smiles at the sight of her, and reaches out for her hand.

She takes it, happily, and steps away from the now sealed room.

“What do ya’ feel like eatin’?” she asks, looking at him sweetly,

For a second, he forgets how to speak, he’s lost in the way she’s watching him, in the way her fingers are laced through his own.

“I-” he swallows, “I don’t mind, doll, I’ll have whatever you’re havin’”

Y/N feigns a tut, squeezing his palm to offset any hint of genuine displeasure.

“You, invited me” she jokes, “normally, that means you’ve got a plan”

Bucky feels his cheeks burn hot. He knows the interaction is playful, but he can’t help the way his heart drops at the idea of having disappointed her somehow.

“We could get ice cream?” he offers, because it’s suddenly the only kind of food he can think of

Y/N laughs, a happy, musical laugh.

“It’s October” she reminds him, “ and It’s raining”

“Oh” he says, heat spreading down across his neck, “I-”

“I’m gonna get three scoops of chocolate”

His eyes snap to hers, and just like that, his blazing embarrassment is gone, and he’s nothing more than a love sick teenager.

They take one of Tony’s BMWs. It’s matte black, and has windows so tinted that it’s impossible to see inside with them rolled up.

A crowd gathers as they park it outside a family owned gelato stand in downtown manhattan.

Y/N reaches into the glove box and pulls out a folded up cap. She hands it to Bucky with a smirk he only understands when he catches his reflection in a store’s front window, and he notices the embroidered ‘Captain America’s Shield’ that’s on the front of it.

“Why do you own this, again?” he asks, as they head inside.

“I don’t” she replies honestly, standing in line, “It’s Tony’s”

He snorts, edging closer to her side as the tightness of the space sinks in.

The small room is filled with metal tables, lined with lacy clothes, the front holds the till and a glass refrigerator that holds the ice cream they offer.

It’s deserted, bar the old man serving them, and a couple of school kids to their right, but still, it’s unfamiliar, and he’s nervous.

Y/N pretends not to notice the way he’s surveying the room. She orders for herself, and again, pretends not to notice the way that Bucky just stares at the choices before them, with a lost look in his eyes.

“I’ll have the same” he murmurs at last, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

They pay, and say a polite thank you and goodbye before heading back into their car, ducking under the rain that has just restarted.

“How’re you likin’ it?” Y/N asks, as she kicks the car to life, her own cone half way eaten already,

“’s good” he says, “…cold”

She chuckles at that, before humming in agreement,

“That’ll be the ice part”

He snorts in response, and puts his free hand on her thigh.

It stays there, a warm, constant weight, until they pull into the parking lot of a diner on the outskirts of the city.

Y/N hadn’t told him she was heading there, but he doesn’t mind. He’s long finished eating, and so has she, and he’d be lying if he said that the afternoon ‘meeting’ he was supposed to attend with Sam Wilson was something he was keen to rush back too.

“Have you been here before?” she asks, already half knowing the answer.

When he shakes his head, she smiles, almost knowingly, before nodding;

“Howard used to bring me and Tony here when we were kids” she explains, “He had a deal with the owner, y’know? To keep it quiet when we were around, it was the only place he could go with us that wouldn’t get over-run with photographers”

His fingers tighten on her leg for a moment, and then, his hand retracts.

The absence of it after so long is jarring. Y/N looks at him strangely, before nodding to the run-down building they’re talking about,

“They make the best cheese-steaks in the state” she says, “and, I know they’re probably made in oil older than you, but their fries are pretty awesome too”

Bucky offers her a tightlipped smile that is full of remorse.

“Sweetheart” she soothes, reaching out to take his hand in hers, “I didn’t bring you here to make you feel bad”

He nods, looking at her, before pawing at his eyes with a metal fist.

“I brought you” she sighs, “because I saw how upset you got when you realised you hadn’t known how close I was with the Starks growin’ up”

“You were right” he says, throat tight, “I didn’t ask”

“No” she allows softly, bringing his flesh knuckles up to her lips, “But, it was unfair of me to think that you might.”

Confusion makes his brow knit together, the tenderness of her face across the back of his fingers makes his head cock to the side in questioning.

He doesn’t know why she’s being so kind. He’s furious at himself, he’s furious, that he murdered innocent people, and that that, lead to the destruction of a family who had meant so much to the woman he loves the most in the world.

He doesn’t deserve the way she’s holding his hand. He doesn’t deserve the way she’s reminding him to breathe through he nose.

“Bucky” she coos, seeing the distress swelling behind his eyes when he looks at her, “I should’ve been more open, ‘bout my childhood, I should’ve figured you’d want to know-”

“You were right not to tell me” he cuts in, voice dry, “I don’t deser-”

“Baby, you’re still not understandin’ me-” Y/N says, trying to think about how to get her point across, “I didn’t not tell you because of what happened with you and the Starks” she sighs, “I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t think you cared about my childhood- I didn’t think you’d want to know”

His eyes widen, and then narrow. She lets their hands fall to her lap.

“You lost your family” she tells him calmly, “When we first met, we talked about your folks, about your sister, and Steve, and everything you used to do-”

He watches her, speechless.

“My parents never came up, aside from me tellin’ you they’d died when I was a kid” she continues, “not that I minded, it was much nicer listenin’ to you, and all your stories than it would’ve been tellin’ you some of my own”

“I… I don’t understand” he says honestly, “You didn’t-”

“ I didn’t want you to feel like I wasn’t listenin’ to you, or like I was tryin’ to relate, when I never could-”

“…Y/N/N…”

Her head shakes, a soft smile on her face,

“I know that’s dumb” she explains, “but we had just met, Buck and I really cared about you, I didn’t want to do anythin’ to ruin what we had”

He understands that. He just doesn’t understand why her opening up about her childhood would have ever been a risk.

“Then it got more complicated” she admits, “When I saw the video-”

His heart stops. His mouth is suddenly dry and half open;

He had no idea she’d ever seen that.

“Tony showed me” she explains, “when he first noticed us gettin’ close, he thought it might deter me, I guess-”

“I’m sorry” is all he can manage to choke out, “I’m- I’m so sorry-”

“I know” Y/N is quick to assure him, “Sweetheart, I know you are, please don’t get upset-”

It’s too late for that. He’s beyond distraught already, but he owes it to her to hold it together, so he locks his jaw, and blinks at her, as blankly as he can.

“When I saw that-” she continues, needing to explain, “-I knew how terrible you’d feel if I brought up me being close with Howard- Christ, I saw how hard on yourself you were being already, and I couldn’t bring myself to add to it, Bucky I, I just couldn’t do that to you”

“To me?” he repeats, disbelieving, “Y/N, I killed-”

“HYDRA kill a lot of people” she cuts in, firmer now, “They killed Howard Stark, they almost killed Steve, and they did worse than kill you.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but the words die in his throat when she kisses his fingers again, taking a minute to inhale through her nose and hold his hand against her cheek.

“It wasn’t fair of me to keep that side of my life from you” she says after a beat of quiet, “I’d have been upset if you hadn’t told me about your childhood, I’d have understood, I guess, given the circumstances, but still- I know it hurt you this mornin’, when you realised how much I’d kept quiet, and I’m sorry, Buck- I’m sorry I didn’t share it all with you sooner…and I know you won’t believe me, but I didn’t do it because of anythin’ you did wrong”

He stays quiet, her words echoing through his head.

He wants to tell her that he understands, that he’s not upset with her, that she’s never hurt him, and that he really, doesn’t deserve her consideration the way she thinks he does, but then, she gives his palm another squeeze, and nods, back towards the diner.

“That’s why I brought you here” Y/N says, watching the rain splattering against the puddles that have formed in the potholes.

“I love you” is what finally leaves Bucky’s lips, he clears his throat, hating how cracked his voice is, “I loved ya’ from the second we met, doll, you- you could’ve told me anythin’ and I’d have listened, I- I never would’ve thought you were tryin’ to out do me, or anythin’ like that, but, but you’re right, I- I would’ve… I would’ve taken it hard, if- if you’d have told me how close you were with, with the Starks”

She nods, so he inhales, before continuing,

“I knew about Tony I knew you were probably more like brother and sister, than, than just good friends, but I- I never knew it went this deep, and I- God, I- I never knew you saw, that you saw-”

His voice is shaking. Y/N hates it, she hates the way she can see him trying not to cry.

“It wasn’t you” she reminds him cooly, reaching out to stroke a piece of his hair back behind his ear, “I promise, I’ve always known it wasn’t you”

It was him though, he thinks grimly, he hadn’t meant to carry out the heinous tasks he was made to over the century he spent in captivity, but that doesn’t change the fact that he had.

“I know you don’t agree” she murmurs, “I know you feel responsible, sweetheart, but it was always so much bigger than you, there wasn’t anythin’ you could’ve done to stop it”

He doubts that, but he also doubts there’s anything, anyone could say to ease the permanent stain of guilt on his soul.

That thought’s almost comforting, in a twisted sort of way. The deep routed ache, the sleepless nights and his scarred body are as close to a punishment as he’s likely to get, now, and although it doesn’t seem like nearly enough, he supposes it’s better than nothing-

“Please, Buck” she says, drawing his gaze back to her face, “I can see you bein’ hard on yourself”

He shifts in his sheet, metal arm whining as he uses it to swipe at his eyes.

“I should’ve made them kill me” he says, “I should’ve-”

Her laugh is sad, it’s fake, but it catches his attention all the same,

“Do you really think, that there was anythin’, anythin’ at all, that you could’ve done, that would have made them kill you?” she asks

That question hangs in the air like smoke. It makes it hard for him to take a full breath, even when he’s taken it in, and has come to terms with the answer.

“I never stood a chance” he murmurs, hating that it’s probably the truth.

“No” she agrees sadly, “and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that it turned out that way”

It’s Bucky who shakes his head this time and clutches her hand a fraction tighter, as he works on reminding himself that the rain hammering against the wind shield is just rain.

Y/N watches as he reigns himself back in, forcing a smile and unlocking his jaw.

“God” he sighs, “what a mess, doll- I, I just wanted to treat ya’ to lunch”

She chuckles lightly, sniffing to clear her nose.

“You got the bill at the last place” she reminds him, eyes flicking back to the diner, “I’ll get this one”

He looks surprised, like he’d forgotten where they were.

“Not a chance” he counters quickly, “I’m not lettin’ you spend a damn cent”

Her eyes roll, but he can’t help but blush when he notices how her smile is cemented on her face.

They run, hand in hand through the venues open door, despite their undeniable speed, Y/N’s hair is still drenched by the time they’re being shown to a dingy booth by a waitress wearing a 50s’ themed apron dress.

“So, was this your favourite spot?” Bucky asks from behind a menu, Captain America hat on the leather chair beside him.

Y/N beams even wider, as she lowers her own laminated sheet.

“Probably, although there was this bar we used to go to when we got a little older that I liked plenty well, too”

That makes him scoff, picturing a younger Tony taking a younger Y/N to some high-class drinking spot, where they sold spirits worth more than most folks rent-

“It’s not what you’re picturing” she tells him, almost smugly, “It was a dive bar in Brooklyn, called Mother Mary’s- They did the best nachos-”

“Can I get ya’ll somethin’ to drink?”

The waitress is blonde and grinning, pink lipstick and eye liner making her face look like a dolls as she blinks patiently at Bucky.

He almost squirms under her gaze, he shoots Y/N a desperate glance, but she just bites her lip and swallows a laugh,

“I.. I’ll have a coke?”

“Yes, sir” the woman replies cheerily, “and for your friend?”

“I’ll have a vanilla shake” Y/N cuts in, tone equally bright, “and a chocolate one, please”

Bucky mouths a thank you, as she turns away with a nod, and disappears into the kitchen.

“She fancies you, Barnes”

He feels his jaw hang slack. He forces out an uncomfortable scoff and shakes his head.

“I didn’t even notice she was a she, doll”

His partners laugh is much more natural.

The drinks are brought in record time, and Y/N takes pity on Barnes, ordering both of their meals, along with a couple of take out portions for Rodgers, and Tony herself.

The waitress, (who introduces herself directly to Bucky, as Traci, with an I) nods politely and vanishes, again, telling the pair not to worry about the unusual request of having 2 meals boxed up whilst they eat the rest in house.

“I’m tellin’ ya” Y/N teases, “she’s gonna give you her number”

“I am clearly here with you” Bucky counters, “Darlin’, you’re the most beautiful woman in the damn world-”

“You’ve gotta stop sayin’ that” she fake scolds, “and I’m not jealous, Buck- I’m just, tellin’ ya-”

“I’m never gonna stop-” he says quietly, batting his lashes at her over the shake she’s passed him, “-and there is no way she’s gonna’ give me anythin’ when I am clearly on a date with my girl”

“Wanna bet on that?”

“What kinda bet?”

“How about” Y/N drawls, “If she does give you her number, whilst I’m sat right here, you’ve gotta let me get the tab?”

“Fine” he agrees, sitting back in his seat, “But, if she doesn’t, then I get the tab, and, you’ve gotta admit that I’m right, that you are definitely the most beautiful woman in the world-”

They shake on it, and then, as if on que, the food arrives.

It is good, Bucky decides, It reminds him of the greasy fair ground meals that he used to scrimp and save for as a kid, even though he suspects the mustard is much less watered down.

Y/N dips her fries in her shake, and has almost chokes on her laughter when she sees how disgusted her partner looks at the action.

She insists he tries it too. He refuses, adamant that he has standards, doll.

“you’re missin’ out, sarge”

There’s a streak of ketchup on his chin, she leans across the table to wipe it with her thumb. He catches her hand and kisses it, swallowing his mouthful.

“‘m not missin’ out on a damn thing” he whispers into her wrist, “not when ‘m with you”

She rolls her eyes, slowly removing her hand from his, so that she can go back to eating her fries.

“I don’t know if you’re cheesy, or charming” she says, happily, “but I love you”

“I love you more” he replies quickly, “… thank you, Y/N/N, for bringing me here”

She wipes her mouth with the paper napkin she’s been given, before shaking her head.

“Anytime”

“Can I get you any dessert?”

Y/N notes that Traci’s voice has taken a significant turn towards sing song, she she watches the way she’s staring at Bucky, awaiting his reply.

He shifts again, unused to the attention.

“I think I’m good” he says at last, “what about you, doll? anythin’ you want?”

“I’m all done, too” she replies, shaking her head.

“Are you, sure I can’t get ya’ anythin’, sweet?”

That is so on the nose that Y/N has to swallow a laugh.

The blush that floods Bucky’s cheeks is almost as funny as the way the doe eyed woman is pushing her chest out towards him.

“..j-just the cheque, please”

The stammer in his tone only seems to endear her more, she purrs out a “sure thing, handsome” before retreating with a bounce.

“I’ll be takin’ that” Y/N snorts, watching from the corner of her eye,

“She hasn’t given me anythin’” Bucky argues, although he feels his previous confidence waining, “she’s just doin’ her job”

“Oh yeah?”

He runs a hand through his hair, fussing with a few strands that have come loose from his bun.

“Here ya’ go” Traci announces, droppin’ the leather binder containing the receipt onto the table, “If ya’ change your mind about anythin’, give me a shout”

“See” Bucky exhales, almost smug, as he opens the folder, “No phone-”

Y/N slides her finger over to bill, and then runs it down, to the bottom, where a hand written scrawl of numbers, followed by a heart, make him hiss out a “god damn it”

“I’ll take that” she says, slipping the whole binder from under his hand, and filling it with notes from her purse, “Oh, wait-”

He watches, mortified, as she tears the number off, handing it to him.

“That’s yours” she purrs, before standing, and walking towards the bar, paid tab in hand.

Bucky stares lamely after her, equal parts embarrassed and flustered.

He practically jumps to his feet when she beckons him over, asking him to help with the take out bags.

“I’ll take them all, doll- I-”

“I’ve got this one” she soothes, reading his anxious demeanour, “can you grab the others?”

He does, eager to agree, to try and please her, some how.

It’s not raining anymore, but the ground is still wet, and Y/N almost trips over a stone obscured by a pool of muddy water.

Bucky catches her, reflexes letting him effortlessly correct her position without so much as a blink.

She looks up at him, laughing a little, before adjusting herself and pressing a kiss to his lips and cooing out a “My hero” that makes his heart flutter against his ribs.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | x | 6

[scoonsalicious]

The Pocket MCU: Avengers 1/?

In Which Pocket Meets the Avengers for the First Time.

Word Count: 1.5k

Scene In-Movie @ 53:45

You offered Couslon a Sour Patch Kid as you walked toward the bridge with him and Tony. You could hear a group talking up ahead, mentioning something about iridium. 

“It’s a stabilizing agent,” Tony said, immediately jumping into the conversation. 

You continued your conversation with Couslon. “It’s really not a problem, Phil,” you told him. “Take the jet.”

“I’m just saying, pick a weekend,” Tony turned back to add. “I’ll fly you to Portland. Keep love alive.”

You nudged Coulson with your elbow, giving him a reassuring glance. “Think about it,” you offered as you followed Tony onto the bridge. Your eyes lit up when you saw Natasha Romanoff sitting at the table in front of you. “Natty!” you exclaimed, rushing forward to give the spy a hug. It had been ages since you’d last seen her.

“(Y/N)!” she exclaimed, returning your embrace. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but what are you doing here?”

You shrugged and rolled your eyes. “I go where he goes,” you said, gesturing toward Tony.

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” a sandy haired man in a red, white, and blue getup behind Natasha asked. He turned to Coulson. “I thought this was a top-secret situation. Need-to-know, only, and you’re just letting civilians in here?” He gave you a once over, taking in your black leggings and your off-the-shoulder Disney World t-shirt you’d had to tie back with an old hair tie. 

“Trust me,” you said, popping another Sour Patch Kid into your mouth as you sized up the man before you who could only be Captain America, himself– Steve Rogers– “you’re gonna be real glad this one’s got his own handler.” You jerked your head in Tony’s direction.

“Hurtful,” Tony called out as he moved toward a row of computers on the bridge. “The iridium means the portal won’t collapse on itself like it did at SHIELD.” He passed a big, beautifully beefy long-haired blond man that looked like he came straight from a viking saga and patted him on the arm. “No hard feelings, Point Break,” he added, “you got a mean swing.”

“Dr. (Y/L/N).” Bruce Banner stepped forward and reached for your hand. Your eyes widened in surprise at being recognized by someone as prestigious as the Bruce Banner as you wiped the sugar on your fingers off on your leggings. “I read your dissertation on examining the ethical considerations and societal implications of developing and deploying advanced technology for global live-saving purposes. Brilliant work.”

“Oh, shit,” you said, blushing as you reached out to shake his hand. “Dr. Banner, thank you. It’s an honor.” Sometimes, you forgot that you, too, had finally managed to snag your PhD. And to be reminded by someone like Bruce Banner was… well, it was fucking flattering.

“This little one is a doctor?” boomed the tall, viking-like god of a man. “She is so small, I feel I could place her in my pocket and abscond away with her home to Asgard before any of you would even notice she was gone!” 

“Who is he and can we please let him do that?” you whispered to Nat, who managed to conceal her laugh behind a cough. 

“(Y/N), this is Thor. Thor, this is (Y/N). You already know Dr. Banner, and this is Steve Rogers and Maria Hill,” Nat made swift work of the introductions. “(Y/N) is Stark’s–”

“Ward,” Tony interrupted. “She’s my ward. I’m her guardian. It’s very touching, very heartwarming.”

“Chief Technical Officer of Stark Industries,” you amended, shooting him a glare. “Legal adult, thank you very much.”

“Listen, Doctor Pocket,” Tony began, but you interrupted him.

“If this Loki guy gets a hold of iridium,” you began, talking over Tony, “he’ll be able to keep his portal open as wide and stay open as long as he wants.”

“Uh, raise the mizzenmast,” Tony commanded, raising an arm over the bridge. “Jib the topsails.” Everyone on the bridge gave him a confused look. “That man is playing Galaga!” He pointed to a crew member of the helicarrier who was, in fact, playing Galaga. “He thought we wouldn’t notice, but we did.” You rolled your eyes and sighed. Tony needed to be the center of attention at all times, otherwise, he tended to… act out.

Tony proceeded to look around the bridge controls and Tony covered one of his eyes. “How does Fury even see these?”

“He turns,” the woman Nat had introduced as Maria Hill deadpanned.

“Sounds exhausting,” Tony said, running his hands over one of the screens. “The rest of the raw materials, Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily.”

You put a hand on Nat’s shoulder at the mention of Clint’s name and squeezed gently. You knew how much he meant to her, how devastated she’d been when she’d learned he’d been compromised.

“So, the only major component he still needs is a power source of high-energy density,” you added. 

“Something to kick-start the Cube,” Tony agreed.

“When did you two become experts in thermonuclear astrophysics?” Hill asked, arms folded across her chest.

“Last night,” Tony replied. At Hill’s disbelieving look, you added:

“The packet. Selvig’s notes. The extraction theory papers.”

“Did no one else do the reading?” Tony asked, exasperated.

“Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?” Captain Rogers asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

Dr. Banner paced in the background, thinking. “He’d have to head the Cube to 120-million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier.”

“Unless,” Tony added, “Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect.”

Banner opened his arms. “Well, if he could do that, he could achieve heavy ion fusion at any reactor on the planet.”

“Finally,” Tony said, holding a hand out to Banner. “Someone who speaks English.”

“Hurtful,” you shot back, but Tony just stuck his tongue out at you.

“Is that what just happened?” Captain Rogers asked as Tony and Banner shook hands behind him.

“It’s good to meet you, Dr. Banner,” Tony said. “Your work on antielectron collisions is unparalleled. And I’m a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage-monster.”

“Do you want me to book the honeymoon suite for you now, Boss?” you asked with a sardonic grin, “or do you want to wait until the two of you have found a place to register, first?”

“Jealousy is an ugly look on you, Kiddo,” Tony said with a grin. “Daddy can have more than one genius friend.”

You pulled a disgusted face. “I swear to god, if you ever refer to yourself as ‘Daddy’ in my presence again, I will rip that arc reactor from your chest and shove it so far up your ass that you choke on it.”

Tony looked contemplative. “Yeah, yup– I hear it now. Horrible choice of words, totally my fault. My apologies. Never again.”

“Wait,” said Captain Rogers, clearly confused. “I don’t understand. Are you her dad, or–”

“Absolutely not!” you and Tony both shouted at the same time.

“I was hoping you might join Dr. Banner in tracking the Cube,” said a voice from the entranceway to the bridge. You turned and saw Nick Fury enter the room. “That’s Banner’s only purpose for being here.”

“Oh, hey, Nick!” you chirped. “Sour Patch Kid?” You held out your box to the SHIELD Director. 

“You got any blue ones?” he asked, to your utmost delight, and you fished through the box to dig out two before placing them in his outstretched palm.

“They’re my favorites,” you told him, smiling. “You’re lucky I like you.” Fury winked at you– or, maybe he just blinked, you couldn’t tell with the eyepatch on– before bringing the candy to his mouth. 

Captain Rogers narrowed his eyes at you. “Maybe we should start with that stick of his,” he said, eyeing you up closely. “It may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon.”

“I don’t know about that,” Nick said, trying not to pucker his face as his Sour Patch Kids proved sour, “but it is powered by the Cube. And I’d like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.”

“Monkeys?” said the sexy viking-man–Thor, you reminded yourself– he had a name! “I do not understand.”

Captain Rogers excitedly pointed a finger. “I do!” he said, and Tony rolled his eyes behind him while you tried to stifle a giggle. “I-- I understood that reference,” Rogers nodded happily, looking to you, as if for approval. You just nodded at him.

“Good for you,” you said.

“Shall we play, doctors?” Tony asked.

“This way, sir, madam,” Banner said, indicating for you and Tony to follow him into the belly of the helicarrier, where no doubt his lab was waiting.

You turned back one last time as you followed the two men, wanting to wave a farewell to Nat before the ship swallowed you up. The second after you turned, you notice Captain Rogers turn quickly turn away from you, a blush coloring the side of his neck.

Huh, you thought as you turned back to follow Banner and Tony. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have sworn Captain America had just been checking out your ass.

[chvoswxtch]

“idk if it’s too much to ask but can i ask for the song red based on your past milestone headcanon of reader and matt dating but her and elektra are besties? thank you and congrats on 3k! 🌟”

aaah i totally forgot to copy paste my quote lol it was suppose to be: I can't believe that it's finally me and you, and you and me. Just us, and your friend Steve. (that tik tok audio haha)

something just about elektra and matt’s girlfriend being besties and ganging up on him lives in my mind rent free

HAHAHAHAHAHA I KNOW THAT AUDIO

oh this is perfect for them

I know you said red but I got a lil carried away with this one and it's definitely over a 100 words so i'm putting it under midnights :)

enjoy!!!

blurb below the cut

just you and me, and your friend ellie (matt's version ft. elektra)

I can't believe that it's finally me and you, and you and me / just us, and your friend ellie

“What the hell?”

Matt’s thick brows were scrunched together in perplexity with a crease of irritation settling between them. You and Elektra were snuggled up together in the bed you and Matt shared, surrounded by snacks, with a movie playing on the tv Elektra had gotten for you. Tilting his head to the side slightly, he caught the bashful smile stretching on your lips and the curl of a mischievous smirk on Elektra’s.

“Sorry Matty, it’s girls night.”

Matt let out a scoff as he placed one of his hands on his hips, using the other to loosely gesture towards Elektra’s direction.

“You can’t have girls' night at her place so I don’t get kicked out of my own bed?”

The uptick in your heart’s rhythm caught his attention, but before he had a chance to question it, Elektra sat up fully in bed and tried to contain her grin.

“Unfortunately, the penthouse is under renovation Matthew. But, Y/N graciously offered to let me stay with the two of you until it’s finished.”

Matt’s brows rose considerably up his forehead as he turned his head towards your direction and gawked at you.

“What?”

Sitting up on your knees, you tucked your hair behind your ears and gently bit down on your bottom lip.

“She needed a place to stay, Matty.”

“She has other places to stay. I’m pretty sure she has real estate in a third of New York, and there’s always hotels. It’s not like she can’t afford it.”

“But why do that when I can stay with my friends.”

Matt was outnumbered, and as he settled on the couch to get comfortable, he let out a string of curses under his breath. He could hear you and Elektra giggling together as the two of you started another movie. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, trying to figure out how he had gotten kicked out of his own bed by his girlfriend and his ex.

It was going to be a long night.

[misfitwashere]

JAY KUO

FEB 14

Former Acting U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York, Danielle Sassoon. Photo courtesy of the New York Times

There was a bloodbath over at the Justice Department, signaling real trouble ahead for the Trump administration.

In the first major challenge to Trump’s new Attorney General Pam Bondi, the resignation of acting U.S. Attorney Danielle Sassoon, a top prosecutor in the Southern District of New York, set off a chain reaction that has shaken the Justice Department to its core.

The Department had been planning to drop all charges against New York City Mayor Eric Adams, who is facing federal corruption charges and possible new obstruction of justice charges. Lately, Adams has been working hard to curry favor with the Trump White House, and it looked like his efforts were about to pay off.

Enter Sassoon, who was in charge of the Adams case. When she learned of the plan to dismiss all charges against Adams, she offered her resignation in a polite but damning letter. In it, she laid out why she could no longer in good faith work for the Department, which had put political considerations above the rule of law.

Sassoon wasn’t the only lawyer to quit the Department yesterday. When it tried to hand the case to the Public Integrity Section in D.C., its top lawyers resigned, too, rather than dismiss the charges against Adams. Then more lawyers followed. By the end, six attorneys had quit, dealing a stunning blow to the administration.

Normally we don’t get much of a view into the inner workings and politics of the Justice Department. They are usually quite tight lipped. But thanks to Sassoon, we now have a clear picture of what happened and why it’s so indicative not only of the corruption at the very top but also of the high levels of integrity throughout the rest of the Department.

The case against Eric Adams

I don’t want to add much digital ink to the long saga of New York City’s corrupt mayor, so I’ll quote Prof. Steve Vladeck’s summary of the caseagainst Adams:

To make a very long story short, the 110th Mayor of the City of New York was indicted last year by federal prosecutors on one count of conspiracy to receive campaign contributions from foreign nationals and commit wire fraud and bribery; two counts of soliciting campaign contributions from foreign nationals; and one count of soliciting and accepting a bribe. In essence, the indictment claimed that Adams received more than $100,000 worth of free plane tickets and luxury hotel stays from wealthy Turkish nationals and at least one government official over the course of a decade.

As if this wasn’t bad enough, in his attempt to get out from under these very serious corruption charges, Mayor Adams traveled to kiss the ring of Donald Trump and see how the 47th president might help him stay out of prison. He had to work fast, because his trial was set to begin in April.

Adams told Trump that, like him, he was a “victim” of the weaponization of the Justice Department. (Not true.) He claimed that the Biden administration had targeted him because he was critical of its migrant policies. (Also not true.) Adams “praised parts of Trump’s agenda, visited him near his Mar-a-Lago compound and attended his inauguration a few days later,” according to the New York Times.

On Monday, Adams’s work seemed to have paid off. The No. 2 official at Justice, Emil Bove III, who served as Trump’s criminal defense counsel in his Manhattan criminal trial where his client was convicted on 34 felony counts of falsifying business records, directed Sassoon to drop the case. Specifically, Bove directed her in a memo to cease all further investigations until her successor was confirmed by the Senate and could conduct a review after the mayoral election this November.

Bove’s main rationale for dismissing the case was a headspinner. He claimed the indictment “unduly restricted Mayor Adams’s ability to devote full attention and resources” to Trump’s efforts to crack down on migrants and had “improperly interfered” with Adams’s re-election campaign. (If that sounds familiar, it’s essentially Trump’s long-held rationale for why charges against him were a “witch hunt” designed to create “election interference.”)

In other words, Bove provided only political justifications for dropping the charges, with no rationale related to the actual facts, evidence or law of the case. That memo made big news on Monday, and legal observers assumed, with a sinking feeling in our collective guts, that the matter was finished. Adams had played politics well, and Trump had bitten and apparently ordered his Justice Department to comply.

But as Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo began to point out, by midweek no one had actually seen an actual motion to dismiss the charges.

Hmmm. Something clearly was up.

A letter for the ages

That something was an eight page letter penned by Sassoon and containing multiple citations to applicable law and an eyebrow raising footnote 1. It was addressed to the Attorney General, Pam Bondi, and it laid out Sassoon’s reasons for not wanting to dismiss the case against Adams. She offered her resignation if Bondi did not wish to meet with her or reconsider the directives of the Bove memo issued that Monday.

For the lawyers out there, I highly recommend a full read of the letter. You’ll want to stand up and cheer. For everyone else, the Cliff’s Notes version is this:

Sassoon defended the decision to indict Adams and made a strong case for why the indictment was sound;

She made a clear record of the fact that Adams’s lawyers (including Alex Spiro, who also has served as Elon Musk’s lawyer!) want an improper deal: political cooperation in exchange for a dismissal;

She methodically destroyed the arguments Bove had set out in his memo for dismissing the charges; and

She made clear that the order to dismiss the case was “inconsistent with my ability and duty to prosecute federal crimes without fear or favor and to advance good-faith arguments before the courts.”

Her letter concluded, “I cannot fulfill my obligations, effectively lead my office in carrying out the Department's priorities, or credibly represent the Government before the courts, if I seek to dismiss the Adams case on this record.”

Sassoon also knew that there were more charges beyond the pending corruption charges coming against Adams. They were planning to add a charge of conspiracy to obstruct justice “based on evidence that Adams destroyed and instructed others to destroy evidence and provide false information to the F.B.I.,” she wrote. The charges would also have included additional accusations about his “participation in a straw donor scheme.”

Then there was Footnote 1, which is about as close to consciousness of guilt as you can get. Check it out, noting especially the final sentence:

I attended a meeting on January 31, 2025, with Mr. Bove, Adams’s counsel, and members of my office. Adams’s attorneys repeatedly urged what amounted to a quid pro quo, indicating that Adams would be in a position to assist with the Department’s enforcement priorities only if the indictment were dismissed. Mr. Bove admonished a member of my team who took notes during that meeting and directed the collection of those notes at the meeting's conclusion.

No notes at the meeting, folks! That would be bad, because… we did bad things!

It’s important to know something about Sassoon’s political leanings. She’s a conservative, Federalist Society attorney who clerked for Justice Antonin Scalia. So this is not some progressive or liberal, though I have no doubt that the MAGA ghouls will try to paint her that way. She was the lawyer the Department picked to head the Southern District of New York, an office so important and so aboveboard that it’s often referred to as the SovereignDistrict of New York.

Sassoon carried on that important tradition by refusing to debase herself and abandon her principles.

Bove fires back

Bove is a real piece of work, and he wasn’t going to let things go quietly. Whether Bondi instructed him to answer or he took it upon himself to do so, his letter responding to Sassoon blasted her personally and her handling of the case, along with her decision not to obey a direct order.

Bove didn’t just stop with her. He wrote that the other prosecutors on the case who had worked with her, and apparently supported her position, would be placed on administrative leave, too, for disobeying his command. He threatened them with an investigation by the AG and the Department’s internal investigative unit, both of which would also evaluate Sasson’s conduct, which could be taken as a veiled threat to bring bar disciplinary action. (Bove may want to think twice about this investigation now, as his own conduct might come under the microscope, and the judge overseeing the dismissal could demand some answers about what really went down.)

The most telling part of the letter was where Bove placed fealty to the President above all other considerations, including Sasson’s oath to uphold the Constitution. “In no valid sense do you uphold the Constitution by disobeying direct orders implementing the policy of a duly elected President,” he wrote, “and anyone romanticizing that behavior does a disservice to the nature of this work and the public’s perception of our efforts.”

Last I checked, the fact that the President is “duly elected” has no bearing on whether he is asking the Department to engage in unethical or illegal behavior, which Sasson was under a duty not to engage in.

The ensuing bloodbath

This is the point where things got really interesting. After Sassoon resigned, Bove sent the file over to the Public Integrity Section of the Justice Department in D.C. There, he expected that the heads of the Section, Kevin O. Driscoll and John Keller, would obey his order and dismiss the case.

Instead, they resigned as well.

Bove went to other lawyers down the line, including one who reportedly was in the hospital giving birth. The response was the same: We quit.

In all, there were six resignations, including Sassoon’s. This is twice the number of people who were sacked when President Nixon ordered the firing of special prosecutor Archibald Cox, who was investigating Watergate. They had to go three officials down the line until they got to Robert Bork, who was unprincipled enough to order Cox’s firing. That series of dismissals became known as the “Saturday Night Massacre,” and it soured the public badly against Nixon who was clearly trying to obstruct the investigation.

Political repercussions

The multiple resignations, especially by respected Department leaders in both New York and D.C., are reverberating across the nation, in the halls of Congress and in our courts. Bove is on a tear to try to reshape the entire Justice Department into a political weapon of the White House, trashing its historic independence from politics, and he just hit a major roadblock.

As I wrote in The Big Picture substack yesterday, many prosecutors at the Department are already demoralized and sickened as they watch their colleagues get hounded, put on leave or fired simply because they won’t play along with improper demands. Many employees are now on government lists merely for having worked on a single January 6 case. There are already lawsuits to stop wide purges of prosecutors. The plunge in morale has already had a deleterious effect on the Department’s ability to defend against the scores of lawsuits being filed by unions, nonprofits and blue state attorneys general to stop the illegal impoundment of federal funds and the takeover of critical computer systems by “DOGE.”

For Mayor Adams, the saga is not yet over. It isn’t clear whom they will ultimately find willing to dismiss the charges against him. And the judge on the case may want to take a closer look now at this dismissal, given how sketchy it appears.

Moreover, there is significant pressure now on New York Gov. Kathy Hochul to exercise her power to remove Adams from office, especially now that there is unrefuted evidence that Adams sought leniency in exchange for throwing migrants in New York under the bus and letting ICE have free rein, in contravention to the city’s existing policies.

Indeed, shortly after Sassoon’s resignation on Thursday, following a meeting between Adams and Trump’s new border czar, Thomas Homan, Adams declared he would issue an order allowing ICE agents into the Rikers Island prison complex, signaling a stark departure from the city’s prior sanctuary status.

Through all of this, one thing is now crystal clear: This story has gone from a local case of mayoral corruption to a stunning and significant national case of embarrassment for the Justice Department. The resistance to the behavior of top officials, explosively displayed by the mass resignations of top Department lawyers on Thursday, spells real trouble for Bove and Bondi as they seek to bend the entire DOJ to the will of the Trump White House.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

for your consideration: super soft close sex when bucky gets shivery and cold despite blankets or heaters. he used to be the one wrapping himself around stevie, keeping him from death one long winter day at a time. but now his internal temperature is all messed up from being frozen and unfrozen and electrocuted, sometimes his body just won’t work. but now steve is big and broad and soft and warmer in a way that a heating pad or hot shower doesn’t come close to.

his man pours out heat, some scorching summer nights bucky can’t even touch him without starting to sweat. and him and steve learn to use that to their advantage, starting slow with steve rubbing his giant hands up and down bucky’s arms and keeping him hugged up to his chest for hours at a time. it moves in to kissing, then making out, then one night when steve can feel bucky getting hard against his thigh he says ‘you know, buck, i bet i’m even hotter inside.’ and never in his life has bucky stripped him or steve down faster (save for the socks because he is still cold, dammit).

steve preps quick, a nice side effect of the serum that makes tearing or real painful discomfort almost impossible if there’s lube and a couple fingers involved. and by the time he’s ready, bucky’s started shivering again and that just won’t do. steve pulls bucky down onto him and guides his dripping cock inside and feels it in his toes when bucky lets out a deep, happy moan.

steve quickly pulls the blankets up around them and just holds bucky against him while he ruts into him with sharp little movements of his hips. bucky’s face is buried in steve’s neck and he’s clutching onto his sides and back as hard as he can, just letting steve’s warmth take over his body. it takes them both a long time to cum, but nothing could matter less. bucky is warm and safe and feeling nothing but pleasure and steve, steve, steve.

(i wanted this to be mostly sweet but i also think it would be really really funny if bucky developed a pavlovian response to being cold and just got a boner whenever he started shivering lmao)

THIS. IS. SO. FUCKING. SWEET.

Like, it's sad too because I don't want Bucky or Steve to be sad or cold or fucked up from being cryogenically frozen or any of that, but the way they 🤌🏻care🤌🏻 for each other. They provide. They more than make do, they make the most of everything. It's so sweet.

Thank you for these thoughts. They're wonderful (and also very amusing, yeah, haha. They'd much rather Bucky have a sexy pavlovian response to the cold than a traumatized, triggered response anyhow)!

[cleighwrites]

🍾☃️ Sastiel

Thanks for playing!! I apologize in advance...

SPN Fanfic

Characters - Sam Winchester x Cas (former snowman)

Summary - Sam discovers the magic of Christmas when he puts a scarf on a snowman who’s brought to life.

Word Count - 1930

A/N - This one got WAY away from me, obviously! It’s very loosely inspired by a new Netflix movie called Hot Frosty. I took several liberties with the plot to make it more drabble-friendly, and still ended up writing a ficlet! 

Warning - Christmas Magic

Sam was on his way home from working a double when the sweet older couple that ran the hardware store across the street waved him over. He was tired, but they gave him a good discount on supplies and were sweet, so Sam did as he was bade and crossed the treacherously icy street to greet them. 

“Hello, Sam, it’s good to see you!” cheered Belinda. 

“Hey, Belinda, Steve,” Sam nodded to her husband as he sorted through some nuts in a box. 

“I have something for you,” Belinda said, reaching under the counter. She pulled out a bright red scarf. It looked soft and cozy, definitely not Sam’s style. 

“Oh, Belinda, I can’t. It’s not even Christmas yet,” Sam tried to reason. 

“Nonsense. I’ve been working on this for you for the past week. Every day I see you walk by and you’re barely covered up. I made it myself, you know. Just for you.”

Well damn. Sam couldn’t argue with that. Begrudgingly he held out his hand and she placed the scarf gently into his palm. It was just as soft as it looked; a harsh contrast to his well-worn hands. 

“Ever since that Brady left you for the big city, I’ve been worried about you.” 

“Belinda…” Sam started. 

“He was no good. And I hope you can get over him and find yourself someone who’s going to take care of you!” 

“I’m too busy with work to find anyone, Belinda, but thank you. Y’all have a good evening!” 

As he walked down the street, it began to snow. Sam cursed, rolled his eyes, and put the scarf around his neck. It cut the cold that made its way down his jacket, maybe it wasn’t such a bad addition to his wardrobe. About halfway back to his place, Sam came upon the town's snowman-building displays. There were all sorts of snow creatures, but the one that caught his eye was one that looked like it was a Roman marble statue. 

It looked as though a man was coming up from the snow mound, only halfway finished, but with incredible detail. It almost looked as if the man were looking right into his soul. Sam stood and stared for a while, admiring the slight curl of the man’s hair and the swell of his muscles. If only he were real, Sam thought. 

“Here, buddy, you’re looking a little cold,” Sam said, wrapping the scarf around the snowman’s neck. “I hope it brings you some warmth,” he added, then laughed at himself talking to a snowman. 

He considered Frosty one more time, then turned and made his way back home. 

The next morning, the whole town was abuzz with excitement. Everyone was standing on the street in little groups talking in not-so-hushed whispers about something that had happened the night before. From what Sam could glean in passing, a man had gone streaking down Main Street and then broken into the thrift shop. Seeing as nothing ever happened in their small town, there was no consideration that those two incidents might not be connected. 

Sam shrugged it off and decided to let the authorities do their job. It was none of his business anyway. He was doing some work on Old Man Charles’s deck when he heard a deep, gravelly voice call out from behind him. 

“It’s you!” the man said. 

Sam turned around to see a tall, dark-haired man standing on the sidewalk wearing nothing but a pair of coveralls and a slightly familiar-looking scarf. He’d definitely remember meeting this man if he had. 

“Hello,” Sam said, slightly taken aback by the familiarity in the man’s voice. 

“It’s you,” the man repeated. 

Sam stood, took off his work gloves, and walked over to the man, intrigued and concerned, maybe he’d hit his head and needed assistance. He had bright blue eyes that shone like icicles in the sun.

“I’m Sam,” he said, holding his hand out for the man to shake. 

The man looked at his hand and tilted his head to the side. Then he looked back up at Sam’s face. “Hello, Sam.”

Sam squinted his eyebrows and smiled a little. He was an odd man. 

“Do I know you?” Sam asked, unable to control himself. The man looked awfully familiar, in an indistinct kind of way. 

“I don’t know,” the man said, not taking his eyes away from Sam’s. 

Sam was getting flustered, no one made eye contact like that anymore. “Um, what do you know?”

“I know that you’re the first thing I saw and that you gave me this,” the man presented the end of the scarf. 

There was no way. That was the same scarf Sam had put on the snowman the night before. Sam was too old to believe in Christmas miracles, there was no such thing as magic, but here was this man before him with no memories before Sam putting that scarf on him. This had to be some sort of prank. Had Belinda and Steve seen him give the scarf up and found some hot man to set him up with? Was this an elaborate blind date? 

Just then, Belinda and Steve walked by. “Good morning, Sam! Who’s your friend?” Innuendo was thick in her tone and Sam knew where this was going. 

“This is, um, sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Sam said to the man. 

“Oh, I don’t have one.” 

“Your uniform says Cas, could that be your name?” Sam offered. 

The man thought about it for a moment and nodded. “I like Cas.”

Belinda looked concerned for a moment. “What’s going on?” 

“Oh, Cas doesn’t remember anything before last night,” Sam started.

“Sam gave me this scarf and I came to life!” Cas added. 

Sam rubbed his temple.”Cas, that’s-”

“A Christmas miracle!” Belinda finished. “Sam, isn’t that the scarf I gave you?”

“Yes…” Sam hedged. 

“And didn’t the Miller’s say there was a snowman missing from the display this morning?” She asked Steve.

“Yes, they did mention that,” he answered.

“Sam, did you happen to make some sort of wish when you put it on Cas here?”

Sam thought back to the night before, the conversation he’d had with Belinda, then the hope he’d felt as he wrapped the scarf around the snowman’s neck. 

“I mean, maybe, but that doesn’t mean that he’s actually a snowman brought to life!” Sam was going to lose his mind. 

Sam decided to take the man in until he recovered his memories. He’d leave him with directions to watch the TV and not burn the house down. Cas adamantly professed that he was not a fan of fire and that it was too hot in Sam’s house. He much preferred the partially finished basement, which didn’t have any heat running to it yet, which was almost freezing. 

After a couple of days, Cas said that he’d like to help Sam work, so that he didn’t have to do it all by himself. Sam reluctantly agreed, but it turned out that Cas was a remarkably quick study. Sam started to grow attached to Cas’s innocent charm and quirky way of looking at the world. He’d never met anyone like him before. 

Belinda invited them to a Christmas party, which Cas was very excited to go to. He liked meeting new people, even if he was awkward about it. Sam dressed him in one of his brother’s suits he’d left behind and a blue tie that went well with his eyes, and although Cas said he wasn’t cold outside, Sam put him in an old trench coat he’d gotten from the thrift store. It was lightweight enough that Cas didn’t immediately start sweating, so Sam called it a win. 

At the party, Belinda was all too happy to introduce Cas as Sam’s friend to everyone in attendance. They all gave him a knowing, approving look. Sam couldn’t deny that he was starting to feel more than just physically attracted to Cas, but the guy didn’t know who he was, it wouldn’t be right to start anything with him when he could get his real memories back at any time. 

There were lots of people in the house, and the heat was blasting, so Cas started to sweat profusely. He was having such a good time with everyone that he brushed off Sam’s insistence that he step outside for some fresh air. Sam convinced him to sit in the kitchen away from the fireplace in the living room. Maybe there was something to this snowman thing. 

Cas was wilting and melting in front of his eyes. When Cas began to sink in his chair and stopped responding when Sam asked him if he was okay, Sam grabbed him under the arms and dragged him outside. He laid him on the snowbank on the curb and waited for him to come to, hopeful that the snow would cool him off enough. 

After a few moments, Sam began to panic. There was still so much Sam wanted to introduce Cas to, so much he’d wanted to experience for the first time with him. He wished that he’d gotten to meet Dean. Then it struck him, he’d fallen for Cas in just a few short days. 

“Kiss him,” Belinda said from behind him, surprising him.

“What good will that do now, we need to get him to a doctor!” 

“True love’s kiss, Sam. This isn’t a time for doctors. This is Christmas magic!” 

Sam didn’t waste any time. Not that he believed in Christmas magic, but the quicker he could get help to get Cas to a doctor, the better. Sam knelt in the snow beside this quirky man he’d fallen for and pressed his lips to Cas’s. They were cold, but still plush and soft. 

Having proven that a kiss wasn’t what Cas needed, Sam turned to Belinda to demand that she go get Steve to help Sam carry Cas to the car. He was about to start barking orders when Belinda’s hand flew to cover her mouth in shock. Sam turned to see what was the matter when he saw Cas standing right behind him. 

“Cas?” Sam asked, astounded. 

Cas smiled a small smile. “Hello, Sam.”

“Cas!” Sam exclaimed, then threw his arms around him. He felt warm and solid and- “Wait, Cas, you’re so warm…”

“Am I? I do feel like I should be melting, only I’m not. In fact, I feel… shivery.”

Sam blinked away the surprise in his eyes and smiled wider. “You’re cold. Come on, let’s get you inside!”

“Wait, there’s something I want to try first,” Cas said.

He grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him closer to him. He looked directly into Sam’s eyes, then closed his, leaned forward, and pressed their lips together. Sam responded in kind, holding on to Cas as they kissed. Under the pressure of their lips, Sam could swear he could feel Cas heating up. 

“Aww!” Belinda said behind Sam. “This calls for champagne. Come back in boys before you turn into snowmen!” 

Cas smiled so wide they had to stop kissing, and Sam chuckled, then shivered. Cas took the bright red scarf from around his neck and wrapped it around Sam’s. 

“There, you look like you’re freezing.”

“Cas, you’ve never taken this off!”

“I think the magic has done its work, I don’t need it anymore.”

As they walked into the house, Sam heard the tell-tale pop of champagne being uncorked and the screams of several standers-by. With Cas’s hand in his, as they walked into the house, he certainly felt like celebrating. 

[freckled-words]

TaserTricks Misadventures

Just to get some rust off the wheels, I wrote a little intro to act as the base for where *most* of the stories will be connected to. Some will be stand-alone but still part of the whole, ya know?

If you prefer to read on AO3, here's a handy link for you CLICK ME

Let me know if you catch any spelling mistakes.

Darcy Lewis sometimes had to play “Connect The Dots” with the events in her life in order to make sense of just how she found herself in her current position.

The position of ‘Unofficial Avengers CareTaker’ that is.

Which just so happened to include Loki, God of Mischief, King of Assholes, and a condemned prisoner currently working off his crimes through community service.

Originally Darcy had come to the tower with her pre-established job parameters of keeping Jane healthy and functional, while also helping her with the data entry and machine lugging. Jane’s lab was neighbor’s with Tony and Bruce, and thanks to a connecting doorway, it was easy enough to include the Science Bros in the daily feedings and watering. (Bruce was pretty good at managing himself, but he never turned down Darcy’s cinnamon raisin cookies when she slipped them within reach.)

One trip to scary Ol’ England to fight space Elves later, and Erik came back to the Tower with them. Like Bruce he was pretty low maintenance, he just needed a gentle reminder to put his pants back on two to three times a day.

The real shift in her ‘caretaking’ parameters came when Natasha and Clint started coming by more often.

One night Darcy had been up late in the common room, the TV was on with the volume down low, an overly fuzzy blanket was wrapped around her body, and was doing her damndest to melt the nightmares out of her skull with the vibrancy of the cartoon dancing across the screen.

She swore she’d simply blinked (a super slow blink that lasted around a minute) and suddenly found Clint sitting on the couch next to her, the edge of her blanket draped across his lap and his head tipped back into the cushions with his eyes closed. As far as Darcy could tell, the infamous sniper was fast asleep.

Too tired to have much reaction (or give it much thought) Darcy shifted her blanket so it was covering both of them. She wouldn’t know if it was the presence of someone she knew to be super lethal, or just the sense of having another body around in general, but she managed to drop off into a heavy sleep pretty quick.

She got to know Clint a lot better over breakfast the next morning, and it became a friendly routine for them to crash on the couch on nights when one or the other was feeling rough. (There’d been a couple nights where Tony would stumble up from the lab and crash on whichever space was large enough, and on even rarer occasions, Steve would collapse into the recliner and do his best to sneak away before everyone else woke up the next morning.)

Natasha didn’t need caring for, so much as she opted to spend some of her free time with Darcy. 

Sometimes Darcy was suddenly dragged out of the lab for self defense training (she never made it back to the labs on those days.) But more often Natasha would pop up wherever Darcy was, and inquire into everyone’s wellbeing. It took Darcy a bit of time to put two and two together, and realize that Natasha would have these pop-up chats when she got back from her missions. (Darcy does her best not to think too deeply on this, as it puts a certain degree of weight on Darcy’s casual care-taking.)

At first Steve wasn’t really taken into consideration, as he had his own place to go home too, and when he wasn’t there or the tower, he was out looking for Bucky. (The shitshow of SHIELDRA had been a nightmare and a half that left both Darcy and Jane a little twitchy for a solid two months after.)

So of course that changed when he came home one morning, bruised, battered and bleeding, with Bucky in tow.

Darcy had been in the kitchen getting her first cup of coffee when the two soldiers stumbled in. Steve gave her a nod and a, “Morning Ms. Lewis” then promptly dropped Bucky and himself into a couple of chairs.

Still dressed in her Hulk pj pants, and Black Widow tank top, Darcy muttered a quiet “Fuckin’ Mondays.” And got to work making a mountain of pancakes, bacon, and eggs for the two to devour while their wounds healed. (There were a couple feeble attempts to help, and she’d just slapped them both away with her spatula.)

Given that Tower was a reinforced fortress in the sky, it only made sense for Bucky to hide out there, and Steve couldn’t even fathom leaving Bucky there on his own, so after some strategic room shuffling, Bucky moved into a room that was situated between Bruce and Steve.

Taking care of Steve was easy, and a lot of fun for Darcy. She helped him to work through his ever growing list of things to learn and catch up on, while also getting him to give her art lessons. (They did Bob Ross paintings every once in a while, and it was always hilarious, since Steve would try and make adjustments to outdo Bob.)

Bucky on the other hand was a bit more complicated. He had enough of his memories back to know who he was, and who Steve was, but he still had some brainwashing to work through. Like Bruce, he needed a calm, no sudden surprises environment. He’d stick to Steve most of the time, and other times he’d stay in his room. When Darcy started to notice how little he would eat, and how much weight he was losing, Darcy took matters into her own hands with a gamble.

Steve was in the living room working on a field report from their last mission, and Bucky had tagged along to sit on the couch and fiddle with his phone. It was just about time for lunch, and Darcy figured sandwiches would be fine, “Yo Barnes, mind giving me a hand with this? You slice and spread, I’ll assemble?”

For a brief second Darcy thought Bucky was going to refuse, as she’d called out to him so suddenly, his shoulders had gone back and his hands had frozen mid-fidget. Steve looked up from his papers and raised a brow at Darcy, trying to figure out what she was angling for. Bucky took in slow breath, and seemed to resettle before getting up. He had a confused, yet slightly amused expression when he joined her in the little kitchen space, “What did I do to warrant sandwich duty?”

“You looked bored, that’s what.” She chided back, and pushed a tomato into his prosthetic hand and a tiny kitchen knife into the other. 

He let out a huffed laugh, and settled into the task of prepping. 

While they worked to make a variety of sandwiches, Bucky would grab nibbles as he went. When the sandwiches were ready for distribution, Bucky took five of them for himself. 

Pleased her theory had been right, Darcy made sure Bucky helped her with at least one of the meals each day, and for the rest she had Jarvis send live video feeds to Bucky’s phone of the food being prepared. 

Natasha and Steve gave her private thanks for catching the problem and finding the solution. Bucky’s thanks came in the form of brutal game nights, where they’d square off with board games and video games. Some nights it was everyone in the tower playing (Pepper was banned from playing Monopoly), and others it was just the two of them (“I saw that Barnes! If you throw that blueshell I swear to Thor I will put ghost peppers in your soup tomorrow!”)

Three months after Bucky and Steve moved into the tower, Thor returned, and he didn’t come alone.

They’d all had a heads up that this might be a possibility, but no one had thought it would actually happen.

Loki, Destroyer of New York, God of Trickery and Chaos, was back on Earth…to finish his community service.

[rogueddie]

For your consideration: ship of your choice pretends to be dating for April Fools Day. Shenanigans ensue

Oh, but this would be a perfect bit for so many ships. My first thought jumps to Steddie, as always, my beloveds, but also... Robin and Carol, in a modern au where they're both big online, like;

At first, the plan is to do something big to dispell the rumors that they hate each other. They're not close, but it's not hate. Irritation, maybe, but that's mostly because Robin is protective of Steve and doesn't like how she or Tommy talk about him.

But Carol would keep trying to up the ante when they're going over ideas. She thinks, because it's april fools, they should do something that would break the fans brains. Something that would be shocking, something that no one would expect...

No one would expect them to get engaged.

Robin would be hesitant to the idea, but it's hard to think of any excuse not to when Steve is also into the idea and encouraging Robin to do it.

He thinks it'd be funny and the perfect opportunity for her and Carol to reconcile. He's already used the planning as an excuse to talk with Carol and fix their previous issues.

So, Robin agrees.

She's the one that plants the first seed, a month before April.

It's supposed to be a fully censored moment, even pretending to joke about how "that needs to be cut out!"

But enough is left visible and audible for people to figure out that she's talking about wanting to get married. With the rest of the conversation, people start to speculate that she's been secretly dating someone for a while.

One person figures out that it's fake, that it's building up to April fools, but they also assume that the punchline is going to be Robin marrying Steve.

("We should have thought of that!" Steve would complain. "That'd be so funny and we could actually do it- for the tax benefits, you know?")

Carol plants the next, and final, hint a week before April fools. It's one of their big group videos, where she jokes about how funny it would be to announce a very real relationship on April fools day.

Robin and Steve, placed specifically close enough in the background to be visible, look to each other like it gave them a genius idea or revelation.

When April first finally arrives, Robin and Carol post pictures of their "engagement".

There was quite a few pictures they staged;

The one Carol posts is of the actual 'engagement', with Robin down on one knee whilst Carol acts shocked, thanking Jonathan on the caption for getting such a perfect picture.

Robin posts about the 'celebration'. She thanks Steve in her caption for helping her plan the perfect engagement and being there for her every step of the way.

And that is supposed to be it. They make their posts, then they never speak about it again.

"We should go out," Carol suggests, out of nowhere. "Have a picnic or something."

"What? Is that a good idea?"

"It'll be fun and make the fans go even crazier! Come on, live a little."

Robin looks to Steve who shrugs, looking as lost as she feels.

"Alright, sure, let's have a picnic."

Turns out, Carol had already packed a picnic basket. The park isn't too far either. It almost gives Robin whiplash with how fast they went from 'silly online prank' to a dangerously real feeling 'date'.

They're only approached by two fans who are, thankfully, respectful and quickly leave them to their 'date' once they have their photos.

But, by the end, Robin is feeling the queasy feeling of regret bubbling up.

She wishes it was a real date.

"This is it for the prank," Carol says as soon as they step back inside. "Agreed?"

"Right, yeah, whatever."

"Great, that's settled."

She steps in front of Robin when she starts to head back to her desk.

"I need to-"

"Go out with me. Tomorrow."

"Wh- the prank is over, Carol."

"Exactly." She takes half a step closer, reaching out to skim her fingertips along Robins arm. "Go out with me tomorrow."

Robin laughs, feeling breathless. "That- yeah, alright. Yes, tomorrow, a date."

"Don't stress," Carol smirks, giving her a slow look up and down. "We're already engaged, how hard can a second date be?"