My ears recognize soft mewling. I turn over, looking at the clock. The numbers read 1:57 am.
“Great. 2 am. What time did I go to sleep? Oh yeah. Three hours ago.” I think to myself. I push my legs over the side of the bed. I carefully get up, heading for the kitchen.
“Mommy’s coming, Gloriah.” I say, softly. I make the walk of the half-awake to the kitchen, where I warm a bottle slightly in the microwave. The soft hum of the appliance breaking the silence.
Being a full time mother and a full time author keeps me having weird hours. Some nights, I’ll be awake, until early morning, between writing and Glo. I sleep when she sleeps. Steve, he does what he can, while he is at home, and not on a mission. He’s sleeping right now, while I am taking care of our daughter.
I think back to one of the conversations that a close friend and I had, while Steve was on a mission.
“What’s it like?” She asks me.
I laugh, “What is what like?” Pausing while I take a sip of my latte.
“Being married and having a baby with the famous Captain America.” She whispers, not wanting to be overheard.
“You make it sound so.. romantic. It’s not that, at all.” I say, rubbing Gloriah’s back, trying to calm her.
“What do you mean?” She quirks an eyebrow.
“Romance isn’t part of either of our vocabularies, until a few days after Steve’s return from any mission. But, since Gloriah was born, either of us is either eating, taking care of Gloriah while the other showers, working out, in Steve’s case, or me writing. We haven’t had time to reconnect with each other. That’s when Steve is home. Gloriah becomes my full responsibility, when Steve leaves. He missed most of my pregnancy. He didn’t get to feel Gloriah kick, he wasn’t able to hear her cry for the first time. It was only me. Worrying at all times of the night, not only for my husband, but our baby girl too. Hearing that there’s war breaking out over the Middle East, and knowing that my husband is in the thick of it. I have a newfound respect for military spouses. “
My voice gains a cold edge.
“Does that sound romantic to you?” The microwave beeps, knocking me out of my reverie.
I listen, not hearing Gloriah crying as loud as she was. I go and pass the doorway to the bedroom. I pause, going in and grabbing a diaper and the wipes. I go back to the nursery, the sight of a figure in the room making me nervous for a couple of moments.
“It’s okay, Gloriah. Daddy’s here.” I hear Steve whisper. Hearing him refer to himself as daddy, makes my heart melt a little. I inaudibly walk into the room. The diaper and wipes make a thunk, as they hit the padded seat of the rocking chair. Steve turns around, holding a slightly fussy Gloriah. I hold the bottle in my left hand.
Steve smirks a little, his blue eyes bleary with amusement and sleep.
“See? I told you, Glo. All you needed was to whine a little, and mommy would come running.” He teases, to our daughter, while keeping his gaze on me.
I roll my eyes, and I yawn. Steve carefully shifts her to one arm, and takes the bottle from my hand.
“Go rest, dove. I have this.” He says, trying to get Gloriah to feed.
“You go rest, Steve. I am used to this.” I say, attempting to take both Gloriah and the bottle.
Putting a little authority in his voice, he straightens his frame.
“Go sleep, Meg. You have a big day today, and you need the sleep.” He finishes, getting Gloriah to eat.
“Do you have any idea how irritating you are, when I am half asleep?” I halfheartedly scorn.
“Yes, Meg. I have a slight idea. I need you to sleep. You already do too much for both of us, and it’s time for me to do my share, which this ‘getting up at 2 am with newborn daughter’ is included. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not. I know that things aren’t smooth sailing while I am not here, and I want to try to help ease your load. Baby, I love you so much that it hurts.” Raising Glo to his shoulder, he delicately taps her back, getting her to burp.
“Go sleep. I’ll be there to tuck you in, in just a few minutes, once Glo goes back to sleep.” He leans down, noiselessly planting a kiss on my forehead.
Feeling his lips against my skin, makes a thought pop into my head.
“If Captain America can save the world and come back to me, I guess I can head back to our bed.”
I used to work for a trade book reviewer where I got paid to review people's books, and one of the rules of that review company is one that I think is just super useful to media analysis as a whole, and that is, we were told never to critique media for what it didn't do but only for what it did.
So, for instance, I couldn't say "this book didn't give its characters strong agency or goals". I instead had to say, "the characters in this book acted in ways that often felt misaligned with their characterization as if they were being pulled by the plot."
I think this is really important because a lot of "critiques" people give, if subverted to address what the book does instead of what it doesn't do, actually read pretty nonsensical. For instance, "none of the characters were unique" becomes "all of the characters read like other characters that exist in other media", which like... okay? That's not really a critique. It's just how fiction works. Or "none of the characters were likeable" becomes "all of the characters, at some point or another, did things that I found disagreeable or annoying" which is literally how every book works?
It also keeps you from holding a book to a standard it never sought to meet. "The world building in this book simply wasn't complex enough" becomes "The world building in this book was very simple", which, yes, good, that can actually be a good thing. Many books aspire to this. It's not actually a negative critique. Or "The stakes weren't very high and the climax didn't really offer any major plot twists or turns" becomes "The stakes were low and and the ending was quite predictable", which, if this is a cute romcom is exactly what I'm looking for.
Not to mention, I think this really helps to deconstruct a lot of the biases we carry into fiction. Characters not having strong agency isn't inherently bad. Characters who react to their surroundings can make a good story, so saying "the characters didn't have enough agency" is kind of weak, but when you flip it to say "the characters acted misaligned from their characterization" we can now see that the *real* problem here isn't that they lacked agency but that this lack of agency is inconsistent with the type of character that they are. a character this strong-willed *should* have more agency even if a weak-willed character might not.
So it's just a really simple way of framing the way I critique books that I think has really helped to show the difference between "this book is bad" and "this book didn't meet my personal preferences", but also, as someone talking about books, I think it helps give other people a clearer idea of what the book actually looks like so they can decide for themselves if it's worth their time.
Update: This is literally just a thought exercise to help you be more intentional with how you critique media. I'm not enforcing this as some divine rule that must be followed any time you have an opinion on fiction, and I'm definitely not saying that you have to structure every single sentence in a review to contain zero negative phrases. I'm just saying that I repurposed a rule we had at that specific reviewer to be a helpful tool to check myself when writing critiques now. If you don't want to use the tool, literally no one (especially not me) can or wants to force you to use it. As with all advice, it is a totally reasonable and normal thing to not have use for every piece of it that exists from random strangers on the internet. Use it to whatever extent it helps you or not at all.
A/N: hi! This was originally way longer but I cut the chapter in half ( @jamneuromain decided where to cut, the cliffhanger isn’t my fault 👀❤️ ) . Sorry for not updating in a while I’m really busy:(
Pairing: stripper Steve Rogers x sugar mommy reader
Warnings: some teasing, alcohol consumption, little cliffhanger?
Enjoy the new chapter and let me know how you liked it! Don’t forget to leave some love! (Or critique!:))
„Stevie, could you please pass me the salt?” “Sure, mommy”, Steve’s soft voice reached your ears before his hand appeared right next to the saladbowl holding up the salt. “Only a little bit-yes, that’s enough.” It was new for you and him to use this term in your daily life, but it made your dynamics even better than before, maybe this was all that you two needed for everything to be perfect.
You felt arms wrapping around your waist, Steve’s chin resting on your shoulder as he left gentle kisses behind.
Oh yeah, that was new too.
Steve was affectionate.
The gentle kisses quickly turned into more passionate ones, more needy, as he sucked on the crook of your neck. “You look very nice, mommy, love seeing you in my shirts…that you buy”, he mumbled into your skin, making you chuckle quietly, while you leaned back against him a bit. His hands slid beneath the shirt that you wore-yes, his shirt that you bought a few days ago.
“Stevie, I’m cooking-after we can have some fun together, promise”, you whispered when his fingers circled your nipple, making you sigh in pleasure. Steve hummed something against your neck before giving you a last kiss and slowly detaching himself from you. “Okay, okay…first lunch then dessert”, he pinched you in the side before quickly stepping away from you, knowing you’d smack him in the arm for this.
Which you did anyway.
„ouch!”, he laughed, playing hurt and rubbing his arm, before pecking your cheek one more time and then sitting down at the table that he had already set up before.
You couldn’t stop the smile from your lips as you slowly prepared the food. Salmon in mushroom sauce. Steve’s favourite dish. He told you so a few days ago. A dish his mom always prepared for him when he felt bad or was sick. Or when they celebrated something. It was a dish that was always too expensive for them to have more often, so hearing this you immediately wanted to make him happy with it.
Steve seemed very touched when you asked him if he’d like for you to prepare this dish. He was speechless for a moment and you could tell it meant a lot to him-so now you were even more nervous.
What if it doesn’t taste good? What if he hates it?
You could feel your palms sweat as you placed the salad bowl on the table and went back to grab the dish with the fish. Okay, it smelled good. Very good even. But was it really it?
“Stevie, if you don’t like it you don’t have to eat it just to be nice, okay? I mean it, I haven’t cooked a lot before you came here so I’m a bit rusty-“ “Jesus, don’t worry your pretty head about that-it’ll be good. I can already tell it’s good just by the color and smell. You did great”, it was really nice to hear praise from him.
After filling two glasses with white wine you finały sat down at the table, smiling kindly at Steve. “I hope it-“ “it’s already awesome, don’t think otherwise. You’ve no idea how much it means to me that you wanted to make this. I know it’s just a dish but…I can’t really explain it. It means a lot”, Steve took your hand, squeezing gently and pulling it to his lips, leaving a soft kiss on the back of your hand.
You smiled at Steve before leaning back and waiting for him to take the first bite. He was definitely slower on purpose, but you decided to give him this moment of…power. In a way. He was definitely satisfied with how stressed you felt.
Also you weren’t sure if you actually wanted to know his honest opinion.
You’ve never been this nervous of cooking for someone. On the other hand you had never cooked much for anyone, only sometimes for yourself and your ex. But this time? This time was different.
Everything with Steve felt different.
When he took his first bite your heart sank, not seeing any reactions from him, no face expressions, no nothing.
And then a smile crept onto his lips.
A simple, very soft smile.
“It’s perfect, thank you”, Steve said gently, taking your hand In his and pulling it closer to his lips, kissing the back of your hand. “It’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. Maybe even better”, his compliments made you blush and you couldn’t stop yourself from hiding your face with your free hand.
Happily smiling you took a bite yourself, smiling at the taste. It was very good. Especially since you usually didn’t cook a lot. Not dishes like that. You couldn’t remember the last time you prepared salmon. Or any fish for the matter.
„You have No idea how much I’ve missed this. It’s so good”, Steve mumbled after a while of eating, closing his eyes in enjoyment.
After finishing the meal Steve helped you to clean up everything and then went to your shared bedroom to change clothes. He was invited to some frat party downtown and even though he had asked you multiple times to come with him, you denied. You weren’t at that age to go to parties anymore-especially not parties for college students. It hurt to admit but you were just too old to spend time with Steve’s friends. They wouldn’t feel comfortable, not to mention you yourself.
“What should I wear? Do you think a button down is too much?”, he asked you after calling you into the bedroom for advice, having half of his tops thrown onto the bed.
Chuckling you kissed his cheek and grabbed the button down he was holding to his body and started unbuttoning it. “You’ll look good. Classy….and hot. Wear it. Just be a good boy and behave Sweetheart”, you smirked, helping him into the shirt. While buttoning it up you left two last buttons open. “Such a handsome boy…all mine”, you whispered, grabbing the ends of it and pushing them into his jeans, feeling his breath hitch.
A smirk crept onto your lips. He was so easy turned on-it turned you on how easily it was. God. Incredible. You haven’t like this in a long, long time. Steve really made your whole body burn, not only your heart.
“Okay, now put on that expensive Parfum I got you for passing your exam”, you loved reminding him about the gifts you got him. Maybe you also liked reminding yourself, too. It made you think how many things he owned that you gifted him, how many clothes he wore you bought and often choose. It was just so…
Were you really this possessive over him?
Sighing, you watched him walk into the bathroom before changing into some leggings and one of Steve’s hoodies. One of those hoodies he had since you two met. Somehow you felt closer to him in this. It was washed out and even had a small hole at the sleeve, but it felt special anyway.
You laid down on the bed, putting your reading glasses on and taking your book from the nightstand that you were currently reading. “So, how do I look?” “You always look gorgeous sweetheart”, you immediately said while looking up at your boyfriend.
A big grin crept onto his lips as he came closer and gave you a passionate kiss on the lips. You gasped in surprise when he squeezed your breast for a moment and quickly let go. A cheeky and smug smirk on his face. “You dork”, you chuckled, “Clint will drive you to the party and pick you up, just text or better call him when you wanna go home.”
With that, and many many kisses, Steve left.
It was always weird seeing him go. You felt…lonely. It’s like he was already a part of your life-which in a way was true. It scared yoi to think it might not be forever. What if Steve realised he doesn’t want to be with an older woman? When he realises it’s not always all good?
Even thinking about not coming home to him sleeping on the couch with a greys anatomy episode on the screen made your eyes burn. Or not having him make you breakfast to bed on the weekends when you both didn’t have to wake up early. Or just the cuddles after sex. Or the sex itself. You’d miss Steve no matter in what situation. You’d miss his smile, the glimmer in his eyes when you kissed his forehead and called him your good boy.
After watching a movie, some Rom-com on Netflix that was apparently in the top ten (and left you in tears, who made Rom-come without a happy ending??), you decided to take a bath.
The warm water felt like warm kisses on your skin. Even though your day wasn’t as stressful as usual it was nice to relax in the bathtub with some bath salt and nice smelling candles.
The only thing that was missing was Steve.
Having his arms wrapped around you would be perfect.
God, you were really needy for this man.
Sighing you leaned back, feeling how your sore muscles slowly loosened all the stress they had been carrying all day. You decided to wash your hair thoroughly also using conditioner and applying a hair mask. Then, to kill the time while having to wait, you shaved your legs and used a nice peeling on your skin-after all that you washed the mask out and stepped out of the tub, drying yourself with the softes towel you could find.
Since you had changed the sheets today you decided to sleep naked. The best feeling after such a long and relaxing bath.
As soon as your head touched the pillow you fell asleep, even though you feared you couldn’t fall asleep without Steve, after having him sleep at your place for the past…you had no idea for how long at this point.
Yet your sleep was interrupted very soon by an ungodly amount of messages and finally a call. When you looked at your phone-squinting your eyes at the bright screen-you recognised Steve picture. Your heart immediately started beating quicker. Something had to be wrong when Steve called you instead of Clint. Especially since it wasn’t even that late-it was only eleven pm.
“Hello, yes, Steve?”, you immediately picked up, hearing loud music on the other side and Steve’s heavy breathing. He only breathed like that when he was an asthma attack. Or panic attack. Both wouldn’t be good right now. “Mommy-Can-can you pick me up? Please-I wanna go home”, you heard his slurred voice.
Steve sounded completely wasted.
“Of course, I’ll be there as soon as possible, drink some water and wait for me Babyboy.” Within minutes you were dressed and on your way to your car, waiting for Clint to send you the address-which he thankfully did quickly, even asking if he should pick Steve up, but you felt the need to do it yourself.
It wasn’t really far away so you arrived at the frat party in less than twenty minutes, immediately parking your car and looking out for Steve everywhere-he wasn’t on the porch, there was only a couple of people smoking and a couple making out on the stairs, nearly eating each others tongues. Jesus, were you like thiswhen you were their age? Probably worse.
When you entered the house a group of people walked past you, nearly pushing you over with their shoulders, laughing to each other about something someone had said. Carelessly they walked out. At least Steve wasn’t with such people-but it also meant you’d have to go look for him further. You didn’t feel comfortable here, standing out like a sore thumb, especially now dressed in a plain old hoodie and leggings.
“Hello gorgeous, so you want to grab a drink together-“ “no. I’m looking for Steve” “I don’t know a Steve, but I’m-“ You ignored the guy that tried to flirt with you (which actually was a confidence boost) and walked into the kitchen. Maybe he’d be here drinking some water?
But he wasn’t. Only two girls were leaning at the counter, sipping at their drinks and giggling drunkenly. “Hey, do you maybe know Steve Rogers?”, you asked them, receiving only head shaking as an answer. “No, sorry, but there’s a beer pong game in the garage and most people are there-or the living room, it’s where the party is going on”, the blond girl informed you.
Nodding you left the kitchen and went straight to the living room, immediately noticing a couple on the couch kissing. For a moment your breath hitched when you saw how broad his shoulders were, that he wore a black button down and his hair was blonde-but thank goodness it wasn’t Steve. It was someone that looked way too similar to him but his hair was shorter. You could hear the girl call him Johnny, before asking him to go to a different room. Jesus.
You tried to find Steve in the group of dancing people that were grinding on each other rather than actually dancing, but Steve was nowhere to be found. At this point you felt incredibly stressed.
Where the hell was he?
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The customer insisted another name would have the same impact
I'm guessing she is not on tumblr @nuggsmum @inkededucatednnerdy @middleagedandoutoftouch @ourladybinxthings @alexakeyloveloki @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @ms-cellanies @suometar @lokihiddleston @lolawashere @wolfsmom1 @coppercorn-and-cauldron @dangertoozmanykids101
Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat
Chapter Warnings: MORE Angst; More Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse; Arguing; Crying; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; Lies; Secrets; Cigarette Mention; Death Mention; Heart Attack Mention;
Chapter Summary: You stand poised in the eye of the storm.
Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4
Notes: Everything remains derailed but I needed to get this arc out too. Thank you everyone for all of your feedback and reactions to Chapter 4!
Still no smut here but we’re in the weeds of some Shit right about now. As always, your feedback and comments are greatly appreciated!
Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.
All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.
It’s a heart attack, the papers say.
Quick. Easy. Painless. A column in an obituary and there he goes. No mystery, nothing so beloved, no demands for justice.
A heart attack.
Asleep in his office poor man, not even in his bed and a lifestyle come to reap its debts and there he goes, lost to the world forever, a cold shell of a reputation, leaves a wife and two sons behind, leaves a legacy of service and friends who will speak at his funeral.
The funeral you will attend. Just. To be sure.
Steve Rogers brings you the paper and flowers and it’s almost sweet the way he stands in your doorway and watches you take one and toss the other — You’re going to be late for your investors’ meeting if you stand there — too bad almost isn’t enough.
Counsel.
I told you I wasn’t in the business of wasting time. Don’t waste your energy.
Steve Rogers walks away.
It was always lies, wasn’t it? Always lies the way he thought he could make you soft with his own, the way he thought he could show you he understood.
The way you almost understood.
Sympathy is for those who deserve it.
And you may be shackled here, trapped by the deal you made but you will never be tied to him again and you will never let him in again and you…
You are stronger than this.
You are more than the woman you were thirteen months ago in the courtroom where you made Steve Rogers face the true power of your will and you stand before him again a firestorm of fury daring him to stick his hand in the flames and see just what you brand him as. Liar liar liar traitor traitor traitor coward coward coward.
One man tries to make his way into your office, talk to you about something, and is pulled back by another and the mutterings around you are the same — dark clouds, yelling matches, wouldn’t touch, wouldn’t ask, Captain’s orders — and you like this, in a sick way.
You like how you’re alone, you like the stares they send your way, all afraid and unnerved, all wondering when his patience will finally snap and you will finally be a memory and you… dare them. To make you just that — a memory.
You will never forget me.
But you? You will erase him from the halls of your affection and make him nothing but a scratched-out marble upon which you once laid wreaths of surrender. You will tear him from your heart and turn the scar he leaves into another memorial to the things you were and could not be again — stronger, this time. Always stronger.
Stronger than the man whose name appears on your caller ID once, twice, thrice and four times, each one swiftly cut off by a tap of your finger before you decide to let the auto-block feature do the work for you.
Steve Rogers walks away.
But never for long, and never when he feels like his chest might cave from the inevitability he has avoided and he loathes you for this. Loathes you for the gnawing at his bones, the regret which pulses out of him by the tension of his jaw and the ice in his glare.
He stands in your doorway again, glaring at your silent form poring over the paperwork you don’t actually need to do, taking a breath.
Sweetness.
Don’t call me that.
Why not?
The look you fix him with is withering enough you can almost see him step back, forced to comply.
Counsel, then. We need to talk.
With all due respect — such as it is — we’ve talked enough.
Counsel—
You’ve learned. You’ve learned to move out of his grasp, learned to sidestep his reaching fingers when he leans forward to grab hold of your arm, learned to make him work for the warmth of your body against his and in that you mean he hasn’t seen you outside the office since … well.
Well.
You’ve learned.
And as you raise your hand to stop him from continuing to fill your office, you learn something else about yourself — there is courage in having so very little left to lose.
What are you going to do about it, you challenge in the silence of your glare, and he knows he could threaten you with any number of things and he knows you would fix him with that same withering look and he knows you have very few cares left.
I asked you why you wanted him dead, Counsel, you could have told me then—
And what? You would have hopped right to it, in defense of your own personal whore?
If I had known, I—
If you had known what? You wouldn’t have taken the job? You wouldn’t have made the deal you did? You wouldn’t have shoved me into your bed and decided that was payment enough for your inaction? You would have let me go, free to be something other than the cunt who wets your cock?
You have to stop.
You have to stop because the fury is starting to turn into tears and you will not let him see you cry again, not anymore. It’s your jaw turning to teeth-cracking steel this time, your eyes turning hard and hollow, your glare fixed on his and this time he cannot press your pain into soft sheets and soothe you with the lap of his tongue.
Counsel—
Don’t. I don’t want your justifications or your excuses. I held up my end of the bargain and you… all you had to do was kill a man, and you couldn’t even do that. You wanted me all soft and sweet in your lap and all you had to do was kill one man.
He doesn’t respond.
He doesn’t move to defend himself, he doesn’t do any of that because he knows he can’t.
His jaw tenses, the vein in his temple pulsing with rage but it’s the rage of being wrong, of being the one pulled down again and here you are, the most beautifully infuriating woman in his world and here he is, watching you tear him out of your life with the casual finality of one tossing aside a spent cigarette.
Sunshine. Good to see you, come in…
He looks the same. Keeps the same beard. Same perfect hair. Same crease in his brow when he opens the door of his hotel and lets you in. It’s the warm familiarity of the dinner all over again, wrapped in the woodsy sharpness of his cologne as it surrounds you here, in his temporary domain.
Andy. Thank you for—
You can’t even speak for the choke that ripples through you.
Just once, before you close your eyes and stand perfectly still. It’s a collapse, or the beginnings of one, but you aren’t free to let down your guard yet and the tense muscles of your control need you to hold on. Just a little longer.
Just a little longer.
Even if he notices.
Sunshine…?
The slide of his arm over yours is delicate. A guide, come sit down, and you let him. Robotic, while you press down the rising tide of your panic and it is… a moment. The final groans of screeching metal before the crumbling structure rests on the precipice of ruin, one errant feather away from apocalypse.
He touches you again, rests a hand on your shoulder, compels you look up at that warm-eyed concern and drown in the ocean of affection he doesn’t hide this time, so glad to see you as he is. Your name from his lips this time, soft and sweet and then, Talk to me.
What do you say?
What is there to say?
These are the words, Andy Barber.
You should never have come here, should never have let Andy Barber welcome you — poison pouring from the cracks in your armor — should never have put yourself in his arms because the moment you do, it will be the end of you.
Andy, I’m—
He stops you. One hand on your shoulder the other holding your chin and shaking his head, he stops you. Talking is too much and it’s worn all over your face, how tired of words you are. The answers still have no voice but he has no need to hear them to understand.
Doesn’t matter. Not right now — you’re here, and you’re safe here.
You don’t feel safe. But you’ll trust him, just this once.
You can be more than her, you think to yourself. More than the cage you have made out of your own guilt and anger, but there is so much dangerin the letting go, in the freeing yourself. Even now, you look into that ocean of endless concern and you wonder just how much of the truth he could take.
I’m sorry, you manage out, remembering the pretense under which you came here in the first place, I know he was your friend.
He was. We went golfing before he… always told him he’d end up keeling over from one.
He has no idea. You try to smile at the joke, try to mirror his and the way he waves away your apologies, and it doesn’t work quite so well.
Sorry, Sunshine. Force of habit — after…
After everything.
Thank you.
It’s… not a comfortable silence, but both of you live in it now, in the lowering of your heads and the sheepish smiles, the understanding of the things you wish you could but cannot say.
What a pair the both of you make.
Are you planning on attending the funeral? His voice breaks the silence with a plaintive inquiry and you… struggle, not to wince.
I think so, if I can get the time off, you can, you know you can, because the man who controls it doesn’t control you, not anymore and you open your mouth to tell him that before you think better of it, before you turn away. Again.
Why do you run?
What compels you to sprint away from the only thing in your life which has made sense thus far — warm eyes, soft hands, the assurance that you are safe — and into the dangerous arms of lies and deceit?
Steve Rogers lied. He lied and he used you and it’s just the same game as the man on the slab miles away and yet you cannot bring yourself to slash at that marble face in the halls of your mind.
You deserve him.
That’s it.
That’s the why, and it strikes you like a poker to the chest, searing hot, branding you liar liar liar traitor traitor traitor coward coward coward.
I should go.
Sunshine?
Breathe. Don’t choke, don’t let him see your heart hammering its plea in your chest don’t let him know what you’ve done or why he can’t know, It’s late, you probably want to actually sleep. I should… Go.
This isn’t you.
This isn’t cold-hearted determination, this isn’t the fire in your veins compelling you to surge forward into the unknown expanses, bolstered by ambition, by passion, by spite.
And where did that get you?
Into the wrong kind of bed, sweetness.
Stand up. Stand up, surge forward on that tightrope and watch it unravel beneath your feet, it is not his affection it is your strength and you are crumbling, crumbling, down down down into the depths, you are falling.
And Andy Barber is holding your hand tighter by the wrist, is pulling you close, is wrapping you in his arms, is standing as the buttress against the collapse of all that you are, were, and would be, is whispering Hey, shh… you’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe, and you don’t feel safe, remember? But you’ll trust him, again.
And Andy Barber is broad-shouldered, is wrapped around you, is tucking you into the warmth of his embrace and you are giving in to the things you should not but You’re okay, I’ve got you, Sunshine, I’ve got you and it feels like drowning, it feels like fresh air, it feels like your lungs will never stop burning even as you surface from dark waters.
Andy, I can’t— you try to protest and it falls on deaf ears, it falls on his huff, it falls on the tightening of his arms around you and you cannot run. You don’t want to run.
Instead?
Instead, Andy Barber holds you for what feels like forever and when you pull away it’s to let him wipe away the last of your tears, let him press lips to your forehead. The brush of his whiskers against your skin is enough, a moment of peace, a wake-up call and you blink up at him with eyes rimmed red and his are still that same well of endless warmth and the answers still have no voice but your demons can’t touch you here.
Not in this moment.
That’s my Sunshine, his voice is smoke and honey and you let yourself get lost in it again, the soft laugh of him as he tries to make you smile, lets you forget. The Politician’s careful hand, smoothing it all over.
Not so sunny now, you manage, and he laughs more than you do.
A little rain doesn’t make you any less.
You don’t tell him about the rest of the dark clouds on your horizon.
You don’t tell him of the thunderstorm threatening to strike you both down.
You kiss him instead. Indulge in the warmth of his comfort and press your lips to his, give in to his hands on your waist when they pull you so close the only thing you have to focus on is the softness of his lips. You kiss him and he returns it, gentle and yielding, the faintest sigh of relief breathed into your willing mouth, like completion, like fulfillment.
You kiss him, and it is nothing like you expect.
It is a question, an answer, a request, it is brief and then he pulls back and then he looks at you and then he shakes his head and, I’m taking advantage of you, Sunshine.
He spells it out. Lays it on the table, tells you his fears in six words and you swallow down the irrational rush of hurt before you nod. He can’t. He shouldn’t.
You’re right, I’m sorry, I— hurried, frantic, you have ruined everything you should never have and then he shakes his head and shushes you again and you are quiet.
So full of words. And quiet.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to, Sunshine. But not tonight. Just stay, here, tonight.
This scene from London gets me every time. Especially knowing they were a real life couple. Put the sound up to your ear at 49 seconds. Sorry about your panties
Anon who sent that story ask here. I realize there may be more details needed, so I'll tell you what I can. As I said before, the reader was dating Bucky before the war, but as they get close, she starts to get antsy, and leaves before (I think) he can propose. Then Steve meets her, accidentally, in a museum where she works. And he's confused because she looks the same as she did in the 1940s. I can't remember if this takes place after Bucky is found, or before. But I know Steve tries to ask her about the past. I remember the story had around six parts when I last read it, and it had a moodboard for it in the masterlist. Flashbacks were mixed in to the story, they didn't just have it's own chapter.
This fic sounds amazing! Can anyone please help us find it :)
Warnings: Here be smut. Masturbation. NSFW 18+. Little bit of angst.
Word count: 595
A/N: Inspired by this very NSFW video and the wonderful thots of my friend @danneelsmain. Thank you to the lovely @sinkinginmercury for beta reading for me. Divider by @firefly-graphics
Steve sits against his headboard, flipping through the endless options of movies to watch. He glances at the gift bag on his bedside table again, a gag gift from Natasha. Turning his attention back to the television, he gives a frustrated groan at his inability to settle on something to watch. His gaze again strays to the bag on his table. His head falls back as he gives into his own want and pushes his sweatpants off.
