my dissertation is submitted and I might have found a flat so...a month late...drumroll please...my steggyweek22 round up is here!
day one - inspired by - a steggy notting hill au
day two - favourite era - cold war steve and peggy
day four - trope or genre - (press you to) the pages of my heart
day six - what if? - like thread through a needle (a preview)
day seven - free choice - young immortal peggy vs museum curator steve au
a million thanks to the fabulous @steggyfanevents team for organising another successful steggy week! i may have been writing a masters dissertation but i had my priorities in order 😅😏
Story Summary: Peggy hadn’t been prepared for just what, exactly, was going to happen.
A/N: For Steggy Week 2k22: Domestic Bliss.
Fits in before the epilogue of Nobody’s Baby, somewhere before Baby Steps, right around the time of Sandy baby but after Chapter 24.
This is 100% inspired by the fact that for the last 6 weeks my bedroom/the second floor of my house has held little more than a bed, with my clothes and all my belongings in a horrible jumble two floors down due to getting a new floor, renovating an old ceiling, and waiting for fresh paint and other odds and ends to be done. There is nothing more domestic, and more frustrating, than home improvements and renovations.
Also, sorry it’s late. I’ve been trying like a fiend to get the renovations done. Thankfully, the amazing @doctorhelena pointed out that being late is kinda Steve and Peggy’s thing, making me feel 1000% better about the situation.
~*~
Peggy hadn’t been prepared for just what, exactly, was going to happen.
Not really, anyway.
The house was bigger than she’d initially wanted, but Steve had talked her into it. He’d held her and Mandy close and pointed to the little ramshackle shed in the back and waxed poetic about fixing it up, putting in a little garden, him mowing the lawn and her sitting on the back porch watching with a cup of tea as Mandy played on the swing he could see hanging from the tree just at the edge of the property. He’d sighed with a dreamy look in his bright blue eyes as he alluded to what they might do with the extra bedrooms someday.
She’d caved. Easily.
Like so many things now, she found herself wanting more things she’d never dreamed of for her life, things she’d never imagined wanting until she met him. A large, warm house with a fireplace and a swing from the tree in the back was just another of the things on her mental list that surprised her.
When they’d moved in, it had been easy: they had frightfully little of their own in that government apartment, and even though they’d managed to acquire what they’d needed day to day, they’d barely had enough to fill up Dugan’s truck for one trip when he came to help move them out.
Months had passed, though, and they’d settled into the house and a routine, acquiring bits and pieces that suddenly made the house feel like a home and running after Mandy as she crawled along, shielding her head as she bounced around, trying to figure out how to stand.
Which was why, eight months after they moved in, Steve insisted on painting. They’d been far too preoccupied with getting Mandy everything she needed while baby proofing any low and sharp corners, with finding their places in the new ranks of the SSR as Phillips tried to clean house as the war ended, to try to do anything about the stark white walls throughout the house before then. But one day she’d found him in the kitchen, pouring over little streaks of paint over the sink, asking Mandy quietly which one she liked the best as she babbled nonsense back to him while he pretended to take her nonsense as serious as a mission from Phillips.
She’d been unable to say no, both because she detested the way the clinical white sometimes reminded her of that horrible room they’d spent days in under the eyes of horrid doctors, and because he’d been far too excited about his plans to deny him anything.
The kitchen hadn’t taken much, they’d just avoided cooking for a day and were graciously fed a lovely dinner by Edwin and Ana while the charming, sunny yellow dried.
The living room was a muted blue, one that was neutral and matched the small mishmash of furniture they had acquired. Keeping Mandy out of it while Steve painted had been a challenge as she tried to scoot, crawl, and attempt to toddle her way away from Peggy every time she thought she was content on the floor and turned back to her work at the kitchen table. There was still one little perfect handprint from where Mandy had tried to stand, holding on to the wet wall right at the base of the stairs before Peggy grabbed her, that they both agreed would be a shame to paint over.
The front entry way was done while she was in the office with Howard one day, the only sign that anything had gone awry was the echo of the warm beige color in the beds of Mandy’s fingernails and Steve’s suspicious smile over dinner.
No, it was the upstairs she’d been unprepared for: the bedrooms.
She’d known it was coming. He’d been amassing brightly colored paints in little cans in the basement for weeks, mumbling to himself, measuring the bedrooms and the office, and staring at the walls with a look in his eyes that she knew meant trouble. When Phillips called, though, she didn’t have the luxury of asking him if he planned on painting while she packed her bag in a rush to try to catch the last train to Washington DC.
She’d come home three days later at nearly two in the morning to pandemonium.
He’d moved everything they’d owned, everything, from the whole floor. He and Mandy were sleeping in the living room when Peggy slipped in the door, her crib right next to the couch in the maze of dressers and side tables and piles of clothes.
He’d immediately blushed and brought their bed up the stairs, laying the mattress on the floor with a puddle of blankets in the middle and apologized that he thought the frame was under the couch where it wasn’t exactly accessible at the moment unless they wanted to wake Mandy. He showed her their room: a dark royal blue with bright white woodwork and fillagree hand painted around the border at the ceiling. She’d smiled, kissed him, and promptly fell asleep still in most of her clothes.
Even though it looked just as beautiful, if not more so this morning, she was at a loss and having a hard time keeping her temper. Not a single thing was where she could find it. Her robe had been hanging on her vanity, which was stuffed in the front corner of the living room. She’d had to climb over their bedside table (where she’d subsequently found her slippers shoved in a drawer by luck as she’d tried to move it) just to get it.
Steve had also cleared out their bathroom, which was now a bright inverse of their bedroom, with white paint and white tiles highlighted by dark blue accents, which meant she’d had to hunt down bath towels (in the filing cabinet from the upstairs office which was now next to the stove, obviously) her toiletries (in the dish drainer in the kitchen, of course) and a new toilet roll because the existing one had a large glob of blue paint glueing half of it together (surprisingly, where it was supposed to be, in the downstairs hall closet).
She’d managed to calm herself in the shower, relishing in the clean scent of new paint and the higher pressure of the shower head as compared to the musty barracks with communal showers she’d stayed in while in DC. By the time she’s stepped out and wrapped herself and her hair up in the fresh towels that somehow still smelled just a bit of typewriter ink, she’d almost forgotten why she was frustrated.
That was, until she looked at the sink where her moisturizer would usually be, then stepped into the bedroom and saw the empty space where her vanity and make-up and hair brush would be, and then turned her head and looked at the empty closet and bare space where the dresser would be, and it all came rushing back.
Traipsing through their living room that was bursting with nearly four other rooms of furniture, while not waking Mandy who was still somehow sleeping peacefully in the middle of the maze in her crib, was quite a bit more difficult in her robe and slippers with a towel wrapped in her hair than it had been in her pajamas.
The night before Steve had made it seem easy. His photographic memory knew each and every odd place he’d stored their things to save space: he’d produced her pajamas from the desk drawer and pulled diapers from a bag buried between stacks of shoes when Mandy woke and needed to be changed before he brought up the bed. He knew each and every little space to step in like he’d mapped it out in his brain, and those steps were made to fit his long-legged frame much better than they fit her size.
She nearly tripped when stepping around his old Army duffel to grab the armoire, and froze, hoping she hadn’t woken Mandy. The baby made a high-pitched sigh, but rolled and snuggled back down to Peggy’s relief.
He’d taken the drawers out when he moved the furniture, and stacked some of them in corners and put some of them back before pushing other pieces of furniture in to block them. In theory, she knew exactly where all the pieces of clothing she wanted should be, but after a half hour of looking, and with only a blouse to show for it, she gave up and instead looked over to try to pick her way through the maze to where her daughter was fussing.
Peggy carefully picked her way, baby in tow, to the changing table, and with one hand on Mandy and one very precariously placed foot, she managed the herculean reach to the diapers that Steve had somehow made seem like inches, though not without losing the towel she’d had wrapped around her under her robe in a puddle around her ankles first.
Mandy seemed to think this was hilarious. “Oh, you think that’s funny?” Peggy chuckled in a way that left no room for argument that she was absolutely not amused, however Mandy was far too young to understand that level of sarcasm and laughed louder. “Oh, he’ll pay, my love,” she muttered, dodging a swift little foot as she tried to reach the powder and pins. “He will wish Phillips kept me longer.”
She dressed Mandy, a balancing act for the ages, and set the girl on her hip, muttering as she picked her way through the maze to the bottom of the stairs. “Steven Grant Rogers,” she called in a voice she only ever reserved for the battlefield until today.
He was before her like a shot, standing at the top of the steps, paintbrush still in hand and eyes very much concerned. “Peggy?”
“This is absolutely unacceptable. I simply cannot find a thing. How did you manage to do this?”
Her eyebrows knit as his expression relaxed, nearly amused with her, as he busied himself with rolling the paintbrush so it wouldn’t drip on the floor below. “I’ll be done today, Peg, I promise.” He shrugged, wiping his hand across his white undershirt and leaving a bright blue stain. “I tried to move all the furniture fast while she was napping so I didn’t think much about where I put things, especially since I thought you’d be home after it was all put back.”
She huffed, bouncing Mandy a bit. “Well, I’m home now and I can’t live like this, Steve!”
“Peg,” he started, dashing away as he continued speaking to put the paint brush back in Mandy’s room before he lost control of the drips, “it’s just a little mess, I’ll—”
“This isn’t funny! I can’t find my knickers!” Peggy huffed, setting her hand on her hip and letting Mandy down to sit at her feet. “Is that what you want?” Steve started to smile, and she promptly scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and pulling her robe closed tighter. “Don’t answer that.”
Steve slowly moved down the stairs, a small smile on his face. He stopped at the last step and dropped a careful kiss on her hairline, aware that she was very angry. “You know exactly what I’d want, Peg,” he whispered, his voice both amused and suggestive. He pushed past her, wiping his hands and the remaining wet paint on his sweatpants. “What do you need?” he asked gently.
“Knickers, for a start,” she tried to maintain her anger, but felt it fade a bit as he started picking his way through the mess. “And a brassiere. I found a shirt, so just trousers will do for now.” She sat on the bottom step, running a hand through Mandy’s hair, watching as he patiently put together a stack of the things he knew she liked to wear around the house. “And the things from my vanity, if you don’t mind,” she muttered.
Steve picked his way back to her and set the pile in her hands. “All the things from your vanity are in the cupboard in the kitchen that was empty next to the sink. I put them there so they wouldn’t break by accident.” She felt her heart melt just a little more, and found the anger even harder to hold on to when he pecked her on the head again before bounding up the stairs. “When you’re dressed come up and take a look at Mandy’s room, alright?”
She looked down at her daughter, her chubby hand waving in a pulsating fist as Steve disappeared up the stairs. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, I know. I know.” Peggy took a look around, and seeing all the shades were drawn dressed herself right there at the base of the stairs, tossing her towel and robe over the rail. “Come along,” she muttered, picking the girl up and setting her back on her hip. “We’ll ask Daddy to watch you while I do something with my hair for a few minutes, shall we?”
She didn’t even get all the way into the room before she heard Steve’s reply. “Yeah, I’ll take her, just…” she heard the grunt of him moving. “Just give me a minute to clean this up, ok?”
She stopped in her tracks, staring at the walls. “Oh, Steve.”
He paused crouched on the floor, and looked up at her, smiling. “You like it?”
“Like it?” She smiled; every inch of frustration gone. “Steve, it’s brilliant.” The room was warm pinks and oranges and reds and purples, fading into light then heavy blues, all radiating from one wall where he’d pained a mural of a sunset over the ocean. “I love it.”
He stood, taking Mandy’s hand when she reached out to him, but didn’t lift the girl into his arms as he was still covered in paint. “I have this really vivid memory of this sunset from one of the nights we were on the ship. I just remember looking out and there was this… this.” He paused, mouth crinkling up as he tried to find a way to describe it. “I thought I should maybe do some rainbows, or flowers, or something just pretty and generic for her, but every time I sketched something out, it didn’t feel right.”
She moved away from him, walking around the edges of the empty room, admiring where he’d set hard lines at the horizon and the way he’d expertly blended the colors into soft, puffy clouds that led to the ceiling and how he’d managed to make it feel so real and organic. “This is gorgeous, Steve.” Her eyes drifted to the edge of the paint where there was just a corner and a wall still bright white, ready to be done.
“Don’t worry, I’ll have it cleaned up in a minute, ok?” He crouched back down and started pulling paint tins together and setting lids in place.
Peggy leaned down, putting her hand over his. “Don’t you dare stop.”
“Peg, I…”
Peggy set Mandy down to crawl across the floor and took Steve’s hands in hers as she knelt next to him. “Don’t stop. I’m selfish and horrid and it was a horrible weekend full of red tape and Generals yelling at Senators, Senators yelling at me, and Phillips and I yelling right back.” She sighed, smiling when Steve pulled his hands away and plucked Mandy away from his paints and set her in his lap. “All I wanted when Jarvis dropped me off last night was to fall asleep in your arms then have a leisurely cup of tea this morning with the only person yelling at me being our daughter because she needed a nappy change.”
“Peg, I get that. I’ll clean this up in a jiff, you can get changed and I’ll put everything back—”
“No.” Peggy lifted Mandy from his lap. “No, you’re almost done and this is…” she sighed and looked around. “I was cranky and angry because I ended up falling asleep in my clothes and you were still on the couch last night.” She sighed, looking around. “This is beautiful. I’ll keep her occupied, you take as much time as you need, ok?”
“Well, let me at least—” Steve reached for Mandy and Peggy promptly side stepped around him, padding out of the room in her bare feet.
“No, darling.” She turned, smiling. “Paint. I’ll fix my own cup of tea and Mandy and I will be on the porch for a bit, yeah?”
Steve leaned in the doorway, face twisted up as he thought over the plan. “Alright, but only if you’re sure.”
“I am.” She turned away and then stopped. “Darling?”
He had moved to go back in the room and stopped, leaning back on the doorframe. “Yeah?”
“Can I just request that, perhaps, no matter what you do manage to get done, we can both sleep in our bed tonight? With the bed frame?”
He chuckled, leaning out to kiss her on the cheek. “It’ll be the first thing I bring up, ok?”
She smiled, pulling her wet hair from Mandy’s fist. “Sounds Perfect.”
Steve reached over, helping Peggy’s one handed struggle then combing his fingers through her hair to push it back into some semblance of a style. “Can I make a request?”
She smiled, letting her cheek nuzzle his hand. “Absolutely.”
“Can we leave the knickers downstairs?”
Peggy chuckled as she turned away from him. “Paint, may darling.”
“It’s an honest request!”
“I know,” she moved down the stairs her voice growing fainter.
He leaned out the doorframe. “I’m serious!”
“You’ll find out tonight, then, won’t you?”
He smiled, turning back to the paint. “Better get a move on, then.”
Day 1 (Inspired by): Things Found at the End of the World
Day 2 (Favorite era): speak low to me, speak love to me (and soon)
Day 3 (Headcanons and meta): The Limits of Dreaming
Day 4 (Favorite Trope or genre): The Real Heroes
Day 5 (Domestic bliss): Best Laid Family Plans
Day 6 (Multiverse/What If…?): What Can Be Found Beneath
Day 5/Day 6 (Domestic bliss + Multiverse/What If…?): things left behind and the things that are ahead: 1971
Day 7 (Free choice): A Surprise Delivery
I made something for every day for this year’s @steggyfanevents Steggy Week! Then I went away for a week in nature with very limited internet access (which was lovely) and now I’m back to create my annual roundup of what I made!
Day 1 (Inspired By): Caps Out of the Bag
(Fanfic: Captain America and Captain Carter have been successfully hiding their romantic relationship for just over a year. Until today.)
Day 2 (Favourite Era): "I assure you, Private, this is not what it looks like.”
(Fanart: Captain Rogers and Agent Carter “getting office supplies” at SSR HQ in London during the war.)
Day 3 (Headcanons and Meta): "I spent three years in the mud of the European Theatre... the Eastern Front, the Western Front, and everything in between."
(Fanart: Peggy and Steve around the fire with the Howling Commandos)
Day 4 (Trope or Genre): Comfort and Joy: The Lost Chapter
(Fanfic: Chapter 9.5: In Which A Scandal is Averted and a Mission Prepared For)
Day 5 (Domestic Bliss): Washington DC SSR Chief Peggy Carter, her mysterious husband Grant, and their possible spy baby Jane.
(Fanart: a post-Endgame Steggy family photo, in the universe of my story Never the Normal Way.)
Day 6 (Multiverse/What If): Between the Acres of the Rye
(Fanfic: “Hey, Barnes stole a jeep! Come on, Steve, let's go! You, too, Carter.”)
Day 7 (Free choice): A Stutter in Time, chapter 15
(Fanfic: 1945 Peggy Carter appears in Tony Stark’s lab, and immediately throws a wrench into everything.)
#steggyweek22 - day six (very belated) - multiverse/what if?
it’s the return of the peggy!cap fic...sort of...a preview of it, anyway
will I ever finish this? somewhere in the multiverse probably
I found this snippet as I was organising my files and had to add it back in immediately - there are so many little bits and pieces floating around of this fic that will be turned into a cohesive narrative. someday.
“I think it’s my turn to get some answers, don’t you?”
“You’ve been asleep, Agent Carter. For almost seventy years.”
“I worked that out for myself, thank you very much. I do still know how to read a newspaper. How about you tell me who you are, how I got here, and what—”
“Ma’am, are you gonna be okay?”
“Sorry, yes. It’s just, the last time I was here, this was a dance hall. I, uh—I had a date.”
---------------------------------------
“They used to hold concerts here, you know.”
Peggy’s phone slips through her fingers at the unexpected voice over her shoulder, clattering down six or seven concrete steps before coming to a stop. She swears, shifting to retrieve it, but before she can move, a tall, blond blur skids past her.
“You’re ridiculous.”
Steve grins up at her. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I figured you heard me coming.”
“That’s a terrible excuse, darling. Especially if you broke my phone.”
He bounds up the steps and slides in next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Nope. Still good as new.”
“Good.” Peggy relaxes into his side, her head falling to his collarbone. “Tony would never let me hear the end of it if I broke another one.”
Steve snorts and slips the phone into her pocket. “What’s your tally?”
“Seven. I threw my last one at a senator--who completely deserved it, mind you—but Tony threatened to cut me off phone access. And I’ve finally gotten used to this bloody thing. I still don’t understand how on Earth you get anything done with yours.”
“It’s very user-intuitive,” Steve retorts without much energy, the old argument familiar between them. “Are you okay? I think this is the first time I’ve snuck up on you. Ever. Like, even before the serum.”
“Avenger business, yet again,” Peggy says, wincing at the reminder. “We made very little progress with the Security Council, and there are rumors of a shake-up at State. Everyone is on edge. No one was in a conciliatory mood, so Tony and I basically sat there to be yelled at while everyone else tried and failed to work their contacts for support and information. Plus, I really hate being in New York. Tony and Pepper always try to make us feel welcome at the Tower when we’re there, and it was good to see everyone, but it’s—well, it’s not my city. I’m not sure how else to explain it.”
“Well, you spent the whole time in Manhattan. Of course you were miserable.”
Peggy turns in his arms to catch Steve’s adorably disgruntled expression. “You haven’t lived in Brooklyn for over fifty years.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
“Brooklyn was never invaded by aliens, so I suppose you have a point in your favor there.”
“But it’s still New York.”
“But it’s still New York.” Peggy threads her fingers through his free hand with a slight smile. “I’ve lived a lot of places, Steve. And some of them have been better than others, but I still feel like I haven’t found home yet.”
“I know you’ll figure it out, Peggy,” Steve says, brushing his lips across her knuckles. “We’ll figure it out.”
Peggy bites her lip at the conviction in his tone, the absolute confidence he has in her. It has been a long time since someone has had unshakeable, unconditional faith in her—not because she carries the shield or wears the star-spangled uniform, but because she is Peggy Carter. It is exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, and she has missed it more than she knows how to express to him.
She squeezes his hand and, as the murky waters of the Potomac meander along in front of them, she blurts out, “I like the Capitol.” She winces as soon as the words left her mouth. Not at all what she has meant to say.
“What?” Peggy looks over to see him staring at her, bewildered at her non-sequitur.
She clears her throat and glares at the river, as if it can give her the words she is looking for if she can only bend it to her will. “I—I like the Capitol, is what I said. I like all of it, actually. The Capitol, the White House, the Lincoln Memorial. These steps we’re sitting on. You know, I actually attended one of those Sunset Symphonies here when we came to Washington for meetings. I sat two steps down, right on the edge over there, as the orchestra played. This was the original Watergate, as a matter of fact - the complex is named after these steps.”
“The better Watergate, too,” he sighs. “Sorry, Peg, but I don’t get it.”
Peggy purses her lips in thought. “When I was catching up on the world—on everything I missed—they told me about the Watergate affair, of course. And my first thought at seeing the name was not President Nixon, or the scandal, or the cover up, or everything that came after. Instead, I saw the National Symphony Orchestra playing Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. It was comforting, in a way. I was learning about a particularly dark period in American history and yet there it was—something familiar, something I knew. And a good memory, even.” She clings tighter to his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers twice. “I don’t have many of those touchstones these days, my darling. I can’t help but hold them close when I find them.”
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@captaincarter: I have been reliably informed that many of you would be interested in more information about my experiences with the Howling Commandos.
@captaincarter: So I’m excited to announce that I’m partnering with the @Smithsonian and @HBO to live-tweet their upcoming docuseries “Howling Commandos”
@captaincarter: You can tune in beginning this Friday at 9:00pm and follow along using the hashtag #HowlingCommandosHBO - join me, won’t you?
the official secrets act had prevented most of it thus far. but time marches on, as they say, and she’s now part of the historical record. and...there’s an exhibit. her first, a rite of passage among those like her. angie is an urban legend in her own right, and she’s tickled by the podcasts and the museum exhibits and the movies that try and fail to capture her many, many lifetimes. jarvis maintains his legendary stiff upper lip in the face of the conspiracy theories about his supposed time traveler status, while ana tries to get them in the background of as many photos as possible. peggy, as the newest of the lot, knows she should be proud of her tradecraft, since so little of her exploits have been uncovered (or linked to her, anyway), but really she’s just annoyed. the audacity of this museum and this curator to commit such lies and slander to plinth? well, she’s stayed undercover for this long for a good reason - she’s very good at what she does, and she knows how to mess with someone’s head. time to teach this steven grant rogers a thing or two.
steve will deny it under pain of death - but he’s always had a bit of a crush on agent peggy carter. he’s not the first historian to become a tad infatuated with a person they’re studying, but his level of regard (read: obsession) since doing his master’s thesis on the role of women in the post-war intelligence community is borderline concerning. which is why he was so excited to curate this exhibit on women in espionage for the international spy museum. and why he is afraid to admit...he’s pretty sure he’s being haunted. by peggy carter. or at least, someone who has her handwriting and feels very strongly about inaccuracies in his exhibit. there’s so little that’s known about her - born in hampstead in 1921, lied about her age to join the war effort, was seconded to the ssr, set up shield before going missing in action in 1951 - and steve did his best to represent her accurately in this new exhibit, but clearly someone objects to the historical record. strenuously.
through increasingly passive-aggressive sticky notes left on the museum labels, unsigned letters to the editor in the washington post, a series of anonymous twitter threads lambasting the museum, and a trove of handwritten notebooks mysteriously dropped in steve’s home mailbox, he begins to better understand who peggy carter was, and wishes more than anything that he could meet her for real. he begins to respond to the sticky notes and the twitter threads, hoping that he’ll find a relative or an old friend who can fill in the blanks that still remain.
is he in for the shock of his life...
or, a sitcom au where a (relatively) young immortal peggy carter trolls museum curator steve rogers
It's What Makes Us Whole
@steggyfanevents Day 7: Free choice
"You think vengeance is the missing piece of the puzzle, that it will make you whole again, but all it does is break you further."
Steve abandons the only life he knew to try to find those responsible for taking his best friend's life.
He abandons Peggy, the love of his life. He leaves behind just the ring and a whispered apology to an empty room.
Where he's going, he can't expect her to follow. Peggy had a life ahead of her, always did. Steve was the one that blended in. It's time he uses that to his advantage.
Two years pass and he's not the same. He returns home, empty-handed and distraught. He has more questions than answers. The only hint he's gained after searching for so long has been lost to age on a letter that's older than him. It might be able to prove that Bucky was kidnapped and his death faked.
Any attempts to find any more information had been thwarted and his life left hanging by a thread. Bucky's very existence was being held above him.
When he shows up on Peggy's doorstep, desperate for answers and her being the only one he can turn to, she admits that she knows a thing or two about revenge.
Bingos under the read more
Bingos: Taken Captive - @avengersbingo
Never Got To Say Goodbye - @badthingshappenbingo
Crushed Under The Weight Of Your Responsibility - @herohardshipsbingo
Blackmail - @mcukinkbingo
Kidnapping - @mfbingo
Characters: Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes
Relationship: Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter
Tags: Kidnapping, Blackmail, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Abandonment
