Captain America: Civil War by Florey
Captain America: Civil War by Florey
Went ahead and made a Wattpad. I’m 98% sure I had one before but I can’t find it for the life of me so. Also my work is on AO3 under QueenUndertheBloodyMountain and iOnlyDateSuperheroes but neither of those fit in the username requirements so I’m SantaCarlaLostGirl on Wattpad 🖤 I’ll be transferring all my AO3 stories to there as well for anyone who prefers it.
Ya know what bugs me. When people say Steve and Peggy didn’t know each other for long. Steve was accepted into Project Rebirth in 1943, he crashes the Valkyrie ￼in 1945, that’s two years. Peggy was there from boot camp to last radio call. Just because we didn’t see a lot of interaction in a two hour movie doesn’t mean there wasn’t development off screen.
Geesh, and Steggy isn’t even my primary ship for Peggy, I’m a die hard Cartinelli shipper with a side of PeggyNat, but this just irks me.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader/You (no use of Y/N)
Rating: Explicit for sex, 18+ only please and thank you
Warnings: Fluff. It’s fluff. Just fluff. Halloween fluff.
Chapter Word Count: 4.7K
Summary: Your brain supplied the helpful memory of the charity lottery from a few weeks ago. It had been in the papers, all of the members of the Avengers offering themselves up to go trick-or-treating with the lucky winners. The amount of money raised for the children’s hospital had been staggering.
Which would explain why Steve Rogers himself, fully decked out as Captain America, was on your doorstep.
Missed the earlier chapters? Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
The words echoed through the otherwise quiet night. The only other sounds were the rippling of the water behind you and the faint breeze ruffling the grass. No one else was even close; you might as well have been alone on the entire planet, just you and Steve.
And the ghost. Like you’d forgotten about her.
Your mind flailed, searching for any sort of rational explanation. You knew that Dr Musa had recognized Steve; was this some sort of artistic hologram that she’d somehow managed to have produced in the last few hours? A cruel joke for some reason you couldn’t even begin to contemplate?
Steve managed words, sounding like he was having to rip them from his throat with a crowbar.
“P - Peggy?”
“In the flesh,” she replied softly. “Well - not exactly. But you get the idea.”
“It’s Halloween, darling.” Her voice remained quiet, wrapping the three of you in a cocoon of privacy.
A hologram. With a voice actor, improvising for the conversation? That took cruel joke to a whole new level.
You realized suddenly that - hologram or not, actor or not, ghost or not - this was almost certainly about to become a very, very private conversation. You probably shouldn’t be here; you could see the path back up to the house, not the hidden one you’d come from but a main route, smooth and well-lit and leading to the open terraces full of guests.
You turned to go, figuring that Steve could find you whenever…whenever he was done.
Your movement caught the attention of the ghost, who raised a hand. The color had completely flooded back into her form; she looked almost alive now, except for a very faint glow coming off of her entire body.
“Stay,” she murmured. “It’s all right.”
You stopped moving. You didn’t think Steve had even noticed; his eyes were still glued to Peggy’s ghost, still wide with shock.
She turned back to him, even as you acknowledged that you were thinking of her as a ghost. Not an actor, not an illusion. You’d apparently decided that ghost was the most plausible explanation.
“Halloween has always been the time when the souls of the dead can return to the living world,” Peggy continued. “If the circumstances are right. If they wish to see their loved ones.”
Steve swallowed, and you could almost hear it; it was a thunking, heavy sound, like he was trying to force a lead ball down into his stomach. “You haven’t come back before.”
“Well, it’s not exactly an easy thing to do, darling,” she murmured dryly. “It requires...well, I won’t bore you with the details. I don’t have much time, and there’s something I’m here to do.”
Unfinished business. This was the time of year for all of those stories, of course - the dead coming back to take care of things left undone. You enjoyed a good ghost story as much as anyone - memories of summer camp and flashlights and fingers sticky with roasted marshmallows streamed briefly through your head - but you’d never thought you’d actually be living one.
Peggy’s words had given Steve something to focus on. The reminders that he was a captain, that he took charge when something needed to be done - those pushed past the stupor of seeing an actual ghost. He straightened up, and the simple movement turned him into something more than he had been just a second ago, even wearing a silly vampire costume.
“What do you need to do? How can I help?”
Steve looked ready to spring into action, just waiting for her to tell him what to do. She smiled and laughed, shaking her head.
“It’s nothing quite so dramatic.”
She paused for a moment, seeming to collect her thoughts.
“I know...you haven’t really moved on since you came back. It took me a long time after you went into the ice...but eventually, I did. It was the only way. I married, and had children, and I was happy.”
Steve looked down at his feet. “I know. I’m glad for you - I wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone.”
“Then it shouldn’t surprise you that I don’t want that for you, either.”
He looked back up. “Peggy…”
“Let me finish, Steve. I know you’ve tried...but there’s been something that’s been keeping you isolated, and I think I know what it is. You’ve built up this perfect image in your head of what we should have had, and it’s kept you from looking at what you could have. And that won’t do to be going on with.”
The ghost’s words were like a trickle of cold water down your spine. You’d let yourself get swept up in the magic of the night - the literal magic, apparently - and you’d thought that Steve had felt the same. But now, with Peggy’s statement, his earlier declaration of no, this isn’t something I do took on a different tone, became this is fun for tonight, but don’t expect anything more. That’s not something I do.
It was silly. You didn’t know why you felt like crying. You’d just met him, after all. You’d let your expectations get out of hand, between the party and the kissing and the stairwell and all of that. Just a little bit of fun, that’s all it had been. That’s all.
“That’s not true,” Steve’s voice was firm, denying her assertion.
“It is true.” Peggy smiled faintly. “And it’s time you realized it.”
You had to give Steve props for having the balls to argue with the ghost of his dead love. That took...something. You weren’t sure whether it was courage or stupidity or a combination, but it definitely took something.
“So is that what you came back for? To tell me that?”
“In part, yes. And to give you my blessing.” Her smile became wider, and she rolled her eyes a little bit. “One thing I’ve always loved about you, Steve - you don’t take hints very well. So let me be as plain as I can: Go. Be happy. Don’t keep waiting around for me.” She gestured at her front. “I am dead, after all. And that’s not going to change. You still have plenty of time ahead of you - don’t waste it.”
She moved forward then. Despite her nearly-lifelike appearance, you were forcibly reminded of her nature at the moment. Her feet weren’t quite touching the ground, and she didn’t so much step as drift - and the movement didn’t disturb the blades of grass.
She moved close enough to Steve to touch, and she reached out. Her hand sank into his chest.
You thought you should probably scream. This was the part in the horror movies when someone’s still-beating heart or their soul or their life energy or something like that got ripped out. But all you could manage was a faint, high eep.
When she pulled her hand back, she was indeed holding something, although thankfully, it wasn’t a bloody heart. It was a small, round object.
She flipped it open, revealing the black and white photo of herself inside the little compass. “Are you still going to try and tell me I’m wrong?”
Steve had the decency to look back down at the ground. You could see the flush on his cheeks, and he didn’t say anything.
Peggy’s expression gentled, and she tucked the compass inside her own jacket. “I’m taking this with me. You can remember just fine without it, and you don’t need extra weight.” One corner of her mouth quirked up. “Maybe I’ll give it back to you one of these days - next time I see you. A long, long time from now.”
You didn’t even want to unpack what that meant. You’d just received confirmation of an afterlife, and yep, that’s a thing was about all that you could process.
“But - “ The other corner of her lips quirked up, becoming a mischievous smile. “I’ll give you something to replace it.”
She extended both of her hands, palms up and flat. A moment later, a box began to materialize in them. Unlike Peggy, the box quickly became real and solid; it didn’t glow as it finished. It looked like it was of this world.
She held the box out towards Steve, who didn’t move.
“Take it, Steve.”
He finally jerked, as if he was breaking free of the ice all over again, and reached out, accepting the box. “What is it?”
“Open it after I leave,” she instructed. “This isn’t for me. It’s for you.”
The ghost drifted backward then. There was a finality to the movement, as if the surrender of the box had been the last item on a list...and it was now checked off.
“Peggy, wait. I - “
She shook her head. “I’ve done what I wanted to do. That means my time’s up, Steve. I don’t need any more.”
Steve pulled the box in close to his chest. He wrapped both his arms around it briefly and then shifted it to rest on his hip, holding it casually. You had no sense of the weight of it; it was about the size of a shoebox, made of dark wood, but you’d seen Steve’s muscles. He’d be at ease whether it was filled with feathers or rocks.
The ghost had moved a few feet away, and she looked over at you - the first time that either of them had acknowledged that you were there since she’d told you to stay.
“Good luck,” she murmured. “Remind him that he doesn’t have to do everything by himself. It’s a losing battle, but you can at least try.”
And with that, she faded. Her departure was much quicker than her arrival; the color left her in one second, and in another, she was gone.
A soft, ice-cold breeze whisked past you.
Steve’s eyes were stuck to the spot she had disappeared. He was still holding the box on his hip, seeming to have forgotten about it.
“She didn’t say goodbye.”
There was a soft crack in his voice.
You swallowed. You were aware suddenly that you’d been standing outside for - god, you didn’t even know how long, and you shivered.
“She didn’t need to,” you reminded him quietly. “Remember? You’ll see her again. That wasn’t goodbye”
You shivered again, and it seemed to break Steve out of his daze. He reached over his shoulder for his cape, only to find that he’d left it inside in the ballroom.
And now there was something for him to focus on. Something that needed to be done.
“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you inside.”
You didn’t know where the time had gone.
As you stepped onto the terrace, you could hear clocks inside the house striking, and you counted: One. Two. Three. Four.
Nearly two hours outside. Somehow. No wonder you were cold.
The warmth of the house wrapped around you as you made it back. The terraces and the rooms had become sparsely populated, guests starting to disperse back to their homes with the lateness of the hour.
Steve had his arm around you, but there was nothing romantic about it; he was simply offering as much warmth as he could. You sighed in relief as you gained the interior of the house, the heat and light wrapping around you like a blanket fresh from the dryer.
He looked down at you, concerned. “Are you going to be all right?”
You nodded. Your teeth had been chattering a little bit on the walk, but you were rapidly feeling better. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Steve looked around, taking a deep breath. “I think I smell coffee. Let’s get you something warm to drink.”
“That sounds good.” You smiled. “They’ve probably changed out the buffet for breakfast food, with it being four in the morning. There should be plenty of options.”
Steve was quiet as you went through the buffet line. Your stomach - you weren’t quite sure what you felt like. You thought you should be hungry but you weren’t, not quite...your stomach felt empty, but it was the emptiness of a house that had just been cleaned after moving out of it. You didn’t need to fill it back up right away, and the house probably appreciated the break.
A small bowl of a hearty breakfast porridge sounded okay. Thick, steaming oatmeal with cinnamon and bits of dried fruit and almonds, and you settled down at one of the tables while Steve left and came back with two cups of coffee.
He hadn’t taken any food, and he didn’t say anything as you slowly spooned up tiny bites of the oatmeal. The box sat in front of you on the table where he’d placed it before going to get the coffees, and it was hard not to look at it. Wonder at it.
Steve suffered no such misgivings. He kept reaching out, grazing his fingers over the surface, as if reassuring himself that the box was real.
You’d also noticed his hand touching the side of his vest. The same side that Peggy had touched. Looking for a compass that wasn’t there anymore.
You finally dropped your spoon, exasperated, and it clattered against the bowl. “Steve, just open it already.”
His hand was back on the box, and he jerked it away as if the box had burned him. He looked down into his coffee cup, and then back up at you, meeting your eyes for the first time since the ghost had appeared outside on the lawn.
You weren’t sure what you expected him to say. Perhaps an apology for - well, for something. For the ghost, for the compass, for the way the evening had changed. Perhaps a request for privacy as he opened the box; she’d given it to him, after all, not you.
What you got was neither of those things. You got calm resolve: a man with a mission, the next thing to do clearly laid out in front of him. The contents of the box should be known, so they would be. It was as simple as that.
“All right,” he murmured. “Let’s see what’s in it.”
The box had a simple brass catch on the front. Steve flipped it and lifted the hinged lid.
The first thing you saw was a piece of deep blue velvet, thick and luxurious, covering whatever was inside. One more thing to move, and Steve did it, pulling the cloth away.
Beneath it, nestled in more velvet. Cups.
Wine goblets, really. Crystal, with intricate patterns around where the stem met the base of the bell-shaped bowl. The rims were gold, a thin plain line, but the glasses themselves were anything but. They shone cold and clear against the velvet like a pair of stars.
It shouldn’t have surprised you at this point, that the cups were exact replicas of the ones from the last of the Tarot cards that Madame Dukowski had shown you hours before. You weren’t sure anything would surprise you ever again.
You share values; you believe in the same things. This will see you through many a trial, if you remember it.
Honesty is of utmost importance in this relationship, my dears. There can be no secrets, no suppression of feelings, if you are to succeed.
You reached out and took one of the glasses from the box. It was solid in your hands, it was real. This was no apparition that was going to vanish.
“I don’t know how any of this is possible.”
Steve was watching you as you turned the glass over in your hands. As you recalled the words of the fortune-teller.
Deliberately, you pushed aside your filters, your attempts to rationalize what had just happened. Steve was no stranger to things that were outside the realm of explanation, after all; perhaps everything he’d gone through could be explained at some point. Maybe all of this could be too. But an explanation wasn’t going to change what you’d experienced tonight.
“I don’t either,” you said quietly. “But here we are. Are you...how are you?”
Steve considered your question. Carefully. For several long seconds, as you held the cup. His eyes said he recognized it too. And that the recognition - what the fortune-teller had said, and that the cups had come to his hands from Peggy Carter’s ghost - that was making him think.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I feel like I should be upset. Or...maybe angry? But I don’t think I am.” He chuckled softly. “I think I’m a little overloaded more than anything else.”
Overloaded? After an all-night Halloween party that had turned into a genuine ghost story? How strange.
Rather than making the joke, you settled for nodding. “Yeah. Yeah...I can see that.”
You had a sudden thought, and it was like someone had punched you in the stomach. Steve had lifted his coffee to his mouth, but he stopped midway as more words flew out of your mouth.
“Steve, I swear, I didn’t know...I don’t even know how this happened, but I didn’t know it was going to…”
He started laughing. And it wasn’t a bitter laugh, it was a genuinely amused one.
It took him a few moments to get control of himself. You sat there, feeling confused and a little shaky.
When he was able to look at you, you gave him a weak smile. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head, chuckling a little bit still. “I just...did you really think that I thought you somehow arranged for all this to happen?”
Now that he mentioned it, you were being a little silly.
“No,” you finally said. “But...it just seems awfully coincidental with everything that’s happened tonight.”
Your cheeks tingled a little bit, thinking about the everything. You really hoped that Peggy’s ghost hadn’t been following you around earlier in the evening.
“It does.” Steve’s voice was measured and thoughtful. “But I do know a little bit about what it takes to be able to do something like that. And...well, I’m sorry, but this is going to sound bad...as far as I can tell, you’re a regular person. There’s nothing about you that says you have the kind of power it would take.”
You appreciated the qualification, because he was right - that did sound like a borderline insult. But you got what he was trying to say, and you nodded.
“Despite the costume...yeah. I’m definitely not a real witch.”
He chuckled again. “Yeah. Trust me. I know at least one of those..you can kind of tell.”
“So…” You let out a sigh. “What now?”
“Well…” Steve looked around. There were a few other people sitting at the tables and eating, but the party had continued to clear out as you’d been sitting there. “It looks to me like the party’s over and we should probably head out. What do you think?”
You agreed. There were probably still things to do, if you wanted...normally the party officially ended at sunrise, which was still a couple of hours away. But anything else you could think of seemed strange and cheap after seeing a real fucking ghost.
“I think you’re right.”
You’d looked for Dr Musa as you’d moved towards the doors, wanting to say goodnight and thank her for the incredible evening, but she was nowhere to be found. The throne in the entryway was empty, and the candles - the real ones - were burning low, some of them no more than puddles of wax with charred wicks sticking out of them.
Everything looked old. Tarnished. A patina had crept over the bright gold of the throne, as if time was catching up. The spider webs looked grimy; the paintings still seemed to move, but were sluggish, their energy nearly spent. Darkness pooled in corners and oozed outwards, a contrast to the bright lights of earlier. Even the music still drifting out from the ballroom, where the orchestra played on, was somehow soured.
Steve felt it too, the change in the atmosphere from magic to sinister. His arm went around your shoulders, drawing you close, and his steps quickened. The box with the cups was under his arm, but you knew he wouldn’t hesitate to drop it if he needed to move fast.
You’d be up in his arms again, you imagined. If he had to run.
You shoved that thought out of your mind. The man had just seen the ghost of a woman he’d been in love with for decades. Nothing else was going to happen tonight, and you squelched down the part of your head that whined in disappointment.
The carriage ride back down the hill had been slower too. Steve had surrendered his token before you’d boarded, and by the time you arrived back at the gates, the Ferrari was purring in wait for you. Despite Steve’s cape wrapped around you, the night had turned cold, and you eagerly anticipated the warmth of the car.
There was one more surprise waiting.
You didn’t see it at first. Not until Steve had opened the car door for you, waving away the valet, and you almost sat down on top of it.
Another wooden box. The same size as the one Steve carried, almost invisible against the black leather of the Ferrari’s interior. Waiting for you in the passenger seat.
Peggy had given Steve the cups. This box...this one must be for you.
You felt like the night air had leaked in through your skin and reached into your bones, turning you into a frozen statue. All you could do was look at the box.
“Let’s get you home,” you heard. The voice came from a long way away and echoed, as if it was on the other end of a tunnel. “We can open it there.”
You didn’t even feel like you were the one speaking. It didn’t sound like your voice. Steve reached past you as you stood there and he moved the box into the back seat, putting the other down to join it. Once the seat had been cleared, you got in, and blessed whoever had come up with the idea of seat heaters. The leather cupped your body and the warmth was thawing you out, bringing life back to your limbs.
It also helped that Steve’s words played in your mind as he got in the other side and pulled the Ferrari away from the curb.
We can look at it there. We.
It wasn’t a long drive, but it felt longer spent in silence. You kept glancing over your shoulder nervously at the box, your hands twisting in your lap.
Finally, Steve reached over, taking your left hand and folding it in his right one briefly before letting go. He needed both hands to drive - the Ferrari was a manual transmission - but he spared a second to provide you that bit of comfort.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. The brass gong of his voice earlier, forcing his will upon the world, had changed. It was now the soft rush of a creek that would wear away whatever rock stopped it until it could join with the sea, no matter how long it took. No less implacable, but quieter. More patient.
And it helped.
In your living room, Steve set the boxes down on the coffee table and unstacked them. He opened the first one again, revealing the two crystal cups.
They looked different here. The light of your home brought them to life, turning them from cold distant stars to warm candles. The gold was more prominent here, catching your lamps and glowing gently. Even the deep blue velvet seemed less dark somehow, as if it had been re-dyed during the drive from Dr Musa’s house.
You sat down on your couch, still in your costume except for your heels that you’d gratefully discarded at the door. Steve sat down next to you.
“Do you want anything? Some cocoa, or cider, or…?”
“Let’s look at this first,” he said gently. “Then maybe.”
He wasn’t going to let you put it off. You appreciated it; delaying the ten or fifteen minutes that would be required to assemble drinks wasn’t going to change anything. Better just to get it over with.
The catch on the box was the same simple brass. You flipped it and eased the lid open.
You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as you saw the contents.
It wasn’t cheap wine, like you’d had in college. And they weren’t battered DVDs, purchased at thrift stores and scratched and faded.
It was a bottle of very, very good cabernet sauvignon. The kind that if you ordered it at a restaurant, someone would have to wipe the dust off of it before they opened it and allowed you to sniff the cork. And it was a boxed set of DVDs: the kind where the box was metal, and that came with booklets and special features and a piece of original film preserved as a collector’s item. Every single Bond movie to date.
Bond movies and wine.
Your brain apparently decided that crying was the way to go, but you were laughing too. Steve was looking at you confused, but apparently decided to just let you let it out, and he gazed silently into the box until you were done.
You wiped tears from your face as you explained. Steve’s face grew soft as you told him, how you’d thought of your roommate as you’d set the lantern to float on the river in Dr Musa’s garden.
I miss you. I hope you’re okay.
“Looks like they got the message,” he finally said, once you were finished. “And that the answer is yes. They’re okay. Wherever they are.”
You smiled, reaching out and touching the DVDs. “Yeah. Wherever. Which is apparently somewhere you can send someone wine and DVDs from. It doesn’t seem like it’s so bad.”
“Did you think of…”
Steve licked his lips, finishing the sentence that you had left hanging there. “Yeah. I thought of Peggy. I didn’t really...I didn’t know what I wanted to say. But I was thinking of her. Maybe just...maybe I wanted to know the same thing. That she was okay.”
“So we both got some answers,” you said quietly.
Here at home, with the security of your own things around you, it was easier to accept the inexplicable. Even with what was sitting on your table: the cups, the wine, the movies that had come from nowhere.
Steve reached out slowly, and folded his hand back around yours as he had in the car. You’d held hands a lot that night, and had run a full gamut of emotions as it had happened. Anticipating. Thrilled. Aroused. Scared. Exhilarated. Worried.
Now...you felt content. At peace.
You didn’t say anything for a few minutes, just sitting there holding Steve’s hand. There wasn’t really a need to say anything; it was as if you were floating in a sea that was outside time, that hand the only solid thing, but rather than being disconcerting it was an anchor.
Finally, Steve shifted on the couch, turning to face you a little bit.
“I’ve never seen any of them,” he murmured. “None of the Bond movies. I’ve wanted to...but there’s been so much to catch up on. And my list just keeps getting longer.”
You laughed softly. “Yeah...there’s so much new stuff coming out all the time.”
“Well…” He paused, looking at the boxes. “We’ve got wine. And movies. And I don’t have anything on my schedule tomorrow - or, I guess, today. So...what do you think of introducing me to Agent 007 as our second date?”
You bit your lip, trying not to smile - and failing miserably. He still wanted that second date...after everything that had happened that night, and you’d been set up perfectly for it. Thanks, roomie.
“That sounds great,” you said. “I don’t have anything going on either. What time do you want to come back?”
He looked down at the boxes again and then back up. The expression on his face turned your bones to jelly, and it was just one more unexpected thing to go on the list of everything. It was shy, and hopeful, and glowed like the Ace of Cups promising a new beginning.
“Maybe I don’t have to leave?”
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, mentions of Bucky x Reader, eventual Stucky x Reader
Warnings: grief, depression. Angst & eventual smut because I am who I am I guess…
Word count: 2k
A/N: Trying for weekly updates, so here you go! :) Thanks for reading, and extra thank you to anyone that commented and/or reblogged because it means a lot! No taglist, please follow @idkhaylijahwrites and turn on notifications to be alerted of new chapters :)
comments, feedback, likes and reblogs give me life <3
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You are dating again.
And it’s fine. Really.
Bucky has been gone for over two years. It only makes sense that you start dating again.
At least that’s what Steve tells himself.
“How do I look?” You ask, giving him a twirl.
He wants to tell you that you look beautiful. That any man would be lucky to have you, but words fail him, because if he tells you those things, he knows he’d never stop. He clears his throat, his eyes dropping to the floor as he moves past your question. “Who is this guy again?”
“Just this guy I met at the library a few weeks back…”
Steve nods. “And where’s he taking you?”
He nods again, turning his attention away from you.
“I don’t think I can do this,” you blurt.
His eyes shoot up to yours.
“It’s just that...I haven’t been on a date since…” you take a gulping breath. “The last time I danced with someone was…” Bucky. You feel the panic rising, your hands flying to your face. “I don’t know if I can do this!”
Steve moves quickly, crossing over to you in a few strides, and takes your hands in his own. “Dance with me,” he says.
You gape up at him in surprise. “What?”
He tugs one of your hands up to rest on his shoulder, his other interlocking with yours. He pulls you in at the waist, eyes locked on yours. “Dance with me,” he repeats.
The two of you sway in the silence, your panic subsiding in Steve’s arms. He curls his fingers around yours, holding your hand to his chest as he pulls you closer still, pressing his cheek to your temple.
Your breathing begins to even out, and as if he is your own personal source of gravity he grounds you once more.
“See? It’s not so hard.”
He is always saving you.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
He hums a quiet acknowledgement, holding onto this moment, knowing it isn’t his to keep.
“How do you do it?” You ask.
He pulls back to look down at you, his brow furrowed.
“You’ve lost so much.”
“We all lost…” You shake your head and he realizes you aren't talking about the snap. You are asking about Peggy. “For a long time I thought I’d never love again,” he admits quietly.
He stares intently, swallowing nervously as his confession bubbles up in his throat. He stills, and the air grows heavy.
It would be so easy to let all the words he has been holding back for so long fall out. The feelings he has spent all of his energy burying, always just beneath the surface, begging for life.
Instead he presses his cheek to you and begins to sway softly once more. “I think he’d want you to be happy,” he whispers against your hair.
Your heart aches, and you wonder if Bucky would feel that way even if the happiness you had found is in his best friend’s arms. “What about you?”
He pulls back to look at you again, his eyes searching. Your teeth pull at your bottom lip, his gaze immediately following the motion. He only needs to close a small distance to press his own against them, and the temptation is overwhelming. He inches closer. He wishes you would pull away, save him from doing something so stupid.
Why aren’t you pulling away?
His lips hover above yours.
You want so desperately to lean in. There is a part of you that fantasizes about kissing him. About what it might be like to be with him, to be loved by him.
Still, you know that anything you give him will never be enough because you aren’t whole anymore. There was another part of you that not only belonged to somebody else, but had died along with him.
And Steve Rogers deserves more than half of your heart.
Still, he has a hold on you that you can’t explain, and you haven’t felt this way since Bucky.
The thought is like a bucket of ice, and you turn your face at the last moment so he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth.
He lingers there for a moment before resting his forehead on yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
You shake your head, pulling back to look at him. He brings his hand up, his thumb chasing away your tears. “I just don’t know if I can,” you admit.
He nods, and a sniffle makes you realize his own eyes have started to tear up. When he speaks again his voice is thick with emotion. “I know.”
He turns away from you and you feel your heart crack. You grip his hand in both of yours. “Steve…”
You tug on him until he turns to face you once more and the look you’re met with is enough to break your heart in two, in every sense of the word, because you know that you don’t just have feelings. He has worked his way into every piece of your life, growing like ivy, and the thought of losing him is crippling.
You love him.
And you’re hurting him.
“I don’t want to lose you,” you admit selfishly.
He pulls you into him, his hand resting on the back of your head as he presses his lips against your temple. “Shhh, you won’t lose me,” he whispers.
You realize it then - that you have to let him go. You can never be enough, and he will never walk away. You love him, so you’ll do the only thing you can for him. You'll let him go because you can’t be selfish anymore.
Before you can say more there’s a knock at the door.
Steve shuts his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours. “Your date?” His voice is dark, sending shivers down your spine. He steps back, his hands dropping as he releases you.
You clear your throat. “I guess so.”
“I should go…”
He nods, muttering under his breath that you should have fun.
You make your way to the door, your fingers dabbing gently at the corners of your eyes.
He calls after you, and you turn, almost wishing he’ll ask you to stay. Instead he smiles sadly, his hands in his pockets. “You look beautiful,” he says, answering your initial question.
Another knock has you finally pulling your attention from him, and you answer the door, your date smiling as he looks you up and down.
“Wow…you look amazing.”
You try to laugh softly, wondering if it sounds as forced as it feels. If he notices you've been crying, he is polite enough to ignore it. “Thank you,” you grab your purse and coat next to the door, and your date takes the opportunity to peek into your apartment.
His eyes widen in shock. “Holy shit.”
Steve waves awkwardly, and you don’t bother throwing your coat on, instead in a hurry to get out of there. “Shall we?”
“Is that? ….Captain America? Captain America is standing in your living room…”
You turn and mouth an apology to Steve before ushering your date out the door before he can get a closer look. “What? No. He gets that a lot,” you dismiss. “It’s the shoulders…”
You’ve barely talked since the almost-kiss. And you definitely haven’t talked about the almost-kiss, as if the entire thing had never even happened. You are dating again, and it’s a good thing.
You’re spending less time at the apartment, and Steve’s not entirely sure where you go but he doesn’t ask, afraid of your answer, and you don’t seem willing to offer.
You haven’t knocked on his bedroom door in weeks, and he finds himself alone in your shared apartment once again. Which is fine, because you’re dating again.
It’s a good thing.
So why the hell is he so miserable?
Because you love her.
He cringes at his internal monologue. He has already gone for a run, followed by an hour at the gym. It seems no matter how many punching bags he ruins, or how many miles he runs, he can’t get the thought of you with someone else out of his head.
You are dating again, and it is killing him. Which only makes him feel worse. The guilt is starting to eat him alive. He knows he messed up, that you need time and even so, you’re his best friend’s girl. You can never move on with him.
Was your best friend’s girl. Your best friend who has been gone for years, a little voice reminds him.
He curses, deciding he needs a mission. He doesn’t care what it is, he’ll take anything. He packs his bag, leaving a note for you just in case you come home.
The thought of you coming home with your mystery man is enough to make him sick, and he isn’t sure if that makes him want to stay (on the off chance he gets to finally really size this guy up) or leave even more.
He decides on leaving, getting out of the city for the weekend to see Natasha. It has been a few months since he’s been to the compound, and she always comes through with some work when he needs it.
He gets on his bike, the engine roaring and the wind in his hair almost enough to clear his head and forget the almost-kiss and that you are dating again.
You huff, trying to catch your breath, and use your shirt to wipe the sweat from your face. “I need a minute,” you reply.
“In the real world you won’t get a minute.”
You glare at your sparring partner, but you know better than to snap back. You learned quickly over the last couple of weeks that it only makes her bring it harder.
Natasha Romanoff is not one to be messed with.
You shake your shoulders out, dipping back into a defensive stance. You give the smallest of nods, letting her know you’re ready, and she moves toward you.
Her fist flies toward your face, and you block it, trapping her wrist and using the momentum to pull her into you, twisting it behind her back.
She easily maneuvers out of it, using your own weight to flip you over her, but you roll with it, your leg sweeping just like she taught you.
You’re almost proud of yourself, but as usual, she counters it with her own move, and you’re pinned once again.
You shudder to think of the people she goes up against when she isn’t holding back.
“That was better,” she encourages as she stands, holding a hand out to you. “The leg sweep was a good move.”
You give her a halfhearted thumbs up from the floor. “I’m dying,” you complain.
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “You’re done.”
You sigh in relief, letting her help you up off the gym floor.
“You should bring Steve next time,” she suggests casually as the two of you make your way through the compound and into the kitchen. “Switch up sparring partners, it keeps you on your toes.”
You nod noncommittally and hope that the time it takes you to even out your breathing is enough for her to drop the subject, but her stare is scrutinizing. “I would...except he doesn’t exactly know I’ve been spending weekends here,” you confess.
If she’s surprised it doesn’t show. She’s silent, waiting for you to continue.
“He thinks I’m seeing someone.”
You shake your head. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all that.”
“So why lie about it?” She counters.
You shrug. “I’m not really lying. I just haven’t corrected his assumption.” You don’t bother to tell her about the dance you shared in the living room, about how you wanted to kiss him, too. That you still want to kiss him, but you’re trying your hardest to let Steve go.
“For the record, that’s still lying.”
“Says the woman who lies for a living,” you counter.
“So I know better than anyone - people lie for a reason. What’s yours? The way I see it you’re either embarrassed to be seen with me...or….” she trails off leaving you room to fill in your own unspoken confession, even though you both know.
Only you’ve never said it out loud, and you know that if you breathe life into those words, even to someone else, that there’s no going back for you.
“I’m embarrassed to be seen with you,” you agree sarcastically.
She punches you in the arm playfully before opening the fridge and handing you a water bottle.
“Rogers and Barnes were best friends,” Nat says matter-of-factly. “I get how that feels complicated, but he’s gone. You deserve to be happy. He’d want you to be happy.” She shrugs. “Hell, he’d want you both to be happy. I don’t think there’s anyone else in the world he’d trust more with your heart than Steve.”
You tear up, wiping at your eyes as you clench your jaw, focusing on keeping your emotions in check. Nat has an uncanny ability to know exactly what you need to hear, as if she’s reading your mind. “What if I can’t?”
She understands holding onto the past all too well. She can't move on either. It’s why she’s still chasing Barton, trying to redeem a man who doesn’t want to be found, let alone saved. She holds back her own tears, offering you a smile and taking your hand in hers. “I’m still figuring that one out myself. All I know is you take all of the time you need, but honesty seems like a good place to start.” She smirks. “Besides, Steve is nothing if not patient.”
SHIT I WISHED WAS IN TFATWS (BASICALLY ME RANTING ABOUT WHAT I THOUGHT TFATWS DID WRONG)
Ive actually been thinking about this for literal weeks and I kept rethinking it almost everyday. so here are my irrelevant thoughts on what tfatws should have done
They don't actually let him do anything important till like episode 4 just keep him there to show that he is there. They don't give him any say, most of his opinions are comic relief and aren't taken seriously...for the protagonist of the show he was really cast aside till like episode 5 (4 if you count him talking to karli)
While they did an amazing job in showing racism that sam faced they never addressed any of Sam's personal problems/trauma that well. They rarely show him being sad about things or upset about the stuff that's happening or the stuff he's been through... Like :
How did he cope with Nat's death
How did he feel about Steve leaving
The trauma he went through in his time with the army
Trauma of fighting the avengers + being held in an underwater prison + being on the run
Just more about Paul and Darlene and their death( it could be a long time ago and they did talk about it a lil but just some nice backstory would have been nice?)
They could have shown us more scenes of sam breaking his stoic demeanor when no one is around ( like when he was wiping the blood off of the sheild) just more moments of his showing emotions alone that he doesn't show in front of people because he has to remain strong, how much he tries to remain strong for everyone( they do this a few times but it's like a blink and you'll miss it or it's just Anthony's amazing acting but more prominent scenes would have been soo touching). They kind of do show how much sam tries to deal with everyone's problems on his own but again they didn't let him do shit in the first few episodes. How he just never asks for helps and tries to deal with everything on his own and it would have tied in really well with racism and how black people/poc are seen as a threat when they express emotions and that's why sam always maintains his cool around people. That's why he never loses his temper or screams at people like bucky does because bucky has the privilege to do so without being seen as a threat.
With the way that they handled bucky I genuinely don't think the writers cared/bothered to get to know bucky that much and just HAD to put him in the show
They victim blamed him, constantly just showed that he was somehow responsible for all the trauma that he went through? Like the "he's killed almost everyone he's met" joke is just so insensitive and not even that funny it's just straight up infuriating. They do this throughout the show...make it seem like he's responsible for his actions as the winter soldier ( I think in an interview the director also talked about how bucky was responsible for the hydras shit)
They just focus on the trauma that he caused other people and just never try to show that HE WAS ALSO A VICTIM. it makes sense that bucky would feel more guilty about the harm that he's caused(he has a savior complex and feels the need to fix everything)but they could have shown us from an outsider pov how much bucky was affected without him feeling sorry for himself and just showing us that he is also struggling because of everything hydra put him through(maybe show that he thinks he deserves it or he's just used to it idk)cause he was the one tortured, experimented on and abused for 70 years...and they had the perfect opportunity to do so in episode 3 when he had to play the WS. Just show him dissociating, flinching(after they left the bar), or like having an panic attack(even a silent one sebastian is a good enough actor to pull that off), or anything just to show how much hydra affected HIM. It would have been really interesting to show that he suffers due to both what he was made to do and what was done to him but only focuses on what he did because of survivors guilt or because his of his shitty therapist something.
The way they ended buckys story in the show was so half assed and was just like put in there for some semblence of an ending. They didn't actually even bother to write it well and made it seem like he's cured now? I hope whenever his next appearance is, his ptsd is still shown.
They both deserved much better.
Silver age DC, Marvel & Dell comics in my collection.
Summary: A day on the battlefield sparks an adrenaline rush only a few can handle. After taking down another HYDRA facility, Peggy and Steve turn to each other to let off a little steam.
RATING: Explicit. Smut. Consensual, unprotected sex. Brief descriptive violence. Please do not read if you are under 18 years old.
Note: This is based on my horny lockdown-inspired rave. The setting is during Captain America: The First Avenger - but it's a general mission; not the one that takes place before Steve faces off against the Red Skull.
Sneak Peek: Nothing quite compared to battling in combat except for being in each other's arms.
(read, comment, give kudos, bookmark on Archive of our Own)
When Colonel Phillips quipped about a change of scenery, Peggy didn’t quite expect this to be the sight ahead of her – Steve punching his away up the side of the tank, throwing in a grenade, and leaping out of harm’s way seconds before it exploded. Ever since they met, Steve continued to surprise her, and his action on the field almost made it to the top of the list.
Steve and the Howling Commandos gave them the go-ahead to infiltrate the facility after they made the first move. Peggy's didn’t have time to think before her body and the regiment charged forward, dozens and dozens of boots from fellow soldiers sloshing into the damp mud. Despite her heart beating through her uniform, her gaze remained sharp as other officers sprayed bullets left and right. She unleashed more than a few of her own, the vibration of the gun trembling in her firm grip. The mission was relatively simple: wipe every HYDRA facility off the map before The Red Skull moved his goons and engineered more weapons someplace else. It was about staying one step ahead of the curve. Reading into situations and responding in an instant was exactly how Peggy viewed the world at that very second as she entered the dank facility. She moved swiftly into the building, giving orders to a few soldiers down the hallway. It was then she heard a different set of boots connecting with the steel platform around the corner. She knew from their rhythm they were not from her own party. Ducking around the shadows, they flew by her.
"Cut off one head-" an anonymous HYDRA soldier shouted before it was silenced with a clang that could only be made by the purest metal - vibranium. Peggy turned the corner and trailed after the noise, cocking her gun and shooting more HYDRA soldiers that were coming up behind Steve to attack - saving him from being over-taken in an instant.
"You didn't let me finish," Steve noted, stepping towards her. Never mind there was more solitary showdowns going on around them. For the moment, their eyes locked. The space between them was already close, and somehow he shortened it more. If looks could ignite a fire, theirs would be ablaze. “There’ll be more than ample opportunity to make it up later,” Peggy teased, as her gaze burrowed at Steve, thinking of how the distance between them could be non-existent with one quick reach of his arm around her waist. How she waited for him to make a move. How she would've done it if they had been the center of each other's attention one second longer.
"Come on, slouches. The war’s not going to win itself," Dugan declared, walking in on their moment, and the other Howling commandos brushing past them. Bucky smirked alongside them trying not to crack jokes at Steve's expense.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - Night fell while the team retreated to their base deep into the forest. They spent enough time scrambling up a quick meal, a few campfire stories, and then off to their barracks for as good of a rest anyone could expect. Having washed up with a simple basin and reused rags, Peggy stood in her tent stripped down and grateful for the reprieve of tepid weather. Her feet padded across the wooden platform as she organized her next day's uniform on the back of the chair.
Waiting until the dead of night felt like an eternity as Steve finally stood outside Peggy’s tent at the end of the aisle. Steve's heart thumped steadily as his patience and anticipation blurred together. Peggy thought she'd heard a familiar rhymed knock on the pole outside, turning towards the opening where Steve raised the cloth. She stood in front of him, nearly naked - sure and unafraid.
His eyes travelled from her bare legs to and the brassiere peeking underneath the long sleeved shirt she was bearing. Her hair unfurled in loose curls, and face bare from make-up. "I stopped to thank you for the assist earlier," he acknowledged, stepping further towards her and taking stock of the confines of the tent. "I was just at the right place and the right time," she noted coyly, folding her arms at her waist, her eyes noted everything about him; like she was recording him in her memory for later.
Steve shook his head in disapproval, not letting her get off without the proper praise. "No, it was more than that," he said lingering, zeroing in, unafraid of his presence nearly filling up the whole tent and sensing the feeling she didn't mind it either, not with the way her eyes devoured him through his off-duty uniform. Looking up at him, Peggy's mouth fell open to say something more, but words wouldn't do enough service for how much she wanted him. Instead, she reached to the lapel of his leather jacket and pulled him in for a kiss, one that he welcomed by jutting his tongue out to meet hers. She picked off his jacket and shirt, both landed with a low thud as her hands worked to do the same with his belt and pants.
His lips crashed down alongside her neck as his own hands brushed underneath her shirt, resting on her cool skin. He stood, with the exception of his boots, naked and putty in her hands. As she pumped his hard length, paying attention to the swollen head, his head dived backwards almost making him forget where he was. He thought he was done for when her teeth dragged his bottom lip between her teeth but steadied himself with one hand at the base of her neck and the other gripping her waist.
Despite his presence in the tent, Steve maneuvered them with ease to the cot near the floor as he hovered over Peggy and felt a slight tinge of relief when she let go of his cock. Her legs splayed on either side of him as her hands hang loose, his fingers slowly unbuttoning her shirt. It wasn't long before he made quick work of her brassiere and then pantilens, kneading her breasts with his hands and mouth.
His low moans remained muffled as he found his way around what made her tick, always trying to figure out what she liked more. He loved the feel of her thick thighs against his face as he rubbed his jaw against the side, teasing her with kisses before diving in. Peggy's hips jutted upward in response as he began to stroke her with his mouth. The weight of the world on his shoulders took a passenger's seat as he lost himself in her.
One of Peggy's hands ran through Steve's slick hair as the other dug her red nails into his shoulder. As he began pumping fingers in and out of her, his sureness surprising her again and releasing all of the tension she piled up since the last time they were together. Peggy pressed her hand against her mouth to prevent releasing a moan that would've woken up the whole camp. Steve began kissing his way up her body, leaving a trail of wetness on her skin as he hovered, letting her legs fall around his waist.
His brow furrowed in a way she never saw before, the wheels turning in his head of what to do next. "I know there's more from where that came from soldier," she quipped, her hand wiping the sweat from his forehead and caressing his cheek, making sure to push her tits out and hint of how they were begging for attention.
Steve smiled, bashfully, "Don't you know it." In one swift move, Steve led his cock into her opening, sinking in and giving her a moment to adjust to his size. He brushed his lips against hers as his arms secured her legs around his waist before shuffling them into a standing position.
The look of surprise yet pleasure on her face made Steve give a guttural hum as he steadied them together. Standing, he felt, was better than destroying her cot with how hard he wanted to pound into her, and still getting used to the freedom and limitations of his strength in more ways than one.
Any thoughts he had about what he had gotten himself into faded away as her grip around his neck and shoulders tightened as she adjusted to the position. He planted his forehead against hers, holding a steady gaze with his bright blue eyes searing into her dark chocolate pools. Slowly, she ground her hips towards his, not fearing that she was the first to give in. She wanted him, all of him, and she was sure on getting it as fast as possible. She clashed her lips to his as he hit an angle deep inside she didn't know existed. It wasn't long before they found a rhythm helping each other reach their peak, standing in the middle of her cot, the candle light in the lantern running low.
One couldn't tell from the soft demeanor Steve always exuded, but a part of him liked this - the aggression. Different than brute strength, he wanted someone who trusted that he knew how to handle himself. Turning around, Steve's knees nudged the back of the cot as he slowed down to sit. Her hands forced him backwards to lie as she began riding him. Steve closed his eyes at the feeling of her fingers dancing across his chest and resting on each pec before opening them to see her in another element that was her own. This is exactly what Peggy wanted - being in control with someone who trusted her to bring out the best in both of them. Scattered moments of the war played in the back of her mind - seeing him in uniform, the heat of the battle, the triumph of taking down HYDRA one unit at a time no matter how many sprang up. They outsmarted the grim reaper and had another day to love and live again, causing Peggy to grind on him harder.
Reaching down over Steve, his hands tangled in her hair as her lips crashed against him. "Let go for me, Peg-," Steve warned her, but not feeling her stop for him to pull out. Straightening out on top of him, Peggy threw back her head whimpering his name in desperation. She felt Steve's fingers, slightly slickened, meeting between her legs and softly teasing her along. Their humming moans might’ve been soft, but it was like spying a shooting star after searching the night sky, nearing the finishing line after an exhausting race, bottles of champagne opening on New Year’s Eve. As they came down from their high, their lips caressed each other, not wanting to surrender to the exhaustion before Steve had the chance to discreetly return to his tent.
"I’ve been waiting for that all day," she admitted breathily, resting her hands and head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat booming at a quickened yet steady pace.
"Me too,” he said, his skin breaking out into a sweaty blush, as she stretched out over him and his hands wrapped around her back with the blanket. They both started to re-arrange themselves on the bed side by side, struggling to let sleep set in. It felt like a few more moments of respite before morning would arrive and they’d be fighting again. Traipsing through the mud and humidity or the cold and ice. Gnashing on whatever food the company could scrounge to keep their stomachs full. Cramped corridors and hardly a moment's worth of privacy. Sleeping with both ears open to decipher every unexpected noise. Bullets spraying in every direction and looking over one's shoulder for safety. They needed to chase that same sense of adrenaline after missing death's door at every turn. Nothing quite compared to being in combat except for being in each other's arms.
This is the superior superhero pose
Fourteen Nights - A Captain America Drabble
Fictober Day 17: “I’m with you, you know that.”
Fandom: Marvel Comics (Earth 616)
Fourteen days. That had been how long it had been since Steve had last seen Bucky. That had been how long it had been since Steve had used the cosmic cube to bring back his memories before he’d shattered the cube and disappeared, with tears streaming down his cheeks. The look of pure anguish on Bucky’s familiar face had shattered Steve in a way that not even reading through the Winter Soldier’s files had managed. It haunted his dreams, kept him up in the early hours before dawn, occupied his every waking thought, made it difficult to do much else besides think and think and think.
Fourteen days. That was two weeks. An entire fortnight. And yet, in many ways it felt both like yesterday and an eternity ago. It was a nightmare. It was a dream come true. It was the worst day of his life. It was everything he’d always hoped for. Steve didn’t know how to feel anymore. The conflicting emotions left him far too overwhelmed. So he stopped feeling. He let himself settle into a numb, detached state that left him a wraith-like shell of himself.
So long as he wasn’t feeling, wasn’t dwelling, he could focus. He could pour his time and energy into looking, searching, bringing Bucky back home.
“Hey,” said Sharon, drawing Steve out of his musings. It was dark save for the light of the city streaming in through the windows at his back, but it was more than enough for his enhanced eyes to see by. “It’s late. You should try and get to sleep.”
“That’s alright,” said Steve, not bothering to look up from the coffee table. “You should head to bed. I’ll be there in a bit.”
“A bit for you means another three hours at the least,” said Sharon, walking into the room. He could hear the swish of her nightgown as she padded towards the couch. She leaned over the table, and Steve could practically feel the shift in the air when she parsed out exactly what he was looking at.
“Steve…” said Sharon, wearily. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
“I keep thinking that if I read these again, that maybe somewhere I’ll find something I missed. Some name or date or clue. Something that will tell me where to find him,” Steve admitted.
Spread out upon the coffee table were copies of the Winter Soldier files, highlighted and annotated and bookmarked and organized. He had gone through them again and again, perused them with a fine-toothed comb. And yet…
“Steve,” said Sharon, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You need to let these go.”
“But what if I missed something? What if it’s all right there and I just-“
“Steve,” Sharon repeated, moving in front of him to block his view of the documents, and settling her hands on his chin, lifting his face to meet her eyes. “You have read and reread these files more times than I can count. You probably could recite them from memory even after the first time you went through them, but you still continue to do it. This isn’t research anymore, Steve, it’s self-torture.”
She was right. Steve knew she was right. And yet he just couldn’t get himself to stop.
“I know you think you deserve this pain,” said Sharon. “I know you think that by doing this you’ll somehow be able to shoulder some of the burden of the horrors that Bucky has been through over the years, because you feel guilty that you were living your life free while he was a prisoner in his own mind. But you remember him best, don’t you? Would the Bucky of the past, the one you lost all those years ago, would he want you to sit here and torture yourself and wallow in guilt, or would he want you to move on and live your life even if it’s without him?”
Steve knew the answer and it twisted his heart. Everything Sharon was saying was true. She hadn’t even known Bucky, but she knew Steve, knew of his dead partner and best friend through the stories he’d told. And if there was anything the both of them knew with certainty, it was that the Bucky of the past would be utterly incensed to Steve behaving the way he was.
“I’ll help you the best I can to find him,” said Sharon. “You’re not alone in this, Steve. I’m with you, you know that.”
Steve closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead against her abdomen as Sharon began to run soft finger through his hair.
“I do,” he said at last. “Thank you.”
Sharon’s hands stilled for a moment, before she rested a palm against the back of his head.
“Come to bed with me.”
And if the files were no longer there when Steve woke up the next morning, then perhaps it was just a step in the right direction.
We rode to the city of Utgard on wolf-back. The pack was more than happy to stay and wait, having feasted on a frost beast while they did. They were all full.
"Thank you," I said to them. Thor and Tony nodded in agreement. The leader nodded, taking his leave, and the others followed at a slow gallop, still full from their meal.
We brought our competitor through the city on their horses, getting looks as we made our way to the palace. No one stopped us; they just stopped whatever they were doing and stared. I kept my eyes straight ahead, trying to ignore the looks of shock, the looks of anger and hatred. They didn't matter.
"You know, my father may or may not let you go."
I looked at Ingemar. "The idea has crossed my mind."
"You don't care?"
"If I can fight for Lesedi's freedom, you can be damn sure I'll fight for my own."
We finally reached the palace gates and they were opened to us. We walked up the path to the palace, and again the doors were opened. We dismounted and went straight to the throne room:
"So." Utgard-Loki's look was one of disgust. Ingemar lowered his head. "A real Jotunir would have come back victorious."
"Here is your iced fire--" I pulled the stone from the back of my shield. " And here is your son. He fought bravely."
"He did, did he?" he asked, his gaze sparking with anger at his son. "Then why didn't he die in battle?"
"I spared his life," I said. "He is young, and will become great in time. I also cannot bear the idea of Lesedi feeling guilt over his demise at my hand."
"So, Lesedi has been won," Utgard-Loki said, sitting back on his throne. "Now you must be bound and she must be claimed."
I swallowed hard. I wasn't sure what that meant.
Guards brought Lesedi out. She was in a simple gown, her eyes puffy from crying. She looked stressed out. She saw me, and almost rushed to me, but stopped to look around. Ingemar looked away, and she looked at the chief.
"It seems your Captain was victorious," Utgard-Loki nodded. "Bring our shaman."
Whoa? What? I looked at Tony whose eyes got huge, and Thor, who frowned.
A frost giant entered dressed in robes and a headdress. He came with a silver rope and a shield in his hands. It was a wedding of sorts, but instead of rings, they bound our hands together with the rope after pricking our fingers with a shard of ice to put our blood on it. binding it to the shield. There were no "I do's." We were told that we are shield mates. I was a defender and protector of my ultimate possession, which was my mate, my ultimate sign of strength, worthiness, wealth and well-being.
Lesedi was taken away, and I went after her.
"A word, Captain?"
I turned to Utgard-Loki. "Where are you taking my wife?"
"Wife is the Midgardian term for shieldmate," I spat out, annoyed at Loki's small smile. "Where are you taking her?"
"To move your things to her room. In our culture she and her things would be moved, but Loki is the only living family elder and made the choice." Utgard Loki answered simply. "You do understand your union seals your fate?"
"Yes." I said quickly. "She is mine now--"
"You must stand together?" He gave a small smile. "United in all things? You do realize you must become true mates so that your stand is bound and strong?"
I swallowed hard. Our "union" was in word, and the deed was to come; we had to consummate. Funny how that part doesn't really change no matter where you go. "I understand."
"She is unbreached, so if she is the same in the morning, then that will be considered rejection or ineptness." Utgard Loki smiled as he watched my jaw clenched. "In the morning, when your union is complete tonight, you will be free to go in the morning."
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Yk I love innocent peter Parker who doesn’t curse but can you imagine Peter Parker who cusses like a sailor at every inconvenience
like Peter drops his toast in the avengers kitchen and just goes “gOD FUCKING DAMMIT WHAT THE SHIT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK” and every one just stares at him and tony is Shocked Dad™️ and then Steve (he was in the army he 100% cussed) and Bucky just sit in a corner laughing their asses of Tony’s face
Avengers #82 (Thomas/Buscema, Nov 1970). Hilariously the Zodiac dispatch the Avenger as easily as the FF knocked out all the villains who tried to crash the wedding. They’re only saved by Daredevil, which sort of makes hot mess Matty seem more competent than the whole team.
I would watch a show of steve rogers just doing normal everyday things.
Captain America #131 (Lee/Colan, Nov 1970). Baron Strucker brainwashes an amnesiac doppelgänger into believing he is Bucky. But what if…?