you always stand up, Steven.

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doesn’t matter what the press says. doesn’t matter what the politicians or the mobs say. doesn’t matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right. this nation was founded on one principle above all else: the requirement that we stand up for what we believe, no matter the odds or the consequences. when the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world — 

    𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏  !      when the dust cleared, thor stood there, the gauntlet sizzling and charred to a crisp on his dominant hand. everything slowed to a dizzying blur and thor could see the fruits of their victory, as thanos’ army dissipated into nonexistence. he’d done it. they’d won. thor swayed, head turned towards valhalla, seeking out its light, and his mother’s gentle visage among the clouds.

𝐖𝐄'𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒. 𝐖𝐄'𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍, 𝐖𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄, 𝐖𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐄.      was this the glorious death that was promised to him ? a merciful reprieve from a life most tormenting and lonely. he wished to see his mother and father again, reunite with loki, heimdall, and the warriors three among the dead, way up there. thor staggered and fell, hitting a bed of rocks where his bloody temple fell against its final resting place. he could feel white - hot pain shooting through the right side of his body, but pain was like an old friend to him by now. he was dying, he could feel it, but it was like the fates had just one more cruel trick up their sleeve, to prolong it as long as his godly physique could withstand the decay. with his last ounce of strength, thor propped himself upright against a boulder and rested both mjolnir and storm - breaker across his lap. he exhaled a heavy sigh, head turning towards the first person that approached him.   ❛    hey,    ❜   he mumbled throatily.   ❛    will you stay with me a while ?    ❜  he didn’t want to be alone, just this once.  ❛    please.    ❜

everything happens in slow motion for the soldier-- the battle field is all too far away for him now as tired eyes flit from one person to the next, brows furrowing in a squint as he makes sense of the situation. he’s aware of everything happening to an overstimulating extent, chest heaving with anxiety as the eerie calm of an after-battle finally washes over him.

throwing himself into the fray was something he was accustomed to, even in his youth-- it was the silence that deafened him and caused his nerves to jump with unnecessary anticipation. a nervous buzzing shrouds the blond’s movements. adrenaline is replaced by a harsh reality, and Steve finally lays misted blues on the larger blond not far off as he stutters; falls to the rocks.

he thinks he moves quickly, but he can’t really be certain through the fog in his mind. the soldier falls next to the bulky male, knees hitting solid ground hard next to him so he may lean against the boulder as well. Steve is no stranger to war-- nor is he a stranger to the injury and death of his brothers. he has held soldiers as they died, mumbling to themselves; calling for their mothers. calling for a lover. greeting family members as though they really saw them waiting there for them. it doesn’t make it any easier. 

“hey,” he roughs back, throat raw from the dry air. Steve leans heavily against the boulder as well, hands shifting to gently take hold of his brother in arms. he doesn’t have to be told twice-- he doesn’t even have to be told. he’d stay with him until the end of the line. he deserved that much, after everything he’d done for him. done for them. “i’m not goin’ anywhere, pal.”

fisting a hand in the other’s clothing, Steve’s free hand shifts to cup the warrior’s face so he may lean down-- press his forehead to Thor’s; an intimate embrace shared by those with similar experience. it’s all too familiar, breathing in the other’s air. he’d felt it time and time again while he prayed for his fallen soldiers. he didn’t think praying was appropriate here-- not in regards to his God, anyhow. “hey, look-- look at me.” the close proximity may have made it more difficult, but there was nothing more powerful than eye contact.

trust. loyalty. adoration. you can’t hide that in a gaze.

“it’s okay.” it’s okay to let go. you’ve done all you can here. 

     “how do naval cadets communicate?”

he can feel it in his core-- right down to the marrow of his bones. he’s familiar with the inflection; the tone. it’s a set-up for a joke, and he’s certain it’s gonna be a ... well, an interesting one. sucking in a breath, the corner of his lips twitch at the smirk he’s concealing.

i may have got a little wrapped up in writing... a lot of history for my Hux blog, but i am here to do things <3

soft sentence starters: accepting!

It didn’t come much as a surprise to the bulky soldier that Rumlow had showed up to his apartment that evening. He had a feeling, deep down, that something was going to happen-- and the moment he heard the knock on the door and the gravel tone of a familiar stranger behind it that the anxiety simultaneously spiked and dissipated all at once.

Swinging the door open, Steve had stared at the man with a careful and guarded stance, feet spread and shoulders squared, just in case the smaller male had other ideas in regards to this late night visit. One look at Rumlow’s stance and the heat in his gaze told the soldier all he needed to know, and he allowed the other some breathing room; stepping back and to the side to allow the other inside his apartment.

It was a mistake, and this he knew... but far be it for Steve to deny he still felt something for the asshole that now tromped into his entryway like he owned the damn place.

He had had something with Rumlow, once upon a time-- it was something Steve thought would last a while. Perhaps not forever, as he knew that was wishful thinking and Rumlow was certainly not the type. But with all things considered, he never expected to have their relationship end because of a betrayal of Rumlow’s caliber. No, not cheating. Not a simple little lie or anything of the sort, but a full on betrayal of his trust. Working for the enemy. Plans to do-away with him once he got what he wanted.

Rumlow, from Steve’s observation, took what he wanted: whenever he wanted.

Tonight was no exception.

The body crashing against his own when the door is shut and locked has Steve taken back a little, but he recovers with a quick hand flinging up; fingers wrapped around Rumlow’s throat threateningly and yet not squeezing-- not yet. He’d give the other the benefit of the doubt for now. The lips that followed does have Steve squeezing, but only enough for Rumlow to really feel it. Maybe make it so he has to swallow harder when pulling away. The kiss is selfish, as is common with anything Rumlow does... and yet when Steve shoves him off and locks eyes with him, the words his ex all but growls against his mouth causes something to snap in Steve.

A beat passes, and Steve shoves the other roughly back against the opposite wall, pinning him as he himself had just been a moment prior. A huff escapes the blond as he lunges forward, kissing the other open mouthed and hot. It’s as though the dam that was holding him back finally broke.. overflowed and buckled under the pressure of it all, just at the sight of the other’s dark complexion and honey tinted gaze. “Asshole,” he growls into Rumlow’s mouth, hand finally squeezing enough to perhaps cause a stutter in breath as his other hand shifts to rest palm-flat on the wall above Rumlow’s shoulder.

“You’re a Goddamned asshole.”

soft sentence starters: accepting!

Steve wasn’t really good at much– he had his art, and he prided himself in that, at least. His morals, also, were something that one could bring home to their mother. Bucky often bragged about how good a pal his smaller friend was, and although the slender blond appreciated the flattery, he really didn’t think very highly of himself, much less anything he really did. And although he had his morals, and art, and a fierce friendship that was undying… cooking was something that was a foreign concept to the boy, and he knew he could never redeem himself in that regard.

But he tried: boy howdy, did he ever try. 

Especially for Bucky.

At the first few words, Steve hung on every syllable, tilting his head so his good ear was facing his best friend. He wanted to hear what Bucky had to say, and he hoped beyond all hope that it was something good. He wasn’t about to hold his breath about it, however, when the pause was followed by what he could determine was a sigh. Maybe his gut clenched a bit, because he really did want to make a good meal for his best fella… but he couldn’t be the only one to blame for this mediocre dinner for his hard working roommate.

Bucky pretty well shouldered all the hard labour himself, working shift after shift, and sometimes even double shifts when he could, just so the two of them could make ends meet. Steve tried to sell his art to make up his part of the income, but there was only so much that appealed to an audience in their area– and he’d been suggested to start up other… services… that may help them make extra money. Enough to pay the bills, and make rent. He was, rather incredulously, a bit popular among the sketchier parts of their neighbourhood. The parts of the lower East side that harboured sailors looking for a cheap thrill after a night of drinking.

Steve swallows down the fleeting thought along with his bland and tough meat. It hits his stomach as nauseatingly as anything else typically did these days.

“Hey, Buck.” he starts, turning his eyes down to his plate to shove his food around: he isn’t very hungry anymore. And it isn’t Bucky’s fault either that he doesn’t like the meal. The least Steve could do was make a good meal for his hard working man, God damn it… and he couldn’t provide. The blond chokes down another bite with a sigh threatening to escape. “How ‘bout ya shut up and just eat your food, huh?”

He frowns, and it’s a frown to trump all frowns. He isn’t mad because Steve told him to stop, he’s just bored and wants Steve’s attention. He wants to talk to him and go places with him, even at this ungodly time of night; he yearns for a time he never even lived where the two of them would do just that: stay up all hours of the night to swap stories and giggle until Bucky’s father barged in to reprimand them. 

Not my father, he had to remind himself, not my memories.

After a moment longer of lying there still as a statue with the small blond in his arms, Winter can’t stop himself from snaking his metal arm underneath the smaller figure, organic one meeting metal against the small of his back as Winter brings him even closer to his body. It’s a welcome feeling; it’s so new but so familiar at the same time.

Another feeling washes over him and Winter finds himself pulling the blond even closer to his body (as if getting any closer was possible). With both hands against his back, the soldier holds him steady as he buries his face between jaw and shoulder; lips press featherlight against the soft flesh there and he even dares flick his tongue along his neck for only a moment. Featherlight kisses quickly grow into something else: something meaningful, something heavy. He’s tempted, at this point, to add teeth into the equation, but he seems to think he knows his boundaries. He definitely doesn’t want to push any with Steve.

As if making out with his neck while he’s sleeping isn’t already pushing boundaries enough …

there’s movement beneath him, and Steve is awake enough to notice but not awake enough to care. he shifts slightly, allowing the appendage to slip underneath him. being wrapped up in protective arms has him sighing with content, eyes blinking open for a second as he’s tugged closer before he drifts off once more. it’s easy for Steve to fall asleep-- he could fall asleep anywhere really, his small body overworking itself often. it wasn’t uncommon to catch Steve snoozing at his desk, or on the sofa, or even on a lunch break at the diner after shutting his eyes for just a moment to relax. 

but it’s also sort of easy to wake the boy as well, after jostling him around as much as he’s been. another irritated grunt escapes the boy as he’s shifted closer yet, a huff puffing from his cheeks as he makes attempts at nuzzling in to hide himself from more shuffling... but the lips to his neck has him sucking in a breath instead, and out of instinct, the blond tilts his head away from the bulkier man holding him to give him easier access.

alright... he could handle being woken up like this. maybe. perhaps.

Steve allows the feather light kisses to touch his neck just-so for a few moments, holding his breath and releasing it slowly... but the moment the kisses turn heavier, the sleepy boy releases a short clipped groan he hadn’t realized would slip out after his exhale. tensing in the other’s arms, Steve finally tilts his head to blink sleepily at the body against him, brows scrunching up as he tries to make sense of the situation before he allows himself to physically melt at the attention given.