A/N: You were apart of The Avengers, in love with Captain America and suddenly everything is different. Two years later, you’re engaged to a man named Ryan and telling yourself you’re over Steve Rogers and The Avengers, but that might not be the truth. When your secrets start coming to the surface, you have to face the reality that you’ve been trying to bury for two years. Will you say I Do picturing Steve’s face or will you come to your senses and face what’s staring back at you?
(Steve POV in some places, italics are flashbacks)
light blue, three
quarter length sleeve button down was tucked into your calf
length, black pencil skirt, your black heels crunched dirt under your shifting feet. Your hair in waves falling over your
shoulders blows in the light summer breeze, you had on black sunglasses, your
painted light pink lips pressed together. You watched as he came into your line
of sight, you stood at one of the many entrances to Central Park knowing he
didn’t know you where there. His grey sweatpants fit perfectly on his hips, the
red under armor shirt clinging to his arms and chest in that way that made your
mouth water, even after all this time.
I had so much fun writing this prompt! Aaron Burr is such an intriguing character to write, and I loved tackling a context for jealousy with him. In spite of my multiple attempts to bend him to my will, Burr decided he was doing his own thing, and continually surprised me on every page. I hope you enjoy this!
Prompt: “I’m not jealous.” and “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” with Aaron Burr
If this went on much longer, you would be in danger of actually spitting nails. Never mind that you didn’t have any nails to spit—you’d find a way somehow.
“Y/N.” General Washington looked at you sternly. “Why don’t you step outside for a moment?”
You sighed heavily, muttering under your breath and shooting a deadly glare at the puffed up magenta peacock. You slammed your hands down on the table with a bang as you stood, causing a few men to flinch. Without another word, you turned on one booted heel and stormed out of the cabinet meeting, forcing the door open with enough force to send it flying back at you. You held your hand up, though, shielding yourself, and let it slam behind you while you whirled into the hallway with the force of a hurricane.
“Motherfucking Democratic-Republicans!” you snarled to the empty space.
Sharing the title of ‘Washington’s right hand’ with Alexander Hamilton was no easy task. The political decisions that needed to be made always spawned arguments that had you wanting to scream, and you had little patience for the endless debates.
When you wanted to be cool headed and logical, God help anyone who tried to argue with you. With Thomas Jefferson in the room, though, the only words you seemed able to think of began with ‘motherfucking—’. You longed for the days when arguments could be solved with a well placed bayonet.
You blew out your breath and reached up to yank your h/c hair out of its short ponytail. Your once waist-length locks had yet to recover from the brutal chopping they’d received when you snuck into the militia, and you were left with slightly uneven hair falling to your shoulders. You ran a hand through it quickly, then tied it back again and began to pace outside the closed doors of the cabinet meeting, hands on your hips.
The polished black mens’ boots you wore made soft taps on the floor, your scandalous calf-length skirt swaying as you moved. You’d found it hard to revert to ‘ladylike’ clothes when you returned from the war, the unexpected woman hero, and instead convinced Hercules Mulligan to create a series of custom, loose dresses for you, in the customary reds and blues of the soldiers. When combined with the pistol you had slung on your hip most of the time and the deadly look on your face after any meeting, you had a very unique effect on people. Mostly, everyone just stayed well out of your way.
Well, everyone but him. You groaned aloud, turning around to face the speaker. God, why?
Aaron Burr was striding down the hallway toward you purposefully, and you glared. He was the last thing you needed right now. “Mr. Burr.” You nodded coldly.
He paused in front of you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What are you standing out in the hallway for?”
You sighed, your shoulders slumping. In the years since returning from the war and beginning work on the new nation’s government, you’d often found yourself in the company of Aaron Burr. In spite of your nearly identical political viewpoints, though, Burr always managed to find something you were doing wrong. You frankly had no idea what you could possibly have done to anger the man, but for the past two years, he’d consistently spoken to Hamilton with more civility when they were in the middle of an argument.
Putting you two in a room together would inevitably result in a fight, and with your metaphorical fuse already quite short, this was going to end badly. For him.
“You probably want to keep walking, Burr.” you warned.
“Are you waiting outside a cabinet meeting?” he asked you incredulously, choosing to entirely overlook your words.
“Yes.” You rolled your eyes, sarcasm dripping from your words as you continued. “Apparently screaming ‘stupid southern motherfucker’ is frowned upon.”
“So,” Burr said with a charming sort of smirk. “You’re finally getting a taste of what it’s like to be on the other side of the closed doors?”
You scowled, white hot anger flashing through you. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Y/N.” Burr said easily. “You’ve done some very impressive things. But you’re a girl who rashly decided to leave her hair on the bedroom floor and run off to war. Hamilton won’t even let me in the room where it all happens. You have no business in there.”
Hamilton and Washington had cursed your impulsiveness hundreds of times. It may have saved them in the war, but it had no place in governing. That never stopped you, though. As your hand cracked across Burr’s face in a stinging slap, a single thought was running through your head. They’re going to actually kill me for this.
“You may be a Princeton graduate and a high-and-mighty lawyer, Mr. Burr,” you hissed, “but this girl fought, bled, and damn near died for her country. I have far more right to stand in there than you ever will.” Your furious e/c eyes were flashing fire at being reduced to just your gender.
“God, what the hell is your problem with me, anyway? That I’m a woman?” You threw your hands up. “I’m a woman with a gun, in fact, and I’ve got no problem using it on you.”
Burr raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You misunderstood, Miss Y/N. I apologize. You’ve left me in no doubt of your competence, believe me.”
Well then what the hell is your problem? You wanted to scream at him. You turned away slightly, willing yourself not to do anything stupid, fists clenched until your nails bit into your palms. Conversations with Aaron Burr always went in senseless circles, and you hated it.
“If there was a man with your…credentials…sitting in Washington’s cabinet, I would challenge him too.”
You faced him again, realization crashing over you. You let out a short bark of laughter, shaking your head at the situation, now that you understood it. “Oh my god, Burr. You’re jealous, aren’t you? It has nothing to do with me at all. You–”
He cut you off. “I’m not jealous.”
“Yes, you are, Aaron. You want nothing more than to be on the inside, and I’m there and you’re not and you hate it.”
“Why are you smiling?” He was looking at you like you were crazy.
“Because,” you shot back with a laugh, “at least now I know why you act like you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.” Burr said slowly, an odd expression on his face. As you stood before him, hands propped on your waist in their favorite perch, slightly breathless from your earlier tirade and now smiling at the almost surreal conversation, Aaron Burr was staring at you as though seeing you for the first time.
Feeling awkward with his unreadable eyes on you, you pushed a loose strand of h/c hair behind your ear and shifted your weight to your other foot.
“That’s another thing,” you spoke over him, though without any malice in your tone this time. “People call me Y/N or just L/N, you can knock off the ‘miss’.”
He nodded at you, his earlier smirk being replaced by a genuine smile, the first you may have ever seen from him.
“Hey, listen—” you broke off to look over your shoulder when the doors behind you opened, the men from the cabinet meeting flooding into the hallway and talking over one another, their debates apparently not yet finished.
“Y/N!” General Washington was calling you.
You gave a quick nod to Burr. “I’ve got to go. Oh, and one more thing,” you called over your shoulder as you began to walk away. “Your problem with getting stuck on the wrong side of these closed doors? The trick is not to wait for things. Make them happen.”
Aaron watched you from the other end of the now crowded hallway, finishing your conversation with Washington and now falling into step with an unfamiliar young man, talking and laughing easily with him. He shook his head, annoyed with himself. Of course you would have a courter. He had taken too long to notice what this man had obviously already realized. Until you had snapped at him just now, he’d never seen your beauty, your intelligence, your fire and passion. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as you passed him, not even seeing him, let alone acknowledging his presence.
A nudge on his arm pulled him from his thoughts. “Mr. Burr, sir.” Hamilton greeted him. “I wanted to…” the man trailed off, following Burr’s gaze, and a grin spread across his face. “Jealous?”
“Nothing bold or magnificent is built from fear.” –Amazon’s The Collection
Gone was the hard, boxy and masculine look (including liberating trousers) that came with wartime fabric rationing. “Hideous and repellent” is how Dior described that look. Instead he made sculpted dresses of as much as 25 yards of the finest luxury fabrics: ultrafeminine, but a burden to wear. Corsets shrank waists by up to two inches; crinolines and padding made full, calf-length skirts even more voluminous. Busts were lifted and breasts made into pointed cones. High heels and wide-brimmed or tilted tri-cornered hats completed the look. Comfort was not the point: not then, and not now, on the small screen. [x]
Rear Window, the 1954 classic film, starred the beguiling Grace Kelly as a fashion consultant who learns that her photographer boyfriend may have witnessed a murder. This stunning Grace Kelly portrait doll wears a beautiful black and white dress inspired by the one she wore in the film. The classic design is re-created with elegant chiffon, a V-neck bodice and full calf-length skirt embellished with a delicate branch pattern. Includes a “pearl” necklace and earrings, a white chiffon shawl, white “satin” gloves and black heels.