I've got a soft spot for Steve recovering pieces of his past. Imagine some great grand cousins on the Rogers side contacting Steve, showing him pictures of his father, to see if that's really who they think it is?
Tony had told him not to
go, because it’s the twenty-first
century, Cap. Anyone can seem like they’re honest. It’s a scam.
Steve had gone.
(Natasha had handed him a
manila folder without a word and Steve hadn’t needed it, was going to go
anyway, because he’d known the man
was honest, he didn’t need Natasha’s background-check-ancestry.com-spy-skills
to prove it.)
They met in a café, small
and out of the way. The man was reserved,
with an average build, but he had a wry quirk to his mouth, the same square to
His name was Joseph (call
me Joe) and they muscled through stilted small talk for several minutes before
Joe caved (Steve never said he was always
the brave one).
“I brought –I thought you
might like to see these. It’s why I
tried to contact you in the first place.”
Joe produced an envelope with a handful of black and white pictures in
them, edges worn but lovingly kept. “I
think we’re…” Joe paused. “…cousins.”
Steve sifted through them
carefully: a man in a military uniform with a serious set to his mouth,
sporting the jaw that Steve and Joe seemed to have inherited; the same man and
a woman smiling, the man in his uniform and a slight woman –a slight –Steve’s mother- in a white dress.
“That – that’s my
mother.” Steve set the third picture
down carefully. “Where did you get these?”
The ghost of a smile was
hovering on Joe’s lips. “My mother. Her grandmother had a brother that died
young, in the First World War. I didn’t
think much of it until I saw-“
“Yeah.” Joe smiled. “I just thought,” he motioned to his face,
“there’s some similarities and what they had on your family, it wasn’t much,
but it looked like the woman in the wedding pictures.” He shrugged.
“I thought it’d be worth a shot.”
Steve smiled. “I’m glad you did. I didn’t realize I had any family. It was always Ma and me, and then…just me.”
Something shifted in Joe’s
face that Steve recognized as what Sam called his Stubborn Ass Resolve
“Look, I know you probably
have plans or invitations, but my wife and I host Thanksgiving every year. We always have room for more family.”
Steve sipped his coffee in
an effort to distract from the itch in his eyes and be sure his voice would
Other women become wags either because they want money/fame or they just happen to fall in love with a man who plays football. Meanwhile I wanna beckme a wag so I can have free tickets and the latest kits/jerseys 😂😂😂
Summary: Bucky’s doctors appointment didn’t go as well as he thought it would. He takes out his anger on the reader.
Word Count: 1088
A/N: I’m back! I couldn’t write a series without some angst, so this chapter is jammed back with angst and the next one has a little bit of angst! Thanks again for reading! If you want to be added to the tag list, just ask! Enjoy!
Bucky sat in the chair next to you bouncing his leg. You were at his doctor’s appointment to check on the progress of his collarbone.
You put your hand on his leg, “Buck, calm down. Everything is gonna be okay."
"I’m just nervous. If everything is going good, I can play in two weeks,” he played with your engagement ring.
"Whatever the doctor says, we will handle it, okay?“
He brought your hand up and kissed it, as if that was going to calm him.
"Bucky Barnes,” Dr. Bruce Banner walked in, “how are we doing?”
Bucky stood up and shook his hand, “Doing pretty good Doc.”
"Y/N,“ Dr. Banner held his hand out, "it is always a pleasure to see you.”
"Hello Dr. Banner,“ you smiled.
"So Bucky,” he sat down at his desk, “I’ve got some bad news. Your collarbone isn’t healing as well as we would like it to. So we are gonna go back in and add a couple screws to the plate.”
"What does that mean?“ You asked him.
"How much longer am I going to be out, Doc?” Bucky asked.
Dr. Banner sighed, “Honestly, Bucky, you will be lucky lucky if you will get to play the last two weeks of the regular season.”
You ducked your head and let out a sigh. Bucky ran his hand down his face and sighed, “So what do I do now?”
"We schedule you for the surgery as soon as possible and get you back in there. The sooner we get that done, the quicker we can get you into PT, and hopefully the sooner you get back onto the field,“ Dr. Banner saw Bucky’s long face, "Listen son, I know this isn’t the results that you wanted, but we would rather it take a little longer to heal properly, than you going out on the field and getting hurt again.”
"I understand. Thank you Doc,“ Bucky forced a smile as he shook his hand.
Bucky didn’t say a word while you scheduled his surgery, the whole way down to the car and the drive back home. He walked into the house and went straight to his office, closing the door.
You sat down on the couch when your phone went off. It was a your dad calling. You sighed when you answered it, "Hey Dad.”
"So how did the doctors go?“ You dad asked.
You rubbed your forehead and let out a sigh, "He isn’t healing like they wanted. So they are going to go back in next week to put screws in to help the healing. The doctor said he would be lucky if he played at all this season.”
"Oh damn, how is he taking it?“
"He didn’t say anything the whole drive home, and he is in his office right now,” you put your face in your hand, “I’ve never seen him like this Dad.”
"He will be okay. He just needs to be able to process,“ your dad always tried to make things sound better for you, "Don’t worry, sugar, he will come around. Promise.”
"Okay, Dad,“ you looked at your watch, "I better go start supper.”
"Alrighty. Love ya kid.“
"Love you too. Bye Dad,” you hung the phone up.
You were in the kitchen cooking dinner when you heard a crash coming from Bucky’s office. You ran in to see him throwing trophies against the wall. You ran over to him, “Bucky! Bucky stop it! What the hell are you doing?”
He looked at you; his eyes were filled with anger and hurt, “What am I doing? What the hell am I doing? All of this means nothing now,” he threw the trophy he had in his hand, “It means nothing!”
“What are you talking about? Hey, look at me,” you grabbed his good arm and turned him around to you, “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you get it, Y/N, this is my contract year! Do you really think the Dallas Cowboys are going to negotiate with someone who will be out all year? Because they wont! So all of this,” he waved his arm around, “this life, this house, us, means nothing! Absolutely nothing Y/N!”
“You know they will negotiate with you! You are the best wide receiver they have ever had! Bucky, they will keep you! I promise,” you tried to brush the hair out of his face but he jerked away.
“God damn it, Y/N, you don’t get it! You can’t just wish things better,” he yelled at you, “All you care about is me getting a big contract so you can live this fancy life. The only reason you are concerned about me is because you are so worried you wont be have your perfect Dallas Cowboys football player’s wife life! Everything is falling apart! Everything is falling apart! Fuck! I had everything, now I have nothing! I had the perfect life just a month ago!”
You felt the tears falling down your face, “How dare you! I have done everything for you, and you treat me like this?” you wiped your face, “Your life is falling apart? You have lost everything? Well, you just lost me,” you took your engagement ring off and threw it at him. You stormed out of the house and drove off.
Everything that just happened registered to Bucky. He looked down and saw your engagement ring was at his feet. Everything that he had just said to you sunk into his mind.
“Oh God, no! No, what have I done,” he cried out picking up your ring. He ran outside and saw your car gone.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed your number, “Y/N, baby, please pick up! Pick up!”
You saw he was calling so you sent it straight to voicemail. You cried as you drove down the road.
“Y/N, baby, please call me. I am so sorry. Oh, God, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean it! Please, call me,” Bucky left a message on your phone.
Bucky sat on the front steps of your house and cried. He clutched the ring in his hand. He didn’t know why he said such horrible things to you. You were not the reason that he was upset, you were just there and he took it out on you. You were the one who had been there since day one, before he was a famous football player. You didn’t want to be with Bucky for the money, you were just with him for him.
Please fire me. I took it upon myself to be proactive and request my paid vacation so my wife, my newborn son and I can visit family for Thanksgiving. Because of a management change the request I made 2 MONTHS ago was never processed and therefore not approved. The closest family we have is about 8 hours away and can’t do anything now.
If Betty and Archie happened then Betty would solely be reduced to the girl next door. She would marry the small town football star and be a small town football star’s wife. There is nothing wrong with that but Betty wants more than that. Archie would also be reduced to a small town football star marrying the perfect girl next door. Both characters deserve more than that, they are more than what people expect them to be. Thats the whole point of Betty’s character especially, she is labeled the perfect girl next door and yet she hates that word. She hates it is so much because behind her perfect facade she has a dark side that no one really sees and that only she feels swirling within her. If she married Archie she would just stay the perfect girl next door. Not marrying Archie allows her to break this assumption everyone has of her. That’s part of the reason I want her and Jughead to be endgame. Jughead is the opposite of who people would expect her to end up with. She’d be his equal, not some small town football star’s wife. She’d be looked at as a journalist who has a passion for uncovering the truth. She’d be seen as a person, not as a stereotype or a wife. This applies to Archie too. If Archie married the girl next door. He’d be stereotyped as the retired small town football player but with Veronica or Val or whoever, he can be more than that! He can be a singer and a jock. A man who was whisked away by music and his love for the mystery women. A man who ventures outside his comfort zone and got out of Riverdale like so many fail to do. Betty and Archie both deserve more than what the other has to offer. That is why I hate barchie. No disrespect to barchie shippers, just my opinion.
author’s note: gabriel’s birth yesterday got me inspired + i started thinking about rafa as a dad + i wanted to write a follow up to ‘baby bump’ so here it is! you can read the first part here or check out the rest of my masterlist here. i hope y’all like it :-)
She’s too distracted by the Barcelona vs. Sevilla match to pay much attention to the first contraction – she figures the baby is probably just kicking, like he’s been doing a lot for the past week, so she brushes it off. He’s not due for three more weeks, anyways, and what are the chances he’d come in the middle of a game?
But then it happens again, and this time the pain is too intense to ignore. It feels like her insides are tightening and cramping and squeezing themselves together so hard she can barely breathe.
“Rafa,” she breathes out his name, even though he’s not here.
She needs Rafinha, but he’s on the field in the middle of a match and she has no idea how she’s supposed to get his attention without stopping the whole game and why is this baby coming right now?
She instinctively holds her breath until the pain passes, even though the nurses specifically instructed her to breathe through contractions. She starts to panic. The baby is coming and she doesn’t know how she’s going to get to the hospital. Unless…
She waits for the pain to subside and then she stands up and slowly makes her way through the row of people and down to the barrier on the sidelines. She manages to catch the attention of a trainer, who recognizes her, and she motions for him to come over.
“Yes?” He asks, obviously confused as to why she’s talking to him in the middle of the game.
“I need Rafinha,” she explains. “The baby’s coming, I need him to take me to the hospital. Can you get him? Please?”
“You’re his wife, right?” The trainer asks.
She nods her head and he sprints over to the bench to talk to Luis Enrique. The trainer points over in her direction, and Luis looks over at her before nodding his head, motioning to Andre Gomes, and walking over to the sideline official. After a quick conversation, the official picks up the digital board and flashes the numbers 12 and 21 to signal that Andre will be a substitute for Rafinha.
It takes a second for Rafinha to notice that his number is on the board, but when he does, he’s obviously upset that he’s being subbed out so early in the game. He throws his hands up before running them over his hair and jogging over to the sidelines, slapping hands with Andre before walking over to Luis.
“Why’d you take me out?” He asks. “We’re not even 30 minutes in, I was doing good –