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soulgazingwithbucky · 1 year

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Chances (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Agent!F!Reader

Summary: For most, life is too short to miss any chances. For Steve Rogers, life is too long to take all of them.

Warnings: swearing; mentions of blood, gun use, violence; unhappy ending (alternate ending needed?!)

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: hey everyone i have a crush i cant do anything about so i made it everyone's problem in the form of this fic. also i swear bucky's coming back to my writing with a vengeance

“Coulson, slow down,” you grumble. The clock reads an ungodly hour, and Coulson’s near-incomprehensible speech only propels you further into half-conscious annoyance.

“Get up,” Phil urges. “We found him.”

⋆⋆⋆

You lean in, ears straining as Captain America addresses Agent Horowitz.

“Where am I, really?” he says.

Your eyes dart back and forth between several screens.

“Shit,” Fury hisses. A moment later, you hear the door slam behind you.

“Told you!” you call after him as Horowitz reports a Code 13.

You turn around to look at Hill, who watches the monitors with her arms across her chest.

“I told him,” you say as Captain America breaks through the walls, shoving agents to the ground.

⋆⋆⋆

Fury takes a seat beside you with a huff.

With your eyes on your computer, you start, “I–”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”

Maria peers at you over her screen, flashing you a barely-there smirk. You instead ask a question to satiate your curiosity.

“Is…he okay?”

Fury gives an exasperated shrug.

“Said he had a date.”

⋆⋆⋆

“How’s the apartment, Captain Rogers?” Fury asks. Across the desk, Steve sits, shifting uncomfortably as the chair struggles under his frame.

“Fine,” he says curtly, his eyes flitting between all the different objects in Fury’s office. You and Maria share a look.

“Have you been getting enough rest?” she asks.

“Trying.”

“Well, we have another meeting to run to, Captain,” Fury says, “but you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. The agents have a gym in the basement, and the dining facility is on the tenth floor.”

He stands up; you and Maria follow closely behind.

There’s no meeting. You had planned to spend an hour with Captain Rogers, but it’s clear there isn’t much to say. You look back at Steve with his head low, his back hunched.

“What do we do, Fury?” you ask, closing the door behind you.

“Give him time.”

While Hill and Fury retreat to their offices, you change into your workout clothes and make your way to the basement. You’re surprised to step out of the elevator and see an impossibly muscular frame standing by the gym entrance.

“Captain,” you greet. He’s peering past the glass with a slight grimace, staring at the equipment–fancy, shiny things with a thousand buttons each.

“Agent,” he responds, replacing his uncomfortable expression with a solemn nod.

“Nice, isn’t it?” you say, standing beside him to observe the room together.

He chuckles, more out of astonishment than anything.

“Yeah,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes shift downwards at his feet before peering back up, watching your coworkers sprint on the treadmill or re-rack their weights. “It’s something.”

“What are you gonna do?” you say, eyeing the leg press machine that’s calling your name. You look over at Steve just as he glances at the punching bag. He opens his mouth to answer you, but then he notices the odd wires coming from behind the bag, the complicated mat beneath that seems to be flashing at least five different colors. He closes his mouth and instead shakes his head.

“Just giving myself a tour,” he answers.

You tilt your head at his fib.

“You got a minute?” you ask, your request earning a raised eyebrow.

⋆⋆⋆

“Migs!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up at the sight of the combat gym owner.

He yells your name in response as you meet in front of his business’s entrance.

“Appreciate it, Migs,” you say as the older gentleman pulls you into a side hug. You wrap your arm around his back, returning the embrace.

“Anything for you, kiddo,” Miguel, a near-father figure who has a few decades on you, responds as he unlocks the gym door.

Behind you, Steve smiles at the friendly exchange. He stays a good distance away, partly out of respect and partly out of caution.

Regardless, it’s hard to ignore the man built like a linebacker with striking movie-star looks.

“Who the hell is this guy?” Miguel demands, gesturing at the hero in the shadows. Steve blinks in surprise. In the past few weeks, he has been the center of attention–not unlike his life before the ice, but somehow completely unlike it at the same time. Despite his longing to be invisible once again, he’s taken aback that someone doesn’t recognize him.

“A friend,” you tell him, shooting Steve a wink. He smiles, welcoming the anonymity.

Miguel turns on the lights, illuminating the gym in dim orange. Steve steps in, admiring the weathered facility. Surrounded by muted walls, a dusty floor, and tattered boxing ropes, he feels a sense of comfort that’s completely novel to him since coming out of the ice.

Miguel takes all of thirty seconds to show the captain around.

“We got mitts, gloves on the rack over there,” he says, keys jingling as he gestures around him. “Boxing ring with a round timer, obviously. Uhhhh, jump ropes, elliptical–if it’s working. And then you got the bags…Oh, and we also got one-on-one training-” Miguel pauses, scanning Steve from head to toe “-if you need that sorta thing.”

Steve chuckles, murmuring his gratitude.

“You need anything else, ace?” Miguel asks you.

You shake your head. “Just sign up my friend for a membership, and we’ll be good.”

Steve’s head snaps up at your request. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

As Miguel passes you an application on a clipboard, you say, “Good thing you didn’t ask.”

⋆⋆⋆

“I hope I’m not overstepping,” Steve tells you, gesturing for the waiter as you slide into the booth.

“Not at all,” you say, still catching your breath from hurrying over. You’re not sure why the captain has called you, but you know it has to be important. Steve’s eyes drift to your brow, where a butterfly bandage holds a wound closed.

“That Loki’s a fun one,” you say, bringing a hand to the injury. You don’t feel the need to indulge him in the details of nearly getting buried underneath a collapsing building. “Is everything okay, Captain?”

“Steve, please,” he insists.

“Is everything okay…Steve?” Though you’ve seen the captain’s name printed in briefs and articles a million times, it feels odd to address him by name. “Miguel didn’t try to charge you that ridiculous sweating fee?”

He lets out an amused exhale through his nose and shakes his head.

“It’s funny you mention Loki. I…wanted to ask your opinion. On the Avengers Initiative.”

Surprise paints your face. You weren’t expecting to be Captain America’s advisor tonight. But you lean back and sigh with the weight of his request. Your waiter comes to take your order, giving you a few moments of reprieve.

“I know what Fury would want me to say,” you say after your waiter exits.

He leans forward, resting clasped hands on the table.

“I want to know what you want to say,” he implores, his piercing gaze making it difficult to collect your thoughts. You take a deep breath.

“I think…you need time to heal,” you begin. “To recover. I mean, not like I’ve got the experience, but something tells me you don’t wake up after seventy years fully assimilated. In a perfect world, you would get all the time you need to be okay before getting back out into the world, let alone saving it.”

He knows the answer, but he presses, “And what world is this?”

The words feel heavy on your tongue.

“One that needs you.”

You watch his troubled eyes, the twitch of his lip.

“But you already knew that, didn’t you?” you say.

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” he mutters to himself.

He looks up at you, repeating: “Yeah. I guess I just needed to hear it from someone else.”

“Glad I could help,” you say. You peek over his head, trying to peer into the kitchen. Steve nudges his plate towards you, and you gratefully take a few of his fries.

⋆⋆⋆

“Dillard, find out what’s going on in Bay 3 for me. So what do you think?”

The upper half of your body is hidden under thick pipes. You peer closely at the maze of metal, willing the leak to show itself.

“He’s…cute.”

You lift your head to look at Nat. The loud bang echoes throughout the room as your head meets pipes. You wince, dragging yourself out of the underbelly of Helicarrier plumbing. Nat raises an eyebrow as you rub your head.

“Not what I thought you were going to say,” you reply.

“So you disagree?” she says, tilting her head.

“Uh. No?” you say, tapping nervously on the wrench. She smiles as you avert your gaze. “How are the…other ones? Thor and Dr. Banner and the rest?”

“I should probably make sure they’re not tearing each other apart,” Nat says, rolling her eyes. “You coming?”

You look around you. The hull is so much quieter than the rest of the carrier, allowing you to bask in comfortable silence while you and your crew work.

“Nah. Hill is better at that kinda stuff. I’ll be here if you need me.”

⋆⋆⋆

Above you, the ceiling shakes slightly, scattering dust around you. You stand up slowly, the sound of distant rumbling calling your attention.

“All hands to stations.”

“Shit!” you cry, dropping your tools and sprinting up the stairs.

Agents are running all around you, and the hallway is flooded in flashing red. You have no idea what’s going on, but you rush to the weapons room, ready to defend the Helicarrier from god-knows-what.

You crash into someone’s shoulder, the force sending you spinning to the ground. Strong hands grasp your arms, lifting you to your feet.

“Sorry,” Steve says between breaths.

“Steve,” you say. “What’s going on?”

“Under attack. Be safe. Check in later.”

“Copy that.”

He clasps your shoulders again before disappearing into the crowd of agents. You watch him for a second before turning around, continuing on to the weapons room.

Agent Weaver catches up to you.

“First name basis, huh?”

“Shut up.”

⋆⋆⋆

You hesitate before rapping on the door three times.

Steve greets you with a smile. Beads of water are dripping from his hair down his neck. He’s in sweatpants and a white tee that could definitely be sized up. As you enter his apartment, he hands you a takeout container.

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he closes the door behind you.

“Well, when you bribe me with shawarma…”

He laughs, but he’s rubbing his hands together and crinkling his eyebrows. You set your food down and plant yourself in front of him.

“Hey, it’s just a debrief,” you tell him, wrapping your hands around his biceps. Your touch brings him back to reality. “It’s no big deal. Fury just talks for an hour.”

“Yeah, it’s…been a while since one of these, I guess.” He tries to laugh it off.

You leave his side, sitting down at the dining room table.

“If it makes you feel better, you did about two million dollars less damage than Bruce and Thor.”

“It’s not that.” He throws himself on the couch, stretching his legs along the cushions. “I guess authority has never been a big fan of me.”

“Authority doesn’t get along with Captain America?”

“Authority doesn’t get along with the punk that lied about fifty times to get into the military.”

You speak between bites: “Then you must’ve gotten along with Tony Stark. Wonder why Nat said you had your panties in a twist over him.”

He perks up, resting his arms along the back of the couch. “She said that? Exactly like that?”

You snicker at his sudden interest, choking on a slice of tomato. “Does that bother you?” you tease.

He concedes, leaning back on the couch’s arm. “That Stark is something else. I wonder what Peggy would say if she knew I almost fought Howard’s son.” Steve stares at a spot on the wall, his mind a flurry of what-ifs.

⋆⋆⋆

Ambush. You’ve been tasked to partner with Captain America for his first official SHIELD assignment, and it’s a fucking ambush.

“Stay close,” the captain says.

Steve tosses his shield at someone behind you. You hear them slump to the ground while another approaches; the shield narrowly misses you as you duck and sweep your leg out, causing a third henchman to crash to the floor.

“Watch it!” you say before Steve knocks you to the ground, shielding your body while a whizz of bullets flying past.

“Guess someone has to,” Steve shoots back before pulling you up. You roll your eyes as you unholster two weapons on your belt, one pointed to your left and the other pointed behind you. You pull both triggers without batting an eye. You don’t bother looking; Steve’s mesmerized expression confirms that you’ve hit your targets.

Steve is speechless. He has never seen you in battle before, and it’s–

“Six o’clock, Rogers!” you say, causing the hero to duck down as you aim a bullet at a man sprinting towards you. You hear yet another coming from behind, and you aim a bullet at Steve’s shield. You turn just in time to see the ricocheted bullet take out the last goon.

Knowing you were safe, you let out a fatigued sigh and pat your newest coworker on the shoulder.

“Welcome to SHIELD, Cap.”

⋆⋆⋆

Macau was absolutely beautiful, but the jet lag never quite wore off, especially when your tasks still catered to Eastern fucking Standard Time. As much as you could appreciate the change of pace, you hoped Fury would never give you an assignment like this again.

- idk steve, seems a little unfair to assign me to track the train in vancouver when i was assigned the lemurian star just a couple weeks ago. did you KNOW what time it was over here?!

- anyway, im going to bed. night!

- You've only told me a hundred times. I’m glad it was you helping us out, even if you had to track the Star from thousands of miles away.

- Good night. Sweet dreams.

- :)

You smile at the three notifications on your phone. Tucking yourself under the covers, you reach over to turn off your night lamp.

Ring ring ring.

Maria’s name on your phone earns a prolonged groan from you. So first they schedule meetings at all hours, and now they expect you to pick up the phone at every possible second.

“Hill, I love you, but I swear to god–”

“You remember that sushi place? The one on 10th Avenue?”

You feel a sudden sweat forming on your brow, even though the air conditioner is blasting. You had first heard the coded emergency message years ago, when you first trained for SHIELD. Never did you think it would actually be used.

You clear your throat, forcing your voice to steady.

“Yes, we were there with your mom and your grandma.”

Is someone listening? Are you okay? Who compromised SHIELD?

“Right. I’ll talk to you later.” Maria’s voice betrays nothing before she hangs up the call.

You only brought a duffel bag to Macau, and you’re now shoving it full of underwear and clothes.

Wait, honestly, fuck it–Hill’s call told you scatter immediately, who the fuck cares if you had enough shirts?

You leave the SHIELD-sanctioned apartment, tossing your phone into a nearby garbage bin. You think of Nat, of Fury, of Steve. You wonder if they’re okay, but you have to settle for never knowing.

⋆⋆⋆

Red pixels fill your screen, slowly sharpening into a familiar face.

“Nat,” you gasp. Any suspicion about the unknown number on your burner phone melts away.

“Hey,” she says. She delivers her greeting with the nonchalance of a friend who has just seen you for brunch. “If you were a traitor, you would tell me, right?”

You match her lopsided smile. “No, of course not. Hey, what’s your social security number again?”

Natasha laughs, but her joy dissipates quickly.

“Nat? What’s been going on?”

On your end, you’ve been on the run, though you never quite knew who you were running from. You’ve had no contact with your coworkers since you received the call from Hill. You’ve heard various rumors, but you haven’t had the comfort of confirming their truth.

She peers somewhere off camera.

“A lot.”

She turns back to you, continuing: “He…hasn’t been good.”

“Why? What’s happening?”

You hold your breath as Nat stands up, willing her shaky camera work to still. You can barely make out their bare environment, lighted only by bars of fluorescent light.

“Maybe he should tell you himself.”

You watch as Nat hands over the phone. Steve looks up at her in confusion before turning towards her device. You see the relief flood his features. He says your name like it’s a breath of air after being held underwater.

“Steve,” you greet softly. “Are you okay?”

Steve presses his lips together. His eyes become dazed as he tries to find the words. After a few moments, you say his name again.

“I had a friend.

“A best friend,” he begins. “I thought I lost him.”

He hangs his head, and for a moment, all you see are strings of blonde hair.

“But the truth is much worse.”

The last time you had spoken, Steve was an explosion of excitement, practically setting the world record for longest run-on sentence as he told you Peggy was alive. Now, your heart breaks at the sight of the dejected hero.

“He doesn’t even remember me,” Steve continues.

You want to cry for Steve and tell him everything will be okay. You want to invite him into your arms and hold him. Instead, something tells you to push that aside. You grit your teeth; your grip is tight on your phone. You have half a mind to book a plane ticket to…you don’t even know where they are, but you want to be there, dammit.

“Then do something he won’t forget, Steve.”

⋆⋆⋆

You rush through the halls, dodging white coats and crash carts.

Room 311, room 311, room 311…

An armed guard reaches out to stop you before recognition settles. You glare at him, but the delay causes you to rethink storming into the hospital room after Steve’s near-death experience. You peer at him through the window, pressing your hand onto the glass. With the stitches along his cheek, the bruising on his jaw, and the scrapes along his browline, he looks…fallible. Vulnerable. Human.

You make eye contact with the man sitting beside him. He looks unfamiliar to you, but the bruises and cuts on his face tell you enough. He gives you a slow nod before turning back to his book.

⋆⋆⋆

You and Steve lean in closely, pretending to be deep in conversation while you keep a watchful eye on Bruce and Nat. You lean against the Stark Tower wall while Steve stands in front of you.

“I knew it,” he whispers, testing the limits of his peripheral vision as he peers at his friends.

“Yeah?” you say, taking a sip from the flute of champagne.

He turns his attention away from the two to face you. “One hundred percent. It was a perk of being friends with Bucky–I could see the girls drooling from a mile away.”

“And if they were drooling for you?” you say, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah. Right,” he says, his eyebrows shifting upwards in disbelief as he takes a sip from his own drink.

“Maybe you just couldn’t tell,” you inform him.

“I think I would know, agent,” he tells you.

You reach out to adjust the collar of his shirt. As you pull away, your fingertips brush against his neck.

“I guess you would, captain.”

He gives you that dazzling, all-American smile before glancing at the bar. Nat looks up at the same time, locking eyes with Steve. He turns back to you abruptly, slamming his hand on the wall by your head in feigned nonchalance.

“Real subtle, Rogers,” you tell him. Tony rolls his eyes at the sight of you pinned beneath the captain’s body.

Steve drops his head, and you feel his hair graze your forehead. You’re glad he’s too engrossed in his embarrassment to notice that his proximity has made you dizzy.

“Shit,” he murmurs, stepping away. “Sorry.”

“Romanoff!” you call with a smirk. “Get the swear jar!”

⋆⋆⋆

“Can we talk about the mall again?” you question. So what if your words are slurring together a little, who cares?

Nat tucks her chin, willing you to continue with expectant eyes.

“So you mean to tell me…,” you begin slowly.

“Yes.”

“You look like that…And Steve looks like that…”

“Sure.”

“And your solution to avoid attention was to…”

“Kiss.”

“Kiss, right.”

You and Nat share a look before devolving into a fit of laughter.

“And it–”

“–worked!” Nat finishes. She takes a swig of her beer. “I’m good at what I do, agent. I don’t know what to tell you.”

Your eyes drop to the floor. You fiddle with the rim of your glass, before telling your friend:

“Tell me it meant nothing.”

Nat looks at Bruce, who has tucked himself between Dr. Cho and Clint. He looks on as Rhodey shares a familiar story, smiling and chuckling at all the right parts. He feels her eyes on him, and he gives her a smile that feels like home.

Her eyes move to Steve next, America’s hero for the better part of a century. He’s unmistakable. He commands attention, and he deserves it, too. He stands tall, knowing the world is always watching.

Finally, her gaze lands on you. You’re incredibly capable, magnificently skilled, and you would deny it all in a second. Her most humble friend, who declines the most notorious assignments to bask in the solace of the less glamorous work instead.

She reaches over the bar to place her hand atop yours. With all due respect, fuck Lillian with the lip piercing, and fuck Kristen from Accounting. Steve’s perfect match is right in front of her.

⋆⋆⋆

You feel your airways functioning again as the weight of the couch is lifted off of you. You swallow lungfuls of air, and the sudden intake causes you to choke and cough. Warmth radiates from strong hands on either sides of your head.

“Hey,” Steve croons. “Hey, I’m here.”

“Actually, I wedged myself between the couch and the floor,” you groan through the sharp pain in your ribs, “in hopes that Thor would rescue me from the big metal man.”

Your poorly-timed joke catches Steve off guard, and he finds himself laughing as he searches you for any hidden injuries.

“Yeah, you definitely have a concussion.”

⋆⋆⋆

You watch as the unfamiliar number blinks on your phone, but something compels you to answer. Steve’s face appears on your screen, an apologetic smile painting his face. The last you heard, the Avengers were following a lead on Ultron before going dark.

“Steve! Are you okay?”

He peers around him. You can make out a sunny window, rustic decor…is that a child’s toy?

“I can’t stay for long,” he says. “But–yes. We’ll…figure it out.”

He sees the concern on your face, and he knows what you’re about to say:

“What can I do?”

“Lay low,” he says, almost immediately, recalling how Ultron nearly ended your life with Stark’s god-awful furniture. “Keep yourself safe.”

You rub your temples. It’s as if you’re being dragged back to SHIELD’s dissolution, hurtled into a life of mystery and solitude that you hadn’t asked for.

You see a wave of red as Nat pushes her head in between Steve and the camera.

“At least five bad language words since we got here, agent,” she says. You laugh, already picturing the look Steve is giving her behind her curtain of curls. “Wish you were here.”

“Me too.”

Steve watches her walk off, and then waits a few moments longer.

“I saw her,” he tells you, his face dropping all signs of amusement.

You shake your head, trying to piece together what Steve wants to tell you.

“She said the war was over, that we could go home,” he continues. “Then I was back, here. On the ground. Alone.”

“You’re not alone, Steve,” you insist.

But he doesn’t quite hear you.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve scoots into the booth, unbuttoning his black suit jacket. You take the seat right beside him. He lets out a subdued sniff and asks you how the convention went.

“I know the world needs you to be big and strong,” you tell him, “but I don’t.”

You open your arms, and he chuckles before resting his head on your shoulder. You envelop him in a hug, rubbing his back.

“Never ask me about those boring fucking conventions again,” you murmur, feeling his tears fall onto the shoulder of your blouse. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Steve.”

Steve fishes around his pocket and brings out his compass. At the press of a button, it opens, revealing a photograph of Peggy. She looked breathtaking, with her strong jawline, perfect curls, and fierce gaze. Steve hesitates, then passes the device to you. You move your arm from Steve to hold the memento with both hands. You run your finger over the photo’s fading edges.

“And she liked you?” you jest to cover the emotions that are running through you. Why are tears prickling your eyes?

“Once,” Steve responds with a chuckle as you pass him back his most prized possession, “a long time ago.”

He sits up, stiffening. Before you can question the change of demeanor, he confesses, “I…can’t sign the Accords.”

You give him a faint smile, as if it hasn’t been the topic of discussion at the Madrid convention. You were more than happy to meet him in London, especially if it meant getting away from chatty politicians with pesky questions.

“I know, Steve,” you say, holding his face in your hands. You run your thumb down his cheek, erasing a drying line of tears. You ignore how the air leaves your lungs as Steve’s eyes flutter closed and he leans into your touch. “I know.”

⋆⋆⋆

“You’re too good to be down here, agent.”

Sharon pauses her scribbling to punctuate her sentence with a smile.

“You know this is where I like it,” you tell her from the other side of the bulletproof panel. Sharon slides the sign-out sheet back to you. You stifle a laugh as you read that Go Fuck Yourself has signed out two quantities of kiss my ass. Right before you buzz her into weapons lockup, she stops you.

“Wait,” she says abruptly, startling you. “Are you sure?”

Since the day you took him to the boxing gym, you have become Steve’s safe place. In times of need, on the run with Nat or holed up in Clint’s home, he desperately wished you were there. Never mind the comforting touch or the distracting joke, just your presence beside him was enough to turn the weight of the world into a bag of feathers.

Now, Steve has called in a favor. Get the shield and the wings to Sharon, and she’ll cover the rest. No big deal, just betray the federal entity you work for and be indefinitely on the lam. Run, and don’t take any chances.

“Never been more sure in my life.”

You press the button harder than you need to, and the door swings open. Sharon steps through, taking in the towering rows of weapons.

“Whoa,” she says. The massive basement room was the perfect place to house all of the CIA’s most dangerous arms, including Captain America’s shield and the Falcon’s wings.

You lead Sharon through shelves of alien technology and massive guns.

“Might’ve been less sure if I had a metal hand punching me into the wall, though,” you say, looking back at her as she tries to rub out the pain in her back.

She snorts and shakes her head. “I’m glad you were far away from that mess,” she says earnestly.

“Didn’t really have a choice. When we went into lockdown, I was shut in.”

You shudder as you remember the weapons rooms’ light cutting out suddenly, plunging you into darkness. An agent had announced a code red over the walkie, and you sprinted towards the door–just in time to watch the metal gates slam down. You had pounded on the metal, desperate to escape. Your gut told you what–or rather, who–played a role in the Code Red.

You grunt as you pull on the box. It falls to the floor with less grace than you hoped, and Sharon tugs it open. She lights up at the sight of the vibranium shield, her smile wide and her eyes bright. She catches your eye and immediately drops her smile.

With a shake of her head, she apologizes and says, “Um…thank you.”

⋆⋆⋆

“West entrance, thirty seconds,” Nat tells you. You hear her tapping on her keyboard, and the doors in front of you hiss open. You creep quietly into the darkness of the Raft corridor, with Steve following closely behind.

Steve presses his fingers to his ear. “We’re in.”

“Wait for my signal,” Nat murmurs. “You have three minutes to take down the guards, then about five minutes after that before their backup arrives.”

“Eight minutes?” you say incredulously. “Steve, she thinks we’re amateurs.”

Nat snickers from the comforts of the Quinjet. “Just know, if you get caught, I’ll sleep soundly knowing I left both of your asses behind.”

You feign a horrified gasp. “Steve! Cover your ears!”

You don’t have to see him to know Steve is currently tilting his head in disbelief.

Nat cuts off any retort he might have had: “And now.”

You and Steve move in unison. He takes a boot to the door, and you spare no time to fire a hailstorm of bullets into the room. Your attack disarms several guards and destroys the audiovisual equipment. Steve tosses his shield around the room, and it bounces off the remaining guards, knocking them to their feet.

You place your foot on a guard’s chest, nodding at Steve.

“I’ll keep them here.”

The captain disappears into the cell block. You can hear the distant sounds of Steve breaking through jail bars, followed by triumphant cheers and joyous reunions.

Your earpiece crackles; Nat is switching you both to a different channel.

“Now’s as good a time as any,” she tells you.

You stare past the doorway, not quite sure how to respond. She continues: “We don’t know when we’ll see each other again. We’re fugitives now.”

A few minutes later, Steve reappears, a proud smile on his face.

“They’re headed to the jet,” he says. “We did it.”

You force a smile back at him as he leads you out of the room. His arm extends to your waist and you hold your breath; but, he continues reaching until he can close the door behind you and break off the doorknob. As he pulls away, you capture your hand in his. You love the way he laces his fingers between yours, almost reflexively.

“Steve…”

We don’t know when we’ll see each other again.

His eyebrows scrunch in concern. Were you injured? Did a guard send out an emergency signal? But your expression tells a different story; his cool blue eyes could bore holes into your skull. You can only stammer, so Steve speaks instead.

“Wherever you go,” he says, unlacing his hands to instead place it on your cheek, “I can always be there. You just say the word.”

You close your eyes. You won’t know when you’ll see him again, and you lean into his touch, pressing his hand harder into your cheek.

“Two minutes,” Nat’s voice, barely audible, comes over your earpieces.

Steve pulls you into a hug.

“Check in. Stay close. Don’t take any chances,” he whispers.

How could you? The biggest chance you could’ve taken just slipped through your fingers.

⋆⋆⋆

“Oh my god! Thor?!”

Steve practically scoffs, scratching at his beard.

“I’m good, thanks,” he says. “How are you?”

“As good as I could be,” you say. You look around the feeble apartment, a micro-studio with a bed and a kitchenette. You landed in Shanghai after abandoning post, figuring one of the most populous cities in the world would be the perfect place to go into hiding.

Steve doesn’t seem to like that answer.

“I’m so sorry.”

“That a grown woman made a decision?” you scoff. “Sure, I forgive you, then.”

You raise a chuckle from him, and he feels that familiar sensation of relief and comfort at the sound of your voice. Steve made you a vagabond, but you held on tight to your favorite title of smartass.

“How about you?” you say. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he says, pushing long strands of hair away from his face.

“You with Sam? Nat?”

“Nearby.”

“Bucky?”

“With a friend.”

You blow through your lips.

“Sharon?” You say your friend’s name as if it were a throwaway line.

Steve squints at you through the screen, and you shift uncomfortably on your mattress. Your eyes dart everywhere–anywhere but your phone–while you wait for his response.

“No,” he answers. “No idea where she is.”

You purse your lips. You weren’t sure what you wanted to hear, and you feel an odd mixture of happy and sad all at once.

“Are you just checking in?” Steve wonders. “Or–?”

“Yeah,” you quickly answer. “Checking in.”

Silence settles for a few moments, before Steve tells you: “I wish you were here.”

You give him a measly “me too” and a sad smile.

“Soon?” you offer, though it’s the emptiest promise you’ve ever given.

“Soon,” is his response, the biggest lie he’s ever told.

⋆⋆⋆

You promptly withdraw your pocket pistol, peering around the corner. You knew it wouldn’t be long until the CIA found you, but, damn, you just got to Cape Town. With your finger on the trigger, you step out of your hiding spot…

…and are greeted by familiar blue eyes.

“You said stay close, right?” Steve says with a smile.

You call for him breathlessly. Your body suddenly feels like jello and your knees threaten to buckle underneath you. Your gun nearly slips from your grasp as you run forward, right into Steve’s welcoming arms. He locks you in a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. You feel your feet leave the ground as Steve lifts you, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to burst into tears.

With only the occasional video call being your only form of communication, you’ve nearly forgotten what Steve looks like from the shoulders down. When he puts you down, you hold him at arm’s length and stare, as if you’re trying to commit him to memory.

“Steve,” you say his name again, still reeling from the fact that he’s here, he’s really here. You shake your head vigorously. “You can’t be here–it’s too dangerous–”

“It’s okay,” he assures you. “I couldn’t go without you.”

“Go where?”

⋆⋆⋆

You squeeze your eyes shut as the aircraft passes through the translucent panels. When you open your eyes, the panels are behind you. The warrior piloting the plane smiles at your shock.

Steve watches you the whole time, captured by the sense of wonder painted on your face. He reaches over to squeeze your shoulder.

“Welcome to Wakanda.”

A small welcoming committee smiles brightly as you and Steve step off of the aircraft. Steve goes straight to a man with a bun, while the other two approach you.

“Greetings, agent,” the king greets you. “I am–”

“King T’Challa,” you say, meeting his handshake with fervency. “Your highness, it’s an honor.”

“The honor is all mine,” T’Challa responds with a smile. He gestures to the younger woman beside him. “And this is Princess Shuri, my sister.”

“Princess,” you greet. You reach your hand out, but quickly shift into a fist bump as Shuri reaches out a closed fist.

“Agent,” she responds with a grin. “I hope you will find your stay enjoyable.”

“Are you kidding me?” you say, then realizing you’re speaking much too casually for royalty. “I mean–the plane ride was easily the most luxurious experience of my life. I’m not sure how you’ll get me to leave.” Shuri’s grin spreads wider.

“I apologize, but we must be going,” T’Challa says. “But you have everything that you need, I assure you.”

You peer over at Steve, who grips the brunette’s shoulder as he laughs.

“And if you don’t,” Shuri calls as she and her brother take their leave, “you can ask any of the bald, mean-looking women.”

“Shuri!”

“They’re the Dora Milaje,” the man beside Steve explains as they approach you, “Wakanda’s elite warriors.”

Steve chest swells with pride as he introduces, “This is Bucky. My best friend.”

Bucky’s shakes your hand. He doesn’t wait for you to introduce yourself, instead saying your name to you.

“Heard a lot,” Bucky says with a smile. You glance at Steve, surprised that you’ve been a topic of discussion for the two.

“All good things,” Steve says, grinning at his best friend.

“Oh, great things,” Bucky adds assuredly as you feel your ears burning.

⋆⋆⋆

Ayo, one of the warriors, spares a few moments to meet you and Steve. She stands solemnly as you sit on the grass, your palms rested behind you.

“Bucky is, um…?” You’re not quite sure how to ask if the man is still capable of snapping your neck without an ounce of regret.

“We are working on it,” she says, keeping her eyes forward. You follow her gaze, watching as a group of children do and redo the best friends’ hair. Steve’s hair is first in a high ponytail, then two low buns. He catches your eye and waves, a wide grin on his face. You wave back as he and Bucky laugh at each other’s hairstyles.

Ayo follows Steve’s gaze back to you.

“We had arranged two bedrooms…”

You sit up straight with wide eyes.

“Th- And that’s totally fine.”

“It is no issue.”

Ayo walks away as Steve chases some of the children, feigning fatigue as they run away giggling.

“It’s a good look for him,” Bucky comments. Bucky is eyeing the three ponytails on top of his best friend’s head, but you’re taking in the sight of Steve consoling a child who has fallen. He gestures elaborately, as if casting a magic spell on the scrape. The child laughs and runs away, instantly remedied.

“It is,” you murmur.

You feel Bucky’s eyes on you, and you clear your throat. “Was–Was he like this before, too?”

Bucky cheeks puff as he releases an exaggerated exhale. “Hell no.”

“No?”

“Worse, so much worse. Insufferable, really.”

Steve jogs up to you. “They call you White Wolf, Buck? Do we all get nicknames?”

“Maybe,” Bucky says with a shrug. “You could be…”

“White Man,” you offer, earning a disbelieving look from Steve and a hearty laugh from Bucky.

“Or,” Bucky says, “I can tell them that Peggy called you–”

Steve shoves his friend, earning another laugh from the brunette.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve leans his forearm against the window. Below, the city lights dance, bright glimmers against an otherwise dark night.

“It’s good for him here,” he tells you with a smile on his lips.

“Wakanda looks good on you, too,” you say. The bed shifts as you stand up, joining Steve at the window. Wakanda is absolutely beautiful, and you understand why the country is hidden away from the rest of the world. “Maybe you should stay here.”

“Maybe we should,” he suggests, “but clearly their space is limited.”

You and Steve peer back at the singular bed that occupies the room.

“I told Ayo–”

“And I told Bucky–”

“It’s no big deal, right?”

“Right,” Steve says, mirroring your doubtful tone.

You both gingerly approach, like two idiots who have never seen a bed before. He cautiously approaches one side while you approach the other, slipping in and leaving as much space between you as possible. Steve scoots closer ever so slightly, but grabs a pillow, fluffing it and placing it between you two.

You and Steve spend a few minutes staring at the ceiling until your eyes form warped images in the darkness. Eventually, he sighs. You turn to ask him what’s wrong, but instead see him take the pillow and toss it across the room.

“Fuck it,” he murmurs, pulling you into his muscled chest.

“Language,” you mutter. But your eyelids already feel droopy as sleep pulls you under. Tonight, sleep smells like sandalwood and feels like heaven. Tonight, your dreams are blonde wisps and bright eyes that threaten to pull you into the ocean deep.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve is just broad shoulders and sullen disposition from your spot in the darkness.

“...Tony Stark, also known as the hero Iron Man, has been reported missing…”

“Get your things, Steve,” you say, stepping out from the shadows.

You’re the only thing that can pull Steve away from his racing thoughts. He forces his eyes off the screen, away from the image of a grinning Tony.

“Where are we going?” he says as you reach out to tug on his shoulder, a silent urge to gather his things. His hand finds a home over yours, holding it in place.

“Edinburgh.”

⋆⋆⋆

You start the search again, maybe the fifteenth time in the past five minutes.

The bar slowly fills up, reaching one hundred percent…

No results found.

“Nothing, Steve,” you tell him, your voice hoarse. Thanos might as well have vanished.

The captain is still for a moment before his hand comes down on the console table. After the glass breaks and the books clatter, you can only hear Steve’s deep breaths as he tries to calm himself. He takes long strides towards the door.

No results found.

“Steve–don’t take any chances. We’ll find him,” you say pleadingly. “He knows we’ll find him.”

As Steve mourned Bucky back in 1944, he wished he had something to bury. A final home for his best friend. A meeting place for him to visit. Something, anything to remember him by. Now he has his ashes, and he realizes how stupid he was to think it would bring him any relief.

No results found.

“Then he should be here to tell me himself.”

You flinch as the door slams shut behind him.

⋆⋆⋆

You pull a brown plaid shirt from Steve’s closet. You hold it up to his frame.

“I should’ve told you this eleven years ago,” you say as you pull the shirt off its hanger, “but you should really size up.”

He chuckles as he takes the shirt from you, slipping it through his arms. You begin to button the shirt as Steve looks on through the mirror. These days, he’s not quite sure who it is looking back at him.

“I don’t know what to tell them,” he says. If he wasn’t so numb, he might feel anxious. His stomach may have flipped at the thought of the support group sitting in a melancholic circle, staring at him, waiting for his words of wisdom.

You give him a sad smile, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He captures your hands in his before you can pull away.

“Tell them what you told me,” you say, and your hands slowly slip from his grasp. “About Peggy.” You give one final tug on his shirt before sending him on his way.

⋆⋆⋆

Steve looks anxious at your weekly dinner. He pushes around the contents of his plate without taking a single bite. You watch him, waiting for him to speak. When nothing ever comes, you ask him yourself. He drops his fork, finally stopping his nervous assault on his sliced carrots. He can’t stop thinking of Scott Lang, waving at him from the security cameras.

“What have you heard about…time travel?”

⋆⋆⋆

“Buck, can I…talk to you?”

Steve’s hesitant question causes you to put down the bandage. You’re not quite sure why Steve called you to the compound at this hour, and you’re even more unsure of why he was nowhere to be found while you made yourself comfortable in the kitchen. You feel lucky enough that Bucky made his way down, looking for something to sterilize his wounds. Usually, you would kill time talking to Nat, but–

“Sure,” Bucky answers. He gives you an unreadable look as he disappears with Steve into his room. You keep yourself busy, cleaning up the used medical supplies, until the super soldiers reappear. You see Bucky’s jaw clench ever so slightly; otherwise, he is nearly expressionless. He approaches you, nodding towards Steve. You slip off of the kitchen counter stool and Steve places his hand on your lower back, leading you into his room.

His room in the compound is nearly bare, save for what Tony has furnished himself. Not even the record player that he proudly found years ago, the only possession in his former SHIELD apartment.

You sit at the edge of Steve’s bed while he moves his armchair and plants himself in front of you. He takes your hands in his, leans forward, and stares earnestly into your eyes.

“Steve?” You can’t ignore the feeling churning in your gut.

“You have been so good to me,” he begins. The inner parts of his eyebrows raise up in sincerity. “And I just want to say thank you.”

“You’re…welcome,” you say, a quip getting lost in your confusion.

“Tomorrow, I return the infinity stones.”

You nod. You knew that. He knew you knew that.

“And…I’m not coming back.”

You let out a wry chuckle. “Don’t worry,” you say, finding your voice suddenly hoarse. “You know Dr. Banner will make sure–”

“The last stone I have to return is in 1949,” he explains. Are you shaking your head at him? Is your entire body quaking? You’re not quite sure. “And I’m going to stay.”

I love you, Steve.

I love you so goddamn much.

I’ve loved you from that moment you sat in Fury’s stupid, flimsy chair.

I’ve loved you since you looked at me like I was your entire world, all because I took you to the worst gym in New York.

I’ve loved you in every moment, in every iteration, in every semblance of you.

And Steve Rogers, I know you love me, too.

You want to reach for Steve’s hand, but you’re frozen, and your clammy hands stay rooted in your lap. You give him a smile that you hope looks genuine.

“You had a date.”

⋆⋆⋆

You leave Steve behind in his room, insisting he didn’t need to walk you out. Insisting you didn’t need to spend the night, or ask any more questions.

Bucky leans against the kitchen counter, unmoving. You move to stand beside him.

“He can’t,” you whisper as you approach. Your fists are clenched so tightly that you’re nearly drawing blood.

“He made his choice,” Bucky responds. He matches your hushed volume, but his collected tone contrasts your panicked timbre.

“He can’t,” you say again. Maybe he didn’t hear you correctly.

“It’s his life,” Bucky tells you, in the same even voice.

“He can’t.” Your knees can’t hold you anymore. You’re falling, and Bucky catches your wrists in an effort to keep you from slumping to the ground.

You fight against his grip. You find the sides of your fists beating against his chest. Bucky falls with you. His cold eyes stare ahead, into the darkness beyond the compound. Your tears are hot, pouring onto your face like streams of lava.

He can’t

⋆⋆⋆

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

You watch the best friends pull each other into an embrace. Bucky’s smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Steve turns to you, and your bitter frown turns into a painted smile. His muscled arms pull you into a hug next.

“Check in,” he says.

“Stay close,” you respond, closing your eyes and breathing him in. Your eyes squeeze shut as you pull him into a tighter embrace. When you release, Steve flicks away a stray tear from your face.

“Don’t take any chances.” He lingers a moment too long with his hands pressed against your jawline, his eyes searching for something unknown in your expression. Eventually, all too soon, he steps into Dr. Banner’s machine. At the press of a button, he’s gone.

Bruce counts down, preparing his machine for Steve’s return, one that you know won’t ever happen. Eventually, beside you, he and Sam break into a frenzied argument, but somehow they sound so far away.

“Sam.”

Bucky’s sharp voice draws the attention of the three of you. You follow Bucky’s gaze to an elderly man sitting on a bench. You can only see the back of his head, but you gasp.

Your feet are carrying towards the man, right alongside Sam and Bucky.

You can feel Sam’s perplexed gaze shift from you to Bucky.

“Go ahead,” Bucky urges.

You feel like you’re watching from miles away as Sam slowly approaches the captain. Every heartbeat feels like your heart is sinking further down into your stomach, and you force yourself to walk away. As soon as your back is turned, the tears flow freely. You stifle your sobs, disappearing behind a tree, out of sight from the other four heroes.

Bucky keeps his smile as he watches the astonished Sam receive the shield, just as he and Steve discussed. He sees the journey ahead for Sam, the man with a future yet to forge.

He glances back, seeing only a portion of you behind a tree trunk, heaving with the weight of your burdened cries. His heart aches for you, a lifetime of possibilities turned into memories of the past. The light at the end of the tunnel was simply a mirage for the woman left behind.

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ynscrazylife · 2 years

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🥱🏕🌠😘 - Steve Rogers?

Human Shield | S.R

Summary: You have this ability to bring out Steve’s sassy side, which is evident with yours and his constant bickering. That changes, though, on a camping trip.

Authors Note: Just pretend that jellyfish are in lakes.

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me firstand b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

It was a known fact within the Avengers that you and Steve Rogers did not get along. You thought that he was too stuck-up and bossy, always in the “Captain” mode, and Steve thought that you were too reckless and never listened. The two of you frequently got into arguments whenever and wherever — so it was no surprise when the bickering started as they were walking.

“Who’s bright idea was it to go camping again?” Tony asked as they trudged up an incline.

“Steve’s, I bet,” you said almost instantly, trailing behind the billionaire. You’d take any opportunity available to insult the Captain.

Steve, who was in front of Tony, looked over his shoulder and paused for a moment. “You really had to ruin the peace by talking, didn’t you?” He snapped, already a bit grumpy as this was meant to be a bonding trip for the team and all you and Tony done since leaving the tower was complain.

“Oooh, cranky, are we? It would’ve been rude to leave Stark’s question unanswered, wouldn’t it? As the Please and Thank You Police, I’d think you’d understand,” you bit back without hesitation.

“I am so not getting in the middle of this,” Tony muttered, stepping around you and heading towards the back.

As he found a place besides Natasha and Clint, the sounds of yours and Steve’s voices growing louder and louder could be heard. “You really had to get them started?” Natasha complained.

“Please — they can make an argument out of anything. What do you want me to do, never talk again?” Tony said, scoffing.

“Yes,” the spy and the archer deadpanned.

Once the team got up the incline, they found a nice clearing to set up their tents. As everyone got to work, though, you became distracted. There were tons of bugs flying around you, just waiting to take a chunk out of your skin.

Having finished setting up his own tent, Steve smirked as he watched you flail around in vain. “Having trouble there?” He teased.

You paused momentarily to glare at Steve and then slapped your arm when you saw a bug there, muttering an “Ouch” which only made Steve’s smirk grow. “If you don’t have bug spray, don’t talk to me, Rogers,” you said, annoyed.

“Oh, I do have bug spray, but why should I give it to you? Maybe I will if you say please and thank you . . . I am the police of it, right?” He said, throwing your own words back in your face.

You scowled at him. “Never.”

“Suits you,” Steve said, shrugging. “You know, isn’t it odd that a big, scary Avenger like you is afraid of some tiny bugs?” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes, opening your mouth to give him a remark when Tony’s sudden boisterous laughter cut you off. Turning around, you narrowed your eyes at the man. “What?”

Tony gestured around. “Everyone has chosen who they’re gonna bunk with . . . Which means you and Rogers are stuck together,” he said.

Sure enough, as you and Steve looked around, everyone was standing side-by-side at their tents. Frantically, you looked at Tony, finding that he was alone. “Can‘t I room with you?” You pleaded.

Tony smiled, shaking his head. “I’d like to sleep in peace — which means, no roommates. Sorry,” he said, but didn’t sound apologetic at all.

Your gaze slowly found Steve, the both of you frowning. Steve’s eyes were fixated on Tony, his jaw set as he glared at his supposed friend. “Trust me, I’m not fond of this either,” he said, before dragging his eyes to meet yours. He forced a smile. “But it looks like we’re stuck together, sugar.”

A dangerous flash sparked in your eyes but before you could gnaw at him for that nickname, Natasha appeared at your side, placing a calming (and warning) hand on your arm. She gently pulled you back. “How about we have a campfire?” She suggested, changing the topic of conversation.

Around ten minutes later, the group was situated around the campfire. You and Steve were as far away as you could get, a move orchestrated by the others. You sat next to Natasha, twirling your marshmallow around at the end of its stick. “I cannot believe how insufferable he is,” you complained, referring to Steve. “He never stops!”

Beside you, Natasha found herself unable to contain a smile. “You realize Steve has never talked to anyone like the way he argues with you, right? I mean, Stark comes close because he can be rather annoying but . . . I don’t think you realize that you get under his skin way more than Stark does. I wonder why,” she observed.

“He just has some problem with me and he’s too high up on his horse to actually be a human being about it. I mean, everyone is fooled by his Captainness, but he’s just an ass,” you continued on complaining, too involved with your own whining about him that you were oblivious to Natasha’s reactions.

She nodded along and continued smiling, humming a bit. “Mhm . . . So you hate his guts completely?” She prodded, before taking a bite of her marshmallow.

“As long as he hates mine and keeps being the absolute prick he is, then I hate his,” you said, before getting bored of roasting your marshmallow and eating it plain.

Natasha just shook her head. She couldn’t believe how stubborn you were sometimes but at the same time, with how you acted with and about Steve, it completely made sense. As you readied yourself to probably complain about the man again, she quickly changed the topic.

Thankfully, for the rest of the night, the Avengers managed to keep you and Steve from snapping at each other. After wrapping up the campfire, with night falling, the group lounged at the river. You, Natasha, Clint, and Tony had brought along bathing suits while Thor, Bruce, and Steve sat and engaged in their own conversations. The only incident that occurred was when Steve was skipping rocks and a pebble accidentally nailed you in the head. It was an actual accident, but you didn’t believe it when Steve was struggling to hide his laughter at your reaction.

“See, I told you. A prick,” you muttered to Natasha.

Natasha just decided to go along with it. There was no use arguing. But, as she observed Steve hide his smile and Bruce smack him lightly on the arm, the wheels in her head began to turn. He was usually so composed, the most composed, and would never laugh at even the tiniest of things that happened to a teammate. Unless it was you or Stark, of course. With Tony, it made sense. They had been at each other’s throats before, but Tony didn’t push Steve like you did. Tony didn’t make Steve disregard his usual composure like you did.

There was something different in how you affected Steve and how he affected you, Natasha was sure of it. She had been your friend a while and even though you complained about Steve, she had never seen you talk about anyone more.

Something was up. And she smirked, deciding to keep that piece of information to herself.

Slowly but surely, the Avengers started to wade out of the water and go to bed until it was only you and Steve left. The two of you kept to yourselves, keeping yourselves occupied and managing to not bother each other, until Steve’s gaze settled on you. He couldn’t help his smirk when he saw you yet again swatting at bugs.

“Do you need my shield to protect you?” He called out, teasing once again.

You turned around, ready to retort, when you felt a sharp and powerful sting just above your hip, on your abdomen. You instantly recoiled, jumping away with a yelp, before losing your footing and plunging under the water.

Steve’s posture straightened as suddenly, he stared intently at the water. Feeling his heart thump in his chest, the seconds felt like hours until you resurfaced, scrambling back. “Shit!” You yelled hoarsely, coughing out water.

Even from there, in the dark, he could tell that this wasn’t good. The soldier jumped up, sprinting into the water and not caring about the change in temperature as he waded over to you. “There was a jellyfish . . . And I hit my ankle against a rock,” you rasped, taking heavy breaths as you turned around and faced Steve. In that moment still, a small part of you hated that Steve was seeing you like this, but you didn’t have much choice.

Any and all thoughts and feelings of annoyance that he previously held towards you disappeared once Steve got close. He could see that you were upset and in pain. “Can you walk?” He asked.

You tried to take a step, but only ended up stumbling directly into Steve. He found his arms wrapping around you, holding you. You let out a frustrated grunt, lamely pushing at Steve’s chest. “I’ll be fine, I don’t need your help or any of your jokes,” you muttered.

Steve’s first instinct was to roll his eyes at your stubbornness, but then he realized what was going on: you weren’t foolish. He knew that at heart. He knew you. You knew you were injured and needed help. But you didn’t want Steve because of your relationship with him. You didn’t want him to tease or make fun of you.

The realization that you thought he would do that, that his past behavior had made you think that, made him gulp down a load of guilt. “No jokes, I promise. I just want you to be okay,” he said.

You allowed him to hold you, taking a moment to take some deep breath. You leaned heavily on Steve, unable to put weight on her ankle. “You’ve gotten yourself all wet now for no reason . . . Also, I don’t think I can walk,” you muttered.

“Well I’d say that it’s for a good reason, then, if you can’t walk,” Steve pointed out. “Can I carry you?”

You let out a long, slightly dramatic sigh. “If you must . . .” You said, knowing that Steve would have to carry you no matter what you said.

Steve smiled in amusement and gently picked you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he gingerly carried you back to the tent. It was a bit of a struggle to unzip the tent and actually get inside, but teamwork made the dream work and you two handled it.

Steve set you down on your sleeping bag before stepping away. “Lemme just change quickly,” he muttered, before turning away and changing into warm and dry clothes. You waited patiently, although you were cold and in pain yourself.

When he was finished, he knelt down beside you and gave you a small smile. “Okay, I have some stuff for the jellyfish sting,” he said, before digging into the bag he had packed.

You watched him, distracted from the pain. “Some might get the idea that you were an army nurse instead of a soldier with how good you are at this,” you teased, admiring how he seemed to know just what to do and what to grab.

“I spent a lot of time patching Bucky up as kids,” Steve explained, flashing a grin.

“I bet,” you said.

He carefully worked on treating your sting and when you felt his fingers against your flesh, you couldn’t help but flinch a little bit. Just the fact that he was so close was causing butterflies to swarm in your stomach, which then in turn made you blush. Not only that, but of course Steve’s touch was the softest and the kindest.

Steve glanced up at your face, his grin blooming into a smug smirk. “Are you warm, darling? Your face is rather red,” he teased.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you felt his breath, skin tingling. You were sure your blush had just deepened, and by the even smugger look on Steve’s face, it had. “On the contrary, I’m quite cold,” you changed the topic, referencing your wet clothes and the water.

When you first realized you might be attracted to Steve, it was when he got all mad at you for disobeying an order on a mission. You thought he was rather cute and hot when he was mad and barely listened to his scolding. But, you pushed it all down and was determined to hate him instead. You refused to admit you were attracted to someone who was able to crawl under your skin like he was, that just seemed to know how to annoy you the most and exploit it . . .

Now, though, you were seeing a different, non-annoying side of the famed Captain America.

Steve glanced at you and nodded in sympathy. “I’m almost done,” he assured you, before finishing up the treatment and applying a bandage. He then moved onto your ankle, muttering a small apology when you winced when his touch was too hard and hurt. “I don’t think you’ve broken it, but I’ll still wrap it just in case.” He did just that and got an ice pack for it.

You let out a content sigh at the coolness of it and leaned back. “Can I get your pajamas?” Steve asked, gesturing to your bag. A part of you didn’t want to appear weak and wanted to do it yourself, and Steve seemed to sense your hesitation. “Don’t worry, I still know that you can tear me down with just your words alone. Just let me help you. I won’t think any less of you and I’m more than happy to do it.”

At that, you gave in and nodded. “I might milk your help for a while, then,” you said, only half-teasing. The thought of sitting back and relaxing while Steve got you what you needed was tempting. Less for you to have to do, right?

He pulled out a Mickey Mouse themed t-shirt and black shorts, tilting his head to the side. “Cute,” he teased right back.

You rolled your eyes. “I just threw in whatever was in my drawer,” you defended yourself, catching the pajamas when he tossed them to you.

Steve just nodded and turned around, giving you your privacy. It took a little longer than normal, more difficult with your injuries, but you managed to get the pajamas on. “You can turn around now,” you told him.

Steve did and walked over, looking at your sleeping bag. “That will not be comfortable. I have a blanket we can share if you sleep on top of the sleeping bag,” he said, going to grab it.

You raised your eyebrows, but didn’t say no. “Are you sure?” You asked, shifting so you were fully on top of the sleeping bag.

Steve nodded with a smile. He laid down on his sleeping bag next to you and then draped the blanket over the both of you. “Good night, then?” He asked.

“Good night,” you said, returning his smile. You could not believe you were getting along with Steve Rogers, but you liked it.

Steve turned off the lamp next to him, plunging you both in the darkness. The only sounds that could be heard were the crickets outside. A couple minutes passed as you both got comfortable, but it didn’t take long for Steve to notice that you were shivering from the cold.

He pursed his lips unhappily. Even though he had been annoyed by your “recklessness”, he knew at his heart that you weren’t really reckless, you just didn’t like to listen to him. And, deep down, he knew that a part of him liked it. He liked that you were the one challenging him because it was . . . You. You had this way about you, this confidence and spark and fun. Not to mention, in Steve’s eyes, you were beautiful. But had had convinced himself that it would never work. You guys were too different, right? But ever since you got hurt, he couldn’t allow himself to ignore it anymore.

He wanted you and, if he was right, had a feeling that you wanted him, too.

Then, he saw you begin to swat at the bugs again, and smiled fondly. “Wow, still?” He said, his voice low and deep.

You let out a frustrated huff. “They won’t go away!” You complained.

An idea came to Steve and he decided to take a chance. “How about I shield you, then?” He suggested.

You paused, turning to him. “Huh?” You asked, confused.

Steve shifted closer and wrapped his arms around you, your head falling against his chest, nestled under his chin. When you didn’t move away or protest, he wrapped one leg around both of yours. “See? I’ve become your human shield. The bugs won’t get you now,” he said.

At first, being so close to Steve made the butterflies in your stomach fly around, but you began to relax after a moment. When the blond started running his fingers through your hair, you knew he was doing it to lull you to sleep. “This is just you wanting to cuddle with me, Rogers,” you teased, your voice sleepy.

“Maybe . . . But you like it. You’re gonna be out like a light within minutes,” he teased right back.

You let out a small, quiet hum and sure enough, proved Steve right. It took no time at all for your eyes to stay closed and for you to succumb to sleep. When Steve noticed, he just smiled, only stopping running his fingers through your hair when he fell asleep himself. Despite laying on the ground through sleeping bags, it was the most comfortable of sleep either of you had ever had.

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statticscribbles · 2 years

Text

Coffee

Summary: Bucky Barnes/Reader, Reader works in a coffee shop and tries to hide her powers

You smile at the man as he comes back to the counter.

“Can I get a black coffee with two sugars?”

“Of course, your name?”

“Uhh, James..” He furrows his brow.

“It’s so I can call it out when it’s ready, helps us keep track when it’s busy..” You smile again and he nods and sits at the usual chair in the corner. You made a point of moving the chair over before he gets there. You don’t tell him. You peek from behind the counter. Sarah smiles at you and bumps your hip as she walks by.

“His coffee is up, go on, you got his name and everything..”

“James.” He stands up and rushes over.

“Yes?” You smile warmly

“Your coffee.” He laughs a little fast and nods, taking it from the counter. You can hear the gentle hum of your powers in the back of your head and you brush your hand against his letting them rush over him. He smiles retreating back to his- the chair. Sarah laughs at you as you spend the rest of the day stealing glances at James. When he leaves as you start to close up he waves goodbye and vanishes into the street.

“So, you know his name, are we going to wear nametags now?”

“Shut up, I was thinking about it but you know how many creeps there are out there.” When you walk into the shop next morning Sarah hands you a new nametag, the shops logo on the side. You smile laughing at her and pin it to your shirt. He comes in, you notice the exhaustion seems less in the way he moves. You pay no mind to the prickle of paranoia that filters through after taking his nightmares. You brush your hand back against his, letting your powers pull more of his nightmares. You smile at the little victories you’ve given him. The dark bags under his eyes lighten, and his voice gets steadier and less coarse as he’s able to sleep without screaming. You brush your hands against him and you can feel the anxiety hit you as you close the shop up. You know you’re in for a rough night but you hope he’ll be sleeping soundly as you wake up screaming for the dead you killed.

He comes in a little later, moving a bit faster, he looks slightly sweaty and you realize he’s in workout clothes. He’s followed by two other men, one with a blinding smile who Sarah smiles at as he saunters over to the counter. You finish washing the used mugs as James walks over followed by the blonde man who was caught holding the door for a few moments.

“What can I get you two?” You cough a little, your voice horse and failing from screaming through the night.

“ Black coffee two sugars, an iced Americano-“

“I’ll have a black coffee as well, not an iced Americano, and one of every sandwich, heated please.”

“Of course.”

“Make it two of all of them please.” James smiles at you and you nod.

“together or separate?”

“Together.” The blonde man smiles handing over a credit card. You swipe it and hand it back.

‘I’ll bring it over alright?” You smile but it falters as you see James moving over to where his chair should be. You rush over pushing the large armchair over and turning it so it faces the rest of the café. “Sorry! I could have sworn I moved that back.” You laugh a little and smile. You can hear the two men talking quietly as you make your way back smiling apologetically as Sarah reads their order.

“You’re making this.” You nod and move to the back, As you’re cooking the sandwiches you look over and see the cookie dough mix on the shelf, you pull a jar down and add the eggs as you let the oven heat up. You wrap the sandwiches in foil and wrap the cookies in their own foil pack and debate adding a note, Sarah hands you the coffee and you set it down before handing off the plate with all the sandwiches.

“You two have to stop overwhelming the staff, they’re not used to people eating this much, look you even got cookies! You two are going to be the death of me.” The man laughs and Sarah snickers.

“I made the cookies, sir. As an extra.” The man smiles as he bites into one.

‘Damn good cookies..” You smile and turn to go back to the counter.

“Thanks Y/N.” You barely hear James’ voice, you nod and rush back towards the counter. Sarah laughs at your blush before she brings the smiling man a wrap. They leave an hour later, the plates cleaned of every scrap of sandwich and cookies. You clear the plates and cups smiling as you reposition the chair back to where it normally is.

“I still don’t know why you do that. It’s silly, just leave it there..”

“But Jim gets mad if it’s not there..”

“He won't notice.” You close the shop leaving the chair in James’ spot. When you come in the morning Jim is standing beside it huffing.

“Y/N? The chair has been moved. Again.” He huffs, crossing his arms, his face reddening as you stutter out an explanation.

“Sorry Y/N, I forgot to move the chair back didn’t I, I’m real sorry ‘bout that doll.” James offers an apologetic smile. Jim’s face softens and he laughs.

“Sorry about sir, I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” James smiles, smoothing over any lingering anger Jim was going to throw at you. You shakily smile at both of them and return to the counter.

“The usual?”

“Yes, also an Iced Americano, a Black tea, and if it’s not too much trouble could I get a slice of lemon and some jam with it..”

“With the tea? On the side or on it?”

“Ummm..” James turns and you see a stunning redheaded woman walk up.

“Tash, jam on the side?”

“Side..” She smiles.

“Is that your seat?” James nods and smiles slightly. She moves over a chair and comes back to the counter, she hands you a credit card and as you swipe it you catch her asking James something in Russian. You know enough to follow a basic conversation and you realize she’s asking him something about you. He smiles and nods, mumbling something you can’t hear. You smile as you hand them their drinks.

“If it’s not a bother, maybe some of those cookies again.” You smile and nod moving towards the back.

“Y/N!” You wince when Jim shouts across the café.

“Yes sir!” You turn and scramble towards his office offering a sheepish smile towards James and Tash.

“You make sure those two get whatever they want..”

“Of course sir!” He nods and pats your head.

“And keep your powers in check, I swear I can feel your jumpiness, whatever you fixed yesterday don’t do it again you’re wearing yourself out.”

“Of course sir, it won’t happen again.”

James doesn’t show up for almost two weeks and you can tell that you have a crush as soon as his blonde friend walks in and you bit back asking about James.

“Two black coffee’s one with two sugars please.” You nod and turn to fill the to go cups. The man smiles and takes them.

“James asked about the cookies, since he never got them last time he was in..”

“Oh! I can give you the mix if you want, so he can make it at home!” Your eyes light up when he nods. You scribble out the directions and in an impulse you add your number letting him know to call if he has any questions.

“It’s my own recipe so if he has any trouble he can blame me.” You laugh and wave as he leaves. You try not to cling to your phone, but as the café closes for the night and you trudge back to your house you try not to whimper too much as your phone remains empty of any notifications. You sluggishly move up your stairs and all but fall into your tiny apartment’s main hall.

“I’m home Nessa, I have a couple leftover sandwiches if you want.” Nessa appears smiling.

“So James didn’t show up again?”

“How can you tell?”

“You look pitiful, honestly like someone kicked a puppy, l think you should at least try to talk to him next time he comes in..” You nod as Nessa eats the leftover wrap you hand her. You try to relax but the fear bubbling in your chest has you tossing and turning, you hope James isn’t having too many nightmares.

The next morning you drag yourself out of bed and stare in the mirror the bags under your eyes have lightened but you worriedly poke at them. You pull over the sweater hanging in your closet and make your way towards the café.

Sarah’s standing, just opening the door.

“Sorry I’m late I didn’t think the school run would take me as long and-“ You nod pushing her in as both of you scramble through the daily tasks as a few customers start to trickle in. You’re helping the man in line and he stumbles around a list someone has given him repeating and adding in things he seems unsure of, he seems to pause and take notice of the line forming and he side steps.

“I’ll let you guys finish with the rush first.” You shoot him a grateful look and as the rush finally dies down the man looks up from his phone.

“Alright I got a much better list, so, sorry this is going to be a big order… I need five chicken wraps, two chicken and ham toasties, four Cajun chicken and cheese, three salad bowls, and two jars of cookies? Anyway, for the drinks I need three iced Americano’s, two latte’s, one tea with lemon and jam, two double espresso shots, and a black coffee two sugars.” You nod.

“To go right?”

“No we’re eating here..” Tash and the blonde man appear next to him and he laughs.

“You guys made me come in here to order this all why?”

“We had to convince James she wouldn’t hate him” Tash looks up to you. ‘He burnt your cookies, fell asleep with them in the oven..” The blonde man smiles. Your eyes widen.

‘That’s awful! I always hate when I fall asleep like that, always messes me up, he’s okay though?” You laugh a little to cover up the worry about his sleeping habits. You turn when Sarah drops a platter.

“You okay?” You tilt your head when she doesn’t respond. You turn and see Iron Man standing in the door. Suddenly his suit peels back and seems to vanish. The other Avengers soon follow and you peer around them as James sneaks in towards his chair.

“You know the Avengers?” James stares at you.

“Doll, I’m part of the Avengers, I thought you knew? It’s why you’d move the chair and turn the music down right?” You stare back, Blonde man becomes Steve Rogers, Tash, is now the Black widow, and the man who smiles at Sarah is Falcon. You shake your head.

‘What? No! I just did that cause I know what it’s like to be anxious in social situations..”

“Oh.” Natasha laughs and helps you bring the platters of food over. You smile and finish cleaning up, both you and Sarah are about to go into the back when Clint Barton waves you over.

“You two, come sit, tell us about serving this asshole for the past four months..”

“it’s been five actually.” James jabs Clint in the side and Sarah snickers.

‘Aww cute, he was counting, still hasn’t called you though.” You laugh along with them and stand.

‘Anyone want more coffee? I have to call my roommate to tell her I’ll be late..” You pull your phone out and call Nessa as you brew another cup of coffee.

“Hello?”

“Hey Nessa, I’m going to be late, So don’t wait up! Yeah I can get milk and Oh gross! No that’s just, ew. You can do that on your own.”

“What happened?” You set the coffee pot in the middle of the table.

“My roommate wanted me to pick up things for her and her current boyfriend, which is gross.” You wrinkle your nose holding up the pot pouring a fresh cup for everyone. Your had brushes James and you tense as your powers pull the thoughts of sex from your brain. You whip your head up to Sarah and stand up offering the coffee pot up to her as she passes by.

“Sarah I fucked up.”

“How? Did you take too much?” Sarah watches you as you look nervously back to the Avengers who are trying not to be obvious about eavesdropping.

“No I uh, I gave some stuff up and it’s uh, related to Nessa and what she was, uh-“

“Y/N are you serious? What did you take? If you gave that?” You squeeze your eyes shut and curl your fingers against your arm.

“I’m sorry.” Sarah rolls her eyes.

“It’s fine. I’ll make some soup for you then?” You nod ducking your head as she pulls you into a hug before asking you to lock the back up. When you return the Avengers are gone and you ask her but she shakes her head, leading you back up the street to her apartment.

“I called Mark and he and the kids are at his mother’s so you don’t have to worry about waking them up. Now, want to talk about what’s been going on for the past few months?”

“I’ve been taking James’s nightmares. It was an accident at first, our hands brushed and my powers just took it; it was too strong to resist. After that, well, he looked so happy and calm, not having nightmares. I figured what was a few more days of it, if it helped him.”

“That why you were such a mess when he was out for two weeks.” You nod ducking your head before Sarah pushes the bowl closer.

“Eat. When was the last time you had a full meal?”

“Uhh, two days ago when you made me dinner, I have eaten since then! Just not a proper meal.” Sarah nods and watches you eating in silence for a moment.

“So what dream did you give him this time? You said it had something to do with Nessa?”

“She called me talking about her and Peter’s sex life and it got stuck in my head and-“ You cut yourself off as Sarah starts laughing.

“Oh my god you gave him a sex dream. That’s hilarious, sorry I mean, very serious, why is it a problem.”

“It’s not a problem, just awkward.” Sarah rolls her eyes.

“You’re being overdramatic, it won’t change anything.” You nod, finishing your soup and curling on the couch with a blanket.

“Y/N, what did you take from him.”

“I’ll find out in a bit.” You tug a pillow closer and tuck the blanket against your chin. You can hear Sarah moving quietly around her kitchen and settling everything down for the night.

You don’t wake up, you come to your senses suddenly, the cold is biting into you. You’ve had this nightmare before, when he falls from a train. You step forward being moved as a pawn in his place. Instead of stepping to the left you step to the right, pulled by the wrong force and you know this nightmare is not one you’ve had before. You can’t scream when Steve falls. You stare transfixed, wishing that the nightmare would finish. You feel the tugging from the dreams force and you follow it, letting go and letting the dream plummet you down. You catch up to the Captain, the fear evident on his face. You hit the ground and can feel everything splinter, normally this is the point he loses consciousness and you wake screaming and crying. This is not the nightmare you know. You stare unseeing and all-seeing at the same time. You see Steve’s body heaving, the serum trying to heal all his injuries and you can hear the pained groans from him as his bones try to knit themselves together over and over, splinters trying to regrow but stabbing into his muscles ripping tendons that heal over creating a thick rope of scar tissue winding on his arm and down his leg. You try to call out but find yourself screaming as Steve suddenly seems to shrink, reverting to before the serum ran through his veins, his injuries vanish and he crawls over to you, curling against your chest he cries.

Why did you jump, why did you jump. You could have lived, you could have lived.

You wake up screaming, tears soaking your face and you twist out of the blanket thumping against the floor howling in pain. Sarah’s next to you in an instant, her hands too warm and freezing against your back and neck, she tugs your hair slightly and motions to a trashcan as you gag and vomit into it. You tremble, hunched over it whimpering, she places a cool rag against the back of your neck.

“There we go, there we go sweetie, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You climb into her lap like a child and let her mother you.

“He fell, he jumped with him, got hurt, wouldn’t stop healing then he got small again, too small was gonna freeze, he was gonna freeze cause’a me.” You shiver against Sarah’s arms and she tuts softly, rubbing her arm against your back in circles as she hums. You fall asleep before she moves you back to the couch.

You wake up in the morning and don’t even register that Sarah’s given you fresh coffee until half the mug is down your throat and you feel the burning bubbling against it. Sarah sighs and holds out your uniform, which you change into, stumbling down towards the street the shop’s on before she stops you and points to pancakes on the table, you grab two from the stack stuffing them in your mouth as you motion to the door. She sighs rolling her eyes and following you as you both make your way to the café.

You’re exhausted, slumped against the counter you barely move until the figures that entered are in front of you. You struggle to stand swaying as you try to smile before shaking your head and taking in the people who wait.

“Welcome, what can I get you?”

“Black Coffee two sugars, two double espresso shots, and two cups of tea.” You look up to see James smiling at you. You nod wincing as your head swims.

‘You okay doll?”

“Yeah, just nightmares, no big deal” You smile at James as he moves to sit next to Natasha and Steve, Wanda stands next to the table, pulling a chair over.

“You threw up, I’m telling you just go home.” Sarah calls out and you stare shocked at the concern that covers James’s face.

“You’re sick? You sure you should be here? If you’re not feeling well you should go home, I can take you home if you need.” You blink sluggishly.

“I’m okay, it was only a little puke, nothing bad, nothing bad.” You try to smile again but can feel tears prickling.

“I can stop the nightmares for a bit, if you’d like.” You shake your head at Wanda.

“At least let me.” She reaches a hand out and you feel your powers tugging hers to you. She gapes at you and you pull as many of her nightmares as you can manage before she tugs her hand back.

“You poor thing, why is this happening to you?” You sit over in a chair in between her and James.

“It’s not a dream thing, it’s healing.”

“What?”

“I can heal people, it just so happens you guys have more psychological issues that physical right now.”

“So what you’re taking our memories?”

“No I’m taking the trauma, and I’m dealing with it so you don’t have to, when you think back on those memories they won’t be triggers anymore.” You smile at James.

“How long?”

“Since the first time you got coffee here, I didn’t mean to my powers do it on there own and, it’s fine really I can handle it.”

“Wait are you telling me you’ve been taking and having my nightmares for five months?”

“Yeah I’m sorry I should have-“

“You’ve been torturing yourself so I could get a few hours of sleep a night?? You don’t even know me, what was the point of that.”

“You smiled more.”

“What?” James stares at you for a moment.

“You smiled more, it was nice.” Sarah hands you a cup of tea.

“Y/N. Nessa wanted to let you know she’s moving in with Peter.”

“Oh, yeah okay, that’s great. Give me a sec.” you brush by Sarah and clutch your arms as you sink behind the staff door.

“Fuck.” You mumble to yourself. You shake your head clearing your thoughts. You step out from the back offering a wary smile

“Anyways, guess I’ll have to find somewhere else to live. It’ll be fine though.” You smile reassuringly at Sarah “You can be an Avenger, and live with me.” James nods enthusiastically at you.

“I can’t I don’t-“

“You have powers, we could use a healer on missions, it’d help us out a lot.” Wanda smiles.

“You can’t just offer me a job without any training. I don’t even know how to throw a punch, let alone fight.”

“Come with me to the compound, just for the night?” James smiles at you and you find yourself nodding. Wanda laughs and gestures for everyone to leave.

You’re following them as they make their way through the tower.

“We live at the compound but we do training and host parties here. I thought it best to run it by the team first.” James leads you through and you wave at Clint.

“Coffee girl finally managed to get past the café door, even more impressive she’s in the tower.”

“At least I have a girl.” Clint rolls his eyes.

“I have a wife so I out-rank you.” You snicker as James looks offended.

“Y/N I can’t believe you’d side with him. Betrayed by my own girl.” James throws his hands up laughing.

“Is Tony here? I wanted to ask about her staying at the compound.”

“You don’t need to ask about having girls over.”

“No to live with us.”

“Skipping a few steps then?” Tony peers at you.

“She has powers, and nowhere to live, I guessed she wouldn’t take too kindly to me renting her a place so I figured this was the best option.”

“You wanted to be her sugar daddy?”

“Her what?” He turns to look quizzically at you.

“I’ll explain it later.” Tony smirks at you.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, what are your powers?”

“Here.” You move towards him about to brush your hand against his before Bucky jerks you back.

“I can heal, I was going to take some of your trauma, I absorb it by touching.”

“Oh, is that why Bucky slept so well after his visits to your café?” Tony laughs

“Yeah, I was taking his trauma and dealing with it and-“

“So you make yourself have nightmares? That why you look like someone ran you over?” You nod, yawning.

“Well you should sleep, we’re having dinner at the compound at seven, so you could head over and nap before.” Tony smiles. You lean on Bucky as he lets Steve know.

“Come on doll.” You fall asleep on the ride over and wake as Bucky gently shakes you.

“You want me to call you James or Bucky?”

“Bucky, why’d you call me James all the time anyways, I don’t mind but I’m curious.”

“You told me your name was James in the café, I just stuck with that.” He nods leading you towards a room. He laughs at you.

“What? That’s the nicest looking bed I’ve seen in weeks. I’ve been sleeping on a couch cause my roommate kept bringing her boyfriend back.” Bucky nods.

“Sleep well, I’ll wake you before dinner.” You nod curling under the covers and tugging a pillow over.

It’s a new nightmare this time. You’re standing in front of an empty room. You see Natasha leaning against the door before she rushes over and you smack your hand against her face throwing her back. You stare at the metal fingers as they adjust. You watch as she charges again and you smack her back kicking her as she lies on the ground. You hear a creaking sound. You look around and spot yourself stepping through the door. You tilt your head watching yourself rush over. You lift your hand up, you’re trying to stop your hand as you reach, wrapping the metal hand around her throat and squeezing. You wake up coughing and heaving, whimpering as you curl against the pillows. You hear the door open and look up blindly reaching forward sobbing, and clinging desperately to the figure that now sits on the bed.

“It’s alright, we all have nightmares. Dinner is ready, if you’re hungry. Come on Y/N, food will probably help. I’ll give you a minute to get fixed up.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, come, lets get dinner.” You nod stumbling up and following Clint from the room. He sits you in the armchair facing the kitchen. You cringe back when Natasha walks through. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’re having pasta, is that alright?” You nod staring as she disappears.

“She’s not upset?”

“We all have nightmares. We under-“

“Hey! No!” You smack your bare hand onto Clint’s face, pulling as much as you can before he throws you back into the chair.

“You need to learn boundaries! You cannot just do that when we mention bad things happening. Do you understand?” You stare up at him as he glares at you.

“Do not do that again! It is not okay! No! No! Bad Y/N.” He scolds you like a dog and you curl hiding your face trying not to laugh.

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 3 months

Text

.⋆｡What I Cannot Give You｡⋆.

Steve Rogers x plus size reader

After sleeping with your boyfriend for the second time, you find out that he’s never cum with you- but his ex says that he always did with her

Warnings: smut, angst, insecurities, feelings of inadequacy, misunderstanding, inability to finish (on Steve’s end), ooc!Sharon, mentions of diets, comfort

WC: 2.3k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Alright, what’s going on?” Numbly, you looked up from your cold cup of tea to meet the piercing green eyes of your best friend. Natasha was almost glaring at you as she stood with her hands on her slim hips, quite obviously having been watching you for some time.

You swallowed thickly. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong.” Her scowl deepened.

“That’s not what I asked now was it?” Your stomach flipped and you squeezed the teacup even tighter. “But now that you’ve said that, what’s wrong? And don’t you dare lie to me, I’ll know.”

You should’ve known that Nat would spot your unease from a mile away, you should’ve just stayed in your room. But the need for food and a distraction from your thoughts had been too great of a temptation. Your vision blurred with tears as you pitifully shook your head.

Suddenly, all the exasperation was gone from her expression and she was kneeling before you, one hand on your knee, the other on the arm of the couch. “Hey, hey don’t cry.” You whimpered loudly, now unable to stop the onslaught of emotions.

“It- it’s fine. Everything’s fine.” With a free hand, you furiously wiped away the fat tears that were now rolling down your full cheeks. Natasha sighed heavily and pulled the cup from you, placing it on the coffee table behind her.

“Was it that commercial about the cat and the raccoon again?” She teased though her tone still held some strain of wariness.

“No.” You groaned tearfully, making Nat smile warmly at you.

“Then it can’t be so bad can it?” Moving gracefully, she plopped down on the couch cushion next to you, taking your shaking hands into her steady ones. “Did something happen with Steve?” The watery look you gave her in return was all the answer she needed.

“Stevie!” You cried, your head tossed back in pleasure. It was overwhelming, overpowering, it was everything. The man above you groaned as you tightened around him once more, practically strangling his cock with the force of your orgasm.

Your nails scraped down his muscular back, leaving behind bright red lines that would disappear before dawn even broke the horizon. “Feels so good!” Your sobs echoed through the room along with the wet slapping of skin as his hips met yours.

Blonde hair brushed against your nose as Steve buried his face into your neck, lathering your burning skin with even hotter kisses. “That’s it doll, one more time for me please.” And as the fat head of his cock hit that spongy bundle of nerves inside you, you obliged him. Though less powerful than your previous three, your soft body still tensed with ecstasy and your mind went hazy.

“Good girl, my good girl.” Steve muttered softly, laying one last gentle peck to your shoulder before he pulled himself away from you. “Did you have a good time?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “I can’t feel anything below my hips, does that answer your question?” He chuckled and kissed the tip of your nose.

“Alright, no need to be smart about it.” As gently as he could manage, Steve sat back on his haunches and slowly pulled out of you. You whined at the sudden emptiness of your cunt and the soreness that came along from having his massively thick length inside of you.

But there was no other sensation after that, no telltale feeling of cum inside of you or drying on your thick thighs. Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked at your boyfriend. “Did you finish?” The question came out more shaky than you intended but Steve seemingly didn’t notice.

“No but you did and that’s all that matters.” He dismissed as he stood up from the mattress. You sat up on your elbows, not done with the conversation just yet.

“That’s the second time it’s happened and we’ve only had sex twice.” You pointed out but Steve just sighed.

“It’s fine, it happens sometimes. I’m just happy that you felt good. That’s more than enough for me. Now stay there so I can clean you up.” And as he walked to the attached bathroom, your heart sank and a pit began to grow in your stomach.

“Stevie.” You started but quickly stopped as his blue eyes bore into you. Rage oozed from them like lava, stunning you into silence.

“That’s enough. I told you it’s fine, I won’t be having this conversation again.” With tensed shoulders and clenched fists, he left the room leaving you lost and feeling far more empty than ever before.

“Okay so he didn’t finish but you did. I see no problem with that, it would be the opposite for most guys.” Nat shrugged, a lean arm around your shoulders as she continued to comfort you despite her apparently dismissal of the whole thing.

You huffed, now more frustrated than distraught. “That’s not the point.” You tried to yank away but she held strong, easily pinning you back down onto the couch.

“Then what is?” She implored.

“That I’m not enough for him!” You cried. “That I’m not pretty enough or good enough in bed to even get him to cum! There has to be something wrong with me and he’ll figure that out soon enough and leave me.” Fear and sadness filled your heart as you spilled out your deepest fears to your best friend who was now stunned unto silence.

“He’ll find someone better, just like everyone else did.” You bit down on your lip as more tears rose to the surface.

“Pcholka-“ She started but was quickly interrupted by another person strutting into the communal living area.

Sharon Carter, the very personification of everything that you wished you could be, was smirking devilishly as she strolled past you and Natasha, apparently heading for the kitchen. You held your breath as she gracefully walked by, her high heels (which weren’t needed for her job) clacked against the expensive flooring.

“Don’t mind me ladies, just getting myself a protein shake. This new diet is a killer I tell ya but it’s so worth it.” Her smirk made you shrink into yourself but Natasha’s firm grip kept you from escaping.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as Sharon flitted about the kitchen. Until she finally began her walk back out. You breathed a sigh of relief as she passed by the couch once more but right as she reached the door frame, she turned back and made eye-contact with you.

“Oh Steve always finished with me.” Your eyes went wide with shock. Sure there had been rumours that your boyfriend and the CIA agent had been involved but nothing more ever came out of it so you always just dismissed it as office gossip, until now. “Every. Time.” She said, rubbing even more salt in your already wounded ego.

“No one fucking asked you Sharon. In fact, why are you even here, weren’t you reassigned because of your fuckup in Bosnia?” Natasha snarled, her eyes narrowing on the other agent. She twisted her body around, giving you the opportunity to rip from her grasp and make a run for it.

Nat called out your name but all you could focus on was the way that Sharon smirked at you, her bright eyes alight with an evil plan and you wouldn’t be sticking around to watch it play out, not when you knew that she would be successful.

——————

Being the completely understanding and perfect boyfriend he was, Steve could be easily avoided with a simple text that you weren’t feeling well and needed some alone time. He would always ask if you needed anything and you could tell that he was curious as to why you weren’t letting him come take care of you but he respected you too much to pry any deeper.

Natasha hadn’t been so easy to avoid but your stubbornness won out over hers so she had left you alone, just like you wanted. It was easier being alone with your thoughts than having her try to convince you that what you were feeling was stupid and a total misunderstanding.

Groaning, you threw your phone across the bed. The screen was still bright with the Cosmopolitan article about ’10 Tips and Tricks to Make Him Go Crazy For You’, all of which seemed very expensive in the case of toys and lingerie or positions that you were not nearly flexible enough to pull off.

Maybe it was hopeless, you already knew that you weren’t good enough for him so what did it matter if you couldn’t get him off. You were barely even together in the first place, it wasn’t as if you were already in love with him and breaking up would devastate you.

You rolled over onto your side and curled into the pillow that miraculously still smelt like him, squeezing it tightly to your chest. This feeling was familiar, the drop of your stomach, the stutter of your heart like you were at the precipice of a cliff and unable to stop moving forward.

And all you could think about was the disgust and the anger in Steve’s eyes that night. It was like in that moment he also figured out how one-sided the relationship was and he hated you for it.

“Doll, I know you’re in there.” Your body snapped up, your muscles pulled taut with anxiety. “You don’t have to open the door, I just want to know if you’re ok. Nat said you were having a tough time.”

“I’m fine Steve, just having a moment.” You tried to dismiss but the dry crack of your voice had him opening your door and slipping inside.

In the dim light of your bedroom, Steve’s figure was imposing, his sheer size creating a void in the space. Your heartbeat pounded loudly in your ears as he gently shut the door behind him. “You only ever call me Steve when something’s wrong.” His steps were featherlight as he cautiously crept closer.

“Steve-“

“See, there it is again. I’m your Stevie not Steve.” He whined playfully, making a ghost of a smile dance across your lips. The mattress dipped under the weight of one of his hands as he planted it by your wide hips, giving you enough space to be respectful but close enough that you could feel the heat of his skin through your pyjamas.

He leaned closer as if going in for a kiss but you stopped him with a hand to his strong chest. He paused for barely a second before he pulled your hand away and brought it up to his lips. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your eyes dropped to your lap, you could guess what was coming next. ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ or ‘I just think we’re better off as friends’. But instead of the breakup you thought was going to happen, Steve hooked a finger under your chin and guided your gaze back to him.

“Is this about the other night? I told you that you didn’t have to worry about that.” He tutted as his thumb gently caressed your jaw. You hesitated nuzzling into his touch, still too hurt to want that comfort.

“But why would you even be with me if I can’t make you feel good?” As soon as the words slipped from your mouth, you regretted them. Steve’s expression turned stormy and suddenly, his grip became tighter until your jaw ached from the force of it.

You could see the way the vein in his neck twitched as an angry flush crawled up his cheeks. You knew he wanted to yell, to lash out at you but he quickly swallowed down his anger, taking a deep breath before he spoke again.

“You do make me feel good. You make me feel amazing, both in and out of the bedroom. You’re gorgeous doll, and smart and funny and caring. I’m with you because of that, not because I want to just get off. I get pleasure from your pleasure.” He cooed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against your own.

His breath fanned across your lips as his other hand finally cupped your hip beneath your oversized shirt. “Sharon told me that you always finished with her.” You whispered, your fingers curling into the compression shirt he wore.

His pecs rippled with your touch, his heartbeat strong beneath your palms. “I can’t cum, doll. Or at least I can’t anymore.” Taking a shaky breath, he continued.

“I don’t think I’ve cum since before the serum.” His voice was soft, ashamed. His broad shoulders dropped as he finally admitted the truth. “It did something to me that no one has been able to figure out yet but we’re getting closer.”

“But Sharon-“

“I faked it with her. Every time.” At your puzzled expression, Steve smiled softly. “I always wore condoms so she couldn’t tell and besides, it was only a couple times before you were even around. I haven’t thought about her since the moment you walked into the tower on your first day.”

Only now did you melt into his hold, letting him pull you closer as he endeavoured to comfort you. “You’re all I want, all I need. I promise.”

“Really?” You whispered, your lips drawing closer to his. The corners of his eyes scrunched as he smiled back at you.

“Really. As long as you don’t mind that I can’t fill you up with my cum, mark you from the inside out.” He growled playfully. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the dirty talk, your mind now filled with images of just that.

“Stevie!” You yelped but was cut off by his lips pressing against yours. Your heart skipped a beat as he held you tighter, the kiss quickly becoming far more passionate.

“That’s my good girl.”

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tuiccim · 4 months

Text

Pickup Game

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3509

Warnings: Flirt, Fluff, Smut, Oral (f rec)

Summary: An after party game of pickup lines leads to a confession and an even more fun night in bed.

A/N: Special thanks to my hype princess & beta reader @whisperlullaby.

The after party of just Avengers and close friends was in full swing. Drinks and laughter flowed as you enjoyed each other's company.

“Okay, okay. Your best pick up line! Let’s have ‘em!” Clint yells over the most recent spate of laughter. “Tony, whatcha got?”

Tony smirks before opening his arms wide and declaring, “I am Iron Man.” He grins as everyone heckles him, “What can I say? Works every time!”

“Really?” Pepper raises an eyebrow.

“Used to! Used to work,” Tony backpedals. “Rhodey, save me here, buddy!”

“Okay, okay,” Rhodey laughs as he glances at Natasha who is standing by him and tugs at his sleeve, “Feel my shirt. Know what it’s made of? Boyfriend material.”

"Nice," Natasha scoffs.

"Let's hear yours then!" Rhodey huffs.

"Ever had a White Russian?" Natasha asks, holding up her glass.

"No," Rhodey looks at her suspiciously.

"Want to?" She says seductively.

Rhodey chuckles, "Smooth. Okay, Clint, what've you got?"

Clint bats his eyes at Sam, standing next to him and says, "Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes, big boy?"

Sam laughs while rolling his eyes, "So, what you guys are telling me is that you have no game?"

"Give us your best then, Rocket Man!"

"You know, dating is a numbers game. So, can I have yours?" Sam grins.

"Boooring!" Tony heckles. "Steve, what's your favorite?"

"I've never been good with pickup lines. That was more Bucky's territory," Steve tilts his head towards the dark-haired super soldier.

"Thanks," Bucky says sarcastically, "I'm a little out of practice with pickup lines."

"Aw, come on, Buck, give it a shot," you pipe in and then try to hide your embarrassment at having drawn attention to yourself. Even though you hoped he'd test out the line on you. Your attraction to the man was undeniable and you'd harbored a crush since you'd met him. You leaned back against the wall with your hands behind your back and raised your eyebrow in challenge to him.

Bucky's face betrayed a moment of discomfiture before he straightened his shoulders and stepped over to you. He placed a hand on the wall above you, leaning in with a small smirk, "If I told you you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

You could hear some chuckling and comments in the background but it faded as you stared up at Bucky. God, he was fine as hell and you were doing your best to control your erratic heartbeat.

"Sorry, doll, that wasn't very good, huh?"

You don't know where the gall came from but, before you realized what you were doing the words slipped out of your mouth. "Don't worry, Buck, I'm not big on being picked up. I prefer to be pinned down." Your eyebrow raised as you said the words and you smirked, bringing your glass to your lips for a sip.

Bucky's jaw drops as the room erupts in laughter and cheers. Tony crows, "She wins!"

Clint laughs heartily as he agrees, "Hands down!"

After a few moments, you reach up and close Bucky's mouth, “And to answer your questions, yes, I would,” you whisper with a wink as you walk away.

A little while later, the party was winding down and you decided it was time to slip out. Your nerves were getting the better of you. Thoughts ran amuck as to what Bucky thought of you and whether the attraction you felt was reciprocated. He’d been in a conversation with some of the guys since the game ended and you hoped to catch a glimpse, some sign of mutual interest but now you were walking away with your tail between your legs. God, what must he think of you and that brazen comment.

Hitting the button for the elevator, you berate yourself for thinking you ever stood a chance. Your head snapped up when a deep voice whispered, “You know, you have a beautiful body.”

Grinning, you turn and press yourself against Bucky, “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Bucky smirks at you. Without warning, he stoops and picks you up as if you weigh nothing.

“Bucky!” You squeal as the elevator doors open.

He carries you in, hitting the button for his floor with his elbow, “Don’t worry, doll. I know you aren’t big on being picked up but I’ll have you pinned down soon enough.”

You raise your eyebrow at him, “It was just a line, Buck.”

His confidence falters for a second, “Oh, uh-”

“Don’t worry, baby. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,” you smirk.

“Oh, you’re naughty,” Bucky laughs.

“I prefer ‘playful’.”

“I like playful,” Bucky adjusts you in his arms so that your back is pressed to the elevator wall and your faces are at the same level.

You use the opportunity to wrap your legs around him and look at him expectantly.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks.

You’re surprised by the request after the way he’d handled you. It warmed your heart that he would seek your consent and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, “Please.”

The kiss is intense. He presses into you as his lips move over yours. His tongue slips out seeking entry and you oblige him immediately. You separate only when the elevator dings your arrival. He lowers your legs gently and takes your hand. Leading you down the hallway, Bucky says awkwardly, “I, uh, was kind of surprised when you, um, said that tonight.”

“What? The pickup line?” You tilt your head as you look at him.

“No, the… thing you whispered afterwards.”

“Really, why?” You thought your feelings for him were fairly obvious.

“I mean, I’m a mess and you’re so put together. I just,” he shrugs, “kinda thought you were out of my league, ya know.”

“No,” you laugh, “no, I don’t know. I have never thought of myself as put together. Thanks for that but I’m kind of a mess, too. I think we all are in our own ways.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Bucky smiles as he opens his door and guides you in.

You suddenly feel awkward as you walk inside the room. The passion displayed in the elevator had mellowed as you walked and talked together into a camaraderie. You were unsure how to get back to it.

“Would you like a drink?” Bucky asks as he comes up behind you, his lips brushing your neck and his hands caress your hips. You jump a little at the unexpected contact.

“I think I had enough earlier,” you breathe, heat pooling between your legs.

“I haven’t had enough, I haven’t had nearly enough. I need another taste,” Bucky says as he turns you around to capture your mouth. You oblige him willingly, snaking your arms around his neck as you arch into him.

Abandoning any reserve you would normally have, you reach for the buttons on his shirt. He reaches for the zipper of your dress but his hands still. You pull back to look at him curiously.

“You’re sure?” He asks.

You smile and pull the tails of his shirt from his pants while saying, “Barnes, if you don’t get me naked and pin me down, I will never forgive you.”

He pulls you against him forcefully, grinning as he pulls down your zipper, “We can’t have that.”

Clothes are discarded quickly as he backs you to the bed. Bucky slides his hands into your panties to grab your ass and you gasp when he picks you up. Laying you on the bed he pulls your panties off. You expect him to follow you down but instead his eyes take a slow path up your body. Propping yourself on your elbows, you resist the urge to cover yourself but tremble as he studies you. He smiles, grabs a discarded t-shirt, and rips the bottom half from it. Your eyebrow raises at the display.

“And what do you plan to do with that, Sgt. Barnes?”

His smirk as he advances has butterflies dancing in your stomach. He grabs your arms, twists the shirt around your wrists, and hauls them above your head as he pins you to the bed.

“Happy now?” Bucky rumbles as he kisses your neck.

“Almost. I’d like these off,” you use your legs to pull at the underwear he still has on, “and an orgasm or two would be nice.”

Holy shit, you don’t know where this confidence had come from. Maybe because Bucky wanted you. Maybe because of whatever drink that was that Natasha had handed you. Whatever it was, you were enjoying the results.

“Only one or two?” Bucky teases as he nibbles along your clavicle. “I bet I can do better.”

“Is that so?” You gasp as his tongue plays over your nipple.

“Mm-hm,” he murmurs before plucking at your other nipple with his lips. He lets go of your hands that are still bound above your head as he slides his tongue down your stomach. Your breathing picks up when he reaches your navel and proceeds to kiss his way down to your mound. Your eyes screw shut to take in every sensation. When he spreads your legs further apart, you feel the contrast of warm skin and cool metal on your thighs. Anticipation builds, making you lick your lips and you can’t help the whimper that slips out when you feel a gentle finger trace your slit.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers reverently before his tongue follows the same path as his fingers. His metal arm curls around your leg and he rests his hand on your abdomen, effectively holding you in place as he explores your folds. It was almost unbearable, the way his tongue slid around to touch everywhere but where you needed him most.

“Bucky, please,” you whimper desperately.

His chuckle rumbles against your core. His fingers replace his tongue, taking the same lazy path. “Poor baby, am I not giving you what you want?” His finger tip barely grazes your clit and you whine. “Are you feeling needy?” His finger circles your entrance and his tongue gives the softest lick to your clit. Your hips flex, desperate for more friction, making Bucky press his metal hand more firmly against you. “I like seeing you like this.” Another small lick to your clit. “Wet, under me, and so desperate.”

“Bucky, pleeeaase,” you can’t keep the whine out of your voice. You don’t think you’ve ever been quite so turned on and the teasing was making you a writhing mess.

“Say please again and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

“Please!” the word rushes out of you. His fingers and tongue driving you mad.

His tongue moves slowly, lapping back and forth over your clit while his finger still teases. It’s maddeningly delicious but not enough at the same time. He holds your hips hostage, not allowing you to move. You mewl with each motion of his tongue over you, your body on fire and screaming for just a little more until your mouth opens to plead, “More! Oh, god, I need more!”

Bucky lifts his head, a devilish smirk across his mouth, “Oh, precious, you didn’t say please. We’ll have to start all over again now.” His finger goes back to tracing the slow path over your cunt.

“What?” You gape at him as he plays with you.

“You didn’t say please, doll,” Bucky repeats, allowing his lips to brush over your thigh, far too far from where you wanted his lips.

You felt like crying. You felt like screaming. You felt like ripping off your bindings, flipping him over, and riding his face until you came all over it. Unfortunately, you knew you’d never overpower him and, if you were really honest with yourself, this little game he was playing was hot as fuck. You’d never been treated like this and he had made you a gushing mess.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. Please, please, I need more,” you whimper at him with doe eyes, hoping for a reprieve.

“You need more, precious?” Bucky’s finger grazes lightly over your clit.

“Oh, please!” Your hips try to buck against his hold but he merely chuckles as he holds you in place easily. His finger circles your clit slowly as his tongue takes a meandering path up your thigh.

“Please, baby, please!” You whine as he makes his way back to your apex and are rewarded when his tongue takes the place of his finger. His motions are still slow and deliberate while his finger brushes over your entrance again causing you to clench around nothing. Desperate for more, you start to say the one word you know will earn you some relief, “Plea- OOH!!!-” In the middle of your plea, his finger had entered you and he sucked on your clit suddenly. “Yes, fuck, please, please, please…,” the word became your only mantra as he fucked you with fingers and tongue. Your legs began to shake and then he curled his fingers into that perfect spot, making bright white flash before your eyes and a scream rend from your throat. You came hard, your muscles clenching. Your legs try to close but Bucky’s broad shoulders between them keep you open to him. He laps at you through the aftershocks.

“Fuck, I could stay here for days,” Bucky groaned. His fingers curled slowly as his tongue made gentle licks.

You gasped and moaned, words and thoughts hard to come by in the haze. “Bucky,” you finally manage to whisper his name as if it was the sweetest endearment.

“I know. I know, doll. Don’t worry, I’m not done yet,” his mouth nuzzled you as he said the words. Flicks of his tongue came closer together, “I need another one from you, precious. Gotta hear you make those sweet sounds again.”

“Bucky, oh, fuck. Please, it’s so good,” you gasp the words out, nearly overstimulated and yet still desperate for his touch.

“You know how hard I am hearing you say that?” Bucky groans against your clit, vibrations coursing through you. His tongue begins moving faster, making swift circles.

“I… I- fuck. Please,” you stutter, unable to form sentences anymore. Bucky’s fingers curl more firmly into that spongy spot inside and your back tries to arch despite his arm holding you firmly in place. He was moving his tongue as if his sole purpose in life was to make you fly into a million pieces. You were a whimpering mess, unable to form words and so close to the edge again. When he growled against you again, your eyes flew open and you looked down your body at him. His cobalt eyes met yours and the intensity in his gaze was a hit straight to your core. Your muscles began to spasm as you watched him, so focused on your pleasure and aroused by your responses. Your scream is stifled by the overwhelming intensity of the orgasm that rips through you. Your hands flex around the bonds that hold them in place.

As Bucky kisses his way back up your body, you manage to come back to yourself… mostly. You wanted to touch him, to hold him against you, to run your hands over his body. You attempt to untwist your hands from the scrap of t-shirt but the deceptively loose looking knot doesn’t budge.

“Bucky, baby, please can you untie me?” You whisper.

Bucky had paused at your breasts to show them some attention. They were deserving of the most reverent of worship in his mind. His tongue traced your nipple before he spoke, “Why? I’ve got you tied up, pinned down, and perfectly on display for me.”

“I want to touch you, please,” you gasp as he takes your nipple into his mouth to gently suckle.

“Hmm,” he muses as he makes his way to your other breast, giving it the same loving attention. “If you’ll answer a question for me.”

“Anything,” you sigh, enjoying each motion of his mouth over you. You feel the rumble of his chuckle at your quick response.

“How long?” He asks.

You slide your leg to brush against his cock, still covered by his boxer briefs before saying cheekily, “I didn’t bring a measuring tape with me but I’d say more than adequate.”

Bucky lets out a small moan at the contact and then chuckles, “Not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, baby?”

“How long did I waste not having you in my bed?” Bucky asks as he brings his face level to yours.

“You mean, how long have I wanted you or are you asking how long I’ve liked you?”

“Both,” Bucky narrows his eyes but gives you a small smile.

“If I’m really honest, I’ve always wanted you. You’re kinda hot, ya know?” You smile and bite your lip.

“And the other?” Bucky asks, flexing his hips into you so that his hard cock nestles between your legs.

You gasp and arch into him, “About five minutes after meeting you.”

“Seriously, when?” Bucky scoffs gently.

“You were so sweet and a little self-conscious and I just adored you,” you nudged his nose with yours, encouraging his lips to find yours. He kissed you, long and lovingly, while he released your hands. You both seemed to settle into each other as your hands explored, finally free. The heat began to return, hips flexing into each other, craving the friction, but before things got too carried away, you cradled Bucky’s face in your hands and forced him to look at you. “How long?” You repeat his question.

“Always,” he whispers passionately before taking your mouth again.

It was all you needed. You reached for the band of his underwear, wanting nothing left to separate you. You managed to get the offending garment off of him and circle his cock with your hand. He takes a sharp intake of breath and then groans. Definitely more than adequate, you think to yourself.

“Doll,” Bucky presses his forehead to yours, “I need to be inside you.”

“Oh, precious, you didn’t say please,” you tease him, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick. Your core aches to be filled but you can’t resist the chance to tease him just a bit as he’d done to you earlier.

Bucky chuckles, “Knew I should have kept you tied up.”

You rub the head of his cock over your clit and whimper loudly in his ear, “I still haven’t heard it.” You pump him in your hand but still won’t let him slip into you despite his attempts to maneuver his hips.

“Fuuuuck, please!” Buchy growls, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

You waste no time lining him up with your entrance. He presses in a few agonizingly slow inches before grabbing your hands and hauling them above your head. He stares into you as he growls out, “I should pin you down,” he sinks in a little more, “and tease you mercilessly.” His hips slide slowly forward until he’s fully seated inside of you. “But I don’t think either of us would survive it right now.” He slides out a couple of inches before snapping his hips forward, taking your breath away. He sets a slow but driving pace, staring into your eyes as he fucks you. His hands slide down to hold your face and he kisses you fiercely, his thrusts coming a little faster as he does. You wrap your arms around his chest, pulling him to you, sliding one down to grab onto his ass. You encourage every movement, the drag of his cock tipping you closer to the precipice.

He buries his face in your neck, whispering praises and encouragement, “Shit, you’re squeezing me so tight, doll.”

“Bucky, fuck, I’m gonna-,” your breath catches as you fall over the edge. Your body sings as you come, trembling and moaning with each wave.

“You’re so fucking pretty, doll. So fucking pretty,” Bucky grits out as you clench around him. It only takes a few more sloppy thrusts for him to lose himself inside you. His hips flex with each aftershock that hits him.

Rolling to his side, Bucky pulls you against him. You nuzzle his chest as you both catch your breath. Despite the lethargy settling over both of you, Bucky's hands wander continuously over your skin and you bask in the attention.

“You'll stay, won't you?” Bucky whispers.

“I don't know,” you say sleepily, “Do you hog the covers?”

Bucky chuckles, “I'm pretty good at sharing.”

“Mmm, then I'll stay,” you yawn and a little giggle escapes you.

“What?” Bucky smiles at your mirth-filled eyes.

“That's the first time a cheesy pick up line ever worked on me,” you giggle again.

“I'll have to come up with some others. See if I get lucky again,” Bucky laughs as he kisses the top of your head.

“I'd say your chances are pretty good,” you smirk at him, “But maybe next time, I should be the one to pin you down.”

“Only if you say please, doll.”

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

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anonymityisfunwriter · 1 month

Text

"Slut!"

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

"She goes through guys like a train-"

You immediately change the channel. The next one isn't better. You don't know why you thought it would be.

"The Stark last name and the long list of ex-lovers, that's her claim to fame. I mean, let's be honest here, she's a slu-" The tabloid reporter is abruptly cut off as the screen before you goes dark.

You look up to find Steve with the remote in his hand. He glares at the screen like the reporter was still talking, "You shouldn't be watching that."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. It's despicable. They were - the things they're calling you-"

"A slut," you finish for him.

His eyes dart to you, that furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper and deeper with every word spoken, "It's not true. This isn't journalism, it's slander."

You weren't sure how this happened. Sure, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. This wasn't the first time. Not the second or the third either. If the press was to be believed, you were love sick. Love struck with a new man every week.

It wasn't the first time someone called you a slut. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

You stopped living your life in fear of what people would say a long time ago. Being this young was an art. And up until now, you thought you mastered it.

It was simple. You even had your rules. You followed them and no one got hurt - or at the very least, it minimized the damage.

They were going to stare at you. Strangers. Press. The flashing cameras. It came with being a Stark. If they're going to look, you gave them something to look at. You didn't so much as step out on the street with a single hair out of place. You were flawless. Always.

You were nineteen, and on the heels of a breakup with your second ever boyfriend, the first time someone spit that word at you - "slut!" It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. It almost made you laugh. You realized that they didn't really care about your love life or about the trail of broken hearts you were supposedly leaving behind. They wanted a spectacle. They wanted a show. If you're going to be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.

It was easier after that. You knew the truth. The people around you knew the truth. You let everyone else believe what they wanted. You did what you wanted. You lived your life without worrying about being called a slut. They were going to call you one anyway. And if they call you a slut, you might as well make it worth it.

You gave just enough to keep them satisfied. Never anything too real. Never too much. Just enough that they wouldn't dare peak behind closed doors. Just enough to be able to live your life.

There were was a cost, of course. No one took you seriously. You dealt with the vague humiliation of the rumors constantly swirling about your hips and thighs and whispered sighs.

And though you inherited the Stark genius, no one cared about what you thought, what you had to say.

In that, the reporter was right, your love life was far more interesting than your thoughts on quantum mechanics or the military industrial complex. That was what you were known for.

For the most part, you were okay with it. You were willing to pay it all.

That was until you fell in love with Steve Rogers. Suddenly, you weren't willing to give them crumbs. You weren't willing to expose a love that felt this delicate.

You sit on the couch, huddled in your sweatpants, pensively staring at the blank screen.

This time, it was different. This wasn't a show, not a spectacle. It was real, an exposed nerve that the world decided was fair game. You were fair game and it was open season.

Steve settles beside you, draping an arm around your midsection. He kisses your temple, "Tony thinks it's probably best that you lay low for a while."

"Yes, well, my brother is the expert on PR damage control."

It wasn't the same though. You both knew it. Tony had done far worse with far more women. Yet, he would never pay the price you were paying in this very moment.

Steve's arms tighten around you like he's shielding you from the storm, "It's not right. It's not fair that you're being forced to sequester yourself. You're being punished but what exactly was your crime?"

"I fell in love with Steve Rogers, that was my crime." You fell for the man everyone wanted, the man who was in the wrong place at the right time.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head.

"For what?"

"You warned me this would happen."

It was true. You told him exactly what would happen, but even you didn't anticipate exactly how bad things would get.

You'd been with Steve for just under a year. And up until a week ago, only a select few knew. You both agreed to keep it a secret from the public. You felt protective over the love you shared, it was more real than anything else you'd ever had. You wanted to keep it to yourself, out of the hands of people that would tear you both to shreds without a second thought.

Steve felt the same. Though he was more worried about the enemies he made over the years.

It made sense to protect the relationship, to protect yourselves until you were both ready. You wanted to protect him from what you knew was lurking around the corner. Steve was still so new to the 21st century. Dating in the public eye wasn't easy. Dating a Stark wasn't easy. For almost an entire year, you used every publicity trick in the book - and it worked.

But then, you heard it, the whispers, rumors bubbled about your newest future ex-lover.

You only agreed to going public because everyone told you it was time, because they promised that the timing couldn't have worked out better than this. It was better to do this on your own terms than have it leaked.

No one knew how bad it would get.

"Are you sure? There's no going back after this," you whisper, standing in the hallway of your apartment. You could practically hear the cameras flashing outside your apartment. You'd never been this nervous to leave your apartment before. You'd been through the plan a million times. You'd be exposed to the cameras for a matter of seconds. Happy was already waiting with the door to your SUV open, ready for you to jump in. You'd walk outside holding Steve's hand - a sort of silent announcement to the world. "It won't be easy."

"I don't care," Steve promises, kissing the palm of your hand. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm proud to call you mine."

You tenderly stroke his cheek, "And if it blows up in your pretty face?"

He smiles down at you, "You're worth it."

"We'll pay the price, I guess." But deep down, you know. You'll pay the price, he won't.

The cameras had never been that loud before. Even though your announcement went off without a hitch, even though your publicist couldn't have been more pleased, not even they could have predicted how bad things would get.

It seemed like the whole world was calling you that four letter word.

At first, it was mostly online. People were mean, you knew that. You were prepared for nasty comments. Steve's most staunch supporters thought he could do better. People rejoiced in the spectacle your love life turned into. You were a laughing stock all over again. All that you were prepared for. Then some rabid fans leaked your phone number.

You decided that it would be a good time to disconnect anyway.

But it didn't end there. Not even close.

The day after you were expected to make an appearance for a charity you founded. It was just a quick 2 minute speech. And though the event had been throughly vetted, you'd never forget the way your blood ran cold when mid-sentence someone screamed that four letter word over and over again until security dragged them out. You continued until your speech was done, but there was no hiding the way your hands trembled.

From what you heard, the video was still making its rounds online.

You were expected to make an appearance two days after that. An event honoring your father. An event you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into to make sure it was impeccable, an event worthy of honoring your father. The same event you were practically uninvited from.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's just me. I come in peace," Tony jokes.

"I'm glad," you sigh. "I was worried I was going to have to get another number."

Tony sighs into the phone, "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news."

"What now, Tony?"

"That event you had Friday night, the one for dad?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You already knew were this was going. "What about it?"

"They want me to take over for you."

You bitterly scoff, "This week just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You say the word and I'll tell them to fuck off."

"No, don't do that. It's for dad."

"You planned this whole thing single-handedly. You deserve to be the one up there." You don't say a word. He's right, you both know it. It doesn't change the situation you've been put in. "You are still going, right? Come on, you have to go."

"They broke into my house, Tony."

"What? Are you okay?"

"Happy just told me," you explain, sparing Tony the most gory details. "The one in L.A. Apparently, it is now covered in spray paint. You wanna guess what they wrote?"

"Where was your security?" Tony demands.

"Here. Trying to keep people off my sidewalk."

"I'm so sorry."

"I just - I don't think it's a good idea. At least until I get more security."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you've got Steve there. At least I know he'll keep you safe."

You almost smile. Tony was never his biggest fan, but you mostly credit that to him being an overprotective big brother. And the situation you'd found yourself in did nothing to win Tony's over good graces, "It's not his fault, Tony."

"It kinda is, but I digress. Listen, we'll figure this out, alright? I'll go streak in front of the Tower if that'll take some heat off of you."

And though you effectively doubled your security in the last two days, nothing would change anyone's mind about you. You were the villain tainting their hero.

You broke down after that call, violently sobbing against Steve's shoulder. He just pulled you in even tighter.

It reminds you of why you're doing all this. So you can be together, out in the open. That in a world of boys, he's a gentleman.

You squeeze his hand, "You're worth it."

"I'm not worth having your reputation torn to shreds."

And maybe they're right about you. Maybe you do get love struck. Maybe his eyes are like the world's strongest liquor, and it went straight to your head. Maybe you do get love sick. Sure, your life has momentarily fallen apart. It's magic, madness, heaven, and sin, all rolled into one. But if they're going to call you a slut, it might be worth it for once. "But what if all I need is you?"

Steve Rogers Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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krirebr · 5 months

Text

More Than This 1

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~4.1k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, a very brief conversation about the possibility of abuse, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

A/N: And here we go! A huge thanks to @drabblewithfrannybarnes for helping me nail down some of the worldbuilding details and @paperweight91 for reading so much of this and especially telling me how to fix the scene that refused to be fixed. You're both the best!!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

It was uncommon to be called to your stepfather’s office. The high rise on the edge of Studio City had housed the heads of his family since the silent film era, give or take a remodel and expansion or five. You’d only been here a handful of times, mostly left out of the family business. When his assistant opened the door for you, you were surprised to see a small group of people, all in expensive business attire, surrounding your stepdad, Joseph Rogers, at his desk. Even more surprising was the figure standing in the corner, staring out the window – your mother.

“Mom?” you asked, unable to hide your confusion. She just gave you a tight smile in return and turned her attention to her husband.

“Sweetheart,” he called to you. It’s what he’d called you since you’d first met him as a child and it had always felt patronizing and empty. You were well aware that you were an annoyance he’d been saddled with when he’d married your mother for her late first husband’s connections. Eighteen years later, you wished he’d drop the pretense already. “Please, have a seat,” he gestured to the leather chair in front of his large oak desk.

You sat down across from him. “What’s going on?” you asked, an uneasy feeling building in your gut.

“Congratulations are in order,” he said, smiling at you. “You’re engaged.”

Years of experience at bullshit industry and society parties had you pasting on a benign smile. This was your fourth, no fifth engagement, the first one dating all the way back to when you were 10. They’d all dissolved for one reason or another, the business arrangements at the heart of them disintegrating too. But looking around the room at all the extra people in attendance, you knew better than to dismiss this outright. You were older now. Many of your friends from school had found themselves married as part of business deals in the last few years. Love matches were uncommon in the circles you frequented. There wasn’t much patience for love when this much money was at stake. But still, just because it was expected, that didn’t make you any more ready for your turn.

“That’s wonderful,” you said, putting all your effort into keeping your tone even. “May I ask whom I’m engaged to?”

“Ransom Drysdale,” Joseph said. “He’s the grandson of Harlan Thrombey, the mystery writer. We’ve been trying to secure the movie rights to his works for years and this should finally cement it. It’s fantastic news for our family and this studio. The joining of our families should create many opportunities for all of us. Ransom is one of the most eligible bachelors in Boston. You should feel very lucky.”

Lucky was the last thing you felt right now, but you kept your face schooled as you ran through your mental Rolodex to try to figure out if you had any social connections to this man. The fact that he lived on the other side of the country made it less likely but not impossible.

“So,” he continued, sliding a stack of papers across his desk to you, “all you need to do is sign and initial the contract where it’s marked, and we can get started finalizing the details for the wedding next month.”

At that, all your poise disappeared and the smile dropped off your face. “Next month?”

Joseph nodded. “It’s important to strike while the iron is hot with deals like this. So go ahead and sign so that we can all move on to the next stage.”

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. This was happening. This one was real. “Shouldn’t I read it first?” you asked, somewhat desperately.

He shook his head, “No need,” he said, gesturing to the man you recognized as one of the family lawyers standing beside him. “Julian has already gone through it with a fine-toothed comb. All of our interests are well represented. It’s all in legalese anyway. Impossible to understand if you aren’t a lawyer.” He chuckled and many of the people standing around the desk, staring at you, joined him.

“I just–” you stammered. You didn’t know what to do, but you knew you couldn’t pick up that pen.

Irritation bloomed on your stepfather’s face. “Lydia!” he called.

Your mother stopped staring out the window and stepped up to your chair. “Honey,” she said gently, putting her hand on your back. “This will be such a good thing. And then we can get to all the fun parts of planning the wedding!” She picked up the pen and held it out to you. You took a moment to look at her. Her features were drawn and her eyes looked exhausted. She’d looked that way as long as you could remember. It did nothing to reassure you.

You glanced at the door behind you. You knew you weren’t getting out of this room without signing the contract. You took a deep breath and took the pen from your mother. There was nothing else to do. No other choice. You quickly flipped through the papers, initialing where indicated and signing the last page. Your hand was shaking so badly you weren’t sure any of it was legible.

When you turned over the last page, Joseph clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” He took a large binder off the desk and passed it over to you. “We’ve put some information together for you on your new fiance. Ransom will be in town next week to take you to dinner so that the two of you can get to know each other. Now, I’m sure you want to go celebrate, so we won’t keep you any longer.”

At the clear dismissal, you stood up. Many people in the room offered their congratulations and you nodded to them, forcing a strained smile. Then you made your way out on shaky legs, needing to see the one person who might be able to help you process what had just happened.

You’d been six years old when you and your mother had moved into the Rogers mansion. You were terrified, already able to sense Joseph’s indifference towards you. But your comfort during that time, and all the time after, had been his son, Steve. Twelve years old, still reeling from the death of his mother and just as deeply lonely as you, he’d named himself your protector, shielding you from his father’s annoyance and your mother’s sorrow. He guarded you from monsters when you woke up in the middle of the night after a nightmare and would stare down your bullies on the playground. You were very quickly inseparable.

When you became engaged the first time when you were ten, sixteen-year-old Steve had taken you out for ice cream, telling you not to worry too much, there was so much time before anything would happen and that everything would be ok. When the arrangement had fallen apart, he’d hugged you and whispered in your ear, “See? I’m always right.”

That was the memory you couldn’t stop thinking about as you let yourself into your stepbrother’s apartment, using the key he’d given you on the day he’d moved in. He wasn’t in his front room, so you moved all the way to the back, to the spare room he used as an art studio. You lightly knocked on the doorframe as you entered, trying not to startle him. He was standing with his hands on his hips, staring at a half-finished painting, but looked over his shoulder as soon as he heard you. There was a warm smile on his face, but it dropped as soon as he took in your expression. “What happened?” he asked as you flopped down onto his couch.

“I think I might be really fucked, Steve,” you said quietly, your hands still shaking. You couldn’t get them to stop.

“What happened?” he asked again, more forcefully this time, as he dragged a chair from the corner of the room so that he could sit right across from you.

“Your dad, he–” You stopped and shook your head. Steve’s face darkened. “I’m engaged,” you said with a helpless shrug.

“Okay,” he said evenly. “That might not be the most dire thing. You’ve been engaged before. Nothing ever comes of it.”

You sighed. “They’ve set a date this time.”

“Oh,” was all he could say at first, surprise on his face. “That’s new.”

“Yeah.” you nodded. “A month from now.”

That had Steve sitting up straight. “The hell?!”

“It’s happening this time. I can feel it.”

“Hey, no,” he said, reaching out to touch your arm. “Let me try to talk some sense into him. Buy you some time. He might listen to me.”

You shook your head. “Everything’s already signed. They made me sign. I don’t think there’s any getting out of it.”

“He give you a name?”

“Ransom Drysdale.”

Before he was able to stop himself, Steve grimaced.

“Fuck,” you muttered, briefly covering your face with your hands.

“No, it’s– I’ve only met him once or twice, ok? I don’t actually know anything about him.”

“But you don’t like him.”

“He’s–” Steve paused, clearly trying to find the words that wouldn’t upset you even more, “a strong personality.” He looked at you carefully. “And he’s older than you. Older than me, even.”

“I know,” you sighed, reaching for your bag and taking out the folder. “They gave me this.”

You handed it to Steve and he paged through it. “This is intense. Do you think they gave him one about you?”

You shrugged. “Dunno. Probably. Can’t imagine it says anything interesting.”

Steve nodded, seriously. “It’s probably pretty thin. Just the story of that time you completely freaked out when you weren’t allowed to bring Mr. BunBun to school with you.”

You grabbed the pillow next to you and hurled it at him. “You’re such a dick!” you laughed. “I’m very upset!”

He batted the pillow back at you and cackled when it hit you in the chest. “He deserves to know the kind of person he’s marrying. The kind who throws a five-alarm tantrum when she’s separated from her stuffed bunny.”

“I was eight, asshole!” You laughed again but then your brain caught on something Steve had said. “Holy shit, he’s marrying me. I’m getting married. I don’t know anything about him. He could be anyone. You don’t even like him! He could hurt me and–”

“Hey, no!” Steve interrupted quickly. “I might not know much, but I know that. He won’t do that. I’m sure of it. And if he ever even tried, I’d be there so fast. They’d never find his body.”

“Will he be kind to me?” you asked quietly. He opened his mouth to say something, but you stopped him. “Be honest with me. Please.”

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” you said, trying so hard not to cry, “I guess at least now we know exactly how your dad feels about me.”

Steve closed his eyes and quietly said your name. When he opened them, there was a resolved look on his face that was painfully familiar. His ‘I’m going to fix this’ face. He was intractable when he got like this. He set his jaw. “I’m going to talk to Dad.”

You shook your head. “Steve.” Your stepfather was just as intractable as his son. This would only result in a shouting match that wouldn’t go anywhere.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said resolutely.

All you could do was say “OK,” with a wan smile, knowing it was a lie. You lay down on the couch and curled up on your side. “Do you mind if I stay here for a bit?”

“Of course not. Lola good on her own for a while?”

You nodded. Your little dog was probably asleep in her kennel. “Yeah, for a while.”

“Do you mind if I keep working on this?” he asked, gesturing to his painting.

“I like watching you paint,” you said, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of something you’d done since you were small.

He stood up and turned back to his easel, and you did your best to focus on watching him paint and not think about how, if this went through, you’d have to move to Boston and you wouldn’t get to have this time with your brother anymore.

As expected, Steve’s talk with Joseph yielded no results when it came to your future. The only thing it seemed to have any effect on was their own relationship, Steve announcing to you that he was no longer speaking to his father the next time you saw him. You hadn’t expected anything else.

For your part, you spent the next week vacillating between going overboard preparing for your first meeting with Ransom—pouring over your folder on him, making salon appointments, shopping for a dress that would make the right impression—and pretending your problems didn’t exist. As such, the day of the dinner still snuck up on you. You were a nervous wreck.

The plan was for him to pick you up at your apartment, but an hour before he was supposed to arrive, you got a text from an unfamiliar number telling you to meet him at the restaurant instead.

So now you sat at the table, alone, in a new dress with your hair done. You’d arrived ten minutes early, and he was now 20 minutes late. You took a deep breath, staring at the empty seat across from you. He would show up. He had to.

Another ten minutes passed and, as you waived off the server for a third time, you let yourself consider what it would mean if your future husband had stood you up. You should go. It’d be pathetic to stay. And even if he did show up after you’d gone, it’d make a point. Show you had a backbone. You should definitely go.

Just as your hand began to inch toward your handbag on the table, the hostess came through, leading a tall, handsome man to your table. She stopped beside you and then ducked away. The man looked at you critically. He said your name like a question and, when you nodded, he sat down. He didn’t introduce himself, but he could only be Ransom.

He was dressed nicely in an expensive sweater and slacks, but much more casually than you were and looking around the restaurant than most of the other people there, too. And when he sat down, you could see the places in his sweater where it was threadbare or torn. You tried very hard to not take it as a sign of how he felt about this dinner, felt about you.

You cleared your throat to say something, you weren’t entirely sure what when he glanced at your glass of water. “You don’t drink?”

“No, I do,” you said, but when he smirked you realized how that sounded. “I can,” you amended, but that sounded odd too. “I mean, I don’t have anything against it. I was just waiting for you.”

He snorted. “Well, aren’t you polite?” His tone made it feel like the worst thing you could possibly be. He flagged down the server and ordered a glass of the Macallan 18, then huffed impatiently while you asked questions about their wine selection. You didn’t know how he could be half an hour late and make you feel bad for taking your time ordering.

Once you’d finally made your choice and the server left, you tried not to squirm as he gave you a once-over with his eyes. You felt disappointing without really knowing why. You tried to shrug off the feeling, but then Ransom said, “How old even are you?” with scorn in his voice.

You cleared your throat. “Twenty-four,” you tried to say with confidence.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

You did your best not to shrink in on yourself. Maybe he was just nervous too. It was a weird situation. But, “Didn’t they tell you about me?”

He snorted again and rolled his eyes. “Gave me a whole binder. I never opened it.”

You looked down at your empty place setting, embarrassed. You’d studied every inch of what they’d given you, hoping to show him how seriously you were taking this and he couldn’t care less. “Oh,” was all you were able to say.

He grinned a little meanly. “You got one too, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you’ve memorized facts about me that you were ready to rattle off to impress me.”

“No,” you growled out. You weren’t going to let him make you feel small just for trying to show interest in the person you were going to have to spend the rest of your life with.

He swiped one hand over his mouth and chin. “My god,” he muttered, “this whole thing is fucking ridiculous.”

The waitress came back and set down your drinks. Ransom immediately took a large gulp of his scotch. You itched to do the same, but you suddenly felt like proving a point. Even if you weren’t entirely sure what that point was.

You were ready to order, but Ransom hadn’t glanced at his menu yet. Just as you were about to ask for a few more minutes, he said, “Go ahead and bring me another one of these right away,” and gestured with his drink in dismissal. She nodded and left.

Fuck it, you let yourself take a large drink of your wine. “Do you know what you’re going to have?” you asked, nodding to his menu.

He shook his head. “I have dinner plans after this.”

Heat shot through your whole body. “I thought these were the dinner plans.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Getting a head start on the nagging?” he asked, dryly. “Wow, it’s like we’re already married.”

You opened your mouth to do something, you weren’t sure what. Everything in your mind had gone white. But once again, Ransom beat you to it. “Alright, let’s get this done. You’re moving into my house. Fine. But I already have everything we need, so I expect you to pack light. I don’t need your shit cluttering up everything.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know how to have a conversation with him. Someone who left no room for you and seemed not to care at all about anything you had to say. And then there was the voice in your head that kept shouting about how incredibly important this dinner was to the rest of your life. And now it wasn’t even dinner. So when you opened your mouth to speak, what came out was, “I have a dog.”

He stared at you for a moment, seemingly surprised that you’d spoken at all. “What? No. Absolutely not. You’ll have to get rid of it. I hate dogs.”

You didn’t even bother to try to think through the static in your head. “She’s coming with me. I don’t care what else happens, I’m fucking bringing my dog.”

Ransom just narrowed his eyes and stared at you for a moment, then, “Fine. Just keep it away from me. And if it destroys my house, you’re getting rid of it. I’m serious.”

“She won’t,” you said, as sure of that as anything. “She’s a good girl.”

“Whatever,” he said, as the server returned with his second drink. He slid his empty glass to the end of the table, then said, “The bill,” without looking at her. As she took his empty away, he continued to you, “I don’t know why you want to deal with a dog and a baby, but…” he shrugged.

You just blinked at him, trying to catch up with the massive leap he’d just taken. “Baby? What? Who said anything about a baby?”

He laughed, loudly. “Oh my god, they didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” you asked, harshly, panic starting to build up in your chest.

“Of course, they fucking left that to me. There’s a clause in the contract,” he said, “requiring you to get pregnant with my child within the first year.”

You stared over his shoulder, you couldn't look him in the eye, horrified and speechless. You couldn’t breathe. How were you supposed to breathe?

“You seriously didn’t read your own marriage contract?” The judgment in his tone had you shrinking in on yourself. You couldn’t help it.

“They didn’t give me any time,” you said, quietly. “They just made me sign it.”

“And you always do what you’re told, don’t you? Yeah, you look like a good girl.” He said it the same way he’d called you polite when he’d first sat down with you. Like it made you weak. Stupid. You’d never thought so before, but now you wondered if he was right.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

He chuckled humorlessly. “We agree on that,” he said. “This whole thing is fucked.”

At some point, without your notice, the server had returned with Ransom’s card and the receipt. He signed it quickly, then stood up. “Listen, now, at least, we can go back to our parents, tell them we met, chatted, got to know each other. Everything is hunky dory. And then do whatever we want for the next three weeks. Right now, I’m going to try to salvage my night. You go do,” he gestured vaguely at you, “whatever you need to do. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

And then he was gone and you were alone.

You sat in the back seat of the car on the way back to your apartment, running over every moment of your evening. You kept thinking about the way he’d looked at you, talked to you. A baby. You were supposed to have a baby with him. A child that you’d have to raise. By yourself, judging by how invested in all this he seemed to be. Forty, fifty years of him looking at you like that, talking to you like that. And a baby. You leaned forward and asked the driver to take you to your parents’ house instead.

Once you arrived, you said you needed to speak to your stepfather urgently and were shown to his study. You stood in the middle of the room, too anxious to sit down, and waited. Everyone was making you wait tonight.

Several minutes later, Joseph finally came in. “We weren’t expecting you tonight,” he said. “How did it go?”

You ignored his question, which you guessed was an answer in itself. “Please don’t make me do this,” you pleaded.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, disappointed, and moved over to his bar, pouring himself two fingers of decanted whiskey. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“It was. It was awful. He’s– I can’t do this. Please, please don’t make me.” Your voice broke, but you couldn’t be embarrassed about it, not when you were staring down an entire lifetime with him.

“Everyone gets nervous before their wedding. You’ll be fine. This is important. To all of us.”

“It’s not nerves!” You were close to shouting, suddenly. “You weren’t there. You don’t know. There have to be other families we need things from. It doesn’t have to be this family, does it? It doesn’t have to be right now. Please, please, anything else. I’m begging you, don’t make me marry him, have a child with him.”

He chuckled lightly. “Oh, that’s what this is about. It won’t feel as scary once the baby is here. You’ll make an excellent mother.”

You just stared at him, agape. He wasn’t listening to anything you had to say. “How could you not tell me that was part of the contract? I deserved to know. I wouldn’t have signed!”

His face hardened at that. “You were naive to not expect it. Of course, children are part of this. I admit that the timing is a little fast, but Harlan insisted.”

“Joseph, please listen to me. I can’t. I can’t. Please. If you care about me at all, you won’t make me do this.”

“You’re being ridiculous. It’s done. Everything’s signed. You signed. Now,” he said and took a drink, “it’s getting late. It’s high time you went home. Hopefully, you’ll be able to calm yourself down there.” And then he left the room, ignoring you as your whole world fell apart.

As you left, you passed your mother in the hall. Neither of you said anything.

When you got home, Steve was waiting for you, having already let himself in, holding Lola in one arm. “How did it go?” he asked seriously. You shook your head and finally let the tears fall. He pulled you into his arms, smushing you against your dog, and gently guided you into your home.

Part Two

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18

@drabblewithfrannybarnes

@thezombieprostitute

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@bval-1

#ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale #chris evans fanfiction #fanfic #steve rogers #knives out #captain america #reader insert #arranged marriage au #kris wrote something #more than this #ce characters

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gogogodzilla · 6 months

Text

day 10, breeding kink

steve rogers x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, creampie (obvi), oral, fingering, mentions of pregnancy, from steve's pov kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

Steve wouldn’t admit it, but he was a family man at heart. He always dreamed of finding a nice girl and settling down somewhere. When he woke up nearly 70 years in the future, he’d accepted that he’d never get the life he had planned for himself.

And then you came along. You were a firecracker, to put it mildly. You were intelligent without being arrogant, you were funny without being obnoxious, and you were beautiful but not vain. You were the entire package, and Steve fell hopelessly in love with you.

It was rare you got a moment alone at the Avengers Tower. Either of you were always jetting off to this mission or that one, or Nat was requesting girl time and Sam was asking to train.

It made the moments you did get together much more worthwhile. Every cloud, right?

You only had 20 minutes before your team dinner and movie night, so Steve had to work fast. He started with his head immersed between your thighs. He circled your clit with his tongue as he held your hips in place. Your thighs clenched around his head as he dipped his tongue into your entrance and fucked you with his tongue. When you began to beg for more he slipped one and then two fingers inside you. He pumped them languidly as he latched onto your clit once again. By minute five, he had you clenching around his fingers as your orgasm washed over you.

He let you catch your breath as he undid his belt, your soft pants mixing with the clinking of his belt buckle. He released himself from the tight confines of his jeans, already painfully hard. He could’ve come in his pants just tasting you, but he had a goal tonight. He stroked himself a few times, his breath catching as he slid a thumb over the angry red head of his cock. You reached out, wanting to touch him, possibly taste him. He grabbed both of your arms and pinned them above your head with one hand and you whined in protest.

He slid his cock through your dripping folds and pressed a kiss to your cheek, a silent promise that he’d make it up to you. You arched against his touch, and opened your legs further, beckoning him in. He enjoyed teasing you as he gathered your slick on the head of his cock, but you were beginning to squirm against him and he was getting impatient.

He inched inside you, barely meeting any resistance as your greedy hole swallowed his cock. Your walls fluttered around him, and he didn’t know how long he’d be able to last.

Slowly, he rocked his hips against yours. You let out a high-pitched mewl as he gradually picked up his pace, stretching you in a way that had your toes curling and back arching against him.

He released your hands and grabbed your thighs, no doubt leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises in his wake. You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him in impossibly deeper.

He fondled your breasts that would soon be filled with sustenance for your future child. He couldn’t wait to see you with a round belly holding his child. He placed a palm on your stomach as he rutted into you, imagining what it’d look like in a few months' time. He knew that maybe it wouldn’t take the first time. He’d pump you full of his seed as many times as it took.

He rolled one of your nipples through his index and thumb fingers, earning a moan from you. His other hand drifted downward and circled your clit. You clenched around him; you were close and so was he.

His thrusts were getting sloppier as that familiar coil tightened in his belly. He took your other nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue around the sensitive bud. You screamed his name as you came hard around his cock. With a final, deep thrust he was following you off the edge. He rutted deeply inside you, allowing his hot white seed to paint your walls. After he had stilled with you, he pulled out, cock twitching as he watched his cum drip out of your leaking entrance. You moaned as he pushed it back inside you with his fingers; he didn’t want to waste a single drop.

You’d try again later that night. Maybe he’d take you while everyone was watching the movie. You’d bite back soft moans as you sat on his lap and took him from behind. Maybe he’d take you after dinner in the bathroom just off the dining room. He’d bend you over the sink and have his way with you. Maybe he’d take you again after he saw his cum dripping down your thighs.

The possibilities for the night were endless, and the thought brought a smile to Steve’s face. Maybe he’d get the future he dreamed of after all.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #the avengers #mcu #marvel #captain america #oh captain my captain #reader insert #no y/n #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #marvel cinematic universe #steve marvel

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supercap2319 · 7 days

Note

It's my birthday. So I wanted to ask for one of those NSFW imagines that you do...

Steve Rogers surprising y/n on his birthday (the newest member of the team) by letting him eat his cake (his ass).

Y/N's birthday wish had come true about six weeks before his actual birthday was due. It was like something out of a movie where the main character lands their dream job, or in Y/N's case, his dream team.

Ever since the Avengers first appeared together to save the world, Y/N wanted to be a part of the team. He studied hard in school, played sports, and even the occasional computer classes, but what got him the job was the powers he developed. The power to control the very weather all at his fingertips. Nick Fury was impressed, and after a trial run, Y/N was officially the newest member of the Avengers.

Everyone was welcoming. Sure, Tony liked to pick on Y/N because he was the rookie of the team, Steve, aka Captain America, always had his back. Y/N couldn't help but fall for the Captain. He was so nice and kind. He showed Y/N the ropes on missions, and he never lost his patience with Y/N. Even when the situation called for it.

Y/N and Steve were an inseparable team after the first few weeks. Steve would teach Y/N everything he knew from battle techniques to planning and strategizing. In return, Y/N had shown Steve how to work a phone and the internet. What memes were and social media. That's probably how Steve found out it was Y/N's birthday.

The young Avenger didn't want to make a spectacle of his birthday, so he didn't bother telling anyone about it. Y/N figured he could spend a quiet Friday night alone with some Netflix. He was wrong.

Y/N enters his room to find Steve waiting for him on his bed with a small smirk on his face. He wore a blue bathroom and fuzzy red slippers. This was so different from the "old man clothes" as Tony liked to call them that Steve usually wore. His blue eyes were shining with a hidden mischief. "Hey, Y/N."

"Hey, Cap. What's up? How did you get into my room?"

"J.A.R.V.I.S. let me in. Hope that's fine with you?"

"Of course. Did you need something?" Y/N asked, eyebrows raised at Steve's attire.

Steve stood up and walked towards him. Y/N frowns and gulps as Steve gets closer until he can see the flecks of black in baby blue eyes. His lips are pink and plump. So full and shining with some sort of coat. Probably, lip bomb. "It occurred to me that today was your birthday today, and you didn't tell anyone. Why?" Steve looks at Y/N.

Y/N blushed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I didn't want to make a big deal about it."

"You should. We're a team now. We celebrate everyone's birthday together. But we can tell the others tomorrow. For now, I have a cake for you." Steve smiled, but he was also blushing very hard, which made him look even more adorable and innocent than he usually did.

"You baked me a cake? You didn't have to do that."

"It's a different kind of cake. And I need you to frost it for me. I can't reach back there."

Before Y/N could ask what that meant, Steve dropped his robe and revealed he was wearing a patriotic thong. Captain America turned around, and the floss of the fabric was so tight around Steve bare ass crack and made his white boy cheeks even bigger than they were and believe Y/N, he's seen Steve in his suit. He knew those glutes would be big.

"Steve, what are you doing?" Y/N blushed, but he couldn’t deny he's actually fantasized Steve doing this just for him. Showing him America's ass.

"I told you. I want you to frost my cake with your tongue. Maybe you'll give me your frosting?" Steve pulled the thong to the side of his cheeks and exposed his pinkish hole. It winked at him. "Please, Y/N?"

Y/N looks shocked. Was Steve really giving him his ass for his birthday? He must be dreaming, right? He pinched himself. He wasn't. This was real, and so was Steve. Steve wanted it. The pinnacle of American dreams was right in front of him, shaking his tight ass.

The young Avenger walked towards Steve and bent him forward against the bed as Y/N spread those golden boy ass cheeks and began to lick Captain America's ass like a dying man.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x male reader #chris evans #captain america #Captain America x male reader #birthday wishes

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fanfic-scribbles · 4 months

Text

Steeb

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Working in a coffee shop, you have heard and seen all manner of names and spellings thereof, and you’re only human– mistakes happen.

So why’s this guy gotta be such a dick about it?

Quick facts: Friendship – Steve & Reader – Nondescript Reader

MCU Timeline: Set some nebulous time after CA:TWS

Words: 4218

A/N: Back on my coffee shop bullshit because the idea made me laugh :)

You don’t mean to do it.

It’s been a long day, you’re overworked, and so when you hear ‘Steeb,’ (you’re certain you heard it exactly like that), you write it down to the best of your ability and go on with making the drink. You’ve heard plenty of unique names during your tenure working behind the counter of a coffee shop, and been subjected to every possible way to spell even the most common ones, so you don’t even bat an eye. You simply finish making the drink, call out the name as you set it on the counter, and immediately turn to the next to keep the line moving.

After a few minutes the rush has died and the cup is still there, and a tall blond man hovers around, staring at it uncertainly. Starting to fill with dread, you go repeat the drink order in the hopes that he’ll recognize it.

“Oh, yes; that is me…” He frowns at the cup, holds it up, and squints at it some more. He looks as tired as you feel, but instead of replenishing his energy with some sugar and caffeine, he frowns at you and says, in a terse, clipped tone, “‘Steeb?’ Really?”

It has been a long fucking day and you feel a rush of anger blow through you before you tamp it down, put on the smile that you hope doesn’t look as lined with knives as it feels, and say, “I am very, very sorry sir; I must have misheard your name. Please enjoy your drink.”

He waits, opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but thankfully he just takes his drink and goes.

Good riddance.

A few days later you’re wiping down behind the counter after a long rush when he comes in again. He sees you, hesitates, and therefore so do you– but he approaches with a forced smile and you try to relax. He’s not anywhere near the top ten worst customers you’ve ever had to deal with; so what if he got a little snippy when you fucked up his name. Maybe he was having a bad day too. You decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Oh, and it’s ‘Steeeeeeve.’ ‘Steeeeeeeeeeevvve.’”

Nope. Still an asshole. The way he says it is so much like explaining his name to a small child with next to no verbal skills that you nearly grip the cup in your hand to destruction while he watches you. Through great restraint, (and the truly unfortunate need to keep paying for groceries and shelter), you plaster on a smile. “Of course,” you say placidly. His brow furrows in…concern? You wait until you turn away to roll your eyes. You’re not going to mess with food; what kind of monster does he think you are? You prepare him his drinks– but before that you write down his name. Exactly as he said it.

‘Steeeeeeeeeeevvve’ wraps at least halfway around the cup and given that he’s the only one waiting you call his name out likewise. It’s petty, and it’s definitely petty the way you take enjoyment in his annoyance as he picks up the cup and follows all the letters.

“Did I do something?” he asks.

Aside from treat me like a fucking toddler? But you can’t say that. Stupid food. Stupid rent. “Of course not sir,” you say flatly. Sometimes you can skate by pissing people off if you seem unaffected enough– some people really do believe you’re that stupid. “I’m just trying to get your name right. Exactly as you say it.”

It doesn’t seem to work on him. However, the way it doesn’t work on him means he…snorts, the corners of his lips turn briefly up, and he walks away with his drinks without lodging a complaint.

…Maybe he’s not a total asshole after all.

The next time he shows up, after ordering, he stares at you for a moment and then brings out his debit card and shows you the name printed on it.

At this point you do know his name (it’s not like ‘Steve’ is actually the hardest name to remember for someone who left such a negative impression on you, even if that impression was a bit of a knee-jerk) but he looks a little amused and wary, like he’s not sure how you’re going to mangle it this time.

You’re not really sure what his deal is, but you know a challenge when you see it. Still, fucking up his name on purpose feels like it violates the spirit of…whatever this thing is. However…

It’s a little slow, so you take a moment to write on the cup, trying to perfectly mimic the print of his name on the card. When his drinks are done you call out the order instead of his name, though you face the writing on the cup towards him. He walks up, his eyes zero in, and he…cracks a smile. A real smile, if a bit wobbly.

He shakes his head as you restock some cups, nods his thanks, and leaves.

You’re probably done now, but that’s a good note to leave it on, you think.

He comes in another time with two people– a reserved woman and a man with a bright smile. They’re both friendly and the new guy is so personable he makes you smile even after a long night of little sleep. Steve seems happy enough today and doesn’t make a fuss about his name, although the both of them watch you for a reaction as though he’s told them. They seem amused, but they all shuffle off after they pay.

Well. You would hate to disappoint.

Natasha and Sam get nice cursive. ‘Sam and Natasha’s Friend’ gets flat print.

Steve sighs heavily, Sam laughs, and Natasha grins wickedly. More customers come in and you forget about them except as a nice note on an otherwise unremarkable day.

You are more than willing to admit Steve is not as much a jerk as he first seemed to be. He must have been having a few bad days himself, to be so snippy, and hey, maybe names were a sore subject with him as they could be with so many others. Trying your best doesn’t mean you’re exempt from being accidentally hurtful. Being as short on patience as you were, (unfortunately, often are these days), you didn’t exactly act as well as maybe you should have either.

So when he comes in and looks a little down, you treat him with a bit more care. He orders something warm and, in your opinion, comforting. When you ask him if he wants whipped cream he shrugs, and before you can say anything else, he says his name in a very quiet voice.

When he walks away you switch out the cup for another size up, break out a special pen, write his name carefully, and go about making the best damn drink you can. The whipped cream towers on the top, you dig out some of the colorful sprinkles left over from a recent seasonal promotion, and you barely put the drink down in the pick-up window before he’s there. He smiles slightly when he sees it (that whipped cream tower is a work of art if you do say so yourself) and he carefully turns the cup around, looking for his name. When he goes a full circle he squints and looks at you.

“Keep looking,” you say and go back to the register.

He stays in the shop to drink it and tries to find his name for a bit before he gives up and gets through the whipped cream and a good portion of the drink before he’s able to hold it up and try again. He glances back at you a few times, as if to ask if you really wrote it. You nod, and he gets back to hunting. When the drink is nearly done he finally finds it– a tiny, careful scrawl just outside the edge of the artwork near the bottom of the cup. When he grins at you, you nod in approval, and he leaves in a better mood than he came in.

That’s the best outcome you can ask for, really.

He comes in at least once a week, most of the time, and you try to do little variations on each visit. The rainbow one with your new huge multi-colored pen goes over well. The attempt at calligraphy makes him smile. Once when you’re really rushed you scratch it out like a simple metal band logo. That gets a little laugh.

One day you’re out of ideas, and out of patience. Every customer is grating, and then there’s…

“How hard is it to remember Bill?” the man snaps.

“I’m sorry sir,” you say and try not to show how tired you are. You’re actually not responsible for this one, but you’re not going to throw your co-worker under the bus. Also, she wrote down ‘Will,’ and you’re having a hard time getting worked up over one letter that’s…basically the same name. But names are sensitive, and you’re really actually not trying to be an asshole. You wish other people knew that. “We’ll do better next time.”

He scoffs and opens his mouth, but there’s someone looming behind him that makes him turn. In a good flash of irony, Steve is the one staring down at him. Not threatening though– his face is more of a ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ frown and it is frighteningly effective. You haven’t even done anything wrong and suddenly you’re questioning your life choices.

Bill takes his coffee and leaves. Steve looks at you and asks, “Was I that bad?”

You shake your head. “I think we were both having a bad day,” you say and start wiping down the counter. Slowly, so you can take a moment for yourself. You don’t get many of those. “Thanks.”

“I’ve been told my ‘disappointed’ face can make almost anyone rethink what they’re doing,” he says.

You smile. “I started rethinking my life, and I wasn’t even the target,” you say and his smile is like a reward. “I’ll…try and find your drink,” you say and go to get to work. But there is no drink waiting and with some dread you come back to ask him what he ordered, because he is a good guy and damn it you’re going to fix this.

But he’s gone, and there’s a folded piece of paper on the counter that you grab and open.

“No coffee today,” reads the note that is signed “Steeb” and you roll your eyes, but it makes you smile.

“PS: Check the back”

You do, and find a little drawing of a coffee cup with your name scrawled in as part of the design. Spelled right of course. You’re not sure if that’s a passive aggressive dig, but honestly, you’ve had way worse.

You fold up the paper and put it away.

The next time Steve comes in it’s at a quiet part of the day, and he hands you a paper and presses a finger to his lips. You stare a bit too long at that but unfold the paper. Your name is decorated with cute cartoon flowers, and what follows is his order.

You roll your eyes but ring him up, and get to work.

The cup gets decorated with a quick hangman’s game, with some of the letters missing from his name and nearly a complete stick figure with several wrong letters to accompany the cartoon execution. (Naturally, ‘b’ is one of them.)

When Steve sees it…well, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile like that. “I’m going to feel bad throwing this one away,” he says, admiring it.

“Take a picture. Doesn’t leak as much,” you say, but his eyes light up and he actually does. “I was joking,” you say, a hand on your face.

“It was a good idea.” His grin is devious. “And embarrassed is a good look on you.”

“Uh huh,” you say and put your hand down. “Didn’t get enough of it your first time around?”

“This one’s better,” he says, taking your comment with the humor you intended.

“Right. Sure.” You start wiping up an invisible spot behind the counter. “Enjoy your coffee.”

“I always do,” he says and takes a long drink before he leaves.

It’s almost embarrassing, how much you smile the rest of your shift.

By now you’re well aware that ‘Steeb’ is Steve, is Steve Rogers, is Captain America, is…yeah. That guy. And you’re actually pretty relieved that it took you a while to figure it out. If you’d known from the start, your initial judgement probably would have been even harsher, and now you know he’s definitely not an ass.

This other guy though…

He looks (and acts) like a Jersey frat boy graduated to a tech bro and he’s been verbally harassing Steve for several minutes now, emboldened by his pack of cronies and the fact that Steve is just stoically taking it. Even the handful of people watching the proceedings are frowning or otherwise giving the douchebag dirty looks, but they seem to be following Steve’s lead and leaving well enough alone. Steve is sitting with his friends Sam (Falcon, he winked at you once holy shit) and Natasha (freaking Black Widow) and while Sam has attempted to diffuse the situation, Natasha has been quietly watching with light but focused interest that, if the guy was smart, should have made him crawl away with a thousand apologies by now.

Alas, he is a moron, and continues mouthing off.

Your manager finishes his phone call and turns the rest of his divided attention to focus on the…Situation. He’s frowning deep, but he just sighs. “He’s not doing anything I can kick him out for,” he grumbles.

“Hmm.” You look at the drink in your hand, and do a little double-take at the name before you realize you just misread it. However, that gives you an idea. “Hey. Your shift is almost through and you haven't taken a break yet.”

He looks at you suspiciously. Then he just looks tired as he takes off his apron. “Please, please don’t let them make me fire you.”

You flit one hand at him while you go to work with the other. “Written up maybe, but who gives a shit. Now go away; plausible deniability won’t manufacture itself.”

He rolls his eyes but he goes. You whip up the obnoxious group’s drinks, paying special attention to Guido Musk’s and making it as…pretty as possible.

When you’re done you put the drinks up, clear your throat, and in your best service-with-a-smile voice, call out, “Grunt!”

The talking stills, and you go on to rattle off his drink specifications, topping it all off with, “…and extra whip, for Grunt!”

He stalks over, scowling, and you brace yourself behind a docile smile as he hisses, “It’s Grant!”

You’d bet the nickel he tossed in the tip jar that that’s not actually his name, but you play along. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” you say and snatch the drink to give his name an exaggerated read-over. Your manager has just messy enough writing that the ‘a’ doesn’t quite close, so your alibi is solid. “Oh, I see, you’re completely right! I’m sorry, I misread it; that’s my bad,” you say and hand it over to him.

He's still glaring. “Who the hell gets called ‘Grunt?’”

“Sir, I’ve written cups for ‘Batman’ and ‘Spock.’” You shrug. “I don’t judge; however someone knows their order is fine.” You smile brightly at him. “Please enjoy your drink!” You then call out the rest of his friends’ orders, and go to the register to help a serendipitously-timed new customer. He pouts and hovers a little longer, but Steve is visibly more relaxed, smirking into his cup as his friends smile and stand down, and even the people who had been watching are now looking at Grant and whispering or laughing with their tablemates. So when one friend claps his shoulder and they all start to leave, he follows.

“Bye Grunt!” Sam calls out cheerfully as he passes through the door, and you duck your head behind the espresso machine as half the store laughs out loud. That is definitely going to get you a complaint, but it’s hard to be too mad about it. Once you’re composed enough not to crack you lift your head, but thankfully Grant is gone. You resolve to do everything in your power to avoid answering the phone today. …Even more than usual.

Later, it’s near close and Steve and his friends are among some of the last to leave. But he stops by the counter. “Thanks,” he says.

“For what?” you say with as much innocence as you can muster. Sam snorts and Natasha rolls her eyes, but Steve smiles. You drop the act and shrug your shoulder. “For the record,” you say, “–there is a difference between an accident, and being petty.”

Steve’s smile shifts more to one side. “Oh, I think I get it by now.” He then grins and says, “I guess it’s a good thing I never tried to use my middle name.”

You snort and shake your head. Natasha tilts hers. “Are you going to get in trouble for that?” she asks casually.

The mood drops a little. Sure, you won’t lose your job, but getting called in front of the manager –even the nice one– sucks. You shrug again, trying to keep it relaxed. “He left too fast to complain, but he might call tomorrow. We’ll see.” Steve and Sam frown deeply, like they hadn’t thought of that, and despite everything it makes you smile a little. “Relax; we’re perpetually understaffed. I’ll just get written up. It’s no big deal.”

“Still,” Steve says and looks at you with a very earnest expression that almost brings you up short. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” you say, and wince at the thought of him going up the chain and making more of a mess. You shake your head definitively. “Trust me, it’s fine. I misread a name. Happens all the time.” You give Steve a look with raised eyebrows. “Happens almost as much as mishearing a customer’s name.”

He blushes. Blushes. But before he can say anything else, Natasha hooks her arm in his, says, “Have a good night,” and leaves with him in hand and Sam following bemusedly behind.

You look around the dirty shop and sigh. Back to work.

After a week Grant-Grunt hasn’t come back, hasn’t called, and you’re just starting to relax when you see him walking past the window just outside. He lifts his head, you freeze, braced for the confrontation, but his eyes widen and he…bolts. Literally, actually, runs.

You blink, and suddenly jolt when one of the customers taking an easy morning is suddenly right at the counter. “Sorry; I didn’t see y–”

It’s Natasha. Smiling patiently as she holds her nearly-empty cup up for a refill. Your mouth works ineffectively to ask her how and when, but reflexively you take the cup, and then immediately check it. That’s her name, in your handwriting. You take a moment to reboot. “How do you do that?”

“Trade secret,” she replies with mild amusement. “Has he made a complaint?”

You shake your head. “Haven't heard a word.”

“Good.” Her smile grows. It’s sort of terrifying. And really hot. “The dark roast is very good today. May I have a refill?”

“Yes ma’am,” you say and immediately go to give her a whole new cup. You resolve to give her anything she asks for. And spell her name right. Every time.

You’re waiting for a sandwich you ordered in a busy shop when someone big bumps into you. As you’re starting to turn it is a familiar voice that starts apologizing profusely with, “I am so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

Steve stops when you face him. He actually even squints a little, which makes you laugh. “Am I really that strange looking without an apron?”

He smiles. “I’ve never seen you outside of work.”

“Town is smaller than I thought,” you say and both of you just…stand there for a few seconds.

Then your number is called, and you go to get your sandwich. You come back to where Steve is, just because…well, you don’t know why. He was just surprised to see you outside of work. There’s no reason he would still want to see you. But here you are.

“Apparently I’m not that far behind you,” he says and glances around. “Are you…staying to eat?”

You bob your head, for lack of anything else to do. “I was planning on it.”

“Do you want to share a table?” he says. “It’s pretty busy in here.”

Something in you flips. “That’d be great.”

He smiles. “Yeah?” He then looks around, and points out a table in the corner. “How about there?”

“I’ll be waiting,” you say and go to claim the space. He comes over maybe just a minute later, and as you’re unwrapping your food, you admit, “I sort of wish we could get away with assigning numbers.”

“I don’t know. I’m really partial to the names,” Steve says and gives you a devious little smile over his sandwich.

“Yeah, now you are,” you say, maybe overly teasing just to make sure he gets it. Now’s a good time for a sincere apology, and though part of you rails against it for an honest mistake, you manage to quash it down and say, “I don’t know if I’ve said it yet, but just to put it out there– I am sorry for screwing up your name that first time. The shop gets loud and I have seen a lot of names, and even the ‘usual’ ones sometimes get spelled differently. I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.”

He ducks his head and quickly finishes the bite he’s just taken. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed malice; I just…” He looks away. You want to tell him he doesn’t have to explain, but…maybe he wants to. He looks at you again. “People get weird, sometimes, when they see me,” he says with a slight flush of embarrassment. “And it’s all ‘Cap’ this and ‘Cap’ that, so I…I just like hearing my name, you know?”

You nod. “Names are important,” you say and take a bite. He smiles slightly at your easy acceptance, and you both settle in for a nice lunch, and some good company.

It has been a good week, relatively, and the next time he shows up at the shop you're all set, writing ‘Steeb’ with some stars and quickly poorly drawn flags around it, but your new co-worker appears suddenly and swoops in just as you finish with the pen, spiriting the cup away and giving Steve a brilliant smile as she starts making his drink. Steve blinks, and since she can’t see your face from this angle, you give him a look begging him to put you out of your misery.

He smiles sympathetically, dumps a bigger tip in the jar, and moves away. You go pick up the forgotten pastry your co-worker had been getting for another customer, slip it in the wrapper, hand it over, and go to await your reaction just as she finishes cleaning the cup. She instinctively looks at the name as she starts to make the call, then stops suddenly and stares at you like you’re crazy. You gesture at the cup. “He’ll understand. Trust me.”

She shakes her head, then smiles brightly at Steve and chirps, “Your drink’s ready, Cap!”

You roll your eyes as Steve comes to the pick-up with a polite smile that’s definitely tinged with disappointment. But then he turns the cup to see his name, smiles a little more for real, and, despite the expression not budging an inch, tries to scowl at you. “A repeat already?” he asks with a likewise lame attempt at chiding.

“A callback,” you correct. “It’s sweet.”

“If you say so,” he says and picks up his drink. “I hope for a little more creativity next time.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” you say. You’ve been saving the katakana for a special occasion, but if he insists. Then again maybe the ‘b’ sound would be too repetitive so soon? Perhaps it’s time to practice the comic sans idea. You’ll think more about it, later. “Have a nice day, Steve.”

His real smile is so nice. “You too,” he says, with a gentle addition of your name, merely tilts his head respectfully at your co-worker, and leaves.

Said co-worker gapes. You reach around her for a rag and go to clean up some of the milk she spilled since you already know she won’t do it herself. “You have an in-joke with Captain America?” she asks, following along.

“No,” you say. “I have an in-joke with Steve.”

She blinks. “What’s the difference?” She then gets called over by the manager, huffs a put-upon sigh, and toddles off. You shrug. She probably wouldn’t get it anyway. But that’s okay. Steve does, and that’s all that matters.

#steve rogers & reader #mcu reader insert #captain america reader insert #fluff

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whatthetumblfck · 8 months

Text

I Was Born Ready

Summary: You're kidnapped on a mission gone wrong and it only gets worse. You eventually escape, but will Bucky and the team see you the same way?

Word Count: 6517

Warnings: swearing, some injuries, angst, whump

Content: Bucky x reader, Y/N, Avengers, whump, kidnapping. All of my fics are self-indulgent.

Please don't claim my work as your own, but feel free to reblog.

You wiped the sweat from your brow. As far as you could tell, it had been 5, maybe 6, days since you were taken. You knew what HYDRA were doing. They were trying to break you. You adjusted your legs and shifted your weight in the dark, cramped space. For the last several hours, you had been locked in some sort of box, just big enough to crouch or sit with crossed legs. It was hot as hell and you’d been sweating profusely, wondering how much longer you would last before passing out from dehydration or dying from heat stroke. But you tried not to worry about it. They will come for you soon. He will come for you. You just need to hang on a little while longer.

A few more hours had passed, and the heat was suffocating. What little strength you had left was dwindling. You rested your head against the wall of the enclosure and closed your eyes, fighting the nauseating dizziness that threatened to overcome you. The rattling of chains caught your attention. It seemed like the sound was getting closer. It was then you realized you had drifted- asleep? Unconscious? You weren’t sure, but you fought like hell to focus your attention on what was happening right outside your tiny prison. Suddenly, there was a sharp creak of metal and cool light flooded the box. You squinted your eyes, desperate to see what was going on.

“Get up!” a harsh voice demanded.

Your body shook as you tried to stand, but it was no use. You were too weak and dehydrated.

“GET UP!” they shouted angrily, as if that would provide the strength needed to undo the last several hours of torture.

Instead, your body gave up completely and you slumped inside the box. The next thing you registered was the sensation of a cool breeze on your face and the tops of your feet scraping along concrete as they dragged you by your arms back to your cell.

ONE WEEK EARLIER

“The fuck you mean it’s abandoned?” you whispered.

“I mean, I’m not picking up any heat signatures inside the building,” Sam clarified, adjusting Redwing’s controls just to be sure.

Bucky lowered his chin, smiling to himself. He knew you were always looking forward to a fight.

“All right, until we clear it, we’re going to proceed with caution,” Steve began, “Y/N and Bucky, you’re going to enter the south side of the building. Sam and I will cover the north entrance. Position Redwing on the east to detect movement from the access road. Once it’s clear, we set the charges and evacuate.”

You stole a sideways glance at Bucky and tried to hide your excited smile. You loved working with Bucky; you consider him to be your best friend. You felt like there might even be more there too. But you never pushed him. If being friends was all he wanted, then you would be happy with that. Bucky was mostly quiet and reserved, but sometimes he would open up to you, tell you about his life before the war. Sometimes, but very rarely, he would reveal the horrors HYDRA inflicted upon him. You couldn’t respond; only listen in sickened contempt. Your hatred for them became personal because of what they put him through, but you also began to piece together how they operate, their torture methods, and their twisted thought processes. You filed away this information little by little, to use against them and one day, take them down. It became your personal mission, why you were so eager to take on HYDRA related missions, and so disappointed when they turned out to be flops.

Your thoughts were interrupted by an elbow gently nudging your arm. “You ready?” Bucky said as your eyes met his.

“I was born ready,” you replied, smugly.

Bucky smiled at your enthusiasm, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was tired of fighting, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to watch HYDRA burn to the ground. Having you fight beside him, though, was a double-edged sword. He enjoyed your company more than he let on, but he also worried for your safety. He always asked Steve to pair you two together as much as possible on missions (so he could keep an eye on you), and he always received a knowing look in return. You were one of the best fighters Bucky had ever seen, but you could also be impulsive. Most of the time, you managed to compensate for this flaw and come out on top in the fight, but there have been quite a few close calls. Too close for Bucky’s comfort, even if you insisted you had everything under control.

“After you then,” Bucky said, gesturing to the south entrance.

“Such a gentleman,” you flirted, even though your tone was a bit condescending. You didn’t miss the fact that Bucky liked to keep an eye on you. It was obvious, the way he stuck by your side for every mission. It was sweet, but completely unnecessary.

Entering the building was uneventful. As you looked around, you took note of all the dust and debris, the result of what must have been years of no use. Maybe Sam was right, it must be abandoned. What a waste of time. You continued your sweep, clearing each derelict room.

“Second and third floors are clear,” Sam’s voice sounded in your comm.

“Well, aren’t you an over-achiever?” you responded mockingly.

“Y/N, Buck. What’s your status?” Steve asked, attempting to maintain professionalism on the mission. Captain Steve didn’t know how to have fun. Killjoy.

“First floor is clear, heading to the basement now,” Bucky reported, shooting you a ‘behave yourself’ look. You stuck your tongue out at him and ran for the stairwell.

“Y/N, wait!”

“Come on! There’s nothing here. Let’s clear this moldy-ass basement so we can blow it up and get home. I’m starving!” you announced.

Bucky caught up with you and roughly grabbed your elbow to pull you back.

“We need to be careful. This is HYDRA we’re dealing with. You need to take this seriously.”

You ripped your arm from his grasp, offended he would be so rough with you. “This isn’t HYDRA. This isn’t anything. There’s literally nothing here.”

Bucky schooled his expression. He didn’t want to be angry with you, but your recklessness could put everyone in danger. He let out a frustrated sigh, putting his hands on your shoulders and lowering his head to look into your eyes.

“Will you please be more careful? For me?”

You were momentarily stunned by the soft cadence of his voice. But quickly regathered your thoughts.

“Bucky, I am being careful. You need to lighten up.” You shrugged out of his grasp and turned back to the stairwell.

What is with everyone today? The super-soldiers are being super-serious. Even Sam seems like a stick in the mud, definitely not his usual, talkative self. Did you do something to offend them? You thought about the events of the last few days and couldn’t think of anything out of the ordinary. Definitely nothing that would explain what everyone’s problem is.

You glanced over your shoulder to see Bucky a few paces behind you as you descended the last of the stairs and reached the basement.

“Well, I didn’t think it was possible, but this looks even more abandoned than the first floor,” you said giving Bucky a pointed look.

“Just keep your eyes open for anything suspicious.” Bucky gently brushed past you to take the lead, advancing down the corridor. He had an uneasy feeling he just couldn’t shake.

“Suspicious?” you remarked sarcastically. “This whole mission is suspicious. What are we fighting here? The cobwebs? The ridiculous amount of dust?” You pushed past Bucky to take the lead again, but when you glanced back, you realized he had stopped. He was looking at you with wide eyes; his expression, one you didn’t recognize.

“What? What is it?” you asked, concern growing in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re right. Nothing about this is right. There’s too much dust. Our source indicated there was activity here less than a year ago. It shouldn’t look like this.”

You looked around nervously. “Maybe the source was wrong.”

“Not likely…”

Unexpected static in the comms made you jump. You could hear Steve’s voice, but it kept breaking up and you couldn’t understand what he was saying until you made something out very clearly that made your blood run cold.

Pull back……’s a trap…--t out…ABORT!

Your eyes locked with Bucky’s. You froze. He was standing about 10 feet from you when you both registered a rapid clicking noise, like a sped-up clock.

“RUN!!” You heard him yell just before the explosion.

The wall behind you erupted, sending you several yards through the air until you collided with the ground. You could feel the heat and unbearable pressure on your back as you lay prone in the ruins. Dust swirled around you. After several moments of trying to remember how to breathe again and process what the hell had just happened, you remembered that Bucky was with you. You glanced over in his direction, but all you could see was a literal wall of rubble, fire, and smoke. You struggled to focus your eyes, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that were forming. Damn, that hurt.

Distantly, you could hear someone calling your name.

“Buck--,” your voice was cut off by a coughing fit as the dust invaded your lungs. “Bucky…” you tried again.

“Y/N?” he sounded closer. You could hear movement, crumbling concrete. “Are you hurt?”

It was at this point, you realized you should probably take a moment to figure out the damage.

“Y/N??” his voice sounded more concerned, more urgent. You weren’t sure how long you had taken to respond.

“Uhh…I….I think I’m okay……I can’t move. I think…ahh…there’s something on my back,” you choked out.

“You’re gonna be okay. We’re coming to get you. Just..hang on, okay? Hang on.”

Hearing this made you relax. Getting blown up was exhausting. You were certain you were going to hear about this later. About how you should have listened to Bucky, been more careful, taken the mission more seriously. You closed your eyes, trying to reserve your strength. You would need it to climb out of this burning hole in the ground.

After a few minutes, you felt the pressure on your back lessen. That was fast. You opened your eyes and tried to focus on Bucky’s face, but then you heard his voice from behind the burning wall of concrete. Confused, you concentrated your attention on the blurry figure standing before you. HYDRA. You gathered all your strength, trying to fight, but you couldn’t get a single hit in before a blow to your face rendered you unconscious.

Bucky heard footsteps and scraping rocks on the other side of the barrier. He had finally managed to make a dent in the rubble just large enough to see through. To see you being dragged away by HYDRA.

“NOOOO!” Bucky frantically slammed his metal fist into the rubble, trying to break through, but it was no use. He couldn’t get to you in time. He watched as you disappeared into the dust and smoke.

You were freezing. Another week had passed, maybe two. You weren’t sure. It was the same thing. Over and over. Freezing to the point you couldn’t move or think. Then they would throw you in the box again until you passed out from the heat. You didn’t even know what they wanted. They didn’t ask you anything, barely said three words to you. Wouldn’t answer any of your questions. How the hell did they expect to get information out of you if they didn’t fucking ask you anything? Idiots. You’d be glad to give them as much false information as you could muster.

You were frustrated. Frustrated with this pointless torture and frustrated that no one had broken you out of this shithole yet. What was taking so long?

The next day was new. This time a man in a lab coat came into your cell. Based on the history of everything you have come to know about HYDRA, the lab coat is not a good sign. He peered down at you where you sat against the cold, concrete wall.

“She’s ready,” he practically drooled with excitement. Disgusting.

Two oversized goons entered your cell and brought you to your feet as another ganglier looking goon wheeled in a stretcher. Your stomach dropped. Not good. This is not good. You tried not to let anxiety and fear get the best of you. You’ve endured the heat, the cold, the physical pain and the repulsive goop they fed you, but this was new, and you had no idea what they had planned.

“No. No no no. What are you doing?” You kicked and fought weakly as they strapped you down. You were unable to move.

Lab coat leaned in close to your face. You could smell the wicked stench rolling out of his mouth.

He simply answered, “Phase two.”

……..

“What do you want? You’ve been torturing me for weeks and haven’t asked me a damn thing! Do you even know how this works? No? Must have missed that day in torture 101.”

The lab coat stopped what he was doing and turned to face you. Amusement and almost pity plastered on his face.

“My dear. I haven’t been torturing you. I’ve been preparing you.”

…………

The first injection must have been a sedative and, for that, you were thankful. Your vision became blurry and all your muscles relaxed at once. You could’ve almost fallen asleep. Until the second injection. At first, it was cold, like ice running through your veins. Starting in your arm and flowing through your chest before settling in the rest of your limbs. It was enough to make you shiver and shake uncontrollably. With the last injection came the unbearable heat. It spread through you like wildfire, burning through the sedative and blistering your nerves. It coursed through your body, the agonizing flames filling your skull, threatening to split it open. It was too much. Unbearable. You thrashed your arms and legs beneath the restraints, screaming until you went hoarse. Nothing you did relieved the pain, the burning. You were left alone in your misery, knowing nothing but the searing pain in your head, threatening to end your life. You hoped it would.

Then, it stopped. You thought maybe death had finally taken you and you felt sadness, for Bucky. For the team. But you were back in your cell. This couldn’t be death. Death isn’t this cruel.

You rolled on your side and slowly sat upright, fighting off the dizziness. You felt horrible, like you should be dead, but at least the pain had subsided. You experimentally staggered to the door of your cell and peered through the slot. It was eerily silent. Still, you waited to see if anyone approached. They almost always did when you awoke to send you for another round of torture…or wait. What did he say? They were preparing you..for what? The injections, ice and fire, the pain, all came flooding back to you. What did they do? Your breaths came faster. You had to get out of there. Fear and panic were in control now. You pushed and pulled at the door feverishly, and to your surprise, the door opened. Worried this was another trap, you stepped back, but no one came. What the fuck?

You left your cell and made your way down the hallway, searching for the exit or at the very least, a weapon. The building was completely cleaned out. They left you there, their experiment. Did they think you were dead? Or just a failure? You didn’t feel any different. Those HYDRA morons must have been bigger fucking idiots than you gave them credit for. Still, you weren’t going to stick around. When you finally made it out of the building, you realized you actually recognized the area. You weren’t that far from the compound. It made you sick to think you were only 10 or so miles from home this whole time, and still, they couldn’t find you. HYDRA could have practically walked up and rang the front doorbell, and the team would have had no idea.

It was cold outside and you were dressed only in a thin gown. You walked for hours, determined to make it home. You had no way of contacting anyone. You were surrounded by a few trees and fields of nothing. The final yards leading up to the compound were grueling. You were exhausted. Your feet bled and your legs shook with the effort.

It was early evening, you guessed, when you painfully stumbled into the common room, where Steve, Bucky and Sam all sat, attention focused on various maps and blueprints laid out before them. Steve saw you first, eyes staring and mouth hanging open. It would have been humorous had you not just been through hell and back. Bucky stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Steve’s expression and turned his head to see what Steve was staring at.

“Y/N??” Bucky couldn’t believe it. His eyes ran over your battered form, watching your whole body shake with fatigue.

You didn’t know what to say. You tried to choke back the tears that were now streaming down your face.

But this was all you could handle. You were suddenly dizzy, the room had started to spin and you dropped to your knees as Bucky ran towards you.

“Oh God! Call Dr. Cho!” Bucky ordered, but Sam was already on it.

You collapsed into Bucky’s arms and saw Steve running toward you. Bucky’s alarmed face was the last thing you saw before your eyes involuntarily closed.

When you awoke the next day, you were alone in the med bay. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, trying to force out the lingering headache. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and were about to remove your IV when Bucky walked into your room.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he said as he approached you cautiously. “How are you feeling?”

“Um..really..hungover,” you cracked a smile trying to break the tension. “How long was I out?”

Bucky looked at his watch before responding, “About 23 hours.”

“Oh shit. New record.”

Bucky looked nervous. “We looked everywhere..”

“Not everywhere,” you retorted, sounding more bitter than you intended.

“I didn’t think I was going to see you again.”

“Well…that makes two of us.” Your eyes stayed trained on the floor. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You spent weeks dreaming about seeing him again, and now you couldn’t even look at him. Why? Were you that angry that they couldn’t find you? They were obviously looking.

Bucky sensed that maybe this wasn’t the best time to broach the subject, so he changed it.

“So..uh…they want to do a debriefing on what happened as soon as you’re feeling well enough.”

You faltered. You didn’t want to talk about it, relive it. Especially so soon. But you’d rather get it over with so you can move on with your life. Put the whole ordeal behind you.

You looked down at the IV in your arm before ripping it out, the blood beginning to trickle down to your palm.

“Doll—what are you doing?” Bucky lunged toward you, grabbing gauze off the bedside table to apply pressure to the site.

You grabbed the gauze and took over applying pressure.

“I’m about to change my clothes,” you began glancing around the room before finding some in a bag below the bed, “so unless you want to see me naked, you can turn around.”

Bucky paused, mouth opening slightly before regaining his composure and turning to face away from you. You caught him off guard, which is honestly, something you’ve never seen happen.

You were a little disappointed. Maybe you’d been reading him wrong, and he doesn’t see you that way. Or maybe he’s just being a gentleman. This isn’t exactly the best time to explore your feelings for one another. Still, it stung.

………………………..

You sat at the table, nervously glancing at all the faces in the room. Fury, Tony, Steve, and Sam all had their eyes on you. Everyone except Bucky. He stood in the corner, holding his gaze to the floor. He looked more nervous than you felt. Weird.

They asked their usual questions, and you answered as best you could. But you didn’t feel comfortable enough to go into extensive detail. You trusted these men with your life, but it was starting to feel less like a debriefing and more like an interrogation.

“…and you’re sure that’s all you remember?” Fury asked again.

You looked around the room again, each set of eyes seeming frustrated. Expecting more information than what you’ve provided for the last 2 hours. This was exhausting. A familiar headache was building behind your eyes, and you were beyond done with this.

When you didn’t answer right away, Tony asked another question. “They just let you walk away?” You could hear the blatant skepticism.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Tears were starting to fill your eyes. Damnit! This is not how you thought this would go, but you were feeling pressured, overwhelmed. “They tortured me! For weeks! The same damn thing. Over and over and over again! And I don’t know---maybe they thought I was DEAD!” You choked on a sob; tears streaming down your face now.

“Okay! That’s enough!” Bucky interjected, seemingly ending the questioning.

You quickly stood from your seat and rushed out of the room.

They all exchanged glances and Bucky lingered there silently for a moment before following you.

When he reached your room in the compound, he knocked, but you didn’t answer.

“Doll. It’s me. Can I come in?”

Again, you didn’t answer. He could hear your quiet cries. He tried the handle, but you had locked the door.

“Can you unlock the door, please?”

“Go away, Bucky,” you said, softly. You didn’t need to yell. You knew he could hear you.

“Come on. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” With that, he could hear you moving towards the door.

You angrily flung the door open, surprising Bucky and forcing him to take a step back. Your hair was disheveled, eyes red and still wet with tears.

“Do I look fucking okay to you!?!?” Bucky looked into your eyes, not knowing what to say.

“HYDRA imprisoned me, practically in our own fucking backyard and still no one came for me!”

“Y/N, I swear to you, we never stopped looking—”

“And as soon as I fight my way back here, you all grill me for information, like it was my fucking idea to get captured?”

“Doll, no one thinks this was—”

“I waited for—aagh—” the pain in your head suddenly flared. You squeezed your eyes shut and pinched the skin between them. Your discomfort was evident.

“Hey, hey. What is it? What’s wrong?” Bucky’s worried eyes searched your face for answers.

You tried to recover, to push the pain aside.

“I waited for you—AAGH” the pain peaked. The same blistering heat threatening to end you, keeled you over.

With your shaking hands on your knees, you could feel Bucky move to your side. His arms wrapped around your waist to support you.

“Doll, what’s going on? Answer me. Please!”

But you couldn’t answer him. You were back on that stretcher. A prisoner, again. All you knew was the burning pain. Maybe this time, it would spare you the torment and claim your life.

“SOMEBODY HELP! I NEED HELP!” Bucky’s voice sounded far away.

The fire swirled in your skull and bile burned the back of your throat. You lurched forward, fell to your knees, and vomited on the floor. Everything was suddenly black, then nothing.

You awoke once more, alone, in the med bay. Well, not completely alone. You could hear talking, whispers. Just outside your door.

There’s something she’s not telling me. But I’m not going to try to force answers out of her. She’ll come to me when she’s ready. I’m just going to be her friend. That’s what she really needs right now.

Just a friend? You felt the blanket of disappointment weigh on you again. You were pulled from your thoughts when Bucky opened the door.

You kept your eyes on him as he carefully entered the room.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Huh?”

“Who were you talking to just now?” You tried not to sound like you were accusing him, but you didn’t like being talked about behind your back.

“I wasn’t talking to anyone,” Bucky shook his head, seeming to be genuinely confused.

Great. Now Bucky was lying to you. Some friend he’s trying to be. Even with him literally by your side, you were suddenly feeling very alone. No one trusted you. They think you’re hiding something. Truth be told, you are hiding something. You never told them about the injections, how the torture was actually “preparations”. You even left out the creepy lab guy coat because you were afraid. Afraid if they found out what really happened, that you were an experiment, they wouldn’t look at you the same way. You were afraid you would lose their hard-earned respect, your place on the team. You couldn’t risk it.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The pain? Passing out?” Bucky pressed, becoming serious. This felt like an interrogation again.

“Oh…it was just a headache,” you offered. Were you honestly expecting them not to ask?

“That’s bullshit. What happened to you? What did they do?” He seemed desperate and angry and you were becoming more and more guarded.

“I thought you weren’t going to force answers out of me.” You threw his words back in his face.

“What?”

“Nothing”

“What did you say just now?”

You were out of patience and just wanted to be alone. “Nothing. Please leave.”

Bucky stared at you, disbelieving, before turning his back on you and walking out the door.

A single tear slipped down your cheek. What the hell happened? Everything was fine. You were on a mission, business as usual, and then you were captured and tortured. You miraculously make it back home and suddenly, everyone is against you? You didn’t do anything wrong. Why is everyone acting like you’re at fault? Your thoughts are becoming louder in your head, circling frantically and building tension. You clench your teeth, trying to hold in a scream, but you can feel an energy building inside you. You pull your knees to your chest, struggling to contain it. Your clenched fists pound at your temples. You don’t know what’s happening; you feel out of control, about to spill over. Explode.

Suddenly, you lose control, letting out an ear-piercing scream, releasing a force you had never felt before. All at once, glass bottles and cabinets shatter, the reinforced windows in your room crack. Furniture is thrown chaotically. Everything is broken, in a frightening disarray, and you’re left sitting in the ruins of what once felt like a safe place.

You tried to catch your breath, eyes darting around the room, attempting to make sense of what just happened.

Oh, God. Oh, God. What did HYDRA do to you? What have you done? You needed to get out of there. Now. You jump to your feet, grab your clothes, and run. You shove past S.H.I.E.L.D. employees in the hallways, their thoughts intruding and overlapping with your own. It took you a moment to realize what it was, what you were doing: unintentionally hearing their thoughts. You have to get away, get out. It’s too loud. You’re still running when you hear more familiar voices, but these aren’t in your head.

You can hear Bucky, Steve and Sam talking about what they found at the base where you were kept. Empty syringes. Medical equipment. Partially encrypted files describing some kind of experiment. They know—how could they not? Have they known this whole time?

“I don’t know what they did to her. She won’t tell me, but…she’s different.” Bucky spoke quietly.

Different? Is that how he saw you now? Is that why he’d been acting so strangely since you got back?

“Look man,” Sam reasoned, “she’s been through a lot. It would be weird if she wasn’t acting differently.”

“Still, if they did do whatever this experiment is on her, we don’t know what the outcome is…If she’s still herself, or even on our side,” Steve added.

Your heart dropped. You already felt like they didn’t trust you, which was bad enough, but now they’re against you? You waited for Bucky to defend you. He knows you better than anyone, but his silence spoke volumes. You thought Bucky, of all people, would understand what you’d been through. That you would never turn on them. You really were all alone in this. You felt the fear and uncertainty pouring out of the room.

Then, an unfamiliar voice on the intercom startled you.

Code Gray- Med Room 4. Code Gray- Med Room 4.

Shit. That was your room. Then the alarm started blaring and you ran. When did you become the enemy? How did this happen? You’re not part of HYDRA. You’re the victim. You managed to get out of the compound without anyone else seeing you. But you had no idea where to go from there.

Bucky, Steve, and Sam rushed to your med room. They stood there in disbelief, taking in the scene. It looks like a bomb went off.

“What the hell happened?” Sam asked.

“We’re not sure, sir. We, uh, heard a scream and when we got here, the room was empty,” a nurse answered.

“Where is she?” Bucky asked, growing impatient.

“We don’t know, I’m sorry,” the nurse responded before quicky leaving the room.

Steve and Sam exchanged looks. Bucky ran his fingers through his hair.

“Buck….”

“No.”

“We need to consider all the facts, here.”

“No, Steve! She wouldn’t do this. She’s not HYDRA.”

“Dude, she was missing for weeks and then just waltzed through the front door? That doesn’t seem odd to you?” Sam added.

“She didn’t waltz, Sam. She could barely walk, then she collapsed,” Bucky defended.

“So you think they just let her go? When the hell has HYDRA ever just let anybody go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Her story isn’t adding up, Buck.”

“They did something to her, she’s different. I just don’t know why she’d hiding it.”

“What do you mean? What aren’t you telling us?” Steve questioned.

“I think….whatever they did to her, worked. I thought it was a coincidence, at first, but then…this,” he motioned around the room. “I think she could hear what I was thinking earlier, and I think this is part of whatever she’s going through. I think she’s enhanced.”

They all looked around the room, letting Bucky’s theory sink it.

Steve broke the silence. “We need to find her before she hurts someone.”

You were walking against the cold wind and found yourself back at the shithole. You weren’t sure what you were doing there. Looking for answers, maybe? Waiting for them to find you? Like they were supposed to do. Before the injections, before they turned on you, before you lost control. What did they think of you now? You’re certain they must think you’re HYDRA. Fear and despair surged through you, and you started to lose control again. Objects that surrounded you started to rattle and lift into the air, crashing into walls.

You saw movement from the corner of your eye, emotions flaring even further. They had found you. Tears streamed down your cheeks, wetting the front of your sweatshirt. You had already lost everything. They may as well take you now and put you in whatever floating prison they have. They marked you as guilty the moment you walked back into the compound.

“Y/N? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Bucky approached you slowly, motioning to Steve and Sam to hang back.

You slowly turned to face him. Finally seeing his face broke you, and you started to cry harder. The cot beside you rattled along with desks and shelves, lifting off the floor, quaking violently, erratically. Bucky held up his hands, gesturing to you that he meant you no harm. And you wanted nothing more than to believe him, to melt into his arms.

As your emotions ran wild with fear and anguish, the chaos around you swelled. You shook your head trying to empty it of the intrusive whispers. You were ready to surrender. You just wanted all this to be over, but when you looked past Bucky to see Steve and Sam in their full Avenger gear, a realization hit you. They were here to fight you. Bucky noticed the change in your demeanor. You felt the energy inside you intensifying again. The building began to tremble.

“Y/N. Y/N! Look at me! You’re going to be okay. We��re here to take you home.” Bucky tried to reason.

“No. NO! You’re here to hurt me. You don’t trust me, think I’m HYDRA!”

“That’s not true. We’re your friends. We want to help you,” Bucky insisted.

“Help me? That’s why you brought Captain America and Falcon with you?!”

You were angry now. If they wanted to take you, it would have to be by force. That’s what they wanted. You looked back over at Bucky and noticed the light reflecting off the tears that gathered in his eyes. You felt like you were about to detonate.

“Sweetheart, please,” Bucky pleaded with you; His hand stretched out towards you, beckoning you to take it.

The building shook even more violently with the release of your emotions. Once again, objects cracked and shattered all around you, but this time, the entire building threatened to come down on top of all of you.

“I can’t. I can’t control it….” You looked to Bucky, desperate for all this to end.

As dust and debris rained from the ceiling, you heard the order.

TAKE HER! NOW!

You whipped your head to the side, catching sight of Redwing; you hadn’t noticed it there before, but it was too late. Two darts struck your neck, delivering a powerful sedative. You swayed on your feet for only a moment before going down hard. All the objects flying around the room, uncontrollably, crashed to the ground at once. The building stood still once again. Whatever they hit you with was strong. You couldn’t move, but yet, you weren’t completely unconscious. You could faintly hear distorted commotion around you and your eyes felt heavy.

“Jesus Christ, Steve!” Bucky kneeled at your side to brush your hair from your face, wiping your tears in the process.

“I’m sorry, Buck. We had to. You heard her. She couldn’t control it.”

Bucky gently picked you up and held you close to his chest. You could tell he was walking, but your vision was starting to blur even more. Then you felt his breath on your ear as he whispered that you would be okay. You were safe now. They were going to fix this. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to sink into the darkness.

THREE WEEKS LATER

“I don’t want to be a prisoner anymore, Bucky.”

“You’re not a prisoner.”

“Well, I can’t leave. That is the definition of prisoner, right?”

“Bruce thinks he’s close to a cure. He just needs a little more time.”

“You’ve been saying that for 3 weeks.”

Bucky offered you a half-hearted smile, but it was tainted with regret.

You were beginning to doubt their ability to fix you. Where would they even begin? You were just the result of another fucked-up half-assed HYDRA experiment. They couldn’t cure you any more than they could cure Bucky or Steve of being super-soldiers. You know it. They know it. You just wish they’d stop blowing smoke up your ass.

Just then, Bruce appeared behind the reinforced glass doors, pressing his palm to the scanner to gain access to your room.

He approached your bed with the same half-hearted smile Bucky imparted.

“Hello, Y/N. How are you feeling today?” Bruce began, like he always did when starting his examinations.

“Fine. Normal. How’s the cure coming along?”

He hesitated for a moment, ignoring your question before continuing with his own.

“Any more headaches?”

“No. Not really.”

“Good, good. That’s good.” More hesitation.

“Just spit it out, Bruce.”

“Well, uh..” he fiddled with his clipboard, pretending to review his findings. “We did some genetic profiling and it looks like the experiment has altered your DNA in ways we’ve never seen before. Your brain scans are phenomenal.”

“That’s not exactly comforting….” You knew where this was going, even though you didn’t completely understand the science of it all.

“What does that mean?” Bucky leaned forward in his seat, prompting Dr. Banner to elaborate.

“Well, I’m afraid it means we can’t cure you.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair; the atmosphere in the room deflated. He didn’t even look at you. You knew this was coming but hearing it out loud and seeing Bucky’s dejected reaction only solidified your fears. There is no hope.

Dr. Banner continued, “The good news is that you seem to be adapting and stabilizing well.”

“Yeah, yeah…” You didn’t want to hear anything else. You weren’t even listening. All you can think about is how you’re no longer an Avenger and how Bucky won’t even look at you now. You lost him; your best friend, maybe more. Where do you go from here?

“I just have a few more questions for you,” Dr. Banner began again, “Are you still able to hear the thoughts of others?”

“Yes. But I can mostly block it out. It’s gotten easier.”

Dr. Banner smiled. “And there haven’t been any more incidents….” He held up his pen. “Can you move this towards you, please?”

You looked up from your lap and focused on the pen, gently floating it above the bed until it reached your grasp.

“Amazing…”

You wished Dr. Banner would be a little less enthusiastic. Your life, as you know it, is over and you’re not in the mood for this.

“Okay. I’m releasing you from my care.”

“Wait. What? When?” You stared at him in awe. Is he joking?

“Right now.” He gathered his notes and left the room, door unlocked.

You felt Bucky grasp your hand. His smile was bright as he waited for your thoughts to catch up.

“Come on. We have a mission,” he coaxed.

“I-I don’t understand,” you hesitated. “I didn’t think you wanted---I didn’t think anyone trusted me.”

“Sweetheart, we do trust you…and I’ll always want you. No matter what.” He squeezed your hand a little tighter. “We found the shitbags that took you…you ready to kick some ass?”

Your eyes lit up with excitement and determination. “I was born ready.”

#whump #avengers #bucky barnes #reader whump #bucky x y/n #female reader #reader insert #avenger reader #steve rogers #sam wilson #captain america #winter soldier #marvel mcu #bucky barnes x reader #kidnapping tw #experimentation #falcon

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ynscrazylife · 2 years

Text

What’s Said on the Boat, Stays on the Boat

Request: “Could you possibly make one where the reader is asexual (feel no sexual desire) and they are dating either Wanda, Sam falcon, or tony and they make a joke about sex and the reader freeZes up and they have to explain to their partner why they froze and they are super sweet about it.”

Summary: When Bucky comes over to help Sam with the boat, a sex joke is made that leads Y/N to come out.

CW/TW: A “That’s what she said joke” is made by Bucky in response to something Reader says.

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/swccessful

“Hey, Sarah, do you know where Sam is?” Y/N asked as she walked down the winding staircase, her hand sweeping the rail. After finishing the book she was reading, she realized that she hadn’t seen — or heard — her boyfriend in quite some time. That was rare. She had checked around the house, in the backyard, and had just finished checking upstairs when she found Sam’s sister.

“Uh, yeah, he’s out on the boat,” Sarah told her, looking wary. As Y/N passed her, she added, “Good luck.”

Slowing her pace as she digested that, Y/N pouted. She had been in her relationship long enough to know what Sarah meant by that. Sam had a . . . Tendency to be stubborn when it came to his boat. He never liked accepting help when it came to the vessel, insisting he could accomplish it by himself when he couldn’t.

“Thanks,” she muttered genuinely, although it didn’t sound like it. She pushed open the back door with her shoulder and stepped onto the dock. Although she did her best to stop it, all her frustration melted away when she laid eyes on her boyfriend himself. He was on his knees on the boat, trying to yank or fix something - Y/N couldn’t really tell. Seeing him so focused brought a fond and adoring smile to her face.

“How’s it going?” Y/N asked as she approached, trying (and failing) to figure out what he was doing.

Sam backed away and looked up, flashing her a brief smile before returning to his work. He was nothing if not persistent, she’d give him that. “Good! Just, uh, trying to fix this door-thingy here,” he said, gesturing towards a door that led to a small compartment. It resembled what she guessed the door to a captain’s room would be on a pirate ship (really, how old was the boat?).

“Uh-huh,” Y/N replied, watching him as he fiddled with the doors’ hinges, unconvinced by his words. “Hey — maybe you should ask Bucky for help? He’s pretty good with this stuff.”

“No—! Ow,” Sam protested, reacting too quickly and hitting his head on the ledge overhead the door. “I’m almost finished.”

“Maybe when you’re done we can go inside and have watch a movie?” Y/N suggested.

Sam hummed. “Sounds good,” he said.

Raising an eyebrow, she decided to experiment. “What about Mr Popper’s Penguins?”

“Whatever your heart desires, darling.”

And that was it. Sam detested that movie. As a self-proclaimed bird “expert”, he was adamant that the movie was completely inaccurate when it came to penguins and did a disservice to birds everywhere. Sam’s passion was one of Y/N’s favorite things about him, even if it was for penguins sometimes, and seeing him lose it so quickly to stubbornness made her frown.

Heading back inside, Y/N slipped her phone out of her pocket and dialed a number.

“Hey, Bucky? Do you think you can swing by anytime soon? The boat needs help.”

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” Sam demanded, only half-joking, from his spot lounging on the boat. Y/N sat beside him, having finally convinced him to take a break.

“Nice to see you, too,” Bucky replied gruffly, hiding a small smirk. He nodded towards Y/N.

“I invited him,” she admitted, stifling a laugh when her boyfriend turned to her, looking gobsmacked. “The boat needs him, Sam!”

“I cannot believe this,” Sam grumbled, crossing his arms and pouting.

Bucky rolled his eyes and got onto the boat, studying the door before starting on it. He was about five minutes in when Sam saw something and protested, saying that he was going about it the wrong way. If you asked Y/N, she couldn’t tell you what had happened, only that they were arguing about something sure to be pointless.

She only got involved when the arguing continued and Sam threw his hand up, accidentally knocking a tool out of Bucky’s hand. It fell right over the side and plopped into the water. Y/N had been sitting on the edge and got splashed, but Bucky immediately dug into the ocean with his metal arm and fished it out.

“Ugh, thanks a lot, Sam. Now I’m all wet,” Y/N complained, pulling at her now-damp shirt.

“That’s what she said,” Bucky retorted, grinning like an idiot.

Y/N froze. Sam rolled his eyes at his friend.

“That is the dumbest joke,” he proclaimed.

“You’re only upset because that’s the first time someone has said that to you,” Bucky said, flashing him a smug smile as he continued working.

“That is not true. I’ve heard it plenty of times!” Sam protested.

This led them down a rabbit hole of useless bickering, but Y/N zoned it out (she had become pretty good at it by this point). Instead, her gaze flickered up to her boyfriend nervously, as it dawned on her that she hadn’t told him that she was asexual yet. Worries flooded her mind. Was he going to be okay with that? Was he going to even understand?

“Y/N, are you okay? You look like a statue.”

Blinking, she realized she had stayed in the same, frozen place, too involved in her thoughts. She met her boyfriend’s came and allowed her muscles to relax, nodding to answer his worried question. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m going to go change,” she said.

He nodded, but still seemed a bit unsure. As she passed him, he caught her hand and gave it a small squeeze. Y/N returned it, but was more focused on going inside. When she got to her room, she changed out of her shirt and into a clean one. She turned to leave her room, but her hand didn’t turn the doorknob.

Sighing, she sat on her bed, thinking. The thing was — she wanted to tell him. But the anxieties surrounding it with not knowing how he would react and not knowing how to tell him overwhelmed her. Should she just say it right out? Or should she try and hint at it? Would he even pick up on the hints? She knew that her boyfriend was smart, but he could be a little bit oblivious at times, she must admit.

Deciding to just say it straight out, Y/N stood up and left her room. She was still nervous as she walked towards the dock, but reminded her that she loved her boyfriend and trusted him. And he loved her and trusted her. It’d be fine.

When she walked out on the dock, she was surprised to see that only Sam was there. “You and Bucky didn’t get into an argument, did you?” She asked, half-jokingly. It wouldn’t be the first time that she would have to mediate one of their arguments. She went and sat beside him on the boat and he took her hand.

“No, no. He actually helped with the door, but I made him leave,” Sam admitted, smiling and interlocking their fingers with an iron grip.

“Why?” Y/N asked, relaxing when she felt his warmth.

“I wanted to talk to you. You seemed a bit . . . Off after Bucky made that joke. Is everything okay?” He asked, softening his voice.

Smiling, Y/N lightly bumped shoulders with her boyfriend. He was already making her feel so much better about coming out and didn’t even know it — that’s why she loved him. “It caught me off-guard. There’s something I have to tell you, Sam—” at his sudden, panicked, look, she quickly assured him that it was nothing bad. “—I’m asexual. I’ve known for a couple years now.”

There was a brief pause and then Sam said, “Oh! Okay.” When he saw Y/N get relieved, his eyes widened. “Were you worried that—? Oh, baby, no—” he quickly paused to plant a kiss on Y/N’s head, causing her to blush and giggle. “It’s more than fine that you are asexual, love. I can’t wait to get you all the Pride stuff! Flags, stickers, MORE FLAGS! And June is soon, we can go to the Pride parade! It’ll be so fun.”

Y/N grinned at her boyfriend’s happiness, overjoyed. She felt like she was floating amongst the clouds — not only was he accepting, but he was so, so excited.

“Thank you, Sammy,” she said, muscles beginning to ache from how much she smiled.

“Of course,” he assured her, leaning in for a meaningful kiss. “I can tell Bucky to lay off the jokes if you want?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, it’s fine. It was a good joke, I’ll admit . . . Let’s just keep this between us, okay? I’m not ready to come out to everyone else just yet,” she said.

Sam nodded. “Aye, aye, Captain!” He said, mock saluting her.

Y/N rolled her eyes and laughed. “You are such a dork,” she said, kissing him again.

“You love me for it,” he teasingly reminded her, and then caught a glimpse of the sunset from behind her shoulder. “Ooh! How about we take the boat for a quick spin before the sun sets?”

“I’d love that, Captain,” Y/N said, moving over to get herself comfortable on the boat while Sam stood up to go steer.

Soon, they were off. As they went further and further from the dock, they both talked about how beautiful and captivating the sunset was. Secretly, though, all they were doing was admiring each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

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