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fanfic-scribbles · 23 days

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Safe Keeping

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Sometimes, pushing your boundaries can lead to something good.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Agoraphobic!Reader, a bucket o’ fluff

MCU Timeline: Set at some point post-Avengers

Words: 4268

A/N: I was actually writing a different agoraphobic-focused Bucky/Reader slice-of-life fic but that became too long and too much of a slow burn for me to be able to focus on right now, sadly, so I tried something different. I might go back to it later (I definitely have no problem writing the same concept more than once) but I like how this came out :]

It’s early. It’s (relatively) quiet. You’re restless. The conditions are perfect for a walk; all you have to do is…leave. The apartment. Easy.

Right.

You sigh and check your pockets for the tenth time. You have all the essentials, you aren’t going far, you don’t have to go for long, or even further than the block if you decide you really aren’t up for it; all you have to do is…try.

And yet all you can do is stand in front of your door. Do you have to do this? One walk isn’t going to set your life right–

No; this is important. You haven’t left in days, and walking is good and healthy and maybe you can get a coffee or something else nice after you’ve been outside for a little while. As long as the shop isn’t too crowded, but it’s so early that odds are good.

Okay, you have a plan: attempt a short walk, and after the timer goes off you can beeline to a nice quiet coffee shop for a little treat.

You put your hand on the doorknob before you can second-guess yourself (maybe sixth or seventh-guess at this point, probably) and open the door–

–right as someone’s walking by.

You blink and jerk at the brief jump scare but the guy actually jumps and spins towards you. You can’t help it– you let out a little snort. The guy is huge and looks like he wouldn’t be afraid of anything, so seeing him look mildly alarmed and then blush is…funny. He also looks vaguely familiar but you chalk that up to having seen him around before. You don’t like leaving the apartment, but you do (unfortunately) have to do it on occasion.

“Um…sorry,” you say. Maybe this was a mistake after all.

“No, it’s fine, you just…startled me.” He smiles weakly, looking tired. Maybe he was on shift all night. After a brief exchange of “good morning” he keeps on and you…well it’s stupid but you can’t go back inside now, when he’s still down the hall. That would be weird, to open the door and just shut it again.

You knock your head against the side of the door and step outside, and curse your bright ideas as you slip your key in to finish locking up. However, you feel…odd. When you look, you see the guy you scared, staring at you from a few doors down.

“Sorry.” His smile curls a little more, skewing more towards ‘amused’ right out of ‘forced.’ “Do you have a doctor’s appointment or something?”

“Uh…” This is way more human interaction than you were hoping for. This morning is off the rails and the sun isn’t even fully up yet. “No? Why?”

“You just sound like you really don’t want to be out,” he says and turns the key in his lock.

You make a mental note to watch your volume. You’re both fairly quiet even now, but you didn’t think you were that loud just muttering to yourself. “No, no appointment. I mean, I don’t really want to go, but I’m just…taking a walk.”

You brace yourself, for a weird look at the very least, but he still smiles like that isn’t the lamest thing he’s ever heard. “Good for you,” he says, unexpectedly sincere and warm, and opens his door. For a moment you dare to hope that’s it, but he stops and looks at you again. “I moved in a couple months ago but I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Steve.”

He probably has and just doesn’t know it; you’re not exactly memorable. But you introduce yourself, and after a pleasant goodbye he finally goes inside and shuts the door.

You hit your head on yours. Again. But you make yourself lock the deadbolt and turn away. Yes, it is good for you, and so you’re going to get outside, take your stupid walk, get your stupid treat, and come right back home where it’s safe and you can be alone again.

Leaving the apartment every single day seems a little much. You’re trying to get out more, but baby steps are necessary lest you give in to the desire to crawl under the covers for the rest of your life. So you take it easy.

Still, even days later you’re surprised when you run into Steve again. People come and go so much and you don’t really see neighbors all that often as it is (by design, of course), so it nearly brings you to a stop when you enter the laundromat so late it’s technically early and see him there, in a stupidly tight t-shirt, stuffing his clothes into a dryer. He glances over and does a little double-take, but he smiles and nods politely and that– that’s easy to replicate, so that’s what you do, before you go find a washer.

The bench by your chosen machine is broken. The next one is…kind of gross. You look around but, naturally, the only decent one is partially occupied. And, wouldn’t you know it, Steve sees you coming and smiles knowingly, before gesturing at the open half.

“Sorry,” you say as you sit down.

He shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for,” he says with a light chuckle, and goes back to his book. That’s a relief, and you settle in with a slight turn to keep a line of sight on your clothes as you pull out your own book.

“Do you work night shift?”

Apparently he can multitask. Well, he was nice enough to share his seat. “Not exactly,” you say, then just admit, “Shitty sleep schedule.”

“Oh.” He smiles a little more crookedly and says, “I get that.”

It sounds sincere, and after that you both settle into comfortable quiet.

It’s good to have a nice neighbor.

You’re trying to take another walk.

You have been spending all that energy pacing in front of your door just trying to get out. Nothing’s going to happen. But what if it does. You don’t have to go far. But then what’s the point.

And now you just feel bad again, because it’s just a short walk, this should be easy. Okay, step one: open the door.

You open the door.

And you…stand there.

A door opens down the hall and in a panic you shut yours again and put your back against it. You hold your face. “I can do this, I can do this, I can do this,” you mutter, but the words feel empty, and you drop your hands and let them hit against the wood.

This is so stupid. Why do you have to leave for an aimless walk that doesn’t even do anything. Why can’t you just leave for a measly half hour? Or ten minutes? The odds of getting stuck, or something bad happening, is all so miniscule, so why can’t you just stop thinking about it, why can’t you pull yourself together, why–…why…

…Why is there a piece of paper on your floor.

You squint at it. It doesn’t look like any of the paper you have at hand. It’s way too small to be a flier. God, did you pace so much that whoever lives downstairs has come to bitch you out in writing? With a sense of dread you reach down, pick it up, and, after a few seconds to steel your nonexistent nerves, unfold it.

‘You can do this!’

You stare. The little smiley drawn next to the pretty cursive makes a small smile form on your face. It’s…cute. Not a passive-aggressive complaint. Again, you wonder just how loud you were being that someone could hear you just walking down the hall, but the thought flits away. You bite your lip. You don’t want to leave still, but…the person is gone already. No one is around to see if you step outside the building and decide you really, really can’t do this. …And if there is, well, you can just pat your pockets and run back inside like you forgot something. Not like it would be the first time.

You take a deep breath, and look at the note one more time before you fold it back up and put it inside your pocket.

You can do this.

It’s a week later you get some unexpected company on your walk.

You glance over as someone comes up on your side, a little closer than most, and when you see it’s Steve you pull down your headphones and exchange polite greetings.

“How’s the walk?” he asks with a bit of cheer in his voice it still feels too early for.

“Not the worst,” you say and look over his well-appointed but heavily breathing self. “How was the…marathon?”

He smiles, and it’s surprisingly beautiful. It might be the first real expression you’ve seen him make, you think. “Refreshing,” he says and rolls his shoulders. His watch starts beeping and he glances at it before sighing heavily. “One more,” he murmurs to himself and silences the alarm before his eyes narrow at the path ahead.

“You can do this,” you say, perhaps a little too quietly. But he actually jolts in surprise, then flashes you an outright grin– before he takes off fast enough to put racecars to shame.

You watch him, and feel a little bloom of…contentment. Maybe coming outside today wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

You keep the note in your wallet. Its stupid, maybe– Steve’s just a neighbor you know very little about, (aside from the realization about his heroic extra curriculars that had made you overthink every interaction with him for a good two days), but his scrawled cursive becomes a little lodestone, a way to focus when things feel like too much. When things actually are too much the words don’t matter, and you can return home without too much guilt. But sometimes…sometimes they help you keep moving forward.

Right now you want to keep moving forward. There’s a record shop by your apartment you’ve noticed from your walks and you really, really want to go inside and check it out. However, it is also small, and so it is also easily crowded almost all open hours. You’ve used three walks already just going past it, looking longingly inside and unable to handle the way you can hear the person behind the counter greeting everyone who comes in.

But today. You left the house without hesitation, you have your note and have checked it five times, your resolve has strengthened with each read, and you have no urge to run back and hide behind your door. Today is the day you are going to go in, and the person is going to say hi, and you are going to say hi back, and you are going to browse to your heart’s content, and nothing bad is going to happen.

(Also you checked all the photos available on the internet and you have a good idea of the layout and where you want to go. Because it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.)

Anyway, the point is– you can do this.

…Eventually. You still have a good five hours before it closes at least, so there’s no rush. However, standing, pacing, and just generally being outside of it wanting to go in is starting to get a little boring, if nothing else. Either you’re going in or you’re going home.

You take out the note and read it again.

“Oh.”

You jolt and turn, and there’s Steve, looking mildly startled. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, smiling, and puts his hands up. “I was walking by and saw you and I wanted to say hi.”

“Oh. Hi.” You slip the note away. His eyes glance to it and you swallow. Is it stupid, that you like the note so much? Is he going to think you’re a creep? “You did…that was from you, wasn’t it?”

He ducks his head and looks a little embarrassed. “I heard you saying it to yourself when I was passing by and thought you might…need a pick-me-up. I’m sorry if that’s weird; my hearing’s really good and I don’t listen on purpose.”

“It’s okay. I…I really like it. Thank you,” you say.

His smile returns, and he looks at you. “You really don’t like leaving the apartment, do you?”

Understatement. But a polite one. “I don’t,” you say. “But I also don’t…I don’t want to be stuck. Either outside or in.” You glance at the shop and sigh. “It’s a weird catch-22.”

“Sounds tough,” Steve says, and his sympathy, as ever, seems sincere and not forced. “I’ve been in there before; the owner’s really nice. If I go in first, I can talk to him, and you can come in after me.”

It’s hard not to look at him like he was sent from heaven. Hero, sure, maybe, but this…this is kindness you’d never be able to ask of anyone. “Really?”

His smile grows, and he nods. “You can do this,” he says.

Well, when you have a handy distraction, sure. But you just nod and walk across the street with him. You stop and pretend to fiddle with your phone while he goes in, and when you hear him and the store owner greet each other you take the chance and slip in. Aside from a quick “hello!” you’re left to wander the aisles of records, CDs, tapes, and memorabilia all on your own.

It’s not often you’re actively glad you left the relative safety of your own home, but today is one of them.

It’s still probably not normal, how much effort it takes you to get outside, and how easy it is to make you run for safety, but you’re more or less able to make walks a regular thing– at least three times a week, if you're having a good one. Early in the morning, so that you don’t have to deal with as many people. And Steve starts joining you for portions of them. He still likes to zoom past on his runs, but on cool-downs he doesn’t seem to mind keeping pace with you. Both of you are fairly quiet but the silence is as easy as the occasional chatter, and sometimes you can even make him laugh. It’s strange to be comfortable like this, to have someone comfortable with you like this, but you try not to think about it too much.

“Do you…want to get a coffee?” he asks abruptly one day.

That is an excellent opportunity. “I found a place I’ve been wanting to try,” you say, trying not to be too excited, but by the grin on Steve’s face you fail a little. “If you don’t mind. It’s…harder to run away when other people are involved.”

“All right,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

Steve is nice to have around. He stops by sometimes to ask if you feel like coming out, and doesn’t take offense when you say no. Then for a week it’s…quiet. And the week after that. You go out for a couple of walks at a time you definitely know he likes to run, but he is nowhere to be seen. You hesitate by his door once wondering if he’s all right, but knocking gets you nothing. It’s probably for the best– you don’t know what you’d say– but as you slink back into your apartment you’re left with a feeling of unease.

“Hey.”

You jump at the sudden voice by your shoulder but Steve doesn’t get a word in before you gasp his name. “Are you okay?” you ask and look him over. There’s some scraping on his cheek but it looks nearly healed. “Were you in an accident?”

“Um…” He looks nearly sheepish as he smiles and says, “Not exactly?”

Oh, right– ‘Avenger’ and whatnot. Naturally it only now occurs to you that maybe you should have checked the news, but…maybe it’s better that you hadn’t. Absently you reach out to gently touch around the scrape. His eyes flutter, going a little wide, but then he settles again and almost leans into your hand.

Still, it’s probably inappropriate, so when he’s looking at you with amusement you take your hand back and fight the urge to run back home. “I’m sorry,” you say. “That definitely burst a personal bubble.” Yours, his, common decency’s…

“It’s all right,” he says. “It’s the nicest touch I’ve had in a long time.”

That strikes a chord in you. Something that reverberates and aches, because the joke was poorly disguised, and now he looks a little uncomfortable. You could pretend to ignore it.

Or…

You reach out again, slow and light, making sure not to aggravate or hurt anything as your fingers ghost over his skin. When the base of your palm comes close enough to brush the edge of his cheek, he does lean in. And this time you leave your hand there.

Until you hear someone suddenly shout from a distance away and both of you jerk back. He lifts his head to listen, but when laughter follows, and then fades, you both sigh in unison.

You clear your throat. “Would you…like to take a walk with me?”

He smiles slowly. “I can do that.”

You hold out your hand, and without hesitation, he takes it, wrapping long, strong fingers that seem to surround your skin. It’s probably the nicest touch you’ve had in a long time, too.

It’s good you live in the same building, because you have a string of bad days. When he first comes over to check on you, he stands shyly at the door until you, with only a sliver of hesitation, invite him in. Your apartment is nothing special, nothing that really should make you want to stay in it all the time, but it is home and safe and Steve seems happy enough to come by frequently, sometimes to check on you, sometimes to stay so you can enjoy each other’s company. You watch movies, and sit and talk, and order dinner in, and nights end with polite kisses, and then with arms wrapped around each other on the couch, and then with limbs tangled so thoroughly in bed that morning becomes an exercise in finding where one ends and the other begins.

But you’re not sure how long you can expect him to be happy with this. Steve is truly restless; eager to be out and about. He’s fine to do it on his own, but the day comes when he asks, again, if you would like to join him, and even though the gut feeling is ‘no,’ you nod your head ‘yes,’ and get ready to join him outside. It’s just a walk, and he’s excited enough that it pulls you outside your door, outside the building, outside…outside…

You…can’t do this.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks and laces his fingers with yours.

It’s ridiculous. It’s your own fucking neighborhood, and Steve is right there, patient and sweet as he always is; it’s just a walk, it’s just…it’s just…

“I can’t.” Walk, lift your head, feel anything but shame– that little phrase covers a lot, right now. “I’m sorry. I…”

“Okay.” Steve squeezes your hand. “Do you want me to come back with you?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry. Go out. I know you wanted to.”

He frowns, but he lets you go. It sucks, but having him stay in would feel so much worse. You attempt some half-hearted cleaning and give up to go sit on the couch in comfy clothes and just be miserable. Why not.

There’s a knock at the door. You cringe and get up, wondering what you're going to say for yourself (what can you say for yourself?) but when you answer, Steve is there and smiling like he’s…pleased with himself.

“Hey,” he says, like nothing happened at all.

“Hey,” you say. “Good run?”

“It was,” he said. “I picked up coffee and breakfast, but I left it at my apartment. Can you come down and stand in the threshold for five seconds while I grab it? We can come back to your apartment and eat.”

You stare at him.

Then you laugh. It’s ridiculous but…hey, this whole fucking thing is ridiculous, most of the time. “Very subtle,” you say, and he grins. Then his smile lessens, but doesn’t fade, and he reaches out. You take his hand in yours.

“If you truly can’t do it, I’ll bring it back, no strings,” he says sincerely. “But…five seconds?”

You think about it for a moment, then poke your head in the hall. Everything is so quiet. “Five seconds,” you say, and allow him to pull you down the hall, leaving your door cracked just a smidge. His apartment is dark and, honestly, a bit of a mess, but you stand obediently in the threshold while he brings over food and drink, and by the time those five seconds pass he’s already herding you back into the hall and locking the door behind himself.

“Five seconds was probably too long for how dirty my place is,” he says when you’re back in your apartment and squished side-by-side at the tiny table you have tucked against the wall. “But hey– you went somewhere new today.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “You’re too good to me, sometimes.”

He reaches over and squeezes your thigh. “I like you,” he says.

You put the breakfast sandwich down, and slide into him. He meets you more than halfway.

The next day you show up at his place with some cleaning supplies. He’s mortified, but he lets you stay and help.

A week later you’re in the waiting room of a doctor’s appointment when the world feels like it starts closing in on you. You want to leave but you can’t, you won’t, it took forever to get this slot and you’ve already canceled three times. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, but that doesn’t help. Neither does breathing slowly. The clock ticks, the receptionists chatter quietly and answer phones, and the few other people here look very bored.

You pull out your wallet– maybe you’ll reorganize your cards or do something else that can take some focus off this rising panic– and see a corner of paper. You pull it out and unfold it.

‘You can do this!’

You smile slightly. There’s still a pressure, an urge to run even though you know you’d be frozen in place if you even tried, but you look at the paper and think about Steve’s strong hands holding a calligraphy pen with gentle grace; how those fingers feel as they ghost along behind your back and curl around your other shoulder. A body memory of him leaning into you as you rest against him.

Your name is called and you get up, a little steadier, and that much closer to home.

It has been a long day, much of it spent doing things, and you’re ready to settle in with a book and your phone and try not to obsessively check for new messages. Steve has been gone for a few days (not doing anything terribly dangerous, thankfully) and you miss having him physically present. It’s probably a little pathetic but…well, who cares; you like having him around, and isn’t the point of being with another person being with another person?

So you’re fine with being a little needy. Maybe when you hear him get home you’ll go visit. He’s still overly willing to come to your apartment all the time, and while it’s a nice gesture, his place is becoming safe all on its own.

A jingle of keys outside is all the alert you get before someone knocks on the door. You get up to go see, and smile at the sight of the figure standing expectantly outside. A few quick flips later, and you open up to Steve leaning against the frame.

“So I had a plan,” he says casually.

“You did, hm?” You mirror his slouch against the wall. “What kind of plan?”

“A good plan,” he says. “I was going to go to the ice cream place a few blocks over and get a couple of scoops and bring them back real fast before they melted. As a nice surprise.”

“That does sound like a nice surprise,” you say, lips starting to curl as you find yourself unable to hold the casual act. “What happened?”

He blushes. “I forgot,” he mumbles, and you can’t help but laugh. He shrugs lightly but the pink flush is already fading and he lifts his head to show you his smile. “I thought I could still go get them, but then I was walking by and I thought…I didn’t want to go before seeing you.”

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to go without seeing me too.” And at that you stop pretending and reach out, meeting him with a hug and a kiss. It feels good to have him back and he’s just as hesitant to let you go when you part to breathe.

“I definitely see the appeal in staying in right now,” he murmurs, still so close to your face and his arms light but still very present around you. “I’ll be right back?”

That’s an option. Or…

“Can I come with you?” you ask without even thinking, but when you do, it seems…fine.

“Really?” Steve says, blinking, but his smile spreads. “I’d like that. If you’re up to it.”

“Yeah,” you say, and after you grab a few necessary things, you slip your hand into his. “Let’s do this.”

#scribbles reblogs #reblobbin' because it feels very quiet here #but i promise i'm working on stuff #i have a digestifs chapter coming and then the next three-ish dinner date chapters planned #and i'm trying to think of short one-shot ideas because i miss doing that #keyword short. i have a one-shot in progress too but it's...long #also i'm too excited for dinner date stuff that's coming so #eternal struggle of too much in my head and not enough time to execute!

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fanfic-scribbles · 1 month

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Dinner Date Chapter 30

Masterlist

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers has a girlfriend. A prickly, generally asocial girlfriend, but they make it work. They have more in common than some people might think.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 30: Fight Fight Fight

Chapter Summary: All couples have their problems. Some of them are just a little stranger than others– the problems, that is. …And the couple.

Chapter Word Count: 1312

A/N: This is just a weird little thing I found too funny for my own good. Similarly, the next few chapters will probably be a lot more random than usual, as I clear out some of the old vignettes and pieces I have that I really like but that probably won’t work with the next part of the story that’s coming. What next part? Don’t worry about it :)

Steve was mad at me.

“Thanks, sweetheart; you’re the best.”

The only problem was– I didn’t know why.

“I’m really glad you invited me over today.”

I squinted at him, but all he did was smile sweetly. “What’s wrong?” he asked, eyes widening with concern. With fake concern. I didn’t know who he thought he was fooling– certainly not me– but I had nothing to really call him out on. All I had was a suspiciously forced cheerful attitude, a plethora of compliments, and overwhelming sweetness. Like, the compliments were…fine; nothing insincere, it was more the way he said them. The way he said everything, actually. It was starting to make my skin itch, and he had to know it. He knew how I felt about him being…saccharine.

Still. Bringing it up would be awkward, and if he was mad at me…well, I probably deserved it. If all he was going to do was be a little petty, maybe I could work it out and apologize properly instead of making it a bigger fight by admitting I didn’t know what he was mad about.

“Nothing,” I said and held out the bowl.

“Thanks sweetheart,” he said and took a handful. “I really love how generous you are.”

Yeah, I was definitely in the doghouse for something. I just had to figure out what.

Try as I might, though, I could not get to the bottom of this.

“You’re so sweet.”

I did glare at him for that one. Again, I was faced with innocent blinking eyes. I glared more, but then he lifted a brow and held out the bowl of chips, and I tentatively reached out and took one. “Thanks,” I said, for lack of anything better.

“I don’t mind sharing.”

The way he said that was so weird I knew it had to be a hint. So: food. It had to do with food. Stealing food? But I hadn’t stolen any of his food that I could think of. We shared bites of things all the time. What would drive him to needle me for nearly a week straight? It was weird. And unsettling.

“That’s…good?” I said uncertainly.

“I think so,” he said mildly, and when I twitched he nearly grinned. He looked at me, like he was waiting for something…

…and fuck that. Whatever I did was not bad enough for all this irritation. It couldn’t have been. I would have remembered it, I would have.

The smile was gone, but he looked over me with an air of self-satisfaction that made me twitch again.

I hoped I would remember it soon.

“Hey Honey.”

“Oh what the hell is that?” I asked and turned to face him.

Again I was met with blinking innocence. There was something about that boyish expression that made me…I didn’t even know. It was cute. It was too cute. And he was trying so hard to be annoying and completely succeeding in a way that made me jealous. If I tried to be that sickly sweet it would be disgusting (or hilarious) but he pulled it off in a way that completely caught me off-guard every single time.

“I just wanted to try out some new nicknames,” he said. “Is that a ‘no’ on that one?”

“Yeah, no,” I said and watched his face. He didn’t so much as twitch. I opened my mouth, ready to ask him why he was acting like this, but I stopped. I was going to figure this out.

“What do you think about going out, Pumpkin?”

I had to figure this out.

“Would you like a bite, Sweetie?”

“Is it too cold in here, Cupcake?”

“Look at this, Sugar Pie.”

“Can you pass me the syrup, Sweetness?”

I hit my fist on the table. “Okay, okay, okay,” I said and, because dignity what dignity no I didn’t know her, dropped to my knees next to his chair, clasped my hands, and groveled. “Please stop. I’m sorry, I’m sorry; I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry!”

He smiled sweetly but said nothing. Just sipped his coffee, and I knew, just by looking at him, he had no intentions of letting up. I groaned. “Please, I can’t take this anymore! I swear I’m sorry!”

“If you don’t know what you’re apologizing for, then are you really sorry?” he said skeptically.

“I am!” I insisted. “I have been trying to figure this out for two weeks now but you know my memory is shit.” I looked up at him and tried for the most pathetic expression I could manage.

Apparently, it was suitably pathetic, because he broke a little, with a snort and a smile that cracked open before he could put his hand to cover it. He sighed and dropped his hand. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll stop.”

I let out a huge sigh of relief. Then I studied him. “So,” I said. “Your method of tormenting me is giving over-the-top compliments and stupid cutesy nicknames?”

“Mm hm,” he said smugly.

“And you were willing to call me shit like “Bonbon” for weeks?”

“Or longer.”

“You bitch,” I said in awe. “You’re so petty. So sadistic.”

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ extra hard.

I stared at him, just sitting there, calmly drinking his coffee while I lost my mind. He shot me a devious little smirk, but there was a softness in his eyes, and he kept looking at me like he was gauging just how bothered I was by this. Toeing the line, but I knew if he thought he’d gone over, he would have stopped immediately.

“You are the perfect boyfriend,” I said, overcome with just as much softness.

He blinked, then blushed and ducked his head.

“Dude,” Clint wheezed, and I suddenly remembered we were among friends.

“You two need therapy,” Sam said with mild awe. “Not couple’s therapy; just, in general. Good Lord.”

“There isn’t a therapist in the world qualified enough to deal with either of them,” Natasha said, still reading her paper.

I got off the floor and dusted my knees, a little embarrassed. Steve pulled me in with one arm and I hugged him, feeling the walls break a little. “I am sorry,” I said. “For whatever I did that annoyed you enough to keep this up for two whole weeks.”

“I’ll forgive you.”

Satisfied, I let that be it.

…Well, mostly satisfied.

“Now that you aren’t mad anymore, will you tell me what I did so I can never do that again?”

He sighed heavily and frowned at me as he let go. “I mean it!” I said. “I really have no idea what happened.”

He rolled his eyes. “You remember that breakfast we had? From the French place with the really good pastries?”

I had to think. “Like, the Sunday before last?”

He nodded. “When you ate my pastries?”

When I–?

Oh. Wait a cotton fucking second.

I stared at him. “You mean that day that you decided to get something different so I got the special croissants?”

He frowned. “But…you also got the tart.”

“The tart was for later,” I said, watching him start to close in on the memory. “Remember how I said I was bummed I didn’t get to mooch off your croissant? And that I had to get my own? I complained about it so much that you complained?!”

He squinted. I folded my arms and waited for Mr. Eidetic Memory to catch a clue. And so did everyone else– Clint and Sam leaned in like they were watching a dramatic play in a sports game, and even Natasha deigned to lift her head.

When it finally, finally clicked, Steve’s cheeks flushed pink and he ducked his head into his shoulders. “Oops.” He gave me a very, very sad expression. “I’m sorry?”

I narrowed my eyes.

He sure as shit was going to be.

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#steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #captain america reader insert #avengers reader insert #dinner date

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fanfic-scribbles · 2 months

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Dinner Date Chapter 29

Masterlist

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers has a girlfriend. A prickly, generally asocial girlfriend, but they make it work. They have more in common than some people might think.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 29: Cold and Dark

Chapter Summary: Winter is stupid.

Chapter Word Count: 2166

Work was stupid. People were stupid. Wind was stupid. Snow was stupid. The sun going down before dinner was stupid.

Everything was stupid.

I looked around my cold apartment, lit only by the front light I bothered to turn on, and went over my priorities for the rest of the night. Those being: dinner, and bed. Dinner was also stupid. I could go out and get food. I could order food. I could try and scavenge through what I had. But I thought of how much work it was just to figure out dinner, and how tired I was, and decided, fuck it, fuck dinner, I was going to bed. Never mind it wasn’t even seven yet. I was an adult and it was Friday so who cared if I fucked up my sleep schedule a little. Steve was off at some super-secret training thing, (“It’s basically a work seminar, I don’t know why Fury has to be so dramatic about everything,” Steve had opined a week ago, with nary a glimmer of self-recognition), so I had no reason to stay up, and if I slept then I wouldn’t be hungry, and saving myself a few calories was probably a good thing, right?

My stomach grumbled but I ignored it and trudged to my room. Also, if I went to bed I could just curl up under the covers and save some money on heating, which was also good. Saving money, saving calories, saving energy. Good fucking job.

I briefly considered warming up first with a shower and washing away the week, but it too ended up seeming like way more work than I wanted. Instead, I dressed for bed and slid under cold sheets to distract me from getting even more negative and grouchy than I already was. When I did eventually warm up I didn’t really sleep, but I did get to doze a little. Enough that I had a dream of Steve coming home, walking into my apartment like he belonged there (which made me smile), kneeling next to my bed, putting his cold hand on my face–

I blinked open my eyes, because that felt– real. Wait. This was real. “Steve?” I asked and took his hand in both of mine to try and warm it up. I tried to lift my head but I felt groggy still, so I let it fall back on the pillow as I woke up fully. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he said and flicked on the bedside lamp so I could better see his worried frown. Or maybe so he could better see me, though he was definitely getting the bad end of that deal. “Are you sick?”

“No.” I sighed, and then immediately broke into a yawn. “It’s just…cold. And I’m gross. And kind of miserable.” I considered moving. “Give me a second and I’ll get up.”

“You don’t have to,” he said and kissed my cheek.

“Are you gonna crawl in too?” I asked hopefully. I was not up for anything resembling physical activity, but I was totally down to cling to Steve like a limpet and suck up all his heat.

“In a minute. I’m going to take care of a few things first,” he said and stood. “Did you have dinner yet?”

“It’s too much work,” I said and curled up again. “I’m fine without it.”

He stayed there for a moment. “You aren’t going to eat at all?”

“It’s one meal. It won’t kill me,” I said. My stomach grumbled and I pinched it. Traitor.

He hesitated longer but before I could reassure him that I was fine, I was fully stacked for the winter (as if he could forget), he said, “Okay. I’ll be right back,” and left.

While he was out in the living room doing who-knew-what, I flipped on the other bedside lamp and scooted over to try and warm his spot a little bit so he wouldn’t have the shock of discomfort that was cold sheets. Because I was the best girlfriend ever.

Steve came back in just his pants and tank top, carrying a couple of drinks and a…tray? A tray that was covered with the miscellaneous snacks I’d had floating around in my cupboard and fridge, apparently. Steve set it down next to me as he slipped off his jeans to change into his sweats, and I lifted the paper towels to see what he had used for this impromptu snack party. “Oh shit; I was wondering where my baking sheet went,” I said and picked up the tray to hold it steady as he slipped under the covers. “I can make cookies again.”

That felt like a stupid thing to say, considering I couldn’t even do the minimal work of ordering a dinner for someone else to cook, but Steve smiled at me and I forgot to be mad at myself. “I’m glad you came to see me,” I said and leaned over to give and receive a kiss. “I’m sorry it’s not a nice homecoming.”

“I think it’s great. I ordered some food for us, but right now, sitting in bed with snacks sounds like the best thing in the world,” he said, took the tray onto his lap, and handed me one of the bottles he’d carried in. He gave me his best pleading eyes and added, “Will you share with me?”

I held my stomach tighter. Mostly-unbroken chips, a fancy trail mix I’d bought on a whim, some budget cookies I was too cheap to throw out– he’d even pulled together some crackers, torn up some leftover lunchmeat, and added some cheese for a poor man’s charcuterie. “I’m sorry you had to do all this work when you just got home,” I said as I took one of the cookies.

“I’m the one mooching off your apartment and food,” he said, snagging a couple pieces of cheese.

“I’m glad you are though. I’m always happy to have you here.” I pressed my forehead to his shoulder. “But you put the snacks together, ordered dinner…” And all I had done was crawl into bed.

“I had a good idea for dinner. You know I don’t mind,” he said, briefly pressing his head to mine as he took a cracker and stacked it with some meat and cheese. “I know dinner is a lot to think of sometimes, but you still need to eat.”

“Eh.”

“Hey.” He gently bonked his head to mine, almost making me drop the cracker and cheese I had just grabbed. “No skipping meals.”

“I didn’t want to,” I said. “But it’s not like it’d kill me. I’m not doing a whole lot that needs the calories.”

“Existing requires calories,” Steve said, like he was sharing an implacable truth.

Well…he kinda was. “Existing is stupid,” I said as a I munched and snuggled into him. After a moment, though, I reconsidered my words, and quickly swallowed my bite. “That came out sounding worse than I actually meant it.”

“Yeah, I got the meaning by your grumbling,” he chuckled and kissed my head. “Winter’s really getting to you, huh?”

“It’s stupid. And cold. And dark. And stupid.” I sighed as he rubbed my back. “And I’m going to miss it when summer is hot and bright and stupid. Seasons are terrible.”

“They’ve got their downsides,” Steve said. “But right now, winter is for warm blankets, and eating food. So we’ve got the right idea.”

“If you say so.” I kept sliding down though, until I was laying only slightly propped, and able to semi-burrow into his side. He slipped me another cracker, and I ate it. “I do like this,” I admitted and pushed my head closer into him. Laying down, resting my eyes and snacking with Steve felt…cozy. “How was your super-secret seminar?”

He sighed so dramatically, and then, without any further prompting, proceeded to tell me as much as he could, considering that the super-secret seminar was actually a super-secret mission, (“oops,” as Natasha had said), and he ended up being a decoy so Natasha and ‘someone else’ could do the real work–

He only stopped complaining to go get the food when it arrived, and though I would have been content to just eat crackers and listen to him bitch, I managed to pull myself up and eagerly take my container when he handed it to me. The tray was nearly empty at that point so it was easy enough for him to brush the crumbs aside so he could use it as a makeshift lap table for his multiple containers, and then he was right back to telling me how bad it was to have to mingle with rich people who were maybe doing something evil, how boring it all was (the number one sin when it came to Steve Rogers, if you listened close enough), and how at one point he’d dared Clint to attempt a trick shot off a fire alarm with a rubber band and a tartlet, but they’d gotten caught and yelled at about it.

“How was the food?” I asked, even as I shut the lid on my empty container.

“It was fine,” he said and flashed a smile at me. “Nothing like here.”

I snorted. “Yeah, I bet socialites have nothing on my store-brand crackers and cheese squares.”

“Well, they certainly don’t have anything on the company,” he said and pulled me in with one arm for a brief hug. Then he stuck the trash from dinner in the plastic delivery bag and picked up the tray. “I’ll be right back,” he promised and left.

I should have felt bad for making him clean up, but in actuality I felt better, even if truly tired for real now, and I dusted and picked up any stray crumbs before he returned. I lifted the blanket for him to get in, and finally, finally, I was able to attach myself to him like a strong current was threatening to wash me away.

“I’m glad you came home safe,” I said. However, one thing poked at the back of my brain still. A question I was too afraid to ask because of the potential for embarrassment. And yet, it would not leave, so I sighed, hid my face in the space between him and the pillow, and asked, “Did I leave the door unlocked again?”

He froze. “…No.”

I perked up, because my embarrassment potential was officially gone. “Did you break in?” I didn’t know whether I should laugh or be mad. I was…definitely leaning more towards the first, in all honesty.

He turned pink. Deep pink. “Natasha’s been teaching me a few tricks,” he mumbled. “I tried it on my place first. I swear I didn’t break anything.” He shrugged one shoulder and added, with a little half-smile, “Well…not literally, in any case.”

I stared at him a little longer, still torn between offense and hilarity. Then I reached back, snagged my phone, and opened up my texts with Natasha.

Me: YOU ARE A BAD INFLUENCE

I expected the next message to ask me for clarification, if only because ‘which thing’ would be very Natasha. However, clairvoyancy was also, somehow, very Natasha.

Natasha: I’m putting ‘corrupting Captain America’ onto my résumé Natasha: Not because I can sell it, but because I find it funny

Well. She had a point. And I, actually, had a way to circumvent that issue.

Me: Well from now on he can only use that party trick on people who aren’t me Natasha: Spoilsport

I sent back a bunch of kissy-face emojis and hopped out of bed before Steve could ask about our conversation. He did protest for a moment but I went to my key dish, grabbed the spare, and zoomed right back into bed.

“Here,” I said and gave him the key, quashing down the butterflies in my stomach. “I probably should have given you this a while ago. Also don’t lose it because if I lose mine I’ll need it back.”

“You make this so romantic,” he chuckled, but he gripped the key firmly in his hand.

I rolled my eyes, but I leaned over him, supporting myself partially with a hand on his chest, and kissed him gently; then I brushed my nose across his, once, and then again for good measure. “You’re always welcome here,” I said. I watched him turn soft and asked, “How was that?”

“Pretty damn good,” he said, set the key aside, and flicked off the last remaining light before he pulled me in closer. I snuggled in to rest my head against his chest, (maybe my actual favorite pillow), and let out a sigh as my body relaxed without me even having to try.

“Maybe winter isn’t as stupid as I thought,” I admitted as the dark settled around us.

“Only a little stupid?” Steve said.

“Only a little stupid,” I agreed, and fell asleep where the cold no longer touched me.

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#steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #captain america reader insert #avengers reader insert #dinner date #fluff #comfort

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fanfic-scribbles · 3 months

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Digestifs: Chapter Four (Excerpt)

I don’t like posting 18+ stuff to Tumblr, so here’s a snippet of Digestif’s fourth chapter. And here’s a link to the full piece on AO3.

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Steve Rogers and his girlfriend may not always know what they’re doing, but they’re willing to work it out. Together. It’s just more fun that way.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Chapter Four: Comfort – Steve wakes up from a bad dream, and needs to know everything’s okay. He’s very…hands-on about it.

Excerpt:

I woke to sudden movement and a sharp sound I couldn’t immediately identify. It took me a few seconds to get my bearings, but once the fog of sleep faded a bit, I realized it was the middle of the night and Steve was sitting straight up and looking around.

That jumpstarted me to full consciousness. “Steve?” I asked and looked around, but I could see and hear nothing aside from him, shaking a bit and taking short, jagged gasps of air. He didn’t immediately move either, so I took the chance to flick on my bedside light and my heart settled somewhat when I saw awareness just barely coming back into his eyes. He took a little more time to look around the room, tilting his head as if to listen for a threat, and then he finally took a deep, if shaky, inhale. It didn’t help the rhythm of his breathing all that much though, and he remained on alert.

“Hey,” I said and when he looked at me his eyes widened somewhat as he looked me up and down. “It’s okay; we were sleeping and you just woke up. I’m okay and there’s no one here.” He blinked a few times and rubbed his face. “Nightmare?” I asked gently and tried to touch his shoulder, but he shivered and I took my hand back.

“Yeah,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and looked at me again, like I was hiding an injury he just couldn’t see but was surely there. It must have been a real bad dream. Normally he snapped to faster than this, but though he was clearly awake, he still looked mentally trapped in the mire of whatever dream-him had been going through. Or helplessly witnessing. “I’m sorry, I–…can I…”

He tried for a few more words and failed. His hands opened and shut towards me and he looked so distressed I opened my arms in invitation.

(Read More Here)

#lemon #digestifs excerpt #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x ofc

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fanfic-scribbles · 4 months

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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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fanfic-scribbles · 5 months

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Building Bridges, Trying Not to Drown: Filling in the Cracks

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Steve has a bad night. Thankfully, he knows someone well-versed in getting through them.

Quick facts: Friendship – Steve Rogers & Reader –Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Depression, 1st person POV, part 3 of a series (first one can be found here, second can be found here, but there are more warnings for those so please mind the tags)

MCU Timeline: Set some nebulous time after CA:TWS

Words: 2485

A/N: Surprisingly not a lot of warnings for this one, and no tense shifts, yay \o/ Pretty self-contained and self-explanatory so not much to say; I'm not sure if this requires knowledge of the previous parts or if you can just enjoy it as is, but I've included links above just in case. Take care of yourselves, and I’ll hopefully have something a little more light-hearted next month <3

Bucky was away on a special mission with Natasha, Sam was off visiting relatives, and I was on the bridge…alone.

That was odd.

Steve had made it a point to be with me just about every night over the past week. It wasn’t as trying or tiring as it might have been normally– I was doing relatively all right, and I could see that he was…not. He was fairly good at putting up a mask, especially when other people were around, but he couldn’t, (or maybe just didn’t), put up a front with me all the time. We sat quietly. He stewed in his own head and deflected questions that hinted at concern.

I thought on that for a little while. I didn’t really like people poking at me too hard when I wasn’t feeling well. It was why I had tolerated Steve so well– he didn’t press too hard, asked a few questions maybe, but otherwise was content to talk about anything at all when I was unresponsive. It was like he just wanted to be present to know I wasn’t going to do anything drastic. And I…I felt very suddenly like I could understand the impulse.

Well. I stood up and dusted my pants. Sitting out here wasn’t helping anything anyway. Was kind of boring, actually. Time to change the view.

I knocked on the door of Steve’s and Bucky’s apartment and waited. And waited. And…I frowned. Was he out? I’d thought he said he wasn’t going on assignment. Then again, it wasn’t like he didn’t get called on emergencies, but he always told me if he was going to be busy, even if he was texting while running off.

I knocked again, a little hard and a little fast. If this was karma, it fucking sucked.

“Who is it?” asked a man’s voice, so sharp and short and stern I had to double-check and make sure I wasn’t knocking on the wrong door. It sort of sounded like Steve, but…

“Steve?” I asked uncertainly, even though I had been here before and I knew I was in the right place.

To my relief, he said my name in a normal tone and immediately unlocked the door. His voice was a little rough and rushed, and when he opened the door he looked a mess. Well…more a mess than I was used to. A piece of hair fell in his face and– I hadn’t known he could get eyebags. How long had he not slept?

I resisted the urge to sigh and squared up while he rubbed his face, brushed his hair back, and otherwise tried to pretend he was Fine, Just Fine, Really Truly Fine, Honest. He smiled weakly, but it fell fast, thank goodness. Not so thankfully, it was replaced with a worried crease of his brow. “I meant to tell you I wasn’t going to– God, did I forget to text?” He rubbed his face again. “I’m so sorr–”

“It’s okay,” I said and walked in past him. “We can hang out here.”

“You…might not want to,” he said, dropping some of the act but shutting the door behind me.

It was a little messy, yes, but I’d seen worse. Lived in much worse. However this wasn’t a competition, and Steve was flagging by the second. What to do, though? Tasks– Steve needed something else to focus on. “Do me a favor,” I said as I pulled off my jacket and tried to make a plan. “Do you have coffee or tea?”

“Fresh out of coffee,” he said, with enough regret that I could guess how my ‘how are you sleeping?’ question was going to go over. “But I do have some good tea.”

“Cool. Start boiling some water.” I stopped and quickly added, “Please. Can I…use your bathroom?”

“Of course,” he said, sounding even a bit lighter, though whether that was real or just an act for my benefit was not something I knew how to tell. So while he went to boil some water, I went to the bathroom and took a look around. It wasn’t bad– maybe because it hadn’t been touched much. Steve didn’t smell terrible, but even just looking at his hair I could tell he hadn’t washed lately. So I took down a couple of fresh towels, ran the shower, and used a washcloth and some of the warming water to wipe down the bathroom counter. On second thought, I grabbed a clean washcloth and set it next to the sink.

I stepped out and entered the kitchen to see a slightly amused expression on Steve’s face. “Is your shower broken?” he asked. He lost his attempt at a smile and leaned on the counter. “Are you okay?”

“I’d ask you that, but I don’t think there’s a good answer, is there?” I asked. He swallowed, tried to speak, but after a few attempts just hung his head and shook it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a little quieter. “I didn’t want to…put anything more on you.”

“I know the feeling,” I said. “But I wouldn’t be here if I thought I would make things worse. So, here’s the plan–wash up, dress in something really comfy, and we’ll sit on the couch with some blankets and just…make it through the night.”

“I’ll be okay,” he said gently, and lifted his head.

“Eventually,” I agreed. “But you don’t have to get through the ‘not okay’ part on your own. If you don’t want to. If you do…”

“No,” he said, quickly enough that I felt reassured this was the right thing. However, he then looked towards the sound of the shower with an expression of dread that was very familiar. Or at least, felt familiar.

“Life hack– you don’t even have to use soap,” I said. “Just stand under the water for a few minutes. And if you really can’t stomach the thought, just wash your face in the sink; maybe take up a washcloth if you want to.”

He nodded, but he looked really just…resigned. Defeated. “Okay,” he said in a small voice I’d never heard from him before, and turned towards the bathroom.

I felt suddenly struck by…not quite fear? He wouldn’t do anything while I was here, I was pretty sure, but it just…it felt so wrong to watch him shuffle along so miserably. I grabbed his shirt before he could go. “Steve,” I said as I tried to collect my thoughts into something coherent. “I’m…I’m not trying to shame you into, or out of, anything. I’m just here. To help.” I lifted my head to look at him. “So I’m here. Until you tell me to fuck off and you mean it. Okay?”

He swallowed very visibly, and gave a little tremble. “I get– I mean, I underst–” He tried for a few more words, crumbling further with every attempt, and his arms moved up and stopped and up and stopped, and then dropped.

I opened my arms. “Come here,” I said, barely getting the second word out before I was being hugged for dear life. I let it go on for a few minutes before I patted his back. “Go on. I’ll take care of the tea,” I said and stepped away to go for the kettle.

He smiled with watering eyes but shuffled away for the bathroom before I could see them fall. I started steeping the tea, and as soon as I heard the bathroom door click shut, I moved to the living room and started picking up.

Obvious trash went in a plastic grocery bag. Clothes got tossed into a pile out of sight. I remembered where the blankets were from when Bucky had gone to get one for me when I was having a bad night and couldn’t be alone, so I went and started feeling over the folded edges of each one. They were all fairly soft, so I picked a few at random, stopped off in their bedroom to get some pillows, and then went to make the couch as nice as I could. It was a large couch, wrap-around, and I set up the longer sitting side for us to rest on. I put the TV on with some quiet nothing nature videos and went back to get the tea. I checked the cupboards and there was food, but I wasn’t sure what Steve could stomach, so I let it be. If I suggested eating, he would want me to eat too, and I wasn’t sure if I could, so I had to leave that battle for later.

It took a few minutes after the water stopped running that he came out, changed into his PJs, with brushed but dry hair. “I couldn’t do the shower,” he admitted. “I put a washcloth under the water and used that instead.”

“Good job,” I said and meant it. When he stopped and made to go for the clothes pile though, I said, “Steve.” He stopped and looked at me. “Is it really bothering you that bad, or can it keep?”

He looked like he gave it some real consideration, but his face went slack and he shrugged. I nodded and patted the seat I had made just for him, with the best pillow and blankets. He took the offer for what it was, came and flumped down, and just sort of…stared at nothing with a blank look on his face. I handed him his cup. “It’s warm,” I said and slanted my body so I could lean on the couch arm, preparing for the next part.

“Does it help?” he asked and took a sip.

I shrugged. “Maybe cumulatively?” I suggested, because I really didn’t know. “Sometimes you just gotta ride it out. Better to be comfy.”

“I guess I can’t argue that,” he said and sipped the tea almost mechanically. Like it was another task off his list. I sipped at mine a few times before I set it on the coffee table and leaned against the couch arm. I used the blanket to protect Steve from my clothes, which were not as comfy. After a few minutes he set his cup down, half of it gone, and sighed. He looked so tired, but he kept blinking his eyes open.

“Hey,” I said. When he turned his head, I opened my arm in invitation.

He gave me a look over. “You don’t have to,” he said.

I tried not to roll my eyes. “I know. I do what I want, in case you haven't noticed.”

A ghost of a smile haunted his lips for a brief moment, and then he moved slowly and carefully to lean against me. He didn’t cuddle so much as just rest heavily, but within minutes he was breathing deeply, his eyes shut, and so I didn’t dare move except to make sure my phone was on silent.

It was. Had been, long enough that I’d gotten a message on the walk over and not noticed.

Bucky: Can I ask a favor?

I tried to be very careful in how I moved as I tapped out a reply.

Me: I’m staying with Steve right now. Me: Related?

It took only a few seconds for a reply. He must have been done with his…whatever he was doing.

Bucky: How is he?

I looked at Steve, whose mouth was slightly parted and showed absolutely no signs of waking. I blinked a few times. I was a little tired too, actually.

Me: Sleeping on my shoulder Me: He washed up Me: I don’t know how to bring up food Me: But I’ll try. Later. Bucky: Thank you

I almost shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. Something about the thanks chafed, so I let it go.

Me: Gonna sleep now Me: Be safe Bucky: Will do

I set my phone aside, pulled up the pillow into my arms, and laid my head against it. Even with the lights and TV, I fell asleep without any issue.

When I woke up again, I first noticed some extra weight. I wondered if Steve had shifted, but he was still sleeping in the same position, only now his arms were loosely around me– and resting against him was Bucky. Bucky, meanwhile, was watching Sam and Natasha, who were in blankets on the floor in front of Steve, on their phones, …playing a game?

“God dammit Nat,” Sam said and cursed quietly as he tapped furiously.

“Shouldn’t have left the east wall broken,” Natasha said smugly.

I blinked a few times, noted the early morning hour, and clouds outside besides, and decided I would rather go back to sleep than figure out what the hell this was.

“Now the north wall too,” I heard Bucky comment as I started to drift off.

“Yeah, thanks, hadn’t noticed that with Natasha killing my guards…”

At least Steve was sleeping through all this nonsense.

When I woke up again it was because Bucky was waking me for lunch. Steve was already up and occasionally running a hand through his hair while looking vaguely apologetic, but every time he started to open his mouth he received a glare from Natasha, or Sam, or Bucky, so apparently I had missed the most annoying parts.

“Cool; free lunch,” I said as I slid into the open seat next to Steve as everyone else settled in front of their bowls. Pho or something with a rich smelling broth and not too much stuff in my bowl, thank goodness. I looked at Steve. “Other life hack– broth totally counts as food if you can’t handle much.”

“I’m actually pretty hungry,” he admitted and took up his chopsticks.

“That’s good,” I said. I looked at him and what was with that expression? It wasn’t sad, wasn’t down, it was…annoyed? Pouty? I looked at Sam, who shook his head, and I looked at Steve again, until he looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

He blinked. “Uh…nothing. Nothing new, at least,” he said and stared at his soup. “I’m just…embarrassed, I guess.”

“Oh. You’re embarrassed?” I asked and thought about that as I blew on my spoonful of broth. “Should I be embarrassed?”

Bucky snorted, and Sam grinned. Steve’s face went through a few expressions, (one of which was definitely annoyance), before he settled on a wry smile and reached over to gently rub my head. “No,” he said softly.

“Good.” I took a tentative sip. “That sounds like it would be annoying. For everyone.”

Steve rolled his eyes and Sam laughed. Natasha passed me an egg roll and, to be polite, I nibbled on it. It was pretty quiet for the rest of the meal, but not in a bad way. This wasn’t going to fix whatever Steve was going through, but it didn’t have to. He’d pull through and feel better again. Eventually. For now, he was making it through. And that was good enough.

#steve rogers & reader #captain america fanfic #captain america reader insert

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fanfic-scribbles · 5 months

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WiP Wednesday - Building Bridges Part 3

So I'm gonna be honest and admit I'm deep in a hole right now, so I don't know if I'll have anything for this month, but. I am working on stuff. Currently a one-shot Bucky & Reader or Bucky/Reader (I haven't quite decided yet), chapter 29 of Dinner Date (has some issues I can't quite untangle yet), and this, a part three of my weird 'Building Bridges' series. I hope you all are doing well and taking care of yourselves :]

Temporary summary: Steve has a bad night. Luckily he knows someone well-versed in them.

Steve looked towards the sound of the shower with dread that was very familiar.

He nodded, but he looked really just…resigned. Defeated. “Okay,” he said in a small voice I’d never heard from him before, and turned towards the bathroom.

He smiled with watering eyes but shuffled away for the bathroom before I could see them fall. I started steeping the tea, and as soon as I heard the bathroom door click shut I moved to the living room and started picking up.

#wip wednesday #building bridges excerpt #steve rogers & reader

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fanfic-scribbles · 6 months

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The Pumpkin King

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Bucky takes offense to how you carve a pumpkin. Steve is mostly just happy to sit back and be the peanut gallery.

Quick facts: Romance – [established] Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Reader is a bit sassy, Bucky is mildly triggered, slight discussion of triggers, mention of blood and knives but mostly in the decorative sense, sappy ending =]

Words: 1639

A/N: Happy Halloween my friends. I hope you enjoy this sappy little fluff-shot =)

Carving pumpkins should be fun.

“That’s an eye?”

Relaxing.

“Seriously, are you carving that thing or massacring it?”

Part of an enjoyable evening spent with loved ones.

“That’s not even how you hold a knife.”

You stop what you’re doing to scowl at Bucky. Steve is off in his own little artistic world, and you are just trying your best to make something cute to sit in the windowsill, and Bucky is sitting there, snarking at you and eating bite size Snickers like only a man unconcerned with cavities and sugar levels can be. “Keep up the commentary and I’ll be carving you,” you say and mock a few “Psycho” stabs.

He smirks. “Please; I could disarm you in seconds. You wouldn’t even get a cut in.”

You probably shouldn’t find that as reassuring as you do, but after a few nights of slasher movies it’s starting to feel good to be reminded that your boyfriends are strong and capable and totally the final girls of any horror movie. The way Steve keeps worriedly looking at you through them, though, is less reassuring. You’re going to have to move on to more supernatural fare, before he gets the bright idea to try training you in self-defense again. “Well then, master pumpkin carver,” you say and hold the knife to him, handle first. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

Bucky doesn’t freeze so much as he…slows. His hand stops digging into the bag of treats, his eyes dart around from place to place, and he sits very quietly. You study him, and beside you you even feel Steve slowly stop what he’s doing.

Keep reading

#scribbles reblogs #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #happy hawoween ヽ(･ω･´)ノ

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fanfic-scribbles · 7 months

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Dinner Date Chapter 28

Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers has a girlfriend. A prickly, generally asocial girlfriend, but they make it work. They have more in common than some people might think.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 28: A Celebration of Life

Chapter Summary: Steve gets an early birthday present, and reflects on good things past and present.

Chapter Word Count: 4342

A/N: This frigging chapter. It took some work but I’m finally pretty happy with it, and I hope you all have fun with it too. Warning for the very end: there is a section marked ~extra~ that goes into third person, present tense from an outside perspective. It was a little experiment and if you don’t like it I don’t think you have to read it since it is slightly divorced from what this fic is actually about, but…it does hint at something that will come up again in the future. Not any time soon, judging by how much work this chapter took, but… :3 Anyways. Enjoy!

Watching Pepper on the phone was an…experience.

Steve was doing some Avengers stuff in the training room and he was late so I ended up waiting in one of the upper floors, because apparently leaving to chill at a coffee shop was ‘weird’ and ‘anti-social’ and the day Tony Stark got to brag about being a better-adjusted human being was the day I bit off my own tongue. So there I was, drink in hand, with Pepper for company, while Pepper was still technically working. Or something.

What could have been an unbearably awkward situation though became a masterclass in how a functional adult handled a difficult phone call. At least, I assumed it was difficult. I sort of hoped it was difficult because if this was what she had to deal with normally that was fucked. I tried not to stare, and she was far enough away, (in this giant room bigger than most city apartments), that words filtered in and out, and she danced the line between patient and patronizing in a way her voice kind of masked but her facial expressions betrayed. It was kind of hilarious, at points, but eventually her expression relaxed, her shoulders sank, and she said, “Thank you,” in a way only the truly tired could, and after a few more pleasantries she lowered the phone, let out a heavy sigh, and detoured back to grab something from the fridge before she came back to the sitting area.

“I am so sorry about that,” she said and fell back onto the chair next to me.

“Oh, no, don’t be–” I said and waved her off, only realizing that was my drink hand just before I could slosh liquid onto a couch that probably cost more than my rent, and quickly settled back down. “I’m sorry for crashing.” I could only bite my tongue so far though. “However, no offense, but Tony Stark doesn’t get to be right about anything, ever, if I have a say in it.”

“That’s the only right way to deal with him,” she agreed. She popped the tab on her can, whatever was inside fizzed, and she took a long drink. Even that looked refined when she did it. She breathed a sigh of relief. “In any case, I have most of his birthday sorted, so that’s one thing off my plate.”

I nodded. Tony Stark’s birthday would be a huge to-do– wait. “Wait.” Wait. “Didn’t…didn’t he just have a birthday?”

“I start planning well in advance,” Pepper said. She gave me a very tired look. “Do you have any idea how hard he is to shop for?”

“God I can only imagine,” I said, because even without the obscene amount of money…yeah. I had decided to err on the side of liking Tony Stark, (especially after he had that PR ‘snafu’ for going off on that asshole who had been snarkily homophobic about Steve), but he was, and probably always would be, A Lot. “That must be nice to have it all set up though. I just barely found something for Steve’s birthday.”

Pepper got a look on her face that felt familiar. Though whether that was a ‘Steve’ grimace or a ‘another fucking gift-giving holiday’ grimace I was a little unsure of. “Speaking of people hard to shop for…” She sighed and rubbed her head.

I could sympathize. Hardcore. “If you really want to get him something he’d be fine even with a nice message on a pretty card.”

She gave me a ‘seriously?’ look, so I said, “Seriously.” And I (seriously) thought about it. “Heartfelt can be hard though, so I get it. But he really isn’t fussy. Charity donation in his name? A ‘get out of PR jail free’ card the next time he pisses off Fox News?”

She seemed to consider it, but then shook her head. “What did you get him?”

I puffed up, because my gift was awesome. “Concert tickets for an act and opener he’s going to love, and I’ve planned out dinner at a place he hasn’t been to yet.” It was torture to have to wait on the second one, but it was going to be worth it. Pepper was right; Steve was awful to buy for and always insisted he didn’t need anything and I was about to score ‘best girlfriend ever’ points for at least a month. I could only hope the memory of this birthday would help ease the sting of the future gifts I was inevitably going to whiff it on.

“That sounds wonderful,” Pepper said. Calculating. I did not like that. “How good are the tickets?”

Yeah, I really didn’t like that. “They’re perfect.”

She smiled deviously. “I bet I can get you better ones.”

“Nuh uh, paws off,” I said and mimed smacking her hands away. “This is my gift. You go get your own.”

She faked a heavy sigh– the smile gave her right away. “Any suggestions?”

I shrugged. “Are there any art things going on?”

It was a sort of flippant suggestion– she seemed like a fancy, in-the-know lady, and fancy, in-the-know ladies would know about stuff like art shows. However, I realized we both understood it for the surprisingly good suggestion it was at the same time. A part of me was a little bummed I hadn’t thought to bank that for myself for another time. A bigger part of me though was pretty happy to look smart in front of Pepper Potts. Also being helpful to Steve’s friends was nice or whatever.

And by the near-glow of her eyes, she already had a good idea, which was going to be good for Steve, so I couldn’t be too upset about it. “That. Is genius.”

I shrugged and tried not to smile as hard as I wanted to. “I try.”

“Do you know what kind of art he likes best?” she asked, whipping out her phone and tapping at the screen with furious purpose.

“He varies a lot and I haven't delved into his absolute favorites yet,” I admitted. It seemed to change by the week sometimes. “He posts some stuff on social media and goes around there liking things. Though if I could say one thing, I would advise you to be careful of abstract. Some of it he really likes and some of it he really fucking hates and I have no idea where that line is.”

“It’s okay; this– I think he’ll like this. It’ll be a little early but…” she said and beamed at me as she held the phone up to her ear. ‘Thank you!’ she mouthed and walked off before starting a whole new conversation.

I shrugged and leaned back against the couch. Since it involved Steve, I’d probably find out why she seemed so excited soon enough.

A few days later counted for soon enough. “So,” Steve said, fake-casual as he slid onto the couch next to me. Why he bothered trying to attempt casual with that barely-suppressed grin on his face, I could not fathom.

“So,” I said and kissed him, because he really was too cute to resist sometimes.

“So,” he repeated, but slipped his arm behind me and cupped my hip in a way that told me we could continue that line of activities later. “Pepper got me two tickets to an art gallery I’ve been looking forward to,” he said, focusing again. “Opening night of a new exhibit. Would you come with me?”

“That sounds great,” I said. “Pepper doesn’t want to go with you?”

“She’ll be there, but she said she’s going to be networking,” Steve said. “This way we can come and go whenever we want. I’ve been to a couple of showings; most of the time the people there are too snooty to care about Captain America hanging around, but I’ve seen previews of the pieces that are going to be there and they look amazing…”

Steve continued to go on about some of the artists and that somehow led to lighting and negative space and tonality and I sort of lost the thread after a while but I couldn’t help it– interesting though it was, it was more interesting to watch him go off into his own little world, smiling so easily as he talked about art education videos he was watching and he was just so happy that I couldn’t help but stare at him and soak it all in.

When he took a moment to go to the bathroom, I snuck out my phone and opened up my text log with Pepper.

Me: A++++ gift giving he’s going to be excited all the way to it Pepper: Thank you for the excellent idea Pepper: I hope I’ll see you there? Me: Definitely

“Who are you texting?” Steve asked as he sat back down and pulled my legs into his lap.

“Pepper. I was just telling her she did a great job with your gift,” I said and put my phone down.

“Really?” He let out a sigh of relief. “I was afraid I was boring you already.”

“I like hearing you talk about it,” I said. “I like hearing you happy and excited.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s almost like I care about you or some bullshit.”

“Well that can’t be right,” Steve said, but he was smiling too hard to be serious. “You have a reputation and all.”

“Damn right I do,” I said, and opened my arms. “Now get over here and ruin it.”

His grin was a little more wicked for what I had meant by that but, well.

I definitely didn’t mind his definition of ruin.

Art parties had pretty great food.

Well, this one did. The drinks were a little substandard but I kept an eye on the waiters with the finger platters at almost all times as I wandered around with Steve who, true to his prediction, did not get glommed on at all. I also watched for snootiness but everything felt really oddly chill and relaxed and…nice. It wasn’t as fancy as I had feared, but it definitely still cleaved to the nice side, and we had dressed up accordingly, but everyone really did seem to be there for the art, which was also pretty awesome.

And then there was Steve. He mostly stuck by me as we wandered from piece to piece, and whenever the artist was around and willing to talk with him, he always took the chance. So far he had a hundred percent success rate in surprising them by actually knowing his shit, and that was kind of vindictively fun to watch. I hadn’t paid attention to the theming and was at the point where I was too embarrassed to ask, but it seemed like a new art take on classic pieces and movements of the past. Leyendecker through a Warhol lens which had a companion piece of Warhol but make it like Leyendecker. Art deco graffiti. Alphonse Mucha if his seasons were made in the era of global warming.

So it was pretty fantastic. And we even got to hang out with Pepper for a little bit, the three of us stealing away to a corner with a small pile of pilfered snacks and drinks.

“You really do find the best hideouts,” Pepper told me appreciatively.

“I take my duties as resident miser very seriously,” I said, and tried not to beam too much at the compliment. Steve was grinning at me though, and when Pepper was distracted by saying hi to someone, I threw a napkin at his face.

“I saw that,” she said, but with a wicked smirk. She then stood up and straightened the end of her form-fitting dress. “Steve, have you seen the hallway gallery yet?”

Steve and I both peered where she was gesturing; a very wide hallway with good lighting that not many people were going down now. “Not yet,” he said as we both sat back.

She smiled cryptically. “I think you should. There’s a really great artist– well, several of course, but there’s one with a piece in particular that I…I think you might like.”

She escaped with a quick farewell, and I munched on the last of the snacks. “Mysterious,” I said once I was dusting my hands of the crumbs.

Steve stood and held his hand to me. “Let’s go find out, Watson.”

I scoffed, but took his hand. “I’m way more of a social disaster than you,” I said as we walked. “I should get to be Sherlock.”

“Solving mysteries seems like a lot of work though,” he said.

“True,” I admitted.

We meandered leisurely down the hallway, looking at each art piece and leaving the scarce few people behind as we went. I remembered briefly looking down this area at the start of the night and thinking, ‘Nope,’ with the ridiculous amount of people that had been down here before, but apparently they had all seen what there was to see, leaving us to enjoy it practically on our own.

“This is nice–” I suddenly bumped into Steve. “Oof!” I quickly backed up a few steps and he remained. Stock still. “Steve?” I asked, but he was staring up at the wall to my right, his expression stricken, and I turned to see what had him by the metaphorical throat. It was a mural, massive, and it took me a second for it to all come into view. When it did, when the image of a man with a very familiar visage fell into place, all I could manage was a soft, “Oh.”

“Bucky,” Steve said in an awed exhalation. I looked from him, to the painting, and back and forth again. He seemed to be taking it all in and I had nothing I could think to say, so I did much the same. It was a beautiful work of art; colors faded seamlessly together and words of varying sizes acted as modified stippling to create the whole image of one James Buchanan Barnes, larger than life like a comic book hero, but with a serious set to his face, wearing the iconic jacket, and fading out where it looked like he’d be holding a gun in his arms.

After several minutes of utter silence, I tentatively rubbed Steve’s arm. He flinched a little, but gave me a small, slightly twisted smile. “Sorry,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you were still breathing.”

He huffed a laugh, but his eyes looked a little wet and he blinked furiously. “It’s…I’m sorry; it’s…”

I squeezed his arm. “Hey,” I said softly. “It’s okay. It’s always okay and it’s always going to be okay.”

He swallowed and sniffled, but through sheer stubbornness did not let go of one single manly tear. Crying in public did suck though, so I wasn’t about to give him a hard time about it. I rubbed his arm up and down as comfortingly as I could, trying to help, and he moved slightly to take the hand I wasn’t using. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,” he admitted softly, and gave me a weak smile.

“I know,” I said softly. I would have kissed him if I could have gotten away with it, but someone was walking down the hall towards us, so all I could manage was a brief but tight squeeze of his hand before I let go entirely, and he visibly tried to brace himself for the oncoming interaction.

“Hello!” a breathless woman said as she approached. She looked young but carried herself confidently, dressed in a stylish combination of pants, half-skirt, and suit-top, with locs in a beautiful half up-do that framed her face and cascaded down past her shoulders. “I was told there was someone who–”

As soon as she saw Steve, a lot of that confidence just evaporated and she froze with kind of an ‘urk!’ look on her face. As the seconds ticked on and Steve didn’t (probably couldn’t) speak, I squared up and hoped I wasn’t going to make a mess of things. I cleared my throat. “Are you the artist?” I asked. She looked at me, still a little frozen, but she managed a jerky nod and pulled her shoulders down from her ears. “It’s beautiful,” I said as emphatically as I could.

She seemed a little reassured, but her eyes flicked back to Steve, who was looking at it again. He swallowed and managed to look at her, a small smile on his face. “Absolutely amazing,” he said.

She exhaled such a long breath that I had to bite my hand not to laugh, while Steve was startled into doing just that. “I’m so sorry,” she said and waved her hand, relaxing a lot more as she walked closer. “My brother told me someone was standing over here but he didn’t mention who, and when I saw you, I wasn’t sure if it was uh…offensive?”

“In your brother’s defense, no one’s come that close so he probably didn’t get a good look at me,” Steve said, still a little dreamy as he looked at the picture. After a second though he frowned and looked at the woman, more focused. “Why would it be– it’s not offensive; it’s incredible. And I mean technically too; the way you…”

He drew closer to her, talking about the art itself, and she snapped into being a professional, talking to him, explaining the piece that was part of a series on the Howling Commandos, and I stepped back to let them have at it. I couldn’t keep from looking at the art itself again. I tried to imagine how I would think, if it was of Steve, if Steve had– but…I didn’t really want to think of that, right now, in the middle of what was actually Pepper’s birthday gift to him, meant to mark his life.

Though, I thought and tilted my head to see it from another angle, what a life. To make such a mark on the world that this many years after he was gone, an artist, a complete stranger, would spend however many hours of her life putting forth the effort to try and make him as large as the legacy he left behind.

Steve was right. It was pretty amazing.

We stayed there until it was time for the gallery to close. Though Steve had made sure he had all of the artist’s socials, and her website where he could see the picture any time he wanted, he still seemed to be soaking in the presence of the piece itself. So I felt a little like a jerk that I was getting sleepy, and I leaned into him to try and relinquish some of the energy used in standing straight to focus on appearing as awake as I could. He leaned into me in return, and I looked up at him. His expression was…peaceful. A little happy, even, and he glanced over at me and smiled a little more.

“What are you thinking?” he asked softly.

I was more curious about what was going on in his head, but I wondered if even he knew. I still didn’t know how I would really feel if someone I loved so dearly was now being immortalized by strangers in giant murals, gone long enough to have become simply part of a story long past. Steve was here, and alive, and I was grateful for every moment of that, every turn of his life that led him here, that I didn’t want to think of the other way it could have easily been.

So I snuggled in and asked, maybe a little quietly, “Is it weird if I say your boyfriend was pretty cute?”

That probably could have gone badly, I thought in a way too belated realization, but Steve snorted and clamped his hand over his mouth as he tried to get a handle on it. Eventually he breathed deep, but the smile stayed strong. “He was very handsome,” he agreed and shot me a little smirk. “He would have corrected you with that.” Steve shook his head. “God, the two of you…I don’t know if I’d’ve survived that.”

I rested my head on his shoulder and squeezed his hand. “You probably would have been fine,” I said. “I would have been hard on him too. Sharing a boyfriend doesn’t get you any free passes. Just ask Peggy.”

He snorted, then looked abashed. “Fair enough.” He looked around. “Let me just snap a quick picture of this and then we’ll head out, all right?”

“Of course,” I said and took a few steps back to make sure I was out of the way. Steve took several shots, some from different angles, and then started to slip his phone back into his pocket when he suddenly stopped, and looked at me. “Hey,” he said. “Can I take a picture of you in front of it too?”

I leaned my head to one side and looked at it again. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Past and present; I just…really like the idea.”

“Sap,” I said, but my heart melted faster than an ice cube in July and I went to stand in front of the picture. I didn’t know how to pose, but after a moment considered how well Steve had taken my joke about how attractive Bucky was and– what the hell. I turned my back to the subject, clasped my hands in front of my face, bent one leg behind me, and threw the most coquettish look over my shoulder I could muster.

Steve snorted so hard, and took so long to regain his composure, I started tilting from my poorly-thought-out balance before he finally snapped a photo he was happy with. “You’re terrible,” he said with an out-and-out grin as I rejoined him.

“You love it,” I said and stood as close as I dared, even with the event winding down.

Steve showed no concern for any of that, and wrapped his arms around me. “I really do,” he murmured and snuck a soft, but lingering kiss.

~extra~

The picture causes a sense of overwhelming echoes in the back of the mind. It makes him want to break something.

He doesn’t. Someone spent time and effort and this isn’t his and this isn’t him. Not really. Not anymore. He sighs and relaxes his shoulders, and checks the time absently. The security guard won’t make it over here for at least another twenty minutes, and he intends to be long gone by then.

He should be gone now, and yet he stays. James. Barnes. Bucky. They don’t feel quite right anymore, fitting better the unreal image in front of him, and yet still he keeps them, like a familiar old coat gone too tight at the shoulders but too sentimental in value to throw out. In any case he refuses to be the Asset or the Soldier, and he can’t think of another name he would choose otherwise, and so he…keeps them. Just in case they fit right again.

He can’t wait to be out of New York though. He thought it would help, maybe bring things into focus, but those old memories come with flashes of pain, like when they were forced out of him, and he has to grit his teeth against every flinch they bring. He only wanted to come and check on…Steve. Because Steve is, was, always has been, the one thing that matters, and as hard as it has been keeping him ignorant of the ‘Soldier’s’ identity, the one thing that makes it easy is imagining the look on Steve’s face if he realizes what Bucky became.

That fight. It still hurts to think of; makes him wince. It’s better now than it was at the time though. At the time he fought through what felt like double-vision, a face ghosting over the one in front of him, and then to complicate things, the Target, the Mission, was competent in ways he had never known before; every hit matched, blow for blow, the Asset’s implacable strength against the Captain’s unyielding resolve.

And then.

“I can do this all day.”

And he had cracked in two. Six little words had broken him entirely, backup had arrived, and the Asset-not-but-yes had…fled.

But not back to his masters.

The months thereafter were (are) a haze of repressed memories, repressed nightmares, repressed…everything. But without constant conditioning and punishment, he had managed to pull himself back into the shadow of a person. And now he…

He breathes slowly, and finds himself holding his forehead again. He shakes away the pain, stands tall, and looks back to the museum entrance where he had watched Steve leave. With his date. With his partner. And it…hadn’t made him violent, like he feared it might.

Steve is happy. Genuinely happy in a way that makes Bucky nearly relax with relief, and the hurt isn’t as bad as it could be. He’s taking care of and being taken care of in return, and the jealousy and anger Bucky was prepared to have to deal with is just an empty space. This is good. This is better for everyone.

He sighs and checks his watch. Time to go. He has a tip that the redhead has not managed to sniff out yet (Jesus Christ she’s like a bloodhound sometimes) and he’s left another trail for them to pick up on while he follows this because, no offense lady, but this one is a lot more personal and he is actually looking forward to tracking this particular ‘head’ down so he can kick it right in the teeth.

Steve has a life. A good life. And he has a chance to live it now. He’ll handle cleaning up the small fries, and come home at the end of the day. Bucky will continue to take care of the worst of it. As he has. As he should.

He turns, and leaves the image of James Buchanan Barnes in the past. Where he belongs.

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#steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #captain america reader insert #avengers reader insert #dinner date

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fanfic-scribbles · 7 months

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WiP Wednesday - Dinner Date Chapter 28

This chapter is almost almost done. I have a first draft completed! I just need to edit it. And I'm not super happy with the end but hey, that's what editing is for.

Until I can get the energy to really go at it though, here is a snippet <3

And we even got to hang out with Pepper for a little bit, the three of us stealing away to a corner with a small pile of pilfered snacks and drinks.

“You really do find the best hideouts,” Pepper told me appreciatively.

“I saw that,” she said, but with a wicked smirk as she stood up and straightened the end of her form-fitting dress. “Steve, have you seen the hallway gallery yet?”

Steve and I both peered where she was gesturing; a very wide hallway with good lighting that not many people were going down. “Not yet,” he said.

She smiled cryptically. “I think you should. There’s a really great artist– well, several of course, but there’s one with a piece in particular that I…I think you might like.”

She escaped with a quick “goodbye,” and I munched on the last of the snacks.

“Mysterious,” I said once I was dusting my hands of the crumbs.

Steve stood and held his hand to me. “Let’s go find out, Watson.”

#wip wednesday #dinner date excerpt

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fanfic-scribbles · 8 months

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Dinner Date Chapter 27

Masterlist

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers has a girlfriend. A prickly, generally asocial girlfriend, but they make it work. They have more in common than some people might think.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 27: Steve Rogers and the Terrible, No Good…Sort of Okay Day

Chapter Summary: Steve has a Bad Day. It’s nice to have a partner who’s willing to make it better.

Chapter Word Count: 2158

A/N: I really wanted to get this out last week, but I kept…getting fucking stuck. But it’s done now. Next chapter I think is going to be a bigger one, unless I manage to pare it down or split it. /fingers crossed. For now, please enjoy an indulgence of comfort.

Steve: So Steve: I hate to ask this but Steve: I’ve had a really bad day Steve: Can you come over to my place tonight instead?

My eyebrows went all the way up. Steve had already not been having a stellar first week back at work after his extended vacation, so this was…concerning.

Me: Are you okay? Steve: Yes Steve: Just…I see your point about being “too cranky to deal with people”

I smiled.

Me: I believe the actual quote is “too fucking cranky to deal with assholes” ;P Steve: :)

Oh no. That was the most insincere smiley ever. If he was hurt he would have told me, so he must have been really upset about something.

Me: Do you need me to bring anything? Steve: No. I’ll order in. Steve: Or bring clothes if you need to? Steve: But you have a couple sets of clothes here still I think Steve: I can go check Me: Don’t Me: It’s fine, I’ll see you tonight

I then added a little kissy face.

Steve: Oh no Steve: You’re being nice Steve: Do I sound that bad?

I rolled my eyes. It really must not have been that bad if he could sass me like that.

Me: Oh fuck you

I then sent a line of hearts. Since he was having a bad day and all.

I made it to his place without catching whatever bad luck streak he’d gotten, and as soon as I stepped in I got wrapped up in large arms and ensconced by an equally ridiculous body as Steve tried-not-tried to suffocate me.

“Are you okay?” I asked and wrapped my arms around him, trying to squeeze in return.

“Just…one of those days,” he said, voice wavering on the last two words so they ended up oddly stressed.

“Everything going wrong?” I asked, sympathetic, because those days sucked.

He huffed. “I think you said it best once…it was one of those days where everything goes wrong but you can’t complain because it all sounds petty and stupid.”

“Oh, I hate those,” I said, emphatic in my honesty, and tried to squeeze tighter. He sighed and slumped and made no move to leave, but I had to start thinking. Steve always took care of my bad days, so it was time to step up. I patted his back and pulled, but he let out a little…not quite a whimper, but it was a sad sound that pulled on my dusty, otherwise-immovable heartstrings. He did let go though, and I only pulled back just enough to look at him. “Okay then.” I held his face. “For tonight, I’m the boss.”

He cracked a small smile. “You mean you’re not usually?”

Hmm…he sort of had a point. “Well I’m not delegating tonight.” I patted my chest. “Gonna do all the work myself.”

His smile faded. “You don’t have t-”

“Shush,” I said and put my finger to his lips. His lips moved and I pushed harder. “I’m the boss and I say shush.”

He rolled his eyes and saluted. “Less sassing, more shushing,” I said and thought about the things that Steve found most comforting. I could have made a list (probably should, someday) but the very basics were: warmth, a full belly, and close contact. “Mmkay. First: go run a hot shower for us.”

“‘Us?’” he repeated hopefully. Then– “Oops; sorry ‘Commander,’” and he mimed locking his lips.

I rolled my eyes. At both comments. He wasn’t getting anything up in his state, being as he looked like he was holding himself upright by a single thread of stubbornness, but I could let him be delusional for a little bit. “S’okay. I know you too well to think you’d shut your mouth for long.” I ran my hand up over his cheek, and tried not to melt when he leaned into it. He was going to be ridiculously cuddly tonight, I could already feel it. “Get the water going. I’ll pick some clothes and lay them out for after.”

His eyes lit up and he went to his assigned task with determination. I scooted over to the bedroom and rifled through his drawers for one of his more worn tank tops, and some sweatpants. The super-soft and ultra-worn ones were askew on the side of the laundry basket, but one thing about Steve was that if he decided he liked a particular set of clothes, he got multiples, so I was able to put together an acceptable outfit for him, and also one for me.

I then went to join him in the bathroom where he looked almost half-asleep just standing outside by the spray. I rolled my eyes– apparently I would need to cut the time I’d planned to spend in there with him, if I was going to get him out safely. But when I nudged him he smiled at me, already looking a little less tweaked at the corners, and I kissed his cheek.

“Good job,” I said and felt the temperature. “And it’s not going to melt us.”

“Tempting,” he said. “But I want you to stay in there with me. Delicate skin and all.”

“Because you’re having a bad day I will not turn the handle to cold and shove you in,” I said. “But only just because. Now strip.”

He smirked, but didn’t say anything. Exhibit B for why he wasn’t up for getting any tonight, but again, I let it go, and we both stripped down and got into his nicely sized shower. There wasn’t much more room than could just about fit us, but there was enough that I didn’t feel claustrophobic. I let him get rinsed down first and watched some of the tension in his body practically wash right down the drain. He was still a little stiff though, and he only just got his body wet before turning to the side and sliding his hand along my lower back to allow the warm water to hit me too.

“Get your hair wet, then sit on the bench,” I said and grabbed his shampoo bottle.

His eyes opened a little wider, but he did as he was told as I poured some of the shampoo into my hand. I then started lathering his hair and his eyes honest-to-god fluttered shut. I started out rubbing gently, slowing adding more and more pressure, and then lightening up when I started with my nails.

He moaned, and I smiled to myself and kept at it. His shoulders drooped and I even dipped my hands down to rub them a little. It was a weird angle though, and between that and the soap I couldn’t dig in, so I stowed that idea for later and went back to massaging his scalp. He seemed content enough with that, though, if the absolutely lovelorn glance he sucker-punched me with was any indication.

However, because I was too…wide, he wasn’t getting any of the water that was supposed to be keeping him warm. I shifted to the side. Not too far– there really wasn’t that much room– but he put his hand on my side to stop me. He quirked an eyebrow, but the water was hitting part of him now, so I shrugged.

“Don’t want you to dry out,” I said.

“I’m not a fish,” he said with a smile to one side.

I considered him…and then made a faux-hawk in his hair, trying to mimic a fin. “Da nuh…da nuh…”

He snorted– then grinned, and dove in to nip at my tummy. I laughed and smushed his hair, and spent just a little more time scratching his scalp before I turned to rinse my hands and grab the showerhead from its perch. As much as I ever hated to leave my apartment, Steve’s had enough creature comforts to make up for it.

“Lean your head back,” I said and he obeyed, shutting his eyes and showing me his relaxed, tired, entirely open and trusting expression.

I put the nozzle to the crown of his head, moving it slowly as I used my other hand to work out the soap with one last, good, quick scalp massage. He was so content already, and that was before dinner even, which was going to be great. Pricey, but great, and I was already making the order in my head.

So I maybe yelped when he suddenly wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. He pushed his face into my stomach which…honestly made me feel a little weird that it didn’t make me feel weirder. I was naked in the shower with the most handsome and well-built man I’d ever seen, but the way he rested against me was…like it– like I was a comfort, and so I found it hard to be upset by it.

I put my hand on his head and he kissed the patch of skin closest to his mouth. “What’s on your mind?” he asked and sat back.

“I’m planning out dinner,” I said. “We’ll do that pasta place you’ve been hooked on lately. Extra extra garlic bread.”

His eyes widened and he looked at me with so much adoration it almost made me itch. “I love you,” he said.

I smirked. “I know.”

We finished up in the shower and got dressed and made it all the way to the couch before Steve continued to indulge in his super-clingy instincts. Honestly, sometimes it was like he saw me as a teddy bear or something. …Not that I was ever going to complain. Nor would I ever admit out loud that it was fine; that I, maybe, kind of liked it. My reputation was in tatters enough, and he already knew what a damned softie I was.

Case in point– I got through ordering everything for dinner and was on the payment screen when a card slid into my view. I almost thanked Steve for being so proactive when I realized that it was not my card. I rolled my eyes. This again. However I had the upper hand of not having had a terrible day, so I turned my head to try and glare him down only to see…the saddest eyes he could make.

I crumbled almost immediately. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” I said and just barely managed to keep from grabbing his card. “Cheering you up after a bad day, all that crap.”

“This will make me very happy,” he said and held it closer to me.

I rolled my eyes and, after a few seconds and requisite heavy sigh, snatched it. “You are such a fucking weirdo,” I said as I started entering the payment. Steve had never made me feel unequal, like I was freeloading, but it still felt…weird. To receive so much and have him act like it was natural and fine that I hardly paid for anything, and not even because he was ‘the guy’ but just because…because he had money now and was happy to provide.

But those feelings were mine to deal with and now was not the time, so I stowed them and went back to snuggling with my boyfriend while we waited for the food to arrive.

“This is…a good day,” Steve decided, somehow wrapped around and hiding in me both.

“I’m glad.” I kissed his head and went back to stroking his hair. “You can ask me to come over whenever you want. Or need. Whatever.”

“Even if it means you have to leave your apartment?”

“I will, in fact, put on pants and brave the subway for you,” I said, gravely dramatic, but still meaning every word. I lost the exaggerated effect and curled around him. “Also, your shower is much better than mine.”

“I don’t think we could both fit in yours. I’m surprised you can fit in yours,” he said, voice fading a little. “Though I am jealous of your in-unit laundry.”

“Yeah, I didn’t get to give you nice warm clothes this time,” I said. “Though since you were having the ‘every little thing goes wrong’ day, you would have banged your head on the doorway. Or hit your shin on the coffee table. Or hit monster traffic. So staying home was probably the right idea.”

“Mm hm,” was his very sleep-addled reply.

Oh no. I sighed. “Steve,” I said and nudged him, but his body was already heavy on mine. “The food’s on its way.”

“Mm…hm.”

I rolled my eyes, and he was out within the next few moments. I glanced at the clock. Well…the food was going to take a while, given the amount we ordered and the fact that it was peak dinnertime. So maybe he could have a little snooze. I situated us just a little more comfortably, set my phone on the cushion with an alarm just in case, and leaned back to let him have some peace at the end of a long day.

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#steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #captain america reader insert #avengers reader insert #dinner date #fluff

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fanfic-scribbles · 8 months

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One More

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Steve and Bucky have been happily together for a very long time. However they both have been pining after you practically since they met you…and have yet to make a move. It’s getting frustrating. So they decide– why not make a little bet, just between them, to kick their asses in gear? All either one has to do is be the first to tell you just what you mean to both of them. They’ve fought a war; they stare down evil on a regular basis and run into danger as members of the Avengers. A tiny bit of rejection? Hardly a contest. This should be easy. Should be. Should.

Spoiler: it isn’t.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Such fluff; mild angsting; while no gendered pronouns are used, ‘Cinderella’ is a one-off joke and Reader is depicted as generally pleasant, sometimes cute, and smaller than the boys; point of view sticks to Bucky and Steve; also, as canon goes on, I should probably start putting where my fics fall in the timeline so this one is a post-‘CA: TWS’ alternate thing where Bucky is a member of the team.

Words: 8877

A/N: The problem with how I write is that I write a bunch of things all at once and then want to post them the second I finish them. Sometimes things naturally space out, and sometimes I find myself sitting on multiple fics that all may have taken a lot of time, but don’t look it because they’re wordy fuckers and I post them back to back because I just want them out of the house. Ah, fic writing– when you think you’ve got it down, there’s always another dilemma around the corner. But speaking of wordy fuckers: this thing actually got way longer than I intended. I was even gonna have two more sections but snip-snipped that right quick when I saw how it was shaking out. So uh…please enjoy this probably-way-too-long Stucky/Reader fluff fic.

“…three times!”

Bucky laughs. Steve smiles indulgently at the sight of you and Bucky trading stories and good-natured jabs. As Steve sits in the warm, comfortable brownstone he shares with his longtime lover, he can’t help but notice how lucky he truly is.

And yet, he still wants.

“It’s getting late,” you say sadly as you look at the clock.

“‘Getting?’ It is late,” Bucky says.

“I know, and I’ve got work tomorrow.” You sigh, stand, and stretch.

“You can stay here tonight,” Steve says, standing at the same time as Bucky.

“Thanks, but I’ve gotta open up in the morning,” you say and go to grab your coat from the rack by the door. Steve is about to say something when Bucky intercepts your hand and gently pulls it back.

“It’s after midnight,” Bucky says.

“Wow, I can’t believe I’m not a pumpkin yet,” you say and laugh. “I live a few blocks away. I’ll be fine.”

“There’s no way we’re gonna let you walk home alone, Cinderella,” Bucky says. “Come on; you’re not gonna make two old men go out this late, are ya?”

“No. In fact, you two should go to sleep; it’s way past your bedtime.”

Bucky lets out an exaggerated sigh and Steve laughs at how Grumpy Bucky somehow looks like the most adorable assassin the world has ever seen. Bucky turns his head to frown at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Oh, I am.” Steve grabs his boots and looks at you. “We’re walking you home, and that’s that.”

You roll your eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh, but still wait for Bucky and Steve to get ready– crossed arms and all. “You two are so stubborn.”

“You know it,” Bucky says with a wink, and you allow them to escort you home. You chatter in the cold, even with your heavy coat, so Steve walks close to you. Just to be a gentleman like Bucky is always nagging him to be, of course. He doesn’t miss how Bucky mirrors him on your other side, and they trade longing looks where you can’t see. Steve thinks this is it; the perfect moment. He and Bucky are alone with you and it’s quiet; they could tell you at once how they both care about you, how they want–

“Here we are!”

Keep reading

#scribbles reblogs #i'm working on something!#actually i'm working on a couple things #so naturally nothing is close to done #so in the meantime please enjoy this reblog #i am quite fond of this one

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fanfic-scribbles · 9 months

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your writing is incredible. Literally everything you post is a work of art. I also appreciate you including so many mental health stigmas in your writing💓 and how much you write for steve! He does not get the love he deserves. Keep being incredible!!

;.; Thank you! <3 <3 <3

#ask and answer

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fanfic-scribbles · 10 months

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Dinner Date Chapter 26

Masterlist

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers has a girlfriend. A prickly, generally asocial girlfriend, but they make it work. They have more in common than some people might think.

Quick Facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 26: Trip Trip

Chapter Summary: A trip to DC is made, and something new is realized.

Chapter Word Count: 6011

A/N: This chapter took some doing. But after a lot of cutting and reworking, I think it came out all right =) Apologies to anyone in/familiar with DC because I did barely any research and a lot of the movie was filmed in Cleveland so I did what the pros do and just Made Some Shit Up about Sam’s neighborhood. Sorry <3 Hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I have…a vague idea of what I’m doing after this, but we shall see how things actually play out >=3

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just…nervous.”

“Uh huh. I didn’t notice.”

I looked at him and followed his gaze down to the armrest. The whole thing was shaking from how much my hand was moving. (Not that my hand was shaking; I was just...fidgeting.) Still, Steve looked so damn amused I put my hand in my lap and looked away. Jerk.

“Hey,” Steve said and when I refused to look again, he stole my hand for a quick kiss. I glanced around on instinct, and he just grinned at me.

“You’re terrible,” I said softly, but I smiled despite myself.

“It’s a quick plane ride,” he said.

“And you’re pretty meaty if we don’t make it all the way,” I said.

He gave me his best smart-ass look. “You mean if we go down in Philly?”

“Exactly.”

He rolled his eyes and I felt a little better for having annoyed him less than a day into my vacation. Packing and planning had taken up a lot of focus, and I was really behind on my daily quota.

Though it was then I noticed he was sitting pretty stiffly. But then he relaxed so fast I wondered if I was just imagining it. But no, he kept shifting like he was almost as antsy as I was. I almost called him out on it but something in his expression made me stop. Well, we couldn’t both be nervous wrecks for the plane ride. What to do…

I pulled out a piece of paper, made a few lines, and set it on the armrest between us. “Here,” I said and held out the pen to him. “I’ll let you have first go.”

He looked and did a double-take. “Did you seriously make a tic-tac-toe board on a sheet of paper?”

“What, is it too high-tech for you?” I said and hit him with the pen. “This is a travel classic. Now make a move, loser.”

He rolled his eyes, but he snatched the pen and did make his move. It took him all of thirteen seconds to annihilate me, so I scratched out the board and made a new one.

“Hey!” he said with some actual offense.

“That was a fluke. I need a do-over,” I said and though I tried to keep hold of the pen, Steve managed to wrest it back and write his name over the scribbled board.

“For the record,” he said.

I actually laughed. “Yes, let the record show you beat me at a game of tic-tac-toe. Truly your most impressive accolade.”

He gave me a sneaky grin, but he let me move first on this game. This time it took him almost twenty seconds to beat me– mostly because I spent some time at least trying to pick a good spot. Again, I scribbled out the board, claiming shenanigans, and again he wrote his name, claiming his all-important record. By the time the plane was actually ready to take off (fucking finally) the paper was covered in tic-tac-toe games which were in turn covered by Steve’s name. There was one with mine, but that was because I took the paper away, made the board, then quickly drew my three-in-a-row.

“That doesn’t count,” he said as we put the pen and paper aside in favor of belting up for takeoff.

“It counts because I say it counts,” I said. “You won seventy-bajillion games; give the drummer some.”

He looked thoughtful, glanced around, then snaked a kiss to my neck so fast I only knew it happened because I felt it. And as soon as I tried to tell him off for it, there was the flight attendant in all her professional glory, walking the aisle to make sure we did as we were told.

“Dick,” I said quietly after she passed. “You know you’re the only one observant enough to get away with that.”

The smirk he gave me let me know I was going to be in for one frustrating flight.

We made it without somehow going down in the Andes, and considering we were just in town for a long weekend, getting our bags wasn’t any more complicated than Steve dragging them down out of the overhead and leading the way off the plane. I was happy to be out in a semi-open area again, and even happier to be making our way out of the airport entirely.

“See? No cannibalization necessary,” Steve said and slipped my bag away as I tried to take it from him.

“Hopefully we’re as lucky on the way home,” I said and tried to get it again, only for him to slip it back and hit me in the ass with it. “Steve!”

“I’ve got it,” he said, but he grinned, and I just barely dodged the battering ram again.

“I hope you got two beds because at this rate you’re gonna be on the floor tonight,” I said and barely missed getting run over by someone rushing past on their phone.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t kick me out of bed?” Steve said and moved closer to me, but didn’t try whapping me with the bags again.

“In your apartment,” I said and stuck close to him as we moved through a sudden burst of people. “In my bed or shared travel beds, all bets are off.”

“Even if I’m paying for the travel bed?” he asked, still smiling like a little shit.

“You got me out of the house,” I said. “I wouldn’t leave it without something comfy to lay and or sit on. That is the price you pay for my otherwise priceless company.”

“Well, that’s worth it then.” He leaned into me a little. “Lucky me the room has a couch.”

“We’ll see how lucky you feel after twenty minutes on it.” A hotel room couch with a throw blanket? I was honestly being generous even with his stubbornness.

Technically we both took the couch. At first. Play-wrestling just inside the door of our (very nice) room turned into hands ‘accidentally’ sliding around spots they weren’t ‘supposed’ to, which turned into predictable grabbing, gripping, holding, and a pretty nice make-out that killed enough time that I was ready for dinner when we came up for air.

“Huh.” I gave the cushion a little bounce. “Yup. Hotel room couch sucks.”

Steve laughed. “Are you preparing yourself for grading Sam’s couch?”

“I think you’re gonna be trying to apologize like hell and crawl into the nice bed within five minutes,” I said and stretched. “Are you hungry? I’m fucking starving.”

“I could eat,” he said. “Do we want to go out, or do we want to try room service?”

I gave it some thought. “How’s your social meter after the plane?” I asked.

“I didn’t really interact with many people,” he said.

“Uh huh.” That was indicative of an answer, but I wasn’t letting him off that easy. He never would for me, and if you couldn’t torment your loved ones in the name of their health, what were relationships even for? “How’s your social meter after the plane?”

He let out a little huff, but after a requisite moment of stubbornness he then gave me a tired, crooked smile and admitted, “Not great.”

I pulled the room service menu off the table nearby and smacked it against his chest. He huffed and opened it, but I had a thought as I leaned over his shoulder. “Should we split it?” I asked and winced at some of the prices. They weren’t as egregious as I feared they might be, but they were still pretty up there as far as my limits went.

“Don’t worry; I’ve got it,” he said and bumped me.

“You paid for the whole trip,” I said.

“So let me pay for it. I invited you, and I’m good for it.” He gave me a smile. “Besides, with all the time I spend at your place I probably owe you a couple months’ worth of rent at this point.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” I said and poked his side hard enough to make him jump. “I like having you there.”

“And I like having you here,” he said and reached around to jab my side.

“Well fine then,” I said and hung off him (and tried to only read titles and descriptions; not egregious or otherwise, the cost was still more than I felt deserved for food that was probably going to come lukewarm). He seemed a little too serious then, too into reading a menu, so I kissed his cheek. “I’m glad I’m here too. Thanks for inviting me.”

“I’m happy you came. Even if you did have to leave your apartment for a few days,” he said with a small smile, and then we were distracted by food.

Distracted by food, and then just…distracted, to the point where Steve looked away from his meal and stared at the curtained window for several long seconds.

I reached out to touch him and he jumped a little, even. He coughed as if to cover it up and stood. “You know, actually, I’m feeling a little wired still; maybe I should go for a run…”

He looked like he might trip and fall on his face if he tried. “Steve, if you need some time alone you can stay and I’ll go take a walk or something,” I said. “Really, you…kind of look like you might cross the street without remembering to look and get hit by a car or something.”

“I’m not that tired,” he said defensively.

“You’re thinking real hard about something,” I said. He didn’t have a response for that, and still looked a little lost. I stood. “You know, the tub looks really nice; I think I might take a bath.” I hesitated, but… “And if you do decide to take a run, leave me a note at least, yeah?”

“Okay,” he said and I grabbed a few things before escaping to the bathroom for some enforced private time. If I gave him a half hour I figured that would be good enough either for him to get his head on, or to decide he really did need some air and run out for a bit. It wasn’t a hardship though– the tub was very nice, maybe big enough to fit the both of us, and I soaked until the water was no longer nice and steamy, and then I took extra time drying off, getting dressed, putting away the extra toiletries in case they’d give us more…

When I came out Steve was still there, to my great relief, slumped in the armchair and staring through a crack in the curtain. I went and leaned over him from behind to kiss his head, but before I connected, he leaned his head back and moved to meet me in a real kiss.

A little distracted still, but more settled. I’d take it. “The bath is really nice,” I said. “I left you hot water.”

He grinned crookedly. “I don’t think they’re gonna run out here.”

“Well I still made sure I did. On purpose and everything,” I said and bonked my head against his.

“Thanks.” He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and with nary a quip about me not being a jerk after all, took a change of clothes and went right into the bathroom.

I sighed. Oh but he was in a weird mood. And considering we were on a tight timeline for the weekend to squeeze in Peggy and Sam around Sam having a job (and a life, I could hardly believe I knew someone with one of those), I picked up my phone.

Me: So I don’t know if I should say this but fair warning I think Steve is feeling weird about me meeting Peggy so hanging out with us tomorrow might be awkward if you wanna bail? Sam: Ah Sam: It’ll be fine Sam: When it comes to Peggy he stews a bit but he gets on Sam: He’s been doing a lot better with that lately jsyk ;p Sam: It’ll be okay. I’m looking forward to seeing you

Despite the weird air, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Me: Okay cool Me: Cause same Sam: Are you okay?

Oh. Feelings.

Me: I’ll be fine Me: It’ll be weird but maybe it’s supposed to be Me: Not a lot of etiquette on this TBH Sam: So don’t sweat it. Just take it easy

I plugged my phone in and flopped onto the bed. Take it easy. Right. I was only going to meet my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend, who had fought in a war and forced her way into history and politics and had a list of accolades that had to be scrolled down. More personally, she was someone my boyfriend was still a little bit in love with. And from how he had already warned me she could ‘seem kind of stern’ and ‘was a little bit overprotective sometimes,’ I could read between the lines that said love was very likely mutual.

Right. Don’t sweat it. Easy.

Fuck.

The ride to the home where Peggy lived was quiet. And quick. It felt like I was barely getting a decent greeting ready in my head when we parked and I…froze, unable to move at all out of fear of fucking this all up. ‘What if I say something stupid’ had been my recurring fear, but right then I felt like I couldn’t speak at all and what if I couldn’t say anything, what if she greeted me like a normal and reasonable person and I just fucking whiffed it.

Steve said my name and I hurried to get out of the car. But Steve got out, walked around, stood right in front of me, and I just looked down.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said firmly. I looked at him and he was as resolute as I had ever seen him. “I’m not…trying to put you through anything, and you have nothing to prove.”

I was nervous and about to go into a social situation that was going to be inherently awkward from the start. But. “I want to meet her,” I said, even though the hotel room was sounding really, really, really nice about then. “I do. I’m just…nervous.”

“You’ll be fine.” He brought my hand up to press a kiss to the back of it. “I’m here with you. If I didn’t think you’d get along, I wouldn’t put either of you through this.”

Well, there was a point, and Steve was the resident expert. “Okay,” I said, faced the building, and took a deep breath. I squeezed his hand. “Okay.”

We went in without incident, or any more of me chickening out, which might have counted for an incident maybe but it didn’t matter because it didn’t happen, and I was perfectly polite when Steve made his introductions.

Which was, honestly, more than she could say.

She smiled. “So, you’re Steve’s little coffee date.”

I…wasn’t sure how to respond to that. On the surface it seemed fine, in any other tone it might have been teasing, but the way it came out made me feel…small. And a quick glance at Steve showed that I was not wrong to feel that way, which was both reassuring and…not.

“Peg,” Steve said, a little sharp, and as nice as it was to feel his hand slide behind me protectively, I did not want to cause a fight between the two of them. Though I did allow myself to relax a little bit, because if she was going to be rude, maybe I could be a little rude too. Before I could say anything, though…

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said in a rueful sigh. “I’m sorry. It truly is nice to meet you. I apologize for putting my foot in it.” And then she smiled warmly. Like she meant it.

That caught me out in a different way. I was suddenly struck with remembering she had helped found SHIELD. Like, an organization that Natasha and Clint and Steve worked for, and Fury and Coulson and a lot of other really, really smart people who were also really, really good at making people feel how they wanted them to feel. And yeah, the rug got pulled out from under them nearly entirely and it was by the skin of some really clenched teeth it still (barely) existed at all, but…but it was enough to make me paranoid. Spy was a skill people like her could turn on and off at will. Could she tell how nervous I was? Should I have tried to cover my–?

Actually; no. I wasn’t stupid but this was not my skill set, so I let it go as much as I could and, mostly, gave up trying to catastrophize and make new conspiracies to be paranoid about. Weren’t first impressions all about manipulating someone’s perception of you anyways? It wasn’t like I was trying to do much different than she was. “I dunno about sticking your foot anywhere; it depends on who you ask,” I said and sat down in the chair next to Steve. “Coffee’s a major food group as far as I’m concerned, so it’s basically like a dinner date for normal people.”

She smiled a little wider. “Normal. But not you.”

“I assume ‘normal’ is a threshold that exists, but I have no idea what qualifies,” I admitted.

“And I don’t think she can manage even if she tried,” Steve said, glancing between the two of us, and relaxing minutely.

Margaret– Peggy?– Miss Carter?– looked at me like she expected me to have at him for it. I lifted my head like I was preening. “He sure knows how to sweet talk, doesn’t he?” I said and only after I said it realized hey, maybe talking about your current boyfriend like that with his ex-girlfriend was maybe out of bounds.

She laughed. Fully. I felt relief bubble up in my chest and Steve rolled his eyes and I thought maybe, just maybe this was going to be okay.

“How has he been?”

I thought about that for a moment. Steve had stepped out and I wondered if it was all right to talk about him like this…but if anybody else got it, Peggy (“Do not call me Miss Carter my God do you want me to kill you,” “Peggy!”) would.

“Better, I think,” I said. “He’s…more open, I think. More willing to admit he’s not all right.”

She smiled wryly. “When I heard he was taking time off…well, I feared the worst.” She reached out, wrapped her long, cool fingers around my hand, and gripped. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t really–” But she gave me such a look I straightened my back. “You’re welcome ma’am yes ma’am?”

She rolled her eyes. “Smart mouth,” she said, gave my hand an honest-to-god rap, and leaned back with a real smile as I let out a laugh. Her expression let up a little bit, became a little…sad. “You have to watch out for him,” she said. “He has a hard time asking for help.”

“Boy oh boy do I know that,” I huffed, and she actually laughed. I shrugged and relaxed my posture again. “But most of the time he can be browbeaten into it, at least.”

“Truly?” she asked, not like she didn’t believe it, but she didn’t know I could do it.

“Yeah. I’m getting the hang of it, I think,” I said. “He’s…” I swallowed. “He has it tough, sometimes, but he is doing better. Really.”

Her smile was a mess of something fond and sad and…something else entirely. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that,” she said softly, her age infusing her words. “Please take care of him.”

“I will,” I said on instinct. “I am,” I amended and sat back. “I mean, I’m kind of a mess, so he’s not getting off easy, but…”

“Good,” she said decisively. “Make him work for it. He never has taken the easy route. Stubborn man.”

“He’s kind of a jerk like that,” I said. “Stubborn and proud and moody and…a lot of things people wouldn’t think, as well as all the good things they do.” I cleared my throat. “But I’ll take care of him, because he takes care of me, and because I lo–”

I…stopped. And swallowed the word. And sat on it. Peggy smiled a little more, but said nothing, and let me have my moment in peace. Somehow, almost telling Steve’s former partner that I loved him was less shocking to me than the full, real, aching feeling that I did. That I didn’t just trust, or care, but with my whole fucking chest…I loved him.

I swallowed again, breathed deep, and moved on. “Hey,” I said, a little shaky, and quickly evened out my voice as much as I could. “Since he’s out, wanna hear the story about how he tripped over his own feet trying to get some food once and nearly caused a domino effect in a busy pizza place?”

Her grin was sharp and sharklike, and for a moment I saw exactly what Steve had fallen in love with. “I want to hear every last detail.”

Steve came back, and nearly walked right back out when he heard the tail end of the story I was telling, but he was close enough that I could tug his hand and he fell into his seat with a long-suffering groan, but slid his fingers to lace with mine as I finished the story and Peggy laughed. She then shared a story with me about how he had done the same with half a mess hall and how Bucky had walked in, seen the commotion, shook his head, grabbed Steve by the back of his shirt, and dragged him out before he could get piled on.

“Strong guy,” I said, sticking with a soft nothing comment just in case, but Steve and Peggy looked happy at the memory.

“It was sort of comforting to see; he hadn’t been feeling so well up to that point.” Steve smiled fondly. “It figured he would get his strength back pulling me out of trouble.”

We stayed for a little while longer, but when Peggy started to get tired, and a nurse came in, we begged off to allow her to get some rest. She gave us each a “proper goodbye” (which was definitely an ego boost, when Steve looked surprised that I too got a cheek kiss) and we left before the day wore on her too hard.

We were both quiet on the ride out. But this time I felt…okay. Mostly okay, at least; Steve was stewing in his own head about something, but I felt resolute that I was going to get to the bottom of whatever this mood of his was. I had my own thoughts to wrestle with, but they honestly didn’t need much work. For as much ‘feelings’ as I hated, this was easy. I’d already gone through the trust and caring issues and this felt so natural that I didn’t mind it. I loved Steve, and that was that. And it felt good.

We parked in a driveway of a fairly nondescript house in a pretty normal neighborhood, and sat there for a moment. I pulled up Steve’s hand and gave it a kiss. He jolted, but forced a little smile for me. “Play along,” I said and got out of the car before he could ask why.

Sam greeted us both before we even got to knock on the door. Sam’s hugs were truly some of the best, and I was happy to receive mine, but he lingered a bit with Steve and shot me a look over his shoulder. I gave Sam a little nod to acknowledge the long day, and he gave the briefest roll of his eyes before his smile returned and he stood back to look at Steve, a firm grip on his shoulder. “How are you?” Sam asked.

“Fine,” Steve answered reflexively but corrected before Sam could even call him out. “Just…you know.”

“Yeah. I know.” Sam clapped his shoulder and stood back to let us in the entry so we could toe off our shoes. “Come on in; let me give you the tour.”

“I only care about one thing in particular,” I said as I looked around. It was a really nice house, clean, well-appointed…and the living room was very, very close.

“The bathroom?” Sam guessed and made as if to gesture. “It’s right–”

I walked right past him, circled to the front of the couch, and plopped back on it. I thought for a moment– Sam’s neighborhood didn’t have much, but there had been a small strip mall on the drive in, not too far away. Walkable. I thought about that, and Steve’s quiet mood, and figured it would have to do.

I jumped off the couch and kept a straight face to Sam’s near-grin and Steve’s incredulous ‘you wouldn’t’ expression. “What’s this all about?” Sam asked, his smile cracking open a little more.

“You once said your couch is better than mine,” I said. “I had to test.”

He actually did snort, and Steve held his face, hiding the tiniest smile. A shame– were he in a better mood, he’d have been turning a little red holding himself back from laughing. Maybe Sam would be able to help. I hoped so. “Well then,” Sam said, openly grinning now. “How does it rate?”

“Hmm…” I walked back to the door. “Solid B.” I slipped my shoes back on. “Not too firm or soft, but I wouldn’t sleep on it overnight.” I opened the door, said, “Okay, I did what I came to DC for. Later!” and slipped out, shutting it behind me.

Steve groaned loud enough for me to hear, but Sam’s laughter covered that up quick. I smiled to myself and walked down the steps until I could see Sam in the window. I held up my hands with all fingers splayed to signify ten minutes and mouthed, ‘I’ll be back.’

He was still smiling widely, but he nodded, and I set off on a walk.

It ended up being more like thirty minutes. And it was boring; nothing but houses on a quiet street until I reached the tiny shopping center, and half of the storefronts were useless and boring, aside from the biggest place– a drugstore. I stopped in, grabbed a drink to fortify myself for the walk back, and some candy as a reward, and then made the return journey.

The door was unlocked, thankfully, and Sam and Steve were sitting and chatting pleasantly in a little dining nook when I stepped in and took off my shoes for hopefully the last time for a while. The darker shade of Steve’s mood seemed erased as he lifted his head and gave me a smile. I huffed out a breath. Worth it then. Unfortunately.

“Where did you go– oh hell yeah,” Sam said when he caught the king-size candy bar I bought for him.

“The drugstore was farther than I thought it was.” I chucked the other chocolate bar at Steve’s head and then went and fell over onto the couch. “Your couch grade has been amended; it’s great, A plus, and also I live here now.”

“The drugstore wasn’t even a mile,” Steve said so that I could hear his smirk.

I lifted my head to try and glare at him, but he was standing behind the couch and I didn’t want to wrench my neck, so I flopped back onto the cushion. “I don’t even have to go half a mile from my place to get doughnuts.”

“I guess I have to come to your place sometime.” Sam leaned over the couch and grinned at me as he unwrapped his hard-won gift. “Buy you a doughnut. Get powdered sugar all over your couch.”

I turned onto my back so I could scowl at him, but then I considered and had to amend, “Well I am sweating all over yours, so I guess that’s fair…”

Sam lifted an eyebrow as he chewed a bite of chocolate. “You call that sweating?” he said in a resolutely unimpressed inflection. “You would not last five minutes in bootcamp.”

“I think you’re being wildly flattering to imply I would last one minute in bootcamp considering even lacing boots properly is too much fucking work,” I said.

“I’d put money on you getting the figurative and maybe literal boot from the very first second you meet your drill instructor,” Steve said, taking a bite of his candy bar. He definitely looked a lot better. I could have felt bad about that, but honestly a best friend was probably exactly what Steve needed after all that. I couldn’t be everything he needed, and I was…surprisingly okay with that.

I gave Steve a hard look. “You made it through boot camp and you are way mouthier than me.”

“Special circumstances,” he said.

“It’d have to be,” Sam said dryly.

“My girl and my best friend,” Steve sighed theatrically. “Is anyone on my side?”

Sam and I shared commiserating looks. Peggy was right– he was so dramatic.

And I loved him anyways.

It was a heady thing. Stupid, maybe, to feel like this when I was just opening my eyes to what was already there, but the thing was– the thing was that Steve loved me too. He hadn’t said it, had never gotten close to the word, but the more I thought about it the more I knew it. And it felt good. It felt so good.

“Do I even want to know what you and Peggy talked about while I was out?” Steve asked, smiling slightly at me. He looked wan and worn in the dim light of our hotel room, but he was still trying to be ‘on’ for me.

“Well we had fun, so probably not.” I slid my arms around him, and he pulled my legs over his lap with one hand while his other set behind my back and pulled the rest of my body closer. I snuggled in, and rested my head partly off his shoulder, just above his chest. “Thanks for bringing me. I’m glad I came.”

He exhaled deeply, and gave me a little squeeze. “I’m really, really glad you did too,” he said. “Thank you.”

I smiled. This might not go over well but…I couldn’t put it off forever. I didn’t want to. “Hey Steve?” I said as a deep, frightening, wonderful thrill raced through me and peace settled in its place, down through skin and muscle and nerves to rest in my very bones. “I love you.”

He froze. But as he swallowed harshly I just smiled more, and when he tried to speak and failed, I said, “Shh,” and snuggled closer and squeezed him tighter, and lifted my head to kiss his face. “It’s okay. I know.” Because I did. It showed in what he did, what he said; in everything he was when he was with me.

“I don’t…no; no it’s not that I don’t– but I don’t kn– it’s just…” He moved his head down and pressed his face to my shoulder, nearly hard enough to cause an ache. “N-not yet, I can’t– I’m so sorr–”

“Shh.” I stroked his hair and pressed a few kisses to what of his head I could reach with him trying to burrow a hole in me. “It’s okay. I can wait.”

He relaxed a little then. I kept holding him, running my nails up and down the back of his neck and head, and I was content to wait for him to settle down and come back to neutral and then get on with the rest of our night like nothing had happened. Because Steve was an expert in many things, and many of those involved shoving down feelings until they came to bite him in the ass. It was just one of those things we had in common, and I really was perfectly content to wait.

Apparently, though, I didn’t have to.

“Oh my God,” Steve blurted out, dismay in every syllable. “I do love you.”

I…

I burst out laughing.

Cuddling was over and I fell back against the side while Steve held his face and groaned. I only bothered to try and get a handle on myself so I could breathe. “Wow,” I wheezed and hit my chest. “The– the disappointment; are y–!”

I let out a yelp as Steve suddenly pressed into me with his whole body. Gently, but I squirmed and laughed as he wrestled me down flat into the cushions and growled, “Not disappointment.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” We settled with him hovering right above me, his hands on mine, palm to palm and fingers laced through. His expression was devious but soft, and I felt myself soften in response. …Mostly. “You're such an asshole.”

“Uh huh.” He leaned down to kiss me. “We’re well-matched then.”

I let a smile crack through. Just a little. I hated to encourage him like this, but he was too fucking cute sometimes. “I guess we are.”

“Good.” But he snorted and smiled wryly. “You tell me you love me and I have an existential crisis. I tell you I love you and you break into hysterical laughter.” He sighed. “That…sums us up more than I’d like.”

“Well, I gotta keep my crown. World’s Biggest Jerk isn’t a title you can slack on,” I said and arced up to give him a kiss that ended up being slower and softer than I intended, but it felt good. It felt right. I fell back down and stared up at him. “That was kind of fast for a crisis though. I meant it– I’ll wait.”

“You’ll wait because you already knew.” He gave me a crooked smile and nuzzled my face before placing a kiss at my jaw.

“Not just because.” I turned my head to put my forehead to his. “But yeah, I just…realized,” I said. “How you show me. How you have showed me.”

He kissed me again, and then actually came down and let his body settle on mine– not wholly, but still a comforting weight. Like a living blanket, and one that would move in an instant if I needed it.

I didn’t intend to test that, but at my deep breath and contented sigh he suddenly jerked up– not away, but definitely off. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For wha– oh.” I shook my head. “No. I actually kinda like it sometimes when you squish me.”

“You…do?”

I barely had a second to see his devilish smile before he suddenly came down and wrapped himself around me like a fucking boa constrictor. “Steve!” I laughed and squirmed and tried to wriggle out, but he held fast for a few seconds before he let up.

“But I thought you like me squishing you?” he chuckled and lifted himself back up. His hair was mussed and flopped awkwardly, and I reached up to put it back in some sort of order. His smile was gentle and still tired, and I thought of all the ways we could have missed each other, all the many ways we could have never even met, let alone come to this, and yet…here we were.

“Hey Steve?” I said softly. He cocked his head, and I swallowed and shifted my shoulders. “I’m really glad you’re here.” I slid my hands over his cheeks to hold his face. “And I’m really sorry you’re here. Because I love you and want you to be happy.”

He smiled and touched his forehead to mine. “There’s a lot of different ways to be happy,” he said. “And I found one of mine.”

I crinkled my nose. “Sap.”

He grinned. “You love it.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling again. “I really do.”

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#steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #captain america reader insert #avengers reader insert #dinner date

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fanfic-scribbles · 10 months

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WiP Wednesday - Dinner Date Chapter 26

This chapter has been a...challenge. Not for any good reason, really, my brain is just the equivalent of clicking a dead lighter right now. But things are finally coming together so I believe I'll have the next chapter of Dinner Date ready this month, hopefully this coming week or the next 🤞 In the meantime, here's a little snippet of the next chapter, which is our intrepid (or maybe very...trepid...) couple's trip to DC.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just…nervous.”

“Uh huh. I didn’t notice.”

I looked at him and followed his gaze down to the armrest.

The whole thing was shaking from how much my hand was moving. (Not that my hand was shaking; I was just...fidgeting.) Still, Steve looked so damn amused I put my hand in my lap and looked away. Jerk.

“Hey,” Steve said and when I refused to look again, he stole my hand for a quick kiss. I glanced around on instinct, and he just grinned at me.

“You’re terrible,” I said softly, but I smiled despite myself.

“It’s a quick plane ride,” he said.

“And you’re pretty meaty if we don’t make it all the way,” I said.

He gave me his best smart-ass look. “You mean if we go down in Philly?”

“Exactly.”

He rolled his eyes and I felt a little better for having annoyed him less than a day into my vacation. Packing and planning had taken up a lot of focus, and I was really behind on my daily quota.

Though it was then I noticed he was sitting pretty stiffly. But then he forced himself to relax so fast I wondered if I was just imagining it. But no, he kept shifting like he was almost as antsy as I was. I almost called him out on it but something in his expression made me stop.

I pulled out a piece of paper, made a few lines, and held the paper down on the armrest next to us. “Here,” I said and held out the pen to him. “I’ll let you have first go.”

He looked and did a double-take. “Did you seriously make a tic-tac-toe board on a sheet of paper?”

“What, is it too high-tech for you?” I said and hit him with the pen. “This is a travel classic. Now make a move, loser.”

#wip wednesday #dinner date excerpt

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fanfic-scribbles · 11 months

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Marry Me Three

Sequel to: Marry Me 2 - Boyfriend’s Back (All Right)

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Marriage is stupidly limited. That’s okay– you’ve never found a box that could fit you anyway.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader/Bucky Barnes – Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff, marriage talk, a little fade-to-black sexy times

MCU Timeline: Set some nebulous time after CA:TWS

Words: 3170

A/N: At last, the end of the ‘Marry Me’ saga. Please enjoy a bunch of goofballs <3

Bucky is brooding.

This isn’t so different from usual, but what is unusual is that none of your distraction tactics are working. The lovey-dovey stuff gets a little kiss before he’s back to stewing in his own head, the funny stuff gets a half-hearted smile before he once again becomes the protagonist of a Russian tragedy, (it is ridiculous that he is not actually Russian, honestly, even Natasha has commented that she feels lacking next to him), and your last-ditch attempts to be annoying get a scowl and some muttered curses before he turns away and does his best gargoyle impression.

Some research is required.

“Is there a reason you’ve started walking around with a notepad and pen and staring at Bucky?” Steve asks, like for all he knows the answer could very well be ‘no.’

“I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with him,” you say. “So I’m taking notes and observations so I can put them together later.”

“Ah.” He sips his coffee and stares at you. “That explains the new corkboard. No string?”

“I had to order it. They were out of red,” you admit. “It’s coming with the safari hat.”

He stares at you. “Why safari instead of a deerstalker?”

“The safari ones looked nicer and shipped faster,” you say. “If the binoculars weren’t more annoying than they’re worth I’d be using them too. Maybe if I’m annoying enough I can actually get him to talk about his fucking feelings rather than keep shutting me out.”

Steve pulls you into a hug and kisses your head. “I’ll try and talk to him,” he says and rubs your shoulder. As he pulls away, he says, “No smoking pipes.”

You hadn’t been thinking about that since your Sherlock Holmes cosplay abruptly stopped with the lack of nice hats available with fast shipping, but now that he’s said no you can’t resist the siren song of pushing boundaries. “Not even a bubble one?”

Steve shoots you a glare and wanders off.

Well, if Steve succeeds, hopefully you’ll be able to find another use for the safari hat. But until he pulls through you will continue to observe Boyfriendicus Moodicus and hope a solution presents itself.

Nothing magically happens to make things better. Bucky’s still sullen, but he’s sullen with a guilty edge when he comes up one day and hugs you from behind. “I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk,” he says and presses a little kiss to your head.

“You’re not a jerk,” you say and put your hands over his as Steve watches with a look of concern himself. The talk didn’t go so well, apparently, but at least someone else is on the lookout now. “But I know you’re upset and I wish you’d tell me why. Or Steve. Or an imaginary friend. Somebody.”

“I, uh…” He nuzzles you, preying on your weakness. Bastard. You hope he keeps it up. “I don’t know how to say it,” he admits. “It’s something in my own head, and I don’t know how to…say it right. So I wanna wait.”

“But you will?” you ask and he nods. “Fine,” you say uncertainly. “If it takes too long though I’m getting a little hand puppet, okay?”

Even the thought makes him look annoyed, which is exactly what you were hoping for. They know better than to test you on your most ridiculous ideas, and you make a few open and shut motions with your hand to drive the point home. But something about how Bucky looks at your hand catches your attention. There’s a brief burst of longing and what is he even looking a–

Oh.

Oh!

The ring.

Over the next week you take your Bucky Studies very seriously. He said he can’t verbalize it and you believe that– Steve has his moments but Bucky has an especially hard time talking about what he wants and what he feels, (and when you think about the why you end up clinging to him like a koala which is not ideal for observation but is great for very distracting kisses), so you don’t try to push him. The safari hat goes mostly unused, alas, but you do pick up on a few things:

A) Bucky doesn’t just give sad longing looks at your ring, but at Steve’s too;

B) If you and Steve are already fooling around, Bucky is a lot more hesitant about joining in than he was when you all started your, ahem, group activities;

C) A and B are very often paired together– and while A can happen during even just the mundanity of the day, B will always have that look of envy;

and A point 2 C B or whatever) The envious look at your rings is almost always followed by a flash of annoyance. And not at you– you’ve gotten very, very good at reading your partners’ looks of annoyance, (you even have a handy card catalogue you reference sometimes to make them very annoyed at you), but seemingly at himself.

It’s sort of remarkable that you can see all this, because while you’re more observant than people sometimes give you credit for, it’s still something special to be able to observe Bucky without having him call you on it once or twice. It’s nice that he’s so comfortable around you. But it’s not nice that this issue– whatever he can’t verbalize– is eating him away so much that he lets it show for all and sundry.

Still, now you have some data. It’s time to try and formulate some solutions.

“Hey Bucky?”

“Yeah doll?”

“Would it make you feel better if Steve and I got divorced?”

Bucky chokes on his drink. Steve, to his credit, merely stops cutting his food and looks up at you past slightly raised brows. You think it’s nice that he understands what you meant. Or maybe he doesn’t understand and he’s just used to your nonsense. If you’re being honest, it’s probably more the latter, but it’s still nice to have your general person so well understood that Steve can hear that and not worry.

“Wh-…” Bucky pauses to take another drink that actually makes it down his throat. “Sweetheart, why would I want that?”

“It’s just a thought,” you say. “Because Steve and I love each other whether we’re together in the eyes of the law or not. Just like we love you.” You have to hurry up when he opens his mouth. “And I know you know we don’t love you any less, but knowing and feeling are two different things and we all have doubts.”

“I don’t doubt,” Bucky says quickly. “But…you’re sort of right. It’s just something I have to deal with.” He takes your hand and tugs you in for a little hug that you both have to lean out of your chairs for. “I don’t want you and Steve to get divorced. I like that you two are married. Also, it’d be a huge pain in the ass and pro’ly wouldn’t do much.”

“Okay.” You kiss his head and lean back. Back to the drawing board. Luckily the drawing board still has some sketches on it. “It’s okay Bucky, I’ve got another idea.”

Both Bucky and Steve are suddenly distracted by ringing phones. You sigh but pull yourself together as they jump up. While they get ready, you shove their dinners into containers so they can at least have a little something on their way to save the world.

“I know it sounded bad, but you get what I meant, right?” you ask Steve in between kissing him goodbye. Multiple times, of course.

“I know. And I agree.” He smiles and kisses you one more time before letting Bucky in.

You make sure to give Bucky just as much physical love as you did Steve, but he’s looking at you cautiously. Still, he kisses you, and says, “Don’t do anything before we get home and talk about your ‘idea,’ okay?”

“Have a lovely day at work; be safe!” you say cheerfully. Bucky is about to open his mouth but you are, strangely, saved by yet more ringing from his phone, and the sounds of tires screeching outside. He rolls his eyes and runs out with Steve, not even pausing when he mouths, ‘We’ll talk later.’

You shut the door and turn back to your empty home. You allow yourself a moment of self-pity before you make a fist and hit it to your palm. This is actually perfect– an opportunity to put your plan into action without any super-significant-other meddling. You are going to get right to it–

–your stomach grumbles–

–after dinner.

They come back in two days, so it’s a good thing you decided not to procrastinate on your Secret Plan. The mission was quick and neither of them are injured, but they are obviously exhausted, so you cajole them into taking a nap. Steve is tired enough he does as he’s told, dragging a slightly more suspicious Bucky with him. But Bucky is just as tired, so you blow them both a kiss and, once the door is shut and you hear no more moving, you rush to your little box of supplies and start setting everything up.

When they come out for dinner the candles are all set, the food is almost ready, and your two super soldiers take a moment to fully wake up from their nap and appreciate the nice romantic table you’ve put together.

Steve clears his throat and leans in to straighten one of the candles that had tilted maybe a little worryingly to the side. “Oh, oops; good catch,” you say and put down their two plates. “Steve, come be helpful and grab the wine glasses.”

“Really going all out to welcome us home,” Bucky says, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Yeah sure, that’s what it is,” you say, smiling too hard to sell it, and you all but drag Steve into the kitchen where you promptly shove a little box into his hand, and mouth, ‘Wait.’

His eyes light up, but he grins too and nods, and takes the wine glasses and the bottle out to the table while you grab the last plate and go to take your seat. Bucky looks even more suspicious, definitely not helped by how Steve is the absolute worst at keeping a straight face, but you ignore your husband in favor of the modest but still delicious meal you made. “You’re probably starving.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky says warily, not even attempting to grab his fork. “Don’t take this the wrong way but– what are you up to?”

You don’t answer, and instead take a bite. In all honestly though it’s hard to focus on the food– you’re very excited for this, and when Bucky keeps staring at you, you think…fuck it. It’s time to put him at ease, one way or another.

So you stand up, walk over to him, get down on one knee, pull out the box, and open it. “Bucky,” you say. “We can’t get married before God and law but…fuck ‘em. I love you just as much as I love Steve and if this is only legit to us then that’s all that matters. So, James Buchanan Barnes, second love of my life but not the secondary love of my life, will you marry me according to the law of this house– coincidentally my law– and be my top-secret husband?”

Bucky considers you with a serious face that looks close to cracking. “Will you promise to unassign “Secret Agent Man” as my theme song?”

“Absolutely not,” you say. “But when I sing it the lyrics will be changed to reflect your new status as ‘secret husband man.’”

Steve breaks, laughing and leaning on the table for support. Bucky even cracks a smile, but you try to stay neutral, to let him know you’re (mostly) serious. His eyes soften like he knows. Of course he knows– he knows you just like Steve does, by now. “Well how can I resist an offer like that?” he asks and holds out his hand for you to put on the ring.

You try to take your time, so that Steve can get over his sudden burst of amusement, but he’s still chuckling when you take your seat again. You take your wine glass and give Bucky a sympathetic look. “I wish I could tell you Steve’s proposal to me was more romantic, but it really wasn’t.”

Steve stops laughing then. “Hey…you aren’t seriously going to tell that story to everyone are you?”

You take a moment to consider. “Well, I guess orgasms can be romantic.”

Steve hides his head and Bucky laughs loudly. “Stevie you fucking cheat,” Bucky says with a wide grin and admiration in his voice.

“That wasn’t the real proposal!” Steve insists. “The real proposal was the next morning. That was…”

“Steve being unable to keep a secret to save his life,” you supplement. Steve opens his mouth and you wave him silent. “Yeah, yeah; you can work on Bucky’s proposal later. For now, eat. I worked hard on this.”

“I’ll take the orgasm proposal,” Bucky says but takes his own utensils in hand. “Is that a special I can order?”

Steve mutters under his breath and attacks his meal like it’s going to run away. You roll your eyes but get to your food. “Dinner first, then honeymoon.” You take a bite and chew for a few seconds before you swallow and add. “And then cake.”

“The only surprise about this, is that cake is coming last,” Bucky says in amusement and follows suit.

There are so many responses to that. You, a true Hero, refrain in order to at least get through dinner and to the fun stuff without your husband and husband-to-be chucking you out of a window.

You get chucked onto the bed, which is way more fun and makes you laugh as Bucky grins and crawls over you in a way that should be slightly terrifying but is honestly just fucking hot, so that when he’s close enough you grab him by the shirt collar and drag him in for a kiss.

“That never gets old,” Steve murmurs, his mouth quirked in amusement as he settles in next to both of you, but his eyes are intense as he, seemingly content, watches for now. As you break for air, Bucky takes the opportunity to grab the back of Steve’s head and move in for a kiss just as hungry as the one he just gave you.

“It really, really doesn’t,” you say and lick your lips. Bucky’s attention is drawing back to you, as is Steve’s. You pull the shoulder of your shirt aside to show your bra strap and wink at Steve. His eyes go pleasantly wide.

“So we’re really doing the honeymoon, huh?” he asks, a full grin spreading across his face. Bucky looks confused, but intrigued.

“The dress is in no shape to participate, but the rest of it is fine,” you say.

“What’s this?” Bucky asks as you sit up and wrap your arms around him. Mostly to stay up– your core strength is nonexistent.

“Go on Bucky,” Steve says, laying on his side and unbuttoning his pants with one hand. “Make your wife more comfortable.”

Bucky’s eyes shine so bright looking at you that you elect to watch his hands as he starts pulling your shirt up, alternately grazing and dragging his fingers across your skin. “Don’t worry,” you say, lips turned into an expression that feels appropriately devilish. “Your husband won’t keep his hands to himself for long.”

True to form, Steve doesn’t, and soon the three of you are a tangle of limbs and love.

When all is said and done, you’re all in a contented pile.

Except there's one thing missing. You clear your throat. Bucky looks, but Steve doesn’t. You clear your throat again, and this time Steve lifts his head.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” you say and look at Bucky’s one-ring hand and at Steve and at the hand and at Steve and at the hand and at–

“Yeah, what the hell; I thought this was a two-spouse minimum household,” Bucky says. “How am I gonna meet my quota if you hold back on me, Rogers?”

Steve rolls his eyes and flops his hand back on the nightstand which, to you, looks suspiciously empty. “Are you sure, Buck? She’s like a five-in-one special.”

“Nice try,” Bucky says and watches Steve fumble uselessly for a nice ring that isn’t there. “I’ve been putting up with you too long to let you get outta making an honest man of me.”

Steve turns to look and sees the ring isn’t there. You glare at him but he puts his finger up while the loading widget in his brain circles– and then he digs around under his pillow. Bucky waits. You wait. Steve then pulls up his pillows and shoves his arm down the crack between the headboard and the mattress. Bucky shakes with quiet laughter and you gape. “I swear to God if you break my ring, Steven Grant Rogers…”

“The only way it’s getting broken is if it came out of a box of Cracker-Jacks,” he mutters and fishes for it.

“I thought of that but the only Cracker-Jacks I could find had stickers,” you say, not intending to admit to the five different stores you went to and examined thoroughly. You wouldn’t say you’re banned from any of them, but maybe it’s best not to go back to that Wegman’s anymore. At least, not during the night manager’s shift.

Steve stops and looks at you. “Seriously?”

“I thought it would be cute!” You cock your head at him. “Also how long have you known me that you’re still asking that?”

He grins and leans over to give you a kiss– and then props himself up on one arm as he gives Bucky a sweet smile, holding up the (slightly dusty) box. “Hey jerk.”

Bucky snorts. “Hey punk.”

Steve breaks out the soulful eyes and opens the box. “Marry me?”

You snicker to yourself and Bucky sighs as though put upon, but he holds out his hand and Steve slides the ring on. Right on top of yours. “Knew I was stuck with you when you tried to shove me and ended up right on your ass,” he says and kisses Steve. “Yes.”

The next morning you put down the silverware, stick Cracker-Jack stickers on their cheeks, and you all go on in your lives– as husband, husband, and wife.

~The End~

~Omake~

“Wait.” Bucky looks at the rings, then at you. “How did you get my measurements?”

You smile sweetly.

Steve stares at you, and sighs. “Did you have Natasha break in again?”

“No.” They stare at you. “Really!” More staring. “…Maybe.” They glare at you. “It’s Russian Spy Enrichment!” You throw up your hands. “God forbid I help out my friends.”

Both of them groan. It’s okay– as far as you’re concerned, they’re stuck with you.

~ The End (for real!)~

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #captain america reader insert #avengers reader insert

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