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imyourbratzdoll · 4 months ago

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𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒘𝒂𝒏

🕊️a whore's fairytale masterlist🕊️

summary - you come to find out that the man you grew up alongside isn't the same after the royal ball.

warning - smut, dub-con, death, violence, creampie, kidnapping, slight stockholm syndrome, swearing, obsession.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Y/n-Odette and Steve had known each other since she was a baby. Upon Steve meeting her when she was born, their parents had been planning Steve’s marriage to Y/n-Odette. Over the years as the two grew, they despised each other, causing their parents to worry which they would then be forced to be together every summer.

You had been dreading today. You wished to stay home but your father would not allow it. You sat in the carriage, staring out at the scenery, hoping you could distract your mind from having to see Steve again.

Steve squirmed impatiently, thinking of anything that wasn’t you. A stupid, silly girl. Steve groaned quietly as he went to meet you in the ballroom until he stopped, his heart began to thump. Your smile made him feel weak in the knees. You had the same face, hair and eyes as Y/n-Odette but seemed to be someone quite different.

“Hello, Steve.” You speak, smiling softly.

Steve couldn’t speak, he wondered if you were the same girl he had grown up with. He returned your smile, holding out his arm for you to take. He felt his heart skip as you accepted, taking his arm and together you walked onto the dance floor as the music began to play. Steve felt so happy, like he was dancing on air.

After that night, you and Steve had spent the rest of the summer together. Steve dreamed of you, he awoke each morning eager to see you. When he was with you he felt overjoyed, but he was also tongue-tied and could not tell you how he felt. Steve couldn’t imagine living without you, it was almost like an obsession had begun to grow within him.

The summer had come to an end and it was your time to leave. You and Steve decided to dance all night at the royal ball, love burned so bright that the whole ballroom could practically feel it. You smiled up at the handsome prince but inside you could feel a tug of sadness. You couldn’t bear to leave him, he had given you so much love over the summer but he had never declared it. You hoped he would finally tell you how he felt tonight.

As the music came to a stop, so did you and Steve. You both shared a long glance, waiting, searching, hoping.

Steve suddenly turned to the guests with a giant grin. “Arrange the wedding!”

The noise around you suddenly stopped, everyone was speechless.

“Wait!” You called out.

“What is it?” Steve pleaded, “You’re all I ever wanted. You’re beautiful!”

“Thank you,” You replied, “But… What else?” You knew deep down in your soul that Steve loved you as much as you loved him, so surely he wanted you more than your beauty? You just needed him to say it.

Steve stared blankly, he really had no clue. “What else?”

Your heart dropped. “Is beauty all that matters to you?” You asked, your father and his mother stood dumbfounded, they were so close.

Steve swallowed hard. “I… Er… What else is there?” He asked.

Your heart sank even further. You had been wrong, Steve did not love you at all. You turned and swiftly exited the ballroom, taking the hopes of two kingdoms with you.

You and Steve barely said goodbye as you left. He watched as you departed with shock and bitter disappointment.

Steve sits as Lord Rogers paces the royal sitting room. “What else is there?” He mockingly spoke. “She says, ‘Is beauty all that matters?’ and you say, “What else is there?!”

“It was dumb, I know.” Steve replies, hanging his head as he tries to think.

The weather outside was not helping his mood. It seemed to match the sadness he felt deep within.

“You should write a book.” Rogers continued. “How to Offend Women in Five Syllables or Less.” Rogers leans forward, flicking Steve’s forehead. “Think!” He urged. “You must see something other than Y/n-Odette’s beauty!”

“Of course I do, Rogers!” Steve begins to stumble as he thinks. “She’s… Well, you know. And then, well… Er…”

Lord Rogers rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I just don’t know how to say it!” Steve finally blurted out, and then he added. “I know, I’ll prove it to her. I’ll prove my love!” He nods to himself before muttering. “I’ll make her mine. I’ll make her see how I see her.” Steve stands, swiftly exiting the room as he begins to form a plan.

Meanwhile inside the carriage, your father shakes his head sadly. “I just don’t understand.” He looks at you, watching as you continue to look out and into the forest. “What else did you want him to say?”

You bite your bottom lip softly before letting it go as you turn to look at your father. “I just need to know that he loves me.”

Suddenly the horses whined and bucked, causing the carriage to stop. “What on Earth–?” King William, your father turned the door handle and stepped out. Beyond the horses, a large man was blocking their path. Although the man stood in the shadows, King William recognised him instantly. He had watched him grow from a small child but he could feel something was off and with one look at you, he orders. “Stay inside, Y/n-Odette.” He closes the door and takes a step forward, his guards moved to encircle him, spears drawn.

“Steve, what are you doing out here so late? How did you get here?” The King had never felt this kind of fear before, it was as though something had possessed the man before him. He looks around, brows furrowed as he sees no way for Steve to have gotten there without them noticing. “You must be cold, my boy. Why don’t you hop inside our carriage and we can take you back to your mother. I am sure she’s worried.”

Steve chuckles and the sound causes The King to stumble, it sounded so dark, so chilling. “I can’t have you do that, sir.”

The Kind and Steve’s mother had always wanted the two of you together but at this moment, he didn’t know this man. At this moment, King William would do anything to protect you. He could feel strong amounts of power radiating off of Steve, darkness he had never felt before. King William steps back towards the carriage, his guards moving forward slightly, protecting him and you.

Steve’s eyes sweep over them all, causing a shiver to run through their bodies. “Why are you scared?” Steve takes a small step forward, his foot sinking into the soil beneath him.

King William clears his throat, straightening his back. “We are not scared. Why don’t you come back with us? Then we can take you back in the morning.” His head whips around as he hears you scream, his eyes widen as he sees Steve’s best friend pulling you from the carriage.

Thumps can be heard and The King whips back around only for his eyes to widen as Steve stands toe-to-toe with him and his guards lay dead around them. “I said, I can’t have you do that, sir. I want Y/n-Odette and as long as she has you, she will never fully devote herself to me.” Steve towers over the short King, making him seem as tiny as an ant. “I may have screwed up this evening but she will be mine.”

“S–Ste–” King William is cut off by Steve’s hand gripping his throat, his eyes bulged and skin begins to turn purple.

Everything had turned black after you were pulled from the carriage, unaware of what had happened with your father. You woke up surrounded by water but you felt weird causing you to look down, shock and fear shoot through you as you see white. You were no longer in your body, instead of a human body it had been replaced with that of a swans.

“Y/n–Odette.” Hope ran through you as you heard Steve’s voice, your eyes darting around until they landed on his large figure. “You’re finally awake, my little swan.” That hope that had built inside of you had come crashing down once you realised that he wasn’t there to save you. Your body moves, gliding across the water, distancing yourself away from the man you thought you had known. “Don’t let the small spell make you sad, Y/n–Odette. It doesn’t last the whole day, as soon as the moon comes up…”

Steve didn’t need to finish, creeping across the lake the moonlight touched your wing. Water began to swirl from below, your swan-like self rose upward in a shimmering golden-grey light, transforming you into your human form.

Steve grins. “That’s how it will be until you are mine, Little Swan.” He said as you landed gently on the shore. “You have to be on the lake, of course and when the moonlight touches your wings, you’re human!”

You turned away from him, betrayal blossoming within you. Your thoughts went to your father. “My father… Is he okay?”

“Define okay…”

You spun around, eyes wide and full of tears. “What did you do to him?!”

Steve merely shrugs. “I may have killed him.”

You gasp, reeling back as the tears begin to slowly fall. “Y–you…”

Steve moves closer, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek but you move your head. His brows furrow as anger seeps in but he shakes it off, allowing you this. “Killed him, yes. I had to, otherwise I couldn’t have you, Y/n-Odette.”

“You can’t have me now, Steve! You killed my father! You kidnapped me and trapped me at this lake forever!” Your eyes meet his, so many emotions swirl around behind them. “I could’ve gotten over you only liking me for my looks but this… This is too much. You’re not the man I thought you were. The man I grew to love…”

“Now, don’t speak like that, Y/n-Odette. Sooner or later you are going to cave into being mine. You’ll learn to love this version of me.” He grabs your chin, ignoring how you fight against his hold and places a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Don’t fight it, little swan. You’ll be mine soon.” And with those words, he leaves. Leaving you alone and broken, your body hits the ground as sobs break free, your pain filling the forest around you.

Days, weeks, maybe even months go by without you giving into Steve and his advances. No matter what he did, you remained silent and distant. You began to enjoy your swan form, using it as an excuse to escape your human problems.

On the other hand, Steve was slowly losing it. He began taking his anger out on everyone else, those who loved and admired him, now feared him. His mother thought that it had something to do with your disappearance and your father’s death. Only if she knew the truth would she hate the man her son became.

Steve grew impatient, he didn’t understand why you weren’t his already. Why did you have to be so stubborn? Did you not see how much he loved you? “What else do I have to do, Buck? She’s supposed to be mine.” He put his head in his hands. His best friend watched him from the doorway, arms crossed.

“I don’t think you’re being rough enough. You’re being too sweet on her, Steve. A woman like her needs rough handling, someone to dominate her.” Bucky pushes off of the wall and moves closer to his friend. “You need to stop playing Mr. Nice guy.”

Steve nods, standing and patting Buck’s shoulder with a smile. “You’re right, Buck.” His smile slowly turns into a smirk. “I guess it’s time to go get my girl.” And with that, he walks out of the castle and into the woods.

Steve reached his destination the moment moonlight shone on the lake, watching golden-grey swirls appear as your form changes from swan to human. He grins, sauntering straight towards you. “Little swan. As beautiful as ever.” He shakes off the strange feeling that appears when you brush off his words, already ignoring and moving away from him. Too bad Steve had already reached you before you could distance yourself further.

He pulls you closer to him, gripping your chin roughly as he forces you to look him in the eyes. “I don’t appreciate this attitude, Y/n-Odette. You’re mine and I am going to make you see that whether you like it or not.” You shiver under his hold as he growls. Steve pulls you over to a tree and pushes you up against it, your dress bunching up against your hips as he lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your pulse quickens and your eyes widen, you push against his shoulders with poor attempts. Deep down you wanted this, you just didn’t like the person he became. “N–no, no. Steve. You… You can’t do this. Please.”

Steve caresses your cheek, smiling almost too sweetly at you. “You don’t have to pretend anymore, Y/n-Odette. You’re mine. We’re meant to be together.” His hand moves, gripping your chin with his thumb. His eyes fall to your lips as your mouth opens slightly. “I’m going to make you my wife, my Queen, little swan. Then you will bear my children.”

You shake your head, ignoring how you throb at the thought. “I’m done waiting for you to give in, Y/n-Odette. You need to understand that you’re already mine.” Steve presses against you, feeling you throb against his clothed cock. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me, little swan.” A small whine slips through your lips. “Just give in. Let me make you feel good.” You gasp as he pulls you into a kiss, all thoughts leaving your mind as his lips begin to move, pulling you deeper into his hold. Steve nips your bottom lip, sliding his tongue inside as a moan escapes your mouth.

You barely notice as he frees himself, sliding his hardened cock between your lips. Your grip tightens on his shoulders, pulling away slightly. “S–Steve…”

His hand moves, caressing your cheek. “Shh, little swan. It’s okay.” Your mouth drops and eyes roll back as he slides into you, filling you to the brim with one thrust. “That’s my good girl, feel so good for me.” Steve grunts, pressing you into the tree harder while he holds back from roughly fucking into you. You go limp in his arms, never having felt this amount of pleasure before, not even the times when you had touched yourself.

“O–oh… Steve…”

Steve smirked to himself, “Is that all you needed, little swan? My cock? If I had known all I had to do was fuck you to get you like this, I would’ve done it along time ago.” You want to argue back, huff and disagree with him but he was right, you couldn’t think when he was inside of you. His grip on you tightens before he suddenly begins to fuck you, slowly pulling out only to roughly thrust back in. Your moans trapped in your throat and your back arches, pressing close to his.

Steve grunts, his eyes locked on your face. He felt smug that the pleasure you were feeling was caused by him. He changes the angle of his hips, his cock sliding deeper inside of you, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. Your hands grip Steve’s back, nails clawing into any skin you can find.

Steve’s hand moves up, his thumb swiping the necklace that lay around your neck. His hips not stopping as he stares deep into your eyes. “The moment I gave you this necklace, Y/n-Odette was the moment you became mine, there was no stopping this fate. You’re stuck with me, little swan.”

Your walls clench around him as he claims you. His thrusts pick up as he begins to pound into you, chasing his release. He grips your hips and neck, pulling you into a deep kiss. The moment his lips meet yours, it feels like your mind has become cloudy, unable to think about anything other than the feeling of him inside you. You didn’t know how someone’s lips had the power to wipe your mind clean of any thoughts.

Steve shoves a hand between your legs, his fingers finding your swollen clit and immediately pressing on it. Rolling it between his fingers before stroking it while his cock continues to hit deep inside. “Cum for me, little swan. Let me feel you milk my cock.” Steve groans, pressing closer to you as he whispers against your lips.

Your head falls back against the tree, feeling your cunt pulse and throb as Steve continues to rub your swollen clit and thrust against the sweet spot deep inside you. “Go on, little swan. Cum for me.” Your eyes cross as Steve buries himself deep inside of you, your toes curl as you squeeze him. You feel your orgasm ripple through you, your moans echoing throughout the forest.

“My good little swan.” He growls out as he fucks into you before his cum shoots out, painting your walls a pretty white. As Steve softens inside of you, he pulls back to look at your face and grins almost evilly, the back of his hand stroking your cheek. “You’re going to make such a pretty Queen, little swan.”

You would learn that you may think you know someone but everyone has a little bit of darkness lurking within and you just happened to be the target.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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hanginginthevoid · 1 month ago

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Idk If you're taking request BUT I really need

Bucky Barnes platonic love him

What if reader is like bucks adopted daughter or sum she got powers lowkey I feel like she could be really into bob (what if Bucky and reader and drifting apart and it seriously makes reader sad cause she really loves her dad)

pairing: father!Bucky x daughter!Reader

summary: Bucky took you under his wing pre-blip, but after he got dusted and you didn’t, he just couldn’t accept the fact that you’ve grown. His refusal to adapt eventually pushed you away.

a/n: I’ve never written for bucky before so please dont scorch me :’) I am very pleased w this tho. Also!! I didn’t include reader being into bob, i hope thats okay anon!! (ps. I jumped for joy seeing a request) ty sosososo much for the love on my bob post

warnings: probably ooc bucky, mention of a gun, very possible disappointment ahead

word count: 2k

James Buchanan Barnes, better known as Bucky, had many, many regrets. Most people would say it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t in control of himself, so he should logically be able to move on. He didn’t agree though. He took so many lives, most times with a weapon, but sometimes with his own hands.

Still, those very same hands were the ones to cradle you as Bucky took you back to Wakanda on one of his missions as the White Wolf. The Wakandan’s sent Bucky to assess if someone had somehow taken Wakandan technology without permission. See your powers happened to be the organic version of King T’challa’s new suit, allowing you to absorb and redisperse any damage dealt to you.

After you awakened, you explained in as little detail as allowed, about how you were being experimented on after a kid hit you and he flew back into a wall. You swore over and over again that you didn’t mean it, and had no idea what was happening to you, fearful that they would start to experiment on you too.

That was the moment that Bucky decided to take you in. You’ve got so much trauma built up already and you’re barely able to drive. He knows the feeling, and even though the Wakandan’s helped him fix a lot of his problems, he still has enough to deal with on his own that he’s sure he can aid you in your recovery.

He trained you, teaching you hand to hand combat, how to dodge properly, and even how to block a hit so that it has no impact on you at all. How to use a gun was a brief lesson, Bucky didn’t want you using one but he more so hated the thought of you being at a disadvantage if you didn’t know what to do with it.

When Bucky wasn’t with you, it was Shuri and or T’Challa if they were available, helping you to hone in on your powers and the best way to manipulate them to benefit yourself. Shuri made you a suit that would protect you from injury since your powers didn’t stop bullets or shrapnel from piercing your skin.

Your world collapsed when the closest thing you’ve had to a father figure was snapped away. You weren’t there to see it happen, Bucky forbid you from going on the actual battlefield so you guarded Shuri as she worked on removing the Mind Stone from Vision. Even after it seemed like everything went to shit, you still held faith. The Avengers hadn’t seen anyone they couldn’t handle yet, and today would not be the day.

But then people started turning to dust. And maybe today was the day because when you got down to the scene of the final fight Bucky was nowhere to be found. You find Steve Rogers, after all the stories you’ve heard about him you know he’ll know where Bucky is.

Steve grabs you into a hug before breaking the news, “He’s gone kid.” And the tears start welling in your eyes. But you don’t believe him.

“What do you mean he's ‘gone’?” You’re pushing at him, trying to get out of his grip, but he’s a super soldier and you’re just a girl.

“Thanos. He - he got him. With the snap.” He’s cradling your head, trying to be as comforting as he can even though he too, needs comfort.

Time passes slowly after that.

–

When you notice people starting to form from nothing all around you, you know where you have to go. Your dad, that you’ve spent 1 thousand, 8 hundred, and 26 days mourning, has finally come back to you.

The first thing he notices is how you’ve grown. Five years is a long time for the average person, you’re a little taller, grew more muscle, and even hold yourself differently. After the initial shock wears off though, he still sees you as the teenager that he pulled out of the rubble.

Funnily enough, that’s why you don’t talk to your dad anymore.

He couldn’t get past the fact that you willingly are putting yourself in danger. Sure he allowed it when he, Sam, and Joaquin were taking down the flag smashers. But there were three sets of eyes to make sure nothing happened to you! Now you wanted to go off on your own? Where did you even get your intel from? How could he be sure it wasn’t just somebody setting you up?

You distanced yourself when you realized Bucky would never trust you.You get it, really you do. He taught you so many things and helped shape the person that you wanted to be. But it’s not your fault that he disappeared and you didn’t. Maybe it would have been better that way. If you both got blipped then maybe, just maybe, he could really understand that you aren’t a useless child anymore.

You’ve kept contact with Sam and Joaquin funny enough. When they need someone to snoop where Captain America can’t be seen, they ask you. In turn, when you need intel on something just beyond your reach, you ask them. It's a mutual relationship, a solid, stable one that you’re appreciative of.

They used to try to get you to speak with your dad. He nagged them, which is uncharacteristic for him, the man barely responds to his texts. He made it a point to ask about you in every message, it didn’t matter if he was reaching out just to touch base, asking about a mission, or telling Sam that he was going over to Sarahs for dinner. And while Sam and Joaquin didn’t want to get involved, it was hard not to feel for the guy.

You, however, shut down at any mention of Bucky. At first you’d only go off the map for a couple of days. Then it was a week. Then it was two whole months. After that they decided that it was better not to bring it up. Being able to secretively update Bucky about your whereabouts was a much better option than finding you in an abandoned building someday because of some shitty intel.

You loved Bucky, in the way that only a child could love a parent. If you hadn’t been prepared from the rejection of your biological parents, you probably would have folded by now. But dealing with them helped you to focus on putting yourself first. If he can’t accept, and love, you for who you are now, then so be it.

–

It’s a shock when you see your father on the news with the headline reading How will New York welcome the New Avengers? The last you heard was that Sam was putting together a team, and he would be the one taking over the Avengers title.

Naturally, you call Joaquin. He could give you all the details, without any anger that Sam may or may not have.

He told you that Sam was unbelievably disappointed in Bucky specifically. How could he, of all people, join a government mandated team? Him, Bucky and Steve, among many others, did not fight the Sokovia Accords, just for Bucky to flip sides.

Supposedly your dad had called Sam to talk it over, but Sam just retaliated by informing him that he would be copyrighting the Avengers name. Who would have guessed Sam could be that petty. But more importantly, why would your dad rather join a team of ragtag, mismatched, hooligans, instead of Sam’s Avengers?

Maybe it's time to face the music and get some answers yourself. After booking a flight, and hotel, you pack a small bag and head out.

After getting to the hotel and freshening up a little bit, you shoot off a text to your dad.

y/n: stopping by

You don’t even make it to the elevator before your phone dings.

Dad: where?

Dad: the tower?

Still a bit salty, you don’t grace him with a response. Maybe you should have though. In your haste, you forgot about the hooligans who also resided in the tower.

“Uh - Is Bucky here?”

“And who are you supposed to be?” Ghost, or Ava you guess since she's not on a mission, is eying you warily.

Instead of backing down you walk more into the common space. Taking it upon yourself to lightly scour the area by moving your head from the right side of the room to the left, almost akin to a lifeguard. “He should be waiting for me.”

Then you spot him, hands around a mug, immersed in his phone. So you start walking in that direction, shouts from behind you about how you ‘can’t be in here,’ and you ‘don’t know how much trouble you’re gonna be in,’. It doesn’t deter you from resting a hand on your fathers non-vibranium arm, and giving it a light squeeze.

His head whips around, the look of shock adorning his face is new to you. His voice almost seems different when he speaks too, “You - you’re actually here.”

Nodding, you respond, “I am.”

“Can I give you a hug? Would that be alright?”

Bucky sounds nervous. Fearful that you’d reject him. Even if you’re confused by his actions, he’s still your dad. It’s almost non-negotiable that you’d fall into him. He’s cradling your head while embracing you as tight as possible without cutting your airflow or breaking bone, much like Steve did when he originally broke the news that Bucky was gone. The motion makes you tear up again.

“I’m sorry kid. I know you’re grown now, and there's nothing I can do to change that. It was just hard, y’know?” Bucky’s making you cry for real now, it's a slow stream and instead of stopping and giving you time to collect yourself he keeps going, “We spent everyday together in Wakanda, and I got to see you grow into a different person in real time. After Thanos, it felt like I got put into the wrong universe. There you were, grown, a whole different person. And sure, your fundamentals were the same, but you didn’t need me to protect you anymore and I didn’t know what to do with that.”

“It wasn’t like that. I still needed, still need, you. I just need you to understand that I won’t sit on the sidelines anymore.” It's unsteady, but you want to make your point, you quiet as you near the end, “If I hadn’t maybe I wouldn’t have lost you.”

Bucky pulls you away then, both to look into your eyes and wipe your tears. “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t ever, even for a second, think that it was.” You’ve got a pout and you nod, trying to accept his statement. Really brand it into your brain, so that you’ll never forget it.

The problem with Sam can wait. It’s important, and pressing, but for the first time in years you’ve got your dad. You think you’ll extend your hotel stay, really take some time to get to re-know your dad. You’ve both missed a lot, hell he became a congressman since the last time you’ve talked.

On the other side of the embrace, Bucky couldn’t care less about the team being privy to this situation. He’s a private man, but he’s been waiting years for this moment and he would be damned to the depths of hell before he gave it up. He would explain everything to you, how he was working against Valentina, trying to get her impeached, then he rounded these guys up to testify, but they kept talking about some ‘Bob’ guy, and the ‘Bob’ guy was sweet but he housed a huge problem, and then Valentina made sure to save face by placing them as the New Avengers.

He would wait though. Anything that happened in your life would be leagues more important than his. Even if it’s just a new coffee order, or that you found out you actually don’t hate string cheese. Suddenly the world was a whole lot brighter, all his stresses were lighter too, just because he finally had his baby back.

Likes/Comments/Reblogs make me giggle and kick my feet fr

#platonic!Bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Bucky barnes x reader #Bucky barnes x reader angst #marvel x reader #thunderbolts x reader #marvel angst #platonic!bucky #platonic!marvel #sambucky breakup

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brunchable · 10 months ago

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LAZARUS SERUM || Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Part I

Part Two | Part Three Words: 8.5K Themes: Very Angsty?, Break-up, Violence, Kidnapped, Super Human transformation, Action, Attempted Assault, Lovers to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers. Summary: Set in 1942. Steve allowed being a Super Soldier inflate his ego. After a breaking up with Steve, your world shatters then you're abducted and subjected to a mysterious experiment. A/N: I was washing the dishes when this came to me. I thought Y/N was really BADASS at the end. Baby girl is bad bitch, she on Fire. Paint the town red can be her song. A reblog would be noice <3

The sun was setting over Brooklyn, casting long shadows across the streets. You and Steve walked side by side, your fingers intertwined, the cool breeze of the evening wrapping around you both. Steve’s small hand fit perfectly in yours, a comforting reminder of the years you had spent together, supporting each other through thick and thin.

It wasn’t easy being with him, especially with how the world treated him—just a scrawny, sickly guy who never knew when to give up.

Your parents disapproved and your friends laughed at you for choosing Steve over James. You always tell Steve, ‘If they laugh, then fuck'em all.’

He has a good heart and you loved him for it— for his determination, his kindness, and his unwavering sense of right and wrong.

As you walked, a heavy silence hung between you. The reason was clear: James or known as Bucky Barnes, was shipping out to fight in the war. The three of you had been inseparable, a trio bound by shared history and deep affection. But now, Bucky was leaving, and the thought of losing him weighed heavily on your heart.

“Well, I guess this is it. I’m heading out tomorrow.” Bucky finally stopped and turned to you both, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You nodded, trying to keep the sadness from showing on your face. “It’s not going to be the same without you, Bucky.”

He gave a small chuckle, though it lacked its usual warmth. “You’ll manage. You’ve got this punk to keep you busy.” He playfully nudged Steve, who smiled weakly in return.

“I should be going with you, Bucky,” Steve said, his voice tight with emotion.

“You’re gonna be fine, Steve. You’ve got that heart of yours, and that’s stronger than any muscle.” Bucky’s expression softened, and he reached out, placing a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder. He turned to you, his gaze filled with concern.

“And you, Y/N… take care of him, will ya? Someone’s gotta keep him out of trouble.”

You forced a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I will, Bucky. I promise.”

Bucky pulled you into a tight hug, holding you for a moment longer than necessary. When he finally let go, he clasped hands with Steve, their handshake lingering as they both tried to hold onto the moment.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” Bucky said, trying to lighten the mood.

Steve gave a small laugh, but it was strained. “No promises.”

With one last look at both of you, Bucky nodded, then turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the distance.

As he left, the weight of his absence settled over you like a thick fog. The world suddenly felt colder, emptier without Bucky’s presence.

“He’ll be okay,” Steve said quietly, more to himself than to you, as you both stood there in silence, watching Bucky disappear.You leaned into Steve, seeking comfort in his presence.

“I hope so. I don’t know what we’ll do if something happens to him.” Steve squeezed your hand, trying to be reassuring.

“He’s strong. He’ll make it back.” But deep down, both of you knew there were no guarantees in war.

× × × ×

A few weeks later, the day finally came when Steve received his enlistment notice. You were there when he got the news, a mixture of pride and worry swirling in your chest. He had finally done it—he was going to fight in the war, just like Bucky. But that also meant he was leaving you behind, just like Bucky.

“I can’t believe it,” Steve said, staring at the paper in his hands, his voice filled with excitement. “I’m actually going.”

You smiled, though it was bittersweet. “I knew you would. You’re the most determined person I’ve ever met, Steve. They’d be crazy not to let you in.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N. You’ve always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.” Steve looked up at you, his expression softening.

You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m so proud of you, Steve. You’re going to do great things. Just… promise me you’ll be careful.”

Steve’s eyes were filled with emotion as he pulled you into a tight embrace. “I promise, Y/N. I’ll come back to you. I swear.”

But as you held him, a deep sadness settled over you. First Bucky, now Steve—everyone you cared about was leaving, going off to fight a war that seemed so far removed from your life in Brooklyn. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread, a fear that things would never be the same again.

× × × ×

The day Steve came back from the super-soldier program, everything changed. You had waited anxiously for news, praying that everything would go smoothly, that he would come back to you safe and sound. When you finally saw him again, it was nothing like you imagined.

The first time you laid eyes on the new Steve Rogers was outside a government building, where a crowd had gathered. You pushed your way through, eager to see him after weeks of silence. When you finally spotted him, your breath caught in your throat.There he was—tall, muscular, and impossibly different. The boy you once knew was gone, replaced by a man who exuded power and confidence. It was Steve, and yet it wasn’t.

“Steve!” you called out, your voice lost in the noise of the crowd. You tried to make your way toward him, but the throng of people pushed you back, jostling you aside as they clamored for a closer look at the hero.

Steve seemed oblivious to the crowd around him, focused entirely on the conversation he was having with a woman by his side—Peggy Carter. You had heard about her, of course, but seeing them together was different. There was an ease between them that made your heart sink.

“Steve!” you called out again, louder this time, but he didn’t hear you—or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. You watched as Peggy leaned in closer, her hand resting on his arm in a way that felt far too familiar.

Then, as if in slow motion, you saw Steve get into a car with her, leaving you standing alone in the crowd, feeling completely invisible.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to see you, to run to you, to hold you in his arms like he always did. But instead, he was driving away with someone else, and you were left behind, forgotten.

× × × ×

A few weeks pass by with not one word from Steve, the last time you heard his voice was on the radio, giving a speech that would motivate the soldiers out there or in the newspaper. You were sitting by the window, reading a book while your cat rested peacefully on your lap. Then, there was a knock at the door. You kept your ears attentive, though your eyes were focused somewhere else.

You heard your mother answer it, and you listened as she exchanged a few words with whoever was at the door. A moment later, she called out to you, “Y/N, there’s a soldier here to see you.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion as you walked toward the door. A soldier? Why would—?

As you reached the doorway, your breath caught in your throat. There, standing in the threshold, was Steve Rogers, but not the Steve you remembered. He was taller, broader, wearing an army uniform that fit him perfectly, and his entire presence seemed… different. The frail, sickly boy you had known was gone, replaced by a man you barely recognized.

“Do you know this gentleman, dear?” Your mother, still standing by the door, looked between you and Steve, clearly confused.

“It’s me, Mrs. L/N, Steve Rogers.” Steve gave her a warm smile, his voice deeper than you remembered.

Your mother blinked, looking Steve up and down before recognition finally dawned on her face. “Steve? My goodness, look at you! I didn’t even recognize you. You look… Well, you look like a different person altogether!”

“Yes, he… he certainly does.” You forced a smile, still trying to process the fact that he's standing there.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to catch up. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” Your mother gave you a strange look as she walked past, heading back into the house.

The heck was that about?

As she disappeared into the other room, you turned your attention back to Steve, your heart pounding. You looked up at him, which was something you weren't used to. He's so. . .tall.

“Steve… is that really you?”

“It’s me, Y/N,” Steve replied, his voice deeper than you remembered. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Things have been… crazy in the last couple of days.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” You nodded, trying to hide your disappointment.

Steve smiled, a hint of the old Steve you knew shining through. “I’m more than okay. I want to make it up to you. How about I take you out to dinner tonight? Just the two of us.”

Your heart lifted at the thought. Maybe this was your chance to reconnect, to get back to the way things were.

“I’d like that,” you said softly. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Listen, I need to go back but I'll see you at our favorite spot? Six-thirty?” He reaches for your hands and kissed the back of it.

“I’ll be there,” you chuckled at his romantic gesture.

“Don’t keep me waiting.” He winks at you, and you couldn’t help but giggle. This new playful side of him, got you hooked like a fish.

× × × ×

“Good evening, Ma'am. Do you have a reservation for tonight?” the hostess asked politely, her hands poised over the guest book.

“Yes. Steve Rogers?”

The hostess scanned the list, her finger trailing down the page. “Table 11. Right this way.” She smiled warmly and gestured for you to follow.

Your heart quickened as you anticipated seeing Steve, but when you reached the table, your smile faltered. The chair opposite you was empty. The hostess pulled it out for you, and with a quiet sigh, you sat down, your eyes flickering anxiously toward the door.

“Can I offer you any refreshments?”

“Not at the moment.”

“No problem. Let us know if you need anything.” With a nod, she left you alone, leaving the weight of the evening to settle over you.

Minutes turned into an hour, and you found yourself glancing at the door every time it opened, only to be met with disappointment as someone other than Steve entered. As the hours passed, your hope began to wane, replaced by a growing knot of irritation in your chest.

But as the hours ticked by, your hope began to fade. The restaurant was closing, and still, there was no sign of him. The waitstaff was cleaning up around you, giving you sympathetic looks as you sat there alone, trying to hold back the tears.

The restaurant was winding down, the waitstaff quietly cleaning up around you. Their sympathetic looks were hard to ignore as you sat alone, struggling to keep your emotions in check. You felt a lump in your throat, your eyes stinging as you blinked back tears.

“Miss, I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re closing,” a waiter said gently, approaching you with a cautious smile.

You nodded, trying to muster some semblance of dignity, “I’m so sorry. I’ll be on my way.” You snuffled and smiled as you got up from your seat. Getting up alone was hard, the weight of embarrassment was weighing you down.

Just as you turned to leave, the door swung open. Steve rushed in, his face flushed and hair slightly disheveled. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, hurrying over to you. “I got caught up in something important. I didn’t mean to be late.”

The staff paused in their work, their eyes shifting between you and Steve. There stood the dashing soldier, looking every bit the hero in his crisp uniform, yet here he was, unmistakably late. As their gazes turned to you in your lavender shirtwaist dress, it was clear they understood why you had waited so long.

“It’s eleven.” Your voice seethed after glancing at your watch, noticing a red smudge on his collar, “They’re closed. Let’s talk outside.”

Without waiting for a response, you cleared your throat and walked out, brushing past him intentionally to make your anger known. Steve followed closely behind, sensing the storm brewing between you two. This was the first time he had been this late, and you were struggling to decide whether to forgive him easily or let him feel the full weight of your emotions.

“Steve, where were you? I waited for hours,” you said, trying to keep your voice whole, this feeling like you were losing him is foreign and hard to keep internally.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I got caught up with something… important.” Steve barely met your gaze, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“More important than us?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, the pain of being pushed aside finally surfacing.

Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s not like that. You know I’m trying to do the right thing. There’s so much going on, and I—”

“Forgot about me?” You didn’t want to be this person, but the loneliness and the fear of losing him had been building up for too long. Without Bucky around, you had no one to turn to, no one to share this burden with. “I understand that you have responsibilities now, but you made a promise.”

He finally looked at you, guilt flashing in his eyes. “Y/N, I’m not leaving you behind. I just. . . things are different.”

“I can see that,” you said, you look at him from head to toe. The man standing in front of you wasn’t the same Steve who used to hold you and make you feel like the most important person in the world. This was someone else, someone who had outgrown you, “You’ve changed, and I’m not talking about your appearance.”

“I’m still me, Y/N. But now, I have responsibilities, people who rely on me.” Steve looked down, guilt flashing in his eyes.

“And what about me?” you asked, the hurt evident in your voice. “Do I even matter anymore, or was I just someone to keep you company when you had nothing else?”

“Don’t say that,” Steve replied quickly out of spite, “Maybe… maybe you were only with me because you felt sorry for me. For who I was.”

His words cut deep, and you recoiled as if he had struck you. “You think I was with you out of pity? Is that what you believe?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, his voice strained.

“How could you think that?” you said, your voice rising with a mix of anger and hurt. “I was with you because I love you, Steve. Not because I felt sorry for you. I believed in you, and I loved you for who you were, not because of what you couldn’t do or how you appear.”

“I’m just not sure where I fit in this new world, and I’m not sure where you fit in it either. I'm trying to wo—”

Your chest began feeling tight because of his words. You had always known that things would change after the serum, but you never expected him to question your feelings like this.

“So, what are you saying? That there’s no place for me in your life anymore? That I don’t belong because you’ve become someone else?” You emphasized his structure with your hand.

Steve shook his head, looking frustrated. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I just… I feel like we’re both hanging on to something that’s already gone.”

“Already gone? Nothing was gone, at least not on my part.” Tears welled up in your eyes, but you fought to keep your voice from cracking, “Is there someone else? Is that why you’re looking for a way out?”

“No! Of course not. It's because for once in myself I feel like I'm worth something,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

The finality of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had fought so hard to hold onto him, to keep the love between you alive, but now it felt like you were losing that battle. You had wanted him to stay tonight, to make things right, but now you weren’t sure if there was anything left to salvage.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned away, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over.

“You know what? Just… go, Steve. Do whatever it is you have to do. I will not think less of myself just because you do not know how to love me anymore.” you said, your voice heavy with resignation.

“Y/N…” Steve’s voice was soft, filled with regret, but you couldn’t face him. Not now.

“Please, Steve. Just go.”

What you really wanted to say was, “Please stay. Show me that I still matter to you.” But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You were too afraid that he wouldn’t fight for you, and the thought of that was too painful to bear.

Steve hesitated, his eyes wandering as if trying to find the right words. He just stood there, saying nothing.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you walked closer to him, his face softening as you reached up and gently adjusted his collar. Your fingers brushed against the fabric, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

Then, in the calmest voice you could muster, you said, “Lemon helps with removing lipstick stains.”

Steve’s eyes widened in panic, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the spot where your fingers had been.

“Y/N, I seriously don't know how this got here—” he began and it almost sounded genuine, his voice filled with panic as he tried to close the distance between you.

But you took a step back, your eyes now red and brimming with tears. You raised a hand to stop him, your voice breaking as you sobbed deeply, “Don’t. Just… don’t.”

Steve’s heart shattered at the sight of you sobbing, your pain a statement in every tear that fell. His instinct was to reach out, to hold you, but your outstretched hand and the heartbreak in your eyes kept him rooted to the spot.

If Bucky were here… The thought pierced his mind like a knife, and suddenly, jealousy coursed through him, hot and irrational. Bucky. The one person who had always managed to make you smile, even when he couldn’t. The one who could draw out your laughter with just a word, a look. The one who, despite being his best friend, had always been a shadow in the corner of Steve’s mind when it came to you.

Was it easier with Bucky? Did you love Bucky more than him? Had you ever thought of Bucky in ways that Steve couldn’t bear to imagine?

“You should’ve just chosen Bucky.” Steve muttered and with one last, tortured look at you, Steve turned away, his steps. He walked away, leaving you standing there, your tears flowing freely now. He didn’t look back, too afraid of what he might see if he did.

Your breath caught in your throat, the shock of his words slicing through the already unbearable pain. You stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to process the bitterness in his voice, the finality of his statement.

The Steve you had known was gone. You didn’t know if looking for him would be worth it because you knew how it would feel—it would feel like reaching for smoke.

Heartbroken and feeling more isolated than ever, you decided to walk home alone. Your cries echoes the street, water gushing out of your eyes like it’s being released by a dam. The echo of your footsteps on the empty streets was a haunting reminder of just how alone you felt. Steve had left, and with him, it felt like a part of your heart had been ripped away.

Steve’s words replayed in your mind, cutting deeper with every repetition. The idea that he thought you might have been with him out of pity or that you're better off with Bucky was a knife to your heart, twisting with every breath.

The streets of Brooklyn were eerily quiet, the usual bustle replaced by an unsettling stillness. The lamps cast long, distorted shadows across the pavement, and every sound seemed amplified in the silence. You quickened your pace, trying to escape the weight of your thoughts, but it was no use.

As you turned down a narrow street, the familiar surroundings suddenly felt foreign and oppressive. You hugged your coat tighter around you, your mind racing with a mixture of fear and despair. Ahead, the road forked into two directions—one leading to your home, the other into an even darker, narrower alley. You turned towards home, your heart pounding as you tried to shake the feeling of being watched.

Then, without warning, you heard the screech of tires on the asphalt. Before you could react, a van skidded to a stop in front of you, its headlights blinding in the dark street. The doors flew open, and three men in dark clothing jumped out, their faces obscured by shadows.

Panic surged through you as you spun on your heel, trying to run, but it was too late. They were on you in an instant, their grips like iron as they dragged you towards the van.

“No! Let me go! Help! Please someone!” you screamed, thrashing against their hold, but your voice was swallowed by the night, and the empty streets offered no help. Your heart raced, the fear consuming you as you struggled with the best you can.

A cloth was suddenly pressed against your mouth and nose, and a sickly sweet smell filled your senses. You tried to hold your breath, to fight against the drowsiness that quickly overtook you, but it was no use. The world around you started to blur, your vision darkening as your body went limp.

The last thing you heard before everything went black was the sound of the van doors slamming shut and the dull roar of the engine as it sped away into the night.

× × × ×

DAY ONE

When you woke, the world was a haze of pain and confusion. The first thing you noticed was the cold metal pressing against your back, you were naked. Your wrists and ankles were strapped to a metal table, the restraints biting into your skin. Panic clawed at your chest as you struggled against the bonds, but they held firm, keeping you pinned down.

Your vision was blurry, your head pounding from whatever they had used to knock you out. Slowly, the room around you came into focus—bare, clinical, with walls of stark white. You weren’t in Brooklyn anymore. You weren’t anywhere you recognized.

You heard voices, cold and detached, speaking in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out the words, but the tone sent chills down your spine. Footsteps approached, and a shadow loomed over you.

A man’s face came into view, his expression devoid of any warmth or compassion. “She’s awake. Prepare the serum.”

The word “serum” sent a jolt of fear through you, and you renewed your struggles, trying to break free. But the restraints didn’t budge, and the man paid no attention to your terror or the muffled screams that bounced off the walls.

You felt a sharp prick in your arm as they injected something into your veins. Immediately, a searing pain shot through your body, like liquid fire burning through every nerve. You tried to scream, but your voice was caught in your throat, choked off by the agony that consumed you.

The pain was unbearable and you could feel your body convulsing on the table, your muscles seizing as the serum spread through you. It felt like your entire being was being torn apart, every cell screaming in protest. You began to foam in the mouth, the scene your captors watched was like out of an exorcist movie.

And then… nothing. The world around you went dark, and you slipped into unconsciousness, the pain finally giving way to merciful oblivion.

“Sir, should we stop?” One of them said, “Her vital signs are getting dangerously out of limits, she might go into cardiac arrest.”

“No, keep going until that last vial is finished. I want to see what’ll happen. Then we repeat until there’s signs of success.”

DAY TWO

You awoke to the sensation of your body being dragged, rough hands gripping your arms as they pulled you across the cold, unforgiving floor. Your vision was clouded, your mind struggling to grasp onto reality as the fog of unconsciousness began to lift. Every inch of you ached, a dull, throbbing pain that seemed to seep into your very bones.

As you were hoisted back onto the metal table, the cold surface pressed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The restraints clamped down on your wrists and ankles once more, their cruel bite familiar by now. The room around you was still the same—sterile, white, and devoid of any humanity.

You tried to speak, but your throat was on dry and on fire, your voice barely a whisper. "Please... stop..."

Your plea fell on deaf ears. The figures in lab coats moved around you with the same clinical detachment as before, their faces obscured by surgical masks. One of them approached, holding a clipboard, his eyes scanning the data as if you were nothing more than a lab rat.

"Her vitals stabilized overnight," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "But... the readings are inconsistent. I'm not sure if the serum is taking effect."

The man from before—the one who had ordered the serum—stepped into view, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. He leaned over you, his eyes scrutinizing your face with a mix of curiosity and impatience.

"Let's see if she can handle more," he said, his voice flat, giving nothing away.

Panic surged through you, your heart racing as you remembered the excruciating pain from the day before. You tried to struggle, but your body was too weak, too drained from the torment they had already inflicted on you.

The man nodded to one of his colleagues, who approached with another syringe, the liquid inside glowing with an ominous, sickly hue. You watched in horror as the needle approached your arm, every muscle in your body tensing with dread.

"No... no, please..." you begged, your voice breaking.

But they didn't stop. The needle pierced your skin once again, and the liquid fire coursed through your veins, more intense than before. The pain was immediate, searing through you like a thousand white-hot knives. You thrashed against the restraints, your screams tearing through the air, but there was no escape from the agony.

The world around you blurred as the pain became all-consuming, every nerve in your body ablaze. You could feel your heart pounding erratically, your vision darkening at the edges. It was too much, too overwhelming.

But this time, there was no merciful oblivion waiting for you. The pain persisted, dragging you down into a nightmare from which there was no escape. Your body convulsed violently, your muscles seizing as the serum wreaked havoc within you.

The voices around you became distant, muffled by the roaring in your ears. You couldn't make out what they were saying, but their tone was one of cold observation, detached from the suffering they were causing.

"Her body's reacting... but the patterns aren't consistent. It’s hard to tell if it’s working or if she’s just... rejecting it."

"Increase the dosage," the man ordered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched your writhing form. "We need to push her further. If there's any sign of success, we'll see it soon enough."

"But sir," one of the lab technicians hesitated, his voice uncertain. "If we push too hard, she might not survive the next round. The readings are already erratic—she could go into shock or worse."

"That’s a risk I’m willing to take," the man replied coldly. "We won’t know until we push her limits."

Your heart sank at his words. There was no end to this. They were going to keep pushing, keep testing, until either the serum took hold of your body or gave out entirely.

As you lay there, barely conscious, the pain began to ebb slightly, leaving you trembling and drenched in sweat. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you tried to cling to consciousness.

"Prepare the next dose," the man ordered, his voice devoid of any empathy.

This time, your heart sank even deeper. The nightmare wasn’t just beginning—it was accelerating, and there was no way out. You were trapped in this hell, at the mercy of those who saw you as nothing more than an experiment, a means to an end. And whether or not the serum was taking effect, you knew that whatever happened next would push you to your breaking point—and beyond.

DAY EIGHTY

When you woke, the familiar chill of the metal table greeted you. The room was as stark and clinical as ever, but something had changed within you. The pain was still there, a constant, gnawing presence, but it no longer controlled you. You had become accustomed to it, numb to its bite. It was just another part of your existence now.

Eighty days.

Eighty days of torment, of relentless experimentation, of feeling your body and mind pushed to their breaking points and beyond. You had lost track of time somewhere around the third week, the days and nights blending into a seamless blur of agony and darkness. But even as the days passed, you remained conscious, aware—alive.

The door to the room opened, and you didn’t bother to turn your head. You knew who it was. The man with the cold eyes approached, his footsteps echoing on the hard floor. He had become a constant in your world, his presence as regular as the pain he inflicted.

“You’re still with us, I see,” he remarked, his tone as detached as ever. He moved closer, inspecting the restraints that held you down. “Most impressive.”

You didn’t respond. You hadn’t spoken in days—there was nothing left to say. Every word, every plea had fallen on deaf ears. You had learned long ago that silence was your only companion in this hell.

“Her vitals are stronger,” a technician noted, glancing at the monitors that tracked your every heartbeat. “We’ve noticed a significant increase in her strength and resilience. The serum seems to be taking effect.”

The man nodded, though there was no satisfaction in his expression. “Eighty days,” he mused, as if talking to himself. “Eighty days, and you’re still here. Stronger, faster… more than we ever anticipated.”

He turned his gaze to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But are you in control, I wonder? Or has the serum taken control of you?”

His words hung in the air, but you didn’t flinch. The battle for control was something you fought every day, every hour. The serum coursing through your veins had changed you in ways you couldn’t fully understand yet, but you were still you—or so you told yourself.

“Let’s see if we can push it further,” he said, signaling to the technician.

The restraints were released, and you felt the cold metal slide away from your wrists and ankles. You didn’t move, not yet. You had learned to conserve your strength, to hold back until the moment was right.

“Sit up,” he commanded.

You obeyed, slowly raising yourself into a seated position. Your movements were deliberate, controlled. You could feel the power coursing through your body, every muscle coiled with potential energy, but you kept it in check.

The man stepped back, giving you space, watching you closely. “Stand.”

You slid off the table, your bare feet touching the cold floor. You stood, swaying slightly as the blood rushed to your head. But you remained upright, your gaze locked on the man who had been your tormentor for nearly three months.

“Walk,” he ordered, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

You took a step forward, then another. Your legs were shaky at first, but you quickly found your balance. Each movement felt strange, foreign, as if you were inhabiting a body that wasn’t entirely your own. But you continued, step after step, until you were standing directly in front of him.

“Good,” he said, nodding approvingly. “Very good.”

He reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. The touch was light, almost gentle, but you could sense the underlying threat in it. “Now, let’s see just how far we can take this.”

You didn’t react as he motioned for the guards to step forward, their weapons at the ready. You knew what was coming next. This was another test, another attempt to push you beyond your limits.

The guards surrounded you, their faces expressionless, their grips tight on their weapons. The man gave a slight nod, and they moved as one, striking out at you with calculated precision.

But this time, you were ready. The serum had done its work. You were faster, stronger, and as their blows came toward you, you reacted with a speed that surprised even you. You deflected the first strike with ease, the second with even greater efficiency. Your movements were fluid, instinctual, a dance of power and precision.

Within moments, the guards were on the ground, groaning in pain, their weapons scattered across the floor. You stood over them, breathing heavily, your heart pounding with adrenaline. The power surging through you was intoxicating, overwhelming, but you were in control. For now.

The man watched you with a hint of something in his eyes—respect, maybe, or perhaps something more sinister.

“Yes,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

You stood there, the blood rushing in your ears, your body alive with the thrill of what you had just done. But beneath it all, there was a gnawing sense of unease. You had changed, become something different, something more. But at what cost?

As the guards were dragged away, the man turned to you once more. “Eighty days,” he repeated, a slight smile playing on his lips. “And now, the real work begins.”

You didn’t respond. You had nothing left to say. The battle was far from over, and as you looked into the cold, calculating eyes of your captor, you knew that whatever came next would push you even further into the darkness.

But you were ready. Because after eighty days of hell, you had learned one thing—you would survive, no matter what.

DAY 100

The pain had reached a point where it was almost surreal, as if your mind had detached itself from your body to protect what was left of your sanity. You lay strapped to the cold metal table, your skin clammy, your breaths shallow. The serum that had been forced into your veins was taking its final toll. Your vision blurred, the edges of your world darkening as you teetered on the brink of consciousness.

The man with the cold eyes stood over you, his expression hard as he watched the monitors tracking your vitals. He had been relentless, pushing the experiments further each day, determined to force the serum to work. But today, something was different. The lines on the monitor were becoming erratic, your heart rate spiking and dipping unpredictably.

"Her vitals are deteriorating rapidly," a technician warned, his voice tinged with anxiety. "She's not stabilizing. We should stop."

The man clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "We’re too close. Increase the dosage."

"But sir, she won't survive—"

"Do it!" he barked, cutting off the protest.The technician hesitated for a moment before injecting you with another dose of the glowing serum. The liquid fire surged through your veins, and the world around you exploded into pain once again. But this time, it was different—this time, your body couldn’t take it.

You convulsed violently on the table, the restraints digging into your skin as your body fought a losing battle. Your vision darkened further, the room around you fading into an indistinct blur. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, a desperate rhythm that couldn’t keep pace with the assault on your system.

And then, it stopped. The world around you went silent. your life flashed before your eyes, beginning with the warmth of your childhood—the comforting embrace of your mother as she read you stories at night, the sound of her laughter filling your small apartment in Brooklyn. You remembered the day you met Steve, the shy, awkward boy who had tripped over his own feet trying to impress you, and Bucky’s teasing grin as he nudged Steve forward, encouraging him to finally ask you out. There were memories of long summer days spent in the park, the three of you inseparable, sharing ice cream and dreams of the future.

But then, the memories shifted. The warmth drained away as you saw Steve walking away from you, his back turned, his footsteps echoing in the empty space between you. . .

“Dispose of the body.”

× × × ×

D - 100

When you woke up this time, you weren’t in the cold, sterile room. Instead, you were lying in an alley, discarded like trash. The hard, wet pavement was unforgiving against your body, and the chill in the air bit through your clothes. You don’t know what day or even month it was.

Your once neat and tidy outfit was now torn and filthy, covered in grime and dirt from the alleyway. The lavender shirtwaist dress you had worn so proudly earlier was now barely recognizable, stained with mud and who knows what else.

Your hair, once carefully styled, was now a tangled mess, strands sticking to your face, damp with sweat and the moisture of the night. You could feel the grit and dirt under your nails, the remnants of your struggle to free yourself from whatever hellish place you had been held. Your hands were scraped and raw, the skin broken and bleeding in places.

Your face felt gritty, as if you’d been dragged through the dirt. As you lifted a hand to touch your cheek, you could feel the rough texture of dried blood and dirt clinging to your skin. Your body aches all over, every muscle sore from the strain of whatever had been done to you. The cold dusk air bit into your exposed skin, making you shiver as you struggled to push yourself up from the ground.

The street was dimly lit, the sound of distant traffic the only sign of life around you. The once-familiar streets of Brooklyn now felt alien and hostile, and in your current state, you felt like a ghost haunting the city you once knew.

You stood there, shivering and alone, the reality of your situation sank in. Whoever had taken you had done something to you—something that had changed you. But they had deemed you a failure, or perhaps an afterthought, and simply left you to fend for yourself.

You felt stronger, different, but the overwhelming sense of abandonment weighed heavily on your heart. You looked down at your hands, trembling as you tried to comprehend what had happened to you.

Just as you began to move, your disheveled appearance caught the attention of a group of men lurking in the shadows. They saw an easy target—someone weak, vulnerable, alone. Their eyes locked onto you, and you could feel their gazes crawling over you like a predator sizing up its prey. But they had no idea what they were about to face.

“Hey, look what we got here,” one of them called out, his voice dripping with malice. He stepped forward, a smirk spreading across his face as he took in your bedraggled state. “You look like you’ve had a rough night, sweetheart.”

Another man snickered, his eyes narrowing as he moved to block your path. “Where you headed in such a hurry? We could keep you company.”

The men began to circle you, cutting off any chance of escape. Their leers and mocking laughter echoed off the walls of the alley, making your skin crawl. You backed away, your heart racing, but they kept closing in, their intent all too clear.

One of them reached out to grab your arm, but before his hand could make contact, something snapped inside you. The fear that had gripped you earlier was replaced by a cold, detached resolve.

With a sudden burst of strength, you lashed out, your fist connecting with the man’s jaw. The impact sent him reeling backward, blood spurting from his mouth. He stumbled, crashing into a pile of trash cans with a loud clatter, his smug expression replaced by shock.

The other men hesitated, their bravado faltering as they realized you were not the helpless victim they had assumed. But their hesitation quickly turned to anger, and they surged forward, determined to make you pay for their friend’s humiliation.

But they didn’t stand a chance.

With a newfound power surging through your veins, you moved like a force of nature. You dodged their clumsy attempts to grab you, your movements fluid and precise. Every strike you landed sent them staggering back, their groans of pain filling the air.

One man lunged at you, his hands reaching for your throat, but you ducked under his grasp, spinning on your heel to deliver a powerful kick to his midsection. The force of the blow knocked the wind out of him, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.

Another man tried to grab you from behind, but you twisted out of his grip, your elbow slamming into his ribs with a sickening crack. He howled in pain, clutching his side as he fell to his knees.

The last man standing looked at you with wide, fearful eyes, his confidence shattered. “What the hell are you?” he stammered, backing away.

You stared at him, feeling that cold detachment settle over you once more. “Someone you should never have messed with,” you replied, your voice calm and steady.

Without another word, you stepped forward and struck him with a swift, powerful punch. He didn’t have time to react before he was sent crashing to the ground, unconscious.

As you stood there, surrounded by the groaning forms of the men who had tried to attack you, the reality of what you had just done began to sink in. You had taken them down with ease, without even thinking. The fear that had gripped you earlier was gone, replaced by something else—something darker, more dangerous.

You looked down at your hands, trembling slightly as you tried to process what had just happened. They were bruised and dirty, knuckles bloodied from the fight, but they were steady, powerful. You weren’t the same person who had been taken from the streets and subjected to whatever hellish experiment had been done to you.

You were stronger now, and that strength came with a cold, hard edge that scared you as much as it empowered you.

But there was no time to dwell on it. You needed to get out of there, to find somewhere safe where you could figure out what had been done to you. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before you began to walk away from the alley, leaving the men behind.

As you disappeared into the early morning light, the realization that you were truly alone settled in your heart. You had been discarded, left to fend for yourself. But you would survive this. You would become stronger, faster, more powerful than anyone who had ever underestimated you.

And if Steve had truly discarded you as well, if he had moved on and left you behind, then you would prove that you didn’t need him—or anyone else.

By the time the sun began to rise, you were no longer the same person who had waited at that restaurant, hoping for a fresh start. The flame that once burned brightly for Steve had turned to cold, hardened embers.

You vowed never to let anyone discard you again.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you trudged through the streets, your skin a canvas of bruises and cuts, each one a testament to the brutality you had endured. The world around you seemed surreal, almost detached, as if you were walking through a twisted dream.

People noticed you—how could they not? Their eyes lingered a fraction too long before they darted away, some filled with pity, others with fear or disgust. Concerned mothers pulled their children closer, shielding them from the sight of you as if you were a monster, something to be feared and avoided. Whispers followed you like a shadow, just out of earshot but thick with judgment, dripping with the cruelty of strangers who saw only the surface.

No one approached you. No one dared. The stares didn’t bother you. In fact, you welcomed them. Let them look, let them fear. You would not be pitied. You would not be scorned. If the world wanted to see you as a monster—then so be it.

As you walked, a familiar part of town began to come into view. You knew these streets well, every crack in the sidewalk, every faded storefront. It had been a place of comfort, of familiarity—but now it felt foreign, like you were an intruder in a place that no longer belonged to you.

Then, through the blur of people, you saw her. Your mother. She stood on the corner, frantically handing out pieces of paper with your picture on them, her eyes scanning every face that passed by, desperate and searching

When her gaze landed on you, her expression shifted—first to shock, then to fear, relief, and heartbreak that hit you like a punch to the gut. Your heart clenched, a pang of pity slicing through the wall you’d built around yourself. You had steeled yourself against so much, but seeing her there, so fragile, so broken, was almost too much to bear.

“M-Mom?” Your voice cracked, a betrayal of the emotions you fought so hard to suppress. For a split second, you felt like yourself again, but then that cold voice in your head reminded you: no tears, no weakness.

She rushed toward you, disbelief widening her eyes, her hand trembling as she covered her mouth in shock.

“Y/N? Is that you?” she gasped, her voice trembling.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to speak as she reached out to you. Her hands, trembling, cupped your face, her touch so familiar yet so foreign. Tears welled in her eyes as she took in your appearance.

“What… what happened to you?” she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

The tears in her eyes reflected the pain you had tried so hard to bury. But you couldn’t let it out—not now. Not after everything.

“I’m fine,” you managed to say, though the words felt hollow. You pulled away from her touch, the warmth of it almost too painful to bear.

“No, you’re not,” she insisted, her voice shaking as she looked you up and down, trying to understand what had happened to her daughter. “Who did this to you? Where have you been?”

You shook your head, the emotions churning inside you too chaotic to form into coherent thoughts.

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied, your voice colder than you intended. “I just need to go home.”

Your mother’s brow furrowed, as she looked at you with a mother’s instinctive fear. “No, we need to take you to the hospital. You need to be checked out, Y/N. You’re hurt—”

“No!” you snapped, the force of your voice startling both of you, desperation in your tone, “No hospitals, no police report.”

“Y/N, please. You need help. We have to tell someone—”

Help? No one helped.

“I said no!” you repeated, your voice trembling with an intensity that silenced her. “They won’t help. They’ll just ask questions, questions I can’t answer. They won’t understand, Mom. No one will.”

“But, Y/N—”

“I don’t need a doctor. I don’t need the police. I just need to go home. Please, Mom… just take me home.” Your breath came faster, panic rising in your chest as the thought of being in a hospital, of facing the police and their endless probing, became unbearable.

Her face crumpled with worry, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she wrapped her arms around you, holding you tightly as if trying to shield you from whatever had hurt you.

Slowly, she nodded, though her worry was still palpable. “Okay. Okay, we’ll go home. But promise me… promise me that if you need help, you’ll let me know. Just… don’t shut me out.”

You nodded, but the motion felt distant, like it didn’t quite belong to you. “I promise,” you whispered, though even as the words left your mouth, they felt empty, a hollow reassurance to ease her fears.

× × × ×

The rain poured down like icy needles, but you barely felt it through your black raincoat. Across the street, through the glowing window, Steve and Peggy danced together, they danced together like a well-rehearsed melody, a song you had once known by heart but now could only hear as a distant echo. Their connection was a knife, twisting in the hollowed-out space where your heart used to be.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms as you stood there, seething. Every drop of rain that pelted against your coat felt like a reminder of the cold, hard truth—you had been replaced. Forgotten. Left to rot in the streets while he found comfort in another’s arms.

Your anger simmered, bubbling up from the depths of your chest. You had been willing to fight for him, to stand by his side no matter what. But what had that loyalty gotten you? Abandonment. Betrayal? And now, as you watched them dance, that anger solidified into something colder, harder.

“Y/L/N.” a deep commanding voice called your name.

Two officials stood in the shadows, their presence barely registering as you finally tore your gaze away from the window. They weren’t there for the party—they were there for you. Without a word, you pushed past them and joined their side.

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #captain america x y/n #captain america x reader #captain america imagines #captain america fanfiction #captain america x female reader #captain america x you #captain america angst #steve rogers angst #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x you

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buckys-little-belle · 10 months ago

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i have a fluffy drabble idea: steve or bucky (because they have super strength) using a throw blanket to sawddle wrap you to secure you to their chest. and then they carry you around while they do their tasks. and then you're lulled to sleep by their heartbeat and gentle voice explaining their paperwork to you

-🐝

Swaddle Snuggle

Steve Rogers x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns Used) / Bucky Barnes x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns Used)

Warnings - Talks of reader feeling "down"/sad and/or stressed, snuggles, use of "Dada"

Notes - I made these headcannons because I feel like they'd both be so different when it comes to swaddle snuggles, and I couldn't pick just one of them to write about! This ask is also so old, like over a year old, and I miss my bee anon, and I'm sorry I didn't get this out sooner! I hope y'all like it!

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW!!!

. ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ .

Steve

Steve loves when you're snuggly and clingy. He always looks forward to the days where you can't be away from him for more than a second.

He used to just sit with you in his lap on the couch when you needed a close contact day, he'd do whatever work he could from his laptop, and he'd pick you up and carry you around the house when he had to get up.

But that wasn't very practical. He often had things during the day that required two hands, and you hated being put down.

So he adjusted, he found a light weight big blanket and created a swaddle sling. You sat with your legs around his waist like usual, chest to chest, with your hands trapped between the two of you. The blanket worked mainly as a bottom support keeping you in a sitting position against his chest, but it also went over your back, giving you extra warmth and allowing Steve to bend over when needed.

It made everything easier, you could stay snuggled against him and he could do computer work, or the laundry, or make lunch. He had two hands, and you had all the cuddles you needed.

If it was a cold day he would often lay a fuzzy blanket over your back when he sat down. He'd be sat in his office chair, you on his lap, and a fuzzy blanket keeping you warm from the open window's slight breeze.

To be fair he was a super solider ... So he ran warmer than most, and his body heat kept you quite warm.

Nap time was nice because instead of being on the second floor in your playroom, far away from you Dada, you could take a nap wherever he was.

The comfort of his hand rubbing slow circles against your back comforting you. And the constant pitter patter of his keyboard keys often lulled you to sleep.

Bucky

Bucky didn't wait for you to have needy days. He sometimes needed to have you in his arms all day to remind him that you were there, with him and needing him.

So he'd found a way to wrap you up, the same as Steve. You plastered to his chest as he went about his day.

He didn't work at a desk as often as Steve, so he often had you with him as he went on a walk around the property, finding cool stones and sticks to add to your collection. You'd be stuck close to him as he meal prepped for the week, him saying the recipes and directions out loud as soft instrumental music played.

That often lulled you to sleep. The soft swaying that happened as he walked around the kitchen, and his deep voice mixed with the soft music. It was easy to fall asleep that way.

Sometimes he'd have you sit in the wrap facing the other way, your back to his chest.

He'd have you that way as he worked on the cars, your hands able to hold onto wrenches or random objects to keep you engaged. Because he would pick random days to have you stuck to him you often were more hyper aware. Talking and babbling about things, grabbing for things with your hands.

But he still needed you so close, so you sat facing outwards. He liked the way he could snuggle you close at all times, but still hear your infectious laugh, and how he could make sure you didn't leave his sight, but you could also still play go fish with him.

Even though they were two very different ways to be swaddled you looked forward to both. Excited to be Steve's little Snuggle Bear or Bucky's little Sidekick.

#sfw #stucky #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers age regression #steve rogers x little reader #steve rogers x little!reader #bucky barnes x male reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes age regression #bucky barnes x little!reader #anon #buckys little belle #age regression #age regression fic #little!reader #bucky x little!reader

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holylulusworld · 6 months ago

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Torn in two (2)

Summary: It should’ve been the happiest day of your life.

Pairing: Mobster!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader (platonic for now)

Warnings: heavy angst, Steve being the worst, cheating, lies, deception, sadness, arranged marriage, unrequited love, hurt & comfort, love-struck Bucky, a hint of possessive Bucky, virgin reader (mentioned)

Catch up here: Torn in two

“We should call someone and tell them that you’re still alive,” Bucky murmurs. He’s seated on the floor, next to the old armchair you are sitting in. “Do you want me to make the call?”

“No one cares for me,” you reply, too tired and emotionally drained to face Steve, your father, or anyone else right now. “Why would I want them to know that I’m still alive? They’d only try to dictate my life again.”

“Y/N, we can’t sit here forever. If you do not return, your father and Steve will go rampant, believing one of our enemies kidnapped or hurt you.”

You snort. “None of our enemies could hurt me deeper than my father and Steve did. Steve lied to me all this time. He knew about my feelings and used them against me. He’s worse than any enemy.”

“Doll, I know you’re hurting, but we cannot stay here for much longer. I swore loyalty to Steve’s family,” Bucky scoots closer to you to touch your hand. “How about we get you something else to wear first? I’ll bring you to my apartment; you can get cleaned up, and I’ll call your father in the meantime.”

You shake your head. All you want to do is curl into a ball and stay here forever. There’s nothing outside these walls waiting for you. No loving husband. No future. No supporting father. Nothing but hurting and betrayal.

Bucky sighs. He was more patient with you than any other man in your life. You feel sorry for him. He came all the way to find you for his friend.

“I’m sorry he sent you to find me,” you sniff. “Steve has this influence on people. He wraps them around his finger, and you don’t even realize he fucked you over.”

“Language, young lady,” Bucky imitates your father’s voice. “A lady doesn’t cuss.”

“I cuss as much as I want to, Barnes.” You stick your tongue out before bursting into laughter, followed by a crying fit.

Bucky gets up from the floor. He suddenly grabs you and sits back down to hold you in his lap. You’re too shocked to stop him from wrapping you in a warm hug.

“Everything is going to be alright, doll. Don’t worry. We can fix this,” he murmurs into your neck while running one warm hand up and down your back.

“How?” You sniffle. “How can we fix this mess? I—I don’t want to stay married to a man despising and lying to me. I don’t want to have sex with him and give him an heir. Likewise, I’d rather stay a virgin than let him touch me. Not only that, but I’d vomit in his face if he tried to get his hands on me.”

Bucky stiffens at your admission. He knew your father was a strict man and held you in a golden cage, protecting you even from your friends.

“Doll, I won’t let him touch you.” His hold on you turns possessive. You can feel him tense as you bury your face in Bucky’s neck. “He cannot touch you! Not after he ruined your trust in him.”

“What can I do now? I was so confident when you arrived, but I have nothing if I refuse to stay married to Steve. I’m fairly sure my father will not allow me to live the life I want.”

“What life do you want?” Bucky is the first man to ask you about your wishes. “It’s only the two of us. You can tell me, Y/N. I won’t judge you.”

“How about a cabin in the middle of nowhere? It’s nestled in the woods, and there’s a nice lake,” you dreamily run your hand over Bucky’s back as you go lax in his arms. ”I know it’s not a big dream, but I find it romantic to live there. I’d be unbothered by Steve, my father, and their business.”

“It’s a nice dream,” he nuzzles your neck and inhales your scent deeply. Bucky never got the chance to get closer to you. Only when Steve and your father were around. “You could go skinny-dipping.”

You giggle against him. “Don’t make fun of me, Bucky.”

“I wouldn’t dare make fun of you, baby. That’s the last thing I want to do is to make fun of you or hurt you. I’d never hurt you. I swear.” Bucky sounds honest, but you trusted Steve too, and everything he told you were lies. “You need some sleep. Let me take you home.”

“I don’t want to go to Steve,” you start to cry again. “Please don’t bring me home to him. He’ll hurt me! I can’t…I don’t want to.”

“Doll, Y/N,” Bucky coos. “I meant my home. No one is going to hurt you at my home. We should hurry, though. It won’t take them long to find us here.”

“Still nothing?” Steve huffs as his men return, empty-handed. “What am I paying you for?” Your husband is furious. He throws a tantrum like the man child he is. Deep down inside, he knows it’s his fault you ran, though he’d never admit his mistake.

“Rogers, calm down,” your father grunts. “Y/N is not going to run away from this marriage. Maybe she got a little scared, just like her mother. She will return soon and behave like the good girl I raised her to be.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. If it were up to him, he’d call things off and marry Peggy.

Bucky’s home looks different than you expected. It’s spartan but cozy in its own way. He has warm blankets and soft pillows. The most unexpected thing you discover lies on his couch. A white cat, with blue eyes, matching Bucky’s.

“That’s Alpine, my cat,” he nervously says. “Don’t worry. Alpine is a nice cat. Her presence is calming in a hectic life. Go ahead. You can pet her.”

“Hi,” you sniffle as you sit down. “You’re a pretty girl, huh?” You coo as the cat jumps onto your lap. Alpine meows before sniffing at your wedding dress.

“I’ll get you fresh clothes, and you can take a shower. Maybe I can buy you some time by leading Steve and his men on the wrong track. Relax. You’re safe here, with me.”

You nod and start patting Alpine. He’s right. Her presence is calming.

“I’ll take a shower,” you murmur. “Maybe tomorrow, I will see things clearer.”

Watching Bucky pace around the living room, you wonder if he’ll keep his word. For now, all you can do is trust Bucky.

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

#Torn in two (2)#steve rogers #bucky barnes #mafia au #steve rogers x wife!reader #bucky barnes x reader #x reader #tw: virgin reader

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booksandabeer · 1 year ago

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Celebrating 10 Years of CA:TWS — A Stucky Rec List

Rec list for the CA:TWS 10th Anniversary Event @catws-anniversary (thank you so much for organizing this event! 💙) | Prompt: Memories

10 years, huh? 10 years of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. 10 years of what many—myself included—still consider to be the best MCU movie ever made.

But also 10 years of post-TWS fanfiction. 10 years of Bucky Barnes Recovering and Steve Rogers' Sadness Errands; of Up All Night to Get Bucky and Revenge Road Trips; of Winter Soldier Trauma Umbrellas and Everybody Needing A Goddamn Hug; of Good Bros and Soft Epilogues. 10 years and tens of thousands of Steve/Bucky fics later, here we are.

So, to mark the occasion, let's take a trip down memory lane and celebrate the movie and the stories it inspired: One fic from each year since it all began:

There's really only one rule here: All fics are set before, during, or after the events of CA:TWS and/or reimagine its plot in interesting ways. Naturally, many of the fics on this list are post-TWS canon divergent, but I tried to go for a nice variety of length, genre, and popularity to keep it interesting. Speaking of popularity, this is very much not intended as a round-up of ‘most popular fics of each year’ because—and I say this with all the love and respect in my heart for those stories and their authors—nobody needs a rec list for that, and I believe in spreading the love. Here we go:

Poltergeists by enemyofrome | 17K, T

Author's summary: When the helicarriers blow up and the Winter Soldier goes on the run, he takes Steve with him. He's got a name written in Morse code on the inside of his arm, a ton of questions he doesn't know how to ask, and now, a new handler with absolutely zero sense of self-preservation to contend with. Life is hard. In which Bucky tries to figure out whether he's a human being, Steve does everything he can to keep from losing him again, and there are lots of explosions.

Starting off with one of the best versions of the 'Bucky didn't leave Steve, he took him with him after the Potomac' fics that were (and still are!) so popular post-TWS. This one stands out because of its fantastic beginning, its interesting take on how Bucky was broken and remade into the Winter Soldier, and because it allows both characters to be messy. It's a popular fanon trope that it's Steve who brings out a ruthless, almost vicious streak in Bucky, but here it's emphasized that this is very much a mutual thing. Just like Bucky, who's often afforded the "excuse" of still figuring out how to be a person again, Steve gets to be difficult here—without ever turning him into a stubborn asshole. They're both traumatized, and they're both allowed to show it and to lash out, including at each other. Also, this fic will give you capital-F Feelings about morse codes and apples. Believe me.

sleepwalk back to the battle site by ftmsteverogers | 22K, T

Author's summary: “I’m going to track down every HYDRA agent that’s left,” Bucky says, buckling his gun deftly to his belt. “And then I’m going to kill them.” “Oh,” Steve says. “Come with me?” Bucky asks, dangerous hands tucked into his pockets.

A classic post-TWS fic that picks up right after the movie ends. Equal parts Revenge Roadtrip, Bucky Barnes recovering, and Steve Rogers being in urgent need of a good hug. This starts out intensely melancholic—Steve's despair and helplessness are palpable and there's a scene involving a drinking glass that still brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. Halfway through, the story changes pace and becomes much more action-heavy, but it still manages to allow space for the quiet, intimate moments between Steve and Bucky. They have both become sharp and deadly men, but they're also allowed to be soft with each other. Their coming together feels sweet and inevitable. I also really enjoyed the Steve characterization here. His absolute conviction that Bucky is still Bucky at his very core and always will be, but also his emotional and intellectual flexibility to adapt to this still-new-to-him, changed version of Bucky rang very true to me.

Surveillance by Sproings, 7K in 2 parts, G

Author's summary: If there are ears everywhere, that means it's somebody's job to listen. I hate my job.

Do you ever think about how SHIELD bugged Steves DC apartment and how horrible that was, but also...you're kind of curious what they might have overheard? Do you ever wonder about the people who listened in on his sad, lonely life? Well, here you go. An outsider POV fic told "through the ears" of an unnamed SHIELD agent assigned to spy on the private life of a man who doesn't really have much of one. The story begins just before IM3 and takes us all the way through the events of CA:TWS and beyond. It's clever, original and told with great empathy for both the subject under surveillance and the person carrying out that surveillance—who increasingly questions its purpose. Here's a small snippet to give you an idea of the fic's style:

He got a phone call, once. He put it on speaker, too, which was very exciting for me at the time. It was from an archivist at the Smithsonian. They seemed really surprised that he answered his own phone calls. The two of them talked for a long time about an exhibit the museum was planning. A very long time. As if one of them was starstruck, and the other was desperate for any kind of human interaction.

What Gets You Through by velleities | 12K, M

Author's summary: For Steve, getting through each day is a process – one he’s currently failing at spectacularly. Feeling out of place in this brave new world, he hopes to find a home in Bucky, and looks for him with everything he’s got. But Bucky doesn’t want to be found, and when he does touch base with Steve, he never sticks around for long. Bucky has embraced the modern age, leaving Steve lagging behind – or so Steve believes, until Bucky shows him otherwise.

This post-TWS fic revolves around five encounters in liminal spaces, and each time Bucky has pieced himself back together again just a little more. Despite their increasingly longer and more honest conversations, and Bucky's incremental progress, he always disappears again, leaving Steve to grapple with his heartbreak. There are quietly gorgeous moments in this fic (the bus and the church in particular were my personal favorites) as well as wonderfully crafted characterizations. Bucky is initially portrayed as somewhat feral in some ways yet surprisingly well-adjusted in others, and I love that Steve can't help but be a little annoyed at that. However, it quickly becomes clear that, in good old Bucky Barnes fashion, much of it is really just a front put up for Steve's benefit...

A Real Boy by itsnotbleak | 5K, T

Author's summary: It took the Winter Soldier three weeks to remember that human beings needed to sleep and eat. It took Steve far too long to realise the Winter Soldier was sleeping in his bed.

A wonderful, short-but-doesn't-feel-like-it fic (in the very best way) set immediately after CA:TWS, in which Bucky secretly and then soon not so secretly visits Steve in his apartment. Follow along as Bucky Barnes argues with his brain about sandwich toppings, the importance of a good night's sleep, and the necessity of personal hygiene. Also: how to best go about becoming a real boy (again). And who the hell is that Bucky guy anway? This is as soft and sweet a Bucky recovery fic as you're ever going to find. It's funny but not silly; sad in a way that all of these stories inherently are—because, well, these are some tragic boys—but not super angsty or depressing. A beautiful story with a lovely, hopeful ending.

Savage God by PottersPink | 36K, M

Author's summary (abbr.): Past, present, future, Steve knows Bucky Barnes. It’s why he recognized him when he found him in that alley in April of 1942, even though Bucky was older, stronger, wearier; he called himself The Asset, and had a metal fucking arm. He flinched when Steve tried to touch him, and when Steve told him he loved him, his first response was to ask why. Seventy years later, Steve wakes up in the twenty-first century, and he doesn’t know whether to be heartbroken or hopeful when some of the things Bucky revealed to him in 1942 start falling into place.

An absolutely riveting AU that will have you on the edge of your seat the whole time. I'm itching to talk about it more but I cannot since it would mean spoiling the hell out of it. What I can say is that it's a very intriguing and clever exploration of what would happen if Steve knew about the future but without really knowing any of the details. How would it change the events of CA:TFA and CA:TWS, and how would it change Steve himself? I so very much appreciate this characterization of Steve as smart, competent, and unwavering with a hefty dose of no fucks left to give. This fic features some really nifty time travel and plotting, great action sequences and a very satisfying ending where certain people get their much-deserved comeuppance. Plus: Bonus Shrinkyclinks (kind of)!

Charlie Lock by seapigeon | 105K, M (hard M)

Author's summary (abbr.): The Winter Soldier knows that sometimes, in order to make the kill, you must destroy what the Target lives for. Steve Rogers knows that he can't fight his captors. If he fights, they'll kill Bucky. But the price of his life is steep. Tony Stark has nothing left to live for, but he's needed. So all these miserable motherfuckers better stay alive, too. Clint Barton never expected to be a leader. But a leader he is, and no one else is going to die on his watch. --- A story in which the first wave of Project Insight succeeds, and the Avengers must pick up the pieces and find a way to stop Hydra from completing its work with Zola's algorithm.

This is not only the longest fic on this list, but also the angstiest one—by a mile, so please heed the tags. It's dark, disturbing, and brutal. However, it is neither relentless misery porn nor is it shocking for shock's sake, where everything is magically forgotten and/or healed the moment Steve and Bucky start kissing. Instead, the author puts these characters into an absolutely horrifying situation and then slowly, gently guides them out of it and into the light.

It's a Stucky fic but it's also a multi-POV ensemble piece featuring all the Avengers and other familiar faces. If you are someone who'll always be a little bitter about the unfulfilled promise of an Avengers found family, then this is for you. In this AU, they do not only fight together, but grow together in every way. They truly become a team, not just co-workers barely tolerating each other. The story takes its time exploring the characters and the group dynamics. Steve and Bucky are definitely at the center of the narrative but there is space here for every member of the team to grieve and adjust to the new reality and to find at least some measure of healing. It's a story about the meaning and the consequences of revenge, about hope and resilience, and about love in all its many forms. It also has one of the most satisfying title drops that will have you pump your fist in triumph when it happens. It's a tough read, but ultimately a very rewarding one.

SPELEVINK by Ginny_Potter | 10K, G

Author's summary: Bucky’s back. He’s leaving me messages through IKEA plushies, Steve texts Sam. jesus christ, rogers, Sam texts back. Or, Bucky lives in an IKEA Tiny Apartment, Steve is a dancing monkey once again, and somehow they find their way back to each other.

This is an absolute DELIGHT of a fic that will have you alternately laughing out loud and crying quietly into your SVARTFIBBLA blanket (super-soft, recycled polyester, 47x63"). It's ‘crack treated seriously’ at its very best and a clear homage to the fandom classic Infinite Coffee… (that’s not a dig or a spoiler, the author says so in the author’s note).

Now if you know me, you’ll know that angst o’clock is my happy hour and I’m usually not very into these heavy-on the-humor quasi-absurdist fics (because I’m super special and not like all the other girls, obviously). But. I LOVED this story so, so much. It’s such a fun read—even when it makes you cry—and it really became one of those ‘huh, I guess I’m into this after all’ moments of joyful (self)discovery via fanfic for me. I never thought a pair of oven mitts could move me like that, and I'll never be able to walk into an IKEA again without muttering "F******!" under my breath (iykyk). Absolutely fantastic.

a handful of dust by RecoveringTheSatellites | 20K, M

Author's summary: Steve looks for Bucky for a long time. But the thing is that Bucky doesn't get found, Bucky finds. Bucky always finds Steve. This takes a hard left after the Potomac and stumbles through the dark a lot after. Take a bit of running, the occasional synaptic misfire, the resurfacing of old memories, a dash or two of PTSD, and (eventually) a nice dose of action, stir, and serve over some unresolved issues.

Honestly, the second paragraph up there perfectly sums up the story. It's a good ol' fashioned Bucky recovery fic with some angst, some action, and a whole lot of healing and devotion. Steve and Bucky get to be very sappy about each other, but also extremely Badass Battle Boyfriends™ when somebody threatens their hard-won happiness. Both are allowed to be messy, unstable, and very co-dependent.

This was the first time this author played in the Stucky sandbox and I mean it 100% as a compliment when I say that you can tell. This is someone with "fresh legs" diving headfirst and very deep into the Stucky trope pool and they're doing it with great relish and enthusiam. The result is a story that rejects some of the tried and true conventions of the post-TWS fanfic canon and lovingly embraces others, but that is definitely aware of and in dialogue with the body of work that came before it. Also, it's just a really fun read that gives these two the very soft ending they deserve.

Everybody is Supposed to be Dead by pollutedstar | 22K, M

Author's summary: In 1944, Bucky Barnes falls off a train into the Alps, missing and presumed dead. Months later, Steve Rogers nosedives a plane into the arctic. In 2010, the Winter Soldier project is uncovered by S.H.I.E.L.D., and Bucky Barnes is found alive. Three years later, Steve Rogers’ frozen body is found in the ocean.

A really interesting AU and a fascinating exploration of what could’ve been; the impact it would’ve had on the events and characters if Bucky had been the one to be “found” first. How would it affect Steve to come back into a world where he isn’t quite so lonely and adrift, and where he does have the relief and reassurance of having Bucky by his side and at his back? How would that have changed the way he acted and reacted to this strange new world and the people and organizations trying to recruit him to their cause even though the ice hasn't even completely melted off his body yet?

There are a lot of astute and precise observations about characters like Tony, Natasha, and Clint in this story, and on top of that, it offers up some very compelling insights into Steve's conflicted and difficult relationship with his role as Captain America.

it's never over (hey orpheus) by romcommie | 12K WIP, 2/?, M

Author's summary: He remembers a song first and then everything else follows, burying him below. Or, Bucky Barnes pieces a life back together with a few choice verses, some duct tape and seventy years worth of spite. Steve Rogers tries very hard to relearn there's a life to be lived in the first place.

Ok, listen up, people! This is a WIP and there are only 2 chapters posted so far, but I haven't felt this absolutely bonkers excited about a post-CA:TWS fic in a long while. We're talking frothing at the mouth here. I have such a massive crush on this fic, it's a bit embarrassing, really. It's one of those fics where you know after just a few paragraphs that you're in very good, very competent hands. The wealth of historical and cultural detail; the way the story shifts/flips/flickers back and forth between time, perspective and narrative levels; the Bucky voice—it's all so well done! I'm so insanely excited to see where the author takes this!

ENJOY!

#catws10 #stucky #stucky fic rec #stucky fic #stucky rec list #steve x bucky #stucky fic recs #steve x bucky fic rec #stevebucky fic rec #stevebucky #my recs #*drops this and runs aways* this rec list nearly gave me an aneurysm. you're welcome!

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year ago

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The Bolter (part three)

Steve Rogers x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : The reader returns to New York for the first time after Steve left, reuniting with Bucky. We see a little more of what the reader and Steve went through while on the run.

themes/warnings : pining, tension, unrequited love, two sad saps (reader and Bucky) trying to get over trauma and heartache :(, language, brief mention of injuries

word count : <2k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

2024, three months after Steve's departure

You just finished your second mission since the final battle.

Since Tony. Since Nat.

Since... him.

Only three months, or rather, three long months. You don't know why Sam was worried that you are apparently overworking yourself.

He keeps calling you up, checking in from time to time, making sure that you are allowing yourself to relax. Have a little break. Stay with them in New York for a while. Maybe even have a couple of sessions with the therapist Bucky is seeing.

He must have done a darn good job at convincing you, or maybe you were just exhausted, because you arrive back in New York soon enough.

And Bucky comes knocking on your door not long after.

Your eyes meet, both of you blocking your doorway. Not a single word needs to be said - the understanding you two share runs much deeper.

Two kindred abandoned souls and whatnot.

You step aside to let him through and close the door behind him. His hair is trimmed shorter now, and with his getup, he could pass as just another civilian. It takes another beat of silence before he finally asks, "So how are you?"

You snort at how ridiculous his question sounds. He knows. "How are you?" you counter, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

"Touché," he says, shrugging off his leather jacket and placing it atop your kitchen island. He knows his way around. He's been here before, on the many nights you both shared drinks with Natasha, Sam and... him.

Damn it. You curse internally. It's okay, his name was Steve. He's not the fucking boogeyman.

He gives you a quick once over, immediately noticing that you're putting a lot of your weight on your left leg.

"I fell out a window," you sigh.

"Fuck's sake," he grimaces, shaking his head.

"Hey, we can't all be super soldiers, Buck. My muscles are just a bit softer than yours."

He presses on, still concerned, "Checked in for your physical yet?"

"Booked it for tomorrow," you respond. "But it shouldn't be too bad."

You feel his eyes continue to scan you, but in a non-invasive way. He's checking for more injuries, more signs of wear and tear. He's a lot like Steve, but his gaze is different, less commanding.

More broken.

"Anything new?" you have to ask to distract yourself, and he picks up on it right away. About Steve. He hasn't shown up like he said he would. You had been dreading it - the possibility of seeing a much older Steve, after he got to live out his life in this timeline.

He promised he would try and find you. A version of him, at least. White-haired and wrinkled and weary, but still your Steve. He said you would see him again, in what would be his future and your present, and say a real goodbye. Maybe even tell you all about his life and his girl.

You thought you blocked all that out, but sadly it did not slip your mind. You remember. And you didn't want to be there when it happens.

But nothing did, and you didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.

"Nothing," Bucky shakes his head. "But Dr. Banner is keeping track on whether there are any anomalies in the timeline, specifically in where Steve went back. Everything seems to be normal."

He's fine, and he finally got his normal. And you should let go.

As if he can read your mind, Bucky says, "It's hard to let go, isn't it?"

He's struggling. Of course he is. Bucky also has an old skin to shed, and bones to bury. You never encountered the Winter Soldier back in the day, but you heard of him.

Once you got to know Bucky, you never needed to know anything else. This is who he really is, and he's a good person. He's your friend.

And Steve trusted him. He believed in him. That would have been enough in your eyes, if anything.

"What makes you think I haven't let go yet?" you smile weakly.

He exhales, smiling back. Because, he seems to say, I know you.

Stepping forward, he opts for putting a hand on your shoulder first, unsure. He squeezes gently once, but then changes his mind and pulls you in for a hug at the last second, careful not to add any stress on your leg.

It takes the breath out of you, with his vibranium arm wrapped around your midtorso.

"I'm glad you're back," he mumbles against your hair.

Bucky knows that only you would really understand. The others, maybe they loved Steve too. Admired him. But it was different with the two of you.

Clint can move on with his family. Sam has his new responsibilties. Thor is out of world. Wanda has her own burden to bear. The world will go on as it always has.

But not for us, you think. As he held you tight, you decide that you will help Bucky through it. You will make sure that he gets the peace that he deserves and he is able to let go of Steve. Even if doesn't happen for you, this would be enough.

You offer him a drink after a moment, and he accepts without hesitation.

This is how it starts. This is how the two of you begin to move on.

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2017, ten months after the Avengers' Civil War

"Where were you?" Steve's voice came from somewhere in the room. He was seated in the small living room of your shared cabin, blinds drawn shut, almost out of sight.

You twisted around, and let your duffel bag fall to the floor. Squeezing the bridge of your nose, you let out a shaky breath. "What the hell, Steve, you nearly scared me."

You rummaged through the cupboard, looking for your stashed whiskey. "Nearly," you repeated in jest, when you heard him making his way to you.

You got a much better look at him then. His hair had darkened due to its length, and his beard was thicker. You were going to need several swigs of hard alcohol to resist jumping his bones.

"I was worried," he said, and his tone was gentler. It made you feel guilty, and you didn't know why. "I came back from Wakanda and you were gone."

"I wasn't gone, Steve. Sam needed help getting away with something, you know how it is. We don't exactly have a set schedule on when and where to go, given our fugitive status."

"I know, I know," he said right away, frustrated. What's wrong with him? "But you could have called, left a note - "

"A note could have been intercepted."

" - anything. Just to let me know how you are. You could have been taken in for all I know - "

"You really think I would let them take me in?"

He threw a stern glare your way, propping a hand on his hip. Based on his stance, you thought of how it looked like Captain America was about to give you a good scolding.

But you beat him to it. You were just too tired, and your arm was killing you. "Look, Steve, I had to help Sam and you were still in Wakanda checking up on Bucky. I didn't think it was a big deal. I thought I would be back here by the time you - "

"What's wrong with your arm?" he interrupted you, his practiced eyes easily noticing the damage, and reached for your forearm. "Take your jacket off."

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head before you can catch yourself. "What?" you squeaked, but you knew just what he meant.

Steve was on full Captain mode, always looking out for anyone he feels responsible for. That's all it was. You had to remind your hopeful self that it was nothing more.

His hands were waiting by the neckline of your jacket, asking for permission. Ever so polite, even when his mood is sour.

You can ignore a lot of things, compartmentalize your emotions. You're used to it all, not getting too attached to anyone or anything as a result of your chosen life.

But you couldn't ignore the burning feeling his fingertips left behind as they grazed your skin. When he guided you to the couch so he can take a better look at the bruises on your arm, you were seated close. The closest you've ever been to each other, but he didn't look fazed at all.

Of course not. This doesn't mean the same to him, as it does to me.

You watched him the entire time, his long eyelashes almost grazing his cheek as he looked down at his work. His brows furrowed in concentration. Once in a while, he mumbled something that sounded like, never should've happened, or gotta watch out next time.

It didn't take long for him to fix you up nicely, your arm disinfected and wrapped in gauze.

After you thanked him, you stood from the seat, ready to compartmentalize that moment too. Because that was not the time to go falling for anyone, especially not someone who was just too good for you.

But he grabbed your hand before you walked away, looking up at you as he stayed seated.

"Steve?" There it was again, that burning. That warmth. If he didn't notice the goosebumps on your skin before, you were sure he saw them then.

"I - " he hesitated, before finally deciding on, "I'm glad you're okay."

You tilted your head, smiling. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, y'know."

His worried and serious expression drops and he smiled, eyes all crinkled.

And that was one sight you won't ever be able to ignore.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

A week later, Natasha dropped by. Sporting a brand new white-blonde hairdo that suited her just as fine as her signature red.

You teased her about it, saying how she must have been waiting for an opportunity like this to have an excuse to drastically switch out her hairstyle.

The two of you sat on the bench on the patio while Steve chopped up wood in the distance, looking like a right ol' lumberjack.

He looked too damn good, and it annoyed you. He wasn't making any of it easy.

"You could switch your hair out too, you know. It helps in going incognito," she reached over and twirled a strand of your hair.

You swatted her hand away playfully, grinning, "Oh, but my face is too memorable so it might not even work."

"Oh really?" she smiled, with that mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, Steve certainly seems to think so."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"He looks at you like you're his sun or something," she stretched out, amused by the obvious rush of blood to your face.

You shook your head profusely, because of how wrong you thought her assumptions were. "He looks at me because there's no one else around here to look at. Not for at least fifty miles or even more."

"Honey, please. It's my job to know these things."

"Oh, is it now?"

"Mhmm," she patted your knee, tilting her head in Steve's direction without turning to look at him. "I'm willing to bet Tony's LA mansion that he's looking at you right now."

"No, he's not - "

"Then prove me wrong."

But you turned, and you couldn't prove her wrong.

Your eyes met Steve's and when he realized your attention was on him, he simply smiled.

Like you were his sun, Natasha had said. But she was a bit off the mark.

You were never Steve's sun, but he was yours.

Read part four here ~

taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx

It will be a bit more of jumping back and forth through time, before we see everyone back together (even Steve? 🤷🏻‍♀️)

It's the start of a potential Bucky x reader. I gotta be careful here because I might just flip and want the reader to be with him instead.. who could ever look over Bucky???? He's going to make it hard for us that's for sure.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #the avengers #mcu #chris evans #captain america #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the bolter

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p3sephone · 8 months ago

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No escape (Dark! Natasha Romanoff x reader x dark! Steve Rogers)

Summary: Natasha and Steve found a common interest, and that is you. But then you say things like you want to break up, and then escape. So, of course they take you back, and then make sure you understand the hardest way you can't really leave them.

Warnings: past non-con, physical and psychological abuse, manipulation, Natasha is a warning herself, kidnapping, drugging, future non-con implied, dark thought on reader. This is a dark story with dark themes, so minors are NOT ALLOWED, only +18. I don't own these characters.

Note: okay so, I kinda have a little thought about turning this into a serie or at least make part 2. What do you think? Anyway, any comment, like or reblog is truly appreciated. <3 Requests are open!

She didn't know what was going through her mind. It was something crazy what she had just done, and yet Natasha continued to drive towards her desolate destination while your helpless and drugged body was in the back of the seats. She had to admit, she had always been determined and rigid in her decisions, but even she wavered sometimes. Especially when it came to you. But you were so stubborn, what was she supposed to do?

You had left her. You had left her and Steve. She still remembered the conversation from days ago.

"I want to break up."

They were extremely simple words, but coming out of your mouth they were truly surreal. Natasha focused directly on you with an expressionless look, while Steve was already getting more nervous as he started to walk towards you. Natasha had always been the one who talked less than Steve: she was the one more inclined to inflict punishments and make you cry, Steve agreed with her but only when necessary.

If it were up to Natasha, you would have been locked up in that New York apartment at all hours and without the possibility of leaving. She remembered how your relationship was at the beginning: you, Steve and her. It had been born spontaneously, or rather, well, Natasha had perhaps manipulated more than a few things to ensure that the three of you ended up together and that Steve would give her more support when it came to having a firm hand on you.

If only she had had her way, those stupid words would never have come out of your mouth. Steve immediately asked the reasons and Natasha made a face of contempt at you. No, she was not willing to get into that conversation, because there was nothing to discuss: you would not have moved from there, far from them. She had to remind you that, even before Steve, Natasha had seen you for the first time. You were hers. Then the blond noticed you and Natasha didn't mind sharing with him, also because she knew she needed help in the early days because she knew we would get to this point without the right discipline.

"I don't feel good in this relationship anymore, I want… I want the life I had before." Natasha understood how uncertain you were when talking and did what she knew how to do best: manipulate you. She had manipulated you in every way, listing every single thing they had done for you, how well they treated you not only during your daily routine, but also during the nights you spent alone before.

That day she remembered that made you cry a lot, from humiliation. You felt humiliated deep down and somehow you knew that Natasha and Steve were wrong, but your body didn't have the strength to pull back from the long session of suffocating cuddles they forced you to after that argument.

Natasha remembered all of that vividly. Yet, her manipulation, her ways, even her kindness and mercy towards you hadn’t been enough to keep you confined in that apartment. Somehow that adorable head of yours had managed to find a way to escape from them. Steve was the first to discover it, and he felt mostly concern, followed by sadness and anger. Natasha knew Steve: he was a good guy, but if you pressed the right spots he became exactly like her. And Natasha didn’t need the Steve who was kind and adorable to you, she needed the other Steve, the same one you had dealt with one night when you had decided to reject them both in bed and insulted them. You had suffered some bruises and a bad headache, but Natasha remembered how well you had behaved in the days that followed.

Natasha’s mind suddenly cleared. She had done the right thing, she had followed you to that bar and drugged your soft drink, she had finally dragged you away without your dumb friends noticing anything. Oh, she would fix them later, but first she needed to teach you a lesson. She sneered wickedly. She just had to press that button. So, she called Steve. The infamous captain didn't take long to answer, looking all worried.

"Steve, I got her back. I'm taking her to our plan b, that place you know about." Natasha didn't even give him time to speak and continued in a stiff, angry voice. "Do you know where she was? She wasn't in danger. She was with her friends, in a bar and dressed in a shabby way. She had a man on her and she was completely ready for his attentions, you have no idea how she was dancing. She dressed like we always forbade her to, she drank and accepted a bag of… I don't know, but I took her out of there. I did the right thing, didn't I, Steve?"

Natasha didn't need an answer. She had actually lied: you weren't doing any of that, you were just talking to your friends and when a man approached you you politely rejected him like the beautiful little girl you are.

But Natasha had to make you understand that there were consequences if you ran away from them, and Steve would never guarantee those consequences unless she said the things he hated the most.

Natasha thought you were cute in those short, skimpy dresses, it just made her want to rip them off, Steve preferred a more conservative part. Natasha hated it when anyone else paid attention to you, Steve did the same. Natasha liked you when you were drunk because you couldn't remember what she did to you during that time, Steve… well, he might be lying but he actually liked you too, even if with more guilt.

"I'm coming." Steve didn't give Natasha time to say anything else, he had already hung up. The red-haired woman looked at your poor, still helpless and unaware figure in the mirror. You had no idea what was waiting for you but Natasha did, and she was going to savor every second of it. You'll never leave her again, she'll make sure of it.

#dark marvel #dark avengers #dark steve rogers #dark natasha romanoff #dark! steve rogers x reader #dark! natasha romanoff x reader #dark! natasha x reader #dark! steve x reader #dark! steve rogers x reader x dark natasha romanoff #dark black widow x reader #dark steve x reader

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eviesaurusrex · 2 months ago

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ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ʟɪꜰᴇᴛɪᴍᴇ | ꜱ. ʀᴏɢᴇʀꜱ

Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Daughter!Reader

request: ok I had an idea, idk if you gonna approve it. Thought abt reader having a pregnancy scare, and of course scaring the shit out of Tony and Steve, 'cause like imagine Stark thinking he'll be a grandfather hahahahaha. Well in the end was just a scare and reader is kind of relived, because bringing a baby into this superhero shit is complicated, but at the same time she's kinda sad, cause maybe this baby was just the beginning of a happy life with her lover Steve

word count: 4.6k

warnings: pregnancy scare, talks about the menstrual cycle, anxiety, established relationship, internalized misogyny (kind of), fluff, angst, swearing, mentions of sex, but also a tad of sadness, talking about the future, family planning, Tony (yes, he is a warning), my inability to write endings, not entirely proofread

author’s note: This request is from @imadeadpoett and I was really excited about it, then life came in the way lol. I don’t know if this is any good, but here we fucking-finally are. This request is super old (almost 3 years, whoopsie), but I was in such a Steve-mood, I just had to complete it anyway. Enjoy! The dividers are by @enchanthings-a and @strangergraphics <3

It couldn't be.

She stared at the calendar on her phone, eyes unmoving, thumbs hovering above the screen's glass, not ready to allow realization to sink in. The highlighted week lay forgotten in the past, the color screaming at her, reminding her of something significant that hasn't happened, asking question above question.

It wasn't unusual for her to have her period late—her cycle wasn't the most reliable, especially not when work almost toppled over her and putting her in a position of sleepless nights and weeks filled with stress. Her rising and boiling anxiety every time Steve changed into his suit, adorned his shield, and went on a mission only contributed to it all. But being this late? It couldn't be.

Steve.

The thought of him made YN flinch, her heartbeat kicking up, the sound of blood rushing in her ears all-consuming. She hadn't thought about him until this moment. What would he do? What would he say? They had never discussed a potential future filled with a house, a dog, and kids, not with all the world-ending events they had faced in the past years. There had never been the perfect timing for such a conversation, never found a quiet moment to ponder on those thoughts and wishes. Did he even want to have kids? Did he want to become a father? Could she even have his babies without complications caused by the serum running through his veins?

"Oh God…," YN whispered, barely above her breath, blinking rapidly to keep the rising tears at bay. Her hands had started shaking, the phone screen had turned black at the lack of interaction, her breathing labored as if she had taken all the stairs in the compound. Cold sweat started gathering at her hairline, and a single droplet rolled down her spine, making her shiver in the most uncomfortable of ways, her thoughts running a mile a second.

Would he leave her? Would he hate her and never talk to her again? Would he demand her to have an abortion because he couldn't stand the thought of procreating with her? Did he even love her? What was she supposed to do?

A big, gentle, warm hand rested on her lower back, making her flinch once again at the contact, this time in surprise, and her wide eyes found Steve's handsome face looming right next to her. He crouched beside their bed to be on eye level with her, baby blue eyes darkened with worry, his forehead creased just as much. His other hand found its natural spot on her thigh, and as he squeezed it softly, the first tear escaped her fortress and rolled down her cheek.

"Hey, darlin'," he greeted her with that soft tone of his, thumb erasing the stray tear. "What's wrong, pretty girl?" YN felt her bottom lip quiver, knowing how much she worried him. Gosh, she loved him so much it almost hurt. "I am so sorry." The broken whisper was the first thing escaping her, eyes now filled with unshed tears waiting to be spilled. Steve's hand on her lower back had started lovingly rubbing her back—up and down, up and down—in soothing repetition. "I didn't know I was mad at you," he tried to joke with an attempt of a smile on his lips that quickly vanished when her bottom lip quivered even more, and the first hiccuping sob forced its way out of her body. "Okay, love. I know, bad timing. I'm sorry." His hand squeezed her thigh again, kissing her shoulder. "Tell me what's wrong, what you're sorry about, and we can fix it, okay? Everything will be all right."

Did he really believe that? Would he look at her with the same look in his eyes when she spilled the catastrophic truth? Would he still be crouching next to her, trying to comfort her? Or would he end up running and packing all his stuff in order to escape this massive pileup, vanishing right in front of her eyes and leaving her with the anxiety running havoc in her body?

A body she perhaps didn't occupy alone any longer.

Her heart skipped a handful of beats at that thought, and she knew she had to tell him. Right now. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not in two weeks—now. And it scared the hell out of her.

"YN, nothing will be too much to handle, I promise. I will stay right where I am, pretty girl." He always knew what to say at what moment, what thoughts ran through her head and made her palms sweaty and her hands shaking—and he always knew how to soothe her being. She could not live without him anymore; the thought alone was almost unbearable. So, instead of sticking her head into the sand, YN took one deep, steadying breath, nearly choking on another fearful sob, before speaking up and uttering the one sentence that could change their lives forever.

"I am late."

Glancing up from her interlocked fingers—her phone had been dropped onto the soft duvet at some point—to Steve after those words, she waited for a reaction, watched his features morph in the seconds of processing the simple three-word sentence, which wasn't simple at all. His blue eyes were still trained on her face, still watching her, but his brows were furrowed in confusion, his soft lips slightly parted in shock, his cheeks first flushing before his face was drained of its color—probably as realization sunk in. It broke her heart to witness all of it, and tears started to threaten her eyes again. "I am so incredibly sorry, Steve," she dared to whisper into the dense silence of their shared room, feeling the guilt burn inside her like acid. It had been her responsibility, after all—she was the one with the uterus, she was the one with a cycle cursed by some entity, she was the one who took the contraceptive despite not knowing if it would even work in the presence of enhanced sperm of a super soldier. Bruce hadn't been sure either, still tinkering with Dr. Cho, both making the couple promise to always use condoms—which they had.

Always.

Every single time, they had gotten intimate.

With one exception…

Steve seemed to come to the same conclusion because his eyes widened, and immediately, he shook his head violently. "No. No, YN, it's not your fault. There are always two people involved, darlin'—you and me. I am just as much responsible as you are, maybe even more so. You did nothing wrong, I am not mad, and we will manage everything that comes in the future, okay?" His hands had cupped her face, his thumbs softly caressing her cheeks and wiping away every remnant of a tear that dared to leak out of her eyes. "You're really not mad?" She needed to ask, needed to make sure she heard correctly. Steve smiled softly and kissed her cheeks. "Of course not, pretty girl. Just as you're not mad at me for not thinking of that condom when you swept a poor soldier off his feet in your stunning dress."

Tony had thrown a party for Pepper's birthday, and after not seeing Steve for several weeks due to back-to-back missions, she had wanted to make him drool—for them to end in one of the closets like a pair of horny teenagers surely hadn't been part of her bingo card for that night, let alone for Steve not having a condom on him. She could scold her horny past self for ignoring it and for thinking they could dodge the bullet.

"I practically jumped you in there," YN mumbled, almost ashamed of her actions, and let Steve pull her onto his lap after he had found his spot leaning against their headboard. She curled into him, savoring his inhumane warmth, and watched him just as closely as he did, but he still wore a soft smile on his lips while she was still on the verge of tears. "And I pulled you into the closet, not even wanting to make rounds and small talk—like a caveman. You can't blame yourself, sweetheart. It was a team effort." His voice was so soft and still infused with the same warmth he had shown her since day one that YN slowly relaxed into him, slowly not expecting the worst outcome possible.

She leaned into his palm when the blond cupped her cheek once more, his eyes raking over her face, searching for something. "What should we do now?" Her question came out quietly but calmly, despite her heart still racing in her chest and the panic still clinging to her. "What every couple does in such a situation, darlin'," he returned with a reassuring nod and kissed her forehead lovingly. "Do you have something here or do we need to head to the med bay?" Ever since the move, they couldn't just head down the block to their favorite Target, and it bothered her now even more than usual because if they went to the med bay, they had to record whatever they took for inventory purposes. And she didn't want anyone to know, anyone to find out. Not yet, at least. She still wasn't sure what to think of this herself.

Her expression seemed to say everything Steve needed to know because he kissed her lovingly on her lips, pecking the soft, plump flesh several times after, making her stop biting her bottom lip anxiously. "It's all right, love. We can wait until they're all done with dinner," he suggested in a whisper, and YN could only nod at that, snuggling closer into his arms and into his chest, sighing deeply when his strong arms wrapped even tighter around her. "Are you hungry? Anythin' hurtin' or symptoms showing?"

Even while they sat in such a storm of emotions—she knew it affected Steve just as much as herself, her ear pressed to his chest could listen to the rapid gallop of his heart—he still thought about her first, never letting anything step in the way of how he cared for her. It warmed her freezing body and anxious heart, and once more, YN had to ask herself how the hell she had gotten so lucky. "Sweetheart," the soldier whispered when she didn't answer and blinking, YN slowly shook her head. "No, not really. The hunger, I mean." Did something hurt? Did she miss any symptoms except for her traitorous bitch of a period? "And no, I don't think so. My period is just missing." Like a damn child in an IKEA store. "On second thought, I think my breasts are a bit tender." It had bothered her the last couple of days because YN had initially thought her bras went to war against her while being in the midst of a project with a deadline speeding up toward her.

Steve pressed yet another lingering kiss to her forehead, taking away more of that stubborn tension still remaining in her body, still bothering her, still reminding her of the unknown future ahead of them. "We can work with that," the blond murmured softly into her hair and gathered her body closer to his—if that was even possible—and one of his hands started to gently rub her back again. "Do you want to talk about it?" The quite loaded question pushed YN to look up into his blue eyes, worry and uncertainty mirroring hers right back at her. "I'm not sure what we or I should say, to be honest," the Stark whispered, immediately feeling like the biggest coward of this century, like the most insane woman ever experiencing this situation.

She knew they had to talk about it—they had quite a handful of topics to discuss. How would they handle a positive test? Would they keep the baby? Could they even keep it—super soldier serum and all? Were they even ready for this sort of commitment after they hadn't even tackled the topic of their future before this disaster of a day they now had to face? YN knew she would spend the rest of her life with the man from another century because, despite the fact that she could count her exes on one hand, she knew Steve was it. He was her endgame, and she desperately hoped she was his as well.

And despite knowing all of that with a clarity that scared her back into a shock-like state, the Stark couldn't bring herself to acknowledge all these points in the face of uncertainty. Perhaps it would be easier when they had clarity, when they knew what would await them in eight or nine months. Or perhaps she just didn't want to face the possibility that she had royally screwed up just like her father when her mother had dropped her on his Malibu doorstep and disappeared forever.

"That's okay, sweetheart," Steve spoke softly, his hand cupping her cheek anew and kissing her lips lovingly. "We don't have to talk about it until we know the facts. And even then, we don't immediately have to jump to the topic. I am entirely okay with letting the information sink in first before we look for answers. Yeah? Whatever you're most comfortable with, honey." She blinked against the gathering tears in her eyes while she watched this incredible man going along with whatever she wanted, whatever she desired most in this weird and unexpected situation. "I don't deserve you, Stevie." It got almost drowned in a small hiccup escaping her with a single stray tear that was quickly erased by Steve's thumb catching it on her cheek. "Nonsense. It's the other way around, YNN." He nudged her chin with his finger, making her show a weak but growing smile before pulling her favorite fluffy blanket around them and kissing the crown of her head while getting comfortable.

"Whatever happens in the next hours, I'll always be by your side, love."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Staring down at yet another pregnancy test, YN felt on the verge of tears again, as if she might break down entirely in the next few seconds if the universe didn't stop trying to give her a heart attack.

They had snuck down into the medbay almost an hour ago while the rest of the team either enjoyed a night out or a cozy night in, all scattered around the compound and far away from this part of their home. Employees had said their goodnights for today, so they were the only two people in the southernmost wing, overlooking the glittering lake just outside the windows. And ever since entering the sacred halls of Dr. Cho and Bruce, YN had lost hope bit by bit—because every damned test showed both positive and negative.

Steve rounded the partition wall with a glass of water, blond brows furrowed just like hers. "Again?" He even sounded as indignant as she had only a couple of seconds ago. With a huff, she pushed the stick toward him, watching him bending at his waist to get a closer look at the traitorous piece of plastic, and exhaustion settled into her body.

Exhaustion and fear because, as of now, she clearly had to ask Dr. Cho for a blood test, and then, everyone would know sooner rather than later. She wouldn't even have time to consider her options before everyone would have one, bombarding her with questions to which she didn't know the answer.

YN wanted to run. Far away from here to sit out the storm someplace quiet.

"Hey."

Steve had crouched down in front of her where she had dropped onto a rolling stool and wrapped his hands around hers, dwarfing them while doing so, and quickly, he kissed her knuckles one by one, his thumbs rubbing slow, comforting circles into her skin. "We don't have to do it here, YNN. We can just as well find a gynecologist in the city and let them do a pregnancy test." Already preparing to agree to his plan, YN opened her mouth, and then…—

"A what?!"

Ice-cold shock drowned her body when her father's voice echoed through the quietness of the medbay, and his very being appeared right next to the pushed-back partition wall, bone-deep shock evident on his face. Tony Stark rarely got shocked, and if someone achieved this feat anyway, he usually was quick to cover it up with a joke and his well-known sarcasm. But now? He was as white as the wall in his back, his eyes as wide as saucers, and his lack of words as jarring as possible.

Steve was already back on his feet, one hand settling on her shoulder to squeeze it in warm reassurance while trying to handle Tony—his future father-in-law if things would go as he had planned without hinting it for YN to pick up on. "Tony, let me explain…—" The soldier started, never feeling as scared in his life as he did now in the face of the man whose approval he wanted to gain the most because he knew how close these two were. He had picked up on it since his first day in the team and knew ever since how hard he had to work for it in order to be tolerated at best.

"No, no, no. You don't explain shit to me, Capsicle. This is not happening. This is a dream. A glitch I stumbled into. Simple as that," Tony shot back, looking around him to find the aforementioned glitch, which was nowhere to be found in the pristine environment they sat in. His brown eyes settled on the couple, dark brows furrowed, face morphed into a kind of displeasure YN had never witnessed before, and it made her sick. She never wanted to disappoint the man she loved almost more than life itself—right next to Steve—because that wasn't their dynamic. He had always been the proud father despite their rocky start, about which she gladly barely held any memories, and she had always been the proud and perfect daughter without feeling the pressure of having to be perfect. Tony would love her either way, she knew that. But this? In his eyes, she did what he had done all those years ago when he had knocked up her biological mother and had to live with the consequences of such actions.

Swallowing drily, YN wrung her hands in anxious movements. "Dad, this is… it's not what it looks like." A skyscraper-high lie, and still, she couldn't hold the words back. "It's not what it looks like? Are you shitting me right now, YN?" The older Stark inhaled and exhaled deeply but still couldn't get a grasp on his emotions. "It seems to me that you two haven't been cautious enough, unlike you promised not only to Dr. Cho and Bruce but also to me! It seems to me that you two didn't doge this bullet because you two were too caught up in whatever you did—which I just don't want to know, for heavens sake—and this is now the outcome." He huffed in disappointment and shock, staring both of them down and making them close their mouths one at a time before shaking his head. "I thought you wouldn't end like me, kiddo. I really thought you'd be smart enough not to try to make me a grandfather ahead of my time. Damn it!"

Careful, YN glanced up at Steve with a questioning rise of one of her eyebrows and watched his features morph in their quiet exchange before she looked back at Tony, who stared at the ground at his feet. "So…," the woman started, making her father look up again. "You're… mad? Disappointed?" She couldn't read him, not today, with her very own emotional turmoil still running havoc inside her. "Disappointed? No, I'm not disappointed, bumblebee. Shocked? Certainly. Befuddled? Most definitely. I have never regretted you, you know that. But I will be mad for a while because I am way too young and too much in my prime to be the grandfatherly type. I won't have life advice sessions with the little one, and I won't ever wear grandfather's clothes, are we clear?"

Without thinking, YN moved and wrapped her arms tightly around her father, pressing her cheek against his chest and letting out a deep breath she didn't know she had held. "There, there. No need to cry, kiddo." Tony patted her back and pushed her hair back with his other hand, nudging her chin and wiping away the stray tears. "Just… be more careful next time. We don't need a bunch of mini super soldiers running around here and forcing me to child-proof the entire tower, hm?" Nodding with a shaky exhale, YN looked between Tony and Steve and let the man exchange her from one to the other, morphing into Steve's side and feeling relief seeping into her body at the heavy sensation of his arm around her shoulders. "Be a blast, FRIDAY, and let Helen know we need her down in the medbay," Tony spoke, and the tower's AI immediately went to work. "I need a drink. Let me know when… you know." With that, the man vanished, mumbling in disbelief to himself until his voice echoed off in the hallway. The couple shared a long look, words unnecessary for the time being.

"Have you ever thought about being a dad?"

YN spoke the question softly into the quietness of their room. They lay on their bed, meeting in the middle, face to face, fingers laced together, warm breaths mingling in the space between them. Steve watched her intently, blue eyes roaming her face before he was pulled back to her eyes as it had been ever since the soldier had first met her.

"I never had a reason to think about it back then—I wasn't particular a ladies' man." She rolled her eyes playfully at the obnoxious wiggle of his brows, making her giggle nonetheless. "So no. At least not until I asked this stunning woman I met at work out on a date, and she gladly accepted the question of this poor soldier, who knew she was way out of his league," Steve continued with a soft smile, and her breath hitched. "I knew if I ever wanted to have kids, it would be either with you or no one at all." Tears threatened her eyes again, and YN sniffled quietly, blinking against them. "You really wanted to have a family with me?" She couldn't believe what had wandered through his mind without her suspecting a thing—usually, she was so good at reading people. "Of course, sweetheart," Steve smiled then, pulling her closer and kissing her soft lips. "I know I'm not your first love, but I always intended to be your last, you know?"

Her heart ached oh so beautifully at his whispered confession, making her emotional all over again, and forced her to take a deep, steadying breath when Steve asked the question in return: "I know your upbringing wasn't the most normal, but have you ever thought about…?" YN sighed and pressed her lips to his fingers she held in a tight grip, eyes locked with one another. He was right—she hadn't had the best of starts in this world and a rocky upbringing, and she knew it still haunted her in some way or another. "I don't know if I would make a good mother because I never had the proper role model for it. Maybe I would suck so bad at being a mom that our child would hate me. But I know what a mother shouldn't do, so maybe I could compensate for that?"

Pepper came too late into their lives to make things right before they had turned downhill, but YN knew how a mother should act from the years during her teenage years, during which she had Pepper at her side, so maybe… "It's a learning curve, sweetheart. No one is perfect from the start," he soothed her, pulling her flush against him and wrapping his arms around her. "We will be all right whatever the test result will say. It will be difficult and a huge adjustment, but I'll do everything I can to be as present as possible." He would bench himself and let Sam take over if that was the thing they needed for the best possible outcome of this uncertain situation.

The sound of an incoming message relieved YN from answering for now, not really knowing what to say to this perfect man she had the fortune to call hers, and with trembling fingers, she fished the phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. Sharing a look with Steve, she gained an encouraging nod, and with yet another deep inhale, her finger opened Helen's message with the test results attached. Eyes jumping over the black letters and written words, realization sank in, and a sob escaped her.

"Woah, hey. Hey, hey, darling," the blond whispered. Without questioning the meaning of it all, he just pulled his girl into his strong chest, wrapped his body around her, and shielded her from the world. YN still held onto her phone, pressing it against her chest, almost cradling it while tears rolled down her face and sobs filled their room. "It's all right, darling. Everything will be okay. We will manage. We will do whatever you want, whatever you decide, my love. We can keep the baby or think about other possibilities to…—"

Shaking her head, YN gently put her fingers over his lips, forcing Steve to grow quiet in the middle of his loving reassurance. "It's negative." At that, the blond had to blink slowly, trying to get behind all of it before he seemed to come to a conclusion, and realization grew in his features. "Oh, YNN…" She tried to smile under the still-flowing tears and softly shrugged, almost helplessly. "I don't know what came over me," the Stark started to explain. "The thought of building a family with you is just so… and then I thought 'Maybe this isn't so bad after all', and I started to-to hope, and then it was negative, and I am relief, I am so relief, but I'm also…" Another sob escaped her, the inner turmoil almost unbearable in its intensity.

"YN, darlin'. Look at me." His warm, big hands cupped her cheeks again, nudging her to look at him, and his loving smile started to mend this sudden emptiness in her. "There is my pretty girl." Holding tight onto her, the soldier didn't allow her to look away again, to pull into herself again. "We have so much time, so much of our future together. This won't be the last time we'll wait for a pregnancy test result—and next time, it will be intentional and only filled with joy, okay? This is not the end, sweetheart, I promise."

A shaky breath escaped her at that, and with a quivering lip, YN had to reassure herself. "Really?" And Steve smiled, kissing her with all the love he felt for this incredible woman in his arms. "Really. Whenever we're ready, we'll try, and I promise you, I'll get you knocked up in no time." That tickled a laugh out of her, making her shake her head at his teasing antics. "You are unbelievable, Steve Rogers," she smiled as she wiped away the tears, forcing a grin on his lips. "And still, you love me," he retorted teasingly but turned serious when YN kissed him and nudged his nose with hers.

"That I do."

Thank you so much for reading! Please consider leaving a like, a comment, and a reblog—it would be so much appreciated <33

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x female!reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america fanfiction

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yanderefics-recs · 7 months ago

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Dark!Cheaters pt 2

for my besties that were asking for a part 2

Stress Relief @miyaagis (tumblr)

Remarks: hwbsgahahha this one is actually pretty sad 😭 basically your husband oikawa cheats on you with iwa and uses stress from work as an excuse. Try reading the asks answered by the author, you'll see a bit of the yandere sides but the oneshot is just angst (and i love it)

Run for Cover by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor (tumblr) (finished)

Remarks: This one touches more on abusive behavior! Steve Rogers is your perfect picture husband and he treats you like shit. Trust me, you're gonna be on your toes reading this lol

No Plan by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor (ao3)

Remarks: Dark bucky. Just abusive behavior so like... be warned.

Yan!Cheater Series by @droaxa (tumblr)

Comments: for some reason tumblr is lagging and not allowing me to paste links so just check out their page and masterlist and you’ll see it!! I love their work, it hits all the right spot

I Loved You Too Late by @Melody and @Sweetermae (quotev)

Comments: OOF ANGST ANGST ANGST!! Not an x-reader tho but it still is just as enjoyable!

#yandere cheaters #soulmate au #yandere cheater #yan!cheater recs #yan!cheater #dark!cheaters

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navybrat817 · 2 years ago

Note

Oh, this smirk!

The Rejects

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, mentioned Steve Rogers x Female Reader, mentioned Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Bucky address the elephant in the room.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Flirting, friends with benefits (not Bucky x Reader), light angst, tension, Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning)

A/N: This was meant to be something else completely, but the muse did what she wanted. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“You jealous?”

Looking up from the Scrabble board, you suppressed the urge to roll your eyes at Bucky’s smug expression. “Jealous of what exactly?” you asked, downing the rest of your drink and not flinching at the sting.

“Come on. You know what,” he answered, crossing his arms as he leaned on the table. “Or do I need to say it?”

“Please, enlighten me,” you said as you placed a square on the board. You knew exactly what he was referring to, but you’d play his game. “Go on. Don’t be shy.”

“Steve and Natasha sleeping together,” he answered.

Big boy actually said it.

You allowed the eyeroll to happen when he smirked. They left the two of you alone almost an hour ago and it was a feat that you went that long without acknowledging it. “No, I’m not. Why would I be?”

Bucky pointed at you with his beer bottle. “Because you used to hook up with Steve.”

“And you used to sleep with Natasha,” you said without skipping a beat. That wiped the smirk off his face. “So sorry you got stuck playing Scrabble with a reject like me.”

You didn’t have super soldier hearing the way he did, but you heard his teeth grind when he selected his next piece. “You’re not a reject,” he said above a whisper.

Neither of you spoke as you kept playing. After a bad mission months ago, you slept with Steve. It wasn’t a big deal. Adrenaline was high and he gave you the release you needed. Expecting it to be a one time thing, it surprised you when he shoved you against a wall days later. You fell into a “friends with benefits” arrangement with him after that.

While he treated you well enough, you both maintained that it wouldn’t go beyond sex. From what Natasha told you, she had a similar arrangement with Bucky. It worked for your needs.

You were content.

Until you noticed how Steve and Natasha’s gazes lingered on each other after briefings. How easily they fell in step beside each other despite their sometimes opposing views. She trusted the Captain, which wasn’t easy for the former spy. Steve respected her and that said something. You accepted that they needed each other and quietly removed yourself from the equation.

Bucky did the same.

“You know what? I am jealous,” you admitted, the game forgotten at that point. “But not because they’re sleeping together.”

Bucky’s cheek twitched, like he didn’t quite believe you. “Then why are you?”

Glancing down the hall before you looked back at Bucky, you sighed. “As happy as I am for them, I'm a little sad for myself. Because they found something in each other that no one has found with me,” you told him, narrowing your eyes when his slightly widened. “What?” you asked. If the former Winter Soldier made fun of you or laughed, you wouldn’t hesitate to smack him because you weren’t afraid of him.

“Nothing,” he said, the index finger on his vibranium hand tapping the table in a fast motion. “I just understand how you feel.”

Shame flooded you for thinking he’d poke fun at your vulnerability. He wasn’t a bad guy. Far from it. In fact, Steve never got jealous or insecure when you talked to Bucky and Natasha hadn’t either. They encouraged the two of you to become friends. Looking back, it was easy to think they supported the friendship to phase you two out. But you knew that wasn’t the case.

They weren’t cruel.

What would’ve happened if I slept with Bucky instead of Steve? Is it wrong that I’ve thought about that more than once?

“So, why are a couple of 'rejects' like us who are not jealous of our former lovers sitting here playing board games instead of going out and looking for ‘the one’?” you teased.

“Because I was too chicken to ask you out tonight, even after I got the okay from Steve.”

What?

You blinked once. Twice. “Your best friend, who has been inside me, is cool with you asking me out?”

He winced at your choice of words. “Well, when you put it like that. Yeah?” he replied, before he straightened up, confidence filling those pretty blue eyes of his. “I don’t give a fuck that you slept with Steve. I’m asking you out.”

Your smile turned a little warmer and you reigned your claws in. “You want to take me on a date?” you asked, your heart swelling when he ran a hand through his hair and nodded. "If this is just to fill a void, I don't think it's a good idea."

If Bucky needed that, you understood. But could you do that again? No. Not with him.

"I'm asking because I want to, doll. You're a badass and I like your company," he said. That was a big deal since Bucky only seemed to like a handful of people. "And if you’ll let me, I’ll ruin you.”

Fuck.

“I don’t know,” you said in a singsong voice, stretching and purposely sticking your chest out to draw his gaze to your breasts. “We’ve both done the whole friends with benefits thing before and-”

He reached across the table to take your hand. “You wouldn’t be my friend. You’d be my girl.”

Your stomach did a funny flip, something you hadn’t felt in a long time. The word “yes” was on the tip of your tongue. Because you had a right to be happy. All of you did.

I slept with Steve. Natasha slept with Bucky. Steve is sleeping with Natasha. The next logical step is sleeping with Bucky, right? Who knew math could be fun?

“What would Nat think?” you asked. Though you were certain she had no feelings for Bucky beyond friendship, you didn’t want her to be uncomfortable just because you were fine with her and Steve.

Your phone buzzed a half a minute later with a text from the former Black Widow herself.

“Go for it. He'll be good to you and you deserve it.”

Bucky chuckled when you looked back down the hall. “Steve and his fucking hearing,” you muttered before you threw your head back. “Stop listening to our conversation! That’s rude!”

“Sorry!” Steve yelled back.

You smiled at Bucky, the atmosphere lighter even with the tension. “Okay. You beat me in Scrabble, you pick where we go for our first date. I win, I get to pick and no complaints.”

His eyes lit up as your heart raced. “Deal,” he said, the smirk slowly appearing on his face again. “But the loser has to play the next game naked.”

“Game on, Barnes.”

So, there we go. 😂 I hope you lovelies liked it! More of these two with A Couple of Cuties. Love and thanks for reading. 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x female!reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan #vonalyn

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ussgallifrey · 2 months ago

Text

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 32

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, dialogue taken directly from Captain America: Civil War and the Marvel Civil War comic, language, minor violence.

✦ Word Count: 10.8k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Cinematic Soundtrack: Here

✦ Author's Note: Heyyyy. Well, the fact is, I kind of checked out for a few months after everything that happened in November. I couldn't find it in myself to open up my drafts to read, let alone work on anything. But, after focusing on my family and my home life for a much-needed while, it felt like I was finally at a point where I could come back to this story.

I love this story. I want to finish this story. I have missed this story. And, quite frankly, it felt amazing to be able to push through this draft that's been sitting in a folder since September, 2024 and actually finish it. Welcome back to everyone who gets a random update at 2:15 AM. Sorry it took a while to get an update, but I have hope that I can get this story back on track now. Wish me luck and enjoy the chapter <3

[Master List]

Your curled fist hesitates over the cool surface of the smooth door for just a stretch too long as the internal conflict brewing since Steve left collides like a wave against the shore of your inner mind.

While you were silent in the moment, watching on as the team began to pull at the loose thread that wove you all together, in this instance, you would be pushing forward. This was far overdue.

You give three sharp raps to the door.

And, as the many times before this moment, you receive no reply.

Jamming your body against the frame, your lips nearly caressing the door itself, you announce:

“You’re going to open this door on your own accord, or I’m going to appear in that room in a minute. Either way, I’m coming in.”

Pulling back, you await his decision. You wanted him to have the choice to begin with; allow him that tiny crumb of control in the chaos.

Slowly, the locks click open and the door creaks inward.

Pushing against the threshold, you enter the darkened space - nearly tripping over an empty pizza box - as your eyes attempt to adjust to the low-lit space.

“How in the All-Father’s name did you manage to get a pizza down here?” you question, nabbing the grease-stained box from the floor before tossing it into an adjacent corner.

Several empty cans of energy drinks and crinkling plastic wrappers are stepped on as you force your way further in.

Pietro gives a heartless chuckle, “Never even saw me leave, did you?”

Squinting against the darkness, you can just barely make out his silhouette on the bed, stark white hair an eerie beacon.

“You have been getting faster according to Steve.”

“Huh. And… where is Mr. America?”

Pushing aside a game controller, you lean over to flick on the bedside light - illuminating the sheer destruction of his room.

This was not just the pathetic decorating attempts of a teenage boy.

No… this was…. this was…

Cronus, you didn’t even have words for it.

The bed and table were about the last of the fully intact items in the space. The TV was smashed, the floor holding the remnants of long-abandoned meals, and a deep rivet has been cut through the carpet from constant pacing.

“You know…” you scoot closer to the boy, his back still to you as he faces the opposite wall, “Wanda’s been worried about you. We all have.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t need her pity.”

“It’s not pity, Pietro. It’s… mutual grief. And secluding yourself in here isn’t - hasn’t - been the answer.”

A rogue sniffle is your only indicator before the teenager drops his head, a hand rubbing across his face as his shoulders begin to shake - from anger or sadness, you’re still unsure.

“It’s my fault, you know. I didn’t listen… I just… I opened my mouth and couldn’t stop,” he lets out a breathless huff of sour laughter as he, at last, turns to face you - the full scope of his anguish painted across his face like a sordid tale. Eyes rounded by deep agonizing purple shades, lips cracked and pale. A gaze too haunted for his so few years of existence.

“Felt like I was a big shot, doing the superhero thing. And I just… couldn’t shut my mouth. I didn’t even see the vest. I could have killed all of us right then and there,” he shakes his head again, tears springing to his eyes as broken laughter stumbles from his chapped lips. “Hell, I did really. You know, they still haven’t released the official death toll. But I heard estimates of close to eighty.”

“Hey,” you shush, reaching across the comforter to squeeze his hand tightly in your grasp. “That is not your sole responsibility to bear, okay? And if you had let us in before now, you would have heard Steve and Natasha and your sister tell you the same thing.”

He launches off the bed, digging his hand into the errant curls on his head as he huffs, “But I still did it! I know it, in here - ” the boy slams a fist against his chest; his heart.

“You’re not infallible, Pietro. You��re human; you make mistakes.”

“That have a death toll?” he snips.

Your lips form a tight crease as you adjust your posture, smoothing out the wrinkles on his bed.

“Sometimes, in this line of work, yes.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, working himself into a pace.

You let him have his moment as that same sort of frantic madness overtakes his young body. A wild and distraught look in his eyes mixed with the squeezing of his balled-up fists at his sides.

“You know,” you start, reaching a hand out to pull him back down on the bed. He plops down beside you, a little too easily moved. “You’re not the only person to make a costly mistake.”

“Rich,” he quips, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, “coming from a literal goddess.”

“What, you think the weight of my immortality makes me infallible?”

With a shrug, he looks away - discontent to meet your gaze.

Turning your body to face Pietro, you shift your weight to the left as you cross your leg over your right knee; bracing yourself.

“Well, if you must know, when I was quite young - okay, I know you’re going to laugh, so might as well get it out now - when I was about three hundred and thirty-four…”

The mutant chortles beside you, unable to help himself as he turns his head, “Wow. So young.”

With a blossoming smile, you gently push your shoulder into his, “Hush. When I was younger… I was sort of at war with my brother. We were always trying to impress our father, trying to one-up each other with heroic human battles and great feats of godliness and… just about anything you can imagine two war-based deities could think of.”

The distant memory of Ares pulls up like a scab from an old, never-fully-healed over scar.

It wasn’t often you spared a thought toward the banished god, but today, you made a small exception. After that chaotic moment in the kitchen with the rest of the team, a part of you wanted to feel the entirety of that sensation right now, in this moment. Let it sting. Let it burn. Let it make you hurt because of your own failings.

“I made… awful choices back then, Pietro. I was quick to anger, faster to judgment. You would not want to meet that younger version of myself.”

Before the words even come to the surface, you begin to wring your hands together. An soured acidic breath scorches your throat.

You needed him to understand that he was not solely to blame for poor decisions. That he should not have to carry the burden alone. Not with everything going on outside of the Compound. No, you needed him to trust you - to not run away again.

“Tell me… have you ever heard of the myth of Medusa?”

With a slight tilt to his head, he puckers his lips up in thought.

“Uh… woman who turns people to stone, crazy snake hair, right?”

A slight smirk curls at the corner of your lips as he gestures vaguely around his own head.

“Yes, that’s the one,” you nod, bracing your hands on your knees - knuckles clenched tight enough to the point of genuine discomfort. “So… my brother wasn’t the only family member I came to blows with. My Uncle - Poseidon, God of the Sea… we have a very difficult history. We were in a contest to see who would be the patron deity of this Greek city, and… I won. They named the city in my name: Athens. Bested by his own niece, a lesser god in his mind.”

With a shake of your head, you move to stand, walking a slight pace away from the teen as you grip your crossed arms.

“There was a temple in my name. Priestesses worked there, worshiping me day and night. Promising me their devotion above anything else. They were to never stray from their duties, never… be with a man.”

You can’t even meet the boy’s eye now, but you know he is fully focused on your tale.

“Well, one day… my uncle came to my temple and forced himself upon one of the priestesses, Medusa. She prayed to me for help, as I was her patron goddess.”

You barely notice the sensation of your nails sinking into your forearms before you blink away the entrenched emotion from many centuries ago.

“And what did I do? Young, naive, constantly angry, and too foolish to take just a moment to listen to any voice of reason? I cursed her for lying with a man,” your words become choked in your throat as you meet Pietro’s shocked eyes. “I turned her into a hideous monster who no man would ever lay his eyes upon.”

“And some might say it was a gift that I gave her in the end. Being able to protect herself from the terrible beasts that would dare to touch her in the way Poseidon once had. But it’s not the truth. I wanted her to suffer for breaking one of my temple’s laws. And for years,” your voice shatters at last as you wearily shake your head. “The image of the hideous gorgon was what was emblazoned upon my shield. She, in all of her terror, was my symbol.”

In the beat of silence that passes, Pietro sits up straighter on the bed. His eyes are chillingly cold as he looks up at you – reminding you of one simple truth: you deserved every part of what you are currently feeling. The guilt and shame; all of it.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Your expression breaks as you stare down at the boy you had welcomed into your home, into your arms. The boy who reminded you of another - one with sunkissed laughter and trilling lute strings and radiant smiles.

“I’m telling you this so that you understand, even those of us who seem incapable of making rash and terrible decisions are in fact, and likely have, made such choices. That those choices do not define us. They make us better, stronger.”

Moving to rejoin him on the bed, you let out a long sigh – letting the centuries ease out with it like billowing sand in a desert breeze.

“It took me some time to realize where my decision had come from. The gods, they praised it - they cheered me on. Zeus himself was so pleased by my creative punishment, that he named me as his heir apparent over my brother. But the people… the people who had named their city after me… their worship waned and their ire grew. Only when I walked among them as a stranger did I learn their true feelings; their disdain for the immortals. It made me grow up, essentially.”

“And Medusa?”

A wisp of breath catches on your lips as your eyes cloud over with the hazy memory you had wished to keep locked away until the universe burned away into twinkling stardust and then complete nothingness.

“By then… it was too late. The demigod Perseus beheaded her, no less with my help. Pietro, please - ” your fingers wrap around his hand as you force his gaze. “ - this great mistake will not be your last, but you are going to learn from it. And the first step is speaking to Wanda and assuring her that she hasn’t suffered alone in this matter because that’s what she thinks has happened.”

He leans back, a perplexed look on his face, “No, she has to know, yeah? I wouldn’t keep my door locked and just - ”

“No one came in or out for a week, Pietro. And right now, she’s so terrified that because of Wall Street, the two of you are going to be taken away. And we are trying to assure her that you are both safe here, but it would be much easier if you were - ”

With a jerky nod, he squeezes your hand in return before standing up - smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Thank you,” you offer him a smile as you stand up, cupping his cheek in the palm of your hand.

He leans into the touch, his eyes briefly fluttering shut.

“And, if you need to talk or vent, or Cronus, break something, please just… come to me. Or anyone else here. You’re not alone anymore, I promise you that.”

Looking a little taken aback by the statement, the teenager stuffs his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and offers you an awkward smile and nod before he exits the room.

Taking a look around at the disarray, you let out a long and shuddering breath as the weight of over three millennia comes crashing down upon you once again.

Looping the strand of auburn hair between your fingers, your blazoned eyes lift up to catch Natasha’s pointed gaze.

“So,” the assassin breathes out, glancing back down at her captured hand. “How far out of the comfort zone are you dragging me?”

You can feel the rumble of laughter from Wanda as you weave another braid down her back. The teenager smiles up at Natasha as she lays the first swipe of electric blue nail polish down upon the woman’s left index finger.

“Unfathomably far.”

“Wow, unfathomably.”

While you weren’t entirely sure how the three of you had wound up in this rather intimate position on the floor of the communal living space - the TV finally turned off; the news no longer on a constant loop - you weren’t entirely complaining about the arrangement.

Clint snorts from his relaxed position on the armchair - one foot kicked up onto the coffee table in front of him as he takes another swig of his beer.

“What, you want in on this?” Natasha questions her partner with an exaggerated batting of her eyelashes.

“ ‘m good,” he smirks.

With a secretive smile of your own, you begin separating three more strands of hair - now on the left side of Wanda's head.

To the best of your knowledge, the siblings had made peace yesterday and were now tentatively co-existing around one another once again. Glancing toward the kitchenette, you spot Pietro. His dark eyes take in the domestic scene spread out in front of him with a distant look upon his face.

You knew it would take more than a few encouraging words and pep talks to get him to peek out of his shell once again. Maybe if Steve was around, it would take a shorter amount of time. But the fact was, no one had heard from the supersoldier since he had stormed out of the Compound three days ago.

“You know - ” tilting your head back, a smile loosening on your features, you watch as Tony plops down on the edge of the sofa, directly behind you - his hand holding an imaginary brush as he mimics combing your hair, “I just love these sleepovers with you guys.”

“Hey,” Natasha sighs, flashing him a warning look. “Invites only, you know the drill.”

“Unless you want me to do your hair?” you question, glancing back at the billionaire.

Tony immediately lifts his hands up, “Please, I spent an hour on this.”

While the tussled locks of his dark hair appeared to be anything other than styled, the engineer hefts up from the couch and wanders toward the kitchen - avoiding the teenage boy’s eyes. Your own gaze follows his path across the room.

It felt like walking on eggshells anymore with the billionaire around.

Tying off the last braid, you gently pat Wanda’s back, “Think that does it.”

The young witch offers you a thin smile in return as she focuses back on painting the Widow’s nails a varying array of deep blues and emerald greens.

Stretching up from the floor, Tony’s eyes land on you - a silent beckoning there in his gaze.

When you move to the kitchen island, taking up residence on one of the metal stools, Pietro conveniently finds a reason to head toward the gym. You didn’t particularly blame him - things were awkward enough as is around here lately.

“So,” Tony breathes out when he notes the boy is out of sight, his voice low and steady. “Any word from red, white, and spangled blue?”

Your fingers clench down on your thighs as you shake your head, chancing a look up at the man standing beside the dark stone counter.

He huffs a lifeless laugh, shaking his head.

“Wonderful.”

As Tony crosses his arms, you watch as a sour expression clouds his features.

“You know, we could have handled it. We could have had a place in those meetings; those negotiations. Been there, done that before, you know?”

Giving a nod, your eyes follow the billionaire as he drops down onto the stool beside you - your backs to the rest of the room.

“It just pisses me off.”

“I know.”

Running a hand through his hair, he cranes his neck to look at you.

“I’m just sitting here thinking about what could be, you know what I mean? Like… we could have had a committee for oversight, no problem, no argument here. We could have put some people from our side on the board - like Rhodey… or hell, even Rogers. People who would have our interests at heart. If we had all just… sat on our hands and shut the hell up and… yeah, not make an ass of ourselves on TV with a grieving woman.”

The shape of your nails becomes a sudden point of interest as you avoid the haunted look in the dark eyes of Tony Stark.

For all of your own fallacies, you knew the man beside you was all too aware of his own weak points. Always trying to improve, to better himself and the lives of the people around him. Everything he did was out of a sense to protect the world; to protect the team.

“I mean…” Tony bites at his thumb for a second, gaze distant, “Opening up channels for negotiations is a cakewalk. A few sweet words here, some faux apologies there, a transfer of cash or the promise of a luxury car and, bam, you’re in.”

Shaking his head, he drums his fingers on the counter, mind clearly running faster than his own mouth can keep up with.

“Fuck, I just wish Rogers would have stayed around long enough to hear me ramble.”

“You know Steve,” you sigh, turning fully on the stool to face Tony. “Once he gets a thought in his head… well, you remember Insight.”

“Yeah, anything to do with you or Barnes, and the guy’s out of here.”

As your brow pinches, you question, “What does that mean?”

“Oh.”

Tony’s cheeks puff up like a fish for a moment before he looks away, swinging his feet back down onto the ground, “Well, you know. Favorite people and all. Do you know how many times he ran off when he got a not-so-secretive call about a Soldier sighting, or, better yet, when he got a little text from someone otherworldly and godly saying they were back in town? Yeah, wrapped around your finger, sweetheart. Or… thought he was.”

Absently kicking at imaginary dirt on the ground, the billionaire stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“You’ve tried, right? Texting him, I mean. Cause, trust me, he ain’t answering if it’s coming from my number.”

Glancing back down at the counter - you could almost count the number of tiny white and gold flakes in the pattern to avoid the conversation if you wanted to.

“Yeah, I sent a message or two.”

Letting out a low whistle, Tony rocks back on his heels.

“Ouch. Well, best case scenario he’s sulking it out with Wilson somewhere off the beaten path.”

You almost want to ask what the worst case scenario would be, but your mind has already conjured up a few choice images for your own anxiety to ruminate on. At least you hadn’t seen him on the nightly news. Yet.

Perhaps that was your biggest fear.

Steve putting all of his eggs in one basket and storming Congress to give the Senators a piece of his own ideals.

The SRA had passed through the Senate, now it was up for a vote in the House. And then it would only be a matter of time before the President was set to sign it into law. You weren’t even sure if Tony’s reach could stop that from happening now.

Meanwhile, the UN had continued its fifth day of meetings. There was no word on the Sokovia Accords yet. But you, and everyone else in the Compound, knew that the backing from the Eastern European ambassadors would be enough to get things moving toward an actual ruling.

“Stark.”

Both you and Tony look up as Hill enters the space.

Her commanding tone is such a scathing shift from the woman you helped in the hospital two years ago, that she’s almost impossible to recognize. A glance over your shoulder shows Natasha shifting to subtly crouch in front of Wanda as Clint stands up, arms crossed as he looms directly behind the teen.

“Was wondering where you’d wandered off to.”

“Big compound,” he quirks, tone flat.

She gives him a look that clearly says that she’s all too aware of the fact that he’s been likely avoiding her.

“So, any word on Rogers?” she questions, her gaze shifting from the billionaire to land firmly on you.

Maybe this version of the agent had always been there and you had just been too blinded to notice. Perhaps you could see the faint traces of her calculating demeanor when she admonished you at the Tower after fumbling the handling of the Abomination. Maybe you just had to be this cold and shut off to work in such a landscape.

“Sorry, co-director. No such luck,” Tony grins.

Crossing her arms, she stares down at the man beside you.

“And those calculations and algorithms you said you were running day and night? Even they can’t find him or Wilson?”

“Hey, convenience of modern-day technology, am I right?” Tony smacks his hand down on Hill’s shoulder, pushing past her.

“Well,” she turns on her heel, following the billionaire out of the room, “Maybe I should send down one of my techs to go over your computations.”

As their conversation and footsteps fade further down the hallway, it’s Clint who lets out a low whistle.

“Christ, who shoved a stick up her ass?”

“Hush,” Natasha reprimands, voice clipped and bitter.

Fidgeting with your hands, you finally swivel around and drop back to the floor. Sparring a glance down the hall before you decide to make your way toward the stairs.

But it’s the rather sudden and sharp - ow - that makes you freeze.

Looking back at the trio, your gaze immediately falls to Natasha’s pinched brow.

“Hey!” she barks, shoving at Wanda, “Get out!”

You’re on the teen in a flash, gripping her by the shoulders as you pull her back - her eyes fading from a misted red to their normal dark hue.

“What was that?” you question, directly in her face. “We’ve talked about this. No going into other people’s heads!”

Wanda spits, head lulling back as she peers up at you, “She knows where he is.”

Clint has a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, but she brushes him off as she shakily stands up.

“Is that true?”

Your voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Seriously?” she quips, avoiding your eye.

As your hands drop from Wanda’s arms, you swivel on your toe - turning to face the assassin as you stand up to your full height.

“Natalia.”

It takes a beat, barely more than a breath, before her piercing green eyes land on your face - heated and desperate.

“I don’t know where Steve is, Seven.”

“Liar,” Wanda chortles, shaking her head as she haphazardly moves from the floor to sit on the couch behind her.

“I don’t,” Natasha emphasizes for you. “I just… know where he might want to go.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Clint questions.

“Fuck, you’re just as bad as Hill,” she shakes her head. “He might have… texted me yesterday asking for an assist.”

“And you…” the archer prompts, arms crossed and eyes furious.

“And, I didn’t give him anything. I’m not halfway across the world, in case you didn’t notice - ” she pushes sharply at Barton’s chest - green and blue still-wet nail polish squishing together on the fingers of her right hand.

“He’s not even in the country,” you fumble to grasp with a shake of your own head. “He just… left.”

“Look,” she sighs, seeming to take pity on you – though why, you don’t know. “This whole situation has got him worried about… his past. Very important things from his past.”

You immediately catch her meaning.

“And, he’s sort of hyperfocused on that right now. Hell if I know why, he didn’t bother to say.”

“But he went to you,” you surmise.

Perhaps that was the thing that stung most of all.

For all of the closeness the team purported the two of you had, in the moment where he needed help, it hadn’t been you he had contacted. It had been Natasha. And yes, they had worked together at SHIELD and during the first initial year hunting down Bucky. But you two were…

Well, you weren’t entirely sure what you two were most of the time. There was no word for it in either English or Greek or Old Latin that perfectly encapsulated the relationship you shared with the supersoldier.

Profound. Important. Lasting. Trusting.

Incomprehensible to those around you.

You both had grown since your first meeting five years ago. Your lives had twisted together like the branches of a grapevine. Intertwining so deeply; so tightly, there was no separating one from the other.

At least, you thought you understood the scope of your relationship. Perhaps your silence in the matter several days ago had been too much for even Steve to bear. He was a man of swift action in the face of injustice - or what he believed to be an injustice. While you were more… calculated in your actions.

“Yes,” Natasha states, releasing a breath from her pale lips.

With a nod, you merely say, “Of course,” before you give a regarding look to the other two.

You can hear the calling of your name as you head down the stairs to your quarters. But no one bothers to follow after you. You almost prefer it. Almost.

“Come on, tell me you got something,” Tony grits, the faceplate shooting up on his suit as his feet make contact with the sidewalk.

Natasha flashes him an irritated glance as she furiously swipes, “Give me a break, alright? This is old-school construction; the walls are actually insulated.”

“Give me that,” he snaps, grabbing the device from her hands – nearly dropping it as the suit’s fingers are far more bulky than his own.

As you had been leaning against the dory for a moment, watching the two needlessly bicker with Pallas resting on your shoulder, you swipe the device from Tony.

“Hey! I was using that!”

Offering him only a side-eye, you quickly triangulate the device to sync up with Clint’s hearing aids. Handing the small electronic over to Nat, you answer, “Seventeenth floor, one window, four guards, and Sarkissian.”

Tony, squinting upward against the afternoon sun; likely calculating where exactly the room would be, nods a quick, “Good work, Double O.”

The operatives you had captured in the Las Vegas fight hadn’t exactly been very forthcoming with their information. No one wanted to be the rat on an expansive operation, of course. But, apparently, one of them had managed to become a little more talkative after another round with one of the SHIELD interrogators.

Ophelia Sarkissian was a name that had been looming in the background ever since Strucker’s prison break.

Stark had spent the day running every possible program to try and find her. And to, admittedly, get Hill off his back for an afternoon. Which had led your four-man team to this pseudo-business in the Bronx. Cronus only knows how long their operation had been running here without arousing any suspicious inquiries. A single upscale beauty boutique in a thirty-two-floor building; really?

From the moment you had landed on the street, there had been resistance. Clint was hit with something – venom, possibly - and dragged away while you had been fighting off the electrically charged attacks from the escapee who had evaded you all back in the desert. You had savored a moment of triumph when the Aegis collided with his jaw and sent him reeling backward into temporary unconsciousness.

Noting the growing crowd on the opposite sidewalk and adjoining streets, phones out and at the ready, Tony drops the faceplate back into place.

“I’m open to options here.”

But Natasha silences him with a shush, “I think I’m picking up something.”

There’s a bit of static over the broadcast, all coming in from Clint’s aids, but you’re able to make out the monologue perfectly.

“You’re destroying this country, Mr. Barton. You don’t mean to, of course. You think you’re helping with your coddling little welfare state. Your constant demand for equality. Whatever happened to exceptionalism? Whatever happened to rewarding hard work? Instead, we punish success. Case in point -”

Through Sarkissian’s accented and twisted swirl of words, you can hear the frustrated and almost bored groans from Clint. They must have something covering his mouth, but you can still hear the muffled sarcastic comebacks he tries to convey.

“Today’s businesses face unfair regulation at the hands of an overreaching government. Where the hell in the Constitution did anyone promise the masses clean air, anyway? Sounds like a free market demand for filtration systems and gas masks.”

“They just love to hear themselves talk, don’t they?” You ponder, tiredly glancing over at Natasha.

“Unlike anyone else we know, anyway,” she surmises, looking pointedly up at Iron Man.

The optical lenses blink in golden LED light as Tony tilts his head, “Not sounding like a plan yet, Romanoff.”

She just grins like a lazy cat in a stretch of sunlight, “I thought it was obvious.”

It takes a second, but then Tony is soaring upward – dust and debris billowing up in his wake.

“Men,” she sighs with a roll of her eyes before looping her arm through yours.

Sarkissian’s voice echoes through the speaker still, “The most important lesson in what drives the whole process is fear . Once you figure out what a person is afraid of, you’ve found a way to sell them something.”

In a flash, the sidewalk below your feet disappears and a darkened industrial room appears.

“I personally can’t wait ‘til we’re back to selling wars -”

Iron Man crashes through the window.

As the monologuer turns around, Natasha dips away from you, throwing widow bites in quick succession – taking out two guards. Before she can even bear her teeth or whip out a blade, you pull Sarkissian in with your spear, trapping her by the neck; drawing her in close.

The threat of Tony’s blasters is enough to keep the last remaining stooge from making any sudden moves, giving Nat the chance to untie Clint from the single chair sitting in the room. So typical, it was almost sad.

“OW! ” He grunts when she rips the duct tape from his mouth, “ Fucking , Jesus. Not even a goddamn warning.”

But she’s not paying attention to his complaints as she pats his checks. Even from a distance, you can see his eyelids drooping and his mouth curving downward.

“Check her, Seven!”

With one hand holding the spear steady, you dig through the woman’s pockets – ignoring her annoyed little heys and buy me dinner first – before finally wrapping your fingers around a small vial.

The contents are a soft blue, cloudy, and very untrustworthy based on appearance alone. You chuck it Tony’s way, giving him the chance to analyze it.

By the time Clint’s up and on his feet again – arm draped over Nat’s shoulders for support, the news vans have already appeared on the street below. Hill also sent a few prisoner transports along, having a team dragging the various guards out one by one.

Leading Sarkissian out with a single hand grasping her wrists together behind her back, you avert your gaze from the flashes of cameras and the calls of eager reporters.

The SHIELD agent who you meet up with clasps a pair of heavy cuffs over the woman’s hands, making them fully encased. You watch as she’s pushed into the back of one of the vans, mouth sealed shut of her own accord.

“That’s right. Single-handly, we have shut down a serious threat to this beautiful community.”

The doors slam in your face as you spin around – catching Tony excitedly gesticulating in front of a team of news cameras.

Slipping back to stand beside Natasha and Clint, you watch in a mixture of slight awe and horror as Tony spins the tale of the great battle that had occured just moments before. How a dangerous criminal mastermind was now set to live out the rest of her days behind bars. He waves to the crowd, blowing out a kiss to a random bystander across the street before ultimately returning to the team.

“Hear that?” he grins, “That’s the sound of people starting to believe in superheroes again.”

Turning to wave at the people once more – now being met with shouts and calls for more questions - you slide close to the billionaire, voice meant for his ears alone.

“Will you still be superheroes after all of this, Tony? Won’t you just be SHIELD agents when you’re all on the federal payroll?”

“Well,” he cranes his head to the side.

After a beat, he grabs your arm by the elbow and forces your hand into a little wave. A group of people standing in front of the pizza place scream out in joy.

“We’re a good distraction if anything,” he gleams.

Glancing back at the others, your worried expression is met with equally concerned gazes.

Hill is surprisingly smiley when you return to the Compound. Nat and Clint brush her off – wanting nothing more than to get the archer properly checked out in medical, just in case that antivenom didn’t work its way through his system properly – but Tony meanders about, talking up a storm with her.

You slip past, watching the strange occurrence take place with an uneasy swish in your stomach.

The twins are nowhere to be seen when you first enter the main living space – nor is Vision. The swirl of your godly wardrobe disappears in a halo of warm golden light as the now-familiar comfort of human attire appears once again on your body.

Wringing your hands together, actually unsure of what to do with the post-fight energy still curiously wriggling itself through your body, a sensible chuckle meets your ears.

Tony, down to his jeans and Metallica shirt, wanders in, shaking his head.

“Is that what I think it is?”

You follow his amused gaze down to the soft baby blue cuff of your sleeve. It takes a second before you begin to frantically pull the hoodie off your shoulders, eyes wide in horror; too stunned to even manage a single word from your panicked lips.

“Hey, hey - ” he steps forward, easing a hand down before you can entirely divest yourself of the garment. Steve’s garment. Cronus, how the hell did it even appear on your anyway? “- it’s cool. Fitting, really.”

Your chest relaxes as a sigh pushes its way past your lips. Slowly, you pull the sleeves back up, pulling the soft fleece closer to your body. From the hem of the hood, you can just pick up the familiar musk of Steve’s aftershave.

“Anyway,” Tony spares one final look at the piece of clothing, “I had FRIDAY working through those records we nabbed?”

He expectantly waits for understanding to hit you. When you nod in remembrance, he continues, “Turns out, this little group had a ton of off-shore bank accounts. And a bunch of messages to a Mister E.”

A shock of laughter bubbles out from Tony as he slaps a hand over his own mouth in awe.

“Oh, that’s brilliant. Mister E .. Mystery. Get it? God, wish I thought of that myself before.”

Changing gears before you can even pinch your brows – ready to admonish him for regaling his pre-Iron Man war-profiteering era – he intercepts:

“Anyway, I’ve got FRIDAY on the trail and she’ll figure out who their figurehead is in no time. In other news... job well done. Yay, Avengers.”

A smile creeps to your lips as Tony gently bats his hand against your arm, “Go, relax or whatever the hell it is you do in your off time. The knowledge that a large criminal organization is currently off the streets should be a reward in itself today.”

Not even bothering to see what choice you make, Tony saunters off down the hall toward the meeting rooms, whistling a jaunty tune to himself. It could be a Disney song or a bad rendition of “Back in Black”, you’re not really sure.

On your way to your quarters, you spy the twins in the small kitchenette. Wanda’s sitting up on the counter and Pietro’s spinning around on the floor laughing; truly laughing. Not wanting to interrupt their moment of possible happiness, you scoot past them to your own room.

Flipping the light switch, your quarters come to life.

Still as plain and immaculately clean as you had left it.

Kicking your shoes off near the door, you shuffle your way across the pale pink carpet before your knees hit the edge of the bedframe and you turn around. Dropping down on the bed, your hair halos out behind you. The mattress sags pleasantly under your weight as you breathe out a long sigh.

After a moment of pure silence, staring up at the tiny specks that make up faux constellations on the ceiling, your thumb begins to rub at the cuff of the hoodie’s sleeve.

Eventually, you draw in the open front to your nose – inhaling that warm smell once again. How exactly Steve’s clothing had disappeared from his room only to appear on your body was still a complete mystery to you. This had never happened before in the history of, well, your entire existence, frankly.

The aftershave is a woody scent, embedded into the owner’s clothing. Taking short sniffs, you can just make out the patchouli and cedar. Somewhere in there is the barest hint of clove. It reminds you of the soft mossy floor of your sister’s forest. The woods always held an earthy smell to them, especially on Olympus. Artemis’ realm seemed enhance the simple scent of the outdoors to be even more pleasing to the senses. But this fragrance, curled into the fabric of Steve’s hoodie, is something of its own making.

The only downside of it, actually, is the fact that it makes the ache of Steve’s absence even stronger.

Where you would usually turn to the supersoldier in the aftermath of a battle, there was no one. When you would plan out a fight, it was always with Steve. Even just now, passing the twins, you were reminded of the person missing at your side. The person who had helped you, for months, aid in the recovery of the two mutants.

It felt like a betrayal. You knew it wasn’t, and even more-so, you knew you shouldn’t be thinking alongside that line of troubling thoughts. But it ultimately did, deep down in your chest. That bitter little vein throbbing next to your heart seemed to scream out – traitor. Which was nothing close to the truth of the matter at all.

Steve had left to quell an argument before it reached a disastrous level – Tony had a way of bringing that out in people; particularly Steve. He was just cooling off. That was all. Looking for James Barnes was just a distraction point in the matter, surely.

Curling onto your side, you pull the fabric even closer to you, silently wishing that whatever wrongs that had transpired between him and the team could be undone so that Steve would return to the Compound at last. So he could return to... you.

Wrapped in the warmth of fleece, and with the featherlight pillow beneath your head, the aftermath of the fight finally pulls at your body – dragging you down into a light, dreamless sleep.

But it is broken all too easily, an hour later, by the sharp trilling of a buzzing cell phone on the nightstand beside you.

Through bleary eyes, you see an unknown number flash across the screen. You already know, however; deep down, that pulsing artery in your heart, you already know who it is. Flicking the phone open, you ask in an immediate rush of breathlessness:

“Are you okay?”

The distant flutter of a chuckle greets your ears as you sag back down.

“I’m okay,” Steve replies.

He’s okay. He’s okay. Steve’s okay.

But with that immediate sense of relief, you find yourself having to steady a breath. Trying to hold back the sudden swath of anger that wants to break free – you jerk. Where does he get off ignoring you, all of you, for days on end, just to call you out of nowhere and act like everything’s just fine?

Biting it back, your fingers dig into palm – feel that, that’s real. Those thoughts? That anger. That’s just a distraction.

“Where are you?”

“Out of my depth,” he snorts.

“Cronus, Rogers,” you sigh, raking your hand over your head.

“’Thena... I need your help. A favor, honestly.” His voice cracks on the final sound of your name.

From that alone, you know he doesn’t really want to be asking for this. Which must mean he desperately needs whatever help he can get.

“Anything,” you respond in kind.

There’s a beat of silence that passes between the two of you. In the distance, you can make out the honk of a car horn, the rustle of a breeze, the whispers from who you assume to be Sam.

“I need to find Bucky ... before Ross does. I, I know the Accords aren’t signed into law yet, but the SRA... it’s going to be voted on any day now, and I don’t want anything to happen to him while we just sit here. He’s been through too much on my account already.”

The words sink in slowly at first before the full scope of the threat resting above James Barnes hits you like a flash of lightning.

“I can send Pallas,” you suggest. “Actually, you should have just used the card and called me to you.”

Steve huffs a broken laugh, “Thought about that, honestly. Just, didn’t seem safe.”

“Okay,” you murmur, thinking over your options.

This was likely what he had contacted Natasha about. And if she couldn’t help... well, there was always Tony. But then again, that was probably one of the last people Steve would willing to go to for help right now. Especially with this.

“I... I might have something. But it’s back on Olympus.”

“Okay,” he eases.

A smile curls on your lips, “It will only take me a minute of your time.”

You can picture the way his features relax when he hears your answer, a grateful, “Thank you,” is pressed across the line. Followed shortly by a soft admission:

“I miss you, you know.”

For a moment, you try to picture him. Eyes soft but lidded, lips pressed to the receiver so Sam won’t hear, that easy smile he reserves only for you and you alone.

Your fingers loop around one of the strings on his hoodie, tugging aimlessly at it for a moment before you respond, “It’s only been three days, Steve.”

There’s a pause, a breath of space between two places, but still connected by that always present invisible force that connects you to him and him to you.

“I think that’s been three days too many, honestly,” comes the husky reply.

You linger there on the line, just listening to the sound of his gentle breaths. If you closed your eyes, which you won’t, and if you imagined for just a moment – which you didn’t dare – you could almost see him laying just in front of you on the bed, staring down at you with an expression that would make his sea blue eyes nearly black in the low light of your room.

“Just... give me a minute,” you murmur, placing the phone down on your pillow.

Steve gives a hum of acknowledgment. And then you’re gone. In a sparkling burst of golden light.

The building is just a street away from the main hub of the city. Where, if you were looking for peace and quiet, you would be in the wrong part of town. The traffic isn’t nearly as bad here though, but the noise does travel well past the boundaries of the Soviet apartment block.

“I thought we were going for a stealthy approach with this one. Instead, you’re going in like a walking billboard for the Avengers.”

Taking the stairs, Steve peers down the first corridor before answering Sam, “We don’t know what state of mind he might be in. Better safe than sorry.”

The strap of the shield digs into his fingers as he pulls it tight to his side.

This was really going to be their last chance to find Bucky and get him out of here. If anyone was going to take the fall for this, it would be Steve in his full Captain America regalia. Not Sam. Sam, who he had sent to the roof to keep an eye on the skies and neighboring buildings. Sam, with no uniform, who had strict instructions to make a break for it the minute things got nasty. If things got nasty. Which, God, he hoped they wouldn’t.

It’s three more floors of worn concrete stairs before the crackle of Sam’s voice breaks over the comms once again.

“What exactly was it that your girl did?”

In the hotel, Steve had remained largely vague about your role in this mission. Sharon had provided the city for them, but not the address. Even that was out of her jurisdiction.

“She had a...” a man steps out of his apartment, takes one look at Steve, and slowly backs his way back inside. Two locks slide closed.

He’s not insulted, in all actuality. Considering if the roles were reversed and he, all ninety some pounds of pre-serum Rogers, had seen a costumed renegade outside of his door. Yeah, he’d likely lock up and snooker down.

“A scyring pool, I think. It was something that allowed her to see whatever it was she was seeking? It’s not really my realm.”

Taking a look up at the final set of stairs, Steve grasps the shaky metal railing and begins the ascent. He had been tracking the door numbers this entire time. 607 had to be up here.

“What, and she just... had this magical thing th e whole time we were looking for cold, dark, and gloomy?”

That wasn’t something Steve particularly wanted to think about, in all honesty. In fact, he had resigned the notion to the back of his mind for the time being.

603, 604, 605, 606...

The last door is entirely unordinary. Just like the others.

Placing his head against the wood, he can’t immediately detect any movement from inside. Still, he knocks. Bracing himself for the moment his friend opens the door and sees him. God, what the hell will he even think? Will he even listen, or is this going to be like the helicarrier all over again?

A minute passes, and Steve still doesn’t hear any sounds of a gun cocking or glass breaking.

Ramming his shoulder into the door, it gives way almost instantly. Distantly, he wonders if it was even locked to begin with.

While the overhead lights are on above a single table and the small kitchen counter, the windows themselves are covered up – barely allowing a trickle of sunlight through the pasted newsprint. Steve treks in slowly, watching the floor for any traps as he takes in the abhorrent state of the single room.

The walls, once covered in green paint, are flicked down to the concrete, with splashes of dangling wallpaper only near the kitchen. There’s a lingering smell as well, possibly coming from the raggedy couch or... the lone mattress on the floor.

Jesus, Buck.

“He’s not here,” he speaks into the comm, turning in a slow circle – sweeping the room for any sign that his friend might still be somewhere in the shell of HYDRA’s weapon.

There’s a stack of newspapers on the dining table. When he flips over the most recent stack, there’s a picture of the explosion on Wall Street. The headline says something in a language Steve can’t read, but he knows what the article likely says.

Atentat la New York. Eficiența Răzbunătorilor în discuție.

Unable to look at the burning remains of the charter school for a moment more, he flips the page back down.

Moving toward the kitchenette, under a stack of protein bars, Steve spots it. A simple black notebook with a few red tabs sticking out of it. His curiosity peaked, he can’t help but pull it out.

The first page is blank, but on the second, he’s met with a picture of himself. A pamphlet from the Smithsonian exhibit, actually. On the adjoining page, a scribble of thoughts bursts out from the paper.

Captain America.

Captain Rogers Steve. Steve Rogers.

New York. New York City, apartment. One room. No windows. There’s a bed with a hole in the mattress and a chestdrawerbox

Whatever train of thought that had hit the writer, was quickly jotted out in a furious scratch of ink.

Hesitantly, Steve flips through the pages. Spotting bubbles of thought with facial sketches of himself. In uniform, and without. A smaller, skinnier version of a boy – a smile, but no upper facial features to be found; like the full image never came to mind.

And then there’s a change. From drawings of Steve and blurry New York skylines, comes a flurry of images of a sleek woman – curled hair and a smokey fixture over her face. If Steve had to acquaint it with anyone he knew, he would say the woman of Bucky’s fixation looked a lot like Natasha, but in a more classic noir style than anything else.

Two more pages follow the drawings, filled with news clippings and headlines.

One more page and Steve’s finger pauses on the page.

There. In perfect recreation is you.

A full face of details, unafforded to the other sketches. But amongst the premade lines of the notebook, your likeness comes to life. Steve gazes into your pencil-made eyes, the hint of a smile about to burst on your lips. Your hair is hidden behind a plain veil fluttering in an invisible wind. Below your neck, Steve’s eyes follow the detailing of a Red Cross nurse’s uniform fizzle out into the page.

Why is it, he wonders, that the sketches of himself and the mystery woman remain faceless, while this rendering of you is a near replica of the real person?

Something heavy sits on the page behind the drawing. Following temptation, he flips it over. Another series of article clippings, of you and the team. In your flowing white Olympian armor, eyes blazoned in the moment of battle.

Another, there with Steve, helping him out from a pile of rubble. His hand aches with the distant ghost of your touch.

“Put it down.”

Steve spins around, smacking the notebook closed. Silently chastising himself for not hearing the man’s approach.

Bucky, eyes wide and sweeping, adds a trembling, “Please.”

Steve, holding one hand up, places the book back down on the counter. Trying to show in any way he can manage that he is no threat to James Barnes.

And then he just stares, unable to help himself as he takes in his friend’s shambled appearance.

“Do you know me?”

Bucky blinks, glancing between Steve and the notebook resting on the counter behind him.

“You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

In his heart, he believes that isn’t the truth. The few words he spotted in that book are indicator enough, but he eases forward a step.

“I don’t want you to be nervous. But I know you have every reason to be.”

Bucky takes a step away, right hand curling into a fist. Left hand... tucked away into his pocket.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“We’re here to help you, Buck,” Steve soft pleads, pulling the helmet from his head. Let him see. Let him connect the pieces to the man standing in front of him.

“We?” he questions, glancing toward the window beside him with the stained ivory curtain swaying.

He really should think before he opens his mouth sometimes.

“A friend,” Steve amends.

Keeping his distance, Bucky begins to circle away from him, heading toward the dining table.

“You should’ve left me alone,” he murmurs.

Easing his hands onto his belt, Steve lays it out, “They know where you are. They’ve been tracking you for weeks.”

There’s a skittish look that crosses his friend’s features. A wild animal pacing a cage of their own making, expecting the hounds to break through in the next breath.

“We want to help. Buck...” he crosses the distance between them, grasping hold of Bucky’s right forearm. “Let us help you get out of here.”

Before he can form a response, Sam’s voice crackles in his ear, “There’s someone up here. I’ m compromised.”

Blocking the quick series of fists that come swinging at your face, you try to land a solid punch to the lower torso, but your target disappears.

“Hey!” you chastise, spinning around – managing to grab Pietro’s hand before he can fully connect it with your shoulder. “I thought the sparring rule was no using your speed?”

“That ,” he grins, pulling back, “was Captain Roger’s rule. You, my friend, never established such terms before we began.”

Smart bastard.

Offering him an exasperated huff, you hold up your hands, “Well, let’s say that we’ve now established it as such.”

In Steve’s absence, and with Pietro seemingly coming out of his shell in the past few days, you had offered to take over temporary training with the teen. Your time had largely been spent working with Wanda as you had been deemed the sturdiest candidate when it came to tolerating her untrained magic.

Pietro, without his speed as a factor point, had spent more time with Steve and Sam than anyone else. And, you had to hand it to the pair, they had taught him well.

“Alright, let’s get back in your ready position,” you begin, changing his focus back to the sparring session.

But before you can begin, both of your attentions are drawn to the exasperated scream that trails down the hallway outside of the gym doors, followed by Wanda’s screech of:

“Unbelievable! Bastardi!”

A blur of flowing black fabric and dark red hair goes blazing past.

Sparing Pietro a single look, you give him the nod that allows him to jump over the ropes and race out of the gym.

Resting on the swaying rope, sweat dripping down the curve of your back, you just shake your head. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to know what terrible news had unfolded in your temporary absence away from the TV.

The gym door swishes open as an awkward Tony Stark works his way over to you. His posture is too rigid, hands stuffed into his pockets, and a nervous sort of look sits in his eyes.

“What happened?” you ask, voice exhausted – not by the training session, but by the weight of the extenuating circumstances that had been plaguing the team for weeks at this point.

He glances around, rocking on the balls of his feet, “Did half of Paramore happen to storm past?”

Pulling away from the ropes, you drop down on the mat and slide your way to the floor, standing before the billionaire and offering him an incredulous, “Who?”

“The Wunderkinds.”

“Yeah, Wanda just... she went by a second ago. Why, what happened?”

You’re already anticipating the worst when Tony pulls out his phone. Likely news headlines conjure themselves up in your head. But, instead, you’re met with a photo.

Iron Man. In mid-flight. Faceplate up, but sunglasses resting on the lower curve of his nose. And... was that a smoothie?

As the phone is dropped into your hands, you scroll down ever-so-slightly.

@tonystark: Hey SnapTap, am I doing this right? #avengersinthewild #youknowwhoiam

“It’s brilliant, right?” he beams, snatching the phone back.

But you just blink, still trying to assess where the hell Tony’s mind went.

“That’s a word for it, sure. Why exactly are you jumping on this track after the whole no social media spiel you made Steve give Wanda the other day?”

Tony scoffs, looking almost offended by the question.

“You know, with everything that’s happened. With two pieces of legislation at our goddamn doorstep, I’m trying to do whatever the hell I can still do to try and change this clusterfuck of a narrative.”

Right. The grandstanding during yesterday’s operation. One hand on the wheel. Let the bills pass, but keep hold of the public’s opinion.

“I mean,” Tony shrugs, thumbing through his phone for a moment. “If the media wants the people to fear us; to plant unnecessary panic, then I figure we just show the world that we’re just like them. Relatable and all that. Kickass, but still approachable. Someone you’d want to pay a few thousand to hang out with for a day.”

Cronus, no wonder Wanda was furious – having to remove everything under the guise of security and privacy, only to have Tony turn around and do this overnight.

“Here,” the phone is directed back your way, a notes app opened up to a show a series of jotted-down names. “I already saved some handles for you guys.”

Your eyes scan over the list of proposed names:

@realathena

@hawkinthenest

@capattack

@assgardian

Disgust riddles its way through your body and you can only manage a shake of the head as you push the phone back Tony’s way.

“Come on, Seven,” Tony pleads in a tired tone, rubbing a hand at his face. “Look, you get the chance to come and go, right? This world ain’t working out for you, you can probably go off and find a new one. But this? This is our one and only world. And personally, I don’t want to see everyone have to give up their ability to fight or to hang up their suit. I’m telling you, every little bit helps.”

In his bleary eyes, you find only honest truth. And, knowing Tony, you are aware that he’s gone down every possible avenue – every scenario – to keep the team together, to keep their powers in their own hands.

And, give hell or high water, despite Ross and the entire weight of the American government, you knew Tony would do whatever was in his power to keep things as well off as he could manage.

“I... I’ll think about it, okay?” you offer, mentally hopscotching your way out of it entirely.

“Hey, that’s all I ask,” he beams. “We can do a little photo op. My treat. I’m thinking, you with your armor, or you and your little owl guy. People love a celebrity with a pet.”

Cronus, help her.

Nodding your head, you begin to back your way toward the practice ring, “Definitely something to think about, yes.”

Tony, grinning like the sly fox he thinks he is, just tuts in a knowing tone. As if to say, he would break you down, slowly, with much annoyance and pestering.

But then that smile begins to drift south; a true frown now resting on his face.

“What,” you question. “Have you already lost followers?”

He quirks a brow, “I’m one of the fastest-growing accounts, thank you very much. FRI? Can you get this on the big screen?”

You follow the question to the ceiling where the omnipresent AI lived (in your mind, anyway), before landing on the large TV pressed up above the row of five treadmills.

The same two reporters who have been covering the House vote and the updates from the U.N. are familiar to you now. And, where you expect to see some grand announcement of a bill passage or another righteous official ready to spout off for the microphone -

Your heart drops. A deep ache fills your stomach as you press your palms to your throbbing chest.

The reporter’s words are but a ringing in your ears as you watch Steve, in full uniform, pushed to his knees by a man in a military uniform bearing the American flag. Behind him, Sam’s being pushed and pulled by three other men – his flight pack nearly ripped from his body in such a way that you fear his shoulder has been dislocated in their carelessness. And then the camera – taken by an amateur reporter, clearly – lands on -

“Oh my, God,” you utter.

James is lying flat out on the ground, with a soldier pushing their full weight down upon his back as another handcuffs his hands behind him. He’s grunting, blood trickling down from a cut on his temple as he shudders and fights to breathe.

“Tony,” you urge – too many questions and demands to make them come out in a proper sentence. But he knows.

Dragging a hand down his face, he just shakes his head, “So much fucking ground to make up.”

“Anthony,” you bark, eyes blazing as you watch the live feed of the three men being loaded up into the back of an armored vehicle by armed and ready soldiers.

“I...” he just sighs, long and heavy, as if he had taken over for Atlas temporarily. “Uhm, shit. I’ll try and see which lawyers I can wrangle back. Who the fuck knows what can legally be done right now. I don’t even... Jesus, Seven. I don’t even know what to tell you.”

His eyes are soft and sincere as he manages out a choked, “Sorry,” before he pushes past the gym doors and takes to the stairs.

Left there, alone in the aftermath, your focus drifts back on the screen where the Secretary of State – fucking Ross - begins a press briefing.

“Today, a specialized team of American service members successfully captured a rouge party of dangerous super-powered individuals. At this time, Steve Rogers is no longer a threat to this nation or the country at large. And tonight, may the world sleep easier to know that known Russian terrorist, James Barnes, also known by his moni k er: t he Winter Soldier, has been taken to a high-security location until further notice. As long as we allow these individuals to roam freely, they will be a threat to you and your family. Today, justice prevailed.”

That night, unable to pull yourself away from the TV in the living room, you watch alongside Tony – who’s glued to his phone, trying to type out a series of favors to his last few lawyers – and Vision, as the Sokovia Accords emergency legislation is passed through the United Nations. Natasha, eyes unblinking, gazes at the screen as the anchors - after the U.N. coverage ends, announce that the SRA is up for a vote later tonight.

Somewhere, over the span of the ocean, your teammates – your friends – are being flown back to the States like wanted criminals. Strapped down, collared, heavily guarded.

Beside you, the remainder of your team, silently watches their lives begin to unfurl. And you, Goddess of Wisdom, have no solutions for them. No options. Nothing.

You’re helpless to save any of them.

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#steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel fan fic #series: shameless wonder #my fic

58 notes · View notes

rogersideup · 11 months ago

Note

Helloooo! May I request a Steve Roger’s fluff! ✨Where reader has anxiety and one of the ways Steve calms her down is by skin contact. Maybe he takes off his shirt at random moments and he holds her and he lets her touch his body to feel the skin. He gives her massages once in a while. Maybe even lay naked together in bed to feel their bodies and heartbeat!! ❤️✨✨

‧₊˚౨ৎ˚Skin to Skin˚౨ৎ˚₊‧

It might not be exactly what you asked for, but I wrote this last night while having a lot of anxiety and it helped me regulate so I hope you love it regardless <3

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,076

Summary: Sometimes even the hardest days have the best endings 🧸

Warnings: descriptions of symptoms of anxiety

The hallway of your apartment building was dead silent.

Usually you'd hear the faint chatter of people behind their front doors, locking and unlocking, heels clicking, neighborly hellos.

But right now, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Or maybe it was spinning way too fast and you had no control over it. Really, you didn't know which of those two scenarios you'd prefer, but regardless it all felt like too much.

There was no chatter to distract you from the sound of your own heart pounding so hard you could hear the blood pooling in your ears, no foot steps from friendly faces to urge you to look up from your own feet, no small talk to distract you from how Steve's thumb was apologetically rubbing the back of your hand, the one that was holding his tightly.

You trailed behind him, blinking back your tears and urging them not to fall until you got inside the comfort of your shared four walls. You stopped because he stopped, allowed your emotional barriers to start slipping at the sound of his keys unlocking the front door, then the first one fell down your cheek as his hand on your lower back ushered you from the hallway right into your living room.

Shaky, choppy breaths were all you could manage as Steve put his keys in the catch-all next to the front door. There was only a split second opportunity to see the exhaustion on his face before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight hug. He cradled your head into his chest, and gently swayed you from side to side.

The smell of your boyfriend's cologne, and the ribbed cotton of his sweater beneath your hands was the last blow to your emotional barrier, that's all it took for you to start sobbing.

From the moment you woke up this morning, you were just having a bad day. It started with a nightmare, which ultimately led you to waking up 5 minutes before your alarm, not allowing much time for Steve to comfort you before you had to get ready for work.

The nightmare almost felt like a bad omen, and it sent your anxiety spiraling for the rest of the day.

The big project meeting you worked so hard on was cancelled, you forgot your lunch on the counter at home, and it unexpectedly started raining while you were wearing a white silk blouse. By the time you got home you were soaking wet in a see through shirt and hungry. You didn't have a single moment to stop and regain your composure, because you promised Steve you'd attend the Avengers monthly team building event with him.

When he saw the state you arrived home in, he urged you to stay home and promised it would be fine. But you knew deep down that he really wanted you there, so you put on a brave face and tried to salvage as much of your hair and makeup as you could, but the rain completely ruined your plans.

Instead of your hair being down and perfectly curled as planned, you had to settle for a sleek, slicked bun and a natural makeup look. This led to your outfit not looking how you wanted it, which also led to you feeling completely unhappy with how you looked and how you felt about yourself.

With hunger levels, annoyance, and sadness being very high, your self confidence, energy, and persistence was very very low.

You weren't saying that you didn't feel great about yourself, but Steve could see it in your posture, and he could tell by the way you went completely quiet. He assured you multiple times that you looked absolutely beautiful, and he wasn't lying. You always looked beautiful.

That at least earned him a small grin and a gentle kiss, but then he threw you in a room full of superheroes and their respective friends and family, and that immediately made everything worse.

Already feeling quite self conscious and insecure while being surrounded by people who were the smartest, strongest, and greatest in their respective ways had you feeling like you couldn't even take a breath.

Even on their worst days they could save the world, meanwhile you were on the brink of tears because Black Widow and the Scarlet Witch looked so pretty.

In a very bold self preservation attempt, you pushed it all down. Steve deserved some happy and chipper arm candy, and you already committed to being that for him so you tried your best to play the role.

To him, this was family and to you, this was a room full of people you didn't even deserve to be in the presence of. Although most of them became friends of yours and accustomed to your habits, they knew enough about you to know that something was wrong, but not enough to know that they shouldn't push your buttons about it.

It left you as the target of all of the jokes that evening. Nearly every conversation had a minimum of one passing comment. Steve tried his hardest to shut down as many as he could, even changing the topic a few times, but there were some things he couldn't save you from.

You appreciated him trying, but wondered if he would've rather you stayed home instead of damper his evening with your self pity. That also spiraled into some nasty thoughts, the meanest part of your brain convincing you that he didn't really love you, and you weren't good enough to even be around him.

Thats when you quietly slipped away to the bathroom just for a few moments to take some deep breaths and dry the tears pooling in your lash line, your mascara wasn't about to meet its fate twice in one day.

You knew that anxiety was most of the issue, you knew that you just needed some reassurance and a warm meal, maybe a hug and a warm shower. The thought of all of the snacks out on a grazing table for everyone to enjoy made you pull yourself together, you were hopeful that some food in your empty stomach could really help.

And it did, for about 10 minutes before Tony made yet another back handed, rude remark about you. So sly that Steve didn't even catch it, and when you grabbed his hand to try and comfort yourself, Tony threw you a wink.

Thats when you knew there was no turning your mood around. Your white flag waved high and proud as you spent the remainder of the night making yourself small, trying not to drag any attention to yourself or take any fun away from Steve.

He caught onto the way you let go of his hand and got up to grab some water, then when you came back you sat further from him. Shoving yourself into the corner of the couch leaving plenty of space between your bodies. Knowing damn well you were struggling, he could assume your brain tricked you into thinking he didn't love you, because really, he knew you that well.

Making his way over to you, he wasn't shy to put his arm around your shoulders and use his hand to draw little shapes in the top of your arm before giving you a very quick kiss to your temple.

You didn't speak for the rest of the night unless it was to say goodbye to everyone on your way out, or politely thank Tony for hosting. You didn't even speak to Steve on the way home, and he understood. Rather than trying to force you to speak, he gave you the metaphorical space you needed to keep your composure as he kept one hand on the wheel and one hand on your thigh.

That led to this moment, soaking his sweater in your tears. You felt pathetic, but it was also the first time all day you felt safe.

"I'm so sorry, honey." Steve spoke gently. He hated seeing you so upset, swearing he could physically feel his heart breaking in his chest. "I love you so much."

You sucked in a shaky breath before mustering up the only sentence you could speak. "Tony is an asshole."

"I know, Baby." Steve agreed, petting your hair and trying his best to comfort you. "They were all laying in on you way too hard. You didn't deserve it."

"They were just joking," You tried justifying between sniffles and cries. "but I couldn't handle it tonight."

"But they could've stopped after the first time I told them. I know they can be too much sometimes. Just because they're just joking doesn't mean it wasn't hurting your feelings." He justified. "You've had a long day, I think you need some love and food and sleep."

"I just want to stay here." You cried, holding on just a bit tighter. Finding your nervous system starting to regulate itself for the first time all day, you weren't feeling ready to let go of your boyfriend just yet.

Steve kissed the crown of your head multiple times, "We can stay here as long as you want."

He held you for a little while longer until your sobs turned into slow tears and you finally felt brave enough to let go of him. After getting you comfortable and warm on the couch, he walked away for a bit to make you your favorite dinner.

When he came back with two bowls and handed you one, it was the first time all day he saw your real, genuine smile. Though you were still crying, he was confident that he could turn your mood around.

Your favorite show playing on the TV, snuggles, a fluffy blanket across your lap, and eating dinner on the couch was a good start. When you were done eating, Steve took the bowl back from you and wandered off to clean the kitchen and do the dishes.

When he came back he hovered over you with a sad pout when he noticed how quick your breathing was and how he could practically see your pulse from the artery in the base of your neck. Approaching slowly, he gently placed his index and middle finger to your neck and left them there for a second before his pout deepened.

"Baby" He sympathized. "You've gotta slow that thing down, your heart is going to run away from you."

"I've had the worst anxiety all day long." You explained, wiping tears off your face. "I don't think my resting heart rate has been normal since I woke up this morning."

You could see his gears turning before he leaned over and gave you a kiss. "I know how to fix it, I'll be right back."

He wandered off again before coming back and holding his hands out for you, pulling you up off the couch. There were a few small complaints about how you didn't want to get up, or how you were so warm and comfortable, but he swore this would help.

Dragging you into the bathroom, you noticed he lit a candle and started a bubble bath. The sight alone made you release a long sigh, and Steve took that as a good sign.

The two of you fell into silence once more, words were useless when you already knew how this was going to go. Besides, all the talking would do was mask the sound of the rain pattering against the roof, and that was loved deeply by the both of you.

He flicked off the light switch leaving just candlelight to softly illuminate the bathroom while you both undressed and sank into the hot water.

Steve sat behind you, and you sat between his legs with your back leaning against his chest. The moment you settled in, his arms wrapped around your tummy and rested on top of your thighs.

With his soft skin against yours, and the pressure of the hot water against the whole of your body, your mind began to slow enough to start thinking rationally.

You could feel Steve's calm, deep breaths as his diaphragm inflated and deflated against your back, subconsciously making your body match his.

Very quickly, you went from feeling like you weren't good enough to even be around him to feeling an overwhelming sense of safety and gratitude for his love.

Especially when you never had to worry about what your body might've looked like while sitting down, or if your tummy was too soft underneath his arms. You especially didn't have to worry about what he might've felt beneath his wandering palms as starting moving them about your body, applying some pressure to your tense shoulders and the tops of your arms. You didn't have to worry about the pressure of being in this situation, already naked with his hands roaming about. His intentions were always very clear and he didn't even need his words to state them.

You were safe in the hands of the man you loved, and he loved you so much that you didn't have to worry. You didn't have to put out for him or give him anything in return right now, he just loved you, and he wanted you to feel better.

He gave you an occasional chastise kiss to your shoulder between massaging various parts of your body, and oxytocin flooded your brain faster than you understood.

The tears eventually stopped wetting your cheeks, and the rain only started falling even harder outside.

Your head leaned backwards and a bit sideways to rest on Steve's shoulder, and you couldn't help but to lift your hand up out of the water and reach back to cradle the side of Steve's face.

"I love you" You whispered, not wanting to ruin the peace. "I'm sorry I didn't say it back earlier."

"It's okay, baby." His voice also gentle and full of adoration. "I know you love me, you don't have to say it for me to know it. I trust that you know I love you too, even when your brain is being very unkind to you."

You very subtly nodded, understanding exactly what he was saying.

The two of you weren't unfamiliar with nights like these, skin to skin in the bathtub, or in the shower, even the bed or on the couch. Between the nature of Steve's job and your chronic anxiety, the two of you have become experts at being present for each other. When the world was spinning too fast or it came to a screeching halt, you could always trust the other person to know exactly how to grasp it and make it spin just right.

It wasn't something that came easy or naturally, you both learned a lot from each other and your methods were ever changing much like every season of life. The closer you bonded, the easier it was to understand each other's needs.

There was a fine line between needing affirming words and complete silence, needing support but also needing to be left alone. Some nights looked like a few hours of alone time, some looked like you were super glued together, but every anxiety attack was ended with your bare bodies regulating as one.

He knew you had your fill of silence, and your words told him you were ready to talk.

"You know you never have to shy away from me, I'm always happy to be with you even if you think otherwise." He reassured. "Thank you for coming with me tonight. I know that was really hard, but I appreciate you."

"I just didn't want to ruin your fun, I felt bad that I wasn't at my best and I didn't want you to have to deal with it. That's not fair." You explained quietly.

You learned very early on in your relationship to just be upfront and honest with Steve, another privilege of being with him. He never made you feel bad or weird about your true feelings, and he always knew just the right things to say. In turn, he was completely open and honest with you, and you've never trusted anyone more in your whole life.

"You didn't ruin the fun, the fun was ruined the moment everyone decided to make you a target and that's not your fault." Steve shook his head. "What's not fair is you thinking that having an off day makes you an inconvenience to anyone else. You're allowed to be sad or upset sometimes, baby. It's life, it's okay. How many times have you cancelled plans or altered your day just because I turned into a ticking time bomb of panic? I'm happy to return the favor, I enjoy taking care of you."

"It's different." You denied with a slight shake of your head. "You're a superhero, Stevie. Most of those days are because you've gotten shot or stabbed or you've witnessed and been involved in unthinkable horrors. I work an office job four blocks away and can barely handle that pressure."

"Thats not a fair comparison." Steve denied. "At the very root of it, we're both human and life will never be completely perfect all of the time. Regardless of if you're smiley and bouncing off the walls or just need a day to cry in bed I love you just the same."

You kissed the corner of his jaw in acceptance before completely relaxing your body against his. Steve's hand reached up and rested right over your heart.

"Besides," He started again. "I think that you're also exposed to all of those unthinkable horrors just from having to put up with me every day. The way you handle it and the way you treat me contributes a lot to my ability to do what I do everyday. I understand I probably make your anxiety worse sometimes, because I wouldn't even be able to handle dating me."

"It's worth every second of digging bullets out of you with tweezers, baby." You grinned, earning Steve's smile in return.

"See? You're a superhero too." He pointed out. "And your heart is slow and steady. That makes me really happy."

"You make me really happy." You replied without a second thought. "Thank you for this, I feel so much better."

"Anytime, Beautiful." He kissed your cheek. "I'm sorry you had a bad day. I know for sure that tomorrow is going to be so much better."

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