ldouble - Tumblr blog

[ldouble]

summary: after the wrong side of Bucky comes out, you and him fight about what to do next

The helicopter whirs above, sirens in the distance.

It's not even 11 am, you think to yourself, the day having gone by so quickly.

It's normal to get shot at but it's not normal to come from Bucky

At the thought of him you hear him groan.

Sam calls for Steve and you make your way closer.

Bucky's whisper is raspy, like he hasn't had water in a week. You want to touch his face to comfort him but Steve voices a proper concern. Exactly which Bucky is he talking to.

I glare at Sam when he questions Bucky.

"The winter soldier doesn't know mothers." You explain, lifting the column off his armored hand to free him.

Bucky looks up at you and the amount of concern in your eyes must be enough to tell him. He reaches for your hand before looking away, no longer able to maintain eye contact.

"What did I do?"

"Enough."

You repeat Steve's words, chastising him. It's not our fault, I want to say. We can't control it.

But it wasn't me this time.

You suck in a breath, terrified at the thought.

Bucky and you were both captured at the same time, given identical doses and treated as the soldiers you were bred to be. He got named Winter and you were nameless. You used to joke its because you were better at hiding your tracks. In reality, less people looked at a woman back then, even if she was a killer.

"All he had to do was say the goddamn words."

Bucky voicing the truth causes you to suck in a breath.

The book. It's out there.

"What did he want to know?" You whisper but Steve voices it louder.

"Where I was kept. he wanted to know exactly where."

"Oh no." You exhale.

"Why would he need to know that?" Steve glances between the two of us.

Bucky's head is angled downward and he can't seem to get any words out. So you answer for him.

"Because we aren't the only Winter Soldiers."

The room goes quiet, the whirring of the choppers fading as the rest of the world tunes into a light buzz.

Bucky's hand is still holding yours but it's gone numb. Your whole body has gone numb.

Bucky did damage. But they can do worse. You can do worse.

With words not that far away from the ones spoken earlier.

You only feel his hands on you as he gets up to hug you. It's not till your head finds the creek of his neck that you really you're crying.

It's more than it being you two against the world. It's about to be them against you.

[ldouble]

Safe House | Bucky Barnes x Reader

gif not mine

summary: Bucky takes care of you as best he can at a safe house

fluff, mentions of blood/injury, slow burn but cute :)

“I never thought I’d see the day a super soldier couldn’t body slam a door.”

Bucky grumbled, before giving some side eye.

Your head rolled back so it was flat against the wall. The very wall you’d been leaning against for what felt like years. You didn’t deserve the attitude. You’d followed him here, to this supposed safe house, without a peep. The least you could comment on was him not using the one skill you knew he had.

You didn’t trust him when he said he knew a place. Now you couldn’t trust him to open a god damn door.

You opened your mouth to tell him about his one job, when a sharp pain erupted in your side.

The pain was a not so gentle reminder of why you were locked outside an unknown apartment.

You’d gotten caught. The mission had gone bad and you had ended up injured and on the ground. It took firing off the rest of your rounds over Bucky’s shoulder. You wouldn’t have been able to run away fast enough. It took a carry from him the stashed grenade you kept for emergencies.

No comms. No weapons. And a whole lot of hurt.

And a door that couldn’t be opened by a former honorary Avenger.

“If I shoulder it off its hinges, I won’t be able to close it.” Bucky said to the doorknob that he stared down. “Kind of defeats the point of a safe house.”

His blue eyes were focused. So clear you found yourself focusing a little too much on them when it was the matter at hand that needed attention.

“Not getting in beats the house part.” You nudged him out of the way and replaced his stance.

“You alright?”

“Fine.” You said between gritted teeth. You weren’t. You were hurt. More badly than you’d want to admit. For some reason you didn’t want to show weakness in front of him. You two were unofficial partners but for some reason showing him you needed help as a non-starter.

The lock clicked open - loud enough that you hoped it masked the grunt you made when standing up.

Your disappointment in the interior couldn’t be coveredd by the sound of the door shutting.

Two steps in and you were past the small kitchen and into the living room turned bedroom. A bare mattress laid on the pull out couch that stared at an old dresser. The cracked mirror that sat atop it distorted the image in front of you almost made you believe this was all a dream. But another wave of pain reminding you this was all very, very real. Then again, maybe you had lost enough blood to be seeing things.

“Never said it was the Ritz.” Bucky said once the security guard was locked.

“Didn’t expect it to be.” Again, you said through tight lips.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

Bucky strutted toward you - a mere three steps with his large stride and the small room - and before you knew it your shirt was being lifted up. He looked larger than life in such a small space. It didn’t freak you out like it should have. Instead, you were comforted knowing there was little place he didn’t take up.

“Hey!”

“Bullet wound.” He twisted you around quickly. You wouldn’t have minded if the action hadn’t include him touching the very wound he just commented on. “In and out. That’s good.”

“Ah, yes, something good.” You winced.

“Come on.”

You tried to resist but there was no use. All the strength he didn’t have at the door he regained - lifting you like you weighed nothing.

He sat you on the closed toilet before rifling under the sink.

“Aren’t safe houses supposed to have first aid kits?” He grumbled.

“I don’t think this place would pass the standard.”

He disappeared and you felt your whole body both stiffen and relax. You had some room to breathe but without him near you felt less safe.

Ok. Too much blood loss. You were thinking more about Bucky than you ever had in all your time knowing him. Maybe it wasn’t blood loss. Could you chalk it up to the creeps of this so called safe house?

“Hold this. Grab that.”

“I thought I was the patient.” You chuckled which only made it hurt more.

“Yeah and you’re gonna be dead soon if you don’t listen.” Bucky said as he wiped off cobwebs from the first aid kit. His tone didn’t leave any room for suggestion. You hadn’t heard him be that dry ever - not even with Steve.

Your left hand squeezed the towel he had handed you and th other one found his hand.

“Bucky.”

The desperation in your voice scared even you. If you didn’t hear it yourself, one look at Bucky and you knew this wasn’t good. His eyes had gone nearly white - just like his knuckles as you clasped onto him.

“This hand.” He moved your grasp to the metal arm. “Let me use the human hand to stitch you up.”

“James.”

It’s what Steve called him in only the utmost of serious times. A bullet wound....seemed pretty serious.

Bucky got the message, his eyes doing a quick once over to make sure you weren’t really bleeding out.

“You’re going to be fine.”

You felt his metal hand wrap around yours. It squeezed it to the point of pain that felt good. Any feeling at all was a good sign.

“Okay?”

You didn’t have enough in you to answer so you just nodded as he guided you. He stood to lean your head against the wall, soothing you by wiping your sticky hair off your forehead. When you felt him struggling to calm you down and prepare to play doctor, you moved your hand to his grip his shirt.

He paused, looking down at you.

“You didn't bring me a towel to bite down on.” You whispered, closing your eyes.

“Hey.”

One eye peaked up at him but that wasn’t enough.

“You’re going to be fine. You’re safe.”

He meant it. You felt it.

And then you felt an incredible amount of pain. But his comforting words seemed to take the edge off.

[ldouble]

I Woulda Shot Him | Bucky Barnes x Reader

“You’re a better man than I.”

Bucky turns at your statement. You’ve been watching his entire interaction with Zemo from afar. It’s only now that you make yourself known.

“You’re not a man.” Bucky counters after saying a quick goodbye to Ayo. You can’t help but notice her retreat to her ship but not take off. Someone’s sticking around. The real question is, is she here to discard your body?

Bucky doesn’t like to be followed, let alone surpassed. You just did both.

“Unless,” You look back at the soldier in front of you. “You have something you want to tell me.”

“I’m not a man, Bucky.”

“Good.” Bucky declares, stopping a foot in front of you. He throws a smile at you and it’s one that should make you melt. But there’s too much to talk about for you to fall.

“Fine.” You size him up, crossing your arms across your chest. “You’re a better person than I am.”

Bucky shrugs, glancing at his arm. “Good thing I’m not all person.”

“Bucky,” You grumble, spinning on your heel.

You don’t get too far as Bucky grabs your wrist and pulls you in. If it wasn’t for him using his metal hand, you’d have left. But the cold feeling on your already boiling skin....

Bucky had an effect on you. One more powerful than any set of Russian words or super soldier concoction.

That had been proven time and time again.

So you shook off his grasp and tucked your hands behind your back.

“I woulda shot him.”

Bucky sighs and looks around for answers. There’s no one else visiting the Sokovia memorial. It’s just the two of you. It’s never like this.

First there was HYDRA, then Steve, then Zemo, then Sam, then Ayo....

It’s just the two of you. So you take the sabotaging job upon yourself.

“I would have shot him.” You repeat with more frustration than before.

Bucky shrugs, no words to counter it.

You search his face, trying to make sense of it all. When you don’t come up with anything you sigh and find your forehead on his shoulder. “But you’re a better man than I.”

“Yeah, but I’m a better man with you.” He says after tipping your chin up. Your eyes find one another and you can’t help but tilt your head as you smirk.

“That was cheesy, even for you.”

“Oh yeah, doll?”

The term of endearment has you pulling back. You don’t get very far as Bucky holds you close. “I always get you with that one.”

“I-”

You’re shut up not by another quick remark but by his lips. The kiss is better than any witty words you can toss back and forth.

“What?” Bucky asks, pulling back when he can’t make out what you’re mulling against his lips.

“I said,” You peck his lips. “I still woulda shot him.”

end

[ldouble]

More To It | Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: a heart to heart with Bucky at the Wilson household

You can’t help the smile you hide behind your cup of coffee. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen such pure joy. It’s so close you could reach out and touch it. But if you make any sudden movement you’re scared to interrupt whatever battle is occurring.

AJ and Cass voice their actions with whooshes and grunts. The thing inspiring the imaginative play is far from a toy...and yet they share it like every mother hopes their kids would.

The shield looks out of place in the house. Then again, the boys aren’t in the house. They’re in war.

If only they knew.

A quick retreat on the boys’ part raises your brow. What could’ve gone wrong in their play to send them packing?

Only the movement of the enemy. Who you hear conveniently sigh.

It’s a sound you’ve heard plenty of times. Still, it somehow brightens your grin.

“Don’t fret. I gave the ok.” You round the corner with a small nod to the weapon. It sits, spilling half out of the ancient bag it lives in. It glimmers despite it being ditched haphazardly. It’s always had that effect, you guess.

Your eyes flutter away from the shield. It’s not you job to stare at it in deep thought. It’s Bucky’s.

As if he knew you were thinking of him, you catch him looking up at you. All you want to do is return the look - one of so much love - but you can’t. It’s time to talk business.

He catches your tone without you saying anything and in seconds his smile dissipates. He chips a little bit away at you every time he does that. When he hides himself.

“It’s not a toy.” He mumbles, sitting up. His dog tags move with him and immediately your hands goes to where yours once sat. You parted with them long ago.

You clear your throat. “And yet it toys with you all day.”

He grumbles, his non-metal hand running over his face. “What are you talking about?”

“Just how you see Steve in the red and white and the oceans you crossed together in the blue.”

Bucky stops - squatting in a half sitting down and half standing up. The blanket begins to fall and you’re grateful as he readjusts. There’s too much going on and that’s without him in his boxers.

“Stop-”

“It’s metal, Bucky. And you let it get to you more than your arm does.”

He flexes is vibranium fingers at the mention of them. While his eyes flare and his knuckles make a fist so tight you’re sure the metal itself turns white, you’re not afraid.

You haven’t been afraid for a long time. While it’s not as strong as it once way, the love - at least the feeling of not hating - is always between you. It’s not sleepless nights and stolen kisses or even hugs you never want to let go of anymore. But it’s strong. Stronger than anything.

At least you hope so. Or this conversation is gonna hurt you a lot more than it’s gonna hurt him.

Bucky catches your glance at his hand and he immediately tucked it under the blanket. He would never. He knew that. And he really needs you to know it too. He just doesn’t want to say it.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky looks up at your sudden apology and honestly you’re just as shocked. It tumbled out. It always did. You were sorry for so much in his life.

“It’s all I’ve got left.” Bucky turns toward the windows, continuing the conversation you suddenly halted.

“That’s not true.” You find yourself stepping toward him but you stop yourself. The same way you don’t need him half dressed, you don’t need to touch him. A light burns between you two. You’re both a spark and one wrong move...boom.

“It’s not.” You gulp. “And you know that.”

Bucky considers you, leaning back into the couch. You see the gears turning in his head. It’s a mirror image as you both try to work one another out without getting too close.

Close scares him. It’s the reason you got here after him. The reason you slept in the guest bedroom. The reason you woke up and had coffee by yourself. The reason you stand as far away as you can without letting go.

It’s how you live your life.

And you can’t stand watching him live his in control of a pice of weaponry. It’s behavior of his old life. He left that. He knew that. So why couldn’t you two be together and get past it?

You shake the thought out of your head. This isn’t about you.

And this shield isn’t about him.

You open your mouth to tell him this but you look up to see him staring at you. Something tells you that you don’t have to say it. He knows. He knows it all. Whatever anger caused him to snap is gone.

You kick the shield gently, sliding it closer to him, in a peace offering. It’s not need as you already see that he’s forgotten you bombarding him first thing in the morning.

“With a little practice, I think the boys could toss this around just like you did back in the day.” You step on it, flipping the shield up to your arm before glancing across the room. “All you need is a partner. And I think we both know where the boys get it.”

Bucky turns, hiding his smile. You don’t need to see it to know it’s there. And what it means.

"Don’t let it make up your own mind.” You say as you set it down to lean against the wall. “Or else I’m giving it to the boys.”

“Then what’s supposed to take up all the hours in the day?”

You’ve turned around at this point and you’re grateful. Despite the amount of humor and sarcasm you throw to ensure you don’t get too close, Bucky always seems to pull you back in.

“I guess you’ll just have to find something else to worry over.”

“Or someone.”

You look at him over your shoulder and decide it’s your turn to cut the distance. “Or someone.” You repeat with a tap on the wall as your exit.

[ldouble]

Unsure | Sam Wilson x Reader

summary: fluff with a conflicted sam

“I find you extremely frustrating.”

Sam looked up at you from his spot on the couch. While your statement was off-putting your tone was even more so.

In an healthy as a relationship as the two of you had, rarely was there anything other than content and relaxed tones. Except when he was like this.

“Annoying.” You answered as he questioned what the cause of the frustration was. “You’re annoyingly prideful about figuring it all out on your own.” “Is this because I wouldn’t let you load the dishwasher, honey?”

“Shut up.” You whined, throwing the dish rag on the counter. “I’m talking about you sitting over there just mulling.”

“Mulling?”

“Yeah jus sitting there in your own blackhole of thoughts and not asking for help.”

A light chuckle escaped his lips and it took everything in you not to join him. No, he was not getting off this easy. One sexy laugh wasn’t deterring you from the conversation you’d been wanting to have for months.

“You’ve looked through your old files more in the last 30 days that you did when you were first handed them.”

Sam glanced at the stack of papers he’d been sorting through. An array of stamps labeled them - Stark Industries, SHEILD, Avengers, and even the old U.S. Air Force logo made an appearance.

You watched him sigh into the couch. Dressed in his grey sweats from his Para Rescue days he almost blended into the couch. He wasn’t escaping that easy.

You dropped the accusatory tone and asked thoughtfully across the room. “What’s on your mind?” As annoying as not knowing what was going on with him was...it was more painful to watch him stir.

“I don’t know,” He said more so to the stack of files than to you. “I just...I feel like I’m forgetting to do something.”

You found your way over to him. The files sat between you two on the couch and they dipped as you sat. The air was thick as we both thought quietly. He hadn’t been this uncertain in all the time you had known him. Back to the days before he got his wings for the second time.

“You didn’t leave the stove on when you left this morning.” You mused. “And I know you paid the electric bill.”

You were messing with him and he knew it. A small grin encapsulated his face for a moment before he sucked his bottom lip in. Always thinking. That was Sam.

But never before had you seen him this despondent.

“Something work related.” You suggested. A small nod on his part encouraged you to keep going. “Something you haven't finished. Hence the look through old files.”

You grazed one of the manilla folders, tracing the Avengers logo. It was etched in your head, as most people’s old business logos were. You’d worn your own uniform with it sewed it. It looked gray on the paper....historic.

“Yeah, but it’s not that.” Sam picked up the files and placed them on the coffee table. He sat closer, his hand finding going to tuck hair behind your ear.

He would never admit it but physical touch was his favorite love language. He insisted it was quality time or words of affirmation but it wasn’t. After such a long time flying solo...literally and figuratively...he longed to be anchored down. You were happy to be that person.

Except for now. And after you said your peace he’d probably agree.

“Is it because you gave up the shield?”

You had been holding the thought in ever he handed over the vibranium piece. And that was months ago.

The two of you didn’t keep secrets. And this was big. You stayed up at night, staring at who you knew was the next Captain America, wondering how he couldn’t see it.

The look of disappointment you had towards him was now directed towards you as Sam moved away.

“No.”

“Sam-”

“I’m not defined by some shield.”

“I’m not saying you are.” You quickly said, standing up with him. “I’m not.”

Sam took a deep breath. He hadn’t raised his voice but he was definitely furthering himself from the happy tone he always used. Gentle was how you would describe him. Even now you could see him choosing the right words and delivery.

“It was his.” He expressed finally after some silence. “It wasn’t right to keep.”

“Was it any more right to give it away?”

That caught him off guard and that’s when you knew this was the cruz of the problem. Still, it wasn’t a solution to the issue. The shield was gone and Sam was left without it.

While undefined by it, it still was a part of him. I knew it, Steve knew it. Sam did too. You were sure of it.

“You should go on a run.”

“Honey-”

“Ok, I’m going on a run.” You were already putting on your shoes and grabbing your keys. “Because watching you beat yourself up about this is of no value to me. And I know I think better after a run.”

“Just wait-”

“I’m done waiting.” You declare, your hand on the door knob. “And I think you are, too.”

Your breathes are the only thing sounding in the apartment. The fridge churns ice but you two are frozen as its creation.

“I can’t get it back.”

You shrugged as he made his way over to you. While his hands found your hips you pretend to busy yourself in thought. “You also said you would never get me out on a date.”

You let his chuckle pull you in this time, your hands finding his shoulders. “It wasn’t until a buddy of yours showed up at the VA office and had me swooning over you.”

“I did all the swooning, Steve just made an appearance.” Sam defended.

“Yeah, well Steve did that.” You fall silent as you mention him. It always shook Sam a bit. It was still fresh. “But you,”

You take his head in your hands to look at you. “Us,” You corrected yourself. “Can do this.”

His forehead leans against yours and all of the frustration and anger dissipates in a second. You seal off the content air with a kiss to his lips.

“First one to the Capital gets to call heads or tails to ask for the shield back.”

“That’s not-”

“Sorry, halfway down the mall!” You called down the hall. Looking over your should you saw Sam tripping to put on his shoes. For the first time in a while he seemed determined. Certain.

Whether it was about what he needed to do or the idea of beating you in a race...it didn’t matter. Sam was sure again. And that made you sure you two were going to be ok.

[ldouble]

I’d Rather Walk | Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: after an unsuccessful mission, you find yourself walking with Sam and Bucky. An interruption in disguise as a ride irks you the most. Only Bucky seems to notice.

-

Your feet hurt. You wouldn’t have noticed if your ego wasn’t so bruised. But a failed mission, really an ass whooping like that, left little to think about other than how much your feet hurt.

The road seemed endless but you pushed on. It helped that Bucky and Sam were a few paces behind. They couldn’t see you racking your brain for answers. If they knew how much this was getting to you they would think you cared. And while you did, they couldn’t know that. This was a one and done mission. A favor to Bucky.

“I’m sorry about redwing.”

You smiled at Bucky’s voice before quickly wiping it off your face. It had been quiet for what was surely miles. It was nice to hear someone talk. Remind you that you weren’t alone.

“No you’re not.”

“Yes, he is.” You said, not turning around.

There’s a pause from Sam and a light chuckle from the soldier behind you. It shocks you but you pretend it doesn’t. It had been a while since you heard that. You’re not sure if the chuckle is because the thought of you defending him was impossible or because Sam was right to believe the insincerity. Either way, it’s nice to hear his laugh.

“What’s going on in that big cyborg brain of yours?”

“It’s computing.”

It was your turn to scoff.

It didn’t stop as Sam continued to tease. Alluding to a malfunction got you to throw a look over your shoulder just in time to throw Bucky a smile as he was tormented.

“We gotta figure out where the serum’s coming from.” Bucky looked out onto the fields, his walk becoming more determined.

“Yeah and how in the hell after 80 years there are eight super soldiers just running loose.” You added with a faux raised hand.

Sam didn’t get a chance to add on to the “what to do” list as a car horn nearly interrupted you.

Instead, you heard an awful joke from an even more awful person.

“No shit.” You whispered to yourself. You didn’t have to look back to know your partners were still trudging forward. It was one thing to accept defeat and a whole other to accept a ride from some posers.

The squeak of the car caused your muscles to tense. “And we’re pretty sure it’s one of the big three.” John Walker continued.

“There’s no such thing as wizards.” You beat Bucky to the punch, shooting a glare at the truck. It was a few feet behind you, focusing on Sam and Bucky. Oh that was rich, having all the men lead the conversation. “All right then it’s aliens or androids.”

You rolled your eyes at Sam being questioned about super soldiers. The guy who was doubting freaking worked with one. Not a real one, but a fake at least. Besides, you and Bucky were there as living proof.

“That’s not happening.” You hoped your dismay over the offer for a ride was translated. If they thought super soldiers being the enemy was a shocker...well you didn’t wanna be covered by them at the next battle.

A proud smile found your lips when Bucky finally said what we were all thinking. He might have the shield but he’s not Captain America. He’s not Steve.

“The work?” You scoffed again, shaking your head. What could he do to prove his status that wasn’t - oh I don’t know, winning World War II, being stuck in ice for 70 years and creating the Avengers that would save Earth multiple times?

I had never met the guy - not officially - but Steve Rogers was the only Captain America.

“You ever jump on top of a grenade?”

Really? That’s all Bucky could think of to compare?

Walker didn’t help his case as he said it was for his helmet.

You couldn’t help the ache at his mention of how far the airport was. 20 miles. It really would be endless.

Still, you didn’t stop as you heard the truck come to a stop. The only falter in your step was due to the stopping on Bucky and Sam’s part. You willed yourself not to look back, instead focusing on how much your feet hurt.

“Is she serious?” You heard Walker mumble.

You turned around, ready to say you weren’t some she and that you had a name. A name he knew and could say.

Bucky reminded him of what you went by, whispering it across the road. The two of you had a silent conversation.

You really didn’t want to get a ride from them.

Neither did Bucky.

Really? From them?

It’s a free ride.

You know it’s more than that.

Just get in the truck, doll.

Your eyes shot to Sam who seemed to be on the exact same page. You were outnumbered 2 to 1. Rightfully so. This wasn’t what we would have of dinner. This was if our legs would give out on us.

You followed behind Sam into the trunk. A hand extended out to you - one clad in a blue glove. But the man within it was not someone you trusted.

Before you could make a snarky comment on how his hands hadn’t done a pinky’s worth of work as Steve did in his first day as Captain America, Bucky placed his hands on your hips and guided you up.

You didn’t have time to question the physical touch, sitting in a huff. Moments like this had happened ever since he showed up at your place a few days ago. Still, it couldn’t make up for lost time.

The door slammed shut and you thanked whatever universe there was that you looked in between the two strangers rather than make eye contact like Sam and Bucky had to. It would’ve been a longer 20 miles staring at John Walker than it would’ve been on foot.

His kindness was deceiving. It was an act. And you didn’t like acts. Not with your history.

The first few hundred feet were silent. It isn’t until John Walker decided to use the ride as a brainstorming session.

You listened intently as Sam suggests the best out of the team you just faced. Their “help” sure hurt like hell. But even you saw something in their eyes. And it wasn’t that of a killer.

“They got a funny way of showing it.” You glanced at Bucky, taking in his words. You’d both had gone soft - him taking the high road without a comment and you thinking the best of people who tried to hurt you. He clearly had spent too much time with this crowd and me....having spent not enough time.

Your head snapped back at Walker’s comment about the serum’s poor track record. You felt Bucky’s hand on your back. He’d gotten good at the comments. You hadn’t. Then again...no one knew you had gone through a similar life as Bucky.

You gave him a look, trying to convey the confusion on how he was taking all of this in stride.

“We didn’t track them we tracked you, uh, through red wing.”

You and Bucky both bit your respective lips. He detested the thing more than you did but the gadget being what caught us was pretty funny.

“You hacked my tech?” Sam questioned. His tone of anger transferred to you. Supposedly our “team members” were tracking us.

Your eyes bulged at the statement that red wing was government property. For one, it’s Sam’s. And two, it would’ve classified as Sam’s sidekick if the three of us didn’t get together. Even you found it disrespectful to call it property.

You tilt your head in curiosity, taking in the man before you. The supposedly new Captain America is hard to get a grasp on. He’s exuding confidence but lacks the support of it. Something is off.

“Does she always just stare like that?”

His question registered and so did Bucky and Sam turning to look at you.

“You get used to it.” You heard them say in unison.

Your focus didn’t shift as the two begin to talk about the GRC.

Your glare alters only to smile at your feet at Sam’s quick whip in regards to their privilege. The truck seems uneven with you three on one side and the two across. And not just because you outnumber them. Something tells you the “we’ve got this under control” act was a lesson in the Captain America: How To book.

Bucky beats you to declining their offer to team up.

“Who are you?”

It’s the first thing you've said since the car started moving. You liked to stay quiet but you weren’t gonna sit around and listen to them talk about getting your asses kicked. That was a realization you had to come to yourself. You sure as hell didn’t need anyone else reminding you.

You wait for an answer from whoever the guy is, your eyebrow raised expectantly. 

“Lamar Hoskins.”

“I see a guy hanging out of a helicopter in tactical gear I need a lot more than Lamar Hoskins.” Sam voiced the obvious.

“I’m Battlestar.”

His name, if you can call it that, is barely repeated by Bucky before you yell for the car to be stopped.

You stand, make a 180 spin, set a foot on the bench you just sat on, and jump from the car.

Your name is called but you ignore it. It’s when footsteps follow yours that you acknowledge all that’s not being unsaid.

“Nicknames?” You stare at Bucky ion disbelief. “Look I can take a ride and I can toss some ideas back and forth but I don’t work with superheroes.”

“Hey-”

“And I know damn well you don’t either.”

You didn’t mean to push him but it happened involuntarily. The anger got the best of you and you shoved his chest as far as you could. He didn’t even falter, his strength more than yours - mentally and physically.

He’d had years to get into this. To understand all the hero work. You’d been pulled from your quiet life as a soldier without orders. For him to expect you to sit around and listen to this was ridiculous.

You took a deep breath, stalking off the road to gather your thoughts. So much had happened and you’d had no time to wrap your head around it.

“I don’t.” He explained. The sound of the car driving off interrupted him. “You left before I could tell them that.”

“I think you entertained them longer than necessary.” Your arms crossed defensively before you shook out your hands. You looked at him, searching for answers. For understanding. Years apart meant nothing in the last few days. His face was familiar but his actions unrecognizable.

“I’m gonna agree with her on this one.” Sam said from behind Bucky.

“Really?”

“Really.” You answered Bucky’s offended question.

He found your eyes and huffed.

“They don’t get it, what we’ve got. What we’re up against.”

“I-”

“We got a different dosage than Steve.” Your words cut him off. You’d met him a few times, unofficially, but it was the first time you mentioned the original Avenger aloud. “And we sure as hell got a whole other thing than whatever that moron got.” You pointed towards the disappeared truck as if that would make your point sound any better. It didn’t.

“We’re up against something serious. It’s not just you anymore. It’s not just me. And it’s not just what Steve was-”

“I know.” Bucky said curtly, staring at the ground.

You give him a second to take it all in, his realization a few beats behind from your outburst in the vehicle. To quote the audience watching you, the gears were turning in Bucky’s head. Sadly it had been too long of time apart to know what was going on up there. Cut from the same cloth, you once knew it all. But at this moment, really since you’d reunited with him a few days ago, you didn’t really know the guy in front of you.

Your relationship ebbed and flowed. There were no good ol’ days to go back to, not where you worked like this. You had been in a relationship not coworkers back then. Now...there was too much space.

So you decided to double it.

“We’re not all this nice, Sam.” You looked past Bucky, giving your best smile. “But if you’re as sore as I am and if those assholes are right, you know that already.”

Sam paused, waiting for a signal from Bucky that it was ok to laugh. A breath from the soldier seemed to be enough as Sam replied, “I hate to say it but they were right.”

“We got our asses handed to us.” Bucky finished, running his metal hand through his hair.

All these years and his nervous habit hadn’t changed.

Deep down, maybe he was still there.

Maybe what you two had was still there.

“Then we better know who we’re working with.” You declared, regaining your composure. You hadn’t lost it but you had gone off the trail...literally and figuratively. “That way to the airport?”

“Roughly ten miles to go.” Sam answered, already heading in that direction. You questioned why he didn’t wait up but a hand around your wrist made it clear.

“I wanted out.”

You looked up at your old partner, trying to understand what he was talking about. If it was this line of work you were ready to question him. He had the same chance as you to run and he didn’t. He stayed and he followed orders. Instead of following you.

“Of the car.” Blue eyes blinked at you as his grasp loosened. “You beat me to it.”

You gave him a small smile, wanting to get back to where they originally were when on the road. Friendly. If that could happen. At least nice enough to have these conversation with eye sight. Sam was a way’s away but you still felt embarrassed as you two stood and talked.

He seemed to be saying something then as his eyes grew soft. They darted all around your face as if he was thinking the same thing.

Let’s go back to the days that we only have to share a look.

A glance.

A wink.

A kiss.

You gulp, holding eye contact while totally seeing his eyes find your lips.

If he doesn’t let up soon, you’re going to fall right back to where you were. Which only left you alone.

At least now you had him. Not completely, but close enough.

And you couldn’t go back to the day where he wasn’t right next to you. You’d have that after this. Whatever this and they were.

“You got into this before me.” Your feet led you back a step, his hand fell to his side. “And I’m making a point to get out of it first.”

[ldouble]

You’re a Good Man | Bucky Barnes x reader

occurs at the very very end of endgame - the shield scene. fluffy and quickly written but cute!

---

It takes everything in you not to show the same panic that’s reaching Sam’s face. The quick five seconds that Bruce promised are extending with no Steve in sight. A short mission - if time travel can really be short - is turning into a new nightmare.

The Battle of Earth was nightmare enough. Losing Stark was an extra layer of pain. If we lost Rogers....

If Bucky lost Rogers...

You don’t give in the what ifs. You gave up on those a long time ago. You and Bucky did. What if he never got out of Siberia. What if Steve hadn’t found him. What if we had never met.

Your eyes find Bucky, hands stuffed in his pockets and face unreadable. Years together - and apart - and it was still hard to read him. You suspect a hint of calm content as he turns around. It’s possible, his goodbye with his best friend one full of the sarcasm and kindness that drove their friendship since the 30s. A the small glimmer of disappointment on his face doesn’t sit right with you.

So you starts towards the Time Machine, checking for loose plugs or anything that looks off. Your speciality is hand to hand combat so your help is pointless. Still, you can’t do nothing.

You only pause when Bruce calls your name and nods towards the lake.

So focused on banishing the what ifs you missed the what now, of Bucky and Sam wandering off. It’s not their forms that intrigue you, but rather the lone person sitting on the nearby bench.

Your ears prick as you hear Bucky encourage his friend forward.

As Sam approaches the man who is disproving and proving every what if simultaneously, you approach the now lonely soldier.

His hand finds yours before his eyes do, reaching to take yours just as your forehead hits his arm.

“You’re a good man.” You whisper.

“Not as good as him.”

You look up curiously, Bucky’s comparing to Steve one you thought was in the past. It takes looking between him and the scene playing. out in front of us to realize he isn’t complimenting his old pal. It’s the new one that has his admiration.

“You don’t need a shield-”

“I know.”

You move to stand in front of him, taking his face in your hands. “You don’t need a shield.”

His blue irises stare back, a hint of wonder in them. It’s how he always looks at you. It’ usually in wonder of the what ifs of your relationship. You don’t give him the chance to self deprecate.

“You’re too cute for one.” You beat him to a remark.

He grins after a moment, searching my eyes for the real answer.

It’s an answer that would bring tears to your eyes and you had done too much crying recently.

So you turn, his arms wrapping around you as you take in Sam trying out the shield. You know a moment when you see it and this is one. Bucky’s missed out on too many to not witness this one.

“I don’t need a shield.” You hear in your ear.

His voice is breathy and hot. It brings the best sort of chills across you.

“Because I have you.”

[ldouble]

How Did We Get Here | Bucky Barnes x Reader

a/n

Not sure about you, but I love a good little blurb.

summary: a late night chat turns serious

---

“How did we get here?”

“I was drugged and tossed into a trunk.”

“Bucky.”

“I think they let you ride shotgun, right?”

“Bucky,” I drawl, hating the giggle that neared the end of his name.

The Winter Solider looked up at me from his spot on his bed. I had snuck into his room a few hours ago, like I always did when I couldn’t sleep. The door never so much as made a sound and the floors weren’t old enough for scratches let alone creaks. Still, he always woke up when I came in.

He insisted his sleep was never interrupted but I knew better. No one could so effortlessly flip the comforter to make a spot for someone, flick on the lamp, and/or offer me a sweatshirt to sleep in, all while asleep.

Besides.

He had to be having the same nightmares.

“How did we get here?”

I look down at him as he turns onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head. His dog tags, the only thing he keeps from back then lay on his chest. It amazed me how they don’t strangle him. Then again, part of his training wasn’t being taken at the neck.

No, they saved that for me. After he left.

“And they say all the soldiers are the same.” I chuckle to myself.

“We trading war stories?” My wording intrigues him enough to sit up, the room suddenly lit from the lamp he flicked on.

The grays and blacks of the room, the room he refused to add any personal touch to, encourages my response. “No.” I sigh. He gives me a look, his look, the look, and I quickly shake my head and repeat myself.

“I told you-”

“Not here, James.” He gulps, his legal name only ever coming out when its serious. I feel a little bad, enough to put a hand on his leg to let him know nothing is wrong. My frustration isn’t at him. It’s at everything else.

My eyes find the one personal item that I’ve ever seen. An old chess set on his desk - always mid game.

“We got here,” He muses, looking to the bedspread for answers as I pick at thread on the cuff of his aging clothing. “Because we got out of there.”

Right. We got out. Siberia. We’re not there anymore.

Bucky reminds me of this, reading my mind. I tell him so, which only has him laughing and shutting off the light to go back to bed.

“Sometimes I’m still there.”

Silence fills the dark room. Even the ruffling of him getting comfortable ceases. When I couldn’t recognize any breath, I realized we were both holding it in.

What we went through was serious.

Being an experiment, in some grand scheme, that perpetually follows you and never ceases, it’s a lot.

But we went through worse. We were trained for hell. All we’ve gone through so far would be a joke to HYDRA.

That’s why we never talked about it.

At least, that’s why I never talked about it. Maybe Bucky tossed out a thought or two with Sam but I couldn’t be sure. How do you explain our past? It’s not just a confidential HYDRA file. It’s a human life.

Two human lives.

That were seated next to one another. That never talked about it.

“And here I am ruining that streak,” I began, going to leave.

“You’re not ruining anything.” Bucky grabbed my arm with the gentlest of touches. He waited there, patiently wanting eye contact. I couldn’t give it to him. But I let him keep holding me.

“It’s cold. And dark. And I can’t scream.” I say aloud, the imaged flashing. I have to take a controlled breath, let the goosebumps up and down my arms cease. It takes everything in me not to toss him across the room. The way he’s holding me. Just like they used to.

Again, reading my mind, I feel his hand move to my back. So feather light I’m not sure it’s there. I place my own hand over his, telling him it’s ok. That’s it’s needed. That he grounds me. That I come in here nearly every night because even though he reminds me of all I went through, he’s the only one who would understand me wanting to get past it.

The thought is heavy that I immediately go to break the tension. “And it smelled like fish crap, all the time.”

“Siberia’s biggest export?”

My body shakes as he muses me. I turn my head to look back at him. “We were gonna be the next for sale.”

“But we weren’t.”

“And we aren’t here?”

He pauses at that, and that’s when I know the thought has crossed his mind. Here. There. Wherever we go, we wonder if we’re just another product. They might not have made us but they can own us. And they don’t even need to book or those stupid seven words.

At this point, if they put it in a file and hand it over during work hours, we’re going to do it.

“No.” He answers, completely confident. “We aren’t anywhere like we’ve been before.”

The limitless questions pop into my head. Where we’ve been can come around pretty quickly. We know not to trust. Around every corner is a book and someone who speaks Russian.

But not everywhere is there a Bucky.

A Bucky who lets me into his bed when I have nightmares. A Bucky who lets me rant and worry and freak out at all hours of the day.

A Bucky who is leaning in with lips mere inches from mine.

I smile, our eyes locked. “How did we get here?”

He matches my grin, his hand coming up to sweep hair behind my ear. I watch as his tongue licks his lips in thought. Soon his face becomes serious, his gaze tracking my entire face for any sort of sign of distress. When he can’t find it he looks at me again.

“I don’t know.” The honesty in his voice tells me he’s answering my original question. About the compound. About fighting friends. Battling in wars. Agreeing to do what we were trained for, for the other guys.

“But I do know,” He says, coming closer so that his words are practically said on my lips. “We’re here. Wherever here is.”

Here.

Kissing Bucky.

I don’t have to ask how I got here.

Not anymore.

Not with him.

[ldouble]

On The Same Side | Captain America x Reader p. 1

an: starting a new little series! i loooove me some cappy and I hope you do too. Unclear in how many parts this will be but don’t you worry, you my reader can’t go a day without a morning run :)

ps i make a point not to say Y/N in my stories...no tea no shade just not my thing. so if a character says my (our lol) name, just go with it :)

There was something so peaceful about a morning run.

It was more than starting my day off right or getting in a sweat. I was so used to sprinting alongside gunshots and grunts of pain that the quiet of dawn sort of freaked me out.

I shivered at the thought of complete silence, not a second later jumping at the sound of a child screaming at a nearby bird.

A deep breath found its way in through my nose and out through my mouth, my head hitting the grass below me. Peace was nowhere in sight. Not just because of the squealing kid or the chirping pigeons.

They had a reason to be here.

I had none.

Usually, I’d be back at my apartment, showered and setting off to work. Instead, I was still here, sitting at the mall like an average D.C. citizen. Which I was very much not.

I was an agent. On assignment. In my own hometown.

The target was just as strange.

Me, little lowly me, had no place watching him. He was everything. Top of the food chain. Alpha. A freaking hero.

But everyone needed a babysitter at some point. And I just happened to be Captain America’s for the time being.

Remembering the assignment, I propped myself up on my elbows and pretended to take in the scene. The monument was getting busier as daylight. A tent was set up closer to the capital, countless tourists milled around and the local newspaper stand (run by the one and only Gerald) was just getting up and started for the day.

A million things to look at and my eyes went to the very thing not wanting to be noticed. 20 feet - the classic distance always put between targets and myself - away stood Steve Rogers, hugged by a grey shirt and sweatpants. His hair was in perfect placement, not a loc out of place despite the 13 miles he had just run in 30 minutes.

Person of interest number two, the guy he had been racing (and defeating mercilessly) pointed out his running rate. My gaze found the sky, my lips pressing together as he joked about him getting lapped once again.

The 58th pararescue had a mouth on him, one the target seemed to appreciate. A mental note was already made before I could chastise myself. Steve Rogers. Captain America. The First freaking Avenger was not one to take notes on. The task was to study. No one said there would be a test later.

No one said anything at SHIELD anymore. The thought made me gulp away the voice in the back of my head. Agents were more like soldiers in the new leadership’s eyes. And soldiers didn’t ask questions. They followed orders.

Hence me here, watching their prized captain like he was a ticking time bomb.

I’d kept tabs on him for years and he was nowhere near blowing up.

I cursed myself at the thought, referencing really only his physique since I had never really had a full conversation with him.

Steve….the target...made a quick movement, bringing me back to work. Wilson’s step forward caught me off guard.

My assignment didn’t say protect or kill. I didn’t even get an official report. Rumlow had just pulled me away last week, barking directions before I could question it. I was smart enough not to take the opportunity to back out when he asked. Whatever was going on would only be solved if I could stay a little longer.

Maybe a part of me hoped he was also thinking beyond leadership - he was a step ahead of me in watching the Captain.

But the smarter part, the bigger part, the heart part of me, knew that was ridiculous. Captain America wasn’t evil.

No one dressed in tights could be.

The similar wavelengths of the men I listened in on, both feeling ready to sink into the floor with their mattresses, pulled me back.

I might be alone in this...whatever this was….but I still had a job to do.

A job that had me feeling worse than when I worked in retail.

No customer was going to chew me out for not taking a faulty coupon. This time it would be a super soldier on the edge of killing me when he found me out for following him.

As if the earpiece I wore sent my every thought, Rumlow’s voice barked at me.

“Don’t lose focus now.”

“Who said I was?” I asked, standing up and taking a moment to stretch. Nothing was tight - except my moral compass trying to pick a side.

A sigh came through my earpiece, followed quickly by a ping of my phone.

SHIELD Comms. Mission. Imminent.

Whether I was losing focus or not (which I wasn’t), this round of inner turmoil was over. My actual job awaited for me.

As did my target’s, evident in the way he pulled out his own phone. Rumlow verified my guess, whispering something about getting out there and getting to the tarmac as to not be tracked.

“You saying I can’t get a ride with Romanoff?” I scoffed, my feet carrying me towards the car that the Russian spy had just pulled up in.

Rumlow’s words on how I was going to get caught, blow my cover, and ruin everything (whatever everything was) fell on deaf ears as I removed the earpiece as I retied my ponytail.

Paused at the stoplight I listened in on the last exchange of my target.

“Can’t run everywhere.” A familiar voice called, a smile surely on his lips.

“No, you can’t.” It was my turn to grin as Wilson responded. Something about Captain America making a friend, living a semi-normal life, was heartwarming.

The rush of the car speeding by was less so. I tracked its trail back to Wilson, offering a curt salute before breaking it across the street.

There was something so peaceful about a morning run.

But nothing beat the beginning of a mission.

[ldouble]

Slumming It | Kevin Atwater X Reader (Chicago PD)

summary: When pulled into an undercover op for the Intelligence Unit, you couldn’t be more excited. The only person who catches your hesitation is your boyfriend. A lot is unsaid in the bullpen, your relationship being one of them.

gif is not mine :)

“You keep looking at me like that and they’re gonna know you’re slumming it with a uniform.”

Your words were punctuated by the complete zip of the knee high leather boots. But it wasn’t till the hell smacks the concrete of the locker room does Kevin look up at you, unimpressed with your statement.

You tilted your head at him, hoping it aided your humor. All it did was send the little eye contact held fleeting.

“I’m not slumming it with a uniform.” Kevin shook his head toward the ground, until he realized what he just said. “I’m not slumming it with you, either.”

Your hands found the other boot, a sigh escaping your lips at how much the tight fitting accessory is going to fit. “You’re tripping up, Atwater,” It glided up with little effort, giving you the chance to cross your legs and look across the room. “I can see Ruzek getting on your ass already.”

“Can you stop with-”

“Or is Halstead sending a sly smirk at you?”

Your light heartedness has no place in the backlit changing room and even little place in a situation like this. Joking about your boyfriend’s friends finding out about his relationship, with you standing there dressed like a hooker, all while working an undercover op...you should’ve stuck with commenting about how the color of the dress did absolutely nothing for your eyes.

Still, Kevin would’ve found a way to call you out. He was quiet but that just meant he spent more time listening. He was done with your ill timed jokes.

“Sorry.” You bit your lip, knowing you pinched a nerve. You didn’t know what to worry about more - the way you just embarrassed yourself in front of a member of the Intelligence Unit or how you insulted your boyfriend.

You hated that the latter took priority.

You found Kevin’s eyes, too dark to read. But the look he was giving you - an analytical gaze mixed with what looked like frustration with the furrow in his brow - had you resorting back to your go-to.

“We uniforms aren’t used to working anyone other than a partner.”

You could hear the worry in your voice growing as each word entered the space. If the tone didn’t solidify his assumption, the choked laugh you gave did it. Nothing said “Can I do this?” like a meek laugh.

Girlfriends worried.

Cops did no such thing.

Straightening your posture you released your hair held in a tight ponytail. Shaking it out, you offered a smile. “Having your team at my disposal just got to my head for a second.”

Kevin pursed his lips, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. He looked great, done up in his own undercover wardrobe. Of course, his wasn’t as extreme as yours.

You were pretending to be a hooker. Short dress, fishnet stockings and heels that were nearly half your height. And that wasn’t including the heel. You hadn’t looked in the mirror after Trudy bombarded you. The amount of lipstick you could just feel on you made you want to wipe it off.

Kevin on the other hand was just supposed to be him. Tall and handsome, a drink of water to fit in right among the elites of this Hookah Bar you were raiding. Minus the badge, you could’ve sworn this look of a blazer and dark jeans had made an appearance at your front door. As well as your bedroom floor at one point or another.

He walked forward, hands finding your shoulders gently, his eyes pouring into yours. He took your breathe away. Or maybe that was the anxiety creeping up on you.

“We’re not at your disposal. We’re on your side.” You couldn’t help but lean into his palm as it crept up your shoulder. “We have your back.”

“Better you than this dress.”

Again, he didn’t find it funny. You sighed, nodding in all seriousness. “You have my back.”

Giving up on the idea of convincing him with a look of complete and utter confidence (you were saving that for the mission) you strode past him, grabbing the furry white jacket off the end of the bench.

On your way, you gave him some of the rope to tug at.

“That easy to tell I’m nervous?” You asked, slipped the fur over your shoulders.

He followed your steps, the pink handbag looking teeny in his grasp. “You uniforms got no damn poker face.”

You chuckle at that, feeling better with him in a joking mood. It was forced, you could tell by the way his tongue was sticking out between his lips, but you didn’t call it out. Humor came to everybody in their own ways. Yours was easier to cling to.

“Yeah, well without a uniform I’m sure it’ll get better.” You accepted the bag, twirling it in your fingers.

“Better?” Kevin asked with offense. “Gonna be the best. Why else would we bring you up?” He whispered in your ear as you made your way to the garage.

You pretended to think for a second before turning around, tiptoeing backwards and tracing his collar.

“For you to oggle me.”

The sound of the door opening snapped you back to reality. This was work. You might’ve been pretending to be a hooker but you weren’t on the job yet. Definitely not with a colleague who you would never do such a thing with.

Kevin caught the door, holding it open for you. As you walked past you gave your best respectable-just-another-day-in-the-office smile. But upon his next words, it was hard to keep it up.

“Like I’d show them I’m slumming it with you.”

----

Slumming it, you were definitely not.

You had quested the expensive dress placed in your locker. Why did a hooker did a $500 piece of clothing that barely covered her ass? Because as a high class hooker, expensive taste breeds....expensive tasters.

Men. With money.

But there was only one man you wanted.

He had money, sure.

But he also had guns.

A whole warehouse and business of illegal firearms. Chicago, ever the “Heart of America” was this guy’s selling point. Everything shipped here and then shipped out.

But a man he was. A man with needs. Expensive needs on short time. Besides, he had cash to burn. Made sense he booked it to this club, paid for a girl, had his way with her, and then was onto a business deal with a couple AK-47s by dawn.

Lucky you, getting a front row seat to it all.

You really hoped all you got was a seat. You really didn’t want to have to go to bed with this guy.

Jay would hopefully make sure of that. Imploring a deal on this guy’s “night out”. Who could resist making some money while spending it on something as pretty as me?

You gulped, remembering your first date with Kevin. He paid for the meal, quoting something similar. He couldn’t believe I had said yes to going out. He insisted on paying.

Tough as nails he was in his bullet proof vest. Beneath it, a teddy bear with manners of every mother’s dream.

“Aye, mami, how you doing?”

You turned to the fourth? fifth? guy who approached you, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. He was security, like every other guy who had hit on you yet, and not your target.

They really thought protecting their bosses wasn’t their job. Trying to catch the runner ups was their priortiy.

“Looking for something a bit better than that.” You heard Ruzek say over the comms.

“She’s got standards,” You looked over your shoulder toward Kevin, posted at a table near by. He sent a quick wink before finishing his statement. “As every girl should.”

“High ones, too.” You whispered.

You knew he was rolling his eyes, more so at you chiming in than your hint at your secret boyfriend’s height, but missed it since your view became full by another presence.

“Hi to you, too.”

Bingo.

You smiled at the man you had waiting for all night. One glance at his opening jacket, shimmering from the gun strapped in on both sides, and you knew this was the one. You’d been studying his face for weeks, of course. But nothing said arms dealer like...arms.

Arms that you felt wrapping around you.

Arms that you had to embrace.

It wasn’t the guy that had you nervous. Or the situation. Hell, you felt fine pretending to be a hooker. You had your team behind you.

You also had your boyfriend watching. That’s what made you resistance to accepting the embrace, taking in the fluttery whispers, and nodding at the invitation to his booth.

It was one thing to go undercover and flirt. A whole other when doing it in front of the one person you were undercover with and wanted to flirt with.

You were a cop first, you reminded yourself as you sat down on the plush velvet sofa. You were a cop, you repeated at lips found your neck.

Where the hell was Jay? Swooping in to make this deal? Get you out of this?

“Hey man, hate to intrude here.”

You froze for the first time at the sound of that voice.

A voice you loved to hear. But not here. Not with some other guy all up on you.

The dealer let his grip loosen on you and as he turned toward the newest addition to the booth you got your first clear look at it.

Your secret boyfriend.

Currently playing an undercover role he was not assigned to. All while you were undercover as a hooker attempting to get in good with a well known criminal.

The rest of the team was having just as much of a frenzy on your ear piece. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Jay panicking, not so much as ten feet away.

Kevin must’ve beat him to it.

Something told you it wasn’t the want to be the bad guy. Rather, break up the bad guy and you.

He had your back. Too much this time.

The target felt the same way, attempting to shake him off and coming back to you for more.

Your eyes met Kevin’s - more hallow than earlier - over the shoulder of the suspect. It sent you freezing again. What were you to do? Blow cover to save a relationship just as hidden? Or keep this going and lose something you never would’ve really had?

“I like seeing you work.” You giggled, gently pushing him off of you. Your eyes glimmered with fake admiration (really anxiety bubbling up) but it did the trick. You didn’t even have to use your line about how you would work for him later.

Taking the bait, he spun and began chatting with Kevin.

Unfortunately, he liked his work and play mixing. A hand found your leg, circling your knee. Kevin’s gaze never left the dealer’s but you could tell it was killing him. The toothpick, which had been loosely hanging out his mouth earlier, was now being gritted together so loud you could hear it over the music.

What was more obvious than his clear discomfort? The hand sneaking its way up your leg. No amount of disco lights or smoke from nearby bongs could hide the manly grasp on your thigh.

Even when he lifted your skirt up you couldn’t flinch. He was so close to admitting it all. He’d skimmed the numbers and the details but if Kevin pressed a little bit harder...

“Tell me more.”

Kevin’s eyes had swiftly found the connection on your leg. It wasn’t obvious enough for concern but his tone was. It was distant. Unfocused. Everything a dealer didn’t want in a deal, no matter the environment.

“You don’t seem interested in enough.”

“I am.” You giggled.

Damn. You were too quick to jump. He gave you a disapproving look and you could see it all falling. Everything you had worked for. Gone because you were trying to protect this case more than your real relationship.

“Not as much as me, girl.” Kevin spat.

He caught both of your attention’s, scooting closer. “I want armory. I know you have it. I can swear on the things you’re gonna do to this girl tonight, you can get it to be by tomorrow.”

OK, you weren’t the only one putting work before romance.

The thought scared you for a second but you had more to worry about. Most importantly, the feverish squeeze of your thigh that bloomed from the exciting prospect of a business deal.

The guy said it himself, shaking hands with Kevin and giving all the details we needed for a case.

You were stunned how good this was going. It was all falling into place.

Kevin seemed just as shocked too, sitting there silently...which was very unlike the bold player he was pretending to be.

Of course, no story has a perfectly happy ending.

The fault in the plan, the lack of calling out the safe word to trigger the team flying in.

The word slumming (your choice) barely crossed your mind before the guy’s lips were on yours and he was hurting you with such force.

You felt trapped for what felt like eternity (with your boyfriend looking on at least) but what was really seconds before he was ripped off of you.

“Get your hands off of her!” Kevin threw the guy on the ground, the gun in his belt loaded and aimed at his head.

He looked back at you once his hands were up, breathing heavy. OK, it had messed with his head as much as yours.

A little too much, though.

Because the next thing you knew, Kevin was kicked to the ground and the dealer was grabbing his own gun.

Thankfully, you were wearing a uniform more fit for the job.

In seconds you clashed with the arms dealer, hitting down hard on his hand to realize the gun in his grasp while simultaneously grabbing the other pistol from his pocket. Just as you lifted it up to aim it, Kevin was forcing him onto the booth, hands behind his back.

“Chicago PD!” Had just left your lips as the rest of the team came by. You breathed out, no longer having to play it cool.

Kevin was also given a break when Jay came in to take him away. In two steps he was in front of you, releasing the gun from your hand and pulling you close.

“I’m never letting you out of that uniform ever again.” He muffled into your head before tipping your chin up.

You smiled, cutting the distance between your lips till they grazed his when you spoke. “You can try all you want but I know you love seeing me out of it.”

Kevin pulled your close, squashing whatever space lay between you two.

“Woah, what’s going on here?” Ruzek called out with a holler, bringing you both to reality.

Out of the corner of your eye. you saw Kevin stumble a hand flying over his head as he thought on his feet.

You took a step forward, a hand on Kevin’s chest. “Kevin is slumming it with me, a uniform.”

Laughs erupted from the team, Voight shaking his head.

Kevin saddled up beside you, pulling you close once again.

“How many times I gotta say I’m not slumming it with you?”

“A million. “You shrugged. “I did have to lower my very high standards for-”

You words went unfinished as his lips found yours again.

You didn’t mind, thought. There’d be another undercover case sooner or later. You could tell him then how it was you who lucked out.

The End

[ldouble]

Can’t Help It | Antonio Dawson x Reader (Chicago PD)

summary: You never expected flowers to be delivered to you. You weren’t one for girlish things, for goodness sake you were a cop who liked strapping a gun more so than clicking into heels. With this, it’s a pleasant surprise when you are delivered flowers not once, not twice, but three times in the span of a week. For Antonio, your partner and the guy who definitely did not have feelings for you, its more suspicious.

You stare at empty board, the lack of thumbtacked pictures a rare sight. This was the Intelligence Unit. There was always a case. Sometimes you thought the crimes rolled in like such clockwork you could have a TV show.

Wednesday. 9 PM Central.

With the clear board, you were sure to get cancelled.

You didn’t want anything up there. The first piece of evidence or any sort of lead usually meant someone was dead. You didn’t wish that at all.

The sight just made you uneasy.

Work wasn’t supposed to be mundane. You were supposed to be constantly thinking. Gears shifting as you tried to catch up with whatever or whoever you were after.

Drug cartels. Sex trafficking. Gang related violence.

It made its way to this board. And you sure as hell always found your way back to it.

The sound of a phone brought you back. The rough voice of your partner cueing in that your team was up to bat.

You looked to Antonio, your arms crossed, half your mind still on the blank panel, for answers.

Even fewer leads sat with him, his face stone cold and unreadable. That was weird. After working together for years, literally saving each others lives (after nearly losing each other one or twice) you could always read Dawson. His quiet demeanor was easy for you to pick up on, you yourself one to speak without words. You thought the time spent wordlessly communicating - either over beers at Molly’s or the barrel of your gun prior to a riot - would help you figure out who was on the other end of the phone.

His eyes met yours, a low ‘mhm’ escaping his lips before he let the receiver clack gently against its holder. “Delivery for you.”

“Screw up your address-”

Ruzek called after you, your last names barely heard as you skipped down the steps to meet whoever was at the cage entrance.

“Didn’t order anything.” You called before lowering your voice. “Especially nothing I’d get sent here.”

Your mind wandered to the Wine of the Month club you just subscribed to, and for a second you started believing Adam that you really had fumbled the address. But upon opening the cage door to see a patrolmen standing with your package, you knew you definitely didn’t mess up.

You told the officer just that, laughing at the sick joke it was. Sergeant Platt was having none of it, yelling up at you (without so much as lifting her gaze from her desk), “Take the goddamn flowers.”

So you did. You awkwardly and begrudgingly, took the goddamn flowers.

The goddamn flowers that had you sneezing upon arriving back in the bullpen.

A low whistle from Kevin was heard despite the allergy response. You didn’t know which one had caught the attention of the entire squad. Honestly, you didn’t know which was worse.

“Nobody give me that look.” You spat, concluding it was neither whistle nor wheeze that had everyone curious. Rather it was you, dressed in dark jeans and an ever darker long sleeved shirt, holding a budding bouquet of bright yellow-

“Are those sunflowers?” Jay asked, leaning closer to take a look.

“Yes.” You huffed, setting down the gift like it was a bomb. That’s what it felt like. Like any second something was going to go off. 3....2...

“Who got you flowers?!?” Adam buzzed, jumping up to peer at the present.

“No one.” You quickly said, hating this. Hating the attention. The attention brought on by some stupid-

“Nice greenery.” Voight said from his classic perch of leaning against the door of his office.

At the sight of your boss you gulped. You were chummy enough with him but knew even he wouldn’t appreciate a dispute over something as stupid as this.

So you took a breath, smiled, and agreed with him. “Yeah, nice.” You peered at the object in question...just like you would a suspect.

Jay called you out on it, coming to look at it beside you. He hip checked you. “Whose it from?”

“Great question.”

“There’s usually a card someone.”

You looked over your shoulder at Antonio whose attention now seemed completely enthralled with his computer. You knew for a fact there was nothing on there of importance. if there was, he wouldn’t be asking about flowers. Flowers you never would have gotten because you wouldn’t be here but rather out on the case that filled that goddamn blank board.

“You a frequent customer of ‘Ode a la Rose’, Dawson?” Ruzek asked, coming up on the other side to look at the business ribbon tied to the vase.

“No.” You titled your head at your partner who quickly avoided eye contact after looking up for a mere second. He clicked away, his mouse suddenly much louder to you. “But I know a bouqet of flowers when I see one.”

That had you rolling your eyes back to the problem at hand.

You really didn’t know where to start, that is until Voight walked right up and plucked the paper envelope from between the....blooms? Was that they were called?

Reading your mind Jay and Ruzek leaned in at the same time, whispering, “Buds.” in your ears.

You sighed, watching them return to their desks before opening up the letter.

You don’t know why you needed a breath but you did. It was all so bizarre. Remembering your boss’ words, the very ones you had agreed with, you concluded it to be nice. Nothing less and nothing more.

The card certified that, its blankness leaving the mystery solved.

“What’s it say?” Kevin asked from across the aisle as you sat down in your chair.

“Nada.” You replied, tossing into the bin at your feet.

“Yeah, right.” Antonio said, standing up and crossing the room. When he went to dive through the can beneath your desk you rolled away, the invasion of space surprising.

What was more surprising, the look of jealousy you swore you saw on his face.

Again, your guess was confirmed when Jay asked if Antonio was jealous somebody else was congratulating me on a case well solved before he could.

You didn’t like what Jay said but it was better than clutching onto a defensive statement with no proof. You were a detective. Couldn’t argue with evidence. And Antonio storming over to dig through trash...pretty convincing.

“I told you, I’ll take a free beer over flowers any day.” Your hand graced your partners arm. It stole his attention from the empty paper he was analyzing, his eyes finding yours for a moment. The way they raced across your face, taking you in like someone he was saving, crushed you.

More than that, it terrified you. Because it seemed to terrify Antonio.

You sneakily took the note from his hand, shaking your head with a light laugh. You were hoping he didn’t notice how forced it was because you really couldn’t sit here one more second with him looking at you like that. Worrying you. Terrifying you.

“It’s all good. Probably just some appreciation for your girl.”

You had stood at this point, reaching around to dump the flowers but your hand was caught. Antonio met your gaze, his tongue quickly wetting his lips in thought. A million things went through his head before he plucked the note from you.

“Keep em. Till I get you that beer.”

You watched him walk away, your eyes tearing away when you heard Adam cracking another joke about how sunflowers resembled your bubbly personality. When you slapped his head in warning you chanced another glance at your partner.

Sauntering down the hall a flash of white caught your eyes.

The once pristine note, white as day, was now crumbled in his hand. You watched it soar into a nearby trashcan, hitting the rim and bouncing onto the floor. The slam of the cage, announcing the exit of your partner, couldn’t even take your eyes away.

----

Molly’s atmosphere would always put you in a good mood. There was nothing like sitting with your colleagues, amongst the other servicemen and women of Chicago, after a long day. 

You hadn’t even made it to the bar when Otis called your name, waving you over.

Leaving Ruzek and Kevin to chat it up with some of the Firehouse 51 guys, you made your way through the throngs of people.

“What’s up?” You asked over the cheers of a home run being hit.

“You tell me.” The fireman said, a suggestive tone on his lips.

You turned to your coworkers, now joining you, shrugging your shoulders. Their equally confusing looks send you repeating the action back at him. Even then, its hard to force up your arms in chagrin when theres an icy feeling down your back.

The Russian fireman rolled his eyes before disappearing below the bar. Your head tipped forward to follow only to bounce back at his sudden reappearance. Its not his dark curly hair that scares you, but rahter the bright array of...flowers.

He placed it on the counter with a thud. Identical in nearly every way to the vase gifted to you two days ago, the only difference is that the blossoms have grown. Double the amount of stems sit in the square jar.

The aroma of spring met your nose despite the smells of the bar. Mixed with beer and greasy food, your lunch is prepared to make a reappearance.

But its the sight of Antonio, followed closely by Jay, that sends the meal back down. You have to gulp it down again when he gets closer, the look of anger directed towards the flowers, terrifying you once again.

“You got to be kidding.” Jay mumbled, tracing over the business seal.

“When did you get these?”

“Who delivered them?”

“What’d they say?”

The men around you fire out questions but none of them register. You’re always one to investigate but never before had you been so involved. Never before had you been the lead.

You liked the board empty. You’d take a clear slate and nothing to do over thumbtacking your own picture up any day.

Especially today.

Antonio tried to find your eyes, silently communicate among the raising volume of the bar, but you ignored them. There’s something to be said. But you don’t have the words.

The message envelope does.

You ripped through the flowers, tossing stems and wrecking the beauty of the gift, until you find what you’re looking for.

A gasp escaped your lips once you’ve read it, your head following to hang low.

“What’s it say?” Someone asked. You didn’t catch who, the neatly typed and printed words consuming everything in you.

Someone grabbed it but you release the words into the air before they can be read again.

If you could’ve stopped them you would. No one else should have had to read those chilling words. No one except you.

And your detective friends.

“I scent you this.” You looked up at Antonio, his brows furrowed as they came up from the note. “Can’t wait to watch you wilt.”

“We’ve got a gardener on our hands.”

Your head slowly turned to Otis, innocent and unknowing Otis, who thought it all to be a cute little love note.

You told him it wasn’t.

“More like a weed killer.” A faux smile found your lips right before your eyes found the door, your feet following quickly.

The hot summer air was less of an escape than you’d have hoped. Still, you pushed on, farther from the bar and the noise and the people and everything.

Your arm was caught just before a passing car took you out, sucking you back into the real world.

Antonio’s eyes, the fullest of concern you’d ever seen them, sent you pushing him back. You’d take reality but not from him. Not right now.

“You can’t just leave.”

“Let my pedals fall, won’t you, Dawson?”

“No.” His hands found my arms, my bare skin burning. There was no anger in his action. If anything you were producing the heat, frustrated beyond belief.

Antonio saw it, squeezing gently to bring you back. You couldn’t the strain breath that you released.

“He’s in my head.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“Women don’t send flowers.” You deadpanned. You took a step back upon seeing the rest of your coworkers stirring a few feet away. They held a respectable distance but some things just needed to be said - partner to partner.

And boy were some things about to be said.

Cops had no on and off switch. Their minds were always in investigation mode. You were your lead, your evidence, your victim, your everything.

And you felt like you couldn’t even breathe at the moment.

“Just let me go home.”

“Not with some guy-”

“He’s in my head, man.” The crack in your voice scared you but you pressed down the fear, going straight up to your partner. Chest to chest you tapped a finger on his temple. “He’s in my head and I can’t help it.”

“You’re in his and I can’t help that.” Antonio huffed.

You didn’t know who was more upset with the situation - you or him.

But that’s what partners were for. To have your back. Even when you didn’t have your own.

The thought of Antonio guarding you, unattended and unfocused, had you shaking your head.

It wasn’t right. None of this was.

You told him just that. To which he tried whispering your last name not as your partner but as your friend. You could tell by the way he said your first name...something he never did.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

“Save your detective work for the office.” A choked laugh escaped you as you slipped by him, heading towards Kevin. “Something tells me this is just poor planning on some gardener’s part.”

The flower puns had been over ages ago. They never really had a place at all.

But again....desperate times, desperate measures. Dark humor was your desperation.

You plucked the flowers from Adam’s arms, meeting his eyes with a nod.

You heard Jay say your name but it was no use. If Antonio couldn’t get through to you, it’d take Voight. And your boss never frequented this establishment at this hour.

Like you would hear him over the buzzing. You wanted to believe a bee was enjoying your unexpected gift but you knew that wasn’t true. The only thing ringing was your heart, beating faster than ever before.

You turned on your heel, only dropping your “I’ve Got It All Together” smile when you threatened them not to follow you. It wasn’t until you got home did it all fall apart, the vase crashing to the ground. The only reason you didn’t hear it was because of Antonio’s voice in your head.

“I can’t help that.”

He meant it like he couldn’t help but worry.

But combined with the concern he radiated, you thought your suspicions to be true.

He couldn’t help. No one could.

----

Your hand hurt from clutching your gun in your sleep.

At the thought of how pathetic that was, you flexed your fingers before shaking them out to study the card.

The wording, the gift, everything, really nothing, made sense.

You had racked your brain for cases that it could connect to. It wasn’t uncommon to be tracked down by former...clients.

Your job was to put people in jail. Jail wasn’t always a life long sentence. Finding you, the person who’d put them there, could possibly be a life long commitment.

The knock of your door made you freeze. You weren’t able to pinpoint a crime that could lead to threats in the form of flowers but you were able to recognize that knock anywhere.

A confirmation through the peephole had you standing with your hand on your hip as Antonio walked into your apartment.

He rambled on and on, jumping between the points of the mysterious flower deliveries and how there was no way you were going to let him stop from figuring this out. On a tangent about your lack of respect to the Senior Detective of the unit (a title he only used when he wanted authority) you wrapped your arms around him.

Suddenly your outburst against the second in command didn’t matter, his own arms looping around your lower back.

“You look like shit for having slept in your car outside my place.”

His chuckle vibrated through you - the sound the most pleasant thing you had heard since entering Molly’s over 12 hours ago. Since then it had been your partner yelling at you and the eery silence of your apartment.

Neither were a match for Antonio’s laugh.

Which, speaking of, quickly died out as he gave you a once over. You could hear the quip on the tip of his tongue, how the bags under your eyes made him think you spent the night in the passenger seat, but it never came.

All that stayed was the worry in his eyes. You wiped your hands over them, forcing them closed. “Don’t look at me like that.” You whispered.

Without moving he replied, “When this is fixed, I’ll stop.”

“Then keep them closed.” You headed toward the couch, heaving a sigh and setting your head on the wall. “I can’t figure it out.”

“What do you think I’m here for?” You felt the couch dip beside you, the weight shifting as Antonio looked over the files sprawled on your coffee table. After a moment you joined him, your eyes quickly glazing over at the papers you’d practically memorized.

“Had he sent some blood or common drug I would’ve pinned him.” You waved a hand over the evidence. “I’ve got nothing.”

“You have to, or else you wouldn’t know who he was.”

“Antonio, I don’t-”

“You do.” He interrupted, a hand finding your knee. He’s quick to remove it, clearing his throat and referencing the table again. “We’re cops. We know more than we think.”

You sighed, wanting to agree but not seeing enough evidence to do so.

Flowers. Scents. Spring.

You were linking the whole ordeal to cotton candy (somehow) when someone else knocked on the door. You didn’t even bother standing, knowing Antonio (who had been on watch all night) wouldn’t let you answer it.

So you weren’t surprised at all when he returned, the rest of the squad entering.

“Still picking petals?” Kevin asked.

“He kills you, he kills you not.”

Adam’s joke impressed no one, his hands flying up defensively. “We not in the mood for jokes or what?”

“We’re not.” Voight’s voice run out strong. It both reassured you and frightened you. This all was so odd. How everyone was here. Except the guy tracking you down.

“No jokes when one of our own is on the line.”

“Line.” You mumbled, the word sticking with you.

“What is it?” Jay asked, crouching down in front of you. It was his classic, “witness remembers something” action, which you didn’t appreciate. There was no time to blow him off, tell him you weren’t a victim in this, because you were just getting somewhere.

Antonio caught on, shoving Jay away for you.

You didn’t even need to say thanks, silently communicating it without as so much as a look.

“What did you say Adam?” You stood, heading towards your bookcase.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to repeat-”

“Say it again.” You insisted turning from the shelf for a mere moment to give him a look. “Please.” You said, your tone lighter.

“He kills you, he kills you not?” He mused, avoiding eye contact with Voight.

“That’s a bad line, man.” You heard Kevin say under his breathe.

“Exactly.” You excited, grabbing the book you were looking for.

“Exactly what?” Antonio came up beside you, his eeys darting between the page and your face. You said nothing - out loud or silently - which he impatiently couldn’t wait for. “Exactly what?”

“Exactly this.” You pointed to the page. “He loves me, he loves me not.”

Confusion and what appeared to be fear raced across Antonio’s face. Jay asked if you could fill him in before you got a chance to question your partner’s response to your revelation.

“It’s a line.”

“We know.” Voight said.

“A line from a case.” You went on to say, heading back toward the table. “There was a guy at the University of Chicago, posed as an English major, sucked girls with the whole ‘I’ll read you poetry’ thing.”

Papers were flying everywhere and Kevin was trying to keep them in order, that is till Antonio started digging with you.

“I know this one. He brought girls in and then,”

“Raped and murdered them. Leaving nothing but a note that said,”

“He loves me, he loves me NOT,” Voight answered, remembered. the case he handed over to you and Antonio.

“He definitely did not.” You stood, file in hand. “He left that line and-”

“A flower.”

You looked up to Antonio, his gaze pointed at the pile of what was your second bouquet, sitting in the dustpan where you left it when you couldn’t bring yourself to throw it out.

His eyes found yours after a moment and you couldn’t help but smile. You had solved it.

Of course, you had solved it three years ago.

Jay reminded you of that point when he took a look at the report.

“The clues he’s leaving aren’t keeping him too well hidden. Why send the cop who put you away flowers?” Kevin spectated.

“Paid in cash.” Adam added, rubbing his chin in thought. “Might want a chase.”

“Who leaves a calling card like that and wants a chase?” Voight pondered.

“He’s not the one being chased.” You said, the room quieting from the many guesses being vocalized. “I am.”

The knock of the door piqued everyone’s interest, each head whipping towards it. Then you all looked at each other. No one else who needed to be here wasn’t.

Antonio connected those dots first, undoing his gun from its holster and walking towards the door.

It was no point for him to ask who was there. You already knew.

You just made it to see the delivery boy, eyes wide as Antonio pointed the barrel at him.

You took the smallest of steps forward, further intimating the boy and causing the vase to drop. Triple the size of the first one, flowers spewed everywhere, a white card sliding across the floor to your feet.

You bent down, opened it and read it silently. When you looked back up at Antonio you couldn’t help the words that escaped.

“He’s not asking to be found. He’s already picked me out from the bunch.”

----

I wanna smell you. Just you. You don’t bloom, you lose it all.

The last part of the note didn’t need to be repeated in your head. Not when you were there right at that moment.

Lurie Garden looked beautiful on the Spring Saturday. Lavender wafted through the air and all colors spread through the field. The Bean was barely visible over the high walls. If you stood in the penny fountain you wouldn’t have been able to see 20 feet into the greenery. Not with the spurts of bushes that traveled higher and higher the further into the season.

3 Pm was peak time. Little kids ran around, parents following quickly. You had spotted more than one older couple, walking through the fields to literally smell the roses.

Like on every other OP, you thought of if you’d get there. Make it through this.

Good cops were good people. And no good person walked into a dangerous situation without playing with the idea that they wouldn’t see the light of the next day.

Your eyes found the sun, beating down on you. When you couldn’t take it any longer your refocused, finding the very couple that sparked your philosophical train fo thought. A green ring formed around them from the light exposure. They looked angelic. Happy. Perfect.

“Everything looks perfect.”

You toed the gravel, Ruzek’s voice loud and clear in your ear piece. No one had said much the last 15 minutes you spent waiting for your guest.

Mark Cameron, ever the ‘fake’ student, was running late for class.

Only you would be penalized, though, if you slipped up.

The kid, no college graduate, was still smart. When you’d busted him he had a barely alive girl in his arms. When unarming you he called out every weapon.

Hence your lack of protection right now.

No gun. No knife. You didn’t even have the pin you wore for highly specialized ops, its edge sharper than any pocketknife you could’ve snuck into your pant leg.

“You’re going to be fine.”

You turned halfway before stopping yourself. Antonio’s voice hadn’t come form your ear piece but rather behind you. Posing as a fellow garden goer, he stood the other way, admiring the monkshood you just looked at (15 minutes had given you plenty of time to read up on the plants. That and you needed something to do other than wait).

He was effortless when it came to undercover ops. So it took everything in you not to tell him he was blowing it. Cameron could show up any second. Antonio knew this. Never one to break protocol it wasn’t right to see him doing just that.

“Let’s hope.” You breathed, bending down to smell.

“He’s not in your head. I can’t help you if you’re in yours.”

You didn’t respond - not knowing what to say as well as gettin interrupted by COMMS.

“Cameron just entered the North East corner.”

Kevin went on giving description - jean jacket, information packet in hand, etc. - but you didn’t care.

You remembered that sweet couple without a care in the world and you needed to see Antonio once more. You needed to believe him he’d help. You needed your partner.

“Thought you might need this, honey.”

Cameron’s voice was icy in your ear. You fought the urge to grimace, instead smiling up at him and accepting the garden sheet he was extending to you.

“Thanks. Was dying to know what smelled so bad.”

“So you say.” He whispered directly into your ear piece. “What do they think?”

Jay mumbling something foulw as cut off as Cameron picked apart the tech. You couldn’t help but slam your ear into your shoulder, his touch radiating goosebumps off of you. The exposed movement was worth it when you caught no sight of Antonio - who had thankfully cleared the area.

There was no one in your row. No one you could really see either with the sloped ground and the high stalks of greenery.

You hoped your team had you. You knew they did. It was just hard to believe when you didn’t have yourself.

Cameron had found you. Found a way into your work and your bar and your home. More than that, he found his way into your head. And Antonio would never admit it but Cameron got into his too.

Partners. Had each other’s backs but also had each others brains.

You hoped Antonio’s wasn’t as corrupted as your felt right now.

“I told you to come alone.”

The stomp of his foot on the ear piece emitted a high pitched frequency just loud enough for you to catch.

Your lips formed a straight line as you told yourself not to panic. Something about you being the target made this op different. You cared about victims more than you did yourself - evident in the way you put your life on the line.

But this...this focus on you, on your friends, made breaking up a drug cartel seem like heaven.

Being here, with Cameron, even in a beautiful field of flowers, was actual hell.

“You know, I’d make some cruel joke about no flower growing alone but I don’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Cameron pretended to weigh the options. Coming to a decision a sick smile grazed his face before his hand found your hip. It hurt, a pressure point being hit, but you didn’t let it show.

“Good choice. Makes you love you a bit more.”

His eyes wandered to the flower I was still gripping, its orange petals crumpling with the tense hold I had on it. His own hands found one near by, picked it and brought it up to my nose. His brows raised, asking me to pluck a petal. I did as told just as he said, “Or love you not.”

“Sir!”

You spun around to the voice, only having his hand grip into you harder at the sight of a park ranger approaching.

“You can’t pick the flowers, sir.”

“My fault!” Cameron chuckled, his neck settling on your shoulder. Again, he put more force than necessary, your collarbone taking the brunt of it. “My girlfriend here wanted to see if I still loved her not. You know the rhyme.”

The ranger gave a tight smile, clearly weary. She shook off the feeling, going back into work mode. “I’m going to have to write you a warning.”

“Ma’am-”

You attempt at reconciliation was lost as Cameron pressed his hand and neck harder into you - equal points of pain rolling through. He was all bone and it hurt like hell.

“That won’t be necessary,” He leaned forward, bringing you with him. “Jan.”

“Sir, it’s policy of the park not to-”

“It’s-”

This was going all sorts of wrong.

No ear piece. This ranger. A much more aggriavted Cameron than you wanted.

Maybe this was it. Your final chance to smell the roses.

“You need to leave, now.” Th ranger said, summoning the most authority she could in her voice. Cop or not you could see her wavering.

You could also see a crowd forming. Nothing interested tourists quite like a public conflict.

“I said, no.”

“Sir!”

The ranger stepped forward, clutching what you assumed was a baton.

Cameron, ever one to see something for more dangerous than it was, though it a gun, and was quick to pull his own out.

Where else could it go than up against your head.

He held a firm choke hold, tossing you around as you showed the neely joined audience exactly what you had. It was all it took for your team to come out, their own guns blazing.

Screams. People running. Dust picking up.

You wished for the smallest deliver of flowers. No mess. No note.

This was so much worse.

You stayed strong, though. You knew there was more coming.

“All so protective of your girl when a guy sends some roses, huh?” Cameron asked Kevin and Ruzek, whipping you around to talk to both of them.

“Put the gun down.”

“Let her go.”

Now you understood why no hostage felt safe in this moment. Guns pointed at you. Words their first line of defense.

This wasn’t help, you wanted to tell Antonio. This was a placeholder for help.

“Yeah, right.” Cameron snarled. His nose inhaled your scalp, posseviley claiming you. “She smells like mine.”

Threats were repeated. Voight and Al and Jay appeared. All who was missing was your partner.

And without your partner you weren’t you.

You closed your eyes, hating this. Hating this because it wasn’t right. Antonio should be here. Having your back. Helping.

So you did what any cop would do. You proved you were than just your partner or your team or your badge.

You opened your eyes, now facing the fountain just a few rows ahead. In it you barely saw your reflection. if the image of you being held wasn’t enough to spark something, the shadowy person just past you was.

In one swift moment you hit Cameron’s instep, freed your hand, twisted his shooting hand, which caused him to fire into the fields, and threw him over your back, made him hit the ground and had you pinning him down.

The next thing you knew there was a gun, another one, pointed mere inches from his face. You didn’t need to look up the leather jacket arm to know who it was. So you didn’t. Not until Kevin stood Cameron up and Ruzek handcuffed him.

That’s when you turned to Antonio. Fell into his arms. Breathed the scent of the flowers for the first time.

He whispered encouragement to you, assuring you were fine, saying how horrible that guy would suffer.

None of it mattered. All that mattered was him. You were ready to say that after you pulled back to look at him when his eyes found the ground. With you still firmly held in his arms he reached down, a cheap connivence store bouquet of flowers in his hands.

You couldn’t help the choked laugh that escape you

“Thought this might be better than the beer. Ya know, for catching the guy.”

You accepted the gift that had fallen out of Cameron’s grasp, tilting your head. “Yeah, but you helped.”

Antonio shrugged, forcing the flowers out of your hand as he brought you closer.

“I can’t help it.”

The End.

[ldouble]

You Smell Good | Harry Styles X Reader

summary: You and Harry prepare for the Met Gala. The only thing you fixate on...other than everything...is the way you smell. Harry on the other hand, can’t get enough of it.

if we like this enough...should it be a senses series?

----------

this gif is not mine credit to harryisart omg i love this

You can’t help but tug at your sleeves. Someone’s hand shoos it away which you let. That is until your collar seems off. When you’re bugged away from that part of your clothing you find another to busy yourself with. Then its your hair. Your makeup. Your nails.

You’re above to dive into your skin (it looks wayyyyyy too orange) when the hands finally have a voice.

“Stop it.”

You roll your neck dramatically, flopping your chin down to glare at Harry. Sitting in a director’s chair, getting his hair done. It was a ridiculous thought when he was first placed there, his holding a fourth of what you have attached to yours but it now makes sense considering he’s been there for about double the amount of times yours took.

At the thought of it, your fingers move up unconsciously to pick at your styled mane. But, having discovered his speech is much stronger than his hands, Harry tag teams the two.

“You look fine.”

“Says you.” You shoot back, going to pick at the skin around your fingers.

Suddenly all movement is paused as your hands are clasped tight in Harry’s, his eyes finding yours. His smile is gentle which makes his next words the most surprising.

“Says what about me?”

Your head tips back at his humorous suffering. It’s when he’s halfway through a monologue about the time and money and oh so painful hours of planning that went into his look, you’re clutching your stomach and begging him to stop.

“Now I’m really going to mess something up.”

Harry sighs, tilting his head away from the stylist to get a good look at you. “You could never.”

You suck in a breathe. The hotel room has been hot for hours. The people in and out, the steamers and blow dryers and the shots that Harry has been sending since lunch has made the whole space...staticy.

One more intense look or loving statement from your friend and you’re sure to stain the black dress you wear.

Said to be impossible but nothing is, not when you’re about to walk down the Met Gala pink carpet with your best friend since diapers.

Especially since you’re not wearing diapers.

You’re wearing clothes more expensive than what God himself wears in a suite straight out the montages of movies and the water you’ve been drinking is so heavy it makes you think you’re drinking liquid gold.

Or maybe that’s just the nerves bunching in your stomach that’s causing everything you send down to feel like its all going to come back up.

You put a hand to your mouth, close your eyes and try to count to ten.

But its the thing that touches you gently on the cheek that relaxes you.

It’s not six hundred dollar hair brush or a touch up from a celebrity stylist. The complimentary moisturizer of the hotel (which only exists in places like these) doesn’t skim your skin.

Its a priceless hand that grazes you, sending every worry and knot away just like room service was cleared earlier.

You can’t help but lean into his touch, take a deep breath of hair product and the horrible smelling perfume someone sprayed on you.

Your eyes open when you sense him leaning in, making you all but freeze. What could he be thinking?

“You smell terrible.”

Of course that’s what he’s thinking.

“You, Mr. Co Chair, put so much thought and effort and money into this thing,” You say, moving to look in the mirror he facing. The sight of you both so done up and put together (a real change from the sweatshirts you live in when back in London when watching all of the events like the one you’re about to be in) makes you stumble. Harry begins to turn his head, forcing you to grab him and face it back to your reflection. “And the one thing you fumble on in my perfume.”

“Trust me every choice was mine,” Harry defends as I stand to rumble through my suitcase. The duffel, a Year 10 gym bag you still use, had been useless all night. Until now of course. “Except that.”

You shrug, wandering back over to him, your own personal balm in hand. “Hey, I’m not the one who has to whisper in my ear and tell me how pretty I am all night and ingest a whiff of what smells like dog poop.”

Harry’s head tips back with a laugh as you uncap the bottle, handing it to him. “I thought I could whisper in your hear and tell you how awful you smell. Think of the faces you’d make for the cameras.”

“Don’t even.” You turn, holding your ponytail up (much to the dismay of the stylist packing up across the room. “Spritz a tad on my neck will you.”

“Interesting spot.” Harry mumbles, doing as told.

“I’m expecting a kiss from some celebrity there tonight.” You flip back once the cool mist hits you. Harry’s eyes are stuck on your exposed collarbone but you pretend not to notice as you reach for the bottle. “Can’t have him knowing I smell.”

“Right.” Harry squints.

You spritz your wrists, rub them together and then bend down to the slit in the back of your dress. “If you fan my dress out I can’t have you bunching up your nose.”

Harry takes the nose tap, grabbing your hand afterwards. He then dips down to sniff your wrists, a content smile on his lips as he looks up. “Much better.”

“See, if you had known you had an opinion on how I smelled, you would’ve thought of this earlier.” You shake the perfume bottle at him, straightening out your dress as he stands up, going as far to help you get situated.

“Like I would’ve been able to capture it.”

“Capture what?” You smile, accepting your purse form one of the thousand of people in the room. You do it absently mindly having not noticed them in a while. With Harry it always feels like just you two.

You assume he thinks the same, especially the way he ignores final touch ups and looks at you like you really are the only other breathing thing in the vicinity. “Harry.”

He purses his lips as you egg him on. You seem him bite the inside of his cheek and it amkes you want to out a hand on it. But the way the room got so hot when he did that to you. And now with everyone moving around and the nerves building as someone shouts out something about arrival approaching...you couldn’t take it.

You never could.

Why were you doing this? How did you ever say yes to going out there with him in front of everyone? This was the freaking Met Gala. You hadn’t so much as gone on stage with him. Being with Harry was great. Being with Harry with the whole world was horrible.

At least you thought.

You saw how other best friends were treated. Talked about. Lied about. Made up about.

He was your best friend.

You couldn’t take it.

“Capture all you are to me in some dinky little bottle.” He finished, bending down to grab your focus.

It works. He could take it. Your eyes. And he did.

He takes more than that though. Again the nerves fly away and the knots undo and you’re left just being you.

It’s good you smell like you too.

You shrug again, making your way to the door with his hand in yours. You’ve always had to pull him along. Never before had you thought you would do this at the Met Gala but the usual finds its self in the unusual.

“You’re just lucky. You might not have a supermodel date but you’ve got a girl who smells just like-”

“You.”

You look back at him, your purse falling to the ground at the sight of his eyes all hazy and his smile so sweet.

His words are stunning. God damn soulful.

Dressed in his Gucci sheer ensemble, it’s like he’s singing at the fanciest of events to the girl of his dreams.

But it’s just you. A girl wearing 10 dollar perfume from the corner store.

It’s his turn to pull you. You switch spots as you’re frozen in yours and he leads you into the hallway, grabbing your bag on the way.

“You smell like you and hair spray and the onion ring you just ate.”

Your hand flies to your mouth for a breath check when he pulls you close in the elevator.

“You smell great.”

You look up at him, a smile on your lips.

“And you,” Your hands can’t help but play with the ribbons on his collar. “Have smelled better nearly every other time.”

He chuckles, his top teeth hugging his bottom lip. The ding of the elevator sounds before the car stops with a thud. People are moving. There’s talking. There’s so much going on but all you can smell is....

Carpet cleaner.

And windex for the mirror walls.

And Harry.

You can’t wait to see what else you sense along the way.

[ldouble]

Helluva Party | Steve Rogers x Reader

summary: As a former employee of S.H.I.E.L.D (on the very front lines), you're somehow pulled into attending a notorious Tony Stark party. That’s where you meet Steve Rogers, officially, and the two of you weirdly click. Two people - trying to make a new life, who keep getting sucked into their old ways.

characters: steve rogers x reader

The elevator effortlessly glides up, but your stomach feels like you’re on the twistiest and turniest roller coaster. You have to put a hand to your torso, repeat the words you tell patients when they feel sick for no reason, remind yourself it’s nothing.

Therapy is one thing to talk someone down from. When you’re calming someone down, its because they’re about to do some major self discovery, scientifically aided, and healed if not completely cured.

They have no reason to worry.

And neither do you.

But Stark Tower is intimidating. Especially when it hosts everything you’ve been trying to forget.

You got a fresh start last year. S.H.I.E.L.D fell. Your work dried up. There was no where else you were needed. Enough had been accidentally cut on your watch with your knife throwing skills. So you did what you always wanted, before your deathly hobby turned into a career. You were now working as a psychiatrist. You got out of your own head to get into others.

Now, you were suddenly crawling back into the brains that you had almost become.

The stop of the elevator had you poised to hit the close door button, ready to make your way back down to the lobby to grab a cab home to your apartment. But your psychologist mind took over, the practice what you preach mentality overtaking, and your finger fell.

By the time the doors opened with a ding, your chin was up and head held somewhat high. It was the quickest reset you had ever performed. If only you had your notorious notebook to jot down how it had worked so well.

You had just remembered the old receipt in your clutch (dated with the last time you dressed up which was ages ago) that you could write on when someone yelled your name. At the sight of Natasha Romanoff, the idea of writing down your findings flew out the window.

“Nat!” You smile, accepting the Russian’s hug.

She reciprocates the action, asking more questions than you usually got out in an hour session with a routine client.

By the time you had make it to the bar you are filled in on all she had been up to, the details of the latest mission in retrieving of Loki’s scepter and all things Bruce.

Natasha gulps at you look once she finished retelling the doctor’s recent findings with the tesseract. She was already shaking her head at your silent implications when you placed a gentle hand over hers.

“As a doctor myself,” Natasha rolls her eyes at the mention of your new job. “No one talks that much about me unless they like me way more than a doctor.”

Natasha bites her lip, mumbling something about how you outfit was too nice to kick me. You laughed, a hearty laugh you hadn’t felt in ages. Upon seeing her recognize the newfound happiness you shooed her behind the bar in ask for a drink. 

She waltzes away giving you just enough time to collect yourself once again. You hate to admit it (acceptance was always the hardest step of grief) but you missed her. You missed the days of fighting, working, living and saving.

It was harder to see the goals you met in your new line of work. It took years to build a client base, see your patients make progress, feel like you’re helping people when all you can do is listen.

It never felt good to kill someone. The sound of a blade whipping through the air was satisfying but nothing felt better than knowing there was less person doing the opposite of helping. Hurting. Hunting. Killing.

So why did you feel like you were doing something similar not being in the field?

You blink the thoughts away, turning to wave Nat down for something a little stronger than a beer when you saw her chatting it up with none other than Dr. Banner. You shake your head, your eyes moving back down the bar.

Your focus is caught by a brooding blonde. A literal God, named Thor. But its his neighbor that makes you freeze. Tony Stark never really had that effect on women (it was his money that enticed them not his looks) but the mere sight of him makes you gasp.

Your last conversation hadn’t been the most pleasant. You had refused a job at Stark Industries, believing you needed a clean break. He had pressed you to the point of pure anguish. The last thing you remember saying to him was something along the lines of, “You can’t ask me to stay to help you sort out whatever that is.” With a point at his head.

You quickly turn around, not wanting a repeat when he already had a glass of champagne in his hand. Sober Tony was obnoxious. Intoxicated Tony was a whole other level of big headedness.

You make your way through the party, ignoring the likes of anyone who looks remotely familiar. The few who had stayed loyal to the real S.H.I.E.L.D rather than turn in favor for HYDRA had come over, just like Tony asked you to. It was unclear who was worse to be trapped into a conversation with - someone who knew why you were no longer involved or those who didn’t.

You find your way up to a second floor hallway, one side looking out onto the party while the other faced the skyline. Uninterested in people watching (a reason that sounded much more mature than not wanting to be recognized) you face the large windows out onto the city.

You spin on your heel, your eyes traveling from the lights outside to inside when your eyes glaze over the very face of the Avengers.

But it isn’t Captain America’s face that caught your attention, rather the conversation his friend was spitting.

“Avenging is your world.” Sam Wilson, The Falcon, shakes his head into space, before turning to face the party just across the aisle. “Your world is crazy.”

It was your turn to shake your head, biting your lip in a weird resonation of his words. His next words, be it ever so humble, about the entire situation.

He was right. You know it, too. This world of fighting was hectic. Chaos. It really shouldn’t exist. But then you’d look out over some fancy party and it’s be easy to grasp. It wasn’t the alcohol or glamour, it was the aura that it had.

“You find a place in Brooklyn yet?”

The Super Soldier held back his own chuckle. “I don’t think I can afford a place in Brooklyn.”

It was hard to believe but easy to understand. It was an expensive burrow. Still, you found yourself laughing under your breathe.

Sam said something about home being home, which you also understood, but only between a laugh. Your breathy sound ends just as Tony’s favorite team member looked back at you.

The next thing out of your mouth was a gasp for air, followed quickly by a cough you tried to cover up. You face the window, trying your best to play it off. The sudden eye contact scares you. First it was the fear of being recognized. That outrageous thought was quickly thrown out.

The thing is, you hadn’t exactly...met him. It felt wrong to even think of him as Steve Rogers when you’d never been introduced. Anytime Nat mentioned him you couldn’t believe the first name basis they had. You weren’t starstruck - not by a lot. You’d spent time in labs with Iron Man and the Hulk. You grabbed coffee with Black Widow. Thor had given you a freaking birthday gift.

No super soldier named Captain America scared you.

Except the one sidling up next to you now.

“Hi, there.” He says, bending down to grab your attention.

And right then, after feeling immense anxiety and worry of coming face to face with anyone who worked for the thing you had left behind, you felt perfectly comfortable in front of their very leader.

You’d been listening to Tony too much, through Nat. Captain America was the elected leader. Tony just made everybody look good.

“Hi.” You say, bringing yourself out of your head.

His blue sparkled, a lopsided smile reaching his lips as his hand reaches out to you. “Have we met?”

“Almost.” You say automatically, the word being more of a thought you wanted to keep than share. You shake your head, correcting yourself. “No.”

“Steve.” He says after learning your name. You can tell the way he locks it away, his eyes slightly closed as if grabbing the word from your mouth and putting it in storage. “I’m sorry, were you almost put in ice too or did you see me through a subway door closing?”

You can’t help the smile on your face, his humor and charm exactly what you expected. “No.” A hand find your hair and you watches the way his eye tracked the small scar on your finger. It was from when you were five. You cut yourself with a knife, a knife you weren’t supposed to be holding. From that point on your swore you’d never hold a knife again if you didn’t know how to use it. You thought that meant culinary school. Not becoming a dagger throwing agent.

Your other hand traces the mark, that runs from the tip of your left pointer finger to the center of your knuckles.

“I used to be in a similar business.”

You watch Steve accept the answer, silently deciphering your words. To relieve him you continued, now having a better thought to go off of. “I save people. From themselves.”

“I’m a psychiatrist.” You conclude, wanting to put him out of his misery. You crack a smile, earning one from him. He bobs his head, looking out into the city, thinking. You could tell, again, facial cues. You did a lot of listening and watching now. A few years ago you would’ve thrown a blade to trap his shirt against a wall while another went to his throat to demand a response.

You sort of like watching him form his words.

A question, expertly designed, was on the tip of his tongue when a booming voice yells his name. Thor waved from below enthusiastically. You quickly turn, not wanting to start a conversation with the God of Thunder. He always seemed to get you into existential conversation. In the old English, and it being so late, you couldn’t handle it.

“Don’t leave him waiting or else he’ll send Mjollnir up here.” You say, already backing away.

Steve looks up at you, a playful smile hinted at his lips. But it didn’t reach the surface, curiosity and confusion at your sudden departure the priority.

You want to stay. But the thought of explaining...of answering...even the oh so amazing Captain America, has you wanting to run back to the elevator.

The only reason you exit the conversation rather than the entire building...is the slight beat of your heart and reddening of your cheeks at the idea of talking with him again. Unlike Thor, you could even get into all the existential stuff with him.

Exactly what the super soldier would deem too out of the box is on your mind when you run into the one person you don’t want to see. The host himself.

Tony takes you under his wing, literally, walking you around the party. Surprisingly enough, not once does he convince you to come back to work. He asks questions and wants to know all about you.

You oblige, enlightening him with tiny details. Your lack of confidence in the authenticity isn’t from lack of trust, but because you spend more time inquiring about him. Wordlessly, that is your psych perception takes over as you study him. You conclusion: he’s only asking about lowly you because he’s sitting high and dry. Which isn’t a new thing for Tony Stark, tech mogul and THE Iron Man. But something tells you his latest win isn’t one just shared with the public yet. Too good to be true, even to the optimist that is Tony.

He leaves you, letting you walk around for the rest of the party. Hours pass, partygoers dwindling both from the penthouse and your data set to people watch. Numbers low on who to analyze, you turn around in a circle, sure you couldn’t have taken in every person in attendance. A full 180 and you come face to face with the man with a target on your back.

He makes sure of your hunch, that he’s had it out for you, with the sly comment, “You ditch a Brooklyn boy for some Staten Islander?”

You look over your shoulder, playing along. “I was actually waiting for this guy from Manhattan to fetch me a drink.” You look back at him, his head titled in focus. You stumble for a moment, not used to the attention being on you. To the floor you say, “I don’t think city guys are good at service.”

“it’s a damn good thing you’re with a soldier.” He smiles, offering his arm as he steps beside you.

You hesitate, your knowledge on attraction and how one simple touch can lead to a million mistakes and miscommunications. You let your head take over your heart this time, walking ahead of him. “Last I checked, Captains don’t fetch anything for someone else.”

Accepting the (slight) rejection, Steve joins into step with you, his hands stuffing into his pockets. “You make me sound like Stark.”

“We all sound a little like him after too much time together.” You shrug. Catching Steve’s curious eye, clearly wondering how and when you worked with Tony, you saddle up behind the bar to distract yourself. “It’s called mirroring behavior. Say, I grab a beer you have a higher chance of doing the same just because of me.”

Steve smiles at you over the counter, watching as you open the bottle and take a swig. “But what if I just like beer?”

You roll your eyes, bringing the cider to your lips. “Or so you say.”

“You’re good at your job. Tony help you with that?”

You nearly choke on your drink. Why? It’s a toss up for the unexpected question or the tone of jealousy you think you detect in his voice. Upon looking at him you can’t see if your suspicion is correct. He’s casual, leaning an elbow on the table and gazing around the room without a care.

When his eyes find yours again you can’t help but trust him. You deem it the authority he has within his role, rather than something like the way he looks at you or how cute he is, before answering. “He wishes my career took me here. But after the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D,” It’s Steve’s turn to look at you to ensure trust, your words an unspoken truth among so many secret keepers. “I found my way into a new line of work.”

You turn to your left, finding a spec on the marble to transfix on. When he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even chastise you for so openly talking about the failure of his former employer, you look up at him. Only for your eyes to track his, to none other than your hand.

You hadn’t even realized you were still holding the can opener. it was a wine/bottle mix and you had the corkscrew raised and the entire contraption being spun in your hand like....like a knife.

Mirroring. In a room of superheroes and fighters, you resort back to your own ways. You remind yourself this is exactly why you weren’t supposed to come when Steve speaks.

“Reading people?” He asks, genuine interest in his voice. You see his eyes barely flit back to your hand, forcing you to set the church key down, but ignore it, just like he is choosing to do. You nod. “Can you read them?”

You follow his finger, stifling a laugh when it lands on Nat and Bruce, clearly flirting just down the bar.

“Reading, not pointing.” You reprimand with sarcasm, quickly covering his hand. Heat travels up your elbow, your hand flying back to the cold corkscrew for comfort as you clear your throat. Steve’s eyes wanders away and for a second you think he felt it too when you shake your head. There are patients. No time to dilly dally.

After a moment you say,“From a psychiatric point of view, I’d say the male is exerting immense amount of dopamine, just getting by the stressors and paraysmpathic nervous system. Whereas the female’s self esteem is battling her body’s immediate release of cortisol.”

Steve looks up at you, his mouth hung open. As dryly as you can, you say, “He likes her and she likes him.”

It sparks a laugh from both of you, a long one that doesn’t end till he puts his hand over yours in an effort to stop. You let it rest, liking the feeling of the cold marble and his warm hand more than any old corkscrew.

“So how you going to diagnose them?” He asks, clearing his throat and suddenly removing his hand.

You tilt your head toward the pair - an assassin and a man who can’t control his killing - and take a second to think. That second is when Nat decides to leave, gliding past you effortlessly. As she walks by you say to Steve, more so to yourself, “It’s hard for people to hear the truth.”

Steve is looking over to Bruce when you tip your head back to him. You can see the question on the tip of his tongue and you want to stop him but he’s too quick.

Don’t play cupid, is the second most common thing you say to clients. Right after the ‘truth is hard to hear’ piece.

You can’t help but put your head in your hands when he outrightly says Bruce and Romanoff “is nice”. It’s a psychologists worst nightmare. Not the one you thought you’d see play out but it’s happening, so you can’t help but listen.

It’s the way Bruce stumbles in reply that sends you walking down the bar. You throw Steve nothing but a “watch yourself’ look before listening from your new spot.

You clink your nearly empty beer bottle on the counter when Bruce comes up with an excuse. It does more than you plan it too, as it grabs Steve’s attention and has him going for another one and making his way over to you. You can’t help but notice the way he smiles sincerely at his friend when announcing himself a leading authority in waiting too long. The statement makes you pause, but not long enough to miss Bruce asking about exactly how close Steve was to Nat’s flirting..

“Pointing works.” He says when he arrives in front of you, the unopened bottle extended (if not pointed) directly at you.

You accept, clinking off the cap with the opener still in your hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

He watches you take a sip, his eyes once again telling more than he thinks they do.

Your hand, once again holding the opener in the knife-life way is his next question. For once, you want to keep the conversation about work.

“My job is to listen. What you just did was talk.”

Steve mulls it over, taking the beer form your hand and tipping it back. He holds it out you, in offering. “OK. You talk. I’ll listen.”

You bite your lip. Knowing this could be bad. There’s a reason you listen. Talking...it’s like any pointy object for you. Someone always ends up stabbed.

Then again, how seriously injured could Captain America get? You already have one scar. A “Star Spangled Man with a Plan” shaped wound could be your next story.

A new blemish never arises. You don’t even feel so much as a pinch of pain. Talking to Steve, for hours, makes you feel about as painless as you been ever since you left the line of work.

Then again, your old career never makes an appearance in conversation. He did ask about your current career so that’s what you talk about. Psychology. Which leads to music. TV. His favorite food and how its Apple Pie. He doesn’t listen when you insist Pumpkin is better.

Your love of Chinese food is perfectly timed to the late night order, scoring you a seat and a plate at the after-party, so to speak.

That’s where you find yourself, on the couch with a small cluster of people. Most of which are the ones you had planned to ignore. Rhodey, Tony, Clint, Maria Hill, and Nat don’t as much as eye you suspiciously, thankfully. Besides, you mostly people watch, only talking when Steve wants some insight on whether or not Thor is really spiking his drink or giving him something watered down.

You share a look with Thor, encouraging the addition of it into Steve’s next beer, when Clint questions the God’s almighty hammer. You laugh when Clint looks at the thing bewildered at his inability in to lift it.

Steve joins you in softened laughter at Stark’s attempts. His head finds your shoulder when Rhodey and him quarrel about representing in their effort to pull the hammer off the table. But he refuses to make so much as a peep when Banner tries to “Hulk” it up, saying he doesn’t want to hurt the guy’s chances with Nat.

Before you can tell him Bruce could do no wrong in the red head’s eyes, it’s Steve’s turn. The way he rolls up his sleeves, making it clear he’s taking it seriously, has you silent. You can tell a lot by a person in the way they go about a challenge. it doesn’t surprise you at all, despite the short time you two have talked, that Steve goes for it.

It’s no shock at all that your attention switches to Thor. The look of panic, which you’re sure only you are watching, astounds you. Never once had the God been this nervous. But here he was, holding his tongue as Steve nudged the alien club up.

Steve comes back to you in defeat. You offer him a supportive pat on the back, having his eyes for all but a moment until everyone’s eyes land on you. Recognizing Nat just turned down the offer you shake your head. “Lift with your brain, not your weak bones.”

Steve gives you an impressed look, opening his mouth to call you out when Hill remarks the use of bad language.

“I had a feeling you’d be a stickler for that.” You theorize aloud.

Steve looks at you over his shoulder, raising a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” You reiterate.

Thor proves you all wrong, effortlessly lifting his weapon of choice, declaring no one worthy.

The group laughter is cheerful and it warms your heart. Something about comfort between all of these people who live so dangerously, intrigues you. Your mouth opens to ask Steve how he’s come to trust them when a high pitched noise floods the space and has you covering your ears.

Your breath catches at the sight of a botched bot, standing in the shadows. Its robotic voice, oddly human, has you biting on your lip. It’s been a while since you’ve been faced with anything worse than a crying client.

Something tells you this won’t end in tissues and a hug.

Steve, who stood upon the unaccounted for noise, says Tony’s name with more frustration that you could ever imagine coming out of the man. You look up to him in surprise, only to look back at the way his hand is flexed in front of you. It’s a poor job at guarding you but something tells you that if he had his shield within reach he’d have grabbed it already.

The bot piques yours interest, his mumbled statements about his own sleep like unscnoius state making you nervous. The way he’s so...real...takes forefront over Tony’s own whispering. But even without your focus directly on him, something tells you he’s unsure. It’s never a good sign when the host is surpised.

You slowly stand as the intruder fumbles with himself. You’re studying him so discreetly you actually wave away Steve’s warning hand.

“You killed someone?”

“No he didn’t.” You murmur, only loud enough for Steve to hear. He gazes back at you for a moment and you shake your head, confirming your suspicion. The...thing in front of you is no real killer. Not yet.

When Tony’s voice rings out from the bot the tension rises in the room. You couldn’t cut it with a knife it’s so thick...which takes a lot for someone with the throwing capabilities of yourself.

You don’t mind it, knowing the pressing threat stands in front of you rather than beside. The wise words erupting from the in flesh Ultron has you racking your brain...about nothing less than the brain in front of you. Computers have never outsmarted you. Then again, it’s been a while since you’ve been around Tony.

His building - in tone and message- signals something much more violent is about to begin. No sane person builds a mountain of words not to stand on it later. Maria Hill cocks her gun as you take in your surroundings. You believe a chopstick to be your best option for a weapon, at least one you can throw, when the crash of walls begins the battle you were really hoping not to get into tonight.

It’s like Steve senses your lack of protection, taking it upon himself to upchuck the table for cover. Instinctively, you crowd down in front of the couch, just missing the hit that Steve takes with the attempted cover.

A big part of you wants to make sure he’s OK, scream his name and chase after him, but it’s not the time. People come to you to recover with your help. Steve isn’t one of those people.

So, you go into survival mode.

You army crawl across the room, watching every disappear from the main level. They’re smart enough to find cover and/or a weapon. You, out of practice and way out shape, head across the room...you know, to the empty space ensuring no safety.

Catching sight of Nat, now armed, you duck down knowing there has to be a gun stashed somewhere. It’s not your first weapon of choice, having never trusted a bullet as much as a blade but something is better than nothing.

And nothing is what you find.

You graze every table you can, certain it hasn’t been long enough for you to forget what a gun feels like, when spot Nat and Bruce flying up the stairs.

Sure Nat has already pleaded with the doctor not to turn green you avert your eyes to Stark, flailing on the back of a bot with what appears to be a fondue fork. You’d kill for a fondue fork right now.

What catches your eye instead is something much less picking. It’s perfect timing too as you spot Dr. Cho crowding behind the piano, face to face with a waist up robot, hand glimmering and all.

In a split second your hand grasps around the candlestick and you toss it through the air. Despite the noise you hear its whistle and while it’s really not the time, you relish the sound that you missed so much.

It hits the neck, chopping off its head just as Steve clambers on top of it, chucking git to Thor to smash, to ensure it’s no chicken working with its head cut off.

A shield wizzes past your head, slicing another member of Ultron’s army seconds later.

Its lonely leader speaks next, chilling the charged air.

Before you know it you’re flinging the other candlestick (it is a set) at Ultron, stabbing his arm. It earns the tines looks of him before a dry chuckle. You don’t take your eyes off of him despite the stare you know you’re getting.

His next words are directed at you. “You just didn’t think it through.” His knowledge of what feels like the entire world makes you believe that while his idenity is still a mystery, yours is not to him.

Your presumption is all but proved when his crumbled form sings the infamous Pinocchio song. Not once was it sung at the party. Everything his at his finger tips. Yourself included.

The blue of his eyes fade but he surely doesn’t leave the room. Tony sighs, clutching himself on the stairs. Thor breathes heavily hwile Nat looks worridely at Bruce, who appears on the edge of vomitting up all the food he didn’t eat a the party. Cho looks terrfiied. Hill and Rhodey on the lower level.

That leaves Steve. Watching you.

In four steps he’s at your side, his hands on your arms as he checks you out. Not like that. You remind, tell, yourself its not like that as you meet his eyes.

“Im’ fine.”

"That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Guess you’re better at reading people then.” Humor has always been your go-to. There’s not anything much heavier than blood and blades. The least you could do is quip something light.

Steve steps forward, his voice dropping just for you to hear. “I was going to say you’re a damn good throw.”

The End

[ldouble]

Check In | Steve Rogers x Reader

summary: steve returns from a mission late one night to be met by the barrel of your gun. he only wanted to check on you and you only wanted to go back to sleep. neither of you ever get what you want. except each other.

You scale the wall, falling to the ground less dynamically than you’d care to admit. It’s not your fault - there’s a dead guard at your feet that you weren’t accounting for. Of course, those who put him there weren’t accounting for you.

You smile to yourself, impressed with your secrecy. But you catch yourself. Not done yet. You have to intercept the others. You have to get to them before they think you’re anything but another-

“Guard!” Someone shouts to your left. You look seconds before an airborne discs hits you. The familiar star on the top gives you the confirmation you need to catch the vibranium shield. It takes you a few steps to recover, looking up to see someone with a matching star on their chest.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Steve whispers despite the empty fortress despite the empty forest you stand in.

“Language.” You fake chastise, wiping hair off your sweaty forehead. The shield is taken out of your hands just as you’re about to sarcastically check your reflection in it.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Steve says again, adding your name in ask for your eyes. It was much easier to look at the ground when he got all controlling and strict on mission. The floor, covered in dirt and mud brown leaves, was also a lot more welcoming than him on a mission you weren’t supposed to be on.

The sound of his sigh brings your focus up. It’s the way he shakes his head in defeat, knowing he’s at least a little happy to see you, that has a grin growing on your face.

“What the hell would I do without you-”

Your name never reaches the air as the sound of a bullet speeds through the air.

That’s when you wake up, the quiet of the compound even scarier than what you just saw. What you just heard. What you just felt.

You clutch your heart, begging it to slow down. As it challenges the god damn speed of fucking light, you tell yourself it was just a dream. That it wasn’t real. Watching Steve die wasn’t -

The dream world takes a back seat as the very real sound of someone twisting the locked door handle to your room is heard. The sight of the knob, a shiny metallic thing, turning in the dark room has you reaching across your bed. The drawer of your nightstand pulls out easily, the pistol you keep hidden being loaded and aimed at the intruder with even more suave.

The barrel is perfectly pointed when the door creaks open. The countless hours of skill training - both off the field and on it - have you seeing the slight apprehensiveness to assume they’d peak their head in.

You are right. But you’re way wrong in the way you’re expecting an intruder.

“It’s just me.”It’s harder to see their face, lacking the metal shine like the knob, but their voice cuts sharper than any voice.

Steve Rogers had that tone in his voice. Always.

Still in mission mode, his voice is exceptional lystrong and commanding. It’s impressive, considering he’s staring down a gun.

You breathe a sigh of relief and lean back to flip on your lamp. Your eyes blink as the space is flooded with white light (Tony has a thing for energy saving bulbs with the highest of glare) and purple spots interrupt your vision.

No matter, Steve’s head floating in the still unopened door is made out. "Is it safe?”

“Yes.” You groan, going to put the gun back. You close the drawer with a slam you don’t expect. When you look up, Steve’s eyes are on you.

“Sorry.” You apologize, tapping the furniture-piece lightly.

He steps forward, still clothed in his uniform. From your quick once over you can’t make out much dirt or impact on his suit. You have to squint to see if its blood or a leftover blindspot.

He seems to be doing the same thing, looking you over in what seems to be...disbelief.

Did he not expect you to be in bed at 3 AM? You didn’t even know he’d be back. No wonder you were cuddled under a flannel blanket in an old Dodgers sweatshirt.

You looked down at yourself, Steve’s eyes making you worrisome that you were the one with blood on you. Upon further inspection you were markless. Yet, the bundle of stirred sheets wasn’t hard to miss.

A dry chuckle from Steve reminds you not alone. There’s no way he could laugh about a restless sleep...experiencing them himself.

Steve swipes his hand to the dresser. “You keep a gun in your nightstand?”

Your eyes find the thing bewildering him but you don’t catch on. “And?”

“You keep a gun in your nightstand?” He repeats. You quietly convey your confusion which only pisses him off more. His hands find his hair as he moves across the room to look out the window.

You didn’t understand it. You were an assassin. You knew how to work a gun. It was like a writer keeping a journal next to them at night. Or an accountant sleeping with their calculator nearby. Sure, a gun was a weapon and your job didn’t require business casual attire but it wasn’t a big deal.

You tell him just that.

“Don’t give me that.” He whines.

“Don’t give you what?” You shoot back, standing up to face him.

It was one thing to be awoken at night, a whole other to be awoken at night to be argued with.

“That.” Steve looks down at you, his hand pointing to you. “You’re not working. You’re sleeping.”

You want to remind you aren’t working. You aren’t working because you aren’t allowed to. One bad hit a couple weeks ago has put you on the outs. Had you been working you would’ve just been with him, away from this dark room with dark dreams, and pointing the gun at someone else. You could’ve been pointing the gun at the person who almost shot him.

You take a step back, eyes finding the floor as you remind yourself it was your dream. The dream you weren’t sleeping through.

Reading your mind you hear Steve ask hesitantly, “But you weren’t sleeping, were you?”

You shake off the way he can hear your thoughts. You hate that he does that. He has no right to. You’re friends. You’ve been more like coworkers in the last couple weeks. You told him you were fine and he still refused to let you back into the rotation. And for what? For him to come check on you after? Fill you in on what you missed?

You cross your arms over your chest, force a polite smile and look up at the man you just saw die in your dreams be all lively in front of you. You only looked up because of the thought that quickly raced in and out of your mind - that you wish he was dead.

You didn’t. You really didn’t. You looked up to make sure he wasn’t dead.

The sight of him, breathing and living and looking at you like that, sends another chill down your spine. You’re sure the sweat you broke out into upon waking up is back, a steady stream of perspiration on your temple.

Steve takes your shut down for what it is: an invitation out. But the second he turns to walk away you wish he read your mind now. You want him to stay.

The thought surprises you, too. You’re just trying to wrap your head around it when he opens the door. Your mouth opens to tell him to wait when he beats you to it.

“Wait.” He shakes his head, turning back around to face you. “I’m not leaving.”

“Steve.” Is all you can say before he continues.

“I came in here to check on you.” He explains his jaw tensing and his hands find the front of his belt. Nat calls it his thinking pose. But it’s his face that gives him away as he purses his lips, deep in thought. “And I walk in to see you pointing a gun?”

“I didn’t know it was you.” You say, collapsing onto the bed at the thought of having to explain yourself. You were scared. You were safe and still scared. A gun was all you needed to make yourself super safe and a little less scared. He should’ve seen it in your eyes. In the way your hand shook on the trigger when you weren’t in the comfort of your team.

“It’s not about me.” Steve plead, leaning onto the bed.

He’s a foot away but his breath reaches. Heavy. Quick. He’s nervous. For what?

He stands back up, his head dropping behind him. “I’m not here to rave about the mission or fill you in I’m here because you weren’t.”

“Steve-”

“You weren’t there. Next to me or near me or with me.” He sits on the edge of the bed, his hands finding yours. They’re clammy, cold, and not the ones you’re used to grabbing when running to catch the Quinjet. “I needed to make sure you were here. Right where you’re supposed to be. Safe.”

His eyes find your hands, his thumb rubbing the back of yours. “Seeing you with a gun, fear in your eyes, just confirmed I should’ve been here.”

You tuck your lip behind your teeth, wanting him to say more. He reads your mind, finishing your thought. “It just confirmed you should’ve been with me.”

You smile, your eyes dropping at the intensity of his stare. Of his words. Of him.

And the only way to get out from under him is to get closer to him.

You don’t even realize what you’re doing before your lips are on his and he’s holding you close and the gun and the nightmare and everything else is gone.

When you can’t breathe anymore from the kiss you take the slightest breath back, only for him to pull you back in mid inhale.

It’s moments of heat and attraction and pure bliss before you two separate again. Your foreheads lean against each other and no one says a word. When your eyes flutter open and find his, words tumble out of your mouth.

“Who needs a gun when I have you here now?”

The End

[ldouble]

Unexpected Guests | Sam Wilson x reader

details: Takes place during Captain America: The Winter Soldier, specifically when Cap and Nat appear on Sam’s doorstep. As his girlfriend, you’re there too. And while the guests are unexpected, they are always welcome

“You cut across the grass.”

“You never said I couldn’t.”

I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know Sam was rolling his eyes at me. We had been running together for the entirety of our relationship. We actually met while running, our morning paths lining up with our similar paces (despite him saying he slowed down to finally catch my eye when it was me ruining my mile time for him). No matter, it was an unspoken rule of ours: you don’t cut across the grass. That’s cheating.

But I didn’t want it to be now, when I had finally beat him to the front door.

I only turned when he didn’t retort back. My hand was halfway to the orange juice when I noticed him standing on the opposite side of the kitchen. He was still breathing heavily, able to control himself enough not to be heaving like a cow (like me), but his eyes were toward the floor. His house, while lived in, was spotless. I didn’t even need to look down to see if there was a spec of dust, there surely couldn’t be.

Besides, that was his thinking face. His worry face. His wonderng face.

The chill of the refrigerator reached him, causing him to look up at me. The breath he had been holding in was released as he made his way to me, side stepping to grab the jug just out of my reach.

He held eye contact for a second, his dark irises blending in with the dark purple of his running shirt. I was about to ask what was on his mind when he went to drink straight from the gallon.

“Sam Wilson don’t you dare-”

My warning went unfinished, as did his rebellious action, when there was a knock on the door. I switched my focus to the unexpected visitor, going to check my watch. The early morning house barely registered as Sam gently pat my legging-clad thigh in a “stay here” notion. It wasn’t a controlling action, but rather his AF training. Something as simple as the mailman would always be a threat to the soldier.

I abided, despite my own military status. Obedience never lasted long with me, though, so it was no surprise that I followed after him after no less than a second. Upon Sam opening the blinds, I faltered, the guests a little too unexpected for my feet to continue.

“Hey, man.” Sam said, only the slightest bit of apprehension in his voice. I was proud of his even tone, talking to Captain America with anything but the girly squeal that Sam used once or twice, was impressive to me. Something told me this wasn’t the first time they were meeting. How else would Steve Rogers be at our door?

“I’m sorry about this.” I tilted my head at the sight of the red head, dazed and confused, beside him. Just as I turned my attention to her, she looked inside. Her eyes darted to Sam, as if taking in his presence for the first time, before looking back and recognizing my figure, too.

“Everyone we know is trying to kill us.” She said bluntly.

Sam’s back was to me and he didn’t know I was behind him still. I assumed his mind was running wild. One second we were joking about fake running rules and now we were faced with two very wanted people asking for refuge. Cutting across the grass seemed less and less like a real issue anymore.

“Not everyone.” I stepped forward, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder and revealing myself to Steve. He offered me a small smile which I returned, before looking back up at Sam and nodding. My interjection had probably overwhelmed even more. There was a reason he asked me to stay in the kitchen, so I wouldn’t have to deal with this. I told him I wanted to deal with it. Be apart of it. Be in this with him.

I conveyed in the only way I could, in taking a step back to allow our guests in. Sam pursed his lips, before following my lead. I let out a small breath, happy this wasn’t an argument (yet) and went to show them around. I hadn’t made it a foot away when I made the point to look over my shoulder. I didn’t want to admit the chill that went down my spine at the sight of Sam studying the neighborhood like a battlefield.

The good thing: he surely had forgotten about me cheating our race today.

--

"Stop eavesdropping.” I chided from the stove.

Sam sighed, throwing over his shoulder, “Says you.”

“Sam.”

He retreated from his perch at the bottom of the stairs. When I had come downstairs from showing our guests a place to wash up, I had found him, trying to make out whatever joke had Steve chuckling lightly. Ever since I had refused to let him in on the light hearted sentiment, he had stood with a sour look on his face.

Now, he saddled up next to me. If I didn’t know any better, he had just come in from our run. It wasn’t like his harsh breathing came from having two fugitives currently in our bedroom.

“You shouldn’t be listening to them talk.”

“I’m not-”

“Because you should be the one talking.” I shot him a look as I emptied the scrambled eggs into a bowl. “Talking to me.”

Sam let out a breath, his head tipping back against the cabinet. The way he shut his eyes made me think he was trying his best to listen in again but before I could scold him again, he opened his mouth.

“I met him running. I didn’t think he’d show up.”

My eyes found the loaf of bread, my hands following quickly to busy myself. I thought his explanation would make this situation a little less ludicrous. Sam’s attempt at cueing my in only made the whole thing more bizarre. Sensing my staggering disposition, Sam stepped in to remove myself from my menial task.

He said my name, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand. My eyes found his, a guilty look on his face. “That’s all I know.”

I gulped, still feeling unsure. Our lives had become so ordinary since becoming civilians, it was shocking when things got out of place. Having an Avenger in our house was a lot more concerning than anything we had experienced, but I knew we could get through it.

But if I had to stand here one more second not knowing everything, I was going to explode. I told Sam that. Not directly of course. Couldn’t seem to thrilled to see Captain America again. At least not in front of my boyfriend.

I forced a smile on my face, the one of a perfect hostess, before nodding up the stairs. “Go tell our guests breakfast is ready.” Sam didn’t make a move until I hip checked him lightly. “If they eat that sort of thing.” I winked.

They did. Eat that sort of thing. No matter how super human he might be, Steve Rogers accepted the assortment of eggs, bacon and toast happily. When he thanked me for the offer of orange juice, I shot a look at Sam.

Good thing you didn’t drink straight from the bottle.

He rolled his eyes at me, silently challenged me with a look that said Oh like you knew we would have unexpected guests.

Which I didn’t. And I definitely didn’t know that S.H.I.E.L.D’s dirty laundry would be joining us for breakfast either.

I watched Sam butter his toast, looking up every so often as they talked through their operation. He did’t want to admit it, but his interest was peaked at the sound of a fight. Always a soldier.

Especially when he could help save someone.

So I wasn’t surprised at all when I watched he dropped his work file on the table, calling it a resume. The only thing shocking me was how Sam could possibly think any old Air Force pilot could help them.

Bewilderment found its way to me when Nat, Steve’s friend and the redhead who looked way better in my tank top than I ever would, called Sam a pararescuer. I stood up, looking over the picture she held in her hands. She handed it to Steve who I only heard talk at the mention of a certain someone’s name.

“Is this Riley?”

“Yeah.” I said, only shooting Sam a look when I answered for him. He nodded in understanding. I knew all about Riley. Especially how hard it was to talk about him.

“I heard they couldn’t bring in choppers because of the RPGs.” Nat continued. “What did you use a stealth chute?”

The question even puzzled me, an Army brat. It would be impossible for even that kind of technology. Sam clued us both it, offering the folder I had never been allowed to look at.

A dry chuckle escaped me as I caught a glance at the sheet of paper.

“I thought you said you were a pilot.” Steve questioned.

“Me, too.” Once again I put myself in the conversation, an eyebrow raised at the boyfriend I thought I knew well.

While some anger tinted my tone, a playful smile was on my lips. No one liked a lie, but everyone had their secrets. Myself included.

I bit my lip, offering an expected look that had Sam chuckling himself. “I never said pilot.”

He had both of us, me and Steve, there. When we met it was Air Force. Understanding veteran’s liking to keep things in the past, I never pressed on. I cursed myself for giving him a freebie. This was a big thing to keep a secret.

“I can’t ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason.” Steve said.

His words hit me close to home. Few ever wanted to leave active duty. It was never a choice. Right now, this was a choice.

“Then ask both of us.” I interjected, making my way to the entry table and pulling out the drawer. My own stack of papers hit the table in a similar fashion as Sam’s, the binder clip clacking louder than the manilla folder had.

I shrugged as he looked across the table at the file. “You’re not the only with a resume, honey.” I rubbed his back before sucking in a breathe and facing our guests. “This household has two soldiers in it, not just one.”

Nat smiled at my words, going back to read more in detail about the project I had worked on while my boyfriend was flying in the skies.

Steve was still on the fence so I nudged Sam to convince him.

“Dude.” Sam said clearly after clearing his throat and tearing his eyes from me. “Captain America needs my help.”

“There’s no better reason to get back in.” I added, crossing my arms over my chest.

I saw the approval in Steve’s eyes even before he asked where we could get a hand on one of these things, waving Sam’s folder.

Sam answered with Fort Meade, a familiar sounding base. When he went on to describe its three guarded gates and 12 inch steel wall, I remembered it. How did it come to mind? It was listed as a possible holding place for my own supplies but deemed too insecure.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Steve declared, tossing down the folder.

“Mine might be.” I jested after running the measures through my head.

Nat merely shrugged when I explained them and Steve nodded in agreement. it was Sam who was a little fearful. Of what? It was unclear.

“I have no idea who I’ve been sleeping with.” He said once our guests went upstairs and we began to clean breakfast. “Are those towels even from your grandmother?”

"Either from her or the Secretary of the Navy, you pick.”

He said my name, his hand going to turn off the faucet. His face was stern and etched in what looked like...disappointment?

I continued to clean the plate in my hands. “Who have I been sleeping with? Surely not a pilot.”

“At least I was in the right field.” He said through gritted teeth.

I sighed, dropping the sponge and wiping my hands on my pants. “I knew we should’ve talked more on our first date.”

Unappreciative of my jokes, Sam stared down at me, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t angry, just upset. I was feeling the same way, having just found out he was a freaking Falcon. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that.

Now was the time to talk.

My hands found their way in pulling apart his arms, placing them on my lower back. My fingers clasped around his neck as I pulled his forehead against mine. “I should’ve told you.”

He didn’t release any more of his tension, only agreeing he should’ve done the same. I couldn’t blame him, I still held some anger in locked elbows.

Sensing it, he eased his hands over my arms before pulling my even closer so our bodies were against each other.

“Who would’ve thought this would come about all after I cut the grass?” I finally broke the silence, earning the smallest of smiles from him.

“You can have your work.” He nodded towards the stack of papers, still resting on the table. “But you can’t have that win.”

“Says the pilot with wings.”

“Says the girl-”

His comeback went unheard as I placed my lips on his. He knew who I was now. His wings didn’t change him. Neither did my accessory. Some soliders wore army green and others did the whole camo-face paint. For us, it was a bit more heavy duty.

So much so, we had Captain America at our door asking us to suit up.

But like I said, no better reason to get back in it.

The End

“