scarletsxwrites

[scarletsxwrites]

Night In

summary: may and pepper cook together

pairing: may parker x pepper potts

word count: 880

warnings: f l u f f, peter being a lame teenager

“What are we doing for dinner tonight?” Pepper hummed. She was in the middle of braiding May’s hair, sitting cross-legged on the couch while May sat on the floor in front of her, cheap beer in hand. May shrugged.

“I don't know, Chinese food maybe?”

Pepper’s fingers stilled momentarily, and May couldn't help the soft noise of disappointment she let out. She settled back comfortably as Pepper started working again, the dinner question practically forgotten until her girlfriend breached the subject once again.

“You know…” Pepper hesitated and May could practically feel her biting her lip, a nervous habit she'd picked up long before they'd met. “I was thinking we could stay in tonight. Have a more lowkey date.”

“Oh, okay,” May said, nodding a little. She set the beer down to reach for her cellphone, which had been discarded on the coffee table as soon as Pepper suggested hair braiding. “I'll just call a place and we can order take-out, no big deal.”

“No, I mean -” Pepper let out a flustered sigh. “I mean, like, I want to cook. Together. Like our own food.”

May’s brows furrowed and she turned to face pepper, her hair falling out of its braid. “You know I can't cook.”

Pepper smiled. “That's okay. We can do it together.” And then, as if sensing May’s hesitation, “but if you don't want to, Chinese is good. I'm just happy to be with you.”

May have it another minute of thought before she finally conceded with a sigh. Might as well bite the bullet, right? “If you think you can somehow override my inability to cook, I’d love to have something homemade for once.”

Pepper gave her a bright, brilliant smile that made May’s gut twist itself into knots. Even if the food didn't turn out, that smile alone would make this worth it.

Before May had even thought about what they might make, Pepper was off the couch and in the kitchen, talking about her ideas for the dinner. May grabbed her beer and scrambled after her now very enthusiastic girlfriend. She felt out of her element already, but Pepper seemed to know what she was doing.

They settled on a simple chicken dish, accompanied with mashed potatoes and some roasted vegetables. May was in charge of cubing the potatoes and seasoning the vegetables, which she found quite enjoyable after some coaching from Pepper (who was busy throwing things into a marinade and getting a pan ready).

In minutes, the kitchen was filled with playful laughter and delicious aromas as the women cooked. It was intimate in a way May hadn't felt in ages, not since Ben; occasionally, they'd brush past each other while moving through the kitchen, or their hands would bump against one another as they went to reach for a spice.

Once May had finished the tasks from Pepper, she hoisted herself onto a counter and watched her girlfriend work; Pepper boiled the potatoes and cooked the chicken with ease. When she went to add the vegetables to the same pan that the chicken had been in, May raised a quizzical eyebrow. “It'll give them more flavor,” Pepper explained. May got the profound feeling that Pepper knew more about cooking than she ever would. “Can you mash the potatoes? They should be soft enough now.”

With that, the two went back to work until finally, dinner was done.

They set the table quickly and efficiently, adding a third placemat as Peter walked through the door. He smiled sheepishly at Pepper, offering her a “hello, Ms. Potts” (to which Pepper rolled her eyes, because she'd told him to call her by her first name dozens of times, but suppressed a smile anyway) and then looked at May as if to ask if he was interrupting. Wordlessly, she set another plate at the table and shooed him off to his room to get cleaned up.

Once Peter was settled and dinner was sitting ready at the table, the three settled down to eat. May couldn't help the stupid grin that plastered itself on her face at the sight of the other two people at the table. This felt like family; like home. They raised their glasses - Pepper had wine, May had another beer, and Peter had a grape soda - and toasted to family before digging into the food.

Peter let out a noise as he bit into the chicken, something less than dignified. May heard him mumble something under his breath, and then he laughed to himself, and her interest was piqued.

“What was that, champ?"

“I said,” Peter replied, gulping down a bite of potato, “delicious. Finally, some good fucking food.”

Pepper choked on her asparagus.

“Peter!” May exclaimed. “Language!”

Peter just flashed her a lopsided grin and kept eating, and she didn't have the heart to scold him further because, if she was being honest, he was right. This overshadowed every attempt at cooking May had ever made.

They ate in companionable silence and cleaned up that way as well, and then Peter was off to bed and Pepper finished May’s braid. “Thank you,” May hummed, back on the floor in the living room.

“Don't thank me,” Pepper said. “I had fun.”

“Yeah,” May said with a sleepy, sated smile on her face, “me, too.”

[scarletsxwrites]

Just Kids

summary:

your relationship with steve has its ups and downs, but in the end, each of you will always come when the other calls

pairing: steve rogers x gender neutral!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of injuries, mentions of alcohol, drunk!steve is out of character an asshole

note: this is based on this song, i recommend listening to it while you read (or just listening in general, because it’s a beautiful song); also, as a disclaimer, this is my first time integrating song lyrics in this way, so if it’s a bit clunky that’s why

Were we just kids, just starting out?

Being teammates usually didn’t leave a lot of room for a relationship. You were so hardened, so war-torn and traumatized, that intimacy sort of felt like sandpaper on raw skin. It was foreign; it felt wrong. Intimacy made you feel like a child, meek and helpless. Intimacy with Steve only increased that feeling by a thousand.

Didn’t we know then what love was about?

Still, the tension between you was palpable. When he asked you out, you said you’d think about it. At a great deal of prodding from Natasha and Wanda, and even an exasperated sit-down with Sam and Bucky (that conversation is for an entirely different day), you finally said yes.

Were we just foolin’? Playin’ around?

It didn’t feel too serious. You were just taking a walk in a nearby park. It was fall, you were wearing simple jeans and a brown leather jacket. Steve had donned something similar. Even when his hand found yours, you didn’t think too much of it. Sure, it was a date, but it wasn’t like he was proposing. He’d probably get bored of you eventually anyway. This was like a game, like cat and mouse.

When you got back to the compound, however, he turned to you and offered you that soft, unsure, genuine, beautiful smile. “Doll,” he began, his voice fading almost as soon as it had come. You chewed on your bottom lip. You didn’t dare speak. His hand found your face, fingers caressing you gently. You thought you’d hate it, but you didn’t. It was nice to be held, to be felt.

It was nice to be known.

“Can I kiss you?” He spoke, finally, an eternity - or maybe a few seconds - later. You nodded, lips parting slightly in anticipation.

His mouth found yours, softly at first, and you took a shuffling step forward. One of his hands settled on your waist, the other stayed anchored on your cheek. When you pulled apart, he bid you a soft goodnight and went inside, presumably to his room. You stood on the stoop for a moment and realized that you were blindingly, undyingly, absolutely head-over-heels in love with Steve Rogers.

Were we ever gonna get out of this town?

Retirement for Steve was bittersweet.

Move to Seattle.

Retirement for you couldn’t come fast enough.

Stay up all night.

You moved to a little apartment together, full of second-hand furniture and not quite enough space for two. It was perfect.

That was when bedtime was our biggest fight.

You spent your first night giggling and playing board games, watching movies and throwing popcorn at each other during the boring parts. Every time Steve proposed going to sleep, you’d goad him into just one more game, or ten more minutes. He’d give in without fail, because he couldn’t say no to you.

You didn’t go to sleep until the sun was peeking up above the horizon, a hesitant hello to your new life.

All in a moment, all in a sound. All in a day’s work, we’re tumbling down.

You found yourself sitting at the kitchen table, absolutely fuming. You glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning. Your anger and worry kept clashing in your gut, waging war against each other. One minute, you were thinking of the new asshole you would rip him as soon as the door opened. The next, you were mulling over all the horrible things that could have happened; had he gotten into a fight, a car accident, some other shitty situation?

Not only that, but it was the third time in a week that you had been in the same goddamn situation.

You were drawn from your mental war by the door creaking open and shuffling footsteps heading your way. He barely even looked at you as he walked past, just mumbled a hello and kept moving. He smelled strongly of booze, that much you realized; as he walked past you, it was like a wall of bar was hitting you in the face. In an instant, your concern died.

“Excuse me?” You spoke, your tone incredulous. Your eyebrows practically hit your hairline. He turned to face you, confusion written across his face. Normally, you’d laugh at that expression, bop him on the nose or press a kiss to his cheek. Now, your anger only grew; the nerve it took him to look confused at your words! You stood up, pushing the chair back so quickly it skittered from under you and hit the wall behind it. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I told you I was going out with Sam ‘n Buck,” he said. His words were slurred so badly you barely even understood them. “What’s the big deal?”

You scoffed. “The big deal, Steven, is that it’s three in the goddamn morning and I’ve been sitting here for fucking hours wondering if you were alive or hurt or dead! For the third time this week, no less!”

He leaned against the frame of the door to your living room, and you watched as he rolled his eyes. Had the absolute audacity to roll. his. eyes. The anger was licking at your insides, flames threatening to burst. “I’m a big boy, Y/N. You coulda gone to sleep.”

“And you coulda called,” you rounded the table, taking a menacing step closer. “You coulda sent me a text. Fuck! You coulda sent me a carrier pigeon and it would’ve been fine! Instead, you let me sit up until three in the morning waiting for you to get home, praying to whatever the fuck was listening that I would even fucking see you again!”

“Okay, mom,” he said. It was clear that your words were going in one ear and out the other. You flinched at the tone. How could he just not care? How could he be so casual about this? “Are we done here? I gotta get to bed.”

“God, you’re an asshole when you’re drunk,” your voice bordered on a sneer, the look in your eyes one of absolute disgust. “Yeah, go to bed, Steve. Don’t expect me to be here when you wake up.”

It was an empty threat, one you didn’t really mean in the moment. It was clear he thought the same thing, because he just shook his head and disappeared into your bedroom. You stood in the kitchen for a long while, staring blankly at the counter, blinking away tears. What was his problem? Your brain immediately jumped to the worst: he wasn’t happy with you, he was cheating on you, he wanted to leave, he didn’t want you.

When the tears fell, you took a shuddering breath and packed a bag, sending Natasha no more than a warning text to let her know that you needed a couch for the night. When you got to her place, she (and Clint, who surprised you as you walked in by calling a hello from the kitchen) welcomed you with open arms. She insisted that you sleep in her bed with the two of them; normally, you would have objected, but you didn’t think you’d be able to sleep without the warmth of another body, not after so long with Steve. You still laid awake most of the night, but at least their presences were comforting.

You didn’t drift off until the early morning. Your last thought was a memory, one of board games and movies and a happier day.

Down by the old school, trash in the street. Searching the eyes of the strangers we meet.

Time passed. You found yourself finding excuses to visit the compound more frequently, as well as excuses to leave whenever Steve entered the room. Wanda told you, frowning, that he had rejoined the team. You refused to acknowledge the pang of concern and fear you felt in your heart; what he did wasn’t your problem anymore. If he wanted to come out of retirement, that was his deal. If he got killed, it wouldn’t matter to you.

Asking will it get better? Will we be alone? Turning the wheels of our bicycles home.

You pushed down the creeping self-doubt until you got home every night, shoved the thoughts of you-weren’t-good-enough into the back of your mind until you could cry in your bed, alone. It was better this way, clearly.

You never considered the idea that maybe he was breaking, too.

Over the rainbow, out in the snow. Learning to walk with the sand in our toes.

Eventually the day came that you couldn’t escape the room when he entered, which was more by accident than anything. You were in a hospital room, visiting Sharon after an injury on a recent mission, when you heard a commotion from the hallway. You got up to check what it was, and your stomach plummeted when you saw Sam and Natasha rushing in, supporting a limp Steve between them. He was rushed off by nurses and you hurried down the hallway towards the two he had come in with.

No words passed between the three of you. Instead, you fell together; they clung to you tightly and you let them, stroking one hand through Nat’s hair and rubbing Sam’s back comfortingly with the other. You’d ask what happened later.

Truthfully, seeing Steve hadn’t shaken you as much as you might’ve thought. Of course, the injuries had triggered that familiar panic in your gut. But the sight of him, just him, hadn’t caused the rush of emotion from that night to come back; the anger, the fear, the anguish. You supposed you had moved on, learned to function. But still, you missed him. You felt the undeniable urge to be with him now, to card your fingers through his hair and wait for him to wake up, gently admonish him for whatever stupid thing he did but then say how grateful you were to see his eyes again.

You heaved a sigh, knowing what you needed to do.

Long to be tall, kissed when you fall. Hoping that someone will come when you call.

“Y/N,” Steve mumbled, drawing your attention. He’d been out since the doctors finished operating; this was the first sign of life besides the constant beeping of the heart monitor.

Your brow furrowed. His eyes hadn’t opened, he showed no signs of knowing you were in the room. “Steve?” You whispered, inching your chair a bit closer. “Are you awake?”

“‘M sorry,” he slurred, and you realized he was still out. He was dreaming about you. “Y/N, please, please… ‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry. Jus’ come back, please…”

“He’s been doing that since you left,” Sam’s voice in the door drew your attention from Steve. “Crashed on my couch a few times when he didn’t wanna be alone in your place. One night I woke up and went to get some water. I heard him doing that. He really misses you, Y/N.”

“I miss him,” you said, finally allowing yourself to be honest. You looked back to Steve and ran a hand through his hair. His face relaxed slightly, his mumbling going from distinguishable words to soft, simple noises. “I miss him so much, Sammy.”

“He’ll wake up soon,” Sam spoke. “Tell him.”

And then he was gone.

You call, you call, you call.

When Steve finally woke up, you had fallen asleep in your chair. He looked at you for a long time and then he smiled, knowing what this meant. When you startled awake, he was still looking at you, that soft smile on his face.

You didn’t speak, just took his hand and looked at him and leaned in slowly, and the kiss was hesitant at first, just like it had been the first time. “I love you, I’m sorry,” Steve murmured. You didn’t dare pull back too far, so these words were spoken into the air between you.

“I’m sorry, too.” Your eyes found his. “Why?”

“I never had normalcy,” he said, and you were grateful that you didn’t need to explain any further. He knew what you wanted, what you needed. He always knew what you needed. “I never had domesticity. I finally had it, and I didn’t know what to do with it. It terrified me.”

You nodded, knowing how he felt. The hand that wasn’t in his found his cheek. “Try again?” You asked. He breathed out a sigh, something relieved and blissful.

“Please. Please, let’s try again.”

You call, you call, you call.

You became Y/N Rogers on a cold November afternoon, in a church packed with your family and friends. Wanda and Natasha, wearing bridesmaids dresses and holding bouquets, cheered you on as your now-husband pulled you in for a kiss; Sam and Bucky, dressed in expensive tuxedos with matching boutonnieres, did the same from across the aisle.

The reception was one of the happiest moments of your life. All you could see was Steve, the smiling guests around you; all you could feel was the euphoria in your veins.

You call, you call, you call.

“Peggy!” You called, the deck of your house creaking under your feet. “Sarah! Dinner!”

Twin heads of hair looked up from where they had been laying in the sand, laughing and talking in the way that only twins knew how. Peggy Natasha Rogers and Sarah Elizabeth Rogers came running into the house, leaving you to follow behind. When you entered the kitchen, Steve was putting your youngest, Samuel James Rogers, into his high chair. He reached for you, chubby fingers grabbing at the air as though to pull you toward him. You smiled and moved over to press a gentle kiss to his temple, greeting him with a warm “hi, Sammy” before you moved to make the twins’ plates.

Steve kissed you on the cheek as you stood together at the stove. His hand settled, briefly, on yours, his fingers dancing over the rings there. “I love you,” he said.

You grinned. “I love you, too.”

You call, you call, you call…

[scarletsxwrites]

More Than Anything

summary:

while on a mission, you need steve to help you come back down to earth; confessions are made along the way

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 3.5k

request: here

warnings: marvel-typical violence, smut, rough sex, mentions of anxiety, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), choking if you squint

The tension mounted over the course of weeks, months, even years. It was obvious to anyone who bothered to look; the lingering glances, the small smiles, the too-long touches. But when you were asked, of course, you would vehemently reject any assumptions.

You and Steve Rogers were just friends. Friends who routinely slept in the same bed, who chose each other over anyone else, who would follow the other to the ends of the earth and beyond. Neither of you ever really bothered to question that.

This mission was changing things. You weren’t sure what it was; with anyone else, you might have chalked it up to the close quarters. Sharing a room - sharing a bed, no less - was something that may trigger some awkwardness. But sharing a bed was something you and Steve did often, so it couldn’t have been that.

You wondered if his job was simply starting to take a toll on him. Maybe it was time for him to get out of the field. Of course, you would never suggest this, but it was possible.

This was your train of thought as you sat on the balcony of your hotel room, feet propped up on the railing and your drink of choice held in your hand. It had been a productive day, if not particularly interesting; you were undercover in a corporation that was suspected of working with HYDRA, among other things. While the intel was fantastic, it was, at its core, a desk job. Really, this entire mission was training for Steve; he was a great soldier, a master tactician, but not so much of a spy. You, meanwhile, were as good as spies got.

At least when Natasha was busy.

You were drawn from your musings when the sliding door opened to reveal a very shirtless Steve looking down at you with exhausted eyes. “Are you coming to bed?” He asked, and you were struck by how profoundly domestic the question was.

“Soon,” you replied, taking a sip of your drink. “I’m just thinking.”

He leaned against the doorframe. He looked tired, he looked worn down. You wanted to go to him, hold him, give him some of his energy back. You wanted to make him feel new again. Your heart hurt to look at the man so exhausted. “What are you thinkin’ about?”

You shrugged. “Nothing in particular.”

You didn’t normally lie to Steve, and the feeling of it was… not fantastic. The words felt heavy on your tongue. You recoiled at the sound of them. Funny, you thought; you lied - easily, even enjoyably - for a living, but you couldn’t lie to Steve.

If he saw through your words (and you suspected he did, if the way he pursed his lips and raised his brows was any evidence) he didn’t choose to comment. Instead, he nodded, mumbled a goodnight, and shut the door behind him.

You finished off your drink and stared at the city skyline, contemplating until you fell asleep in the only-somewhat-comfortable deck chair. Steve found you early the next morning and carried you inside. You stirred just enough as he laid you out in the bed to feel him press a kiss to your temple before he left for his morning jog.

In your early morning drowsiness, all you could think was oh. shit. before sleep overtook you once more.

***

The mission took a turn for the worst pretty fast, if you said so yourself. One minute, you and Steve were gathering information at your desks; the next, you were being called into your boss’ office for a meeting.

The alarm in your head started going off when he locked the door behind you both. When you raised an eyebrow at the sound of it, your boss shrugged. “Just so that we won’t be disturbed. You understand. Please, take a seat.”

Steve moved first, lowering himself cautiously into one of the seats opposite your boss. You followed, hesitantly, hand itching to pull the gun on the inside of your blazer. Though you expressed complete nonchalance outwardly, you were currently going over every microinteraction you’d had at the company. Had something you’d said raised a red flag? Something you’d done?

“I wanted to speak to you both about your real intentions here,” your boss said. You swallowed hard. Shit.

Steve shifted beside you and you could practically smell the panic on him. You wanted to tell him to relax; visibly freaking out wasn’t helping either of your cases. Instead, you looked straight ahead and offered your boss and easy-going smile. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t lie to me.”

You felt your heart rate accelerate, but you put on a mask of shock and disappointment. “Sir, I’m not lying. I made my intentions at this company clear to you during my interview; I wanted experience in my chosen field, and I -”

“Cut the shit, Y/L/N!” His voice dropped an octave and he rose from his seat, staring down at you with something cruel in his eyes.

Your face morphed into fear and you worked on summoning tears; if you could just act your way out of this, you’d be fine. “Sir, please sit down. You’re scaring me.”

“C’mon, man,” Steve’s voice surprised you. “We just -”

“Please, Captain,” your boss switched his attention to Steve and you knew you were fucked. It was all over. “Spare me.”

You made an executive decision and stood quickly from your seat. Before your mark could react, your gun was pointed directly at his face. “Okay, new plan,” you said. The fake fear was gone, replaced with confidence and power. “You’re gonna sit down and chill the fuck out. We’re gonna take the intel we need and take this company down. Then we’re gonna slap some handcuffs on you and you’re gonna get what you deserve. Or I can pull the trigger, get the intel we need, take this company down, and leave you to bleed out. It’s your choice.”

In a flash, he was reaching out and pressing a button under his desk. You weren’t sure what it would do, but you knew it couldn’t have been good. As he pressed the button, you squeezed the trigger and watched him crumple to the floor.

By this point, Steve was standing as well. You looked at him and nodded to the door before moving to grab your boss’ key card from his jacket. This would give you access to the information you needed. “I don’t know what he did, but we need to get those files and get the fuck out.”

He nodded and followed you. This wasn’t ideal; you were wearing a blouse and dress pants, neither of which would offer much protection against weaponry, especially bullets, and Steve was most certainly without his shield. Hopefully whatever that button meant would take a while. You hid your gun under your blazer as you made your way through the office. If anyone had heard the gunshot, they certainly didn’t give any indication of it. “His office must have been soundproofed,” you observed, making sure only Steve could hear you. “That’s good.”

You reached the elevator and boarded, happy to see that no one else was present. In an instant, you had swiped your boss’ key card and entered the password that you’d been working on stealing for days. As a new set of buttons appeared, you found yourself profoundly grateful that you’d worked out the password on time.

“They keep all their information on a set of sublevels,” you said, scanning the new buttons and finally selecting one. “If our intel is correct, it should be here.”

You shot down to the correct level and unboarded the elevator. It felt like you had entered a high tech parking garage; the walls of the room that you entered were made of concrete, but the wall opposite the elevator was layered with all manner of security measures. Praying to God you were right about what you were about to do, you marched over and shot out the handprint scanner. The doors slid open.

“How did you know to do that?” Steve asked as he followed you into the maze of files.

You shrugged, drawing your gun once more just in case you encountered someone. “It worked in Star Wars.”

In a few minutes, you managed to track down the right filing cabinet. Thank God for organization systems. You browsed through the files inside and handed the ones you would need off to Steve. “Alright, let’s get the hell out of here.”

It seemed like you were in the clear, until you made your way back to the room with the elevator. As you re-entered the room, the doors opened to reveal a group of men that were definitely not your friends. You shot at one without thinking, only to discover he was definitely wearing bulletproof armor. “Okay, I guess we do this the old fashioned way.”

Steve kicked the files behind the two of you, to be retrieved after you’d finished kicking these guys’ asses.

The enemies converged in a swarm; you hit the first in the face with the butt of your gun, sending him sprawling to the ground. The second came at you faster than you were expecting and managed to grab your gun hand. Without really thinking, you pivoted and shoved your knee right into his balls. He sunk to his knees in front of you, so you ripped his helmet off and sent a bullet right through his skull. This may have been a bit excessive, but you hadn’t been trained for subtlety or grace. You just needed to get the job done.

You worked your way through the crowd until it was just you, Steve, and the last few enemies.

The last one that you faced was a doozy; he went for your legs and you landed hard on your back. As you grimaced and breathed hard, he took the opportunity to step over you and aim his gun right at your head. Letting out a savage growl, you reached up, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him down to the ground with you. It was risky, considering a bullet through your forehead wasn’t great for your health, but you didn’t have many options.

With him sprawled out next to you, you climbed on top of him and pinned his wrists with your knees. You shot him quick and dirty and rose to your feet, surveying the incapacitated men around you. “That was annoying,” you said, and Steve laughed as he retrieved the files.

Aside from the fact that you were covered in blood and panting, you managed to get yourselves together enough to walk out of the building without rousing too much suspicion. If anyone noticed the dishevelment, at least, they didn’t make any comments.

***

By the time you and Steve made it back to the hotel, your adrenaline had only diminished somewhat. The fact that you had made it back without anymore trouble did nothing to ease your nerves; if anything, it only put you on even higher alert. That was too easy, you kept thinking; this couldn’t have been over.

You put the files in your bag and sat out on the balcony, not bothering to remove any of your bloodied clothes or fix your appearance. You were too on edge. You fully expected more HYDRA agents to come through the door at any second.

As minutes ticked by, you prayed that maybe it was over. Maybe you could call it and go home. But still, the anxiety in your chest wasn’t easing up; the more it seemed that you were truly safe, the more your skin buzzed with nerves.

Finally, you decided enough was enough. Rationally, it was clear that you were no longer in danger; but your fight or flight instinct was still strong. You headed inside before you could change your mind. Your plan for easing some of this anxiety was something you were unsure about, something that could be easily rejected, but you needed a tether to reality.

You could only hope that Steve would be willing to provide that.

He was reclined on the bed, nose in a book. His hair was somewhat damp and he was no longer bloody. He looked up as you entered and, seeing the look on your face, immediately put the book to the side. But he didn’t speak. He’d let you do that on your own time.

“Steve…” you didn’t know where to begin. This was ridiculous. You took a deep breath. “I can’t wind down. Fighting is your thing, I’m… I’m more suited for the spy work. You know that. Whenever we fight, you know I get anxious. But it’s not going away this time.”

“Okay,” he replied, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. “What do you need, doll?”

“I need…” your words died in your throat and you bit your lip. And then, in an instant, a levy broke. Fuck it.  “Steve, I need you.”

His brow furrowed, and then he smiled. He thought you wanted to be held, to be comforted. He clearly didn’t realize that that was the farthest thing from your mind. “You know you don’t have to ask about that. C’mere, we can -”

“No.” You drew his attention with just one word. His eyes widened as your blazer hit the ground, and then your pants, leaving you in just a blouse and underwear. “Steve, I need you to fuck me.”

“Y/N…” you could see the conflict in his eyes; the professional in him wanted to say no, but the part of him that wanted you - that loved you - was dying to say yes. You watched him mull it over, watched as he nodded and said, “okay, if you’re sure.”

You felt relief rush through your system. Before you could think about what to do next, you went to the bed and climbed onto it. You moved so you were straddling him and brought him into a deep kiss. His hands found your hips, lips moving against yours.

Yeah, you definitely should have done this sooner.

“Stevie, please,” your voice bordered on a whine as you pulled back just slightly from the kiss. Your hands were cupping his face, fingers digging into his temples. “Ruin me.”

These words stirred something deep within Steve. He let out a growl and you found yourself on your back with him hovering over you. His lips found their way to your neck and he sucked hickies around your jaw and collarbone, clearly marking you no matter what clothes you might wear to attempt to cover them. The thought of it drew a long moan from you, and you felt his hips stutter forward at the sound.

“I love you,” you heard him say, “I’ve loved you for so long.”

You carded your hands through his hair and drew him back up to your lips, reveling in the feeling of your tongues meeting, exploring. The kiss was charged with passion and one monumental realization:

You and Steve Rogers were most certainly not just friends.

His touch was working wonders to calm your nerves. The adrenaline and paranoia was melting away beneath him, but you needed more. You needed to be grounded, tethered to reality; to Steve.

You wrapped your legs around him and rolled your hips up into his, hoping he’d get the message. He rose up on his knees to, quite literally, rip your blouse off; buttons flew everywhere before he threw the fabric over his shoulder. Your eyes widened at his actions. That was, without a doubt, the single hottest thing you’d ever seen.

The next to go were your panties and bra, which shared a similar fate. You pawed at Steve’s shirt until he got the message and threw it off, along with the boxers that you assumed he’d been planning to wear to bed. As his lips returned to your neck and trailed down to your breast, you toyed with the thoughts in your head about how exactly you wanted this to go.

His lips curled perfectly around one of your nipples and you decided to make your request. If his needy actions and quick pace were any indication, you figured he’d be alright with what you needed.

“Steve,” you said, though it came out as more of a moan as he chose that moment to roll your other nipple between his fingers. He hummed in reply, obviously sensing you had something to say. Your words came out as a desperate gasp: “don’t be gentle.”

You felt Steve smirk against you and then he was tugging your nipple between his teeth. Instantly, your back arched and your hands flew to his head, fingers curling in his hair and pulling.

“My girl likes it rough,” he mused, and then he began kissing down your stomach. On occasion, he’d nip at your skin, sending shockwaves down your back and goosebumps down your arm. “I can work with that.”

Before you could really process, his hands found your hips and flipped you onto your stomach. You felt his hands trail down your back, path punctuated by a slap to your ass once he had reached it. You cried out and prayed to God the hotel had thick walls; this was going to be a loud night.

Steve’s fingers trailed over your slit, exploring you leisurely, keeping a close eye on your reactions. He watched the way you moaned when he flicked the pad of his thumb over your clit; the way you pushed back against him when just the tip of his finger pressed into your opening. He slapped your ass again and you made a sound that was somewhere between pleasure and frustration.

“Steve, please,” you said, rocking your hips back against him. The noise he made was something feral and deep; you looked over your shoulder to see his eyes absolutely burning with lust. His hand found his cock, hard against his stomach, and gave it a few pumps, obviously seeking to alleviate some tension. Channeling your best porn star moan, you met his eyes and said, “please, fuck me.”

He ran the tip of his cock along your slit, coating himself in your juices. You clenched around nothing, throbbing with even the idea of having him inside of you. As his dick slid inside of you, you let out a harsh moan and focused on relaxing for him. He was big, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

It only took a few seconds after he bottomed out for you to start begging him to move. With that go ahead, Steve set a punishing pace; his hips hit yours so hard and fast that, within minutes, the only sounds in the room were skin on skin and various moans, grunts, and growls.

Steve’s hand found your throat and pulled you flush against his chest. The new angle gave him access to even deeper parts of you and you squeezed your eyes shut, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. This was better than you’d ever thought it would be.

Your release approached quickly. You were chanting his name like a prayer, eyes still shut tight. One of your hands found his, the one that wasn’t holding you up, and this moment of tenderness in an otherwise feral fucking communicated things that you didn’t think words ever could. Steve buried his head in your neck just as you came, the pulsing of your cunt sending him over the edge.

You stayed like that for a minute, one of his hands in yours and the other curled around your neck, moving through the aftershocks together. As you came down from your highs, Steve gently pulled out and turned you so that you laid on your back. He then fell onto his side next to you and pulled you into his arms. You felt far more contented than you had before, your adrenaline rush finally dying down. You felt at peace.

“Thank you,” you murmured, head buried in his chest. When he chuckled, you felt the vibration of it pass through him.

“For what?”

“For calming me down. Sometimes you’re the only one who knows how.” This got no response, though you knew he was smiling that soft, dopey grin. You felt his fingers in your hair after a minute or so, felt him begin humming a soft, unfamiliar tune. And then something he had said in the heat of the moment struck you. “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

His fingers stilled and you felt him tense. “I…” you couldn’t tell what he was struggling with, but you knew in your soul that the answer was yes. Maybe it was the work boundary, or your individual traumas, or some other unseen conflict. Still, you knew the answer was yes. It had to be yes.

“Because I love you,” you pulled back so you could look at him, flashing him a small smile. “I think I always have.”

The relief in his face shattered your heart a bit; had he been worried that you wouldn’t feel the same? His next words, however, put your heart back together and then some.

“Yeah, doll. I love you. More than anything.”

[scarletsxwrites]

7/11

summary:

you try to put the chance encounter at your local gas station out of your mind, but it plagues you until you meet the mystery man again

pairing: wade wilson x reader

word count: 2.9k

request: here

warnings: a lil’ bit of angst because i couldn’t resist, mentions of guns/violence, a few swear words here and there

You stared down at your phone, barely able to make out the words there through the tears in your eyes. You played the conversation over and over again in your head, trying to figure out where the relationship had gone wrong.

With shaking fingers, you typed out your final reply - Ok. Goodbye. I love you.

You set your phone on the coffee table and sniffled. You wiped angrily at your tearful eyes, pulling your legs up on your couch and wrapping your arms around them. You were shaking with anger and disbelief, staring blankly ahead at the wall. You didn’t want to hope for a response, for a change of heart, but you couldn’t help feeling your heart shatter that much more when your phone didn’t buzz again.

A minute passed, and then two, and then ten. Finally, you stood up and picked up your phone. With little regard for your tear-stained cheeks and horrifically messy appearance, you slid on a pair of comfy shoes and picked up your keys and wallet on the way out the door. You walked down to your car and drove to the gas station near your home, hoping to buy your favorite ice cream and relieve at least some of the pain you were feeling.

The fluorescent lights in the gas station hit you like a freight train and you grimaced, trying to ignore the stale air and old pop music playing through tinny speaker.

You made your way to the back of the store towards the freezer section and were surprised to see a man in a black hoodie and jeans standing with one of the doors open, looking through the pints of ice cream. You would have thought that the place would have been completely empty, given the ungodly hour that it was. Not wanting to stare at him, you turned to look at the shelves of chips behind you while you waited for him to find his flavor and move away from the freezer.

When you heard the door snap shut and went to take your own pint, you couldn’t help but notice the flavor in his hands as he ambled over to the shelves behind him to pick out a bag of chips; it was your favorite. And when you moved towards the freezer to take the flavor for yourself, the first thing you saw was the distinct lack of that flavor on its usual shelf.

He had taken the last one.

“Oh, you asshole!” You exclaimed, drawing his attention. He turned to face you, his brows raised. You bit your lip, suddenly embarrassed; you hadn’t meant to yell at him, it had just slipped out before you could even think to stop it.

“Excuse me?” He asked, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” you stammered. “I just… I’m sorry. I’ve had a really bad night and I… that’s my favorite flavor and it’s the last pint and I… I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Normally I wouldn’t even think about doing something like that… I’m sorry.” You stared at the zipper of his hoodie, unable to bring yourself to meet his eyes.

He looked down at the ice cream in his hand and then back at you. And then, in a move you wouldn’t have anticipated in a million years, he held it out to you and smiled brightly. “Wanna share it?”

You looked him up and down, unsure if you should trust him or not. After a moment, you sighed and shrugged. “Sure, what the hell?”

“Great! But you’re buying the spoons.”

You chuckled and went to get a box of plastic spoons while he paid for the ice cream. After you had paid for the spoons, you went into the parking lot and spotted him sitting on the hood of one of the cars in the parking lot.

You sat next to him and offered him a spoon before taking one for yourself. He opened the pint and set it between you, and for a while, the two of you shared it in silence.

“So,” he said eventually, “what pissed you off enough to call a stranger an asshole at -” he checked his watch “- two a.m. over a pint of ice cream?”

You sighed and ate a few more spoonfuls of ice cream before you were ready to respond. “Shit boyfriend. Shit breakup.”

He hummed in his throat and took a bite of ice cream. “Drowning our sorrows, I see?”

“You could say that,” you shrugged. “Speaking of drowning sorrows, what sorrows are you trying to drown, oh mysterious gas station man?”

He snorted at the nickname. “None. I just like ice cream.”

You nodded. Minutes ticked by in silence. “You know, you haven’t told me your name,” you ventured after a while.

He groaned. “Do we have to do names? Can’t we just be two strangers drifting in the wind? Sharing a pint of ice cream never to speak again? Star-crossed souls destined to -”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed. You were surprised to find yourself smiling after such a terrible night, but this guy was charming and, frankly, hilarious. “I get it. No names. That’s fair.”

Again, you lapsed into silence. But it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It was nice, almost comforting, the anonymity of it. Just two people, like he had said; sharing a pint of ice cream and going your separate ways. Something about it felt poetic.

“That guy sounds like a douche,” the guy spoke eventually. At some point during your musing, he had laid back on the hood of the car so he was leaned against the windshield and you had to turn around to look at him. He was staring up at the sky.

“I haven’t even told you about him,” you said, but you were smiling anyway. You took another bite of ice cream and couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart as you looked down and saw that it was almost gone. You figured once it was gone, the two of you would go your separate ways. The thought was saddening. You considered pushing it and asking for his name, or his number, or something. But you had made an agreement, and you weren’t one to break agreements.

He shrugged. “No, I know. I just have a feeling about him. I have a very keen sense for these things you know,” he grinned at you and met your eyes. “He’s obviously crazy if he ditched you, anyway. I’ve never seen such gorgeous eyes before.”

You smiled and looked away, down into the pint. Your heart dropped when you saw that there was just enough left for another bite, and then it would be empty. You held it out to him, “do you want the last bite?”

He shook his head. “Take it.”

You nodded and took the bite. Once it was gone, you stared down into the empty pint and heaved a sigh. “I should go.”

You slid off the hood of the car and turned to face him. He hadn’t moved from his reclined position, but there was something sad in the smile that he gave you. “Yeah, it’s late. Ice cream’s gone. It’s been fun, mysterious gas station woman.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it has been. Goodbye, mysterious gas station man.”

With that, you raised your hand in farewell and turned to walk away. You felt his eyes on you as you went, but did your best to ignore it. No names. No numbers. Two strangers. Ice cream. That was it.

Still, you couldn’t help but glance at him one last time as you drove away. He was still on the hood of his car, head on his hands. He wasn’t looking at you anymore; he had looked towards the sky again, examining the stars. You pushed down the sudden urge to run back to him and beg for his name, beg to see him again.

You drove down the street towards your house before you could do anything stupid, trying to put him out of your mind completely.

A month passed, and then two. You went to work, ate frozen meals by yourself, and moved on from your boyfriend. But still, one thing plagued you.

Mysterious gas station man.

You tried to ignore the persisting memories of him; really, you did. But you had been completely unable to get him out of your head, and it showed. Your work friends teased you for being so distracted, but you shrugged them off and told them it was nothing. Certainly not the knight in shining armor they suspected had swept you off your feet; no, just some guy you had met at a gas station at an ungodly hour, shared a pint of ice cream with, and never even learned the name of.

You were wiping down the bar at work, ready to close up for the night, when the bell above the door rang. A man walked in, and you couldn’t help but be intimidated. You bit your lip and glanced around - the restaurant that you worked at was pretty much empty, save for the hostess, Jane, and one of the cooks, Max, who stayed behind every night to clean up the kitchen.

Jane was in the bathroom, so you cleared your throat and drew the man’s attention. “Um… sir?” You called. He looked to you and you felt your nerves growing; there was no way this guy wasn’t bad news. “We’re… um, we’re actually closed right now.”

He grinned. “Oh, I’m not here for food.”

You saw his hand move to his coat, reaching under it, and shouted for Max before you had even really processed what was happening. At the same moment that he came dashing out of the kitchen, obviously concerned at the panic in your voice, the stranger broke the handle off the door with the butt of a gun.

“Is there anyone else in this joint, sweetheart?” The guy asked, setting his eyes on you. You opened your mouth to respond, but then realized that if Jane stayed safe in the bathroom, you might have a way out of here. Praying she had her phone and would have the good sense to lock the door and call the cops, you swallowed your fear and met the man’s eyes.

“No. It’s just us.”

“Better not find out you’re lying to me,” the guy said, and then he promptly shot Max in the leg.

Max cried out and crumpled to the floor. You dropped to your knees next to him, ripping off your apron and wrapping it as tightly as you could around his leg at sort of a makeshift tourniquet. In the absolute eternity of seconds that followed, you heard the sound of a lock click; the bathroom. Jane had gotten the message.

You breathed out a sigh of relief, until you heard swift footsteps behind you and turned around just in time to be knocked out with the butt of the intruders gun.

When you came to, you were behind the bar. Your vision was foggy and you sort of felt like someone had poured lead into your brain, but you managed to clear your thinking enough to register your arms tied behind your back. Max was sitting next to you, seemingly unconscious. Your head lolled to look at him, terrified that he had died while you were out. You were relieved to see his chest rising and falling, though it was faint.

And then you registered the sounds of someone having the absolute shit beat out of them behind you. You couldn’t see anything from your position on the floor, but you prayed that it was someone coming to rescue you.

Against your will, your brain mulled over the worst possible outcome. And then, like an annoying fly that wouldn’t leave you alone, gas station man butted in. If you died, would he find out? Would he care? You would have liked to think he would be sad, but chances are he would just shrug and move on. You frowned at the thought.

Movement to your left drew your attention and you looked up to see a man in black and red spandex. You watched as he knelt down next to Max and started untying his hands. Of course, you thought sardonically; a guy in a onesie was here to free you from your own personal hell. As he turned to help you, however, he stopped. You didn’t think anything could have prepared you for the words out of his mouth next -

“Mysterious gas station woman?”

You just about choked on your own spit as he reached up and tore the mask off, revealing, indeed, the face of the stranger you had shared your ice cream with. “Holy shit,” you said, your words slurred. His eyes darkened with concern as he lunged forward to untie your wrists.

“I’m gonna help this guy,” he said, nodding to Max as he worked at the knots, “you get your friend out of the bathroom. EMTs and cops should be here any minute.”

You nodded and stood up once he had your hands freed. As you rounded the counter, you saw the guy that had attacked you lying on top of a splintered table, face bruised and bloodied. You tried not to feel vindicated, but you couldn’t help the smile on your face at the sight of him incapacitated and thoroughly beaten down. You made your way over to the bathroom and knocked. “Jane? It’s me. Can you… can you open the door?”

The door unlocked and Jane made her way out. She saw your face and gasped, her brow furrowing in apology. You realized you must have had a pretty nasty bruise from getting knocked out. “Oh, shit, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t help you, I heard the gunshot and I panicked and -”

“Jane, relax,” you said, reaching out to wrap your arm around her waist. “We’re all fine. Everything is fine.”

As you walked out of the restaurant and into the parking lot, the lights of cop cars and ambulances practically blinded you. Everything passed in a blur as police officers ran to meet you and helped you away from the restaurant. You watched from the back of an ambulance as gas station guy helped Max out of the building and stayed at his side until he was loaded onto a stretcher and carted away. Someone - an EMT, you thought - draped a blanket over your shoulders.

You kept a close eye on gas station guy, ready to sprint after him if he tried to leave. However, once he had given his statement to one of the police officers, you saw him scanning the scene for something.

That something was you, apparently. When made eye contact with you he came rushing to your side. “Hey,” he said as he jogged up to you. His tone was gentler than you had assumed he was even capable of. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be better once I know your name and what the hell you’re doing here,” you responded, quirking an eyebrow. He sighed.

“It’s Wade, and uh… I’m a superhero, I guess.” He smiled slightly, looking up at you through his lashes. “Surprise?”

You might have laughed had you not had such an absolutely ridiculous and exhausting day. “Well, Wade, it’s nice to meet you. Again.”

He chuckled. “Alright, pay up. If we’re not two strangers in the night anymore, I gotta know your name, too.”

“Y/N,” you replied.

“Y/N…” he repeated, almost reverent. “Listen, I have to be honest. Since we met, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about you, and every time I think about that night I just…” he let out a frustrated huff of air. “I regret a lot of things, Y/N, but letting you slip away that night has definitely been one of the most agonizing.”

You stared at him, lips parted in shock. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak; you didn’t know what to say, where to begin. He took your silence as rejection and looked away, suddenly sheepish.

“I’m sorry. I know that’s weird and you probably think I’m a freak now, but -”

You surged forward and grabbed him by the stupid brightly colored spandex, crashing his lips to yours. The blanket fell off of your shoulders as, after a moment of going stiff with shock, Wade melted into the kiss and wrapped an arm around your waist. The other hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb stroking gently over the skin there.

You stayed that way for a few seconds before you pulled apart, both gasping for air. For a few seconds, you just looked at each other, obviously trying to process.

“As shit as this day has been,” you mused, “I think it was the universe’s way of trying to get us together.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Maybe it was. So, um… do you wanna, like, go on a date, or… how should we do this?”

You hummed under your breath before a devilish grin formed on your features. “Wanna get ice cream?”

He grinned back, his eyes brightening with joy. “Holy shit, I think I’m in love.”