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avengerscompound · 3 years

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Small Gods: First Cup - 1

First Cup: A Hawkeye Fanfic

First Cup Masterlist | More Small Gods

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 2066

Warnings: none for chapter, smut on series, reader is a god.

Synopsis: Clint Barton has a coffee addiction. One day that addiction brings him to The Elysian Fields coffee shop where he meets you. Soon Clint feels like his addiction isn’t just caffeine-based. But things are not as they seem. With a store that only appears under certain conditions, no customers, and a dog the size of a Dire Wolf, Clint isn’t sure there’s not more going on with you and he isn’t sure how to figure out if his feelings are real or just a side effect of his addiction.

A/N: IF YOU WISH TO BE TAGGED IN THE REMAINDER OF THIS SERIES, EITHER ADD YOURSELF TO THE TAGLIST OR SEND ME A MESSAGE

Chapter 1

Clint often wondered how people without caffeine addictions managed to make it through the day. He was sure those people existed. There were morning people who got up and went for a run on just a smoothie and good vibes. That wasn’t Clint. Today Clint had woken up to a broken coffee machine and had seriously considered just pouring coffee grounds straight into his mouth just to get him out the door. He felt like he was dragging himself along the street, and he was sure he should have passed at least three Starbucks and two bodegas that he could have gotten a coffee from in the time he’d been walking and yet, his sleep-addled mind either was misjudging the distance or was remembering things wrong because nothing was jumping out at him.

His hands were shaking with caffeine withdrawals and he was pretty sure if one single bad thing happened he might burst into tears. And having bad things happen to him wasn’t that unlikely. He was a magnet for them. Bad things were drawn to him like flies were drawn to shit.

Lucky nudged his thigh and licked his hand. It seemed to take Clint half a light-year for his brain to process that his dog was trying to get his attention. Clint blinked down at him. “What’s up, buddy?”

Lucky barked and nudged him, his nose pointing to the shop next to them. Clint looked up at the store Lucky was pointing at and blinked slowly. It was narrow, barely wider than the heavy-looking black door and the narrow window with the words ‘The Elysian Fields’ stenciled in gold across it.

Clint couldn’t see much through the window, but he could see enough to recognize the shape of a counter and an espresso machine. The ornately framed menu stuck to the black brickwork between the door and the window seemed to primarily feature coffee, and just under the open sign hanging in the glass panel on the door, was a sign proclaiming dogs were welcome.

Clint looked back down at Lucky who was wagging his tail like the rotors on a helicopter. “Good boy. Who’s a good boy?” he praised.

The door seemed to stick when Clint tried to push it open, but as soon as it gave it practically flew open, making the bell above the door clatter and ring out as if it had personally decided to shame him.

The coffee shop was empty and for a second Clint wondered if he’d made a huge mistake. Even the places that sold warmed up liquified mud usually had a line at this time in the morning, and the complete lack of customers seemed like an ill omen. He wondered what combination of bad coffee and bad service would lead to a place being completely empty because it didn’t seem to be the atmosphere. Quite the contrary. The coffee shop itself looked as inviting a place as he’d ever been. Despite the small size, the narrow room seemed to fit a lot into it. There were small tables that sat in even intervals along a bench seat down the left-hand side of the room and for each table there was also a plush-looking wingback chair. Every table was furnished with an outlet and sitting on the counter was a brightly colored sign declaring the wifi password. There were shelves around the room that held things like ornate chess boards where each piece was a carefully sculpted figurine, jigsaw puzzles, well-worn novels, and a selection of toys such as Rubix cubes, fidget cubes, and sensory poppers. At the far end of the room was a fireplace that wasn’t lit given that it was a warm day outside, but an impossibly large dog that appeared to be more wolf than anything else lay on its side with its front paws curled in toward its chest on a rug in front of the empty space. The place was cozy and inviting and had every single element anyone could possibly want in a coffee shop and was topped off by a coffee smell so enticing that it made his mouth water.

The next thing Clint’s mind settled on was this was some kind of criminal front that everyone in the neighborhood knew about except him. Lucky was determined that they both come in though, he tugged on the lead practically dragging Clint into the room.

For a moment he wondered if there was anyone even in the coffee shop to make him a coffee. As he reached the counter you stood from where you were sitting by the fireplace. The large wingback chair you had been sitting in had completely obscured you from his view and now that he could see you, he felt that same draw to you as he did to the caffeine that had brought him into the store, to begin with. He couldn’t quite explain what it was about you that drew him in and if someone asked he might just say you seemed friendly and he thought you were hot. But it wasn’t that exactly. It was more that you seemed warm and familiar but that there was something about you that was - not exactly dangerous, but almost. Like the kind of adrenaline rush that you got from driving a car fast or really good sex.

“Hi,” you said as you stepped behind the counter. “How’s your morning going?”

“Great,” Clint lied. “Is that your dog? He’s huge.”

“I think of him more like a big doofus that decided he liked hanging around me,” you said, looking over at him fondly. “His name is Hati. I think he feels like you look.”

“How’s that?” Clint asked, tilting his head.

“Exhausted,” you said. “Did you want a coffee?”

“Yes, please. An Americano. As big as you have with as many shots as you’re allowed to put in it,” he said gratefully and glanced over at the selection of pastries you had. As well as the big glass jars with oversized cookies that sat on the top there was an impressive selection of cupcakes, croissants, banana bread, and cinnamon buns that were all calling out to him.

You laughed softly. “So one of those big Slurpee cups just filled with espresso shots?”

“If you have it, yeah,” Clint said, nodding enthusiastically.

“I’m afraid not - but,” you said, picking up a huge cup that was probably meant to be used as a soup bowl. “I have this if you want to have it here.”

His eyes lit up and he grinned wildly. “Will you marry me?”

You laughed. “Me or the cup?”

“Oh, definitely the cup,” he said and waved his hand at the cabinet. “Can I also get one of those cinnamon rolls? The uh - bacon pecan one?”

“Of course,” you said and punched the order into the register. “So that’s one bacon, pecan cinnamon roll, and a cup of black coffee large and strong enough to kill a small horse. Anything for your handsome young friend? We have puppuccinos and dog cookies, or I can bring a bowl of water to your table.”

Lucky barked and wagged his tail. The huge dog by the fireplace stretched out and cracked open one big yellow eye. He wagged his tail slowly and then seemed to go straight back to sleep.

“Well, as it was his idea to come in here, I guess he deserves a cookie and a puppuccino,” Clint agreed.

You looked down at Lucky. “You knew what he needed, huh?” you asked, peering over the counter. “What a good boy.”

He wagged his tail and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. “I think he likes you,” Clint said.

“Well, I like him too,” you replied. “Go take a seat. If you want company, you can take the spare seat by the fireplace. I’ll bring your food over.”

Clint took a few steps toward the fireplace and the dog-wolf-thing stretched and yawned. Its teeth were as impossibly big as the rest of him and Clint froze. “He’ll be okay with Lucky?” he asked, raising his voice so you’d be able to hear him over the espresso machine.

“Oh, he’s fine,” you shouted. “He knows he’s not allowed to mess with anyone in here.”

Clint looked back at you. The way you spoke about your dog like he was some supervillain inhabiting an agreed-upon neutral zone was quite cute. Everything about you attracted him to you. He took the seat, knowing he had to get to know you better. The dog took up most of the floor space between the chairs and the coffee table. Thankfully there was a small side table beside the chair because there was no way Clint was going to be able to eat that cinnamon roll if he had to keep reaching over this beast to get to it. Lucky came over and sniffed the dog and it raised its head and Clint swore it narrowed its eyes before lowering its head again and going back to sleep. Lucky seemed to feel safe enough though because he lay down next to him and wagged his tail happily.

You brought Clint’s order over and put his coffee and cinnamon bun on the side table before putting Lucky’s cookie and puppuccino on the ground in front of him. He immediately started eating the cookie. It was large and shaped like a bone and he wedged it between his paws as he started to chew on it.

“Hati is such a massive dog,” Clint said. “What breed is he?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s a warg,” you said lightly. Clint was a big enough nerd to know the name from the Lord of the Rings and given the similarities to the huge wolves from the movie he could see why you’d say it. You stepped over the dog and he rolled over, his paws tucked up against his chest as you began rubbing his chest and belly. “Is that what you are, Hati? A big old warg?” Hati’s lips pulled back into a snarl, exposing his canines while his tail started wagging. Clint had never seen such a clear example of ‘I hate it - do it again’ in his life.

You took a seat and Hati rolled back over and seemed to fall straight to sleep. Clint picked up the cup and took a sip. He’d thought it would be too strong - too bitter. You could only add so many shots of espresso before it just tasted like the soul of the worst of the sinners. It was strong. There were definitely many, many, shots of dark roast espresso in the enormous soup mug, but it was also nutty, complex, and completely delicious. He moaned as it not only hit every one of his favorite flavors, but it made his brain start firing like an actual competent human being.

He tried the cinnamon bun next. He’d never tasted anything like it before. It was soft and sweet and salty, the nuts and bacon adding crunch to the overly soft bread and frosting. He put the bun down and looked at you.

“How is this place empty?” Clint said, looking around. “It’s amazing in here. This coffee is like liquid gold and you’re delightful. The place should be packed.”

“I’m delightful?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows.

“Well - uh - yes,” Clint stammered. “I mean… Well, I managed to have a nice conversation while we ordered and I felt like death warmed up.”

“That’s good,” you said. “Don’t worry. I get customers. I mean - I’d have to, right? The power’s on.”

“I’m going to bring in everyone I know,” he said, and took a large sip of his coffee, humming as it warmed him from the inside. The second sip tasted even better than the first.

“I’m really glad you’re enjoying it. I’ll be here if they need me,” you said, rather cryptically. You leaned back in the chair and closed your eyes with a contented look on your face. When you opened your eyes you watched him sip his coffee and you smiled. “So tell me about yourself. What made you need that coffee so bad this morning?”

Clint sat forward, he wasn’t sure where to start really. His coffee addiction had been developed very carefully over time. “Well,” he said. “I guess that was because of the mission last night. I’m an Avenger …”

// NEXT

#avengers #marvel #clint barton #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #small gods #first cup

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sserpente · 3 years

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A/N: Heyho there my lovelies! I’m finally back! I missed posting so much! This Imagine is based on a TikTok I found and what can I say? It inspired me! After this, next up, will be the 20k Special! Enjoy everyone!

Words: 3205 Warnings: colour-blindness

“What if I never find him?” You murmured, glancing at the fruit bowl with a saddened expression. Yellow bananas, green grapes, red apples. To you, they were all different shades of grey. Dull and boring, like you had been sucked into a 30s black-and-white film. Only you didn’t get a cheesy romance out of it.

You had been born with what doctors today would call a ‘remarkably rare, complicated and fascinating condition’, for you had lost all of your colour vision at the age of twelve. You still remembered what the world had looked like before—bright, rich, intense—then someone flicked a switch overnight and all you could still see was grey, grey, grey and greyer. The colours would only ever come back to you once you found the love of your life—your soulmate.

A sigh escaped your lips. Only a few people still existed with this… defect and to make things worse, you had had no idea you were one of them. Not until your twelfth birthday. Society admired and pitied you all the same and yet, being a hopeless romantic, at the end of the day, you longed to finally fall in love.

Tony chuckled. “Heads up. You’re too young to worry about settling down anyway.” He responded cheerfully and pointed at you with a screwdriver in hand. He had been trying to fix the dishwasher for a solid twenty minutes now and for a man who had built himself a pretty much indestructible suit that could fly, it was utterly amusing he couldn’t figure out why it had stopped working.

You were not an Avenger, mind you. The sole reason you were, as of right now, in the Avengers’ kitchen munching on grey chocolate chips was that your best friend, who in turn was friends with Clint’s wife, had managed to flood your shared flat over the weekend. It was utterly inhabitable now and it would take quite a while for the landlord to get it all dried up again—and since insurance would not cover the cost for staying in a hotel, for the time being, Clint’s wife had suggested you’d stay with them—right until Tony Stark had shown up and you had graciously offered you’d come hang out at the Avengers Tower. Okay, technically you had begged him but either way and needless to say, you had jumped at the opportunity and somehow even hoped that you would learn some dirty superhero secrets—but so far, nothing. Nothing but what superheroes did when they were not out and about saving the world. Truth be told, seeing Thor in Hello Kitty pyjamas and witnessing Natasha Romanoff of all people scream watching an Asian horror film had its perks but you had somehow expected for them to be called in for an urgent mission where they required a skill only you had and then they would rely on your help and you would fight and become an Avenger and… your fanfiction had always sounded too good to be true.

“Are you still there? How is that fruit bowl so interesting?” Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you blinked.

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that…”

“Tony?” It was Bruce who interrupted you two, peeking his head into the kitchen almost timidly. You waved at him and he nodded, yet he failed to reciprocate your smile. Uh-Oh.

“Did something happen?”

The scientist nodded. “You might wanna put on your suit.”

“What happened?”

Bruce pursed his lips. “We’ve located Loki.”

Your eyes were still widened by the time you rushed after Tony even after he had told you explicitly (three times, to be exact) to stay put and hide until he had been put in custody.

The Loki. God of Mischief, Thor’s brother, Frost Giant, the I-tried-to-take-over-the-planet-guy. It was exciting, somehow, meeting a villain and oh, would it fuel you for your fan fiction. You almost bumped straight into Thor when they all came to a halt all of a sudden, his body a wall of flesh and muscle and making you grunt in pain—you might as well have hit a brick wall. With his hammer in hand, he ensured no one would approach his dangerous brother closely enough for him to try anything funky.

But the fact that Loki was even more handsome in person and the first villain you ever saw in person when he turned around the corner with a proud and arrogant expression on his face despite his shackles, was not what startled you to the core.

All of a sudden, there were colours. Everywhere.

Your lips parted, the impact of all the pigmentation around you making you dizzy. Loki’s armour was black, his cape was green, his eyes were blue, and his hair reminded you of the plumage of a raven. And your surroundings... The compound was silver now, the sceptre they had taken from him golden. Nauseous, you held on to Thor’s muscly arm for support. The God of Thunder frowned in concern. His eyes were blue too, his hair blonde, his cape red… too… many… colours. You suppressed a gag, overwhelmed by the sudden return of your colour vision.

“Are you okay?” Thor asked.

“G-guys… I can see colours.”

Every single head in the room, including Loki’s, turned in your direction so fast you flinched. Tony’s face was the first to fall in response.

“You are joking, right?”

Mutely, you shook your head. Your eyes locked with Loki’s, electricity rippling through you when they did. His blue irises froze you from the inside out, like each and every one of your limbs failed to resist the magnetic pull you felt towards him, and your cells longed for you to throw yourself into his arms—despite the fact he was handcuffed... and for a good reason too. Swallowing thickly, you forced yourself to look away.

Loki was your soulmate. That was impossible; and quite frankly, the god in question appeared to be thinking the exact same thing.

You chewed on your lower lip, anything to distract yourself from your predicament all the while everyone was still staring at you like you had grown two more heads.

“Take him to the cells, I’ll stay with her.” Clint’s hand on your shoulder did little to console you. Part of you still barely resisted the urge to start at Loki like a succubus, the other… the other was terrified and meant to hide in the archer’s embrace.

You could feel Loki’s blue gaze still resting on you when he led you away from the scene, staring daggers into your back and rendering you speechless until you were finally out of sight and Clint shook your shoulder gently.

“Are you sure it’s not one of the security guards that helped bring him in?”

“No… no, I saw them first. Loki was behind them. It’s… I don’t know how to explain it but somehow, Loki was in colour first, you know what I mean? First him and then, a split second later, everything else was colourful too.”

“And now?”

“Now what?”

“Do you still see in colour now?”

“Of course I do.” Clint sighed and buried his face in his hands.

“So what happens if you don’t… act on this soulmate thing?”

“Nothing. Nothing happens.” You said.

“So you don’t have to… stay close to Loki or anything?”

“No. Not that I know of. But Clint—“

“Good. Because he might find a way to use you against us. Stay away from him. Thor’ll take him back to Asgard soon enough. All we need to do first is find the Tesseract.”

Your lips were pursed when he turned to check on them and if Loki was wreaking havoc while they were trying to get him imprisoned.

Stay away from him? Of course… it was the most reasonable thing to do. Loki was dangerous, a criminal… but was that right? Now that you had found your soulmate in him?

You couldn’t get him out of your head that night. Screw the danger, you had to see him. And eventually, your curiosity and that inexplicable and strange pull you felt towards Loki got the better of you. With a deep breath, you threw your covers back and let your bare feet hit the cold floor before quietly tiptoeing out into the dark and empty hallway.

Your blood was rushing in your ears, making you hear things your paranoia and imagination cooked up to the point your heart was pounding in your chest so hard and fast you feared it might jump right out of your ribcage. No one could know, of course. Clint would positively kill you—he, along with Tony, somewhat considered himself responsible for you here. You couldn’t really blame them. If something happened to you, they’d never forgive themselves. You were an innocent civilian, after all.

And now you had been tossed into the greatest fanfiction yet. Shivering, for the cold slowly crept into your bare skin and through the tanktop and shorts you were wearing to sleep, you finally reached the corridor leading to the elevator. The prison cells, a rather new addition to Stark Tower, were located at the very bottom, the cellar, or… what you preferred to call it, a modern dungeon.

You found Loki with his back turned to you in his cell, looking pale through the glass pane. Your heart skipped a beat when he suddenly spoke up.

“I expected you would find a way to come and see me at some point. I’d dare say the Avengers have taken quite the precautions to keep you as far away from me as possible.” He mused. He lifted his chin, approaching the glass window.

It was quite ridiculous to assume that this tiny and meagre prison would keep the Trickster at bay after everything he had proven to be capable of. If only he wanted to, he could shatter that glass with but a flick of his wrist or break the heavy metal door posing as the only barrier between you.

If you were to just… unlock that door to touch him… it would be so easy. Blinking rapidly, you shook your head to chase the thought away.

“Who are you?” He asked and for just a brief moment, you believed to see genuine interest and curiosity sparkling in his stunning blue eyes.

“No one, really. You already know my name, I presume but that’s all there is. I’m not special—I mean, I don’t have superpowers. I’m just a regular human with a rare condition.”

“Oh, I see. Surely you had not hoped for a criminal of all people to be your soulmate then? A murderer? A monster?” His expression hardened.

Yes. But you were not going to tell him that. He was still the person to have made you see colours again, regardless of who he was and what he had done. There must have been a connection between you, you felt it after all! And you were certain that he felt it too.

“Thor will take me back to Asgard and the great King Odin,” he continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “will surely have me executed. You will never see me again. So do not worry.”

“I don’t want that.” You finally chirped, barely daring to look him in the eye. His gaze was scrutinising and intimidating… almost as if he was able to see right into your soul with but one single glance.

Loki frowned.

“I bet you’re not happy about this, are you?” A desperate scoff escaped your lips. “I’m not sure I am…” You confessed and sat down on the chair in front of the window. It creaked a little under your weight, the unpleasant sound echoing through the empty hallway.

This man right in front of you was not be trusted and yet, the desire to pour your heart out to him was so strong you felt it like a sea of emotions attempting to drown you.

“You know ever since my twelfth birthday I wondered when I would finally meet my soulmate. Who they would be, what they would be like… and then so many years passed I was beginning to worry I might never see colours again. That I’d be alone and grey for the rest of my life.”

Loki licked his lips and glanced up at you, listening intently to every single word you said.

“Now I met you and they all tell me not to trust you. I mean… I know who you are, I know what you’ve done. I can’t say I’m happy about the fact my soulmate is…” You stopped yourself, breathing in sharply. “What was the universe thinking? You are a god and I’m just… me. We live light-years apart!”

Eventually, after a moment of surprisingly pleasant silence between you, Loki hummed. “The Norns do have interesting ways.” He said, locking his eyes with yours, almost as if he was pondering if… if what? If he could imagine being with you?

“So what should we do? Never speak of it again? Pretend we have never met? I can’t just… come to Asgard with you.” You held your breath when you realised what you were considering here. Loki must have thought the same. He smirked in response—not mockingly but bitterly. “Odin would never allow a mortal on Asgard. If I was to survive my trial, that is.”

“Don’t say that. I don’t care you’re a criminal right now, I just found my soulmate, and I don’t want to lose him again right away, regardless of what happens between us.”

With a start, his face fell. “Nothing will happen between us. That would be unnecessarily cruel, would it not? Your life in the nine realms is but a heartbeat compared to mine.”

“So… this is goodbye?”

Loki hesitated. You noticed by the way his lips slightly parted without a single sound escaping them just yet.

“Yes. This is goodbye.”

The fruit bowl had become your new best friend. In the morning, tired and rather absent, you sat at the kitchen table holding on to a steaming mug of coffee all the while studying the different colours of the fruit before you like a complicated Maths formula.

“Did you have a good chat last night?” Clint barked at you when he entered the room, skipping the ‘Good morning’.

“Huh?”

“With Loki?” He probed, raising his eyebrows in an I-already-know-what-you’ve-done manner.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You said, shaking your head and focusing your gaze on the fruit bowl again. Yellow bananas, green grapes, red apples. In colour.

You flinched when Tony spoke your name. “We saw the footage on our security cameras. You sneaked to his cell last night knowing fully well why you should stay away from him, especially with… with… you know.”

Fuck… the security cameras. You had completely forgotten about those! Of course the legendary Tony Stark would have had security cameras installed all over the damn place!

Busted, you shrugged your shoulders as nonchalantly as you could muster. “I just wanted to talk him. I had to talk to him. I know what you’re all thinking—that he’s evil and brutal and cruel and ruthless… and… and you’re probably right? I… I don’t even know but… he is still my soulmate. I can see colours again because of him for Fuck’s sake! I can’t just… ignore that.”

“I get it. We don’t know what it must feel like. But it’s for the best. We don’t want him to hurt you.”

“I am his soulmate, too. He wouldn’t dare hurt me. You know maybe he’s not the monster you all think he is.”

“Are you saying that because you know him so well after last night or because that is what you want to believe?”

Both. “I just… have a feeling.”

“Right.” Tony clapped his hands. Your name left his lips almost like a plea. “You have to trust us.”

Thor nodded. “Loki is dangerous. You should stay away from him at least until we know he is not still plotting the domination of your planet.”

“What do you mean ‘at least until’? You can stop staying away from him when he’s back on Asgard and out of your reach.” Tony snapped.

“We’re just trying to keep you safe.” Steve intervened. You sighed.

“You know what? I’m getting a headache and I’m still tired, so I’m gonna go back to bed.” That wasn’t even a lie—well, at least the fatigue bit wasn’t. Besides, the blackout curtains in the room Tony let you stay in were heaven-sent.

That was until a loud tumult in the Tower woke you up again, even though you were not sure anymore you had actually fallen asleep once your head hit the soft pillow.

“W—“ Your scream of protest was muffled by a cool palm covering your mouth. You struggled briefly, ripping your eyes wide open in a weak attempt to make out who was assaulting you in the comforting darkness of your room when you suddenly heard a soothing voice shushing you.

“It’s me…”

“L-Loki?” You choked out when he removed his hand again. “Did you… did you break out of your cell?”

“It would seem so. Come.”

“What?”

He tilted his head. “I don’t have much time.”

You stood, throwing the covers back when he already reached for your hand and held it tightly, pulling you with him into the hallway and towards one of the more hidden exists of Stark Tower, a flight of stairs illuminated only by emergency lights.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I am proving to you that I am more than just a criminal.”

“Oh… but… um… where are we going?”

Loki smirked. Your eyes widened when he pulled out the Tesseract seemingly out of nowhere, its blue light glowing brightly in the dark and throwing artistic shadows on his face.

“Hold on tight.”

“Loki…”

The God of Mischief pulled you close, making you gasp. Your chest hit his, his arm wrapping around your waist. With his face only inches from yours, you could feel his warm breath on your lips, and suddenly longed to kiss him.

“You are my soulmate. I am not leaving you behind.”

“What happened to ‘goodbye’?” You chirped.

Loki tilted his head almost threateningly. “You are mine. Don’t you think I wanted to leave this place without looking back?” His expression softened. “But I couldn’t. Because of you.” And you might just be the only woman to ever love me in this way, he added silently.

“B-but… Y-you said Odin will never allow me on Asgard and… and…”

“I never said we were going to Asgard, now was I?”

Your lips parted. Could you trust him? The stranger who had finally made you see colours again? If you told him No, would he let go of you? Would he let you run to Tony and Clint and Nat so they could protect you from him? Swallowing thickly, you met his intense blue gaze and nodded.

Loki smirked and winked. “You are in for an adventure.” And you knew he wasn’t lying. Next thing you knew, you were both hurtled through space and into a shared future.

A/N: ☕

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strawwritesfic · 2 years

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Steve Rogers x Female!SHIELD Agent!Reader: Natasha Romanoff’s Matchmaking Service [Ch. 3]

Summary: Results not typical.

Fic Trade Prompt: Nighttime bonfire

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: T (foul language; references to sex; set between Avengers (2012) and Captain America: The Winter Soldier; past!Brock Rumlow/Reader; past!Steve/Peggy; Natasha & Reader friendship; referenced Clint & Reader friendship)

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Master List

Chapter 3: The Swing

“Baker,” said Steve. He inclined his head stiffly, never taking his suddenly icy gaze off of the man in front of him.

Baker grinned. “Captain Rogers. I should have figured that Director Fury would send you to retrieve this little sample from me. May I inquire as to the specifics of your pretty little friend here? I don’t believe she was on the guest list.”

You snarled, but said nothing. Brash you might have been, but even you were well aware that attracting a villain’s attention while injured was not a great decision. There was no reason to give this man or any of his lackeys a reason to break a limb, or perhaps shoot you in the gut. Okay, you could think of one reason–that this would make your broken rib feel less painful in comparison–but it was entirely overshadowed by your desire to not bungle things more than you already had.

Steve still had his hand on your elbow. This Baker noticed, or so you assumed by the way his eyes fell upon the contact and a slow smile spread across his face.

“Your girlfriend, perhaps?” he asked.

A faint dusting of pink spread across Steve’s cheeks. You had a feeling your own cheeks weren’t their normal color either, but who the hell cared at a time like this? You were not Natasha. Getting laid was not your MO this time around. It was saving the world from a virus, and then turning your ex into cream of wheat.

“You must be a pretty crappy terrorist if you’re more concerned with Captain Rogers’ love life than you are about getting your sorry ass kicked from here back to D.C.,” you piped up.

Surely you saw Steve smile at that. You felt a tiny rush of pleasure at having managed to do something right that day, even if taunting the enemy wasn’t strictly following SHIELD guidelines. Baker noticed the smiling, too, and his own smile fell off his face immediately.

“I suppose this boast is in regards to Captain America,” he said, “as we both know you are unable of kicking any asses in your present state. A broken rib?” His voice was light, but you felt a shiver climb up your spine. Despite the pain, you stood straight as a ramrod. How much had Baker heard? Too much. That was all you knew. “If you’d just agree to submit, we could get you back to base. I have a medical team, you realize. And I do like my rivals in the best condition when I beat them.”

“Oh, cram it up your–”

“I’ve got this, Agent [L Name],” Steve said, releasing you.

You must have been relying on him to stay upright much more than you had noticed, because just his letting go of your elbow had your rib cage aching and tears pricking at the backs of your eyes as you tried to remain upright.

His gaze remained stonily on Baker as Steve turned completely toward him. “Cram it up your shorts, Baker.”

Baker, far from looking taken aback, simply smirked. His followers around him hooted…hooted, in fact, in a way that sounded all too familiar. You played back the past hour or so of this disaster of an outing, but there was nothing there to clue you into what you were hearing for a second time. What had you been expecting? A parliament of owls out on that dock? No, you were only hearing the echo of every other group of too-big-for-their-britches terrorists that thought they could beat the snot out of you and leave.

“You’re not really in any condition to be tossing insults around, Captain Rogers,” Baker was saying when you returned your attention to the present. “We have you surrounded, and your only hope has already been taken care of. You can hardly get both yourself and Miss [L Name] here to safety. Her odds of getting out alone are negligible at best.”

“Let’s see about that.”

Steve practically dripped confidence. You yourself weren’t so sure. Captain America usually had a team–whether it was the Commandos or STRIKE or the Avengers. He was alone here, unless you counted yourself. Not that you doubted that Steve could take them down if he really put his mind to it, but the two of you were pretty well outnumbered. The last thing you needed to go in your record was “sole witness to Captain America’s actual death.”

The battle started–cliché of clichés–while you were blinking. One second, everyone was standing around and bristling at each other. The next, Steve and the opposing group were racing toward one another. You stood up a little straighter. Just in time. A surprising number of the terrorist goons gunned straight for you, rather than the glory that might have come from taking down Captain America. Then again, if these guys were a pack of wolves, you were the limping deer at the back of the herd. You screwed your eyes shut just in time for the first assault.

Eyes closing? Not the best plan in the entire world. Your fist shot out. When your eyes popped open again, you saw that your swing had missed your closest assailant by a mile. Their face was covered by a thick mask, completely obscuring their face and therefore their reaction, but it couldn’t have been sympathetic. After all, it left you open for them to swing their police baton straight at your head.

“What kind of terrorist uses a police baton?” you asked as you knocked it away with your wrist.

“Apparently the kind that doesn’t leave paperwork,” Steve shouted.

You cracked a smile, even though your injured rib felt like it was going to start poking out of your skin at any minute. Another duck, another missed punch, and your opponent fell after you switched tactics and swept his legs out from underneath him. The man went crashing down onto the ground, helmeted head striking the cement just once before he fell still.

Weird, but just fine with you. It gave you ample opportunity to swing at the next trio coming at you. The pain coming from your chest was nearly blinding, but you could see well enough to continue fighting. The question was just how many goons you could take down before your body gave out.

As it turned out? Eight.

It never got to the point of you using lethal force. You didn’t need to. As soon as one man fell, he fell for good. And then one came upon you quicker than the rest. You scrabbled for your pistol, but too late. You hardly had it out of the holster before he had kicked it clear of your hand, wrenched your arm backward, and against your best intentions, forced a weak cry from your throat as he pressed the heel of his hand to your busted rib. Steve heard. He stopped, eyes flashing in your direction.

“Drop the shield, Captain Rogers,” Baker barked from the front. Apparently he hadn’t decided to take part in the zerg rush with his underlings. “Unless, of course, you want your lady friend to die?”

This wouldn’t work. This was Captain America. He wasn’t going to give in to some terrorist’s demands. He–

The shield hit the cement. You had forgotten: This was Captain America. He wasn’t going to let someone get taken hostage on his watch. At least you had avoided the further embarrassment of begging him either way, but good god, how did the man ever get anything done? The man holding you chuckled, then leaned close to whisper in your ear:

“Not exactly Margaret Carter, are you, Agent [L Name]?”

You stamped on his foot. The grunt that issued from within the helmet sounded almost as familiar as the hooting from earlier. Your eyes widened–but no. Your ex might have been a repugnant asshole, but he was a loyal repugnant asshole. Maybe all of those types sounded the same. You were not granted the time to consider this for long. The man’s head snapped up toward Steve, then back to you, and then–before you could move, before you could even register his intentions–jammed his police baton into the sore spot on your chest. You heard Steve cry out.

The world went dark.

******

A pounding headache returned you to the world of the living. Your first recollection being of having someone whack you in the chest while on a mission, you sat up with every intention of whacking back. The sudden motion made your head spin, and your stomach didn’t take long to follow. Groaning, you rolled over, but there was nothing in your stomach to throw up. As you stared at the shiny white tile below, you realized that quite some time must have passed.

Sure enough, you were no longer standing in an empty warehouse district. You were instead laying in a pristine cell. The blinding lights hitting all the white wasn’t doing anything to help your headache, and your headache wasn’t doing anything to help you see. Otherwise, you might have been able to see that you were not, as you thought upon slowly trying to sit back up, alone. Immediately, a hand landed on your shoulder.

“You awake?”

You groaned, not only because you felt like an Asgardian had thrown an ax into your frontal lobe, but also because even after all you’d been through, some higher power still thought it was funny to let Steve observe you at your absolute worst. At this point, you weren’t surprised. You didn’t so much as try to look at him, knowing your nearly-fried brain was likely to do something stupid, such as decide to connect its inane babbling about Steve’s handsomeness to your mouth. Not that Steve contracting his fingers around said shoulder was going to prevent that.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like cow dung,” you answered, just barely managing to avoid further embarrassment by saying how you really felt.

“Cow dung that can move?”

“Maybe.”

“Good,” said Steve. “Because I need your help.”

He disappeared as quickly as he had materialized next to you. This left you with no other choice but to force yourself into a seated position to follow him with your eyes. The bright, faintly buzzing lights above your head swam in and out of focus. Steve’s figure did, too, but somehow he was easier to follow. Maybe it was just that he was more solid, even as he moved to another wall and pounded on it with one massive fist–because, you saw, he no longer had his shield.

“What do you need my help with?” you asked.

Whether it was your rapidly deteriorating mental state or just your usual Steve-nerves talking, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that you hurt all over, could barely see, and had thus far proved to have all the usefulness of a used q-tip on this mission. If Steve needed some check balancing done, maybe you could help…except that you were pretty sure you’d forgotten a lot of that math since starting up with SHIELD fresh out of college, and–there went your brain again, off on some wild tangent. At least this time it wasn’t about Steve’s shapely rear end, which was quite shapely even this bad lighting.

Oh, goddammit.

“–approximately eight hours. The satellites didn’t show anything capable of copying the virus, but they didn’t show anything like this room either,” Steve was saying. He had started his explanation while you were in la-la-land. You forced yourself to sit up straighter (bad idea) and focus on his words. “If they do have the capability, they could have already reproduced plenty of vials to have on hand. The longer we wait, the more chance they have to distribute it. Which means we need to get out of here, now. We can’t wait for Natasha to break us out.”

Was that what Steve had been doing since you blacked out? Waiting for Natasha? You hated to burst his bubble, but, “Baker said Natasha’s dead,” you said flatly.

"A team equipped with batons couldn’t take Natasha out unless she wanted taken out,” Steve said with a wave of his hand. “I don’t know what her game is, wanting taken out, but when we get back, I intend to find out.”

He had a point, you’d give him that much. At the same time, Natasha was your friend. You could think of only one reason that she’d purposely get herself removed from the mission, and even she wasn’t crazy enough to do that. Fury would kill her, or at least glower at her for a few days whenever they passed in the hall.

“Could be faking. Waiting to swoop in and save the day,” you said half-heartedly, wondering if you were trying to convince Steve or yourself.

He shook his head. “We can’t rely on her. We still need out.”

It was only then that it dawned on you that your companion was somewhat different than before. You’d never had the impression that Steve was all that thrilled about you tagging along, injured and all–and clearly, given the time you’d just wasted passing out while a mysterious group had access to a deadly virus, he’d been right–but now he was downright tense. Every muscle in his body looked pulled tight; one kept pulsing in his jaw. You’d seen him annoyed before from afar, but never blatantly angry, and never up close.

“Captain Rogers,” you started.

Steve began to press his huge hands against the bare, blank walls.

“Captain Rogers?”

Without so much as acknowledging your growing anxiety, he pulled one arm back and thrust his fist forward into the wall. This resulted in absolutely nothing. Steve grunted, and punched again. Again. Again. The whole room shook, but nothing else happened to indicate he was doing anything at all except asking for a broken knuckle.

“Captain Rogers!” No answer. You heaved yourself forward toward him, reaching his side just as he readied another blow. “Steve.”

He stopped. It was so sudden that for one wild moment, you thought something awful had happened, like maybe he had been shot. Then you realized that Steve had frozen because he was staring at you–or, more accurately, at your hand that now had a gentle grip on his bicep. You flushed as soon as you laid eyes on that yourself, and stepped back. Still he said nothing at all, his blue eyes moving to rest on your face.

Feeling self-conscious, you looked away with a deep breath. Okay, sure, every single molecule of your being hurt, but you’d had worse before. Probably. Time to knuckle down–no pun intended–and get this mission done. Then you could go to sleep and let your brain dream whatever it wanted to about Steve and his ass. Until then: Focus.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked.

Steve blinked, and seemed to come back to himself. He looked from your face to the unmarked place in the wall that he had recently been pounding on, then back again. “We need to get out of here.”

“I realize that,” you said with forced calm. “Obviously, beating the wall isn’t getting us anywhere. I’m asking why you keep trying that. Definition of insanity, and all.”

“They must have been prepared for me.”

“Why’s that?”

“Normally I just burst through the doors. There aren’t any doors.”

That sounded like it was supposed to be a joke. Steve wasn’t the most joke-y person in the world, but how could anyone say something like that in all seriousness? If he was trying to be funny, however, the effect was ruined by his continuing to look unnaturally grim. He seemed far angrier than before. He was still too much a gentleman to show you that, but you could tell anyway, through the subtle stiffness of his massive shoulders and the way his mouth never once shifted from its thin line. If he was difficult to approach normally, he was practically impossible when he looked fit to kill the next person that crossed him. Still, you had to try.

“Come on, Captain Rogers. What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bullshit.” Embarrassing, of course, but at least it got Steve to look at you. You crossed your arms over your chest and lifted a single eyebrow. “What happened while I was out on the floor? You’re pissed. Cough it up.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Captain.”

“Steve,” he said after a pause.

“Huh?”

Steve inhaled deeply and turned all of his attention to you. The effect was disconcerting, but you forced yourself to keep looking him. “You called me Steve, earlier. Just call me Steve. You don’t have to…” He shook his head, then plowed on, “What’s wrong is that you’re hurt. I let you come along and get more hurt. Now I can’t even get us out of this damn–” He slammed his fist once more on the wall to make his point, then fell silent.

You would not have believed that it was possible, but somehow Steve’s silence was worse than nearly anything else. Worse than his judgement, worse than his pep talk, worse than his belief that you and Rumlow were somehow involved. If the only thing to end this silence was using his name, then that was what you would have to do, no matter how awkward it felt. And boy howdy, did it feel awkward.

“St-Steve,” you said. Heaven knew how you’d managed to say it normally before. Probably just panic over Steve’s behavior. Nothing else could have driven you to try to sound familiar with Captain America. You swallowed and tried again: “Steve. Okay. Look.” He did. “I’m a SHIELD agent, you know? I’ve had worse than some banged up ribs and a headache. Like I said, Clint and Natasha ask me to go with them on things, and I’m usually the one that gets hurt on those, since Clint stays at a distance and–well, Natasha’s good at seducing people. I’m not. So don’t go getting it in your head that you need to baby me. You don’t.”

“But–”

“And,” you interrupted, “if you could just stop hitting things, my head might stop hurting long enough to figure out a way out–because, in case you have forgotten, the other skill I don’t have is super strength. I have experience getting out of cells the hard way.”

You stared at him. Steve stared back. Ready as you were for any argument, none came. He simply slid his hand off the wall with a sigh and took another deep breath. After a moment, he nodded, which was all the agreement you needed. You almost smiled with relief.

“So how do we get out?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know.” Funny, you hadn’t thought about having an actual plan when you’d been trying to calm Steve down. Now the entire mission rested on shoulders that could hardly remain squared without that sort of pressure upon them. “But I’ll figure it out,” you added when you saw something in his expression flicker.

If nothing else, his no longer smashing the walls was keeping your headache under control. No reason to get him started up on that again. You straightened your back (ow, shit, why) and copied him, walking up to the wall and running your fingers along it for a few feet.

Then you stopped and turned back to him. “In times like this, I always ask myself one question.”

“How the hell do you get out of a building without doors?”

“No. ‘What would Agent Carter do?'”

Nothing else you’d said that evening seemed to have shocked Steve as much as that question. You almost regretted asking it, regardless of how many times you’d asked yourself the same question before. Having no idea what to apologize for, all you could was wilt slightly under the weight of his gaping. Well, if he wanted to continue making absolutely no progress on this mission, he was free to ignore you.

“Why do you need to know that?” he asked.

You let out a breath. It wasn’t a cease and desist order, so you had permission to carry on with your train of thought. “It’ll help. First off, she didn’t have super strength either, so she, too, had to deal with doors like the rest of us mortals. Agent Carter couldn’t break down a wall on her own.”

“Well, she could,” Steve broke in, “if she had something heavy on her.”

Even though doing so thus far hadn’t had any effect whatsoever on him, you threw Steve a look. “The only thing we have that’s heavy is you, and we’ve already tried that process enough, thanks. Besides, that’s not the only reason to think about her. The Zodiac virus was her first gig, you know. Got her on the radar. Basically set up the whole of SHIELD.”

While you spoke, your voice turned reverent. You hardly noticed, too preoccupied with continuing to walk in a loop against the wall. Every inch of the cell fit the description of nondescript. Outside of white and featureless, there was little to be said of it. But there had to be a door somewhere. How else could your captors have gotten you in?

“Steve?”

“What?”

“Were you unconscious when they brought us in here?”

“No. I–They made me carry you.”

Fantastic. Now was not the time to fret over that detail, though. You could wrestle with the thought when you were safe in your own bed later tonight. Either that, or you’d be dead, which might be the preferable course of action. Hard to tell from here.

“So did you see how they opened the place?”

He shook his head. “I was blindfolded.”

“Didn’t get to take it off until they left?”

“Right.”

“Damn.”

Perhaps it was a tribute to your growing relationship that you didn’t blush over your swearing, nor did you even stop to see how Steve reacted. You just kept up your work, brushing your fingers against the slick white walls, squinting against the glare from the overhead lights, until–

“Ah.”

“Did you find anything?” Steve asked.

Only then did you realize he was right behind you, both hands carefully positioned to catch you if you fell. He didn’t even try to explain himself, and so you rolled your eyes and gestured (painfully) with your head for him to step up beside you.

“Feel that?” you asked.

“What am I supposed to be feeling?”

“Air.”

Frowning, Steve crouched closer, closer, closer. Then: “Ah.”

“That’s what I said,” you said with a grin. “So there’s your door.”

Steve looked from you, to the minuscule crack, then to you again. Then, his hand bunched into a fist once more, and he smiled himself. A little too eagerly, in your opinion. Sure enough, you blinked, and in the middle of the darkness heard a tremendous crash. In the split second it had taken you to open your eyes, Steve had disappeared, and where there had been what appeared to be a solid white wall was now a gigantic hole.

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marvelita85 · 2 years

Text

Everyone was invited to the party to say goodbye to the year that your dad and Stark Industries organized, part of the team was delay due to a misson and your husband to be was one of them and you were worried you were not going to be able to celebrate with him

-you could pretend you want to celebrate with us too just saying...

- I do dad is just... after everything we've been throught is not fare he can't be here for new years

- they will be here don't worry, by the way did you checked the dress I send you?

- you mean Pepper sent me? Yeah is beside Bucky's tux back in our apparment

The Rockefeller was the builing that was chosen for the party obviously Pepper orginized everything and you were sure everything was going to be perfect but the time was aproaching, radio silent from Bucky, Sam Yelena Kate and Clint, who aparentely was still retired, you werent worried but still you got back to your apartment to get ready looking at the bed for a second where Bucky's gala tux was, you grab a little paper stick and write a quite note

" find me at the beggining to the year wherever you are I love you"

Everyone was enjoying when you arrived, Party full of display and your red dress caught everyone's atention, you tried to avoid eyes but it was quiet imposible concidering who you were

Polite as always you talked to everyone but your eyes were to the elevator doors but they were'nt opening not with the person you wanted to see

Bucky got straight to your share house and found the note and the tux waiting for him, he would have chosen to stay in bed and cuddle but he remembered your conversation about this party and how much it meant to you after all this time and everything that happened to you two so he run to he shower and called Sam back who had a similar clothes back in the compound

You grab your dad to dance to avoid the posibility to dance with someone you didn't want to Bruce and Roadey including Peter were all good options

- he is going to be here you'll see he wouldnt miss it

- thank you Peter, why don't you dance with MJ?

- she said you needed me more for younger brother moral support, her words not mine...

- you are an amazing brother - He smiled looking at the elevator where Yelena and Kate got in like always discussing something while Clint grab a glass of champagne drinking it whole not two seconds pass you looked back where Peter was looking and the doors of the other elevator opened revealing Sam and Bucky this last one scaning the room for the only person he wanted to see

Your eyes conected and you smile walking towards him even more so levitating towards it was a pull no other person had the ability to bring you in with so much ease

- hey... you made it...

- I will always gonna try to make it back to you doll...- the burn in your cheeks you felt it when he grab your waist and never let you go for the rest of the night

You dance a little and then Bucky grab 2 flutes of champagne as the countdown just started

- happy new year baby - Bucky smile to you leaning a little campturing your lips in the first kiss of the new year

- lets put a date

- what do you mean Buck?

- our wedding... if it's for me I'd marry you tomorrow but I know your dad and the rest of the team deserved the celebration and I know you want one and deserve one too

- I think we had a lot of those already but lets see...- you were sitting on his legs and caress his 4 day beard growth - do you remember like 6 years ago or maybe 7 now... you asked me to say the words so we make sure the conditioning won't work again

- yeah I remember...

- and then I thought I lost you forever...- you felt his lips kissing your hand and looked at you in a so enamorous way - let's chose that day

- I love it besides we are going to give your dad a freak to give him so little time to plan a wedding...

- you happend to know Bucky he has people that worries about that he just pays for it, but is our wedding and wouldn't be nice if we get married in Wakanda?

- are you serious?

- is where you finally found your peace and your peace is my happiness

- and you are my life doll.... tomorrow we ask TChalla?

- yes... and we start to live our lives together forever

Thanks nixakimbo for the wonderfull edits

Happy new year🥂

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #sebastian stan #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n stark reader

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iam93percentstardust · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Stony, animal transformation

I realized about halfway through writing this that you probably meant a spell or something but I wrote shifters instead and I really liked what I had so I kept going. Sorry it’s a lot crackier than you were probably expecting; you can blame @maguna-stxrk for that

As always, everything I write is also available on ao3

“No.”

The first time Tony met Steve Rogers, he was both delighted and irritated. Delighted because hey! Captain America is another cat shifter! And that means that Howard was wrong and Tony is, in fact, like Captain America (in some ways at least; in others, that remains to be proven).

“I won’t do it.”

And irritated because Captain America is another cat shifter.

“You can’t make me.”

Tony knows that there are cat shifters out there who are perfectly friendly and like being around other cats. He is not one of them. There are multiple reasons why he and Steve clashed on the helicarrier and only one of them is Loki’s staff. Tony’s breed is highly territorial and everything in his tower is his and he doesn’t want another cat in there rubbing up against his stuff. But there Fury is, insisting that the entire team move into the tower.

“I don’t want them there,” Tony says flatly. That’s not entirely true. He doesn’t really want any of them there but he’s willing to put up with them. The only one he really truly genuinely doesn’t want there is Steve.

It’s probably a good thing none of the rest of the team is here to hear him complaining about them. But, well, they should know better than to expect friendliness out of him. He’s not friendly. He’s majestic and aloof and not in the mood to have anyone else around to see him when he’s not being majestic and aloof.

Fury eyes him. Tony doesn’t know what kind of shifter he is—he keeps that kind of paperwork on actual paper, ew—but he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s something sneaky and devious like Fury himself (probably a snake. Tony hates snakes).

“Stark, the ways I could make you do what I want—”

“—are all against the Geneva Convention,” Tony finishes smoothly. In his reflection on the table, he realizes that the tuft of hair behind his ear isn’t lying flat. He licks the back of his hand and reaches up to smooth the hairs back down.

“Stark.”

“Fury.”

“We are running out of options—”

“Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

“—for Clint.”

Tony shuts up. Sighs. Glances through the window of the conference room where he can see Clint leaning against the wall, stuck in partial shift since Loki and the invasion. His golden tail is tucked between his legs, his ears are drooped, and he flinches like a kicked puppy (not an inaccurate description) every time someone walks by.

“How bad is it?” he asks.

“People don’t want him on the helicarrier,” Fury says. “He makes them nervous. His pack bonds were broken when Loki took him, and with Coulson—well.”

Yeah, that. Dog shifters like Clint rely on pack bonds, even those formed between non-dogs. Tony’s always been more of a loner so he can’t really imagine what Clint is going through but judging by the way Clint looks, he can guess it isn’t easy.

“They’ve all been briefed on what it’s like living with a cat, even Rogers, and they know about your idiosyncrasies in particular.”

And that’s the crux of the matter. “I don’t want him there,” Tony says quietly.

“He’s not the same breed—”

“But he’s got the same instincts!” He sighs frustratedly and almost runs his hand through his hair before he realizes how much that’ll mess up his hairstyle. His tail lashes agitatedly behind him, instincts urging him to claw, to bite, to protect his home from the invader. “Why can’t it just be Clint?”

“Because where Clint goes, Natasha goes. Besides, Clint needs the pack bonds, which means he needs the whole team.”

Tony hisses, crosses his arms, pouts. “Fine,” he says eventually. “But I don’t like it.”

And then, before Fury can feel too smug in his victory, he keeps aggressive eye contact and knocks Fury’s water glass off the table, darting away before he can hear more than the bellow of rage.

“I don’t want you here,” Tony says, ears laced back irritably. It’s the first time he’s come across Steve in the tower so far and of course the man (well, actually he’s shifted into his cat form right now) is lying in Tony’s favorite sunbeam. The nerve of some people.

The single eye that Tony can see slits open and stares at him for a long moment. In the next moment, a ripple comes over the cat and then Steve has partially shifted back, stretching lazily as he yawns. “Okay, Tony,” he agrees.

“You’re in my sunbeam.”

“Okay, Tony.”

“I want you out of it.”

“But it’s such a nice sunbeam.”

“It’s mine.”

“We could share it.”

Tony lets out an offended yowl. They can’t share it. That would defeat the purpose of it being his. Steve stares at him for a long moment and then stretches again, muscles rippling in interesting ways that make Tony want to knead them for—no. No kneading. No accepting the interloper.

“Come on, Tony. It’s sunny and I want to nap. We can share the sunbeam,” Steve says around another yawn before flopping over onto his side, still mostly human. Tony wants to bite his tail. But… he does want a nap. And this is favorite sunbeam. And he shouldn’t have to find another one since there’s no way Steve will be leaving this one (sadly Tony has not yet figured out the right strength the armor needs to move him).

He carefully lays down, putting several inches of space between him and Steve. Almost immediately, he can feel the effects of the warm sun on him, pulling him under into a light doze. It’s not enough to fall asleep entirely, not when he can still feel Steve at his front but then Steve starts to purr and oh, that’s kind of nice. He hesitantly lets out an answering purr of his own. Steve’s rumble grows louder and almost without meaning to, Tony finds his hands kneading the ground contentedly.

But that won’t stand. It can’t stand. He conceded ground on the sunbeam because it and Steve were warm and that was clearly a mistake because now Steve is standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee from Tony’s favorite coffeepot out of Tony’s favorite mug as he talks to Natasha.

And this injustice cannot stand!

“Mine,” he hisses, fingers shifting into extended claws, ready to tear into Steve for daring to drink from what clearly belongs to Tony.

At his hiss, Natasha’s skin ripples until she’s scaly and blending in with the cabinets. Smart of her to stay out of his way. Few things are worse than a territorial cat and even someone as lethal as Natasha would hesitate to face him when he’s like this, even though Steve gives her an amused look and says, “Really?”

Steve takes another sip out of the mug. Tony’s hiss turns into a full-throated growl. “Tony, you have to learn to share.”

“No.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Mine.”

“Yeah, you said that.” Steve doesn’t sound very impressed. Or even particularly intimidated, damn it.

“It’s my mug, it’s my favorite mug, you have to give it back,” Tony says, eyes tracking the mug as Steve lifts it to his lips again—wow, they looked kind of pink and pretty in the morning—no, focus. “Give it.”

“Alright,” Steve says agreeably and holds the mug out. “Here you go.”

Tony’s tail lashes and he hisses again. “You know I don’t like to be handed things.”

“Oh right,” Steve says, sounding remarkably unconcerned. “Too bad then. Guess you’re not getting your mug back.” He takes another sip from the mug—Tony’s mug.

“No,” Tony whines, drawing the word out so that it has at least eight additional syllables. He flops over onto the kitchen table, rolling around mostly so that he’s treating this situation with the hysteria it deserves but also so that he can scent mark the table, which currently smells of the rest of the team and not like him.

“Tony, stop being overdramatic,” Natasha orders, apparently deciding that she doesn’t need to blend in with the background anymore. “Steve, stop being a shit and give him back his mug.”

“No,” they both say petulantly.

She pulls out one of the many, many knives she keeps on her person. Tony hurriedly rolls off the table. Steve quickly puts the mug down and pulls out another one. Immediately, Tony darts to his mug—all his, no one else’s—and cradles it to his chest.

“That’s better,” Natasha says smugly and stalks out of the kitchen.

Tony waits until she’s gone and Steve has filled his new mug. Then, as Steve busies himself with cooking his breakfast, he slowly, cautiously reaches out and bats Steve’s mug off the counter. He gleefully sprints out of the kitchen to the sound of Steve’s outraged yowls, clutching his own mug close.

“Clint says you’ve been working too long,” Steve says, surprising Tony so much all the fur on his tail stands straight up.

“Fuck,” he spits. “I have a heart condition, you know.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees like the asshole cat he is. “But I don’t think I’m going to give you a heart attack just by sneaking up on you. Not my fault you were in a zone.”

Tony grumbles wordlessly under his breath. It’s true that he’s been in a zone for the last couple hours or so, something that he achieves only through kneading or inventing, but that’s no reason for Clint to be concerned.

“Why do you care if Clint says I’ve been working too long?” he asks. Steve picks up one of his screwdrivers and spins it between his fingers before setting it back down. Tony immediately picks it up as well and rubs his cheek on it to cover it in his scent again. Steve shoots him a mischievous grin and promptly moves further away to do the same thing to a different screwdriver. Tony resigns himself to losing another couple of hours to scent marking everything once Steve is gone.

“I don’t,” Steve says, now rubbing up against one of the armors (and no, Tony is not thinking about how good Steve looks like that). “I thought we were doing a great job of ignoring each other. But he says it’s been more than twenty-four hours, which means it’s time for a break.”

“Says who?”

“Pepper, apparently.”

Tony winces. Okay, yeah, he can ignore pretty much everyone except for Pepper. She’s important.

“So you’re… what, here to drag me upstairs for dinner?”

Steve shakes his head and holds up a bag in his hand. “Thought I’d offer to split a bag of catnip with you.”

Huh.

“Huh,” Tony says out loud. He eyes it suspiciously. “It’s not laced with anything else, is it? You’re not going to take me to knock me out and take me to Medical.”

“Just pure catnip.” Steve opens the bag and Tony’s eyes dilate at the intoxicating scent. “Why, do you need to go to Medical?”

Tony thinks of the two cracked ribs he suffered during the battle yesterday that he’d wrapped himself. “Nope,” he says blithely. Steve’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t argue. “Are you going to judge me for straight up eating it?”

“Are you going to judge me for doing the same?”

“Fair,” he says and holds out a hand for the bag. Steve upends it and dumps half in Tony’s hand, watching without judgment as Tony stuffs half of it into his mouth.

And when Tony comes back from his catnip-induced high to finds himself fully shifted, Steve’s own shifted form wrapped so tightly around him that his short tabby fur is mingling with Tony’s longer white fur, there’s no judgment there either, just Steve purring and purring and purring.

“Why do you do it?” Tony quietly asks Steve one night. Some animated movie is playing on the screen but Tony doesn’t think anyone is actually paying attention to it. The rest of the team is busy sleeping together in a cuddle pile in their shifted forms, Clint’s golden retriever spooned by Thor’s panda, Bruce’s owl perched on top of Clint with his head tucked under his wing. He can’t spot Natasha’s chameleon but he can smell her so he knows she’s there somewhere. He and Steve are sitting apart from the rest of the team, studiously ignoring them. It had surprised him when Steve hadn’t gotten down there to join them—tabbies tend to be more social than other cats—and instead chosen to curl up next to him on the couch in his partial shift, but to his shock, he isn’t complaining about it.

Idly, Steve twines his tail around Tony’s twitching one and purrs, relaxing him until he’s a puddle on the couch. “Nat said it was a good way to get your attention.”

“What, picking a fight with me?”

“Tony.” Steve gives him a long look and then leans over to lick his ear. It should make Tony stiffen, run away, groom over that one spot until he no longer smells of Steve anymore. It doesn’t. It just makes his ear flick curiously. “I never wanted to fight with you.”

Oh.

Suddenly, Tony’s brain is sifting through every interaction he and Steve have ever had, looking at them in a new light. Okay, and yeah, now that he’s thinking about it, he can see that this has all been Steve’s clumsy, well-intended attempt at courting him. And maybe he’s never really thought about Steve like that before but he’s thinking now and what he’s thinking is that when Steve isn’t stealing his things and laying in his favorite sunbeam, he actually really likes Steve.

“You’re not very good at this,” he informs Steve.

“Yeah, I’m getting that impression.”

“Natasha gave you bad advice.”

“I’m pretty sure she did it on purpose to stir up trouble.”

“She’s worse than either of us,” Tony agrees. “Now, hold still.”

“Wha—” He leans over Steve and licks at his ear, carefully grooming him. Steve purrs beneath him, eyes half-closed with pleasure. Tony’s own eyes drift shut as his heart beats a rhythm to the tune of mine, mine, mine.

“Hey, babe,” Tony says, coming up behind Steve. He drapes himself across Steve’s shoulders like the affectionate cat he is, giving a very sharp grin to the young socialite who has been holding onto Steve’s hand for the last minute. Doesn’t she know that that’s Tony’s? “I was wondering where you got off to.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve replies, relaxing now that Tony is here. “Got stopped by Miss—I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

Tony knows Steve well enough to know that that’s absolutely not the case. He’s just saying it to irritate her. But she doesn’t know that, especially because none of them are allowed to be in partial shift for tonight’s gala—Fury’s orders—and Steve’s shifter form is a closely guarded secret. So she doesn’t know that Steve’s just following his instincts as a cat. Tony does though, and he smothers his laugh in Steve’s shoulder.

“Whithers,” the girl says, irritation bleeding into her tone.

“Pleasure,” Tony says, making no attempt to hide the fact that he thinks it’s the opposite. He twines himself around Steve so that he can reach his lips for a quick kiss. “If you don’t mind, I have to borrow Steve here. Although, I really don’t care even if you do mind. See, he’s mine and I don’t really like it when people touch what’s mine.”

And then, before her face can do much more than register shock, he bats her champagne glass out of her hand.

#alle writes #alle answers #stevetony #if you like please consider reblogging #Anonymous

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nastybuckybarnes · 3 years

Text

In a Heartbeat - Five

Pairing: Fireman!Bucky X Reader

Summary: You’ve always been careful with your heart. With your condition, you don’t exactly have any other choice. The last time you let someone in, you paid the price. A price you don’t plan on paying again. Until Bucky comes in and shatters your carefully crafted world.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Smut (18+),

Word Count: 3.7K

A/n: hi I hope you enjoy this! So I’m thinking this will probably have two more parts and maybe an epilogue. I’m very very excited. Also my carpal tunnel has been hurting a lot lately so I haven’t been able to write much, plus I've been super tired. I hope to post more regularly and update stuff more often but I make no promises. Anyway, Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

~*~

“Going somewhere, Barnes?” The brunet smiles, raking a hand through his damp hair.

“Hell yeah, I am. I’ve got a date with the most gorgeous woman in the world.” Steve chuckles, shaking his head at his friend.

“Barnes doesn’t stink. What's he planning?” Sam asks, eyeing the way the brunet towel-dries his hair as he gathers his things.

Showering at the firehouse is something he likes to avoid at all costs. But smelling like sweat and fire before meeting you for another date? That’s ten times worse.

“Shut up, Sam.”

“He’s just jealous that no one wants to go out with him,” a female voice calls.

The men look to the doorway, smiles growing as they see Natasha standing there.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asks, eyeing the cupcake in her hand.

“I come bearing gifts. Some better than others.” She steps aside and you smile from where she was standing, a Tupperware of cupcakes in your hands.

“Hey, (Y/n)!” Steve calls. You wave weakly at him, smiling nervously as you walk over to the table where he sits.

“Hey, doll. What are you doing here?” Bucky asks, eyes devouring your figure.

“Hi. Nat said she was popping by so I thought I’d go with her. Save you the drive over to my place, too.” You look at Bucky as you say the last part, smiling timidly at the grin on his face.

He walks over to you and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips while his arm wraps around your waist.

You pull away when Sam whistles, giggling softly and shaking your head.

“I uh... I brought some cupcakes for you and the guys. Nat said I should leave them for her but I thought you guys might want some.”

Sam and Clint are diving for the container before you’ve even finished speaking, and you can’t help but laugh at their eagerness.

Bucky moves to stand behind you, his chin on your shoulder and his arms wrapped around your waist.

“You okay?” He asks softly. You nod, bringing your hands up to rest on his.

He knows how you get around his friends, nervous that they won’t accept you. When he introduced you to them for the first time you’d had to excuse yourself to take nearly a double dose of your pills.

“We can head out right away. I just need to grab my things.” You nod your understanding and he presses a soft kiss to your cheek before letting go of you.

“Well if you’re trying to win us over, it worked. These cupcakes are amazing, (Y/n).” You smile at Clint then over at Nat who gives you a knowing look.

The drive over was filled with you panicking and freaking out, hoping that they didn’t hate the cupcakes or think you were weird for making them.

“If Nat kept these to herself I think I’d die,” Sam says, interrupting your thoughts.

“These are the leftovers from our Halloween party. I’m not gonna eat them all and I don’t think it’s healthy for Nat and James to share two dozen cupcakes between the two of them.” Bucky pinches your butt and you yelp, swatting his hand away.

“I could’ve devoured those in ten minutes.” You nod, smacking his chest. “That’s what I’m worried about. There’s only room for one of us to have a heart problem in this relationship.”

Steve chokes on his cupcake and Nat cackles, shaking her head at you.

In the time that you and Bucky have been together, your confidence has grown so much, and for that Nat is very grateful.

“It’s okay to laugh,” you say, noticing the way Clint and Sam are staring at Bucky. The brunet shakes his head, hugging you tightly and chuckling into your hair.

“Always a comedian, huh?” You shrug, “one of us has to be funny.” Sam laughs then, Clint snorting while Steve coughs the cupcake out of his lungs.

“Alright. Enough of that. Let’s get going.”

You bid goodbye to everyone and walk with Bucky to his truck, smiling when he starts driving.

“So you’re my girl then?” He asks after a while, a smile on his face.

“I thought it was obvious after our first date,” you reply coyly, heart skipping a beat as you remember everything that took place.

Since then you’ve had your fair share of make-out sessions, each ending in him pulling away with the excuse of wanting to wait.

He chuckles softly, eyes on you for a long moment.

“Well, I just never know. Don’t want to assume anything.” You hum, pondering this for a moment.

“Have you been ‘playing the field’ then? Waiting ‘till we’re a real item to put yourself off the market?” You’re half-teasing, but he can hear the nervousness beneath your words.

“No way. With a sweet thing like you by my side, I’d never even dream of someone else, even if we weren’t official.” You feel reassured and relax into the seat.

“Where are we headed?” You ask after a moment, realizing you don’t know what his date plans are for tonight.

“Well, I figured since it’s the start of the weekend, we could have a delicious dinner of Italian bread, tomato spread, cheese, vegetables, and meat. Maybe top it off with some gourmet pureed milk with fresh vanilla, frozen to the perfect temperature.”

You blink at this then shake your head. “Pizza and ice cream?”

“Pizza and ice cream.”

~*~

You’re cuddled up next to him on his couch, head tucked on his shoulder and legs thrown over his lap. He’s got his metal hand on your knees and his flesh around your shoulders, holding you close to his body while the two of you watch the movie.

You’re tracing tiny patterns on the back of his metal hand, marvelling at how warm the material is beneath your touch.

Your fingers gradually make their way up until you’re drawing on his forearm.

He shifts slightly, hand resting on your hip and tugging you up until you’re seated on his lap. The position is nice, but not the one you want to be in, so you quickly shift to straddle his lap.

His eyes snap up to your face, beautiful blues capturing your gaze and looking straight into your soul.

“Hi,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Your fingers find their way to his hair, combing through and nails gently scraping against his scalp.

“Hi,” you reply, voice just as soft as his.

Something in the atmosphere changes at that moment, the two of you taking note of it at the same time. The tension grows swiftly between the two of you as you each glance at the other’s lips.

“It’s been over a month,” you whisper, lips just hardly brushing over his. He nods, hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulls you hard against him, forcing you to feel the outline of his hardening cock.

“It has. And you haven’t run away screaming yet so I must be doing something right.” You chuckle, lips pressing gentle kisses to his neck. “If tonight goes well, I don’t think I’ll ever run away.” He groans and his hips thrust upwards, making you gasp.

“A-are you sure?” He asks, genuinely concerned as he pulls back.

“I don’t wanna hurt you... and I don’t wanna get your heart going too fast.” You smile softly at him, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, James. I want you. And if my heart gets too high, we’ll put my pills on the nightstand. I just want you. Please.” He lets out a big breath and you sigh, pushing off of his lap and scooting away from him until you’re at the opposite end of the couch.

“Babydoll, I didn’t say no. I’m just worried.” You say nothing. Instead, you keep your arms crossed over your chest and stare at the TV screen.

“C’mon doll. You’re not gonna be mad at me for caring about your heart, are ya?” You look over at him finally and sigh.

“It’s my heart, James. And if I wanna risk my health to have sex with you, that's my choice.” He chuckles and shakes his head, crawling over to you. His hands are on your body then, flipping you so you’re laying with your back against the arm of the couch. He climbs between your legs and grinds his hips against yours.

“If your heart needs a break you tell me, okay? I don’t care if I’m about to cum, you stop me and you take your pills. Your health is more important than anything to me.” You nod, eyelids fluttering closed as he grinds against you again.

“Do you promise? I won’t do anything unless you promise to tell me if it’s too much.” Yo open your eyes when he stops moving, hands coming up to his shoulders.

“I promise I’ll tell you if I need to take a breather, okay?” He nods, happy with your answer, then dives down to press a searing kiss to your lips.

The passion behind it is like nothing you’ve felt before, and you’re startled for a moment before kissing him back just as forcefully.

He grinds his length against your core through your clothes and you moan softly against his lips.

His tongue darts into your mouth, getting re-acquainted with every inch while his flesh hand shoves your shirt up just enough for some skin-to-skin contact.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down harder against you and rocking your hips up to meet his.

“You gonna let me eat you out?” The way the words fall breathlessly from his kiss-swollen lips makes you moan, nodding desperately. He chuckles softly, mouth making a wet trail down your neck.

His fingers come to the neckline of your shirt and, with little effort, he tears the fabric straight down the middle.

The blatant display of strength has you wiggling your hips in a pathetic attempt to alleviate the growing tension between your thighs.

His fingers dart behind your back, unclasping your bra expertly and tossing it aside.

Lips wrap around your nipple, tongue darting out for a moment before he nips at it with his teeth.

Your back arches up into his touch and he uses that to his advantage, groping your other breast and pinching at your nipple.

He pulls away after a moment, eyes dark and focused on your face while his hand slides up to rest on your throat, fingers pressing against your pulse point. You roll your eyes but he seems determined to make sure you’re not overworking yourself.

“Just checking,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips quickly before climbing down your body. He tugs your pants down, panties coming with them, and lays on his stomach between your legs.

You bring one hand up to cover your face, heart skipping a beat as he places kiss after kiss on your inner thighs.

“Relax for me, doll. Lemme treat you right.” You nod, taking deep breaths to try and calm down while he brings your thighs over his shoulders.

His tongue darts out and licks you from entrance to clit, sending sparks shooting from your core to your toes.

He repeats the action a few times before focusing on your clit, tongue swirling and massaging over the bundle of nerves. Your thighs clench around his head and your heels dig into his back.

“F-fuck.” You’re surprised at how quickly he gets you to the edge, but you pay it no mind for now. Instead, you bask in the feeling of his mouth on your core and his beard scratching your thighs.

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him in while your hips buck up off the couch.

Mouth open in a silent scream of bliss, you convulse. Your thighs tremble atop his shoulders and your hands nearly rip his hair from his head, but he doesn't mind. No, if anything the pain spurs him on.

It isn’t until you give an intentional tug on his hair that he lets up, eyes finding yours as he slowly lowers your legs and sits back on his haunches.

His hands rub gently over your thighs while you catch your breath, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“You okay?” He asks, concern lacing his voice.

You nod, heart beating fast but not nearly fast enough to be concerning.

“Do you wanna take this to the bedroom?” He’s genuinely wondering if you want to continue and you find yourself smiling softly at him.

“Yeah, I really really do.” He nods, a smile spreading on his handsome face before he scoops you up in his arms and carries you into his bedroom.

He’s so gentle in his movements, carefully placing you on the bed, kissing every inch of skin he can reach.

He only stays with you for a moment before standing up and darting out of the room. You prop yourself up on your elbows in confusion, waiting nervously for him to come back.

When he does you feel your heart warm.

He’s got your pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“Just in case. So you don’t have to go far.” He sets them down on the bedside table then stands sheepishly beside the bed, cheeks pink. You crawl up onto your knees, grab the collar of his shirt, and yank him down onto the bed with you.

He collapses on top of you, catching himself at the very last second with his metal arm. Your lips find his in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue.

“Take off your clothes,” you whisper against his lips, fingers toying with his belt buckle.

He pulls back and yanks his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor in a quick flash. Before he can come back, you’re tracing your fingers gently over his chest, eyes finding the angry red scarring on his shoulder.

His eyes are focused on your face as you trace over the scars with feather-light fingers, a frown tugging on the corners of your mouth.

“What?” He asks, worried that you’re disgusted with him.

“Do they hurt?” Your voice is a hushed whisper, almost as if you’re afraid of breaking the atmosphere of the dark room.

“Sometimes. But I deal with it.” You shake your head and look up at him, tears glistening in your eyes. “You shouldn’t have to.” His arms snake around your waist and he pulls you tight against his chest.

“We all have things that we shouldn’t have to deal with but we deal with them. I’m no exception.” You lean your head against his shoulder and press soft kisses to the place where metal meets flesh.

His fingers dance along your spine for a few minutes before he pulls away. You tilt your head back to look at him just as he leans down. His lips find yours, moulding against them so gingerly and expressing things that words could never.

Your arms wrap around his neck as he slowly leads you to lay down on the bed. Your legs come up around his waist, squeezing his waist and holding him tightly.

“You gonna fuck me?” The words slip out before you can stop them, but the growl that rumbles in his chest is enough for you to feel no regrets.

He leans back on his haunches and nearly tears his belt in half in his haste to get it off. His jeans are pushed off next, boxers coming with them until he’s naked before you.

You relax on your back as he leans over you, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head. You hold his biceps as he spreads your thighs with his knees.

“M’gonna treat you so well, darlin’.”

You nod, mouth dropping open in a gasp as he slides his hot length through your dripping folds.

He repeats the action a few times, coating himself in your slick before positioning the tip right at your entrance.

His eyes are locked on yours, holding your gaze as he slowly pushes into you, fire alight in his eyes at the choked moan that leaves your lips.

You finally manage to tear your eyes from his, staring down at where he’s pushing inch upon inch of his thick cock into your tight cunt.

There’s a brief moment of panic when you wonder if you’ll be able to take him fully.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, lips brushing gently over your temple. “Fuck, you feel so good... so nice...” You tilt your head back, relaxing further into the mattress as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours.

Your breathing hard, eyes shut and hands holding his biceps tightly as you adjust to his impressive size, the intrusion so foreign after so long.

“You okay?” He asks gently, voice laced with concern. You nod, taking a moment to actually check in with yourself. Your heart is beating fairly quickly, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“I-I’m okay. Can you...?” You trail off but he gets the idea, pulling his hips back only to press them forward. You moan softly, nails biting into the sensitive skin of his right arm and he hisses at the pain, snapping his hips forward harder and finding a steady pace.

Your head digs into the mattress, pleasure bubbling up and filling up the space inside of you with sparks as his cock hits the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

“Fuck... right there... fuck...”

He assaults your neck with rough kisses, his beard scratching at the sensitive skin and adding to the intense feeling of euphoria like gasoline to a fire.

Each thrust of his hips pushes you closer and closer to the edge, and your heart picks up speed as your climax approaches.

His metal hand pushes its way between your bodies down to where the two of you are connected, immediately working your clit and successfully pushing you into your climax.

Your entire body ignites, every nerve on fire and every cell up in flames. It rolls over you in wave after wave, drowning the rest of your senses so that all you can focus on is the feeling of him between your legs, pushing you headfirst into the most intense orgasm of your life.

The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock brings him rushing to his own release, hips faltering as he tries to maintain his composure and fuck the two of you through your highs.

He cums in hot bursts, painting your walls white and filling you with his seed. Your chest heaves, breaths coming in hard and fast in both an attempt to get oxygen and slow your heart, and also come down from your high.

Bucky pushes himself off of you upon hearing your laboured breaths and after one glance at your heaving chest, he’s pulling out of you and reaching over to grab your pills and the glass of water.

He balances them both in one hand and helps you sit up carefully, handing you the small bottle and then the glass of water.

You take your pills as quickly as you can, avoiding his eyes until your heart stops racing, and even then you don’t look up.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispers, taking the objects from your hands and setting them back on the table.

You slowly do, eyes glossy with tears as you bring your knees up and hug them to your chest.

“What’s wrong? Why the tears?” You shake your head, closing your eyes tightly and taking a few deep breaths.

“I ruin everything,” you whisper softly, pressing your forehead to your knees as tears drip down your cheeks.

He’s quiet for a long while, trying to figure out what’s making you say something so ridiculous.

“What... why would you say that, sweet girl?” You shake your head, sniffling.

“My stupid heart ruins everything. We were having a moment and I-” “Hey, you listen to me.” The urgency in his voice has you looking up instinctively, but you find nothing but softness on his face.

“Your heart is anything but stupid, okay? Your heart is amazing and it makes you who you are. I couldn’t care less if you have to stop and take your pills every time we have sex. If you wanna have sex again. I mean, I enjoyed it and I hope you did too, but if you didn’t that's okay, but maybe let me try again so that you can enjoy it more. But if you don’t want to that's totally fine, I don’t want you to feel pressured into having sex with me again if you don’t want to.” He stops himself and shakes his head, sighing heavily.

“What I'm trying to say, is that you could quite literally stop me as I'm about to blow my fricken load and take your pills and I wouldn’t be upset. We could be fighting, and if you need to take your pills it’s all behind us. Just because your heart needs a little help doesn’t make it any less important, okay? I will always put your health above anything.” You let out a shaky breath then nod, new tears welling up in your eyes at his words.

“Oh no. No more tears, doll.” You shake your head, a teary smile spreading on your face.

“You’re the nicest man I’ve ever met. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.” He’s got you wrapped in his arms in an instant, metal arm tight around your back and flesh hand holding the back of your head gingerly.

“Oh, darlin’...” His own eyes prickle with tears as he presses his lips to your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, pulling back after a moment and giggling softly.

“Don’t be. This is how I want things to be. I want us to be able to cry and laugh right after sex. It’s how we should be. And I’m so happy that you’re comfortable with me.”

You sniffle and nod, fingers toying with his metal hand.

“How about we go take a shower then get nice and cuddled up in bed? I’ve been meaning to catch up on some of that show you introduced me to.” Your eyebrows raise and he chuckles.

“How’s that sound, pretty girl?” You nod, a small smile on your face. “It sounds perfect.”

#fireman au #firefighter au #fireman!bucky #fireman!bucky x reader #bucky x reader fireman au #bucky x reader #bucky/you #bucky/reader #bucky/reader smut #bucky/reader au #bucky x reader fluff #Bucky Barnes x reader fireman au #Bucky Barnes x reader firefighter au #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader fluff #Bucky Barnes x reader smut

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capsgrl · 3 years

Text

Personal Angel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 7,903

Summary: Bucky Barnes joins the Avengers and finds himself drawn to the teams healer, but she’s keeping a secret. Will she finally heal him of the pain he experienced at the hands of Hydra.

Warnings: angst, blood, mentions of injury (only light detail), a couple of bad language words, let me know if I should add more.

Authors note: Please find 7k+ words of Bucky needing a hug and being the soft soldier he is. Reader is a healer and younger sibling of the Maximoff twins. Set after the events of Civil War except everyone loves each other and lives in harmony, nobody goes on the run. *breaks indicate change of POV*

Also posted on ao3

Growing up in Sokovia in a time of war was no picnic, but no matter how hard things were at times your parents gave you and your older twin siblings, Wanda and Pietro, the happiest childhood they possibly could. Until they couldn’t. Until tragedy struck and they were taken away from their three young children by a man named Stark.

Being the youngest, you looked up to the twins to guide you. They were your only family now and you’d follow them anywhere. So you did, you followed straight to Hydra and experiments in a science lab. There was never any doubt in your mind, wherever your family were, that’s where you belonged.

You were given the power of healing. With the help of the mind stone you were able to heal wounds and take the pain away from the injured. The first time you demonstrated your new powers to your handlers, the whole lab rejoiced. With your help, they now had an infallible army. The whole thing didn’t sit right with you, but your siblings assured you that it was a means to an end. Stark needed to pay for what he had taken from you.

It took a lot of practice for you to hone your skills. At first you couldn’t control them, and any time you touched someone, even accidentally, you would heal. The trouble with this was in order to heal them you absorbed their pain. It was only for a brief moment, but it was concentrated like a short, sharp burst. It was intense and it drained you, but eventually you learned to control it, and only use it when you chose to.

When Wanda and Pietro took off to begin their revenge plan they took you with them, but kept you hidden, kept you safe. It was only when they realised the true nature of the man, no robot, they were working for and switched to the side of good that they brought you out of the shadows and finally introduced you to the avengers.

You went to Sokovia, helping to evacuate people and heal the injured. It was exhausting but these people were innocent and they deserved your help. You were so busy you didn’t have time for fear, but when Wanda stepped onto the bus, the look on her face scared you more than anything ever had. Something bad had happened it was clear as day. Your fears were confirmed when you looked behind her to Clint, a lifeless Pietro in his arms.

Your world had suddenly got a little smaller, three had become two and it hurt. But you knew that whatever you were feeling was nothing compared to the pain of your sister, losing her twin, a connection that you could never understand now severed, and you did the only thing you could do in that moment. You threw your arms around her and absorbed it all, the pain, the grief, everything. It was the last thing you remembered before collapsing to the floor.

The next time you opened your eyes you were staring at the ceiling of the Avengers compound. Your new home. Wanda had assured you that it was the best place for you both and you couldn’t deny you felt more peaceful here than anywhere you’d been since you lost your parents.

You begged your sister not to reveal how your powers worked. Steve Rogers was a good man and wouldn’t want you to put yourself out for the team, but you wanted to help. She reluctantly agreed, on the condition that you promised not to reveal that you could heal emotional pain too. It always worried her that people would come to depend on you for their emotional needs, and the kind of affect it could have on your mental state. You readily agreed, and became an official Avenger, their resident healer, but your big sister also insisted you join her training with Steve and Natasha so you could learn to defend yourself.

The team continued to grow, until one day Steve introduced you to his latest recruit and best friend, Bucky Barnes. On the outside the man looked just like he did in the old photos you’d seen, just with slightly longer hair and a few more creases around his eyes. It was looking into his eyes that really gave away the changes. You could see a lifetime of pain and suffering in them, so much so that you knew no matter how similar he looked on the outside, he couldn’t be that same man on the inside.

You couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him to carry that pain around with him, and that thought alone spurred you on to do something that you’d not done since the day you comforted your grieving sister in Sokovia. You reached out your hand to shake his, and took just a little bit of that pain away.

B—-B

When Steve had asked him to come and stay with the team at the Avengers compound, Bucky was reluctant. After everything that happened in Berlin and with Tony he felt guilty. The Stark man had assured Steve that he understood that what happened to his parents was an act of The Winter Soldier and not Bucky, but he wasn’t ready to forgive yet. He assured Steve that it was fine for the new team to take residence in the compound, and headed back to the home he shared with Pepper, vowing to return when the time was right.

Bucky was nervous when his pal had taken him to the common room to properly introduce him to the team members he’d fought beside and against at the airport, but they all seemed really understanding. Going round shaking hands with everyone, his eyes finally landed on you. Steve introduced you as Y/N, and as you took his hand and spoke a soft ‘nice to meet you’ he felt overcome with a warm, calm feeling. A feeling he’d not felt since he was a young man before the war. It was almost like peace. Being around you made him feel lighter.

He came to learn that you were a healer, coming down to the med bag whenever Dr Cho needed your help. He found he wasn’t surprised by that at all, there seemed to be an air of calm about you that was soothing, at least to him anyway, not that he would tell anyone that. He’d barely spoken to you since he’d arrived at the compound. That first time he met you, you excused yourself quickly after shaking his hand and scurried off to your room. He couldn’t really blame you, you were probably afraid of him and wouldn’t be the first person to feel that way. There was something about you that made Bucky want to get to know you, but he was still too fragile to try to forge new relationships, relying heavily on Steve when he needed company, but spending the majority of his time alone.

The first time Bucky saw you use your powers, he was mesmerised. Steve always insisted that the team headed straight to med bat after missions for a once over even if they felt fine, which is where he found himself after returning from a trickier than expected mission with Steve and Natasha. The sound of the door behind him opening caught his attention.

“Hey Doc, what have we got today?”, you asked as you entered the room.

“Well, Miss Romanoff here took a bullet to the arm, no major damage has been done, and the bullet has been removed, but we could use some healing here if you don’t mind,” the Doctor said barely looking up from her clipboard.

“Of course. Hold still Nat,” you warned as you gently laid your hands over the injury site causing the Black Widow to wince. When you moved your hand away a moment later, Natasha’s arm looked as good as new. It was like witnessing a miracle.

The man was shaken out of his thoughts by your voice. “Want me to fix up that shiner you got there?”, you asked, pointing to the eye that was currently swollen to the point that it wasn’t fully open.

“Uh, no it’s OK, thank you though,” he uttered quietly “the serum will have this healed up in no time.” It was the truth, the serum healed him quickly just as it did Steve, although the throbbing in his head almost made him reconsider. But someone like him didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of such magic, he felt that he deserved to feel ever ounce of pain, no matter how many times his best friend tried to assure him that he didn’t.

“Well you know where I am if you change your mind.” She offered, reaching out to gently touch his forearm, and once again he felt a feeling of tranquility wash over him. It was like the warmth was spreading from the point that their skin touched, all through his body. He couldn’t stop staring at her hand, that is until she pulled it away and all but sprinted out of the door.

B—-B

You jolted awake, taking a minute to examine your surroundings before realising you were definitely still in your bed, in your room at the compound. It was the middle of the night and the sound of someone screaming had woken you. You strained to listen, and you couldn’t be sure but the screams sounded awfully like they were coming from Bucky. It was probably a nightmare you reasoned, but you decided to go check anyway, just in case. You crept down the hallway towards the sound which was indeed coming from the room belonging to the man in question. Deciding you needed to see with your own eyes that it was just a dream and not something more sinister, you gently pushed the door open and peeked in.

The sight you were met with almost broke your heart. Bucky was thrashing around, tangled in the sheets, and even in the dark you could see the wrinkled set of his brow. The dim light creeping in from the hallway illuminated the sweat covering his face, neck and the part of his chest that was peeking out from the covers. It was amazing that he hadn’t woken himself up yet you mused, but another loud wail shook you out of your thoughts. Spurring into action before you could second guess yourself, you ran lightly to his side and reached out to brush the hair from his damp forehead, and resting your fingers there as gently as you could, you began to absorb the pain.

He visibly started to calm, the sounds stopping almost immediately and limbs slowly relaxing. You were starting to feel weak and knew that you needed to leave soon before you passed out on the floor next to his bed. You weren’t sure how you’d explain that away in the morning. When you felt like you couldn’t take anymore you pulled your hand back and stumbled back to your room, flopping onto your bed and crying yourself to sleep. The relaxed look on his face the next morning only cemented your plan in your mind. You would do everything you could to ease the nightmares for this tortured solider. A brief moment of pain was nothing compared to a whole night of reliving the worst moments of your life.

After the first few nights of creeping into the former assassins room you had managed to detect some sort of a pattern, and adjusted your sleep schedule accordingly. You didn’t dare tell Wanda what you were doing. You knew she didn’t approve of you using your power to emotionally heal people, further supported by the lecture you got when you’d tried to take her grief after Pietro died. The red head would be absolutely furious with you.

You were exhausted from the late night healing sessions and were worried people would start noticing the bags under your eyes. You’d not done this much emotional healing before but it was worth it to see how much more relaxed Bucky was looking, and you weren’t the only one to notice, judging by the conversation you were listening in on in the kitchen that morning.

“Hey bud, you’re looking really well rested lately, have the nightmares finally stopped?”, Steve asked as he grabbed a water from the fridge, cooling off from his morning work out.

“No, I don’t think they ever will to be honest. But they feel different now, duller if that makes sense? I dunno, I can’t explain it, but they don’t seem to wake me up anymore. I’ve not slept this well in decades.” He chuckled in response, following the man out of the kitchen.

You hid your smile behind your coffee cup before taking a sip and turning back to your breakfast but you could feel your sister's eyes on you, staring a hole into the side of your head.

“Can I help you?”, you asked with exaggerated sweetness like only an annoying little sister could. You didn’t dare look at her though.

“I know what you’re doing.” She stated matter of factly.

“Hey, we had a deal, no looking in my mind without my permission”, you hissed at her angrily.

“I didn’t. I’ve seen you go into his room at night. You’re either healing his pain or fucking him,” she said with a raised eyebrow before smirking and adding “although both can have the same relaxing affect”.

“I am not fucking him and please keep your voice down”, you whisper shouted. You thought you were being careful and suddenly panicked that someone else might have seen.

“Why Y/N? You don’t even really know him so why are you risking your own health to fix his?”, your sister asked gently. She didn’t seem angry, just confused.

“I don’t know. I just couldn’t bear the amount of pain I saw in his eyes the first time we met. Everything that happened to him, a lifetime of pain. I wanted to take it away, he doesn’t deserve it. And I know it’s exhausting and it’s not good for me blah blah blah but I can’t help it. I can’t stop myself.” You finished your rant by slumping back in your chair in defeat, your eyes staring at the ceiling.

Of all things you expected Wanda to say, or possibly even yell, the last thing you expected was a quiet “Does he know?”. You shook your head and she sat silent for a moment, contemplating before adding “maybe you should get to know him. You know, make friends. You might find you can help him without using your powers.”

B—-B

Bucky sat on the quinjet waiting to take off for the next mission and couldn’t help feeling nervous. He’d been sleeping so well at the compound lately, but this mission would mean staying away for a few days and he was worried about his nightmares coming back when he was possibly sharing a room with his team mates. The only thing giving him comfort this time was that Y/N was joining the team. Steve had asked you to accompany them as the mission was expected to last a few days, and Bucky couldn't stop himself from smiling when he heard the news. Despite the fact that he’d hardly got to know you yet, your presence relaxed him more than he could explain.

He must have been staring at you this whole time because the sounds of Steve clearing his throat broke him out of his reverie. Bucky turned to look at his friend and was met with a knowing look. “Go talk to her,” he encouraged. But he wasn’t feeling brave enough for that, and he didn’t even know what he’d say, so he just rolled his eyes and got to work sharpening his knives.

The mission had been a hard one, they were going to infiltrate three suspected Hydra bases and take them down, and it affected Bucky much more than he would care to admit. It didn’t help that he'd slept so poorly in the little basic rooms they’d stopped at in between. He thought logically that he’d sleep better sharing a room with his best friend, having the comfort of another person there, not being alone, but he didn’t. The nightmares plagued him again, worse than they’d been in a long time.

He was agitated, he just wanted to get back to the only place he seemed to be able to sleep, and maybe sleep for a week. He sat leaning forward, elbows leaning on his knees, leg bouncing up and down, and was surprised when you sat down next to him.

“Wanna talk about it?”, you whispered. His head whipped around to you so fast he's surprised his neck didn’t break. You must have noticed the stunned look on his face, because you quickly added “sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I just uh, I figured that this particular mission might have been harder for you than usual. I’m sorry again.” You looked away then, and Bucky was worried you were going to leave. He liked it when you were nearby, so he blurted out the first thing that came into his head “It was”. You looked at him again, this time with sadder eyes. It felt like you were reading his mind, but he was sure you didn’t have that power. “I’m not ready to talk about it, I’m sorry, but thank you. For asking I mean. I appreciate it.”

“I understand. But if you do ever want to talk, about anything, I’m a great listener.” You reached out then, placing your hand in his bouncing knee to stop the movement and he felt it, that familiar warmth spreading from where you touched him, through his whole body, relaxing him. He couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his cheeks, it was like it was involuntary. He turned to look at you then, and you were smiling right back, a soft warm smile. You were so close that he could smell your shampoo and it was intoxicating. Your eyes fluttered slightly and he looked down at your lips. He didn’t even know you but he was suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss you.

Unfortunately, the moment was broken by a voice that never failed to irritate the super soldier. “Quit making eyes with Y/N man. We need you up front.”

“Coming Wilson,” he sighed as he turned and watched you all but run away. You slept the rest of the flight home.

Once the jet landed, Bucky went straight to his room to shower and nap. Feeling much more human now, he ventured to the kitchen for food where he once again saw Sam.

“So you and Y/N huh,” he smirked, folding his arms and leaning back against the counter next to where Bucky was working on a sandwich. “Sorry if I interrupted a moment there. She’s a sweet girl though, I think she’d be good for you.”

Despite his usual irritation with the man, Bucky found that he was actually a really good person to talk to, his experience with social work meaning he often had useful advice. “I like her,” he admitted. “I can’t explain it, I just feel better when she’s around, but I don’t know how to talk to her. One minute I think she wants to talk and then she runs away from me. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Well, you are an intense dude”, Sam laughed. “Seriously though, don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Just talk to her, keep it light, ‘hey how’s it going”, you know that sort of thing.”

Bucky was about to respond when he heard someone call his name. He turned to see Wanda in the doorway, and he could feel his cheeks heat up at being caught talking about her sister. “We need to talk” she stated, in a tone that caused Sam to grab his food and scarper with a quiet good luck on his way out.

“Wanda, I’m not sure how much you heard but…” Bucky started, but was quickly cut off by the red heads raised hand.

“There’s something you don’t know about Y/N. Healing physical injuries isn’t the only power she has, she can also take away emotional pain.”

Bucky was stunned and couldn’t seem to form a more comprehensive response than “wow, I didn’t know”.

“Nobody knows except me, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. When she takes the emotional pain away, she absorbs it, and I don’t want her to become an emotional crutch for anyone, I’m afraid that it will affect her mental state negatively. I know the team would never intentionally hurt her, but I can’t risk it. You understand right?”

“Of course, I won’t tell a soul. But why are you telling me this, aren’t you worried I’ll do just that?” Bucky questioned.

“You already are, you just don’t know it”, Wanda quipped. “She’s been healing you. At night when she hears you having nightmares she comes in and takes the pain away. All it takes is a touch, and I suspect she might be doing it at other times too, although I couldn’t be sure”.

Suddenly everything makes sense now. Why he always felt better in your presence. He thought you were just a tactile person but all those gentle touches that warmed his heart were times you were healing him. You were the reason he was sleeping so soundly at night.

“I swear I had no idea Wanda, you gotta believe me”, he pleaded.

“I do, I think. But I just wanted you to know, because everytime she takes your pain away, she feels it. Only for a moment, but the worse the pain for the person, the more intensely she feels it. It’s really draining her, and I don’t want to begrudge you the comfort but she’s my sister and I’m worried”.

Bucky felt absolutely awful. He’d never want to inflict his pain on anyone else, even for a moment, especially not someone as good as you. Someone who helped him so selflessly. It was his cross to bear, he made his bed and he intended to lie in it. Cold and alone. “I won’t let her do it anymore”, he swore to Wanda before leaving her alone in the kitchen with his sandwich. He’d suddenly lost his appetite.

B—-B

Things had been weird since your first mission, you could feel it. Bucky had been avoiding you like the plague, and you felt terrible. You’d wanted to get to know him, to try to be friends like Wanda suggested, but you’d gone about it the wrong way and clearly upset him. He’d even taken to locking his bedroom door at night preventing you from soothing his nightmares. You were sure he wasn’t sleeping again, but you’d not seen so much as a glimpse of him in weeks so couldn’t verify that.

Why would he lock his door at night? The bedrooms were in a secure floor so there was no danger of intruders and FRIDAY would alert you all anyway. Then it struck you. Did he know? Had he found out that you’d be coming in his room at night to heal him? There’s no way he could know surely, unless someone had told him. Just then Wanda came into the common room and plopped herself down on the couch next to you, and you remembered how protective your big sister could be.

“I’ve not seen Bucky around recently, have you spoken to him at all?”, you asked nonchalantly. “Nope,” was all the answer you got.

“You sure about that?”, you pressed, giving her your best sister stare down. The look on her face told you everything you needed to know. “Wanda! How could you? Jesus he must be so mad at me, no wonder he’s not speaking to me”, you shouted incredulously.

“I’m sorry, but I was worried about what you were doing to yourself. You're my baby sister and I love you. If you wouldn’t listen to me I thought you might listen to him.”

“We’ll he’s not even speaking to me now so that was a big fail sis, well done,” you seethed. At that moment Steve and Sam walked in.

“Oh I wondered why tin man’s been so mopey lately, lovers quarrel?” Sam questioned teasingly. Steve elbowed him in the side lightly and pointed down the corridor. “He’s in the gym,” the soldier added by way of explanation.

As soon as you reached the gym you could see how tired Bucky looked through the glass door. His eyes were dark and heavy, his eyebrows turned down and his hits weren’t landing on the punch bag with their usual impact.

You stepped in quietly, then thought better of sneaking up on a super soldier and cleared your throat. “Hi Bucky, can we talk a minute?”

The man looked up and then tiredly gestured to the bench at the side of the room where his bag was sat. He sat down and started unwrapping his flesh hand. He was obviously waiting for you to speak first so you took a deep breath to steady yourself and started.

“Firstly, I just wanted to apologise. I know that Wanda told you about me, uh, you know…” you trailed off. God this was embarrassing. “I’m so sorry. I realise that was a total violation of your privacy and also really creepy, but I promise you it was coming from a good place. I was trying to help not, you know, be a peeping Tom or anything.” You blushed at that, remembered the times you’d seen his beautiful chiselled pecs, and those gorgeous biceps and powerful thighs whenever they poked out of the covers. He didn’t need to know about those thoughts.

He chuckled at that and you felt yourself relax slightly. “Trust me, that is one of the least creepy things that’s happened to me in my 100 odd years, doll. Apology accepted”. You couldn’t help but chuckle back.

“Well thank you. I assume that's the reason you’ve been avoiding me?” You questioned nervously. When he shook his head your heart sank. Did you do something else? Then it hit you. “Of course me healing you without your consent is equally as weird, so again I apologise. I just wanted to help but I can see that I probably went about it all wrong.”

Bucky shook his head vehemently then. “God no, you think I’m mad at you? How could I be mad at you, you’ve got a heart of gold and you have helped me so much since Steve brought me here. Honestly, I don’t think I’d have felt so comfortable here if it hadn’t been for you. I could never understand why I always felt so at peace around a near stranger, but as soon as Wanda explained your powers to me it all made sense. But I would never want to hurt you Y/N, and the thought of you taking on just a fraction of this pain made me feel awful. You don’t deserve that and me avoiding you was just me trying to protect you.”

You were relieved at his confession. He wasn’t mad. You sighed and relaxed fully leaning back against the wall. “I promise you it’s not that bad. Most of the time. It only lasts for a moment, and sometimes if it’s only mild pain I barely even feel it. Like when I heeled Steve’s bruised ribs on that overnight because he couldn’t sleep. I hardly even flinched,” you said bumping your shoulder with his. “But if you don’t want me to do it anymore, I promise I won’t.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate what you’ve been doing for me. More than you could know. But I think it’s about time I tried to overcome these demons on my own.” You nodded at that. He had a point, you had become a crutch without him even knowing. You got up to leave when he grabbed your hand to stop you. “If I’m doing this, I think I’m gonna need a friend. What do ya say?” He asked, looking up at you with a hopeful grin.

“I’d love to be your friend”, you replied. If you couldn’t help him with your power, offering moral support would be the next best thing.

B—-B

The months after your talk in the gym had been the best in Bucky’s long life. You’d really started to relax around him, the conversations came easy, both when you were all with the team and if you were hanging out alone.

It was the times that you hung out alone he enjoyed the most. He could really be himself then, without worrying about knowing looks from Steve and Sam, or worrying whether Wanda was going to try and read his mind to find out his intentions with her sister. He wasn’t even sure he was ready to confront those feelings himself. He told himself that he just wanted to get to know you, but deep in his heart he knew that he was falling for you.

You laughed together, he told you stories about life in the 30s and 40s, his family, a young pre-serum Steve, and anything else you wanted to know. In turn you taught him all about modern technology, helped him pick out some more modern day clothes and even took him to get a haircut. He couldn’t help but notice the way you stared for a little too long when he came out with his hair cropped shorter, before nodding that you liked it.

The nightmares were back and almost as aggressive as before, but when he walked out into the kitchen one night to make himself a tea and found Y/N sat there waiting for him with one already made, he found himself opening up to you. He’d never tell you all the gory details that plagued his mind at night, but even revealing just a little bit of those late night visions and the feelings that followed, made him feel better. You never judged, just listened, and not even the thought that Sam was right about how he should talk about his feelings more could diminish that safe feeling he had with you.

You’d even started touching him again, completely innocent touches like leaning your head on his shoulder, linking your hand through his arm when you were walking around town, but still sending a warmth through his body like you were healing him. And maybe you were healing him, he thought, just without using your powers.

Steve and Sam had been bugging him for a while to ask you out properly, but for some reason today when they started their usual post run chorus of ‘when are you going to ask Y/N out’, he was feeling bold and said he’d do it today.

So that’s where he found himself an hour later, after showering, changing and pacing circles in his room to try and gain back some of the quickly waning courage. He knocked on your door and waited nervously. You answered and invited him in, and he mentally chastised himself for not bringing flowers. He was nervous, but decided to just suck it up and power through.

“Hey doll, uh I just wanted to ask, see I’ve enjoyed hanging out with you these last few months, more than I’ve enjoyed anything in a really long time.” He was messing this up he knew it, and you were just stood there staring at him and not speaking. The young Bucky from the 40s who was charming and good with the ladies mentally kicked him to get on with it. He could do this. So he continued. “So I just wanted to know if you wanted to go to dinner with some time.” He finally let out a breath and tried to relax whilst he waited for your response.

“Like a date?”, you asked and you looked shocked and he panicked, thinking he’d got all the signs wrong and wondering how he could back track when you smiled and said “I’d love to go out for dinner with you, definitely as a date. I honestly thought you’d never ask, like ever.”

Bucky finally relaxed at that. You said yes, you wanted to go out with him. He didn’t think he could be any happier right now. “Good. Great! I’m going on a mission with Steve and Sam tomorrow so how’s Friday night?”

“Perfect”, you smiled and he honestly didn’t think he’d ever get over seeing you smile at him like that. He was head over heels.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d agree, so I didn’t actually come up with a plan. I’ll text you OK?” He assured you as he backed out the door, wanting to keep looking at you as long as he could. When he got through the doorway he stopped, still smiling like an idiot. You walked up to the door, stood up on your tip toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I can’t wait Buck”, you whispered as you stepped back and shut the door.

B—-B

The short 2 day mission turned out to be the next big bad, and the three men had ended up having to radio in for back up. It was going to be all hands on deck, which meant that when the second quinjet arrived you were on it. Wanda had asked you to stay behind but you wanted to help, and especially wanted to be there in case a certain someone needed you.

You were out in the field helping get innocent bystanders to safety and healing up the Avengers so they could get back into the fight. You could feel it taking a toll on your body, your steps becoming more slow and sluggish as time went on. After getting a young family to safety you turned to head back to the next victim needing help when you saw what appeared to be an axe flung in your direction. You froze, your brain tired from all the healing you’d done and not thinking fast enough.

What you weren’t prepared for was the shove you felt at your side, sending you toppling to the ground. You scrambled up to see the sight of Bucky, laying on the ground at your feet, the weapon in question lodged firmly in his stomach.

“No no no, Bucky what did you do?!” You screamed as you dropped to your knees to assess the damage. Steve and Wanda were at your side in an instant, the rest of the team continuing the fight around you. You felt panicked, terrified of the sight in front of you as the blood flowed out of the wound and over your hands at a steady rate. You knew exactly what you needed to do, and you needed to do it now before it was too late and the blood loss became too much.

Taking in a big breath you steeled yourself and started giving out orders. “Steve, I need you to remove the axe, and Wanda, you need to put up a shield to protect us from further damage while I heal him. Ok, on three guys, one…” but before you could count any further the man in question croaked out your name. “Doll please, it’s OK, just let me go. I’m old, it’s my time.”

The fact that he would even suggest such a thing made you livid. “Bucky, how could you say that? You saved me, so now I’m going to save you and we don’t have time to argue this,” you shouted as your knees started to become damp with his blood.

“C’mon Buck, let her do it. She does it all the time, no big deal right,” Steve encouraged, clapping you in the shoulder whilst you nodded your head in agreement.

Wanda rested her hand gently on your shoulder then, an action that you were sure was meant to soothe, but only irritated you as you knew exactly what was coming. “You’ve never healed a wound this severe before, you don’t know what it will do to you.”

At Steve’s confused look your sister began a quick explanation on how your powers truly worked but you drowned the conversation out as Bucky weakly reached a hand up to your face. “Please Y/N,” he begged, “I don’t wanna hurt you, I love you. Just let me go.” But hearing those three words, from the man you loved, a man who was fading in front of you, just further cemented your decision in your mind. Looking at the Captain beside you, you whispered “Steve, please” and you knew you had him. He nodded grimly and on the count of three he lifted the axe, and you replaced it with your hands.

As you placed your hands over the oozing wound, you tried to concentrate everything you had into the prone man’s body, every ounce of love and every morsel of strength you had left in you. You sent a silent prayer up to heaven that you’d get to tell this man you loved him too and share your first kiss. You could feel your body weakening, and were vaguely aware that the steady flow over your hands seemed to be slowing, but you couldn’t hold it much longer, and you hoped it would be enough. Suddenly the overwhelming urge to sleep invaded your senses and you collapsed right there on top of Bucky’s chest.

You awoke to the sound of beeping. Your eyelids felt heavy and it took a few moments for you to blink them fully open, but when you finally did you were greeted by the sight of your older sister.

“Oh god, I’m so relieved you’re awake!” She cried brushing your hair off of your forehead in a motherly gesture.

“Bucky,” you managed to croak out through your dry mouth. Wanda handed you a sip of water before answering. “He’s fine. He’s currently receiving blood to replace what he lost but you did it, you healed him. Dr Cho called it a miracle.”

“Oh thank god,” you sighed “and the battle?”

“We won,” your sister informed you “and you young lady are going to be fine. The doc ran extensive tests and seems to think that you just kind of passed out from the pain, and then went into a deep sleep from the shock. But it could have been much worse, you need to be more careful.”

“In this line of work?” You joked, causing her to roll eyes. “When can I get out of here?”

At that moment, your Captain stepped into the room. “The doctor will be in to give you a once over in a moment, then you’re good to go,” he informed you. “I was just wondering if I could have a moment?” He asked tentatively. Your sister excused herself and left the two of you alone.

Steve sat down in the now empty chair. He looked tired, and you guessed he must have been sat by Bucky’s side for a good while. You were glad he had someone there.

“I wanted to thank you Y/N,” he started. “If you hadn’t been there, I would have lost my best friend all over again. The fact that it caused you so much hurt to heal him, well that is something I can never repay. I feel terrible for letting you do it, it was selfish of me.” He looked so guilty that it made you sad.

“I was going to do it anyway Steve, whether you agreed or not. There’s just no way I could have sat there and let him go.” You could feel the tears welling in your eyes at the thought of things ending before they’d even really started.

You knew Steve understood, after everything he’d been through to get his friend back he knew exactly how you felt. “Well I’m extremely grateful for that stubborn streak of yours, but now that Wanda’s filled me in on all the facts surrounding your gift we’re going to have to have a conversation about some new work protocols,” the man scolded, his captain's voice firmly back. Clearly reading the sense of dread in your face he added, “but now we have more pressing matters. There’s someone down the hall that’s desperate to see you.”

B—-B

Bucky was fed up. He hated hospitals, he’d spent far too many years of his life being poked and prodded and he was done with it. He’d laid in this bed for 2 days waiting for you to wake up and he couldn’t help but replay the last time he saw you in his mind.

He was laying on the ground, a pain searing through his stomach, when suddenly he felt a familiar warmth. A warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time, spreading from the wound throughout his whole body. This time though, the feeling was different, it was more somehow. He’d never really believed in god, or any kind of divine being, not after everything that happened to him in the past. But that feeling, he could only imagine it was how it would feel to be touched by an angel. Suddenly the pain was gone but he could still feel a heavy weight on his chest. He looked down to discover the weight he was feeling was you.

Bile had risen in this throat when he realised what had happened. Y/N had healed him, hurting yourself in the process. Wanda was shaking you, trying to wake you. Steve was checking your pulse, assuring the redhead that it was still very much there. He lifted you off Bucky’s chest, and carried you quickly to the quinjet. Wanda helped the injured soldier up and to the jet too, where he sat next to you holding your hand until Steve landed back at the compound, the medics ready to greet you all straight from the ramp.

Bucky hadn’t seen you since they’d whisked you away for testing. They’d taken him to a separate room where he was given blood to make up for what he’d lost on the battlefield. He kept asking if you were OK and if he could see you, but was told to stay put until they knew more.

As he laid there with his eyes closed his thoughts were interrupted by footsteps, followed by Steve’s voice. “You have a visitor,” he announced simply.

Bucky sighed, not feeling up for visitors at the moment. “If it’s bird brain again tell him I’m dead” he grouched. Not hearing the comeback he was expecting from his sharp tongued friend, he opened his eyes, and almost pinched himself to check if he was dreaming.

“You’re awake, oh god doll are you ok?” He asked, trying to get out of bed and go to you, forgetting about his IV and the other wires connected to him.

“Stay put,” you said rushing towards him, gently pushing him back into the bed. “I’m fine, just had a nice long sleep.”

“You scared the shit outta me. I told you to let me go. My life is not worth more than yours.” Suddenly aware that his fear could be mistaken for anger he softened his voice. “But thank you. I owe you everything.”

You just smiled back at him that beautiful smile he worried he’d never see again. “Actually, you just owe me a date.” You reached out your hand to hold his and he couldn’t resist placing a kiss in your knuckles. “As soon as I’m all fixed up and out of here, I’m all yours.” And he was. He knew now that he would only ever be yours for as long as you’d have him.

You stayed and chatted with him a while longer, never letting go of his hand, but after a while he could see your eyes falling. “Go home doll, you need your rest,” he tried to encourage.

“I am tired but I just don’t want to go,” you pouted.

“Well, you could hop up here and take a nap next to me. It’s a small bed though we might have to snuggle real close”, he suggested with his most charming smile.

“Sounds perfect,” you smiled sleepily. You took off your shoes and climbed up in the bed next to him. He lifted the blanket for you to slip under, and you immediately rested your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around to hold you close. He thought you’d fallen asleep, and he laid there watching your steady breaths until you spoke again. “When I was healing you, all I could think about was the fact that I’d never told you I loved you and I’d never kissed you, and I knew that if I never saw you again it would be my biggest regret. So I’m telling you now. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered before leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss that he’d been dying for since he met you. Your lips were so soft, and your body felt so warm and so right pressed against him. The kiss started out slow and loving, Bucky pouring all the love he felt into it, but when you slipped your hand up to gently tug on the hair at the nape of his neck and deepening the kiss, things got a bit more heated. The sound you made when your tongues finally met was almost enough to make him lose control and he slid his hand down from where it was stroking your lower back over your hip and down to your thigh. He was just about to pull your leg up and over his so he could show you just how much you were affecting him when you were interrupted by an alarm. You pulled back, panic on your face and he couldn’t help but laugh. “You just got my heart racing,” he teased, nodding at the heart rate monitor that was slowly calming back down.

You laughed then and gently shoved his shoulder. You were now both lying on your sides facing each other. “Well, that’s one item ticked off the bucket list,” you quipped, before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “To be continued,” you joked as you wiggled your eyebrows, “now let’s sleep.”

As you both snuggled back down in the tiny hospital bed, Bucky kissed the top of your hair and whispered quietly “goodnight angel.” He would never admit it to anyone but he’d missed the feeling of you healing him, the warm feeling that engulfed him when your power flowed through him was like nothing he’d ever felt before, he could understand why Wanda was concerned that people would come to rely on it too much.

But as you laid there asleep in his arms a different kind of warmth enveloped him, and as he slipped off into a restful sleep he realised that he didn’t need your powers to heal him, your love was enough, his personal angel.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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maythewidowtakeusall · 3 years

Text

The Ghost

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Word count: 1469

Summary: Nat tells Tony about her own Winter Soldier she’s trying to find

Warnings: alcohol, murder

Nat watches intently, lips pursed, brows furrowed, shoulders tense. The screen reflects in her green eyes, two blinking lights in the otherwise dark living area. Her knuckles are white from holding onto the edge of the counter too tight.

Too many bad memories. Too many sharp feelings, like shrapnels buried beneath her skin, cutting into her every time she moves.

Steve isn’t the only one with ghosts. Ghosts that used to walk and breathe and talk and kill.

James Buchanan Barnes is MIA. Sam keeps looking for him while she and the rest of the Avengers clean out the last Hydra holdouts in search of Loki’s sceptre. The Winter Soldier is once more a spectre, but she can still feel the pain in all of the scars he left behind. Whenever she looks into the mirror, she knows she’s met him. She knows he was real.

She can’t say the same about you.

Natasha will never forget the first time she saw you during her KGB years. Like a block of marble, you seemed to her. Perfectly cold. Perfectly indestructible, even by time. She didn’t know then what she knows now, that the super soldier serum they pumped into you actually made you resist the very decay of the passing of time. She sometimes wishes that, on sleepless nights such as this. It would be easier to think you were dead. Easier to think that the person who trained with her, the person who made sure she survived all her missions, who started filling her head with doubt slowly but surely, and who, in the very end, helped her escape the shackles of her old life, was no more. Because whenever she is reminded of the fact that you’re out there somewhere, she wishes she could drop everything and dash out into the world to find you.

And yet she hasn’t seen you since. Her last hazy memory of you is your fraying conditioning, the way you look at her, straight at her, as a person, not as the weapon Hydra made you to be. Your face is tortured, as if you were fighting something on the inside. And you’re telling her to run.

She never stopped running.

She flew straight into the arms of SHIELD. And when that fell apart, the Avengers. Even now, she feels like running, though she doesn’t know where to. Where are you? Who are you? And why did you let her slip through your fingers when you were sent to kill her before she could switch sides?

The old security footage is grainy, but it’s clear enough to see you, precise like a surgeon, as you eliminate your target. In a way, it is almost beautiful how you kill. Like a ballerina dancing The Dying Swan impeccably. Never missing a step. Never faltering. Gliding through the hardest moves with graceful ease. Natasha was an assassin for a long time, and despite having changed, she still values skill. But in your case, she values the person underneath all that training and brainwashing more. Not that she knows you really. She doesn’t know where you come from. What your real name is. All she knows is that you saved her. And she would save you too, if she knew how to begin.

“Do you always look at videos of assassinations before bed or is tonight a special occasion?”

“I thought you and Banner were busy playing with your sceptre,” Natasha fires back defensively, dropping her phone on the counter as she locks the screen.

“We are,” Tony acquiesces with a small frown as he joins her by the bar. “However, it is currently 3.36am, and Banner is being a little – am I allowed to say bitch? I don’t even know anymore.”

“Steve’s already gone to bed,” Nat smirks, pouring Stark a drink too.

“Thank god for that. Anyways, you’re dodging my question. Who was that in the video?”

“I’m not dodging your question because you didn’t ask before.” Her lips wrap around the edge of her glass, and the whiskey slides down her throat like poison as she tilts her head back a little. It burns, just like speaking about you always does. “I used to work with her before.”

“Before?”

“Before SHIELD.”

Tony’s lips form a silent “o” before he drinks too. He looks tired, Nat thinks silently. Then again, don't they all? Banner is tearing himself apart constantly, and when he isn’t, it’s because he’s tearing the world apart. Thor is worried about cleaning up the mess Loki has left behind. Steve and Sam, like partners in crime, keep searching for the Winter Soldier in vain, stretching themselves too thin. Clint is, well, he is still Clint, thank god for that. He is still blabbering about which room he will renovate in his house next, and that’s a constant reassurance Nat’s grown to rely on.

“So… What’s the deal with Evelyn Salt? Is there a chance we’re going to bump into her?”

Natasha shakes her head as she squares her shoulders, the muscles in her back flexing as she sits up properly. No sleep tonight then. “She was sent to kill me when I defected. But… for some reason, she decided to let me go. As for running into her, I highly doubt that. Hydra’s files mark her as MIA. She hasn’t been seen since 1997. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was dead and swept under the rug. If I had a brainwashed super soldier agent go AWOL, I would want to tie up the loose ends too.”

“Did you just say super soldier? As if I didn’t have my hands full with old man Rogers already…” Tony grimaces.

“To be fair, she’s more on the Winter Soldier side. In fact, she didn’t have another name either. She was the Winter Soldier too when they needed her to be.”

“Sounds reassuring. No wonder you can’t sleep at night, knowing she could be out there.”

Natasha can’t help but smirk at the irony of that. “True, but the real reason behind that couldn’t be further from what you’re thinking. I’m not afraid of her. I want to find her. Help her, if I can.”

“I always knew there was a reason why you didn’t date, but this wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.”

Natasha’s elbow between his ribs isn’t something he’s foreseen either, but the hiss that slips past his lips is a thin satisfaction. “It’s not like that… Well, it could never be like that in the first place anyways.”

“Yeah. Brainwashed and personality don’t exactly go hand in hand. Got you,” Tony sighs, slumping on his forearms as he glances out at the city lights. For a while, they simply sit together, both deep in thought. Missing person, missing breakthrough, and yet they feel the same frustration that can only stem from an unhealthy amount of helplessness. Tony is struggling to save the whole world; Natasha wishes she could save only a single person in it. And yet their silence couldn’t feel more similar. Their quiet moment in the small hours of the morning couldn’t be more comforting.

“Well,” Tony clears his throat eventually as he glances at his watch. He knocks back his drink before stretching. “That sceptre won’t decipher its secrets on its own, alas.”

“Have you tried asking it nicely?”

“Maybe I will,” the man sighs as he reaches behind the bar to pull the entire bottle of whiskey out as he stands. “But I’m not that desperate. Well, not yet anyways.”

“The night is still young.”

“Plenty of time for more of your bedtime stories,” Tony points to Natasha’s abandoned phone before walking away. He does pause after a few steps though. He is really an asshole sometimes, Pepper is unfortunately right, as she always is. How often has Nat opened up to him so easily? Is he really going to discourage her by being an ass?

“Why don’t you send me those videos later, huh?” he comes to halt, pretending to play it cool as if he didn’t know how much his offer truly means to the both of them. “I’ll have Jarvis run a facial recognition scan. If she’s alive and out there somewhere, we’ll find her.”

“Why? So you can bring her in?”

“So you could help her,” he corrects her. His face is dominated by the meaningful look emanating from his tired brown eyes. There’s a strange sort of understanding there, even if it lacks the depth she feels in Steve when they talk about you and Bucky.

“It’s nice to have friends,” Natasha smiles up at Tony. Tired, defences worn down. Worried. The promise of an impending explanation set for a later conversation sitting in the green of her eyes. “And I would like her to know what it feels like too.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x female reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff fanfiction #marvel mcu #mcu fanfiction #tony stark

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maryannaugerbooks · 3 years

Text

The Beginning of Something Good

Fandom: Stardew Valley

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: Makeout session

This piece is on AO3, Wattpad and Tumblr.

Océane is the new farmer in Pelican town. She quit her job at Joja Corporation and decided to follow her grandfather's footsteps and take care of Blue Coral, the farm he left her when he passed away.

After her initial shock of seeing the farm in a pitiful condition, she admired the wonderful beach surrounding the cabin she would call home. When she found out her grandfather was leaving her a farm, she didn’t expect it to be a beach farm!

Thankful for not being stuck in an office anymore, the long ash-colored-haired farmer got to work. She watered the crops, explored the mines and spent her afternoons fishing.

She settled into a routine, every day looking slightly different but also very much the same. That is, until that Tuesday evening.

Océane had realized she was out of seeds. She wanted to extend her garden and grow a bigger variety of vegetables but Pierre’s General Store would be closed the next day. Determined to get her seeds so that she could start planting them in the morning, she ran all the way to the store, swung the door open and greeted Pierre with a big wave.

“Hey Pierre. Sorry for coming in right before you close. Can I get some potato and green bean seeds please?”

Pierre handed over the seeds and Océane placed them in her bag. She wanted to get home quickly in order to cut down a couple trees to make more space to till more soil.

She swung her bag over her shoulder and started walking towards the exit. She half-turned around to wave goodbye to Pierre when the wind got knocked out of her.

Before she fell to the ground, a sturdy – and soft – hand grabbed her arm.

At first, she was too shaken to see who she ran into. Then, she regained her senses and saw a young man with long brown hair and mesmerizing green eyes.

Oceane was pretty sure her mouth was still open when the man said “Hi. I don’t think we’ve met. My name’s Elliott. I live in the cabin on the beach.”

She slightly shook her head and said, “Oh. I live on a beach too! How fun.”

She internally cringed at herself. How fun she said mockingly in her head.

Elliott chuckled and it was the most beautiful chuckle she’d ever heard.

Get yourself together. She scolded herself.

“Thanks for... catching me. I’ll see you around.” Océane left the store quickly and walked home, her heart beating fast and her face flushed.

When she got home, the farmer got straight to work. She didn’t want to think about what happened. She was definitely embarrassed but there was something more underneath her bruised ego that she didn’t want to admit.

---

After a few days of mining and fighting monsters - trying to reach the bottom of the damn mines - Océane was tired. Her shoulders were aching. Scratch that, her whole body was aching.

Feeling like she deserved a break, she made her way to the Stardrop Saloon. It was Friday night after all. She was excited to speak to Emily. She hadn’t seen her all week as they were both too busy working.

They became friends soon after her arrival in Pelican Town. They had met when the farmer got to the Saloon on her second day in town, desperate for some food. She had been fishing all morning and afternoon and had forgotten to eat. Her grandfather’s old house didn’t have a kitchen so she had hungrily made her way to the bar for a bite to eat. After ordering, Océane had sat at the bar and Emily and her talked about clothes, the universe and everything in between.

The local bar was booming with the regulars. Océane sat down at her usual spot, the barstool in the middle. Not the one closest to the cash and not the one closest to Shane. She didn’t particularly feel like getting cold remarks from the disheveled young man.

Also, by sitting in that spot – although not the original intention behind sitting there- Océane’s main goal was trying to hide Emily from Clint’s view. He was notorious for sending furtive glances her way all night. Emily was friends with Clint, but the farmer didn’t like him.

“Hey Emily. How’s your night?”

The blue-haired girl who was facing away from the bar cleaning some glass turned around and flashed a bright smile to Océane.

‘’Hey girl. Tonight’s pretty busy but that’s usual for Friday. How was your week? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.’’

Océane brought her hand to her forehead and rolled her eyes. ‘’I made a huge fool of myself on Tuesday. I’m still embarrassed.’’

Emily gave her that tell me more look so Océane continued, ‘’On Tuesday I went to Pierre’s to get some seeds and as I was walking towards the door, I turned around to say bye to Pierre and I ran into someone - hard. I think he said his name was Elliott. I had never seen him before.’’

Emily squealed which made Océane shush her. ‘’People are going to hear you!’’

Completely ignoring her friend, Emily subtly nodded in Elliott’s direction with her head. He was sitting at the table near the Jukebox with Leah.

After seeing the one who had made her heart race - from embarrassment, of course - Océane looked at Emily with wide eyes. ‘’Does he come here every Friday? How come I haven’t noticed him before?’’

Emily shrugged, ‘’He’s pretty quiet’’. After a pause she adds, ‘’you could buy him a drink. He likes a strong beer.’’

Appalled, Océane interjected ‘’Why would I do that? I don’t even know him!’’

‘’But he’s cute,’’ Emily said as if that was a good enough reason.

‘’I guess I have nothing to lose. If he rejects me, I’ll just dig a hole and bury myself in it.’’

Emily laughed, ‘’stop being so dramatic and hand him this beer. You’ll thank me later.’’

After staring at the beer for a couple of minutes, contemplating running away, Océane decided to get up and give Elliott the beer before it got warm. No one likes a warm beer.

She awkwardly walked towards his table, her feet feeling heavy. She was suddenly feeling self-conscious about the way she was walking.

When she got to the table, she realized that Leah had left. She was relieved. Océane set the beer on the table and said, ‘’I heard you like a strong beer.’’

He looked at her, surprised. ‘’This is for me? Marvelous!’’

‘’It’s for saving me from further embarrassment on Tuesday.’’ She said nonchalantly even though that’s not quite how she felt.

Elliott took a sip of the beer, licked his lips and motioned her to take a seat.

Her heart felt like it was about to explode in her chest, her face was warm but she kept it cool on the outside. ‘’How’s the beach life treating you?’’

‘’I like it. I moved here so I could get away from the big city and write.’’

‘’That’s why I moved here too. To get away from the big city, I mean. I couldn’t stand working at a desk all day,’’ Océane said, ‘’what do you write about?’’

“I typically write poems but I’m looking for inspiration to write my first novel.” Elliott took another drink. “What kind of books do you like to read?”

Océane’s cheeks got even warmer. “I like romance. It really helps me unwind and it gives me all the feels.”

The writer chuckled, “maybe my novel will be a romance in that case.”

Was he flirting with her?

“I would love to read it when you’re done.” She was genuine. She loved a good book, but she also wanted to see if Elliott was the kind of romantic she imagined him to be. She may or may not have been imagining scenarios between her and the writer as she was tilling the soil, planting her seeds and doing all her other farm work this week.

“It would be an honor to have you read my book,” Elliott responded with a smile.

Océane made to get up, gently pushing her chair away from the table with her hips. “I wish I could talk some more but I should get going, it’s getting late and I have a lot of work to do in the morning.”

“Let me accompany you home.”

Océane stared at the writer with wide eyes. Elliott quickly added, “only if you’d like me to, of course. It’s dark out and...” He hesitated before continuing, “it would be my pleasure to spend more time with you.”

The farmer’s heart started racing but she gave him a big smile before saying, “Sure, I’d love that.”

The cool spring air chilled her skin as they started walking towards the farm. Elliott noticed her rubbing her hands on her arms in an attempt to warm up. She watched as he removed his red jacket and handed it to her. “Thanks,” she said gratefully. His jacket smelled like old books.

They made small talk until they reached the front door of her cabin.

“Thank you for walking me home. I appreciate it,” Océane said. “Hold on a sec, I’ll give you your jacket so you don’t get cold on your way back to the beach.”

She removed the piece of clothing, already missing the warmth of it and the smell of books. Elliott’s gaze was on her as she handed him his jacket, their fingers brushing for longer than necessary.

Océane licked her lips and Elliott’s green eyes seemed mesmerized by the movement. She could tell he wanted to say something but he was hesitating.

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this in case you don’t feel the same way, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that day at Pierre’s.”

“Me either,” she breathed. He took a hesitant step forward and gave her a searching look. He was waiting for her approval. She looked directly in his eyes and nodded.

Elliott closed the distance between them, lifted his hand to her hair and brushed his lips against hers. Océane felt like she was going to melt on the balcony of her cabin.

She deepened the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. Elliott brushed his tongue against her lips and she opened to give him access.

The wood door of her cabin was now pressing against her back. One of Elliott’s hands braced him against the wood of the cabin while his other hand settled on her waist.

Océane lowered her hands from his neck to his chest, feeling the muscle there before lowering them towards his lower belly. She fidgeted with the hem of his shirt before sliding her fingers underneath feeling the warmth of his skin. Elliott gasped at the touch and Océane smiled against his lips.

His hands explored her curves like he wanted to remember the shape of her forever. They couldn’t get enough of each other. Océane finally allowed her hands to linger dangerously low.

Elliott pulled back, out of breath. “Let me take you out on a date first. Then, you can do whatever you want with me.”

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at 6 then,” She winked at him and kissed his cheek before entering her cabin, closing the door and leaning against it, heart racing.

She had a feeling this was the beginning of something good.

#stardew valley #stardew elliott #elliott stardew valley #sv elliott #fanfic #ao3 #wattpad #elliott and farmer #my writing #fanfiction writer

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just-dreaming-marvel · 3 years

Text

Love and Medicine ~ 6

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,710ish

Summary: Val throws a party. You remember the date.

Warning: talk of sex / I do not own Marvel or Grey’s Anatomy.

The morning came and you laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling. You really wanted to go meet Steve for breakfast, but you knew you probably shouldn’t. With a heavy sigh, you turned over to look at your bedside clock. There was 30 minutes until it was time to meet Steve. You could make it in time, if you went. You also had the day off so if you didn’t go, you wouldn’t run in to Steve today anyway.

After another five minutes of debating, you heaved yourself up and hurried into your bathroom. You got ready quickly, not going too overboard with trying to impress him. As you ran down the stairs, you shoved Clint out of the way.

“Woah!” He exclaimed. “What’s the rush?”

“Sorry, Clint!” You replied, not stopping. “I gotta go!”

When you finally got to the cafe, you were a few minutes late and Steve was already at an outside table. You noticed that he looked a little nervous. He was sketching in a notebook, knee bouncing under the table.

“Is this seat taken?” You asked, having walked quietly up to the table.

Steve’s head snapped up. He looked a little surprised and relieved to see you standing there. “Uh, no,” he smiled. He motioned to the seat across from him. “Be my guest.”

“Thank you,” you pulled out your chair and sat down. He handed you the menu. You took it before looking at the notebook on the table. There was a sketch of you on the open page. “Wow. Did you draw that?”

Steve quickly shut the book and set it in his lap. “You weren’t suppose to see that. Not yet, anyway.”

“Well, it was really good.”

“Thank you.”

“Why didn’t you go into art?”

“Doesn’t pay the bills. Plus, brains are more fun.”

You laughed. “I guess so.”

The two of you order food and sat there for a few hours talking. It was mostly him asking about you and you telling him extremely long stories. You had just finished one about you and your parents that left him laughing.

“You’re parents sound amazing,” Steve said, finishing off his laugh. “I would love to meet them some day.”

You stopped, immediately looking sad. Just the thought of your parents caused you to remember something. The date. It would be the first anniversary of their deaths in two days.

“Y/N?” Steve broke you out of your trace. You looked at him, a furrowed brow and worried eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I… I should go,” you stood, scraping your chair against the ground as you did. Steve quickly stood up as well, surprised at your sudden need to leave. “I really need to go.”

You hurried out of the cafe’s fenced on section. You didn’t make it much farther before Steve’s large hand was around your bicep, stopping you.

“You’re surprising fast,” he tried to joke. You clearly weren’t having it. “What’s the rush?” He tried to study your eyes, they looked pained. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll see you at work, Steve. Please.” You tugged away from him. “I have to go.”

He stood there, watching, as you hurried off to your car and drove into traffic.

~~~

You went straight to the hospital, willingly taking someone’s shift to get your mind off everything. You did not want to remember it and you definitely didn’t want to drown yourself in grief. You were going to work it off.

By the time your intern friends got to the hospital, you had been there for 20 hours. You ate and caught sleep when you could but it was never very much. Valkyrie immediately came up to you and told you about a party she wanted to throw for her girlfriend that was coming into town. You agreed to it, absentmindedly since you were so tired, on the condition that it wouldn’t be very big.

Before you knew it, the day of the anniversary arrived, and you were doing everything possible to avoid thinking about it. Thankfully, you hadn’t seen Steve since you hurried away. You really didn’t want to explain it all to him. It was early morning when Dr. Banner pulled you into a surgery. You were holding the heart as he worked, with your fellow interns watching from the gallery.

“I wish I could hold a heart,” Scott whined.

“A monkey could hold a heart,” Natasha responded.

“You’re just mad that Banner didn’t ask you.”

“Has anyone noticed that Y/N’s been acting strange lately?” Clint asked, eyes trained on you below. “Like, more than usual.”

“I haven’t,” Natasha shrugged.

“She’s probably just having a bad day,” Scott said.

“Clint!” Val came into the gallery. “I need more ice and chips.”

“Who else did you invite, Val?” He asked.

“Val, we said the list was jocks only. Surgery, Trauma, Plastics.”

“I invited a few of the people from Peds.”

“Great!” Natasha scoffed. “You invited the kindergarteners to Y/N’s place. The next thing you’ll say is that you invited the shrinks.” Val winced. “You invited the mental defects? This party’s going to suck.”

“You know that Y/N thinks this is just going to be a little, small, meet-your-girlfriend cocktail thing, right?” Clint questioned.

“Yes. I’ll tell her the change in plans though. I promise.”

“Why are you wasting the only weekend your girlfriend is in town on a big party?” Natasha asked. “Is she bad in bed?”

“No,” Val chuckled. “I just want her to meet some of my friends.”

“Right. Sixty some odd geeks in scrubs are your friends.” Her pager went off, causing her to look at it and get up to leave. “Bad sex, sucks for you.”

“Did I hear correctly that there’s a party at Y/N’s house tonight?” Peter asked, leaning against the doorway.

“Oh really, a party?” Natasha responded, playing down.

“Uh, news to me,” Scott added.

“Yeah, no party,” Clint said.

~~~

The surgery was long, but amazing. Though it still didn’t help get your mind off the day.

“Hey,” Steve greeted, coming up beside you as you headed to the elevator. “I heard you did a CABG with Banner.”

“Yeah,” you responded.

“Did you get to hold the heart?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s an amazing feeling. You never forget your first time.”

“It was pretty great just to watch,” Clint said, sliding in between the two of you. “Vicarious thrills, you know?”

“Yeah,” you replied again, too caught up in your mind to do anything else.

The elevator dinged and you and Clint walked on. You turned around to see Steve, still standing outside the elevator, looking concerned.

“I’ll see you later,” he commented, the furrow of his brow never changing.

“Bye,” you responded as the doors shut. Clint was leaning back against the wall, watching you. It was eerily silent until you finally spoke. “My parents died a year ago today,” it was a whisper.

“What?” Clint stood up straight, coming towards you. “How—“

“They were driving in a canyon. The road was icy…. Dad lost control of the car… it dove off the cliff.”

“Oh my goodness. Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“I’ve never told anyone what happened before.” A single tear slipped down your cheek. “My parents… they were famous surgeons. I… I changed my last name after they died.”

“Y/N, who were they?” The elevator doors opened.

“I’ve got to go.”

You rushed out, quickly disappearing in the crowd of doctors and nurses before Clint could follow you. You weren’t watching were you were going, in search for an on call room to break in. You rammed into someone, stumbling back. The person’s hands quickly landed on your biceps, holding you steady.

“Woah there,” Dr. Stark chuckled. “What’s the rush?”

You looked up, teary eyed and embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Stark,” you rushed out. “Let me just—“

“Now, hold on a damn minute.” He got a good look at your face, there was clearly something wrong. “What’s going on?”

“Dr. Stark, I really don’t think—“

“Here.” He pulled you into an empty on call room. “Talk.”

“Dr. Stark, this isn’t appropriate.”

“Neither are the giant heart eyes my friend Steve has every time you walk by. You’re clearly upset, and I want to help. I was also friends with your parents.”

“What?”

“You’re parents are the reason I’m alive. I had an accident a few years back, shrapnel too close to my heart. They saved me. So, I owe it to them to watch over you.”

“You really don’t, Dr. Stark.”

“The name’s Tony.”

“Tony. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know what today is. I’ve been dreading this day for a week now. I can only imagine how you must be feeling.” You looked up, trying to blink away the tears. “Did you change your name because of the accident?”

“I couldn’t stand the thought of living in my dead parents shadows… it was too much.”

“Understood… does Steve know?”

“No.”

“You should tell him.”

“I don’t want people to know.”

“Yeah, but Steve isn’t people, is he?” You didn’t answer so Tony sighed. “Look, I have no right to tell you who you tell or don’t tell. But… Steve’s a good person. He’s been through his far share of struggles. He’d be just willing to listen, if that’s all you wanted.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Tony.”

“Anytime.” He walked to the door, opening it to head out. “Oh and, by the way,” he turned to look at you, “I’m totally rooting for the two of you.”

~~~

Natasha was standing at a nurses station, filling out some paperwork, when a cup of coffee was set beside her. She glanced over to see Dr. Banner, sipping his own cup, looking back at her.

“Just coffee,” he said with a nervous smile.

Natasha looked confused. “Good,” she responded.

“Okay.”

Bruce gave her a nod before walking away. Closing what she was doing, Natasha hesitated before picking up the coffee and drinking it. Unknown to her, Bruce and Tony were peeking around the corner and watching her. Hiding back behind the corner, they high fived.

“Look at what taking my advice can do, Bruce,” Tony exclaimed.

“Alright, alright,” Bruce agreed. “Maybe I should listen a little more often.”

“Damn right you should.”

“Dr. Stark,” Dr. Potts called, heading towards the nurses station. “Please watch your language around the patients.” She began filling out a chart.

“My deepest apologies, Dr. Potts. We were just celebrating victory.” She still did not look impressed. “You know what would be even more worth celebrating? You, finally accepting a date from me.”

“Okay,” she replied, not bothering to look up.

“You’ve given me that excuse before, and it hasn’t stopped me— wait… did you just agree?”

“I did.” She handed over the chart to the nurse before facing Tony. “I’m only free Friday night. Will that work?”

“Um… yeah…”

“Pick me up in the lobby at 7.” Then Pepper strutted away.

“Look at you go, Tony,” Bruce laughed, putting an arm over his friends shoulders. “She finally said yes.”

“Yeah, and I have 3 surgeries and a meeting with the chief Friday night.”

Bruce grimaced. “Well, you’ll either have to cancel everything or just wine and dine her over a boob job.”

“I’m definitely going to need it covered.”

~~~

After your talk with Tony, you focused on helping a few patients. You were getting a file from the nurses station to help your next one when Steve walked up to you.

“Are you okay?” He asked, still concerned.

“Yeah, yeah,” you responded. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure? Cause you seem not okay.”

“I’m fine. The CABG was just long.”

“Well, let me take you out to dinner tonight. You can tell me all about it. Real food, waiters, big chunks of carbs in a basket.”

“I can’t.”

“Forget about the party.”

“You know about the party?”

“Your friends will be at the party. You and I can be alone somewhere else.”

“How do you know about the party?”

“Thanks for not inviting me, by the way. That felt good.”

“I didn’t— it’s supposed to be a small get together. Nothing big.”

“Sure doesn’t sound that way to me. Anyway, dinner. Think about dinner.” His pager went off. He looked down at it before looking back at you. “I’ve got to go. But, think about it.”

~~~

Natasha, Clint, and Scott were sitting in the abandoned hallway as Val walked in.

“Okay, so the beer’s coming at 7,” she told them all. “And some of the floor nurses are bringing wine.”

“You invited nurses?” Natasha asked.

“Did you clear this with Y/N?” Scott asked.

“A few more people isn’t going to make a different. Okay? A party’s a party.”

“But it will,” Clint said. “She’s having a day.”

“And the bigger the party, the less time for bad sex with the girlfriend,” Natasha added.

“Would you stop saying that?” Val was getting annoyed. “Britt and I have great sex.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“All the time.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“In fact, we’ll probably have sex during and after the party.”

“As long as you clear the party with Y/N,” Clint cut in.

“Britt just needs to realize that doctors can have fun. That we’re not all workaholics with god complexes.”

“We are workaholics with god complexes.”

“Just please tell tell Y/N before the party,” Clint continued. “Just… please.”

~~~

Having a few moments to breathe, you sat in the lobby, staring out the window. You were flipping your cell phone in your hand. The few people left who knew you and what day it was had kept trying to call you, leaving long, saddened voicemails and texts. You were ignoring all of it, not wanting to try and make the others feel better when it was your day to be off.

“Hey,” Steve plopped down in the chair next to you. “I heard.”

“You heard what?” You were immediately scared about what he could have heard.

“That you and Tony had a talk.”

“Oh… did he tell you what we talked about?”

“No. He just told me that I should talk to you and let you have the day to not be okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. But that’s okay. Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head and stood up from your chair. “We’re adults,” you started walking backwards so you could still face him. “When did that happen? And how do we make it stop?”

Steve stood up. “Y/N—“

“I’ll see you later, Dr. Rogers.”

You took your leaving, heading straight for the locker room. You had decided that you were heading to the cemetery, or to the bar across the street. It was time for you to head anyway.

~~~

“You paged me?” Clint questioned Val as he walked up to her.

“I’m gonna be a while,” she responded. “Do you think you could get home and sign for the beer?”

“Why don’t you have your girlfriend sign for it?” Peter asked, randomly showing up.

“You have a very annoying way of sneaking up on people. And you’re not invited.”

“I wouldn't come anyway. I hate big parties.”

“Is Y/N the only person in the medical center who doesn’t know the size of this thing?” Clint asked.

“I’m telling her,” Val said. “I’ll page her now.”

“You can’t,” Natasha said, walking up. “She’s gone already.”

“What? Already?”

“She’s been here for almost 48 hours. It was time for her to go.”

“You don’t think Y/N’s really going to mind about the party, right?”

“When you tell her, I want you to make it very clear to her that I had nothing to do with this party,” Clint responded. “Nothing.”

“Why? Do you—you like her!”

“N-no!”

“And not just as a roommate!”

“I’ve got to go.”

~~~

You decided to drive around instead of going to the cemetery or the bar. You headed to your house, knowing you’re late for the party. As you drove up, there were cars lining the street and lots of people heading into your house.

“Val, I’m going to kill you,” you murmured.

After finally finding somewhere to park, you walked into the house. There were people everywhere, and you didn’t recognize any of them. It was clear, as you walked through the crowd, that most of them were already drunk. The music was making the walls shake. Eventually, and thankfully, you found Clint.

“Where is Val?!” You shouted.

“She didn’t clear it with you?” Clint responded, holding a bottle of tequila.

“This was supposed to be a meet-the-girlfriend get together little thing!”

“Val has a lot of friends.”

“Val definitely doesn’t know this many people.”

“I told her to clear it with you.”

“I really can’t handle this right now.”

“You want me to kick everyone out? I’m gonna kick everyone out.”

“Y/N, baby! You made it!” A drunk Natasha exclaimed, dancing up to them. “Woo!”

“Screw it,” you gave in. “Give me this.”

You ripped the tequila bootle from Clint’s hand and took a big swig of it. It burned but you didn’t care. You started dancing with Natasha. Clint soon joined the two of you. After the three of you were more drunk, you escaped into one of the empty side rooms.

“Why did we want to be surgeons anyway?” You wondered, laying on the floor.

“Surgery is a very serious business,” Clint responded before letting out a burp.

“Surgery is stupid. It’s stupid…. It’s stupid.” You took another long sip of a drink.

“Give me that,” Natasha took your drink from you. “You’re drunk.”

“I'm not driving. I'm not on call. I'm in my own house. My life is crap. And it's my party and I'll get drunk if I want to.”

Suddenly, a beautiful blond woman peeked her head in. “Is, um, Val here?” She asked.

“Oh, you must be Britt,” Natasha laughed, standing up. “You’re very model-like. And, no, Val’s not here right now.” She stumbled passed Britt and out of the room.

“You and Valkyrie are very beautiful,” Clint stated.

“Val said she was going to be at home,” Britt said, clearly uncomfortable as she looked around. “She didn’t say there was going to be a party.”

“Which, I promise you, pisses both of us off,” you slurred. “Tequila?” You lifted the bottle up. “It helps.”

“When do you think she’s gonna get here?”

“Don’t know. But… I do know I’m low on tequila, Britt.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. We’re interns, Britt. The hospital owns us. It’s what we do.”

Britt gave a fake smile before leaving.

“Bye!” Clint shouted after her.

“Nice to meet ya!” You added. “She was hot.”

~~~

Not too long later, you ended up in the front of your house, swaying drunkenly. Steve was out front too, hands stuffed in his pockets as he leaned against his car and watched you.

“You know,” he called out, bringing your attention to him, “in some states, you could get arrested for that.” You headed towards him. “So you blew me off for a bottle of tequila. Tequila’s no good for ya. It doesn’t call, doesn’t text. It doesn’t write. And it definitely isn’t as much fun to wake up to.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pulled him in for a kiss, which he definitely wasn’t refusing.

“Take me for a ride, Steve,” you whispered.

Holding onto your waist, he opened the passenger seat car door. He sat down before pulling you onto him and shutting the door. You straddled him, kissing down his neck as he leaned back the seat. Your hands soon found the way to his shirt. Tugging at the ends, he got the hint and took it off. You lost your breath for a moment. You had seen him before but you had forgotten how gorgeous the man beneath you actually was.

“What’s wrong, doll?” He asked, softly caressing your cheek.

“Nothing,” you responded. “I just…” You trailed off before kissing him again, this time getting more heated.

~~~

After a good round of sex, even from the passenger seat, Steve pulled his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know…” he started as you leaned in and kissed his bare shoulder, “it sounds like the party’s winding down.” You slowly started trailing kisses up his neck. “Listen to me,” he laughed, pushing you to sit up. “We should probably sneak inside.”

“I actually think we’ve done enough sneaking for the night,” you replied. “It was good sneaking, but enough.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “I’d say we’re pretty good sneakers.”

He pulled you down for a kiss. You were quickly interrupted by a tapping on your window. As you hurried and separated, you saw that it was Gamora.

“You mind moving this tail wagon?” She asked, clearly annoyed. “You’re blocking me in.”

“Apparently not good enough,” Steve said as you groaned and rested your head on Steve’s shoulders.

“I’m so fired,” you muttered.

~~~

You woke up in the morning with a splintering headache and a trashed house. You couldn’t deal with either immediately though as you were going to be late to work. Going downstairs with Scott and Clint, Val walked into the house.

“Holy mother of destruction,” she exclaimed, looking around.

“You missed doctor-palooza,” you responded, heading to the kitchen to find something to eat.

“Apparently, you all didn’t.” She observed the tiredness of the three of you.

“I should probably never speak to you again.”

“Ugh, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I had no idea it was going to get so—“

“It’s fine. Really, I don’t care. What would I be doing anyway?” Clint handed you a bottle of water before him and Clint headed out of the house, with you following. “I’m not cleaning this up though!”

~~~

Natasha was walking down the hall when she noticed a tired Doctor Banner enter an on call room. She slipped in, locking the door behind her. Bruce looked up, having already taken off his shoes and shirt.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Natasha said.

Getting a surge of confidence, Bruce walked over and kissed her. Beginning to kiss more passionately, they undressed each other.

“You’re welcome,” Bruce mumbled.

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

#steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #valkyrie x reader #clint barton x reader #scott lang x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #peter quill x reader #pepper potts x reader #bruce banner x reader

128 notes · View notes

checkingoutforheroes · 3 years

Text

Into the wood!!

Y/n: Uhh, hi guys. What are you guys up to? Btw, this one for you Nat.

Steve: We are just planning on next Hydra raid.

Y/n: Can I tag along???

Natasha: No.

Y/n: Why..?

Natasha: You're not ready.

Y/n: I am ready. I've been trained by the best of the best trainers. The mean, the cold, hard head, the-

Natasha: *glaring at you

Y/n: The.. The prettiest, the coolest, the kindest trainer, the soft, the funniest...

Bruce: And who is that trainer?

Y/n: Natasha. Duh...

Tony: Opps, you hurting your old man feeling.

Y/n: No! No! Steve.. Don't get me wrong, I have praises for you too.. Each of you.

Tony: I can tell that you have something that you want from us.

Natasha: You just got that now? I knew it since the first second Y/n came down here. So, what ever it is, my answer is no.

Y/n: Why? You haven't hear it yet.

Natasha: Doesn't matter how much coffee you give to me, still no.

Thor: What do you need Lady Y/n? Yeah, whatever it is, don't ask me any Asgardian drinks. Natasha is much more scary when she wants to.

Natasha: She's underage Thor!

Thor: I started drinking when I was 12!

Natasha: You are an Asgardian. She’s a human that never had any beer. She thought that I was a tree and she's a koala for two days straight. Even in the bathroom. I can't deal with it anymore.

Thor: Koala is cute!

Bruce: You think that's cute? She running around in my lab wearing a big green onesie yelling 'I'm breaking New York!'.

Steve: Yeah. She once took my shield and begged Wanda to do magic. She wanted Wanda to take the rabbit out of that shield.

Tony: What Wanda did?

Steve: She took the rabbits out. 2 rabbits.

Tony: What did you do?

Steve: I bought the rabbits.

Y/n: Really? Awww I love you to Steven...

Thor: So, what do you need?

Y/n: I uhh... Canigointothewood?

Tony: Huh?

Steve: Can you slow down?

Natasha: No. You not familiar with that.

Thor: What was the question again?

Y/n looks down: Can I go into the wood?

Tony: why so sudden?

Y/n: because I want to explore.

Steve: Who are you going with?

Y/n: Clint.

Natasha: Is that his idea too?

Y/n: Yes. He said he can bring me only if I get approval from you guys. Please. Can I go..??

Steve: Wood is a dangerous place Y/n. We don’t know what in it.

Bruce: Steve is right though.

Y/n: If I say pleaseeeeeeeee, can you let me go with Clint? Just for 3 nights.

Tony: 3 nights???!!! Who are you? Bear Grylls..?

Y/n doing puppy eyes: Pleaseeeeee.... Please please please..

Natasha: 3 nights are too long. I don't think you can survive that long, town girl. Not without us, at least.

Y/n: You can come too! It's gonna be fun!

Avengers: We're busy.

Natasha: Plus, I don't really trust Clint.

Y/n: Okay I will bring Wanda. That girl knows how to cook everything. So, we'll survive.

Steve: Wanda also doesn't have much experience in the woods, Y/n.

Y/n: Please... I'm begging all of you. I will do anything, everything that you guys ask me. Feel free to make some list. I'll even workout twice harder.

Avengers: *thinking, looking at each other

Y/n: Okay, I will try to ask Maria to come with us. There are 4 of us.

Tony: Alright.

Y/n: YES!!

Natasha: What? Tony..!

Tony: On 2 conditions. 1st, you guys only can only go to the Indian Lake in New York. 2nd, two nights only. Otherwise, we'll get the miserable Widow in this compound for missing her baby sister so much.

Natasha: Jokes on you Tony.

Y/n: We can do that!! Thank you so much!! I love you!! *kissing everyone cheeks.

Natasha: Just promise me that you'll be careful. We can't protect and shield you out there. We're also not here for two days. Make sure you'll be back by the time we're home.

Y/n: I promise. I'll come back breathing. I'll go tell Wanda and Clint to pack. We'll go this evening!! Bye guys..

Tony: Don't worry, they'll end up at my lake house.

Bruce: You have a private lake??

Tony: More money more houses. Is that lessening your worries, Nat? They're gonna be fine.

Two days later

Wanda: Y/n.. Come back here! Where are you? It's not funny leaving us. It's time we're going back to the compound.

Y/n: Maria! Wanda! Clint! Come here. Look what I found!

Wanda: Awww baby bears 🐻

Y/n: They are so cute right. Where are Clint and Maria?

Wanda: Still looking for you I guess.

Maria see mama bear: Y/n, Wanda. Put that baby bears go slowly and don't move.

Y/n: No, I don't wanna let go. They're cute.

Wanda now see it: Y/n, Maria's right. Put it down.

Y/n shock & run: Oh SHIT..!! RUN!!

Maria: I SAID DON'T MOVE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!

Clint, just arrive & see everything: Fuck. run faster!! WANDA, use your power to hold that bear!!

Y/n, trips & use right hand as shield: Aaarrghhhh

Wanda throws the bear far from them: Y/N!!

Y/n: It's not hurt. Not hurt. Gosh! It hurt!!

Wanda: I can't stop the bleeding!

Maria: Looks like it's broken too. You gotta hold on until we reach the cabin okay. Can you do that?

Y/n: Okay.

Clint picks you up: Natasha definitely kill me.

At the compound

The team waiting for your arrival in the living room.

Natasha: Where the hell are they. They should be arrived 3 hours ago.

Steve: Maybe they drop somewhere.

Natasha: Something's not right.

Tony: Easy, spider.

Friday: Boss, they have arrive.

Tony: Thank you, Friday.

Natasha: How was your tri- What happened to your hand?!

Y/n try to avoid: I come back breathing? Like i promised.

Natasha: Answer me! What happened to your damn hand!!

Y/n looking down: Broken.

Natasha grabs Clint: How? Don't tell me it's just broken because there's too much blood to be broken.

Maria: Natasha, it was an accident.

Natasha: An accident that you both adults shouldn't let it happen!

Steve: Calm down Romanoff...

Tony: Friday?

Friday: Already called Dr. Cho & Banner. They're on their way.

Tony: Y/n, wanna tell us what happened? Did you fell from the yacht?

Y/n sobbing: No.

Wanda: It was the bear. We-

Natasha: A bear??!! A fucking bear?!! How can you let her be near to a BEAR Barton? Hill?!! This is why I don't want to let you go Y/n!

Y/n: I wasn't their fault! I play hide and seek and got distracted.

Steve: Distracted by what?

Y/n: Baby bears. I pick them up.

Wanda: We-

Y/n: I pick them up to cuddle and I didn't know that their mothers watching. Clint wasn't there when it happened and Maria did told me to put them slowly and don't move.

Steve: What did you do?

Y/n: I ran. Luckily Wanda was fast enough.

Natasha: Yeah. LUCKY! Let's go to the med bay, now!

Tony: You might wanna sleep with your eyes open tonight.

Clint: Not just tonight I guess.

Steve: She loves that kid so much.

Wanda: I understand her. I'll do the same with Pietro. Y/n is also like my sister.

Maria: Yeah, that's Y/n for us.

158 notes · View notes

quietlyimplode · 3 years

Note

for those angsty/concerned prompts: clintasha and # 20. “Do you have someone who can look after you?” pls? psst I really like your writing dnbdbsnfnd

Hey Anon! Thanks so much :). I really like this prompt and just bleeds angst. So here we go! It’s gonna sit with other one shots here.

“Ma’am, can you follow my finger?” The nurse holds her hand up and Natasha tries, she does, but her head hurts and the doctor is pulling stitches from her forehead to her ear.

“Ma’am, follow my finger.” Natasha huffs in annoyance.

They did this already. There’s a faint ringing in her ears that hasn’t gone since she got hit in the head with the butt of the Ak47, the long handle stronger than her head, breaking the skin open.

She would have forgone medical, but it was one of the conditions of her release on this assignment, Fury making her visit medical after every mission after what happened after Argentina.

This was her ticking this off, even though her head is pounding, despite the copious amounts of lidocaine and anaesthetic pumped into the wound. It’s not the worst injury she’s had but it is one of the most annoying she’s had recently.

The doctor ties off the last of the stitches and gives her a pat and a smile.

“Only 7 stitches.” She says proudly. “Any nauseousness or vomiting, come straight back.’ She says, looking at Natasha in the eyes. “Do you have any questions?”

Natasha shakes her head and regrets it instantly. He vision is now doubling, a whitish tinge covers her peripheral vision and it makes her head pound more.

“Okay. You’re good to go.” She hears her say. “Nadia here, will go through your medications.” The doctor leaves, and Natasha is thankful. One less person to fool.

She hops off the bed and leans, making a show that she doesn’t need to steady herself, her vision is off, almost double vision. It’s like she’s been dosed with the old KGB drugs back in the day.

She stops herself laughing at her own joke, the nurse, Nadia looks at her and says.. something.. Natasha can’t quite attend to what it is.. was.

“You need to take this in 2 hours, that’s when the pain killers will wear off. I suggest you take it then, if you wait, it will hurt more.”

Natasha nods as she’s supposed to. Takes the drugs from the nurse, as she’s supposed to. Walks towards the door, and remembers to thank the nurse, as she’s supposed to.

She want’s to get to her room. Wallow. Pass out. Stop her ears ringing and close her eyes to the double vision.

The nurse stops her at the door, and she tilts her head, confused.

“Ma’am, do you have someone who can look after you?”

Natasha smiles. “Of course,” comes the words from her mouth, the lie is the easiest one she’s told today.

The nurse steps aside and Natasha almost stumbles out the door, suddenly her feet feel too big and her body is at odds with her movement. Fatigue pushing in.

She makes it to her room. She strips off her clothes, the clingy polyester feeling like daggers in her skin.

She forgoes the shower, wanting the water to wash the mission off her skin but knowing that she would most likely pass out if she were to do so.

Naked, she finds a towel and wets it, rubbing it first over her face, cringing at the blood that comes away from her neck. She continues down her body, wiping away sweat and marking the bruises for cover up later. Finally she looks in the mirror, she sees a small child with a cut on their head, and almost cries out at the visions her mind places instead of her reflection.

She’s had this injury before, last time it was a makarov pistol but the cut and subsequent concussion is similar.

‘Push through.’ She tells herself now, as she did last time, moving from the bathroom to the bedroom, laying down naked on the bed.

She loses time.

She’s sure of it.

The towel that she wiped her body down with, is on the floor.

Maybe she slept?

She’s naked.

She hates waking up naked.

She sits up and regrets it. Her dizziness is back with a vengeance and she pushes down nauseousness, bile moving up her throat into her mouth. She waits to move until it subsides and then takes a deep breath. Makes herself get underwear and pants to pull them on. She opens her drawer and sees the glint of her hand cuffs, sitting pretty on her pyjama top. She fingers them and wonders if it would help. Help ground her, push this unsettling feeling and tension away, push her into a deep sleep that she can just…. float away.

She closes the drawer again.

Stands.

Can’t stop the nauseousness this time as it’s caustic taste fills her mouth. She’s forced to spit it into the bin, the quick movement makes her vomit again and the smell permeates the room.

Her head is pounding. She pulls the pyjama top over her head, and pain lances through her head.

“Ow.” She moans quietly, allowing herself the acknowledgement of pain. Natasha looks over to the bottle of painkillers.

She has no idea how long it’s been since she was at medical. She hates medication - the one they’ve given her making her tongue loose and loopy.

Deciding against them, she throws them on the floor, the bottle popping open and spilling the contents everywhere. She doesn’t know why she did that.. the throbbing in her head manageable is she just..doesn’t…move.

She lays down tentatively, almost sitting up so that she doesn’t have to move her head.

Maybe the hand cuffs aren’t a bad idea. The more she thinks on it, the better it seems. She pulls them out, encloses it on the bed post and then around her wrist. As the metal touches her, she breathes down panic.

This is good, she tells herself strongly.

This is needed.

Duty and the discipline of the old days.

Madam says it’s tithing to Red Room.

Madam says it will give her a blank mind.

Madam says…

Clint shuts down his computer, sighing softly at the monotony of paperwork. His brain hurts more now than it did when he started, this kind of work way harder than fieldwork in his mind.

If it was just field work he would be done in less time than typing out a damn field report.

Clint stretches as his phone goes off, he looks at the number, confused to see Shield Medical pop up.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Barton?”

“Speaking.”

“Mr. Barton, you’re Agent Romanoff’s emergency contact. We’ve tried to call her after she came in this afternoon with a severe concussion, she said that she had someone who could take care of her, but no one is picking up on her cell.”

Clint swallows down worry. She didn’t call. Natasha has no one except him. She doesn’t trust anyone. Not with pain, not with injury. It’s a miracle she’s been going to medical after missions, but he suspects that’s only because of the threat from Fury.

“Yes?” He asks.

“Are you with her Mr. Barton?”

“Thanks, I’l check in on her. Do you need anything else?” He doesn’t answer the question.

“Yes, if you could call us to let us know if she needs anything? More painkillers, or a higher dose?”

Clint shakes his head at the phone. He’s doubtful thats she took the first lot. He moves as fast as he can to the dormitory levels.

“Ok. Thank you, I’ll call back on this number.”

“Thanks Mr. Barton.” The lady says and hangs up.

Clint is almost running. Panic infusing his movement. He falters with his phone, dialling Natasha’s number, and cursing when it rings out.

He picks the lock to her room, and opens the door. He smells the acrid vomit smell and curses under his breath.

“Natasha?” He announces his presence, as he moves to her bedroom. Louder now, he looks around for her. He hopes she’s in the room. Hopes she hasn’t run away.

“Oh no no no no no.. Nat…” the words just fall out of his mouth when he sees her. She’s on her side a trail of bile coming from her mouth and her hand handcuffed to the bed. The cut above her eye stands out, large and red against her pale skin.

He squats next to her, unsure what to do. He thinks he should wake her, but what if that’s not right?

He finds a towel on the floor, covered with bright pink blood, he folds it over and wipes the bile from her face.

“Tasha.. Tasha?” he moves next to her, their faces level.

“Nat?” Firm hands hold hers, he unlocks the handcuff from the bed and off her wrist, places it on the floor.

“Tash,” he touches her face and she flinches, closer to awake than asleep now.

He sits back on his heels and waits, speaking softy as she rouses.

“Hey Tash, why you always gotta do this alone? Huh? Why not call me? I’d’ve come. I would’ve sat with you. Annoyed you, and made sure you’re not in this alone.”

She orients to his voice but he keeps talking.

“You’re not alone. You have me. I’m sorry you think this is the only way. Sorry you had to go back to the old ways and the old patterns of coping. But you don’t gotta any more.”

She’s watching him now. He smiles at her.

“You hear me?” He asks her, a genuine question.

She dips her head, pain crossing her features.

He looks around for the pain killers and finds them spilt on the floor. Eyes watch as he he picks them up.

“No.” She tells him. The first thing she’s said.

“Ok.” He holds up the handcuffs.

“Do you need these?” Her pale face flushes red with embarrassment and her eyes look up away from his.

“No.” She whispers.

There’s silence in the room, and Clint moves slowly to the other side of the bed, lays next to her and takes her hand.

“You’ve got me.” He whispers. “You’re not alone.” Her head drops to look at him.

“You have someone to look after you, if you need it.” He tells her firmly.

“Ok?” Natasha looks over him from head to toe, breathing slowly.

“Ok.” She concedes.

#clintasha fic #clint/nat fic #clintasha #injury tw #whump fic #ask away #my fic #hurt/comfort #marvel fic

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nostalgicatsea · 4 years

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Common questions about and excuses for racism in fandom

I noticed that the same excuses, justifications, and questions that have come up in response to racism in fandom over the years appear in the notes for my post, so here’s a FAQ of sorts to address them. Hopefully, this will help people understand why these arguments don’t stand up to scrutiny and have something to refer to in lieu of writing a new reply every time someone says these things.

Due to the length of this post, I made a Google doc for easier reading. Please note that several points are specific to the Marvel fandom and to the post linked above and are often M/M-focused (I explain why in that post), but generally speaking, the following can be applied to any fandom and various relationships.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I can ship whatever I want. Stop being the fandom police!

Shipping isn’t activism.

Fandom is supposed to be fun. Being told what to do or not to do isn’t fun.

I put a lot of different people in my works, and I do research about the groups they’re in. For example, I have a *marginalized group here* character (e.g., disabled), and I did research to represent them accurately. It’s not fair to say that I don’t care about diversity.

I don’t think people should write about POC if they’re white, just like I wouldn’t want anyone to talk about *insert topic you’re passionate about or interest group you’re in here* (e.g., the BDSM community) if they didn’t know anything about it.

I really don’t have any knowledge about what it’s like to be a POC, though, so maybe I’m not the best person for this. If POC want to see themselves represented, they should make their own works.

I’m not comfortable with writing POC as I’m unfamiliar with the struggles they experience. I don’t want my writing to come off as inauthentic, inaccurate, or offensive. Why are you saying it’s harmful to use this as a reason for abstaining from writing POC?

It doesn’t make sense to include every single POC in my work.

What you said and the data you have don’t necessarily point to racism. It might just be individual preference. I prefer certain ships over others, and it has nothing to do with race/I don’t see color.

A big part of what informs my shipping is physical attraction or interest in the characters.

I don’t ship _____ because I see them as brothers/sisters/siblings.

Some white characters and ships are popular in the MCU fandom because people bring in canon characterization or material from the comics to the character(s)/ship. Your MCU-only examination fails to account for ships with one character from the MCU and one from comics (e.g., MCU Bucky/616 Clint or Spideypool).

Some subfandoms just have fewer POC which means there will naturally be fewer ships featuring POC. To say that the Marvel fandom is racist as a whole is disingenuous; you can see how more diversity in the cast leads to more diverse ships in fanworks.

Some of the characters and ships are popular because white characters get the lion’s share of screen time and development or they appeared in canon earlier.

Is it racist to racebend a character?

Racist language in fics is more important than fandom representation.

My fanworks tend to focus on one ship and don’t really include other characters in general. When they do, the others mostly talk about that relationship. Am I falling into the trap you mentioned?

I feel guilty about not including or writing about *character of color’s name here*.

How do I ensure that I don’t offend anyone if I include POC in my work?

What should I do to examine myself for any implicit biases?

The rest of the post is under the cut.

I can ship whatever I want. Stop being the fandom police!

As explicitly stated several times in my post, I agree that you can ship whatever you want. I’m not targeting a specific ship. I’m not telling you to stop shipping what you ship. All I’m asking is for everyone, including myself and other POC, to regularly examine ourselves for any implicit biases. If you’re a multishipper, are all of your ships in the fandom white? If you only have one ship and it’s white, are most or all of your ships in your other/previous fandoms white? Is the only media you consume predominantly or all white?

Shipping isn’t activism.

No, it isn’t and in many cases, shouldn’t be seen or treated as the same thing. However, by responding this way to POC who want to see themselves represented in fanworks more and not be ignored or written stereotypically, you’re telling us that our mere existence is a “political issue.”

Fandom is supposed to be fun. Being told what to do or not to do isn’t fun.

It should be fun for us POC too, and it’s not when we’re consistently misrepresented or we don’t exist in this fandom. By using this as an excuse to exclude POC from your works, you’re saying that only some people are allowed to have fun or that having fun is conditional. Also, no one is forcing you as an individual to do or not do anything. See two paragraphs above.

Just like you do research for those groups, you can easily do research on POC. Also, please be aware that this statement is similar to the “I’m not racist because I have a ___ friend/have a ___ person in my works” argument that many people use to prove they’re not racist, homophobic, sexist, etc. We aren’t interchangeable with other groups.

Something like BDSM is a lifestyle and preference. It is a choice. Being a POC isn’t. We can’t take off our identity every time we leave the house, the way you might keep it secret at work that you’re in the BDSM scene.

We do. Also, all of us fanwork creators make works with characters who are different from us all the time. Fandom is largely composed of people who aren’t straight cis men, yet the bulk of works on AO3 features characters who are canonically or implied to be straight cis men even if we end up changing that in our works. Most of us aren’t billionaires, but we don’t have a problem writing Tony. We don’t know what it’s like to be a WWII-soldier-turned-brainwashed-assassin who was kept in cryo for decades except when deployed on missions, but we don’t have a problem writing Bucky. The list goes on.

Your concern isn’t harmful. Reducing us to our trauma is, and you’re doing that if the reason you’re not comfortable with writing POC is that you don’t know how to write our struggles. We’re not only our pain. We’re more than that.

Not every fic has to be about the trauma of being a POC. We deserve to have fun, silly fics in addition to serious, plotty drama. We’re not thinking about our suffering 24/7 even if we do think about or are affected by it a lot. It’s not like if you write a Sam/Bucky fic, Sam is going to randomly lecture Bucky about the history of Black people in the U.S. and modern enslavement through the prison industrial complex while Bucky is trailing kisses down his neck in bed. We don’t need everyone being racist to MJ in a Pride and Prejudice AU. If you do want to include their struggles because that informs the way the characters think or act in your story, you can do so in ways that feel organic.

Additionally, this is an excuse that we hear often; you may have heard it as people in Hollywood have used it to explain why they don’t have any, or at least any major, characters from marginalized groups in their works. If we allowed this excuse, an overwhelming majority of who we see in the media would be straight, cis white men considering who has power in the film and TV industry—and we would have to say that’s okay. We would have to say that the only people allowed to write about a certain group are members of that group, e.g., only women can write women. That’s not acceptable especially considering the gatekeeping, oppression, and high barriers to entry and success that make it difficult for marginalized people to even be in the room let alone make a name for themselves.

Fandom is no different. You’re saying that you can’t relate to POC because you’re white, but none of us POC have any problems making fanworks with white characters even though we don’t know what it’s like to be white. There are straight women who write fics about gay men and don’t feel uncomfortable doing so when they don’t know a single thing about being a gay man and the struggles of gay men (M/M can include bi or pan men, fics about gay men by straight women can sometimes include problematic portrayals, and straight men, queer women, and non-binary people write M/M too, but this is just an example).

You should be more careful when writing a POC if you're not a POC. The same goes for men writing women, cis people writing trans people, straight people writing queer people, able-bodied people writing disabled people, etc. However, there ARE ways to go about it, and while I understand the fear of messing up, the truth is everyone is racist, sexist, etc. Everyone including people in marginalized groups. Being a white lesbian doesn’t mean you can’t be racist. Being an Asian man doesn’t mean you can’t be sexist. You can see that within groups themselves. POC are not exempt from racism against other POC or from internalized racism against themselves or their own group. Women aren't free from internalized misogyny. The best we can do is to not make that prevent us from making inclusive works; if you make a mistake, which may happen, all we can ask is that you try your best to be open to feedback and grow.

It doesn’t make sense to include every single POC in my work.

No one is telling you to. Choose characters who make sense for the story. Don’t choose them just so you have a POC in your work. We don’t want them to be tokenized.

This argument is identical to the “not all _____” rebuttal (“not all men,” “not all white people,” etc.) which places the blame on a few lone individuals and shifts the conversation away from an existing widespread problem. When there’s a consistent pattern and there are many examples of it both within the fandom and in other fandoms, it no longer is about individual preference.

I urge you to consider the following:

If most people say they don’t write about or include a POC in their work because it’s too difficult or they’re afraid of making that character inauthentic, but they don’t seem to have an issue with writing other characters from groups they’re not in (e.g., if you’re a straight woman who writes a lot of M/M fics despite not knowing what it’s like to be a bi, pan, or gay man), doesn’t that say something?

If most people have the same reasons you do about not being interested in POC (e.g., “they’re not fleshed out enough” while being interested in or fleshing out minor white characters who get the same or even less development as those characters) or ships with POC (e.g., saying “they’re like brothers” while being interested in a white ship with similar dynamics and tropes or seeing why other people might ship it if you don’t), doesn’t that say something?

If most people give characters of color the same roles in their works even if that makes them OOC and/or the role reduces them to a (frequently stereotypical) trope, especially if they’re never fleshed out beyond that trope (e.g., the funny sidekick, wise friend who always helps or gives advice/free therapy, or responsible, mature, and sometimes stern friend who “parents” the protagonist), isn’t that saying something?

If race truly isn’t a factor for you when it comes to liking characters and ships, then this isn’t about you and you don’t have to distract people from the conversation by announcing that. That said, we should all look at characters and ships we like anyway instead of assuming that’s the case as that’s good practice. How much of your list is white? If it’s mostly or entirely white, why is that the case and why do you feel differently about ships of color?

A big part of what informs my shipping is physical attraction or interest in the characters.

What characters and actors do you find attractive or interesting? Are they all or mostly white? If they aren’t, are you drawn to any ships that include those POC? Refer to the section above.

I don’t ship _____ because I see them as brothers/sisters/siblings.

Part of this is preference as it comes down to perceived chemistry and relationship dynamics. However, POC are often not seen as romantic leads both in fanworks and the media and are just friends or “brothers/sisters” (this is why Crazy Rich Asians was a big deal). Sometimes, people even argue against POC being or having love interests in the name of diversity. You see this a lot with WOC in the media where the explanation against a love interest is “she’s a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man”; yes, they don’t and sometimes the story doesn’t need a romance, but WOC deserve love too and it’s strange that while white women can get the guy and be independent, WOC can’t and it somehow belittles or reduces them if they do.

The way you can gauge whether it’s just preference at play or biases you may not have been aware of is to see how many relationships featuring a character of color fall under the “just friends/siblings” category for you, what you need to ship something, and how you feel about white ships with the same type of relationship or same lack of chemistry. For instance, you may say that there needs to be enough interaction for you to ship something and that’s why you don’t care much for Rhodey/Sam. Do you feel the same way about Clint/Coulson then, which has much less interaction (actually much less than Rhodey/Sam in this case)? If it’s about chemistry, are Steve and Sam just “brothers,” but Bruce and Thor aren’t or, if you don’t ship Bruce/Thor, you still “see it” and get why other people might be into it?

What do you ship, or what ships do you understand even if they’re not for you, and how is that different from ships that follow the same beats? Why are Steve and Bucky not brothers, but Rhodey and Tony are (there are many parallels between the two relationships—and one can argue the latter is more nuanced—than appears at first glance, and Rhodey/Tony can be just as sweet or angsty)? If you like the rivals/enemies-to-lovers or meet-ugly aspect to Steve/Tony, Sam/Bucky, Scott/Jimmy Woo, and M’Baku/T’Challa have that dynamic. You like that superior/subordinate-to-lovers dynamic that Clint/Coulson has? Coulson/Fury. Flirty meet-cutes or love/trust-at-first-sight? Steve/Sam.

I explained why I focused on the MCU here and that most of the fics that feature an MCU character and comics ’verse character tend to be heavily or entirely MCU-influenced here.

Also, characters of color exist in the comics, cartoons, and games too. By this logic, Steve/Sam and Rhodey/Tony should be juggernauts in the MCU fandom considering the depth and history of the characters and relationships. Ask yourself why people are happy to ship MCU Spideypool, to draw on the comics for that relationship and even bring a non-MCU character into the MCU and write him based on his comics history and characterization. Ask yourself why people are unhappy with MCU Clint’s terrible writing and lack of characterization and decide to give him his 616 (usually Fraction-era) characterization. And then ask yourself why people don’t do that for characters of color and then use “___ is a minor character/doesn’t have much development” as an excuse for why they’re uninteresting or not shippable with others.

There are many strong and interesting relationships in the comics, but only a few make it to the MCU fandom and almost all, if not all, of them are white.

It’s more important to see how many fanworks there are for ships of color in a fandom than how many ships of color there are in that fandom. See how few works there are for POC ships other than MJ/Peter in the MCU Spider-Man fandom despite the diversity of the cast. See how the most popular ships are white and three of them involve white characters from the Iron Man fandom (explain to me how Harley/Peter has over 1,000 works, but Ned/Peter has 436).

And sure, you can say almost all of the Black Panther ships feature a character of color so there’s “more” diversity, but see how few works there are for them and how works with a white character fare compare to POC-only ships (almost all have 100-200 or fewer fics, with many having so few that I didn’t include them in the post, while BP ships with a white character have more works despite little to no interaction between the characters).

Both of these, by the way, are critical and box office hits with characters who are clearly supposed to be the faces of the MCU now that the OG6 are gone. Black Panther is an award-winning critical and box office hit, and it is, more than any other film in MCU history, a huge cultural phenomenon with tremendous impact. It broke so many records and milestones, and it’s STILL breaking and making them. It has the most nuanced and balanced ensemble cast with side characters just as three-dimensional as the lead, a rarity in MCU films. Yet, its tag only has 3,966 works, fewer in total for the whole fandom than some of the white M/M ships on this list. Even if you account for BP fanworks that may have been tagged as MCU instead of BP, the number is paltry as you can see in this post. People simply do not want to make fanworks for characters of color (in this case, specifically Black characters) and don’t. It’s not about how diverse or successful a film is.

Some of the characters and ships are popular because white characters get the lion’s share of screen time and development or they appeared in canon earlier.

Yes, that’s true, but fandom has no problem catapulting white ships with minor characters into extreme popularity. See Clint/Coulson. See fics prioritizing Happy and having him show up more than Rhodey in Steve/Tony fics.

It’s not about chronology. Many ships of color came before white ships as a whole and before white ships with the same white character they have. See Bucky/Clint vs. Bucky/Sam.

Lastly, please don’t tell me how certain white M/M ships came to be to explain how they’re exempt or how I’m failing to consider other factors for their popularity. I’ve been in the fandom since 2012, and I’ve seen almost all of the white ships in the fandom be born or boom into popularity. Don’t try to explain, for instance, that Clint/Coulson is big because Coulson has his own show and his fans followed him from the show (this logic falls flat when you look at something like Luke Cage); that ship became huge way before that happened and way before Agents of Shield became “big.” Also, see the section above regarding screen time, development, and fame.

Is it racist to racebend a character?

People’s opinions differ on racebending—and often that comes from personal background and on the situation—so I can’t speak on anyone’s behalf. However, I think everyone can agree on the following:

Racebending a white character is not the same thing as whitewashing a POC. For example, making Tony Stark Indian vs. turning T’Challa white or as canonical examples, making Fury black in Ultimates and the MCU vs. making the Ancient One or the Maximoffs white. The latter (whitewashing T’Challa, the Ancient One, and the Maximoff twins) is racist for various reasons. There’s a long history of POC being erased and white people taking roles from POC, a huge imbalance in representation between white people and POC, the unfortunate perception by the public and media that “white = neutral/standard” (Bruce’s whiteness doesn’t define his characterization and development), and the way race plays a role in influencing the way POC feel, act, and are treated.

Racebending a POC from one ethnicity or racial group to another is also problematic as we’re not interchangeable. Hollywood often does this and goes, “But they’re still a POC! We’re being diverse!”

In general, people who racebend white characters to POC want to see more POC in canon and in the media! These aren’t mutually exclusive.

Sometimes people racebend because they’re not represented at all in their works. (This happens with other marginalized groups too; for instance, some people make cis characters trans in their fanworks as there are few to no trans characters in the canonical source.) For example, there are, as of now, no Latinx superheroes in the MCU films. Even if people wanted to, they can’t make works with an MCU Latinx superhero unless they bring one from the comics or the one Latinx superhero from Agents of Shield (if they know the comics or AoS), make a minor Latinx film character like Luis a superhero, or racebend their favorite white character and put a fresh spin on the character, drawing from their personal experience and background.

There’s a massive difference between fans racebending a character and a creator taking credit by pretending they viewed a character as non-white or didn’t see race all along when it’s clear that the character is canonically white (this is different from a creator saying they support anyone, POC or white, playing that character onscreen or onstage).

Racist language in fics is more important than fandom representation.

We don’t have to pick our battles. Both are important! I focused on fandom representation as it’s much more quantifiable and easy to find and analyze data for than racist language on a fandom-wide scale on my own without any tools. You’re right that the latter is a problem as is racist representation in fanworks, though.

My fanworks tend to focus on one ship and don’t really include other characters in general. When they do, the others mostly talk about that relationship. Am I falling into the trap you mentioned?

If the story is about a relationship (examining that relationship and the feelings of the characters in it) and there isn’t much of a plot outside of that, then that makes sense. However, even in situations like this, consider how much time you dedicate to characters of color vs. white characters. If the story is about a ship featuring a POC, do you spend more time on the white character of that relationship? Their white friends and how they feel about that relationship? If it’s about a white ship, do white side characters appear more than side characters of color even if the latter have a closer relationship with the protagonists? For example, does Wanda show up more than Sam or play a bigger role than him in a Steve/Bucky fic? Do you have Pepper show up all the time (or even Happy), but Rhodey is chronically absent? Do only the white characters get to be more than the tropes you’re using, if you’re using any, while the POC don’t get to be nuanced? Are there any stereotypes that you’re reducing the POC to?

I feel guilty about not including or writing about *character of color’s name here*.

See “It doesn’t make sense to include every single POC in my work.” Include the character(s) who make sense for the story, perspective you’re writing/drawing from if applicable, and central group or ship if this is a ship-specific work. For example, if you’re drawing the Avengers and you include the newer Avengers, Rhodey and Sam should appear too, not just Wanda, Scott, Bucky, and/or Carol (this happens a lot). If you’re writing a Tony POV fic that includes other characters, depending on the story, it may make sense that Sam doesn’t appear much as he and Tony aren’t close whereas he would in a Steve POV fic.

How do I ensure that I don’t offend anyone if I include POC in my work?

You can’t ensure anything as POC aren’t a monolith, but you can try to be as informed as possible and avoid common pitfalls while writing. You can do research, just the way you might research anything you’re not familiar with. You can ask if anyone is willing to do a sensitivity read while you write or before you post. You can look for betas. There are a lot of resources out there, but these are good places to start if you’re looking for more information and help:

Writing with Color - resources

Writing with Color - Stereotypes and Tropes page

Reference for Writers - POC tag

What should I do to examine myself for any implicit biases?

We should all take stock of:

our feelings about different characters and relationships, both platonic and romantic, who we prioritize in our works, and how much they’re prioritized

our decision whether or not to seek or make content with characters of color. This includes content for white ships because sometimes every white character in the MCU shows up as a side character, but characters of color don’t or all of the white characters play bigger roles than the POC despite how close they are to the protagonist(s)

the way we interpret and write/draw those characters. For example, is Sam a yes-man? A figurative or literal therapist for white friends? The bro who only cracks jokes and/or gives sage advice but seems to not have any flaws, struggles, or life of his own outside of his white friends? The BFF who thinks his white best friend is being ridiculous about another white guy and wants them to get their act together already? Does the character of color talk in the way you perceive everyone of that race to talk rather than the way they personally do (e.g., does Luis randomly and awkwardly switch into Spanish when he talks just because he’s Latinx despite never speaking Spanish with Scott? Does Sam use AAVE with Steve, Bucky, and Natasha when he doesn’t do that with them?)?

Also, here’s a Google doc with more anti-racist resources.

Even well-meaning people can slip up or not be as proactive as they hoped they would be so it’s just good practice to check in with ourselves every once in a while and see if there’s anything we missed or didn’t notice.

#fandom #marvel fandom #mcu fandom #resource

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