#MCU READER INSERT

[peter-parkers-left-pinky]

(Y/n): Do you cook?

Natasha: I made a cake once.

Yelena: Yeah, it was good.

Natasha: Really?

Yelena: Don’t make me lie twice, Natasha.

[writing-house-of-m]

Wanda: Can you get the ice pops out for the kids?

Natasha: These?

Wanda: Erm, no, the boys don't like them. They're for Y/n...

Y/n: *Walks in*

Y/n: Ooo, milk pops

Y/n: Mmm, chocolate :)

Y/n: *Kisses Wanda's cheek and leaves*

Natasha: *Raises an eyebrow at Wanda*

Wanda: I know, I know, I married a child

[justkending]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 3/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader

Word Count: 2100+

A/N Note: I was typing away for the next chapter to come, so chapter 4 will be posted tomorrow (it will also be longer too)! Thank you again for all the support and love you've shown me for this series :) Love all you guys!

_________________

Bucky’s POV:

Why’d I think she’d be able to handle an adult conversation as soon as I started getting serious? When will I fucking learn?

I waited until Y/N shut her door before I went back out to the living room. She drove me insane, but I decided to keep up the habit of staying up late for her. 

During one of her drunken nights at one of Tony’s galas, she had revealed that she preferred sleeping when someone else was awake. In exposing her reason why, it made me sympathize with her trauma. 

“It’s like having a night watch. If someone else is aware, I can put my guard down. Not that that even happens often enough, but oh well,” Y/N drunkenly swayed the side of her silk dress from left to right as she watched the people on the dancefloor.

I knew the feeling of never being able to fully settle into sleep or relaxation because you’d seen all the horrors in the world. We knew what lurked out there and the consequences of someone getting the jump on you.

So, from the first night here, I would stay up in the living room until midnight, sometimes later. Like clockwork, soon after 11 pm, she’d startle awake from a nightmare. I could hear her breathing and heart rate thanks to my enhancements, and I may or may not have channeled them into her room, given the nightmares she’d had in the past. 

So far, there were none so bad to the point I had to go in and check on her, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tuned in to her room and checking every night in case the tides turned. 

Even on the nights she frustrated me like tonight and made me reconsider why I was about to talk to her about… this. This chemistry that was starting to feel closer to real than fake. A feeling I can’t seem to shake, and now I’m wondering if I’m imagining it. Especially when she can’t seem to turn off her annoyance for me even when I think we finally have met in the middle to some extent.

Then again, I lead on that I don’t understand her when it’s quite the opposite. Her story is not far from most of the people who are recruited into our team. A form of a hostage situation where her choices were taken, and she was conditioned to serve some sadistic asshole until she was freed by her own doing. At least her own variation of that… Anyone coming from that kind of situation tends to bond easily over the trauma. 

Not Y/N though…

I never start by being rude to someone. I mean, I’ve been told I’m intimidating and can come off as a terrifying giant assassin, but people in the same field who have seen far worse don’t tend to take that personally, considering almost everyone I work with knows my backstory and the reason behind my resting-assassin-face. 

But Y/N, for some reason, was very standoffish with me from the get-go. For the first few months of us knowing each other, she ignored me, left the room when I came in, found an excuse for another partner on missions, and a list of other things that quickly made me believe she wanted nothing to do with me. 

I may have reciprocated her behavior here and there, growing her annoyance with me even though I didn’t know where the annoyance had begun. I couldn’t help it, given the nasty looks and pure irritation that steamed off her when she looked my way.

I think the sentiment behind her feelings towards me still stands. But then her comment tonight, “I don’t hate you,” got to me.

I threw the laptop I had tried to use to distract myself again to the side. The TV was on, but all I heard was the patterned thumping in my chest starting to grow. 

“No. I want to know fucking why,” I grumbled, standing up abruptly and stomping down the hall to the master bedroom.

The door was shut, and from how she looked, she may have already tucked into bed for the night, but oh well. We were going to talk this out. I couldn’t go another day trying to decipher these feelings and confusions. 

I heard a “Jesus!” from the other side after my metal arm rapped three strong knocks in the center of the light sage-colored door. I banged again when I didn’t hear movement to follow up with it. 

“Calm down, Paul Bunyan! No need to chop the damn door down. I was seconds from sleep,” she groaned before the door flung open, and she squinted up at me with the hall light bringing brightness to her near pitch-dark room. “What? What is it?” Before I could start my sentence, she tensed and looked around me vigilantly. “Shit. Did something happen?” 

I shook my head quickly and instantly saw her shoulders go back and the grogginess return. 

“I want to talk.” 

She screwed her eyebrows up at me. “Dude. Seriously?” 

“Seriously, dude,” I replied sarcastically, pushing past her into her room, turning on the light, and hearing a protest I was too annoyed to listen to.

“It can’t wait until fucking morning when my brain isn’t at 2%?” she crossed her arms, watching me from the doorway. 

“Be real. Your brain doesn’t go below 75% even when you’re sleeping,” I answered, knowing the reality of never being able to shut off fully. Being constantly aware and on the edge of your seat, ready to pounce. 

She eyed me since it wasn’t a diss, and I could see her debating whether or not it was a compliment. 

“What do you-” 

“You say you don’t hate me, but it sure as fuck doesn’t feel like it. From day one, it has felt the very opposite of that,” I cut her off with a harsh laugh at the end, getting right to the chase. 

I’m standing at the end of her bed, arms crossed, and keeping an intense stare on her. Her stance straightens, and she shuffles her weight on her feet, arms mimicking mine. 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” she said in a guarded tone. “What changed?” 

“I can’t go on with this if I don’t know,” I answered honestly, motioning between us. 

“I argue you have to go on with this either way,” she popped a hip, leaning against the threshold of the door frame. 

“Y/N,” I level my eyes at her, and I can see her take in the seriousness in my features. “Just tell me why.” 

She looks at me with a tilt of her head as if considering her options in how she wants to approach this conversation. 

“We just don’t- mesh well…” she says slowly as if trying to sell it, but even she knew she was lying out of her ass. 

“Bullshit. Try again,” I shook my head once and kept my eyes trained on her. 

“Bullshit? You wanted to know-”

“I wanted to know the truth. You’re selling bullshit, and not very well, might I add. Be honest. Now.” 

She huffed a laugh before blinking at me. 

“We’re the same ranking if you’ve forgotten. Therefore, I won’t be taking commands from you, especially with that tone. But since you’re so hellbent on knowing my reasoning, maybe consider how you talk to me.” She took three slow steps closer to me as she spoke. “So ask me again without being a military servant, and maybe I’ll consider staying civil with you.” 

She is one of a very select few kinds of people actually able to intimidate me. Her story was one to compete against mine. Though not many knew all the details since she was adamant about people being in the dark about it, we all knew what she was capable of. Her enhancements, although similar to mine, were not nearly as strong in most aspects. However, that didn’t deter her from being able to take a man quadruple my size down and keep them there.

I knew enough about her brain to know that it was one of the sharpest ones I had come across in my time. Everyone on the team had enough experience in this life to be able to manipulate a lot of situations, but Y/N was the queen of manipulating a situation to work out better for her and her team. It was like she was five steps ahead constantly, and it could be intimidating at times- not going to lie. A strategy someone in our field would think they had down until they saw her ridiculous efficiency at work. Hence, why she was her own kind of weapon for our team.

I give a single nod in acknowledgment, knowing my intensity would be matched and not work in my favor. 

“You say you don’t hate me, and after these few weeks, I’m starting to believe you somewhat. However, our history keeps me from following that hope,” I answer. 

She seems to take something from my confession and lock it in her mind for later use. 

“Our history is complicated,” she replies, looking me up and down subtly and then moving to the side of the bed where the sheets were disturbed. 

I now notice the detail that only one side of the bed was disrupted while the other stayed perfectly made. My own detail to lock away for later. 

“But why? Who said it had to start like that?” My hands go up. She gives me a look like I should know the answer to that and I raise my eyebrows. “You think I’m to blame for our bickering and aimless fights?”

She scoffs, “I wouldn’t say aimless. There are definitely targets to be hit.” 

“Cut the shit.” 

“No shit to cut,” she counters quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed with one leg under her and shrugging. 

“I’m trying to have an adult conversation, and you’re acting like an angsty teenager.” I deadpan, attempting to keep the twitch in my eye at bay.

“And you’re acting like a crotchety old man who demands my respect,” she shouts back. “Ever think maybe that could be the reasoning behind our never-ending feuds?” 

“How could I? You don’t talk to me unless you're dissing me, fighting me, or attempting to make me look bad,” I give a large fake smile. 

“Take a fucking hint then, Grandpa,” she enunciates her curse. 

So I do. I backtrack our conversation and come to a conclusion. Maybe it's not an accurate one, but it's an idea nonetheless. 

“You think I demand respect from you? When have I ever told you that you have to have respect for me?” I asked, more confused than angry now- but definitely not low in anger either.

She stares at me, contemplating her answer. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t get into this,” she waves between us minutely, diverting her eyes to the bathroom door on the wall to the left.

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight if-”

“Not much different than most nights. Welcome to the crew,” she huffed, shifting to adjust her blankets over her in an irritated mood. 

“Why are you so against talking this out?” I growl, forgetting all sense of mental clarity and stomping to her side of the bed, aggressively throwing her blankets off her. “Stop trying to go to bed and talk to me like an adult.”

“An adult?” She takes in a high-pitched breath and stands straight in front of me. “You’re the one who just threw my blankets off like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he didn’t get a cookie after dinner! Sorry to break it to you.” Her finger jabbed into my chest. “But I owe you nothing, Barnes! I owe no explanation. I owe no respect. I owe no reason for how I choose to act around you.” 

I was pissed. Royally pissed, and yet… I couldn’t seem to see past the pure sadness in her eyes. The actual pain that she tried so hard to hide, but in her state- the state I had put her in- she was losing the battle. She was losing it and yet not breaking her eyes from mine, knowing I could see it.

My intensity shriveled slowly as seconds passed, and she didn’t try to fight the tremble on her lip. 

“What did I do?” I asked softly, my hands instinctively coming to her arms, but the touch made her break the eye contact and turn fast, making my hands drop. “Y/N, what did I do?” 

And I meant it. What had I done, and how could I change it?

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​  @srrymydood​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @xa-dia​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @morganclaire4​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @connie326​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @captain-asguard​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @mollygetssherlockcoffee​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @livstilinski @basicallylool​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ @starryeyeseunbyul​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter1​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​​ @alyispunk​​ @billyseye @hallecarey1​​

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​ @stopjustlovethemcu​ @enchantedbarnes

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

@jackiehollanderr @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @theroyalmanatee @wintrsoldrluvr @alexakeyloveloki @learisa @bxckybxrnes24 @lillianacristina @selella @heletsmelovehim

[thewritergremlin-rae]

Hi! If you wanted to could you write a Soulmate AU or Drunken confessions (Loki x reader) pls thanks <333

Thanks for the request anon! I have way too many soulmate AU ideas already so I went with drunken confessions ehehehe

A Casual Exchange

Pairing: Loki x Reader Rating: M Words: 763 Content: 2nd person, fluff, drunken/tipsy reader Summary: Your night winds to a close - your parting words leaving Loki stunned. AO3: HERE

Banner by cafekitsune

You hadn’t meant to get drunk. 

No. Really. 

You’d been nursing one glass, only it had never ended. You had a feeling your favourite Asgardian had something to do with it. Plopping down on the couch, your drink sloshed but you didn’t feel a splash and, looking over at Loki, none of it had spilt on him either. 

Your eyes got a little stuck on Loki, like they always did. Such a beautiful being. Skin - flawless, cheekbones - sharp enough to cut yourself on, legs - never ending. 

The sound of him clearing his throat brought your gaze back to his face but you didn’t feel any of that familiar, heavy embarrassment in your stomach. You laughed as he arched a delicate eyebrow. 

“Yes, dear?” His eyes sparkled with mischief, his gaze washing over your swaying, the slight dazed look in your eyes, and the curve of your lips as you giggled. 

The giggling was his favourite. 

“Are you having fun, Loki?” You laid your arm out over the back of the couch and flopped your head down on it as you waited for his answer. Fingers caught the end of his curls, twisting and twirling them, brain fizzing and focusing on the silky feel. 

Loki snorted softly, you having no idea you’d missed his answer. “You seem to be having far more fun.” 

You giggled again and tugged a little on the curl, watching it bounce back into place. “Yeah…  Do you use magic on these?” You flicked a curl again and his long fingers curled around your traitorous ones. 

“No, that would be pointless when I can simply use products. And I certainly would never be so strange as Midgardians as to put dangerous chemicals in my hair to change the colour.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you processed the information. “Guess you’re right. See, that’s why humans should be feared. What other race kept eating mushrooms until they found the ones that made them trip balls?”

“You also season your food with peppers that developed semi-poisonous defense mechanisms to avoid being eaten, your race deciding that that makes them taste good.” 

You laughed and grinned. “Jalapeno poppers are the best and you’re just jealous you don’t have processed sugar on your planet.”

Loki gave an elegant shrug. “I concede that chocolate is certainly one of your species’ better inventions.” He smiled, pulling a bar seemingly from nowhere as he traded it for your drink. 

Probably a good idea, you were just on the edge of sober enough to know that as you dug in and nibbled. “Thanks, Loki, you’re the best.” 

A subtle twitch in his expression caught your eye but you weren’t sharp enough to figure it out right now. Actually, Loki should have some of this chocolate too but his hands were pretty full. 

You snapped off a piece and held it to his lips, grinning when he accepted it with nothing more than a cocked eyebrow. But he soon got his own back, dragging a gasp from your soft lips when he nipped the tip of your thumb. 

You stared at your thumb as you brought it back to you. It tingled a little, still warm. 

A distant laugh had the sounds of the party around you filtering back in and you realised it’s a little loud. “Me and the chocolate are going to go to bed.” Loki seemed a little sad to lose your company but perhaps he shouldn’t have refilled your cup so much. No-one was ever thankful for a hangover. 

“A good idea. Good night.” 

“Night night, Loki. Love you.” You leaned forward with a bounce to kiss his cheek and got to your feet, leaving him stunned.

Did you just say…

You waved to him as if you didn’t just profess your love for him and disappeared inside the elevator. How could you not realise….? 

You hummed to yourself, nibbling at the chocolate. Head empty, no thoughts as you crossed to your bedroom door. 

Wait.

Did you say ‘love you’ to Loki? Your brain slowly swings back to the memory and your eyes widen when you hear the words in your own voice. 

Oh shit. You hurried back to the elevator, cut short by the appearance of a firm chest in your narrowed field of vision.

“Did we perhaps realise what we said, love?” Loki whispered, hoping he looked not the least bit flustered by your casual admission. His arms caught you and held you close before he caught your lips. 

“Loki…” you breathed and he chuckled. 

“I might be persuaded to remind you come morning.” 

Want to be tagged in future Loki fic? Go here

Check out my masterlist!

Tags: @kindadolly @ilovetaquitosmmmm @satan-ate-my-sandwitch @ravenswritingroom

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

chilly

peter quill x f!reader prompt: warmth theme: fluff (tags beneath the cut)

There were so many things about being on a spaceship that you hadn’t expected, but the one that you found yourself lingering on was the silence. Not while everyone was awake – no, then the ship was filled with the noise of the crew and the music that never ended. But once they were asleep? You thought you’d hear the engines murmur under the metal floors, but no. Just silence.

“What’re you doing up?”

You started at the sound of Quill’s tired voice behind you, and you turned away from the windows to see him standing in the doorway, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand. He’d been on the over-night shift, monitoring the ship’s trajectory through space. Days of stubble marred his jawline, his shirt wrinkled.

“Hey,” you replied. “Who’s steering this thing?”

He smiled, jerking his head back the way he’d come. “Rocket just took over. But you do know the ship has auto-pilot, right?”

You smiled softly, tugging your coat further around yourself. “Still getting used to it.”

“So?” he asked, stepping further into the room. “Why’re you up?”

You shrugged a shoulder, turning back to face the forever expanse of darkness and stars outside. “You know, in like, every movie I’ve ever seen about space, they talk about it being cold. You think that would have prepared me for just how… goddamn freezing it is on this thing.”

Peter chuckled quietly. “You get used to it.”

There was a pause, a moment of that silence that hung between the two of you. Then, you heard his footsteps approach you slowly. You jumped slightly as you felt his hand touch your shoulder, his palm smoothing down over your arm.

“I, uh…” he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Wh—?”

He wrapped his arms around you hesitantly, his hands tracking down your arms to join them where they were wound around your middle. You raised them in surprise, stumbling slightly as he tugged you gently back against his chest. Your hands settled on top of his arms, his skin wonderfully, surprisingly warm beneath your frigid fingers.

“…Oh.”

“Shit, you weren’t kidding about being cold…” he muttered, his hands moving to enclose yours between them. You sighed, watching his fingers curl around yours. Quill cleared his throat again after a moment, as if only now realising the intimacy of the situation. “Better?”

You nodded, leaning back into his embrace. “…I want to make a comment about you being so warm, but I just know you’re going to turn into a ‘hot’ joke.”

“It’s like you know me.”

You giggled quietly, resting your head back on his shoulder. “It really is amazing out here.”

Peter hesitated as your tone turned pensive, and you felt his hands squeeze yours, so gently you weren’t sure you hadn’t imagined it. “You’re not thinkin’ about leavin’ us already, are you?”

You paused a moment before answering. “Sometimes… I think that I should think that I should, y’know?”

“…You lost me.”

You smiled softly, relaxing further into his embrace. “No. I’m not going anywhere, Quill.”

You felt his chin rest on your hair. “Good. We’re kinda getting used to having you around.”

tags: @lovely-dreamer19 @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink @s0ftness @castieltrash1 @drakelover78 @queenoftheunderdark @bombardia @bellarkeselection @nix-rose-q @blue-chup @curcuma-yn0t @ninebluehearts

[spicemaidenfic]

( image source )

A Study in Discipline | Doctor Strange (MCU) | Stephen x Reader

✶ Summary: The man of the Sanctum comes home from a long day at Kamar-Taj with one thing on his mind

✶ Pairing: Doctor Stephen Strange x Apprentice! Reader (F)

✶ Warnings: Smut (18+), bondage

✶ Length: Short one shot, 2.5k words

✶ A/N: Another MCU fic! Established relationship with the one and only Doctor Strange. Absolute filth with a heavy dose of banter. Implied age gap (reader is an adult). Light bondage, tiny bit of hair-pulling, pretty kinky for me but in the grand scheme of ficdom not too crazy lol. Image from a photo shoot (found on Twitter). This No Way Home concept art might help with setting the scene, it sure did me 👀

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to the lower extreme of his register. “What breaks the spell?” “Vishanti,” you answered. “That’s my girl.”

➢ Read the full fic here

[sunriserose1023]

Ignite Your Bones

PAIRING: Bucky x Avenger!Reader WORD COUNT: 10k SQUARE FILLED: Bleeding Through the Bandages WARNINGS: Canon-level violence, injuries, explicit mentions of blood and bleeding, medical terminology, medical situations, angst AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've been working on this one for quite some time. It's a fill for my @badthingshappenbingo card, along with a little enemies to lovers vibe. Title taken from "Fix You," by Coldplay, which definitely fits the last section of this story.

You slammed the door as you walked into the compound, narrowing your eyes at the questioning looks from the people on the couch in the common room. 

“The next time you send me on a mission with him, expect him back in pieces, Captain.”

Steve opened his mouth, closing it again when you stomped out of the room. Two seconds after your boots stopped clicking on the kitchen floor, the door slammed again as Bucky made his way into the common room. 

“Never in my life have I dealt with anyone so reckless, so … stupid, and I grew up with you, Steve!” “‘Stupid?!’”

Bucky muttered “Goddamn it” under his breath as you stomped back into the room, a bag of Doritos in one hand, orange dust-covered finger poking him in the chest. 

“You think I’m stupid?” “Running into a building of heavily armed combatants—“ “Ooh, breaking out the big words, Sarge.” “Get that finger out of my chest before I break it off.”

You dragged your dusty fingers through the stubble on his cheek, smiling wickedly at the disgust on his face as he lifted a hand to wipe off Dorito dust. 

“You’re disgusting.” “Kiss my ass, Barnes.”

You turned and walked away before he could say another word, and Bucky glared in your direction before he turned back to the couch. 

“Next time you want to send me on a mission with her, don’t.”

Bucky walked down the hallway, muttering under his breath as he rubbed a hand over his jaw. Back on the couch, Steve studied the floor and beside him, Natasha rearranged herself, toes crawling under his thigh until he sighed and shifted, picking up her ankles and setting her feet on his lap. He started massaging her heels, finally looking over, making eye contact with her, seeing the joy in her eyes. He shrugged as he spoke. 

“So maybe I did that on purpose.” “You know they hate each other.” “‘Hate’ is a strong word.” “Hiding an even stronger emotion?”

Steve smiled, popping her toes. 

“Guess we’ll just see, huh?”

“Of all the rude, idiotic, downright miserable human beings … I mean … he’s such an asshole! Right?”

You turned around, the pure white cat sitting on the floor behind you. She tilted her head, tail swishing back and forth across the tile floor. She gave a questioning meow and you nodded. 

“Yeah, Bucky Barnes. I never thought I’d say this, but he’s the bane of my existence. I can’t even breathe right around him. Can you believe that, Alpine?”

She meowed again and you nodded back. 

“Trust me, you’d hate him, too. But I’d never subject my best girl to the likes of him. He’s awful, Alp. Just awful.”

She stood up, stretching her paws, arching her back. She walked over to you, weaving her way in and out of your legs, her tail looping around your calf. You bent to scratch your nails on her head, and she bumped her head against your hand. 

“Don’t worry, Alpine. We’re better off without Bucky Barnes in our lives. I promise.”

Bucky aimed his gun and fired, turning slightly towards his right before firing again. He straightened once his targets had fallen to the ground, seeing Natasha and Clint on the roof of the building, hearing the steady idling of the quinjet. He heard a distinct sound in his earpiece, watching Natasha turn towards it and he blew out a breath, running towards the east. He shook his head as he saw his target recoil from the punch he had thrown, cursing under his breath as he raised his gun and fired again, the target crumpling to the ground. Bucky tucked his gun away as he slowed to a walk, shaking his head as he loomed over you. From your place on your back on the ground, you slowly met his eyes, squinting your eyes as the sun glared behind him. Bucky sighed, offering a hand. 

“You know … sometimes I think you like getting punched.” “Oh, shut up.”

You laid a hand in his as he helped you to your feet. You groaned, lifting a hand to your forehead as Bucky held your shoulders.  

“You okay? Seeing double?” “God forbid. If I had to deal with two of you…”

You shook your head, going still and groaning again. 

“Take it easy.”

You moved to lean against him, and Bucky wrapped an arm around you, laying his metal hand over your left ear. 

“Talk to me. What year is it?” “It’s, uh… oh god.”

You pushed him away and Bucky stepped back just in time as you threw up at his feet. He wrinkled his nose and turned his head, closing one eye as he looked up to Nat and Clint. He turned back just in time to catch you as you fainted, shaking his head and lifting you into his arms. 

“I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

You laid on your couch with Alpine on the arm at your feet, watching as she licked her paw. 

“You know we have a room you could use specifically for bathing.”

She didn’t dignify you with a response, and you sighed as you gingerly rolled your head towards the television. Netflix was playing softly, the documentary you’d tried to watch long since lost your attention. You sighed and turned the TV off, tossing the remote to your coffee table and gently turning your head. You closed your eyes, pulling the blanket up to your chin, exhaling as the throb in your head made itself known again. You gave a quiet moan, smiling when Alpine crept over and curled up on your stomach. You took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. 

“Miss Y/N, Sergeant Barnes is requesting entry.”

You gave a quiet moan at the soft voice sounding through the speakers of your apartment. 

“Let him in, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

He was just going to have to fend for himself, because your head was hurting too badly for you to do anything except nap. You heard the door unlock and then open, heard it softly click shut. You grunted when Alpine used your belly to launch herself to the back of the couch, tail swishing as her blue eyes studied the intruder. 

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

His voice was soft, and you answered in turn, not opening your eyes. 

“Her name is Alpine. She’s very self-sufficient and she adores Happy. He takes care of her for me when we go on missions.” “Huh.”

You heard Bucky’s careful footsteps as he walked to the couch, giving a sigh when his shadow fell over your face and hid the light. You cracked open one eye when you heard a distinct purr, finding Alpine preening under his gentle touch, moving her head to keep in contact with his hand. 

“I think she likes me.” “She has questionable tastes.”

Bucky chuckled as he stepped back, Alpine meowing in protest. You moved your eye to follow Bucky and he nodded to you. 

“Sit up.” “No.”

He blew out a breath. 

“I’m here to help you.” “My head throbs when I move.” “I know. Bruce sent a pill with me to help that.” “I don’t want—“ “I know. It’s just going to knock you out. Your concussion isn’t that bad. Just painful. Come on.”

You moaned and groaned as Bucky helped you into a sitting position, and he managed to roll his eyes only a few times. You gripped his flesh arm as waves of nausea rolled over you, the throb in your head seeming to echo with every heartbeat. 

“Just breathe.”

You whimpered, leaning into him, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder. He leaned his head on yours, shushing you softly, the stubble on his chin tickling your forehead. 

“You okay?” “I think so.” “Let me get you some water.”

You nodded, eyes closed as he walked into the kitchen, filling a glass and walking it back. He put the glass in your hand, setting the pill in your other hand. You opened your eyes, wincing as you did. 

“What is it?” “It’ll help.” “Bucky.” “I’m not a doctor, but a doctor gave it to me. We trust them, remember?”

You snorted. 

“Them I trust. You, not so much.”

He rolled his eyes, but smiled. 

“Just take the damn pill.” “What if I’m allergic to it?” “That’s why I’m here, and I’m staying until we see how it affects you.”

You gave a shake of your head, moaning softly. 

“Nat busy?” “Yes, and Wanda was, too. Sorry, kid. You’re stuck with me.” “I’m not a kid.” “Then take the damn pill.”

You sighed, putting the pill in your mouth and quickly drinking. You wrinkled your nose at the bitter taste, finishing the water. 

“Atta girl.” “Don’t patronize me, Barnes. Let me sleep.” “That’s the plan, cupcake. Lay down.” “Do not call me ‘cupcake.’” “Just lay your ass down.”

You did, rolling onto your side and closing your eyes, doing your best to ignore the throbbing in your head. You felt the blanket cover you, but you couldn’t open your eyes again. You felt Bucky’s gentle touch to your forehead, heard his soft murmur to get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to turn off the lights, and your headache started to ease as you drifted to sleep. 

Bucky stood over you, shaking his head as your breathing evened out, your eyebrows relaxed, and the pain that had been evident on your face disappeared. Bucky watched you sleep for a moment, turning and going into the kitchen to put the soup Wanda had sent with him into your fridge. He turned and stopped, staring at the cat in the middle of the kitchen floor. Her tail swished back and forth over the tiles, blue eyes locked onto him. 

“I come in peace. Even though your mom would probably disagree.”

Alpine chirped back at him and Bucky’s eyebrows raised. 

“So you’ve heard of me.”

Alpine turned her head and Bucky chuckled. 

“I’m sure she’s bitched about me to you, but I’m not that bad, I promise.”

He knelt down and Alpine walked to him, sniffing the hand he held out before bumping it with her head. Bucky smiled, petting the cat. 

“See? You can tell I’m a good guy. Well, I mean … might not go that far. But I’m okay.”

He moved to sit on the floor, sighing as Alpine crawled into his lap. 

“Your mom just brings out the worst in me. I don’t know why. I mean … you know how she can be, right?”

Alpine chirped and Bucky nodded. 

“Exactly. You get it.”

Alpine leaned closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. Bucky moved his hand to scratch under her chin. 

“She’s really not so bad. It’s just easy to get her riled up. And now we’ve just always acted like this, so why change, you know? But she …”

Bucky glanced towards the living room, where you were softly snoring on the couch. He sighed, shaking his head. 

“She’s got to stop being so stupid in the field.”

Alpine gave a quiet hiss and Bucky looked at her with wide eyes. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it, but she doesn’t think. She just goes balls to the wall and one of these days she’s going to get killed. I swear to God, she's just like Steve. I’m like a magnet to little bleeding heart do-gooders with no sense of self-preservation.”

Bucky lifted a hand to rub over his face as he sighed. He shook his head, gently ushering the cat off his lap, smiling at her offended glare. 

“Come on. I’ve got to stay at least another hour to make sure she’s alright.”

He walked back into the living room, finding you sound asleep and breathing fine. He grabbed a book from your bookshelf and sat in a chair, smiling when Alpine jumped into his lap and curled up, purring when his metal hand began gently petting her. 

“I swear to God, if you don’t get your hand off my back, I will break it off and shove it up your—“ “Easy, cupcake. We’re supposed to be deeply in love, remember?”

You smiled as you and Bucky passed a couple in the hallway. You gave the woman a nod, laying your hand against Bucky’s shoulder. When the two of you rounded the corner and it was apparent you were alone, you dug your nails into his neck, pinching right at the pressure point. Bucky’s knees buckled and he stumbled as he cried out. 

“Son of a bitch!”

Bucky jumped away from you, blue eyes flashing as he lifted a hand to his neck. You looked at him with wide, innocent eyes, blinking once. 

“What’s wrong, dear?” “You’re an insufferable witch.” “Ooh, watch it, cupcake. We’re supposed to be in love, remember?”

Bucky stepped closer to you, the hand you expected was going for your throat gentling as voices could be heard just before people rounded the corner. Bucky stepped even closer, his nose brushing against yours as his hand came to rest on your shoulder, his words muttered under his breath. 

“I loathe you.”

You gave a breathy giggle. 

“Right back at you, toots.”

The people walked away and Bucky stepped back from you, straightening his suit jacket. 

“Can we just get the intel and get the fuck out of here?” “It would be my pleasure. Just—“ “Stay out of my way.”

You blinked as Bucky walked away from you, narrowing your eyes as you followed him, heels clicking on the marble floor. 

“Priscilla! Oh, there you are darling. You look lovely!”

You took her hands as you accepted the kisses to your cheeks, smiling at the heiress before you. 

“Amelia, it’s so good to see you.”

Amelia didn’t even try to hide her blatant perusal of the man beside you and she gave him a demure smile. 

“Amelia Weatherford.” “Of Weatherford Jewels?” “Handsome and intelligent. My favorite combination.”

Bucky smiled as he took the hand she offered, pressing his lips to the back of it. You blinked at the sudden flame of fury you felt roll down your spine, shaking your head as he straightened. 

“Nicholas Rockefeller.”

Amelia’s eyes widened, as did yours when you turned to Bucky. He winked at you, offering his arm. 

“Miss Weatherford—“ “Amelia, please.”

Bucky nodded. 

“Amelia, will you excuse us? I promised Prissy a dance.”

Amelia grinned, nodding her head and stepping back, allowing the two of you space to walk to the dance floor. Bucky turned to face you, taking one of your hands, settling his other on your hip. You dug your nails into his hand, setting your other on his shoulder. You put a smile on your face, leaning in closer. 

“Rockefeller? Are you out of your goddamned mind?” “You pull out a Rockefeller, no one questions it.” “Maybe that worked in the olden days, Grandpa, but these days that shit can be verified in a few seconds.” “Would you relax and get your fucking nails out of my skin?”

You loosened your hold on him, pulling him closer and studying the room over his shoulder. 

“So how’d you cross paths with a jewelry heiress?”

You smiled, murmuring just as softly as Bucky had. 

“Undercover op in Ibiza, years ago. I’m actually surprised she remembered me.” “Well, it was Ibiza.” “Good point.”

Bucky moved his hand to the small of your back, eyebrow raising at your sudden intake of breath. Your eyes met his and you shook your head. 

“Don’t even. You just took me off-guard.” “Mm-hmm.” “I still can’t believe you went with Rockefeller. That’s not who we agreed on.” “Sometimes you’ve just got to go with whatever strikes you in the moment, cupcake.”

You scoffed. 

“Stop calling me cupcake. And don’t ever call me ‘Prissy’ again.” “It’s a common nickname for Priscillas.” “How many Priscillas do you know? You know what? Don’t answer that.”

Bucky chuckled, pulling you closer, smiling when you gasped quietly again.

“Quit it.”

He chuckled again, cheek brushing against yours when he saw a figure over your shoulder. 

“He’s here.” “Who?” “You know who.”

You slowly nodded, pressing your temple against his. 

“You want to take this one or me?” “I’ll do it. Let’s meet up in ten minutes, cupcake. Don’t be late.” “Fifty bucks says it takes longer.” “I’ll take that bet.”

You giggled, pulling back and staring into his blue eyes. You ran a finger down his nose, tapping his lips before turning away.

“Amelia!”

She rushed to you and you took her hands. 

“Do you know where the ladies’ room is?” “Of course!”

Amelia winked at Bucky.

“I’ll bring her right back, Mister Rockefeller.”

Bucky winked back at her, and Amelia giggled as she leaned closer to you, touching your forehead with her own. The two of you began walking away, and you glanced over your shoulder to see Bucky making his way across the room. 

“Fifty bucks richer.”

You shook your head, crossing your arms in the cool night air. You glanced around, then went back inside, shivering at the sudden temperature change. You walked to the doorways and looked into the ballroom, quickly scanning the room and coming up empty. 

“Yeah, this was a great op to refuse comms. Stupid boy.”

You looked around the hall, hearing a metallic clattering from a room nearby. You shook your head, a sneer on your lips. 

“Five to ten odds he’s banging a waitress in the back alley.”

You looked from one end of the room to the other, lips twisting as you murmured to yourself. 

You shook your head, putting a smile on your face and making your way through the ballroom. In the hallway, you looked right and then left, before deciding to go left. You stepped to the side when a man in a suit rushed past you, nearly running into you, and you narrowed your eyes at him before you continued on your journey. You rounded a corner and let out a breath. 

“There you are.”

Bucky was standing with his back to you in the middle of the hallway. You shook your head, dress swishing on the ground, heels clicking on the floor as you rounded to stand in front of him. 

“‘Let’s meet up in ten minutes, cupcake. Don’t be late.’ And what happens? Cupcake shows up like always. Grumpy Old Man flakes, as usual.”

Bucky didn’t roll his eyes. He didn’t shrug and turn away from you, like just the sight of you was enough to make him sick. He didn’t make any movement at all, which made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You glanced at his feet, going still at the drops of blood by his shoes. You moved a hand to gently touch his shoulder. 

“Buck? Hey. What’s wrong?”

He blinked, slowly moving his eyes to yours. Your eyebrows furrowed at the look on his face, paler than usual, paler than you were comfortable with. Your ears perked up at the sharp exhalation he gave, and you shook your head as your eyes combed over him. 

“What happened? What?” “I think … I think he stabbed me.” “What?”

Your eyes widened, and you grabbed the lapels of Bucky’s suit jacket, opening it and gasping when you saw the crimson spreading over the right side of his stark white shirt. 

“Oh, shit.”

You pressed a hand against his side and he gave a quiet moan. You looked over his shoulders, then behind yours and he shook his head. 

“He’s gone. I didn’t … I didn’t get—“ “It’s okay. Can you walk? We need to get out of here.”

Bucky nodded, and you stayed beside him, hand pressed against his side as the two of you took a step together. Bucky shook his head, reaching to grab hold of your arm. 

“Damn it, that hurts.” “Hang in there, Buck. Just one foot in front of the other.”

He nodded, looping an arm around your neck. He grunted with every slow step the two of you took, sweat breaking out over his forehead. You could feel your hand getting wetter as the bleeding continued, but Bucky refused to stop until the two of you were outside. You looked around, speaking as you scanned the parking lot.

“Let me get a cab.” “No, I—“ “You can’t walk all the way to the hotel.” “No, but I can’t bleed all over a cab either.”

Your mind was racing, and you turned your head to look at him. 

“Do I need to call an ambulance?” “No. Just …”

Bucky blew out a breath, blinking wide eyes before exhaling again. 

“Do you know how to hot-wire a car?”

You narrowed your eyes. 

“Do I look like a natural-born idiot? Of course I know how to hot-wire a car!”

Bucky grinned, sweat rolling down his pale face. You swallowed as you looked at his side and he nodded. You helped him take his jacket off, balling it up and pressing it against his side. He moaned, squeezing his eyes shut, nodding as you moved your hands away and moved his to hold the jacket in place. You ran through the parking lot, ignoring the shaking in your hands as you found a nondescript dark-colored SUV, easily picking the lock on the driver’s side door and quickly hot-wiring the car. You drove to where you’d left Bucky, helping him into the passenger’s seat. You pulled open the glove compartment and almost cried in relief. 

“Look! First aid kit.”

You pulled it out and opened it up, finding the biggest bandage you could. Bucky gritted his teeth as he lifted his shirt and you pressed the bandage to his skin, doing your best to ignore the immediate spread of blood under it. You shook your head, pulling his shirt down, going to the driver’s side and climbing in, speeding away from the gala and towards the nondescript motel you were staying. 

“Are you—“ “I’m okay.”

You nodded, both hands tightly gripping the wheel. You kept your eyes on the road, shaking your head. 

“I thought you had the serum to heal you.” “I do, but it’s not always … instantaneous.”

You bit your bottom lip hard, making yourself smile. 

“You don’t have to try and impress me with big words, you know.”

Bucky barked a laugh, but it trailed into a groan. You white-knuckled the steering wheel, breathing a sigh of relief when you saw the motel. 

“Thank god. We made it.”

You looked over to see Bucky with his eyes closed, big body slumped against the door. 

“No! No, Buck, stay awake. Bucky!”

He jumped when you threw an arm over, smacking his shoulder. He blinked wide eyes and you shook your head. 

“Don’t go to sleep.” “Okay.” “I mean it, Bucky. Stay with me.”

He nodded, groaning as he pressed a hand to his side. You parked the car and jumped out, running to help him out of the car, looping his arm around your neck, helping him lean onto you as the two of you hobbled into the room. He immediately collapsed onto the bed and you stood over him, ripping his shirt open and giving a shaking breath. 

“Jesus, Buck.”

You bit your tongue as you saw the blood-soaked bandage you’d placed on him. He nodded, wincing as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Fuck, it hurts.” “I know. Let me …”

Your words trailed off as you ran into the bathroom, gathering towels and wetting one. 

“My … suitcase.”

You poked your head out of the bathroom to see Bucky pointing and you unzipped the front pocket of his suitcase to find a bottle of rubbing alcohol. 

“Thank God.”

Bucky nodded as you hurried back into the bathroom, gathering the towels and the alcohol and heading back to him. You walked into the room to see Bucky with his eyes closed, blood-covered hand hanging over the edge of the bed. 

“No! Bucky, no.”

He jumped at your sharp tone, eyes sluggishly opening. You shook your head as you dropped your supplies onto the bed before looming over him. 

“You stay with me. Do not close your eyes.”

Bucky smirked as you turned away. 

“First you … rip my shirt off, then you … boss me around. Keep … keep it—-“ “You can’t even talk, much less pretend like you could get it up. Don’t even.”

Bucky laughed, groaning when you pulled the bandage off his side. You tossed the blood-soaked bandage off the bed, pouring alcohol over his wound before pressing the wet towel against his side. You increased the pressure and his groan grew louder, metal hand moving to grip your arm. 

“I’m sorry.” “Don’t. You’re … fine. Don’t let me hurt you.”

You nodded, trying your best to clean the wound. Blood continued to bubble out and you shook your head. 

“God, there’s so much blood.” “Might’ve n … nicked the liver.” “No, there’s got to be … oh, fuck. Fuck, Bucky. He got you twice.”

Bucky rolled as best he could when you tapped his shoulder, and you gave a quiet whine when you saw the wound to his back, inches from the first wound. You shook your head as you moved the towel and pressed both of your hands to both of his wounds. 

“Goddamn it, Y/N.” “Don’t give me shit right now. I’m trying to save your life.” “I know. I’m just …”

He wheezed out a breath, and you quickly set a thick bandage on the wound on his back. Bucky rolled back to his back, wincing as you put another bandage on his front. 

“Just breathe.”

Bucky nodded, widening his eyes. You shook your head, leaning over him. 

“Come on, bionic man. You’ve got an arm made out of the strongest metal in the world and you’re going to let a little prison shank take you out?”

Bucky wheezed out a laugh, his metal arm moving to cup your elbow, thumb rubbing over your skin as his sleepy eyes met your own. 

“I’ll be … fine.” “Please don’t leave me, Buck. Stay with me.”

He nodded, eyes drifting closed. 

“No, damn it. No! Open your eyes and keep them open. Bucky, please. Oh, look what you’ve done. You got blood on your dog tags.”

He blinked his eyes open at that, looking down to see your blood-covered fingertips grab onto his dog tags before letting them sit in your bloody palm. He shook his head, your thumbprint perfectly outlined on the smooth side of the metal. 

“You did that.” “Prove it.”

Bucky groaned, head falling back on the pillow. 

“Fuck.” “I know. Just hold on.”

Your eyes widened when you looked down at the bandage, blood seeping out from under it. You swallowed and pulled the bandage off, cleaning the blood as best you could before finagling a piece of gauze and taping it to his skin. Blood quickly soaked through the gauze and bubbled around the tape. 

“You’ve got to … stitch it up.”

You looked up and met his eyes, shaking your head. 

“What? No. No, I …I can call for—“ “For what?”

You looked at his pale face, watching his eyes slowly blink open, the icy blue dull around his widening pupils. He gave a slow shake of his head. 

“They … won’t make it.” “Buck, I can’t.” “You … have to. You … you’re my only … hope.”

You squeezed your eyes closed, shaking your head. You opened your eyes again and he gave you a small smile. He nodded and you blew out a breath. 

“Oh, god.” “You … can do this.”

You nodded, stepping back from the bed and to his suitcase, pulling out a sewing kit. You blew out a breath, shaking your head. 

“Goddamn it.”

You grabbed a needle and some thread, moving back to the bed and picking up the bottle of alcohol, pouring it over the needle. Your hands shook as you tried to thread the needle, stilling when you felt metal fingers gently brushing your elbow again. You looked at him and Bucky smiled. 

“You’ve got this.”

You shook your head, staring into his sleepy eyes. 

“I’ve never sewn anything before.” “Nothing … to it. Just … back and—back and forth.”

You nodded again, doing as he instructed, listening to his murmurs as he walked you through how to knot the thread. You blew out a breath and wiped the towel over his skin, cleaning away the blood. 

“Pinch the … skin together.”

You did as he said, doing your best to ignore his wince. He shook his head. 

“Don't … pay atten—attention to me. Just do it.” “Okay, Nike.”

He gave a breathy laugh, groaning as you took the opportunity and pushed the needle through his skin. Your eyes were wide, mouth open when you saw what you’d done to him, the stark black thread standing out against his skin. 

“Oh my god.” “Keep—keep going. In and—“ “Out. In and out.”

Bucky nodded, groaning again as you pulled and tugged, pushing the needle into his skin, pulling it out, closing the wound on his side. You tied another knot in the end of the thread, helping Bucky move the slightest bit onto his side. You couldn’t stop the whine from escaping your lips when you saw the blood-soaked bandage on his back, pulling it off and cleaning the wound as best you could. You licked your lips and cleared your mind, focusing only on the task at hand, going through the same motions as you stitched up the other, albeit smaller, wound. You gave a sigh of relief, laughing softly. 

“Okay. Okay, that’s it. They’re closed.”

You rolled Bucky back to his back, the breath catching in your throat when you saw his eyes closed. 

“No, no, no. Bucky? Buck, open your eyes.”

He didn’t do what you said this time. Your hand gently slapped his face, and you let the tears come when he gave a soft moan, trying to move away from you. You nodded, your hand resting against his cheek as you brought your knees up, resting your elbow on them as you put your forehead against your wrist and cried. 

After a moment, you sniffed and stood up, going into the bathroom and staring at yourself in the mirror. Your gown was stained with Bucky’s blood, your hands were covered in it, it was caked under your nails. You even had blood on your forehead. You closed your eyes, opening them again to see your blood-soaked reflection staring back at you. 

“Carrie. I’m Carrie at the prom.”

A laugh bubbled from your lips and you lifted a hand with the intention of covering your mouth. The laughter died as you gasped instead, staring at your hand. You took in a shaky breath, glancing over your shoulder and watching Bucky’s chest rise and fall a few times. You walked to the shower and turned it on, not even bothering to check the temperature before you walked into the shower fully clothed. 

You sat on the side of the bed, eyes focused on Bucky’s chest as it rose and fell. You’d at least combed your hair when you got out of the shower, leaving it in wet ropes around your head. You’d pulled on a pair of sweatpants before rifling through Bucky’s bag and stealing one of his Henleys.

You’d felt so cold ever since you’d gotten out of the shower. 

You looked down at the phone in your hand, taking in a breath before letting it out slowly. You tapped the screen until you found a number, lifting the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?” “Hey, it … it’s me.” “Hey, you. How’s it going?”

You looked to the bed, shaking your head as your bottom lip wobbled. 

“Not … not great.” “What’s wrong?” “Bucky got stabbed.” “Jesus. Is he okay? Where are you?” “We’re at the motel. Clint, I had to sew him up.”

You couldn’t fight back the sob, and you put your forehead in your hand as you heard Clint murmuring through the phone. 

“Y/N, it’s Steve. Is he alive?”

You nodded until you trusted your voice. 

“He’s unconscious, but he’s breathing. I had to sew up the wounds and I’ve never done that before. You need to come get us and get him to a doctor.” “I’m sure you did fine.” “There was so much blood.”

Steve didn’t say anything after your whisper, and his voice was shaky when he spoke again. 

“We’re on the way.” “We didn’t finish the mission.” “That doesn’t matter now.”

You nodded, closing your eyes as Clint came back on the line, telling you they’d be there in a few hours. You hung up the phone, moving to the other bed, lifting a shaky hand to brush through Bucky’s hair. 

“They’re coming, Buck. Steve’s coming and he’s going to help you. You’re going to be okay.”

Bucky muttered nonsense words, and you shushed him, hand coming to rest against his cheek. Bucky murmured again, leaning into your touch before settling down again. 

You sat on the other bed and watched as Steve ran in, hitting his knees beside the bed where Bucky was still sleeping. Clint pulled up a hologram of Helen Cho, who praised your stitches and instructed the boys to get Bucky to her cradle ASAP. They were loading him onto a stretcher when Wanda walked in, kneeling before you. 

“Hey, you. Let’s go home.”

You turned your head to meet her eyes, your own eyes narrowing. Even though you’d been watching and hearing everything that was happening around you, you felt far away, like you’d been watching television instead of real life. You swallowed, giving Wanda a nod when she murmured your name again. She held out a hand and you grabbed onto it, holding tighter than you realized. You blinked when you noticed Sam grabbing your suitcases. 

“The … the dress.” “What dress, honey?”

You blinked as you looked at Wanda again, like you weren’t entirely sure if she was there. 

“The dress for the gala. It’s … it’s in the bathroom.”

Wanda nodded to Sam. 

“We’ll take care of it. Come on, sweetie.”

You followed her lead, still gripping tightly to her hand as she led you to the quinjet. 

Two weeks later, Bucky walked into the kitchen, heading for the fruit bowl. 

“How are there never any bananas? I swear to god, I put them on the grocery list yesterday.”

Natasha’s eyebrows raised, but she didn’t say anything as she spread peanut butter over the piece of bread in her hand. Bucky blew out a breath, muttering to himself as he picked up an orange instead. 

“Nat, are you stealing all the bananas?” “Do I look like a banana thief?”

Bucky shrugged his metal shoulder as he peeled his orange. Natasha glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“We have knives for that, you know?”

Bucky grinned at her with a section of orange in his mouth and she rolled her eyes. She finished her sandwich, leaving the room without a goodbye. She made her way down the hall, knocking softly on a door, hearing F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s announcement of who was at the door. At the click of a lock, Natasha walked into the apartment. 

“Hey, I brought you some lunch.” “Just a sec.”

Natasha walked into the kitchen, hearing you curse under your breath. She sighed, looking at the pile of banana peels at your elbow. 

“Y/N…” “Hey, Nat.”

You scrambled to hide whatever was in your hands from her and Natasha narrowed her eyes. 

“What are you doing?” “Nothing. Did you say something about lunch? I’m starving.” “It’s just a peanut butter sandwich.” “Ooh, my fave.”

You pushed your chair away from the table, turning your back to Natasha quickly so she wouldn’t see your hands. 

“What are you trying to hide from me?”

You faltered at that, pausing a moment before walking to the sink. 

“Nothing.” “Y/N—“ “Drop it. Please.”

Natasha sighed, setting the sandwich down and crossing her arms over her chest. She waited until you walked back to the table, staring you down until you sighed and sat in the chair. 

“What’s going on with you?”

You put your head in your hands in lieu of answering her. Natasha shook her head. 

“Come on. You’ve been avoiding the team ever since you got back from that mission with Bucky. Steve’s about ready to mandate therapy for you.” “Steve can’t do that.” “He’s the Captain. He can do what he wants.”

You snorted and Natasha sighed, sitting across from you. 

“Come on, kid. Talk to me.” “It’s nothing. I’m fine. Can I have my sandwich now?”

You let your hands fall by your sides. Natasha stared at you, but you stared right back, and she eventually sighed and nodded. You slid the plate closer to you and took a bite out of the sandwich. 

“So you’re the one that’s been stealing the bananas?” “I thought this was lunch, not an interrogation.” “The evidence is overwhelming.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at the way you spoke with your mouth full, then motioned to the banana peels at your elbow. You swallowed the bite you’d taken, lifting your shoulders. 

“I’m really into smoothies?”

Natasha just cocked an eyebrow and you blew out a breath. 

“I made banana bread last week.” “I know. Clint kept making perverse comments about how good it was.”

You smiled at that, looking down at the sandwich. You gently pushed the plate away, your sandwich with one bite missing staring back at you. 

“Hey.” “I’m not doing anything illegal or unmentionable with the bananas.” “You know I don’t care about that.”

Natasha reached over and laid a hand on your wrist. 

“I’m worried about you.”

Her eyes softened when you lifted tear-filled ones to her. You shook your head and she tightened her hold on you. You gave a shaky exhale and shook your head again. 

“I’m sorry about the bananas. I’ll make my own grocery order or something.” “Honey, that’s not the point.”

You tugged your hand away from her, wiping your eyes. 

“I, uh … I’ve really got to clean out my bathroom. It’s horrible. Can’t even remember the last time I mopped it.” “Talk to me.” “I’m just busy, Nat. I'm fine.” “You’re not—“ “Can you lock the door on your way out?”

Natasha sighed as you walked away, closing a door down the hall. She closed her eyes, hanging her head as she exhaled again. She picked up the sandwich you didn’t eat, biting into it herself as she left your apartment, locking the door behind her.

“No.” “Come on, Wanda. It’s for the greater good.”

Wanda raised one eyebrow as Sam tried to hide his smile. Natasha was unperturbed, taking one of Wanda’s hands. 

“Something is going on with her. She hasn’t been to movie night or game night or even dinner in two weeks. Almost three! You know how she is.”

Sam tilted his head. 

“You know that last mission took a toll on her.” “I know it did, but she usually bounces back quicker than this.”

Wanda laid her other hand on top of Natasha’s. 

“You didn’t see what we saw when we picked them up, Nat. She just needs time to process this.” “It’s been two weeks. This is past ‘processing time.’ This is mentally fucked up time now.”

Wanda looked to Sam, who stared back at her, a silent conversation passing between them. Wanda sighed, turning back to Natasha.

“I don’t like this.” “Let the record state she doesn’t like this.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled. Wanda sighed again, standing up and brushing off the dress she was wearing before making her way down the hall. She stopped outside your room, putting her ear to the door, closing her eyes as they began to glow red. 

“And pull slowly … there. Perfect.”

Wanda turned her head slightly as she listened to your thoughts. 

You can’t even see it! That’s a surgeon’s precision there. “Excellent work, Agent. Do you want to try the chicken now?” 

Wanda blinked her eyes open when she heard the second voice. It sounded different, further away, and she thought the voice had to be coming through your phone or computer. 

“Ew, it’s slimy.” “You knew it would be. Remember how we talked about it?” “Right. It’s more like normal skin, and with an injury, slime is a possibility.”

Wanda heard a tinny laugh, and she closed her eyes again as your voice went silent, save for the one in your head. 

Take a breath. You need this practice. You have to do this right. Next time could be life and death.

Wanda’s brows furrowed as she laid a hand on the door. 

In and out. In and out. Don’t forget to breathe. In and out. “Very good. Go just a bit deeper … that’s it. Perfect.”

Wanda’s red eyes opened when the soft sound of your thoughts echoed in her mind. 

I need to figure out how to make this bloody. It’s slippery enough as it is, but the blood adds an extra obstacle. Remember how Bucky’s blood soaked the needle and thread? “Agent, clear your mind. Keep your focus on the task at hand. That last stitch slipped.” “Sorry.” “It’s still very good.”

Wanda turned the doorknob, silently making her way into your apartment, stopping at the entry to your kitchen. You were sitting at the table with your back to her, your laptop on the table, along with a small pile of bananas and a raw chicken breast. 

“What are you doing?”

You jumped, quickly turning in your chair. 

“Wanda? What the hell are you doing? How did you get in here?” “Agent, I think this will end our session today. Very good work.”

You turned back as the video call ended with a chime, and you blew out a breath as you hung your head. Wanda stepped further into the kitchen, eyes scanning the room. 

“What are you doing in here? Why do you have so many bananas?” “Wanda, you need to go.”

Wanda’s eyes started glowing as you tried to hide the contents on the table from her. 

Shit. God, she can’t know. Nobody can know. They won’t understand. 

“What won’t we understand?”

You whirled around, eyes full of hurt. 

“Are you in my head?”

Wanda blinked, her eyes cooling back to their normal color. You gave an almost silent laugh. 

“You were. You were listening. You promised you’d never do that.” “Everyone is worried about you. You won’t leave this apartment. Ever since your mission with Bucky, you’ve closed off.”

You couldn’t help but flinch when she mentioned Bucky and that disastrous mission. Wanda’s eyes softened as she took a step closer.

“This has something to do with that, doesn’t it?” “Can you just mind your own business?” “Not when you’re hurting this badly and won’t let any of us help. We know what you’re going through.”

You whirled to face her, eyes wide. 

“How?! How could any of you know what I’m feeling? You weren’t there. You didn’t have his blood all over your hands, all over your dress. You didn’t stand in the shower and watch his blood flow down the drain. You didn’t do everything you could to help him and it wasn’t enough.”

Wanda’s eyes filled with tears as yours did.

“You didn’t watch him almost bleed out. You didn’t have to push a needle through his skin to try to hold him together.” “Oh, honey.”

You shook your head, stepping away from her. You went to the sink and turned the water on, pumping soap into your hands and rubbing them together. Wanda lifted a hand to her lips as she watched you, tears sliding down your face and dripping into the sink. When she noticed the steam from the water, she rushed over and turned the water off, turning the cool side on and gently moving your hands under the water. 

You gripped the edges of the sink as Wanda turned the water off. She took your hands in hers, drying them off gently. 

“You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

You lifted your head, tear-filled eyes meeting hers. She gave you a sad smile, pulling you into a hug. You put your face in her shoulder and let her hold you, not seeing her eyes start to glow red, but feeling your own eyes grow heavier and heavier until you couldn’t help but close them. Your knees slowly buckled and Wanda helped you, going with you until you were laid out and sleeping peacefully on the floor. 

Wanda sighed, going to your door and opening it, whistling softly. Sam and Natasha popped their heads around the corner as Wanda raised an eyebrow, then motioned for them to come. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she looked around the kitchen, widening when she saw the bananas and the chicken, the needle and thread. 

“Oh my god.” “Sam, can you…?”

He nodded, gently brushing past Natasha as he walked to you, kneeling and lifting your sleeping body into his arms. You curled against his chest and he closed his eyes before carrying you down the hall and into your bedroom. 

Natasha met Wanda’s eyes and Wanda crossed her arms over her stomach. 

“She had a doctor on the computer who was talking her through stitches.” “That’s why she kept stealing the bananas.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow and Natasha walked over, picking up a pristine yellow banana. 

“If you do it correctly…”

She unpeeled the banana and Wanda’s eyebrows raised at the neat black stitches on the peel. 

“You can’t even tell it was peeled.” “She’s out. What’s going on with the prep line in here?”

Natasha showed Sam the stitches in the banana peel and he closed his eyes before crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Shit.”

Natasha and Wanda nodded. After a moment of silence, Wanda spoke. 

“Now comes the hard part. Do we tell Bucky?”

You woke up with a headache, feeling quite hungover even though you hadn’t drank a drop of alcohol. You sat up in the bed, putting your head in your hands. 

No matter how hard you’d tried, you just couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky and the last mission the two of you went on. You couldn’t get the sight of his pale face out of your head, the way the blood wouldn’t stop, soaking through the bandages you’d tried to put on him. You felt like Lady Macbeth because in your dreams, you couldn’t get his blood off of your hands, no matter how hard you scrubbed. 

You crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom, trying and failing to avoid your reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles under your eyes, and your complexion was dull. You hadn’t left your apartment in a few weeks, hadn’t even gone outside. You were too preoccupied with the bananas and the stitching. 

You sighed and pulled your unwashed hair into a bun on top of your head, leaving the bathroom and coming to a hard stop when you saw the man sitting on your couch. Bucky lifted his eyes to yours, metal hand still as Alpine sniffed all over it.

“Long time no see.”

You nodded. 

“I’ve been busy.” “You’re the one that’s been stealing all the bananas.”

You shook your head. 

“I mean, yeah at first, but I’ve done my own grocery order for a while.” “Why?”

You lifted a hand to scratch at your neck. 

“No reason.” “Babe, we’ve got to work on your tells.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, dropping your hand and looking down at the floor. 

“Tell me why you needed so many bananas, Y/N.” “I went on a banana diet.” “Stop going up on your toes. That's another tell.”

You went to your flat feet, eyes cast down. You heard Alpine’s annoyed mrow as Bucky stood up and when he took a step towards you, you took a step back. He took a step back and you lifted your eyes to his. He held up his hands, sitting back down on the couch. Alpine moved to sit in his metal palm and he smiled. He brought his eyes back to you, seeing you staring at the floor still. 

“Cupcake, look at me.”

You did as he asked, and his voice was gentle when he spoke. 

“Why did you steal all the bananas?” “Why are you so obsessed with bananas? Did they not have them back in the old days?” “Quit deflecting and answering my question with a question. Tell me the truth.” “It doesn’t matter.” “To me, it does.”

You looked away from him as tears welled up in your eyes. Bucky sighed, dragging a hand down his face. 

“If you’re not going to tell me the truth, let me tell you what I think, alright? I think you stole the bananas to practice stitching them up. Because if you do it right, you can’t even tell the banana’s been peeled.”

You looked down at the floor, Alpine sitting up and jumping down from the couch beside Bucky to walk to you. She gave a curious meow when a tear fell from your eyes and landed on her nose. 

“You’ve been practicing stitching until you’re damn near perfect at it.” “I’m not perfect at it.” “Yet another lie.”

You lifted your eyes to his, shaking your head. 

“You don’t understand.” “Enlighten me.”

You didn’t notice your hands were shaking as you spoke, the tears also falling unnoticed. 

“You were dying. You were dying and I was trying to hold you together. I was holding the stupid bandages against the holes in your side and you were dying. I can still smell it, Bucky. The whole room smelled like copper and I couldn’t make it go away.”

You moved your shaking hands to press them against your stomach, and Bucky’s heart lurched when he realized you were pressing on your body the places where he was stabbed. He stood up and you backed away again, the tears coming harder. 

“I kept begging you to stay with me and you kept trying to fucking die. I had to hold your skin and literally stitch you back together with a needle and thread. I’ve never sewn anything in my life and the first thing I ever sewed was you.”

Your back hit the wall and Bucky stopped inches from you. You shook your head, unable to do anything but sob. Bucky took hold of one of your hands, ignoring Alpine’s warning meow and hiss, pressing your palm against his chest. You tried to pull your hand from his grasp, but he had an iron hold on it. 

“Breathe.”

You did, shaking your head as you sobbed. Bucky flattened your palm against the center of his chest and spoke again. 

“Feel that?”

You shook your head, and he squeezed your wrist for a split second, urging you again. 

“Do you feel that?”

You took in a ragged breath, feeling the steady thump of his heart under your palm. You met his icy blue eyes and he raised his eyebrows in question. You nodded, and he adjusted his grip so that both his hands were holding your wrist, holding your palm to the center of his chest. 

“You saved me. My heart is still beating because of you.” “There was so much blood.” “But you stopped it.”

You shook your head. 

“I didn’t do enough.” “Not enough? You saved my life, cupcake.”

You shook your head again. 

“I should have known what to do beforehand—“ “What, because you knew I’d get stabbed?”

Your eyes met his and he shook his head. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore. You did what needed to be done and I’m still here because of it. Because of you.”

Your knees buckled as your hand fell from his chest, but Bucky gathered you in his arms before you hit the floor. You clung to him, arms holding him tightly as you cried into his chest. He held you, flesh hand gently rubbing your back, shushing you softly, but letting you cry. 

He shifted and lifted you into his arms, and you put your face in his shoulder as he carried you down the hall. You felt yourself be lowered to your bed, but you stayed clinging to Bucky until he lay down with you. 

“I got you. Shh. I’m here.”

You kept holding onto him, staying close when he rolled onto his back. You kept your head on his shoulder and an arm around his stomach, one of his arms steady around you and holding you close. You slid your hand up to the middle of his chest, closing your eyes when you felt his strong heartbeat under your palm. 

Bucky woke with a start, eyes opening to find white fur filling his vision. Alpine tilted her head as Bucky met her blue eyes, and he glanced towards the door when he heard your voice. 

“She’s not the best about sleeping in. I tried to tell her to leave you alone, but… I think she has selective hearing.” “Wonder where she gets that from.”

You rolled your eyes, pressing your towel to your wet hair. Bucky sat up in the bed after sliding Alpine off his chest, smiling at her irritated chirp. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, shifting to where he could look at you. You moved the towel off your head to hold it in your hands, speaking more to it than to Bucky. 

“Thank you for staying with me last night.” “You needed a friend. I didn’t mind.”

You slowly nodded. 

“So we’re friends now?”

Bucky softly smiled as he looked down at his hands, clenching his metal one into a fist, then releasing it. 

“Do you think we are?”

You sighed. 

“I thought you hated me.” “I never hated you.” “You’ve got a weird way of showing that.”

Bucky nodded. 

“You want to know the truth?” “It’d be nice.”

Bucky smiled as he looked over at you. 

“You’re good. And smart, but you listen to your heart more than your head. You’re so much like Steve, and I knew if I didn’t rein you in somehow, you’d sacrifice yourself into the ocean just like he did.” “And that morphed into you hating me … how?” “I never hated you.”

Bucky blew out a breath. 

“It was just easier to fire up that brother/sister relationship with you. And then you gave as good as you got and it was easier to make you think I hated you than to really—“

Your breath caught in your throat when he cut himself off. He shook his head, standing up and heading for the bedroom door. 

“Really what?” “You want coffee?” “I want you to finish what you started.”

He grabbed onto the door frame, looking back over his shoulder at you. 

“You really don’t know where that sentence was going?”

You swallowed and shook your head, and he blew out another breath. 

“C’mon, cupcake. There’s no way you can’t know.”

You did. At least, you thought you did. All those times you caught him looking at you with that soft smile, the way he tried to cover it by rolling his eyes and looking away. The gentle touches when you were hurt, the way he always seemed to be the one to volunteer to go on missions with you. 

The way your heart pounded when you realized he was hurt. 

The fear in your chest you thought would consume you when you couldn’t get the bleeding to stop. 

The begging you did for him to just stay with me, don’t leave me.

“Cupcake?”

You met his eyes with tears welled up in yours. He stepped away from the door and walked to you, shaking his head. 

“What did I say? I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

You shook your head, laying your hands on his chest. 

“You didn’t. I just … I haven’t cried this much in a long time.” “I think you’re sort of emotionally constipated and it’s all coming out now.”

You laughed as you shoved him away. He stumbled back, a blinding smile on his lips. You shook your head. 

“You’re the worst.” “You know you love it.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and looked at the floor and Bucky gave a quiet sigh. He turned away and when he was at the door again, you spoke. 

“I didn’t realize. I mean … I kind of did. But you always acted like you hated me, so I pushed it down and tried to convince myself that I …”

He kept one hand on the door frame, turning his head towards you, keeping his eyes away from you. 

“That what?” “That it wasn’t attraction I felt towards you. Then I tried to convince myself that you were like a brother to me and that hurt more. So I just locked it down and like you said, gave as good as I got.”

Bucky fully turned to face you and you swallowed again. 

“Everything was fine until you got hurt. Faced with the prospect of losing you … I lost it. I tried so hard not to let it show, but I … Bucky, I was so scared. You were so pale and there was so much blood and no matter what I did, I couldn’t stop it.” “You did stop it.” “I thought I was too late. I just prayed that you would wake up and I went and showered with my dress on. Watched the blood go down the drain.”

You sucked in a breath when you saw him in front of you. You’d been staring at the floor, lost in your own mind. Bucky reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. 

“You can’t hold onto that anymore. It’s over. It’s done. No matter what happened in that hotel room, I’m here and I’m fine.” “I can’t stop seeing it. Every time I close my eyes, I see my hands covered in your blood. After I stitched you up, I went into the bathroom and I swear I looked like Carrie after the prom.”

His eyebrows furrowed and you shook your head, waving him off. 

“I can’t just let it go, Buck.” “Then give it to me.”

You looked up and met his eyes, the icy blue earnest as he stared into your eyes. 

“Let me carry it for you.”

You started to shake your head and he took hold of your hands. 

“If not me, then someone else. We’ll find you someone to talk to, who can help you through this.”

You held tightly to his hands and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. You sucked in a breath, letting it out slowly as you closed your eyes. Bucky lifted his head to press his lips against your forehead, and you stepped forward, putting your face in his chest. He smiled as he wrapped his arms around you and you turned your head to where his heartbeat was directly under your ear. You kept your eyes closed as a Bucky started to gently sway. 

“Does this mean you’ll go on a date with me?” “Have you asked me to go on a date with you?” “I thought it was this unspoken thing.”

You shook your head, leaning back and staring up at him. 

“You’re old, and your mind must be going.” “I’ll show you—“

You shut him up by going on your toes and pressing your lips to his. Bucky’s shocked inhale sounded a second before his hands tugged you closer, and you threw your arms around his neck. When you broke apart, both of you silently panting for air, Bucky gave a quiet laugh. 

“Took you long enough.”

[deceitfuldevil]

Hi! I'm so excited for your Sleepover writing and was wondering if I could request the fluff prompt “Your cheeks are really soft.” . . . “Stop squishing them!” with the loml Pietro maximoff (but like- reader squishing pietros cheeks yk) (STOP THAT SOUNDS SO DIRTY BAHAHAHA)

Not that there's a need to title this but I'm giving this one a title anyways.

Freshly Shaven

Harassing Pietro was just about your favorite downtime activity at the avengers compound, I mean how could you not love annoying him when he just made it so easy.

Like today.

You were sprawled out on the couch waiting for the day to get less dull, and then your favorite person walked in. Pietro was patting down his jaw with a towel, tossing it over his shoulder and leaving you to gasp in awe at the sight.

"No." Pietro said with a wavering tone, but you sat up and turned around on the couch with a wide mischievous smile. "No no no." he repeated himself.

"You shaved!" you nearly shouted, and Pietro quickly stepped forward to clasp his hand over your mouth to hush you. Flashing his icy blue eyes at you as if so ask "are you going to be quiet?" and a moment later, unclasped his hand from over your mouth.

"You shaved." you said in a tone barely above a whisper now. Silently reaching your hands up to feel his cheeks, and Pietro only noticed right before your palms came in contact with his skin; leaving him no time to protest.

You let out a soft and quiet gasp as you ran your fingers over his clean, smooth cheeks. "Your cheeks are really soft." you said, pinching and poking at them a bit.

"Ah, stop squishing them!" Pietro said with an annoyed tone, bringing his hands up to push yours away. Grasping your small hands in his much longer ones as he lowered your hands away from his face, you went silent as soon as his hands came in contact with yours. Tension building in your check as Pietro still maintained a upbeat and unaware attitude.

"How would you like it if I did it to you huh?" Pietro said with a light chuckle, only igniting a fire inside of you as he took one hand and firmly grasped your jaw and squished your cheeks. Was it such a crime that a small whimper fell from your lips because of his actions?

"Oh, I see." Pietro said with a dark grin. "Maybe I do know a way to keep you quiet..." he said lifting your jaw up so you were looking at him, leaning in slowly. "Listen dragâ, I think I already know the answer to this but, can I kiss you?"

At a loss for words, you nodded frantically. Prompting Pietro to smile wide and for the first time, press his soft lips to yours.

Ironically enough, his cheeks feel softer against yours than they did in your hands.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

as it was

pairing: peter parker x sister!reader

WC: 3K

warnings: small mentions of anxiety, maybe some cursing, just no way home angst. there is no physical description of reader, so you could read this as adopted!reader or however.

summary: you feel like there’s something missing from your life when may dies. you just aren’t sure what that thing is.

A/N: i started this april 11, 2022. something just came upon me to start writing for this draft again. i dont live in nyc so ignore all directions. my own gif (that’s why it’s shit)

@alecmores my editor💗

been in the drafts since march 25

masterlist

You were sitting in front of her grave.

The cold chill of New York winter settles into your bones. The trees were barren of any leaves with autumn having left a few weeks ago, no snowfall yet thankfully. The grass has been freshly cut along with some watering causing you to sit in a bit of wet grass, at least your coat was taking the moisture.

You brought some new flowers, just some simple white roses. The other flowers have been slowly wilting since your last visit, and you never want to have dead flowers resting with Aunt May’s grave.

As you replace the flora you sit back on the ground with the wilting stems staying in your hands to keep you from fidgeting around and picking the grass as you talk to her. You try to visit once a week, but sometimes you can only come twice a month because it will just hit you really hard one day that you have no one left, no immediate family anymore. The closest you have to any type of family is Happy Hogan, MJ, and Ned, which is kind of weird because when you think of your memories that involve the three of them, something is missing, a piece of a puzzle that won’t fit in its place.

“How are you today, may?” The wind just blows the hair around your face in different directions.

“I started to work at the Peter Pan cafe with MJ. Sometimes we have shifts together, but honestly, it’s kinda rare since it doesn’t get too busy there. The boss is an older man who’s lazy and has a snippy attitude for no reason, but it's an easy job. Don’t have to worry about my anxiety kicking in.” You stared down at your gloved-covered hands that clutched your crossed legs. Your lips rolled together as you let the silence cover you, thinking of what else to mention.

“Uh… Happy. Happy- he misses you, I miss you. He- uh… he took me in, unofficially adopted me. I’m thankful for him cause if I had to do all this- this, I don’t know, just I’m thankful he took pity on me and didn’t leave me to the wolves. MJ and Ned said they would’ve taken me in, but I think they just said it out of friendliness.” You shrugged your shoulders at the thought.

You perked your head up and glanced around the cemetery. Dozens of headstones, some having more grandeur stone carvings with angels or whatever. Fallen autumn leaves tumbled and kicked across the grass, sticking to trees or headstones before a breeze pushed them away and further off. It seemed you were the only person visiting a loved one at the moment, you wished someone accompanied you, but you liked being with May by yourself.

“Oh, uh, school. Probably want to know about school. I- I- I think I’m gonna take a gap year. Process and readjust to everything and I know if I was doing school I wouldn’t give my all and I don’t want to let you down. Plus, I need money and so I’ll probably need to work a few jobs- wanna help Happy with bills so he doesn’t feel stuck with me.”

A puff of air left your lips as you rubbed your arms up and down your biceps to get a good warmth back into your bones so you could stay longer. With a lick to your lips and a furrow to your brow, you hesitantly spoke a thought that’s been sitting on your tongue for a while, only feeling brave to speak them towards May.

“Ever since you- since you left… something has felt… off. I- I don’t even know what feels off, just that I’m missing something- someone in my life. But I don’t have anyone else. Mom and dad were gone too soon for me to remember their faces, Ben passed away a few years ago and then all I had was you. May... you’ve been my mom, you are my mom. And- and when the blip happened and we came back, that was the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced. Feeling like you were gone for only a minute but then people are telling you that it’s been five years and half the population turned to dust… but you came back and I felt safe again. And we got back into some normal groove again. And then hearing that you got into an accident and were killed-” your throat started to choke with restrained tears, “I’ve never been more scared in my whole life.”

You let a cry free before pulling yourself back in, wanting to continue your rant, “but, what I’m trying to get at… something feels out of place. I feel like someone is missing from the giant picture, memories feel like they’ve been edited- cutting out that person from our life, my life. Memories with MJ and Ned feel weird, and memories with Happy feel weird as well. Like trying to think about how the two of you met… something is burned away. I- I don’t know, probably just trying to find something to focus on.”

Your eyes met the dark stone, the words May Parker engraved with her date of birth and death. Your shoulders sagged, you were just talking to air about a nagging thought. Should probably look into getting therapy.

“I should start heading back, Happy’s probably worried about me.” You dusted your jacket and pants clean of any grass, might have a few wet spots soaking the fabric.

You stuffed your hands into the jacket pockets and just stood, not making an effort to leave just yet. There was a crunching of leaves that soon filled the quiet and you didn’t think anything of it, it could have been another visitor or Happy who came to visit and take you home, which happened a few times already. But when you looked in your periphery, it wasn’t someone at another grave and it wasn’t Happy. It was a boy.

Out of curiosity, you turned your head enough to get a proper look at the new arrival. You eyed him from head to toe, never seeing him around before. He looked to be about your age, just a teenager. A beanie covered his head, he wore a blue puffer jacket with a few stripes at the top with simple jeans and sneakers, nothing standing out. But there was just something about him…

“How did you know May?” The mystery boy spoke. It took you off guard, “huh?” Was all that came out. He cleared his throat and jerked his chin, again, “how- uh- how did you know May?” He turned to you before turning away.

“Oh, she- she was my aunt. Well, my mom really. Lived with her when I was young.” You stopped there and it was silent. You counted to five before asking, “how did you know her? If I may ask?” Your manners popping in.

The boy was quiet, eyes set on her name. He sniffled then wet his lips, “feast. I knew her from feast. She was- she was nice, always kind to everyone. She was like the mother I never had. I’m glad you had her as family.” His voice cracked on the word family, something you noted but didn’t push for further.

“Yeah. She was always looking out for the little guys.” A smile to your lips. “Was it just the two of you?” The boy asked then backed tracked, “only if you feel comfortable saying. Sorry, it just- it just slipped.”

You looked at the boy. He wasn’t fidgeting, but you could tell from his eyes that he was nervous about something. Your eyes just wandered over him, sure it may seem rude but you couldn’t help it. It was like a magnet was pulling you and you couldn’t resist the hold it had on you. You thought about lying to this stranger, but you didn’t. “Yeah. Well, it wasn’t always just the two of us. She had a husband, his name was Ben, and he’s buried in his home state. But he got shot during a robbery about… a decade ago… blip time difference is weird.” You mumbled off, realizing he died five years ago for you but with your dusting, that added an extra five. The boy agreed with a light chuckle, it warmed you.

“What about you? Any family still with you?” Bouncing back on his question.

His eyes drooped a slight frown on his face, “uh…no. No family, just me.” His eyes caught yours before, once again, looking away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ “Oh! No, it’s- it’s fine. I was asking the questions first anyway.”

You rolled your lips as you swayed on your feet. Neither of you decided to speak, just stood beside each other as you stared at the headstone and listened to the leaves falling. You wanted to look at the boy again but withheld yourself from doing so.

“I should- I should head home. But it was nice to meet you…” you trailed off hoping he’ll present his name. “Peter… Peter Parker.” He held a smile at the last name.

“Huh, funny coincidence. I’m (Y/n), Parker obviously.” You bid Peter a smile goodbye and turned your back to make your walk to the subway.

“Hey! Uh (Y/n)!” You heard the shouts and the crunching of leaves beneath his feet as he hurried to catch up with you. You stopped your steps and looked at Peter as he stopped a few steps away.

“Do you… do you take the subway?” “Yeah…”

“Do you mind if I walk you? I just- I would just feel a lot better knowing you made it safely plus I think May would… sorry- sorry. Only if you want, of course, I mean you just met me and-“

You stepped closer and touched his arm, “hey, it’s fine. I would like the company. Plus, it’s just the subway, you’re not walking me to the front door.” You shrugged at the end before nodding your head to the iron gates.

-

The two of you traveled down the busy and packed streets of New York. Shifting and turning your bodies so you didn’t bump into anyone, especially someone who wasn’t in the right mood that day. The walking was quiet at first, two strangers who just met and didn’t know what boundaries were already drawn. You kept making glances at Peter beside you before looking away, at the sky or the buildings around you.

“Are you in school?” Peter was the first to ask, once again. You were thankful he took the first steps.

“Oh, well I’m eighteen so I’m about to graduate high school. And I was planning to go to college, out of state or in state, not sure. But after May… I’m taking a gap year. Want to get my bearings first before I focus back on school… How’s your academic future?” You eyed him as he watched you talk.

“Uh, well I’m eighteen as well. And something happened during the school year so I kinda have to start senior year over again. I was planning to go to MIT for college, but that’ll just have to wait.” He scratched his nose before stuffing his hand back into his jacket pocket.

“Another coincidence. Two of my friends are going.” You saw the smile Peter tried to hide from your comment.

“Do you have a job, Mr. Parker?” Already giving joking nicknames.

You didn’t notice the stiffness to his shoulders or the sadness that glazed over his eyes before stuttering, “uh, I’ve applied to a- a few different jobs. Kinda hard- not a high school graduate so my options are limited. Gotta look for the desperate places.”

“But those are kinda sketchy. Not the safest.”

His attention was on you, “yeah, well, I can handle myself.” He nudged your arm and pulled a smile from you as you shook your head. “What about you? Any sketchy jobs?”

“Not sketchy, just boring and quiet. I work at a small café with my friend. An easy job since I have anxiety.” You keep your answers vague with enough detail.

Silence came back around. Cars honking and people talking to each other or over the phone. Couples holding hands or looped around each other.

“Anyone special in your life?” Was your first question to come to mind.

You weren’t sure if the flush was due to the low temperature or the abrupt question towards Peter, who’s still a stranger, about if he was seeing someone.

“No, no. I- I had someone, but she left me. For the best, I think.”

“Why is that? Secretly with the mob or something?”

He laughed, “Nah, nothing like that. Just… I'm broken and a mess. Don’t want her dealing with… all that.” He made a circling hand gesture. You just hummed.

You weren’t paying much attention to your surroundings so you didn’t see the group of kids running and pushing into everyone coming your way. So with a tight hold on your bicep and a yank, you yelped and looked around. Peter pulled you behind him and you followed his eyes as you watched the kids pass as they shouted and yelled.

“Stupid kids.” You muttered before continuing your walk. “Thank you, for pulling me.” “Oh, it’s nothing.”

You were only a block or two away from a station.

“What about you?” “What about me?” “Anyone special?” He had a playful tone to his words. You just shrugged your shoulders.

“I’ve never been anyone’s first choice. I stick more to the shadows anyway, used to get bullied, so I keep my head down and mouth closed,” you looked to see if he was listening, and he was, “also, I’m kinda a hopeless romantic. Romance books, love songs; especially Taylor Swift's love songs, and a few rom-coms. Anyway, what I’m saying is that, no. No one special, probably not for a while. But maybe that’s okay, maybe I’ll find ‘the one’ when it’s time.”

Peter didn’t respond to your words. You smacked a hand over your face.

“What? What’s-“ “I just spilled my random thoughts to you, who’s still a stranger.”

You pulled your hand away and ran your fingers through your hair before moving it to your pocket for warmth. You looked at Peter and you were just full-on staring, eyes roving over his side profile or his face if he looked your way before facing forward. A tilt of your head came up.

“You know… maybe it wasn’t a coincidence.” You kept looking at Peter. “What wasn’t?” His eyes were on his feet.

“Meeting each other.” And you looked away just as Peter almost tried over his feet even as he watched every step. You kept walking, not aware of the cogs turning in Peter’s mind as he processed your words.

“What- What do you mean? How isn’t this a coincidence? I think it was just lucky timing.”

You threw a hand out as you talked, “What I mean is… maybe May sent you this way. Two people she knew and cared about, both lonely and without a family around. Plus come on, your last name is Parker. That's just crazy. I don’t know, just- it’s just crazy!”

You smiled at the boy as you crossed the street and walked down the crowded and smelly stairs leading to the subway. You checked to see if Peter was still with you and when you saw he was pushed back by a few people, you moved to the side and waited for him to meet your side. You flashed a smile when he reappeared and you both continued on your walk toward the entrances. You checked to see if any cops were around and seeing none you hopped over the spinning entrance, Peter a second behind.

“What train do you take?” “A train, you?” “F for me.”

You thought this meant that the two of you would split up, but Peter walked with you and stayed by your side as you waited for your train to arrive. You checked your pockets to make sure you had your phone, wallet, keys, and headphones, along with your taser and pepper spray that Happy bought for you. You texted Happy that you were waiting for your train and should be home within the hour.

After about thirty-five minutes you heard the screeching of wheels on tracks and saw the lights glow into the station. You turned to Peter with a smile, “well, looks like my ride's here.” He nodded at your words and he opened his mouth and then closed it. You stayed back seeing if he’ll say the words on his mind.

As the train got closer and he didn’t say anything you decided to be the first to speak. “Would it be okay if I get your number? I- I know we just met, but… you seem like a good friend.” You cringed a bit, it was almost like a terrible pickup line. And you weren’t hitting on him, it just felt gross to even think that.

“Yeah, yeah. I’d love to have a friend.” Peter stopped your worrying thoughts. You passed him your phone and then he passed it back before pulling his out and showing a text on his home screen.

You started towards the open doors and passed the rushing people and with a quick turn, you called out to Peter and he looked your way waiting to hear what you needed to say before you let the subway whisks you away.

“Stop by feast when you can. We can always use the extra hands and May would be thankful.” And before you got any reply you walked further into the metal tub and took a seat, sticking an earbud in and pressing play on an album you’ve had on repeat.

Already planning to visit May tomorrow after your morning shift to talk about your new friend. And Peter would keep watch from a distance and when you left he would speak with May quietly. Promising her that he’ll keep you safe and be your friend, maybe not your brother never again, only in his mind.

…

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter Four: The Morning After

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After yesterday's events, it's time to face a ghost from your past. The only problem is, you'd forgotten the Power Broker has a hit out on all of you. When things go sideways, what can you do?

Words: 7.5k

Warnings: Sexual Inferences, Traumatic Flashbacks, Gunfire, Raids, Death, Gory Descriptions, Violence, Existentialism, Guilt, Harsh Self-Judgment,

Mentions of: Talk of Morals, Life,

A/N: It's been awhile, but I love changing up what I'm writing on from time to time and whatever inspires me and doesn't leave me stuck is what I'm working on. I missed Zemo❤️

Slippers shuffling across the polished wooden floor, you revel in the--far too big--terry cloth bathrobe sleeves brushing the backs of your hands. Blasé as you flick on the electric kettle in the kitchen, the simple task of retrieving a mug from one of the cabinets and an accompanying teabag preoccupy your mind.

"Looks like you had fun last night." Sharon's voice elicits a jump as you startle. "Can't say I would've taken you for the type if I'm honest."

While you'd normally be offended any other time, the relaxed nature you'd acquired after sleeping in a warm plush bed luckily isn't as easily swayed. "What do you mean?" You ask, turning to her to in an attempt to gauge her meaning through her eyes.

Sharon gives you a once over, lips opening for a moment before they close. Having gotten out a tub of strawberries from the fancy bottom drawer of her refrigerator, she plucks one from the container. "All I'm saying is... I'd be careful if I were you." Her eyes shift to the table a few feet away before resettling on your figure. Strawberry lingering against her lips, you notice the faint smirk she dawns before she bites into the fruit.

"So... what's the plan?" Sam's groggy voice asks. With a clap of his hands together, he rubs them for a moment before taking a seat at the table just a few feet from the counter. It's only then that you notice you're not alone anymore. Sam sits at the table while Zemo browses the couple of magazines lying there. It's then that her comment dawns on you. Hiding your embarrassed blush behind your cup of tea, you can only hope and pray neither of them heard.

"I was thinking breakfast, then we can devise a plan for Nagel." Sharon posits with a confident air about her. "Please, help yourselves." Rummaging through her kitchen with ease, you tentatively work around her to find something for yourself.

"We cannot afford to delay too long," the Baron says. All the while he's not torn his gaze from the magazine he's picked up and is now flicking through. Part of you can't keep from ogling him; adorned in a matching white bathrobe, he must've found another. Surely that's why Sharon said something, no? Jumping to conclusions? There was no other plausible reason, right?

"Can't say no to that," Sam teases. Closing the laptop he'd only opened moments before, he slides it aside and stands to get himself something to eat. "A cup o' joe never hurt anyone."

"Best to start off the day right," Bucky's sarcastic tone emanates from the hallway. As he turns the corner you can only hope he's joking. Seems like something he'd find funny. At least from the lack of acquaintance, that's what you'd guess.

"Most important meal of the day and all," Sam digs at him. With a hand gently encompassing your waist, he skirts past you in search of a mug. "You make coffee?" He asks no one in particular.

"No," Sharon responds. As she spreads cream cheese on her bagel, you debate having one yourself. When was the last time you had one? It's not something you'd typically have in your house, not to mention that these look to be high quality.

"Mm-mm," you reply. With your tea, you hadn't thought to make a pot of coffee. Even if you knew they might've wanted one, you wouldn't know where to start.

Halfway through breakfast, you can't help but feel your blissful demeanor start to slip as nerves begin to crawl toward the forefront of your mind. Surely with the fleeting time at hand, you'll be facing a ghost from your past sooner than you'd like.

"What else do we need? I managed to exhaust a connection last night. I found him; Nagel," Sharon informs you all. Running your fingers over the smooth surface of the grape you'd picked up from your plate, you simply listen to them discuss.

"Where is he?" Bucky asks. Dominant hand encapsulating his coffee mug, he doesn't take his eyes off the steam rising from the cup.

"You got earpieces? I can reroute them through my equipment and link us to a private channel for communication." Sam responds before taking a big bite of the bagel he'd gotten himself. It seems finishing off Sharon's bagels is something you'd all inadvertently tacitly decided.

"He's hiding out in the shipyard. I've got a container number here," Sharon answers as she fishes her phone out of her pocket. Placing it down on the table for all to see, she then tosses her crumpled up napkin onto her plate and stands to discard of her dishes. Zemo follows after her with his own.

Attention drawn to your heart thumping in your chest, you can't help yourself as the words slip from your mouth before you've settled on a way to phrase your thoughts. "Sam- I... I need to know what's expected of me before I go in there. Because I'm..." you hesitate, eyes drifting away from his face as you unconsciously bite your lip.

"Did you hear about the wrap party on Friday evening at Brian's place? I heard Janice is bringing her fiancé! We're finally going to meet him." Partially interrupted from the forms you're manually copying from the computer's formulas as security, the older woman leans on your desk, looming over you. "And for the record, everyone's allowed a plus one," she mentions in a sing-song voice. "Are you bringing someone?"

BOOM! It's the aftershock that jolts your writing hand, the calculations jagged. Screams sound throughout the dark lab as you're met with light shining from the direction of the crash. Looking to Denise you're met with her fearful expression. Eyes widened, lips parted in shock, there's blood running down the side of her temple as you stand from your chair. Gunfire echoes and pings off nearby surfaces as her body slumps on top of you, weighing you down. Pinned beneath her motionless body you try to push her off as black and white passes your vision over and over. It's them, the black regulatory shoes, the white lab coats. Your fellow coworkers, the people that've grown akin to family in the past eight months you've been working on this project, all scatter before your eyes.

"-I'm not doing that again. Okay?" Shoving the memories from your mind, your jaw tenses slightly as you try and figure out the plan.

"Doing what, exactly? You know the plan, we've just discussed the plan. You're either in or you're out, and quite frankly, we need you in," Sam argues. Staring you down across the table, he's got a stern look on his face.

"I don't. Still don't even know why she's here," Bucky mutters from beside him. Taking a sip of his coffee, he looks nonplussed about the entire situation at hand.

"Fine. I need you in. Got it?" Sam corrects himself. "You know more about this entire situation than any of us, and that's saying a hell of a lot with Cyborg over here."

A halfhearted chuckle escapes you, your lips twisting in thought. "So we go in there, we interrogate him? Because this is more of a question of build-up. I mean, there's not really the question of how, since we know he's capable, it was just a matter of time." You point out the real problem. "This is tracking back. Who's funding him? Where did he get the supplies and essentials for this? Because this isn't just some seventh grade science project shit. It requires equipment that costs thousands and thousands of dollars," you retort, unable to help yourself from getting louder as your fear and anger start to surface.

"He's working for the Power Broker, Sharon said," Sam reiterates. Placing your closed fist to your lips, your eyes flit around the table, lingering with each person for a moment. "Okay, so... what's the plan?"

"Arrest him. Get him out of the shop so he can't help anymore," Bucky butts in.

Lips curling inward, this is exactly what you were scared of. Head lowering for a moment, you can't help but look anywhere aside the table since no one seems to disagree. "Wow," you say, finally raising your gaze again. "Okay, this is exactly why I can't do this. I'm not going to jail."

"No one said-"

"He's sick! Alright? He's sick, but he's not- it's not like we're some evil scientists running around doing shit for... well, maybe he's doing it for the pleasure of it. Not really though since clearly he just wants namesake, but still-"

"Look, if you help us, you'll get pardoned. You won't have to keep hiding. Isn't that why you flew all the way to Germany?" Sam points out.

As silence overtakes the table and you find yourself lost in thought, it's the sudden movement before your face that tears you from your mind. Gloved hand finally dropping back to his side, you question the man with an acknowledging hum. "Hm?"

"I asked if you were done." Eyes wandering up to meet his face, you're met with a strange look from Bucky. With a subtle shake of your head to ground yourself, you reply with a simple nod and smile. The soldier takes your almost empty plate and heads toward the counter.

"You good?" Sam questions from across the table, his eyes on you. "You know I can't afford to lose you now. Not on this," he reminds.

Met with silence, this time it's Sam who breaks the eye contact as he sighs. He quietly says your name. "I can't promise you it won't end the same. I just can't... but you know what's at stake right now, and we can't lose this chance."

"But you get that this isn't just an infiltrate and demolish kind of deal, right? That's the mistake they made last time." You point out. Despite the worry etched across your face, Sam meets you with a look that can only, really, say one thing:

'Really?' A huff of breath leaves him as he tilts his head back a bit and sits up straighter. "You don't need to tell me twice. This is an infiltration and extraction," he assures you.

With that conversation over and your burden lifted from your shoulders, you feel able to continue with the plan. "Good."

"Here we go, then," Sam announces. Standing, he pats your shoulder as he, too, heads off to dispose of his dishes.

Dressed, ready to go, and thirty minutes later your boots stamp against the damp concrete as you follow Sharon through the stacked containers in the shipyard.

"Madripoor could give New York a run for its money," you hear Sam comment behind you.

"They know how to party," Zemo indulges his conversation. An amused smile threatens an appearance as it tugs at the corners of your lips. It seems Zemo's traveled a lot. You'd ask him about his experiences if only it were another time and place. Travelling is something you never had the luxury of doing, but always dreamed of.

Leading the pack, Sharon guides you as she references some tracker or map on her phone. "With that bounty on your head, the longer you're in Madripoor the less likely you're ever leaving." Her words loom ominously over your heads. While last night had managed to temporarily eradicate the reality of being hunted by the Power Broker, the reminder was needed. As she comes to a stop in the junction of four containers, she turns to face you all.

"All right, he's in there: Container 4261," she points out, "I'll keep an eye out while you talk to Nagel, but hurry, we're on borrowed time." Withdrawn from her pocket, she extends a handful of earpieces. As the men grab theirs, you take a deep breath and follow suit. You can do this, you remind yourself. Facing parts of your past may be dreadful, but in this case, there's no way to set things right without having to dive head first into it. There's no use running from it any longer.

Earpiece in place, you follow Sam as he marches right up to the container. He opens it without much trouble. When he doesn't go in, you step out from behind Bucky to see what's up. The container is dark and empty; there's no way that's right. With a look around, it doesn't seem like anyone's followed you, and Sharon said this was the right one. Either someone lied to her, or... there has to be something more.

"Hey, Sharon," Sam calls, testing the communication line. "You sure this is the right one? It's completely empty." As he stands in the doorway, you slink around him and enter the metal box.

"Positive," she confirms, "It has to be."

While it's dark, you can still make out the blank walls of the container. That is, until your light is blocked. You look back to see Sam and Zemo follow after you, yet the light is lacking now. With a faint click Zemo shines a flashlight, something you should've thought to bring. As he steps around you to delve further into the container, you search the side walls for any sort of clue or sign.

All of the sudden there's a loud creak. Stopped in your tracks, you whip your head around to find Zemo's eyes slightly widened and the back wall pushed in. It's a door! As everyone gauges each other upon this revelation, Zemo decides to push it open and see what's inside. With quick feet, you follow him. Before you can follow the set of stairs up and into the light, however, Sam stops the both of you.

Your friend takes the lead as he has his gun held up in a readied stance. A glance behind you shows that Bucky's done the same, his gaze behind himself to make sure you all aren't followed. With quiet and cautious steps, Sam's halfway up the stairs before Bucky pushes past you in pursuit. At the bottom of the stairs, Zemo simply lifts a gloved hand in a tacit gesture. 'Ladies first' you can only hope, gut twisting and turning at the terrifying alternative.

Fluorescent light illuminates your group as you make your way into the laboratory. 'You know I'm waitin' here for you~' Music plays loudly throughout the container and you can't help but wonder how this man possibly thought it was a good idea. Wouldn't he be ready for something like this? It's that thought that instantly has you recoiling into yourself mentally. You weren't expecting it. None of you were when the SWAT raided that lab. 'Comin' home, baby, now. You don't know what I'm goin' through~'

As you all spread out, you find yourself lagging behind as you're more interested on the setup rather than the man. After all, this... is some authentic tech. An actual laboratory, an expensive one at that. Eyes running over the grow lights, the centrifuges, melting point actuator, it's clear there's more than meets the eye.

Suddenly the music stops. "Doctor Nagel?" Sam's voice calls out.

"Who are you? What do you want?" That familiar nasally voice responds. The creeps run up your spine and elicit a shiver from you.

"We know you created the super-soldier serum," Sam states.

"Get out of my lab," Nagel responds. As you contemplate approaching and interfering, the sound of footsteps makes you halt.

"Hey!" You hear Sam call out. He's trying to flee, your anxious mind worries. He doesn't really think you'll just let him go... does he? As the footsteps cease, you gauge Bucky, the closest person to you. "You know who he is, right?" The soldier's gaze is focused on something, and you realize Nagel has to be right behind the corner, a machine blocking your view of one another. There's no response. "This is Baron Zemo. I know you've heard of him, too, right?"

Someone stumbles a couple feet before you; it only takes a split-second to recognize it's Nagel. "You seem like a pretty smart guy," Sam compliments, "So you better become conversational real quick." It's then you notice how your friend has a hand wrapped around Nagel's bicep. With a shove of him into the metallic wall, the scientist turns.

Unfortunately for you, Zemo had taken it upon himself to insert himself between you and Sam. He clearly wants a piece of Nagel. You're still blocked from view though, unable to determine what exactly is going on. "How about a counter proposal?" Nagel barters. As you step out from Zemo's shadow and get closer to Sam is when it happens. He sees you; there's a faint look of recognition in his eyes, a parting of his lips, and a slight furrow of his brow. "Make me a better offer and I'll talk."

Despite your past, your presence doesn't deter him. He's far gone. The creepy and nihilistic man you once knew is now completely devoid of any self-preserving instinct. "Guys, we have company," Sharon's voice warns through the earpiece.

All the sudden it seems like Bucky's had enough. With a sturdy hand he grabs Nagel by the shirt before tugging him closer. Shifting his hand onto his collar he guides the weak man toward an empty chair before forcing him into it. Never straying the gun from its target--his head--Bucky intimidates him. "You're with these guys?" He questions, spitting in your direction as his eyes draw in on you, narrowing with contempt. "Who's to say you weren't the little rat all those years ago?" A vile laugh emanates from the man as he throws his head back.

Jaw clenching, hands balling up into fists, you internally writhe in the anger he's stirring up. Someone might have spilled the project's secret contents to the Government, but it certainly wasn't you. That information would cost most of your coworkers their lives, and leave the rest scarred, scared, and forever fleeing from the fed's eyes in search of security and home. You'd never betray your family like that. Never, not even for reward.

"Every bounty hunter in the city is here-" Sharon's voice comes through again. "We gotta go!"

The metallic echo of a round piercing the wall somewhere behind Nagel elicits a gasp from both you and said weasel of a man. Bucky doesn't even need say anything to intimidate him. "Okay! Okay, I was brought into HYDRA's Winter Soldier program to pick up their work after the five failed test subjects in Siberia." Despite his clear fear shown in not meeting any of your eyes, Nagel starts to gain confidence as he takes his time. "When HYDRA fell, I was recruited by the CIA, as you know." Eerie blue eyes settle on you as he speaks.

"They had blood samples from an American test subject with semi-stable traces of serum in his system. After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary compounds in his blood. I recreated it on my own. Without any of you. I was a god. I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do."

The monotonous tone of his voice starts to wear on you, and despite knowing what he's talking about, you don't dare interrupt him when he's on a roll and bound to spill something. Anything. And it doesn't just seem to be you, either, as Zemo turns his back on him, beginning to walk around the lab analyzing the environment.

"But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines or jacked up bodies. Mine was going to be subtle, optimized, perfect," Nagel brags.

"How have we never heard about this?" Sam's voice is quiet in comparison as everyone's eyes turn to him momentarily.

"You haven't?" Nagel's questioning look toward Sam turns into a glare as he hones back in on you. "You haven't," he repeats, a slight shake of his head. One that almost reminisces of disapproval. "Because..." He begins to answer Sam's query. "Before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. Then when I returned, it was five years later, program had been abandoned, so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fun the recreation of my work."

Just like any other day in your office--a laboratory--nothing was unordinary. Of course, you knew of the tensions in the East, and while things had been on and off going for years now, the presence of aliens that day would have made things known earlier, if only you all hadn't been shut inside work with your faces buried in the business you were hired to do. Regardless... even if you knew what was coming, was there anything you could do to change the way things would inevitably unfold? No.

While the Avengers might have been off fighting on your worlds' behalf somewhere in the East, you were busy doing what you could too. Had you realized your employer's intentions from the beginning, would it have changed things? Perhaps. But you can't go back and change time.

It happened in an instant; the gasps and crashes of different equipment dropping all around you had the group of you in panic. Looks around only left the lot of you puzzled and in distress as your coworkers and friends began crumbling before your vision into what could only be described as a powdery dust.

Wilfred Nagel was one of them. It was probably the only time you'd seen any notion of some tell in emotion on his face.

Eyes widened in fear as the beaker fell through his disintegrated hand, both of your attention shifted from the broken glass up to one another's faces. Despite being across the room from one another, the utter look of despair, distraught, and utter horror behind his irises had him seeking out help. You were frozen in place, stock still, as whatever it was continued to consume his body rapidly in an eerie, silent, and fast pace. His lips parted as he tried to say something... but by then it was too late. The last of it eviscerated his face and dissolved the man right before your very eyes. It was the last time you'd ever see him.

Or so you thought.

"How many vials did you make?" Sam prods, attempting to get the facts.

"Twenty," Nagel answers. The lack of emotion or concern on his face only causes dread to further sink in the pit of your stomach. He'd already been frighteningly stoic when you'd first met the man upon hire, but this... this feels as though he came back vile, with any sort of remorse he'd held out for humanity wiped clean. Revenge consumed him whole, and now he was nothing but a shell of the man he used to be.

"You didn't!" You exclaim, brows furrowed in shock.

"Karli Morgenthau stole those, so... I can only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl." The lack of remorse, the apathetic speak of logical contemplation leaves you angered.

"Where's Karli now?" Sam interrogates.

"I don't know where she is, but a couple days ago she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. Poor woman has tuberculosis," Nagel explains.

"And you didn't. Did you?" You poke at him, no longer able to hide your equal contempt for the man.

"-Typical of overpopulation in displacement camps like that," he continues.

"Well, what happened to her?" Sam asks, clearly unamused by the need to continue prodding for information that's clearly relevant.

"Not my pig, not my farm," Nagel answers. A sneer displays itself across your face and you can't keep yourself from turning on him. It's one thing to be a scientist, to understand many of the mechanics that make up life... but it's another to be heartless and cruel. To not help those in need? Those without the capabilities, knowledge, or necessities? And after the Snap? When so many suffered. You'd seen how people rallied together, how humanity actually felt like it meant something again, and now? Now it's like none of that ever mattered anymore.

"Is there any serum in this lab?" Bucky questions, finally putting his hat in the ring. It only takes a moment of silence for the soldier to press the barrel of his pistol into Nagel's temple. Whatever apathy had been there before is now replaced with fear again. Clearly, he has the ability to feel something.

"No," Nagel answers.

"Now what?" Bucky asks. Both of you look toward Sam as he'd been the one leading this plan originally.

Just then you spot someone run in. "Guys, we're seriously outta time here-" Sharon exclaims. A gunshot rings out. You jump, body going rigid. "No!" You hear Sam yell, motion on either side of you as you hear the shuffle and bang of someone shoved into the container's wall. Eyes settled on Nagel's body lying on the floor, blood pooling from his chest out onto the pristine floor. It stains his shirt, the dark red bleeding into the blue fabric and turning it a dark sort of maroon. You can't bring yourself to look away.

"What did you do?" Sharon urges.

Boom! You're thrown to the floor, heat burning your backside as a weight lies heavy across your side. An alarm blares throughout the lab and groans emanate from across the aisle. You don't know when you closed your eyes, but upon opening them you're met with Bucky's stoic expression. Eyes searching one another's momentarily his blue eyes scan you before he's pushing himself up and off you.

"You okay?" The soldier asks. All you can do is nod.

It'd all happened so fast.

He'd saved you; having pushed you out of the way he must've landed on you partially. It all happened so fast. As the soldier pushes himself back up onto his feet you can see the fire roaring behind him. What the fuck happened? There was nothing that should've caused an explosion like that. At least... nothing you saw.

The alarm is loud, yet the clinking of vials and test tubes rattling in their sets are ominous in a way that immediately sets you into flight mode. There are chemicals and compounds here that will cause a secondary explosion any second now. Reality set in, you immediately follow Bucky's lead as you push yourself up, uncaring of the glass shards that may imbed themself in your palms. Glass crunches beneath your boots as you stumble, and there's a faint hissing that reminds you of the kettle this morning. Only you know this is far more dangerous.

"Anybody see Zemo?" Sam's voice calls out. You hardly make it out as the alarm drowns him out, yet you heard him just barely. You'd seen it. In your peripheral you'd seen something fly by in the corridor. It had to be Zemo. That's the only explanation that makes sense. With Sam's concern in your mind, you can only think of one thing to do.

You take off after Zemo.

"Let's go!" It's Bucky's voice. He's got them, Sharon and Bucky; he'd never leave them behind, from everything you know about him, and even if he did- they're more than capable of taking care of themselves.

You've barely caught up. The tail of his expensive coat is all you're chasing. Rounding one corner and then the next, you follow him blindly through the shipyard. Boot-clad feet stomp against the pavement in matching strides as you chase after him. "Stop!" You yell. "Stop running!" You refuse to let him get away.

Surprisingly, it works. Zemo comes to a halt and lingers for a moment as you close the distance between you. Finally a matter of an arm's length away, you don't know what you'll do to subdue him and stop him from running off again, but you're not thinking straight. He's suddenly turning toward you. "I'm not letting you-" the rest of your sentence is muffled under his glove. Pressed up against the closest container, Zemo stares down at you with ferocity in his eyes and his leather glove covering your mouth. Surprise quickly turns to understanding in your eyes as his tacit request is met. Be quiet.

The sound of thudding footfall approaching comes to a stop and you realize that your yelling might've drawn unwanted attention. Metallic pings resound in the distance from ricocheted fire and you know that the fight is going on back where you'd come from. It's a matter of moments before the thudding returns and you both listen to the bounty hunters run on the other side of the container toward the commotion.

Pushing his gloved hand off your mouth, you glare up at him. "I'm not letting you get away," you scold him in a whisper.

"I'm not running away," Zemo bites back at the same volume. With a look around he slowly steps back before returning his gaze down to you. "Follow me. Stay close."

The Baron takes off again, this time with you close behind. You round a container only to be met with two men wielding guns; where you halt, Zemo has no hesitation and charges into one of them. He knocks the shoulder of one, his hands going to the gun and trying to disarm him. It's then that you notice the other raising the gun at you. Jumping aside, you feel something graze your bicep as a whiz resounds beside you. Heart accelerating rapidly, you're left scrambling to your feet when you find yourself towered over. Who it is? You can't tell fast enough as you're being kicked back onto your butt, pain spreading through your stomach. As you look up at your attacker, you find he's being pulled backward by Zemo, effectively taking the man by surprise as the gun drops.

The other bounty hunter is slumped against the nearest container with blood dripping from his temple. "Ack!" The pained noise elicited from Zemo captures you're attention and you're reaching for the gun that'd clattered onto the pavement. Luckily it didn't go off- not that you have time to think on it now. In a tangle of bodies, the two men are still wrestling one another. With a slow lift of the gun, you're aiming it, finger hovering over the trigger.

Eyes drawn to the movement of the man's hands into his pockets retrieving a switchblade, you can't breathe as the juxtaposition of Zemo finally trapping him in a headlock does nothing. He's going to get stabbed. Bang! Smoke trickles from the chamber as you stand there, watching as the man's body falls limp, the dot of red on his shirt beginning to pool. "Good," Zemo praises, shrugging the body out of his hands and onto the pavement. "I doubted you had it in you for a moment there," he chuckles to himself as he dusts off his gloves.

Stepping over the body, he approaches, lifting your hands into his own as he presses the gun back into them upon spotting you attempting to dispose of it. "Take this." Pistol shoved back into your hands, you quickly right it and do as you've seen in your limited exposure and on tv. "You will need it."

There's no words coming out. Nothing you can say to stop the pit in your stomach from deepening. You might not have time to think on the precarious thoughts tempting to take center stage, yet you know you can't let yourself do so. "We need higher ground," he mutters. With a final look around he sets off. Vaulting himself onto the stack of barrels and pallets at the other end of the container, he gains leverage to climb atop. You follow suit.

"You're supposed to follow me!" Sam yells.

"And where are we now?" Bucky counters.

You can hear them arguing even from here. Wherever here is. While the Baron might take big strides resulting in the obvious clank, clank, clank of his boots against the metal, you take quieter more cautious steps. He retrieves something from his pockets, and it's only as he tugs it over his head you realize it's a mask. Why though? You're unsure. As you rear closer you can see he was right: you have a better vantage point from here. Worry washes over you as you spot your friends trapped under a shipping container with people approaching on either side.

Without warning, Zemo aims and shoots a pipe a few meters away. Boom! In a fiery explosion you watch as a group of bounty hunters going after your friends burn. They're down. The Baron takes the lead as he jumps down onto the adjacent container and launches himself off that one down onto the concrete.

Dodging one man's advances, the Baron shoots the attacker's partner before spinning, using that same man as a shield to shoot another bounty hunter approaching from the container to your right.

Still standing atop the container, you watch as some more people file in from the left. They're in a blocked viewpoint from your friends. Crouching, you vault yourself off the container and ignore the pain that shoots up your shins as you try to catch the attackers off guard. Gun aimed before you, the first man walks out into the open before you shoot him. Pop! Pop! Pop! One man down. Two to go. The next two emerge, one darting for their friend in an attempt to save him. You take that opportunity to shoot. He's injured, but not dead yet when you feel something whiz by you. The third man, who'd taken your opportunity to his advantage is coming for you! Another bang comes from behind and you find yourself cowering, hands covering your head as you realize someone is shooting at you too! You're screwed.

The advancing man coughs, however, blood sputtering at his lips as he comes to a halt. With a shaky hand he lifts it to his stomach before you turn and see that it wasn't someone out to get you... but was someone protecting you? It was Zemo... and knowing him, you'd sooner guess that he was simply finishing the job so your friends can make a quick exit.

You watch as Buck leads Sharon and Sam down an aisle. With a quick look between the two, Zemo's closer. While you've been left behind, you chase after the Baron who's only a few feet ahead of you. Every few feet he slows down, head turning this way and that as you eventually realize he's reading the numbers on the shipping containers. While you have no idea why, you don't question him. He turns a corner and stops. Opening the latch, he spots you in his peripheral as he turns his head and waves you closer. "Get in."

While it's almost pitch black inside as the shipping containers parallel this one are stacked high enough to block out most of the sun, you can see the shadow of a large object. Gently guiding you further inside, there's a faint click before the container is illuminated. His flashlight, right. Why hadn't you thought of one of those? Or better yet, why didn't Sam, for God's sake? You'd think someone with more experience would've guessed what we were up against beforehand.

Lips parting in awe, you can't help but ogle the car for a moment as you don't think you've ever had the luxury of being in a convertible. "Hello," Zemo practically purrs, and you're more than sure it's for the car. After having seen his little collection back in Germany, it's clear he has a thing for them. "Ladies first," he teases. This time you know it's toward you, and while the car is pressed up against one of the walls of the container, it makes getting in the passenger's seat difficult. With that in mind, you simply opt for the back. Climbing in behind Zemo as he takes the driver's seat, you meet his eye in the rearview mirror as he adjusts it. "Like what you see?"

"Can't say you don't have taste," you joke. With that, you're out of there. The wind whips around you, and you're suddenly thankful you'd tied it back this morning as the car expertly swerves and maneuvers the crates. The car eventually rolls to a stop just before your friends. "Supercharged," Zemo touts, a small smirk tugging up the corner of his lips.

"You're going back to jail," Sam states, clearly unamused. You hadn't even had time to think about how Zemo found them before the banter began. Geez.

"Do you want to find Karli or not?" Zemo asks, trying to ration with him. An eyebrow quirked, you all wait for their response.

"He's right. We need him. There's two of us and at least twenty of them," Bucky defends. Opening the passenger side door, he climbs in. Sam opts for the back seat beside you. Any other time you might be offended that Bucky hadn't included you in the count, however you're sure he sees you more as a Bioengineer than a Fighter.

"Fine, but if you try that shit again," Sam warns, still eyeing Zemo skeptically.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Zemo quips smoothly. With a shake of your head and a roll of your eyes, you decide to chime in.

"Hey, at least I didn't let him get away," you point out. If there's anything you accomplished today, it was that.

"I saw that," Sam acknowledges, a chuckle escaping him as he shakes his head with a reluctant smile on his face.

"Well, that was one hell of a reunion," Sharon comments as she shuts the back seat door. Wait. She's not coming?

"Come back to the States with us," Sam offers in an attempt to persuade her.

"I told you, I can't. Just get me that pardon you promised me," she responds. With that, she's headed in the direction you'd come from. Fortunately, you know that you'd gotten every bounty hunter you'd come across. She should be alright, she can clearly handle herself. At least, that's what you tell yourself out of comfort.

"Thanks for everything," Sam calls after her. Sliding down into his seat, he turns his sight toward the seat in front of him. Where Bucky sits. "You're not gonna move your seat up, are you?"

"No," the soldier responds without hesitation. This elicits a chuckle on your behalf, though a pointed look from Sam is all it takes for you to pull your attention elsewhere.

--------

While you were out of leads and aboard Zemo's private jet once more, you have no idea where it's taking you all. Did Sam really intend on returning to the US and harboring a fugitive? Were you going to give up and just go home? The morose thoughts had consumed you since you'd gotten to safe space.

Eyes on Madripoor's city lights disappearing under the settling fog over the island, you can't help the incessant bouncing of your knee as worry brews within you. The recent memories of shooting those men in the shipyard gnaw at your moral scale; you may have never been directly involved with the Avengers, or your friend's antics, but that doesn't mean you hadn't done bad things in life. Yet... taking someone's life? That's on an entirely different scale, you fear. Sure, you could argue that they were after you and it was a matter of self defense, yes... but was it? Couldn't you have taken them out some other way? Rendered them unconscious?

Nevertheless, there's no point in arguing the different ways today could've unfolded when there's no way to change what happened. It doesn't change things. You killed two people, aided and abetted in more deaths. That's blood on your hands, something that despite the physical act of washing them of their blood, will never truly rid them of the true sentiment.

You can spot Zemo drying his hands off on a towel as he heads toward the galley in your peripheral, Sam pacing the short distance of the aisle repeatedly as he'd picked up a call you can only assume is business related.

"Donya Madani. She's a refugee, yeah," Sam explains over the phone. His voice stirs you from your internal war, the recipient on the other end must be done talking for now.

"I still don't understand how you can get service up here," you mutter jokingly to yourself. "Always thought the plane was supposed to explode or some shit if that happened." Head leant back against the jet's leather seat, you turn your attention onto Sam, watching him pace.

At this point you can deduce who's on the other end of the line. Joaquin must say something as Sam quiets again, the cabin silent for another moment, the only sound being that of the wind passing by the windows and the simultaneous quiet roar of the jet's engine.

"Okay. Call me if you get a hit," Sam instructs. Heart leaping in your chest, you know he's about to hang up.

"Say 'hi' for me, please!" You shout, not wanting Sam to ignore you, and to miss this opportunity. Joaquin's been your best friend since you were kids, after all, and you miss him. If today had shown you anything, it's that you weren't the only ones after the serum, and there were people willing to kill in order to protect it. Tomorrow is not guaranteed by any means.

"Thanks, Torres," Sam responds after another moment. "Oh, and-" Sam says your name, "says 'hi'." A light-hearted and audible huff of breath leaves the man as he plops back into his seat. "He says 'hi' back for the record." There's a tired smile on your lips as Sam releases a sigh. It's clear that exhaustion has consumed your group for the time being and rest is needed.

"You okay?" Bucky speaks up, turning his head toward your friend.

"Yeah," Sam responds, though it doesn't sound entirely convincing. "Just thinkin about all the shit Sharon had to go through. And Nagel referring to the American Test Subject like Isaiah wasn't even a real person." The Avenger sits up, turning to face the soldier. Your lips curl inward in a grimace as guilt sits heavy on your chest. Hopefully, Sam doesn't think of you the same.

There was a reason Nagel referred to 'Isaiah' like that. And while you might only just be learning the name of the test subject yourself, you have no idea of his background. The government did it on purpose. Most clinics do it intentionally; it's a way to keep things isolated and somewhat confidential. Almost like a doctor's confidentiality agreement. The government may know the details concerning Isaiah's specimen, but you, the scientists handling it were never to know.

And you know the only reason is to cover up America's hands getting dirty.

While you'd drifted into your own thoughts again while the boys were talking, you finally manage to tune back in. Whether they know the circumstances of your employment or not isn't really necessary at the moment.

"But maybe I made a mistake," Sam says. Though you're now lost as to what the topic's about.

"You did," Bucky agrees.

"Yeah," Sam continues, "Maybe I shouldn't have put it in a museum, maybe I should have destroyed it."

The shield. That damned thing, that's what this is about. Garnering your attention, you can't help but eavesdrop. Albeit, you're sure they know considering it's a small space. Not that you'd ever divulge any sensitive information if it were to come out.

"Look, that shield represents a lotta things to a lotta people, including me," Bucky points out. "The world is upside down, we need a new Cap, and it ain't gonna be Walker, so before you destroy it, I'll take it from him myself."

You wonder what Bucky's plan is, and how exactly he determines to do that... but you also know it's not your place to ask. It certainly isn't the time either, considering all of your emotional states. Just as the buzzing of someone's cellphone chimes throughout the cabin, Zemo returns. Plate in hand, he wordlessly offers you it. Dinner, you suppose.

"Thanks," you graciously respond while taking the plate into your hands and place it across your lap. A silent nod of his head, you take that as the closest thing to 'you're welcome' that you'll receive.

"Yeah?" Sam says. "Yeah... yeah. Okay." The boys, focused on the call, Sam listening while Bucky stares, as if trying to read the man and figure out what's going on before Sam can say, Zemo returns again. Two plates in his hands this time, he offers the men dinner as well. "Thanks, good work." As the Baron takes a seat beside the men, you all wait intently for whatever news it is Sam's gotten. "They found Madani. Dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea."

Sat in contemplation upon the revelation, Zemo suddenly points his finger, the motion catching your eye. "I have a place we can go," he announces. While none of you question it, you can't help but wonder about it. How many places does he have? And where? All across the globe? How long does his contact list go, exactly? Yet, the Baron sits back in his seat, an unreadable expression across his face. "I, for one, am looking forward to coming face to face with Karli." As you all process the change in plans, Zemo speaks up again. "Oeznik, we're changing the course."

--------

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @jynzandtonic , @safarigirlsp , @moonlightsolo , @penelopepine

tmt taglist: @wheres-mylove , @ashy-kit

[peter-parkers-left-pinky]

Natasha: I can’t tell if you’re a genius or just incredibly arrogant.

(Y/n): Well, on a good day, I’m both.

[writing-house-of-m]

Cold hands, Warm hearts

Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Natasha warms you up on a cold day with an impromptu date

A/N: This is for @esouliie ! You can all thank her for this because I don't know when I would have gotten something new finished. This was also the result of there being way too many 'missing Natasha hours' recently (I've also been having a lot of 'missing Wanda hours' too and have re-watched WandaVision because of it). But, everyone... this fic... is so freaking cute and I hope you all think so too. Happy reading and let me know who you think!

"Hey," you hear a familiar rasp from over your shoulder. 

You didn't think you would hear from her so soon. She told you she was going to be busy, which is code for ‘away on a mission’, so have kept yourself occupied for the last few weeks trying not to think of the red head. Which is easier said than done. 

Every morning when you wake up disappointment fills you not seeing her there. Your intertwined lives are now routine. 

It is hard to adjust when she is away, especially when it is for weeks and what feels like no end in sight. On top of that, with missions like these, there is no communication between you to fill the Natasha shaped hole in your life. 

Sometimes you wonder if it would be easier to be involved with someone else, anyone else for that matter, but the thought is gone as quick as it comes because no one could ever replace the way she makes you feel. 

The first week of her absence you filled your free time as much as you could by catching up with friends and family. You constantly found yourself avoiding the question about why you have been so distant recently. It was the one thing Natasha requested from you - not telling anyone about your relationship with her - to, in her words ‘keep you safe'. 

You still remember the way she looked at you. It was the first time you could see past the facade she held, seeing the worry linger in her eyes for a split second. The intensity of her gaze and her hesitance was a strange thing to witness. When you nodded your head in agreement her smile was soft, almost relieved. In that moment you realized you would agree to anything she asked just to see that vulnerable side again. You felt privileged. 

This second and third week have been much slower, a lot of your time has been spent in the four walls of your apartment because of last minute canceled plans and much needed maintenance needed around your home. 

So you decide today, cold be damned, you will be taking a walk through your local park. You shared this little wonder of a place with Natasha in your fourth month of being together, happy to be able to reveal a bit more of you and your life. 

It is a public place, more people pass by here than in the street where you live. But you got to show Natasha all the overlooked secrets; little winding paths that lead to flower gardens, a pond hidden behind some bushes and the gargoyles you can see from one spot when standing in a specific angle by a monument in the center. You even pointed out some regulars you see because of all your time here. From the confined elderly wanting a bit of liberation from their mundane lives to daring children trying to climb the tallest tree they can find. 

A breeze rushes past, the cold chilling you to your bones and you inwardly curse at yourself. Trust you to have picked the coldest day for some freedom. Initially, the brisk air was making you regret your decision, that was until the sun came out. It didn't do a whole lot against the freezing temperature, but it did look pretty against the frost and ice distracting you from the chilly weather. 

The way the sun's rays shine between the branches that stretched out over your head reminded you of spring time and how much you couldn’t wait for the season to change. 

Just as you were about to get out from the clearing for some much needed sunlight and heat on your face, that’s when you heard Natasha. 

It has been so long you think you are hearing things, that is until you turn your head and see her. The long army green coat she is wearing almost makes her look taller. 

Almost. 

Strands of red hair peek out from the beanie Natasha is wearing, a braid is tucked into her pulled up collar and she has a soft smile on her face. One you have noticed she reserves for you. 

It takes everything in you to not run over and jump into her arms, to press your nose into her neck to get a smell of the home you have been craving. 

Big scenes are not her thing, you’ve learnt. 

Instead your eyes drop to her gloved hands holding two hot drinks which takes you out of your stupor and smiling brighter in return. You almost want to ask how she knew where you were but then remember her profession. 

"You look cold," there is a playfulness to Natasha’s voice matching her smirk. 

Regardless of how wrapped up you are, you know your scarf hasn't done much to stop your face from getting cold, it must be covered in a light blush. 

"I could say the same about you," you raise an eyebrow with your own smirk. A noticeable pink tint is adorning her cheeks and nose from the cold bite of the air. You wonder how long she has been trailing you. 

Natasha's smile widens as closes in and hands you one of the cups. You take off your gloves, shoving them into your pocket to allow the heat to bring back the feeling in your frozen hands as you bring it to your nose to take a whiff. Your favorite, of course it is. 

She leans in and pecks you on the lips, her still warm palm from the drink sinks into your cheek making you forget about the kiss of the sun you were walking towards. Natasha disappoints you with how short her lips are on yours, you were hoping for something that was more than just a split second considering how long it has been. 

Although Natasha pulls back it is only by an inch as she remains close to ask, "Where are you going?" 

Her voice is low and her warm breath is a nice contrast to the icy wind. 

Your eyes flutter close as you revel in her presence and soak up the warmth she brings. Brushing your nose against hers you reply, "Wherever my feet take me," you smile and open your eyes to the green ones you selfishly wish to keep to yourself. "I'm glad I have some company now," you whisper. 

"I hope you weren't expecting anyone else," Natasha says with a twitch of an eyebrow. 

You shake your head. "Definitely not," you say, pressing a small kiss to her lips, one that lasts longer than the mediocre one she gave you. "I missed you." 

You like seeing her like this. Carefree. Soft. Unguarded. 

Well as unguarded as can be, it was something you picked up in your first few months of spending time together - Natasha is always alert. The way her eyes flint around every so often, looking around to quickly survey her surroundings, always cautious of any lingering threats. To the untrained eye it looks like she is taking in the scenery, but you know after knowing her for as long as you have. 

Over time it is a habit you have even picked up from her, making you wonder if there are things she has picked up from you. 

Natasha stands by your side allowing you to loop an arm around her waist while you take a sip of your beverage. It leaves a warm trail as it makes its way down your throat. It still isn't as warm as the way Natasha makes you feel though as cheesy as that may sound. 

"Thank you for this, I didn't realize how much I needed it," you say, signaling the paper cup. 

She smiles at you to acknowledge your gratitude. "You're never one to think ahead, plus I saw you shiver," Natasha remarks. 

You scoff, shaking your head, "I did not shiver." 

Some children are laughing not too far in front of you which distracts both of your attentions away from your conversation. A large puddle of water has frozen over and seems to be the main source of entertainment for the little gang. 

The two of you stop to watch their innocence, a pang of jealousy hits you because of how carefree and innocent they are. Not a single worry showing on their faces in this cruel world. 

You have been fortunate to only hear about the atrocities always going on. More so since you started to date Natasha. She doesn't go into detail about her line of work but the faraway look she has on her face sometimes after certain assignments tells you all you need to know. It fills you with pride knowing you are Natasha’s source of domestic normalcy. 

One of the snuggly wrapped up boys slips and tries to regain his footing before he falls to the ground making you let out a breath of laughter. The scene is something straight from a cartoon as the boy tries to find balance when trying to stand again while the rest laugh at him. A boy in a puffy gray coat, who is howling with laughter, loses his feet from under him sending him straight to the ground landing on his butt making the rest of them exclaim even louder. 

The smile you see in your peripheral vision tells you Natasha is enjoying this too. 

"How long had you been watching me before you decided to come over, stalker?" You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. 

"Long enough to see you shiver," Natasha accuses in her husky voice. 

You bark out a laugh, "I do not shiver!" 

"Yeah, yeah, you keep lying to yourself," Natasha smirks. 

You spend long minutes, people watching while sipping on your drinks and basking in this precious stolen time you get to spend with each other. 

The children are fewer now, some of them have left with their parents while the rest stay. They have started a game to see who can stay on their feet the longest as they try to knock each other down. 

Sometimes you forget Natasha’s past, what little you know of it, and almost ask about her childhood. You bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking 'What did you get up to as a kid?’ 

Instead, you face Natasha as she continues to stare on at the scene; her side profile is enough to show her fatigue. You place your empty cup on the wall beside you so you can take her face in your hands. 

Natasha takes your lead to turn in your direction allowing you to take in all of her features. 

"You look tired," you whisper in concern as your thumb rubs along her cheekbone. 

"Gee, thanks(!)" Natasha chuckles at her own sarcasm. 

"Nat," you start, ready to reprimand her for not being serious. 

"We’ve had some long days. But don’t worry, I'll be off for the holidays,” Natasha replies. “You'll have me for two weeks. That’s enough time for you to get sick of having me around. By the end of it you’re going to want to be rid of me." 

"Impossible," you say without thinking then lean in to press a kiss to the corner of her lips. 

Natasha turns her head slightly to meet your lips, sighing when she allows herself a moment of being wrapped up in you. 

A buzzing sound makes you stop before you can deepen the kiss any further. You let out a breath of disdain from Natasha’s phone ruining your moment. Natasha smiles at you apologetically, taking the device from her pocket. 

While Natasha checks the notification you give her some privacy, picking up both empty cups to discard them. 

When you return and meet Natasha's eyes, the sparkle that was there just moments ago has faded as regret takes over. She is being called back. 

"Three more days, then you're all mine, Romanoff,” you smile. “And for a whole two weeks!" you exaggerate in hopes to lessen the blow of her having to leave. "How did I get so lucky? I guess I'm being spoiled this season." 

You know you succeed when you see the corners of Natasha's lips raise slightly before she holds onto your coat and pulls you in kissing you again. 

Her phone buzzes impatiently, interrupting you again . 

"I have to go," Natasha says, her warm breath fanning over your face as she rests her forehead against yours. ”But just know, I’m the lucky one here.” 

You smile at her confession and revel once more in the warmth she provides before you have to face the harsh cold that comes with the Winter months alone. 

Kissing Natasha’s forehead you meet her loving green gaze once more. "Come back to me," you breathe out as light as the breeze chilling you. 

"Always," Natasha says, sweetly and just as quiet. Her voice carries the weight of more than the one worded sentence she has spoken. 

Taking a breath, Natasha gives you a final peck before she drags herself away from you. 

Your arm stretches out as Natasha walks away, your hand lingering in hers for those extra few seconds of comfort. But mostly because you don't want to let her go. 

Saying goodbye is always difficult no matter how short the visit. 

As you watch her walk away you think about the first time you met the assassin. 

Out of all the windows in the city Natasha crashed through yours. Your shock had you frozen in place until she tried to stumble out of your apartment but collapsed from fatigue because of the fight she had just endured. 

After getting over the fact an Avenger covered in dirt and blood had ruined your new rug, you used your limited first aid knowledge to nurse her back to health. When she awoke a few hours later, she told you just how crappy of a job you had done. 

What got Natasha’s attention was when you quipped back saying you should have let her bleed out to make a quick buck off of all of her equipment to pay for the damages she caused. 

When she left a short while later you didn’t think you would ever see her in person again. You were looking forward to being able to tell all the people in your life about the encounter with an actual superhero. 

Reality hit you in the gut with the name of ‘Non Disclosure Agreement’ and a clean up crew which you couldn’t be mad about. 

Unbeknownst to you, after your first meeting Natasha couldn't stop herself from wanting to see you again. Her mind drifted to the ‘kind’ (your words not hers) stranger who applied sloppy bandages to her arm and stomach. The messy job would have gotten infected if she hadn’t woken up. Natasha caught herself smiling at the memory too often and had to force herself to be present for work. 

Life went on and your encounter felt less and less real as each day passed. Until one evening, while in your office building working late, you received a call telling you you were needed on the roof. Skeptical as you were, you obeyed thinking of the promotion you had been working so hard toward. 

What you hadn’t expected was a fully healed Black Widow to emerge from the shadows, playfully schooling you to not comply with shady orders received late at night. Then insulting you with how boring your life was and how you should learn to cook for yourself instead of wasting all your money on take-out. 

Surprise was an understatement and instead of letting that show, like your mouth wasn’t already slightly hanging open from the shock while she spoke, you decided to play Natasha’s game and call her out for the stalker that she was. 

Since then your meetings have been sporadic but it didn’t stop you both from falling for each other. Who knew a year and a half on you would be in a relationship with each other, life would have made more sense if you had stopped talking. But you have defied the odds and are still going strong. 

When you make it back to your apartment you find flowers waiting for you on the kitchen counter making you smile. A card attached to them with a message in Natasha’s handwriting that reads ‘3 more days ♡’ makes you feel like your heart is going to burst from emotion. 

Needless to say that smile never left your face throughout you making dinner all the way up until the moment you go to bed that night. Natasha somehow always has a habit of making you feel like a giddy teenager. 

You couldn’t wait to see her again. The gift you have been wanting to give to her for a few weeks has been hidden under your towels in the kitchen cabinet. You can only hope she doesn't already know about it. 

The next time you are together you are going to give her a key to your apartment so that she knows she will always have a place to come back to. 

A place she can call home. 

[justkending]

On my nerves. (Steve Rogers One-shot)

Summary: Y/N and Steve have a complex relationship. On a busted mission, some conversation pieces come up that need to be solved.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Avenger)

Word Count: 3100+

A/N: I did a small poll on who I should write for next, and I got an even amount of votes, so I decided on Steve! I haven't written for him for a long time and thought it was deserved this long in. So enjoy these fluffy enemies to semi-lovers one-shot :)

______________

Steve watched, as if in slow-mo, as a knife passed his face and embedded itself into the chest cavity of a man close to getting the jump on him.

"So much for having this mission in the bag, huh?" Y/N's sly comment followed as she jumped from a banister down to the level Steve was on in the attic of an old church.

"The rule was no killing," Steve grunted in frustration as the man he had grasped by the neck fainted, and he tossed him to the side.

"Yeah, well, someone was going to die, and it was either him or the person who's supposed to be running this mission. You should be grateful I didn't choose the second option," she smirked, straightening her tactical vest as she scanned their surroundings. "What's the update?"

Steve could have reprimanded her more, as he was used to doing, but they were on a time crunch, and the men they were sent to take in under SHIELD's order hadn't gotten the memo of no killing.

"Masgood isn't here," he sighed, swiftly anchoring his shield to his back. "He must have gotten word we were coming and staged the place to look like he'd be here."

"Yeah, it seems to be his MO," Y/N sighed, bending as she dug through the pockets of the unconscious assailant.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking the body for clues, duh," she replied with a tone of disinterest. She paused, looking up at Steve. "I know this isn't your first rodeo, so why are you acting like it?" One of her forearms rested on her knee as she squatted over the body and dug through his pockets unbothered.

Steve rolled his eyes and shifted on his feet as look at the space. "Something feels off about all this."

"When does it not? We chase bad guys with evil and sadistic intentions as our career. I'd be worried if it felt right," she grunted softly as she stood up and moved to another body.

Steve moved to a window off to the side and looked at the street and environment below for any more clues.

Their target was a man in charge of a large human trafficking ring. Ivan Masgood. An infamous drug lord who started poking around in a new field of illegal activities. Like most felons, he had personal goons and connections that kept him close to untouchable, but SHIELD had plans to shut that down now that he was tapping into the stealing of innocent adolescents from the streets.

"I say we tie these idiots up for the agents that'll come clean up this mess and make our way to the restaurant down a few blocks. Looks like a good Mediterranean place," she sighed, walking over and leaning against a pillar behind the window where Steve was monitoring pedestrians.

Steve turned to her with an annoyed face, one that was a staple for their duo and eyed her.

"We're on a job. A job that involves a man who is taking advantage of innocent children."

"Yes, and we can't solve it on an empty stomach," she shrugged, pushing on the wood. "And this place is empty. We've handled the few goons here, and now we move on."

"Is it really that simple to you?" Steve huffed, crossing his arms as he turned to her.

"If by simple you mean the practiced next step, then yes. It is," she nodded with no hesitance, even with his stern glare fixed on her.

"You're impossible to-"

"Shhh," she hushed, raising her hand and slightly turning her head.

Steve knew better to question her when she did that. Her hearing was better than his most of the time. Her enhancements weren't far from his own, but sometimes they proved to be even more sensitive than his.

He mouthed a "What?" and she shook her head as a hint to hold on. A few moments passed before she shook her head and returned to reality.

"False alarm," she turned, looking at the only door in and out of the attic. "Help me tie these assholes up, and then we're getting dinner."

"Y/N," Steve started, but she ignored him and searched for rope or anything of length to keep them secure.

Three men tied up with both electric chords and Christmas lights were still unconscious as Steve called in the clean-up crew that was there minutes after Y/N and Steve were in the front of the church, giving a quick rundown of their mission.

"It was a 50/50 shot, Cap. Can't get too hung up on it," Rodney, one of the agents who had been working on the case with them, assured.

"Doesn't make it any less frustrating," Steve sighed before grunting at the pressure hitting his chest. He looked down to see Y/N holding a pile of clothes on his sternum.

"Change. We have a date," She grinned, already in street clothes herself.

He gave her a once over and noticed the small grin on Rodney's lips before he quickly walked away.

"Y/L/N!" Steve yelled after her as she turned and was already moving on to her next task. He groaned and slumped as he looked at the jeans and baseball Henley picked out for him. A hat and sunglasses paired on top.

__________

"Why are we here?" Steve grumbled under his breath as they sat in a booth at the Mediterranian restaurant that looked family-owned but had the ambiance of a well-off family—the two fit in a way that raised a few questions.

He wasn't sure how she had managed to drag him there, but either way, he was there, and something about Y/N orchestrating this entire meal left him confused.

"I haven't had a full meal since last night," she answered, staring at the menu before grabbing the waitress's attention as she balanced two plates in hand. "Can we get the drink menu, please?"

"I'll grab it on my way back," she smiled kindly, her voice accented with a Grecian tongue.

"Thank you," Y/N smiled back kindly and went back to the menu. "I heard their Sangria is amazing. And it's homemade."

"Y/N," Steve ground through his teeth. He was fed up with this side quest that served no purpose. "What are we doing here?" he articulated each word.

"Jeez, Cap. Get the popsicle stick out of your ass and relax some. We're just having dinner and waiting for the show," she responded, putting the plastic-covered menu down and throwing her arm over her side of the booth.

"What show-"

"Drinks?" a teenage boy who looked to be one of the owners' kids begrudgingly asked for their orders.

"I'll take water for now, and this one will have a double scotch neat to help ease his never-leaving glower," she smiled up at the kid, who just blinked at her, and Steve burned holes in her head from the side. "Water. We'll both do water."

"Right…" the kid grumbled, not bothering to write the order as he stalked off.

"You said this had to do with the case. That's the only reason I'm here," Steve intertwined his hands on the table and took a breath as he watched her. In truth, she had vaguely mentioned something about the case, and he ran with that one bullet point, which put him in this position.

"Tell me. How does one sign up to gain your trust? Do I have to jump in the line of fire a second time to get it, or is it like whoever gets your coffee order right without asking? Maybe something in between there?" she leaned forward on the table.

Six months ago, Y/N had jumped in front of a blast from a mutant's powers for Steve, and it had benched her for over a week with the aftereffects.

He hadn't expected her to make that kind of sacrifice, and he had been more than grateful and did his best to show it during her healing time and afterward. But at the end of the day, her snarky comments, struggle to stay professional, and blatant disregard for orders made it hard for him not to be aggravated when she did things.

"It's not trust as much as it's being out of the know for what the real reason for us being here is," he softly said when she looked at him with eyes that seemed to genuinely want to know why he treated her with little patience where he normally gave it freely. "I like to be informed."

She watched his eyes closely as if waiting for the but, but then she tensed ever so slightly, and her eyes flicked behind his shoulder casually.

"That's also known as trust. Not knowing the reasons but counting on the person putting you in the position that they wouldn't do it with ill intent. But if you want your answer, it's behind you. Careful how you turn," she said with a straight face as she looked out the window next to them.

Steve furrowed his eyebrow but discreetly twisted enough to see what she was alluding to.

There he was. Ivan Masgood. With four bodyguards around him and a few associates coming through the back entrance, one of the employees ushered him to a secluded corner for him and his posse.

When Steve turned back around, Y/N was on her phone as if just another customer waiting for their meal.

"How'd you-?"

"I'm good at my job despite what some think." Her comment wasn't missed by Steve, and he could hear the slightest bit of pain in her words. "I overheard some of his goons talking not so confidentially at the church. He stupidly gave away their Randevu point and mentioned a meeting with a potential contact while they waited for us to fall for the trap."

"Was it the two at the front door?" Steve questioned, thinking back to their infiltration of the church/ hideout.

"Yeah, dumb and dumber. I think they just got promoted cause the one who leaked this info bragged about being moved to guard his private residence." She put her phone away and fiddled with the paper wrapper from the straw as she explained. "I can promise if they figure out how we got the intel to come here, he will not be guarding any residence in the near future."

Steve was a little surprised. Y/N had always been good at her job. Hell, there was a reason she ran with The Avengers themselves. Super enhancements helped, but she'd always been more than resourceful in her spying, too.

But sometimes, he didn't see her as taking her job seriously, so when she got the jump on things before him, he felt bad for undermining her.

He monitored the place now that it was a possible environment for a fight. Taking note of the details like exits, number of people, tables, resources, and make-shift weapons if needed.

"Have you contacted Rodney?" he asked as he casually surveyed the place.

"Just messaged. They'll have a team a block away to go if needed," she nodded. "For now, we eat," she smiled overly brightly as the waiter came back over with their drinks.

They ordered, but Steve got the smallest appetizer only to make it less conspicuous as customers.

"Eagle's leaving the nest," Y/N hummed as she ate the last bite of her meal, and the group they had been monitoring walked toward the back alley.

Steve shifted in his seat just enough to see the exit, and they both nodded in confirmation of their next move. Y/N slapped down a wad of cash and shuffled out of the booth where Steve offered his hand, and they left out the front.

For the second time that day, Steve watched as a blade whirled past him, but this time, it implanted itself into the tire of an SUV in the back alley, followed by a loud pop.

The assailants hoping to make a getaway were out of a car now, and Steve had taken the advantage to knee the driver's side door where the man halfway in it, ricocheted his head off the frame and collapsed on the ground.

"On your left!" Y/N shouted as she rangled her own opponent, and Steve noticed another one of Masgood's men escaping.

Not wanting to lose his position since Masgood himself was still in the car he had cornered, he angled and calculated the right throw for his shield to take him down. And with the right aim…

"Fuck!" the man shouted before falling down to the concrete seconds after getting smacked in the temple with the vibranuim disc.

Steve turned after hearing Y/N grunt and saw that two of her attackers had cornered her and were getting a jump on her.

"Y/L/N!" he shouted, stepping her way, but she used another man's body as if a wall and walked her feet up his torso until she was backflipping and rendering them both helpless instantly.

"Rogers, Masgood!" she panted once back on her feet and pointed behind him.

Masgood had pulled out the other side of the car and was positioning a gun right at Steve. Everything happened so fast that Steve didn't know where the gunshot had landed after he ducked from the barrel.

A scream followed, and thinking his aim hit someone else, Steve looked around for the injured only to see Masgood holding his shoulder where the butt of a blade was jutting out.

"You fucking bitch!" Masgood turned his attention to Y/N, who had been smiling at her shot. He dropped quickly to grab the gun that fell out of his grip, but before he could get to it, Steve slid over the hood and tackled him.

"That's no way to speak to a lady," Steve gritted out as he pinned him to the ground and brought his hands around his back.

Any of Masgood's men that may have escaped the narrow alley had been caught by the backup team Y/N had set up a block away. By the time the fight was over, eight men were already in custody, and Masgood was locked in a contained SHIELD van.

After going through a briefing with Rodney, who had been instructing the team outside the alley, Steve and Y/N finally took a minute to breathe.

"Thanks for packing my shield," Steve said kindly as they moved to their SUV.

"Didn't want to have you fighting without your comfort item," she smiled but winced as she rolled her shoulder.

"You ok?" he stopped in his tracks, moving in front of her to keep her from going any further.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, moving her shirt sleeve and looking at her arm for the wound. "Just a scratch."

Steve didn't hesitate to shift the long sleeve to see the cut in the fabric and the blood that had soaked through it.

"You were supposed to get checked by the medics," he studied the injury, and she hissed at the pressure of his gentle touch, which was enough to sting.

"It's nothing a bandaid can't fix. Besides, it'll be a scar come morning," she tried to brush his hand off, but he gave her a stern look at the action. "Why are you so worried? I figured you could care less if I walked out with a katana protruding from my gut."

Her eyes refused to meet his, and he hated the feeling that overcame him at the idea that she thought he wouldn't be phased by something like that.

"That's not true," he said gently, his hand loosened its grip but didn't leave her arm.

"You sure as hell don't act any other way," she mumbled, looking at his hand and placing her own on his to try and remove it. "Seriously. You don't have to act like you care just cause you feel bad-"

"Y/N, I'm not acting," he turned her face to his, gripping her chin between his thumb and index finger. "I would never wish to see you hurt."

She didn't fight the hold he had her in, but she gave him weary eyes at his comment.

"Your words tell me otherwise, Steve." Her words were said with a form of hurt that he never pictured her holding.

"I'm sorry," he lowered his head every so slightly to catch her eye line better. "I'm sorry that I'm a hardass around you and make you feel like I'd rather see you hurt or injured than alive and well."

"I don't understand what I've done to-" she started and pulled her head back before he, without thought, pulled her arm he had a grip on into him, making her body crash into his.

She froze initially, but when his arms wrapped around her back, he rested his head on her. She sighed and fell into it. She needed that hug more than he realized.

"You get on my nerves, Y/L/N, but it's not in a way that I'd wish never to experience it again. I act like I can't stand it, but truthfully, I need someone to keep me in check the way you do," he muttered as he rested his chin on her head. "I'm sorry I don't give you the benefit of the doubt where you deserve it most."

"Why?" she mumbled into his chest.

"Honestly?" he hummed, pulling her back and looking at her still in his embrace. "I think it scares me how much I actually care when you drive me as crazy as you do."

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she turned her head at him.

"What do you mean, Rogers?" she said in almost a whisper.

"I mean, I can't wrap my head around how you constantly get on my nerves, but I like it."

There was a pause as they stared at each other, and her lips slowly curved.

"Steve. Are you confessing that you may actually like me?" she grinned.

He chuckled under his breath, making his chest vibrate.

"I'm confessing that we may have some things to figure out, I guess," he nodded, not feeling hesitant at surprisingly admitting that.

"Well, isn't that a 180 from how we started the day," she laughed, pulling back. "How about we stop for a sweet treat for this discussion that I'm definitely pulling you into when we get to the compound?"

"Am I going to regret confessing this?" he scrunched his nose but couldn't help the smile that followed.

"It's me. What do you think?" she shrugged, moving toward the SUV passenger side.

"Good to know our ways aren't changing much," he sighed, following behind her to open her door.

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx​​​​​​​​ @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch​​​​​​​​ @heyiamthatbitch @lizzymacy555​​​​​​​​  @srrymydood​​​​​​​​ @xa-dia​​​​​​​​ @redhairedfeistynerd​​​​​​​​ @morganclaire4​​​​​​​​ @connie326​​​​​​​​ @captain-asguard​​​​​​​​ @mollygetssherlockcoffee​​​​​​​​ @teenagedreams-bucky​​​​​​​​ @shower-me-with-roses​​​​​​​​ @livstilinski​​​​​​​​ @basicallylool​​​​​​​​

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose  @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter1 @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan  @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @torayuri777 @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @anise-d-castle6​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​ @alyispunk​

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

rom-com moment

peter quill x f!reader prompt: rain theme: smut/fluff (tags beneath the cut)

“You really know how to romance a girl, Quill.”

He snickered against your skin, his breath tickling against the side of your throat, a heated contrast to the icy water soaking your clothes and your hair. His hands clutched hungrily at your sides, trapping you against the wall behind you. He was equally soaked, rain dripping into his eyes as he pulled back to meet your gaze with a familiar cocksure smile.

“I thought this was every girl’s fantasy,” he said, his hands coming up to unzip your jacket. You shivered as the rain and his freezing hands tainted your dress, your own fingers curling in the lapels of his coat. You pulled him closer; his body heat the only combat for the rain. “A big ol’ declaration of love in the rain.”

“This isn’t a declaration, Peter,” you pointed out snidely, fumbling with his belt despite your tone. His fingers curled in your dress, dragging it up over your thighs. The fabric clung to your skin. “This is you trying to get your dick wet.”

He laughed, grasping your thighs and lifting you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands taking hold of his shoulders.

“And if this is supposed to be your way of telling me you love me for the first time, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Gotcha,” he replied, his amusement giving way to the heady growl of desire as you wrapped your hand around his cock. He groaned as you pressed the head of his erection into your cunt. “I’ll save it for later.”

Peter thrust into you in one hard stroke, and you moaned, swallowing down rain before pulling him into a kiss. Even as the meaning of his words dawned on you, your thoughts devolved into the simple, hungry notes of pleasure, and you broke away from his mouth to bring his face back down to your throat.

Quill’s teeth dug into the sensitive skin over your pulse point and your head fell back against the wall. Rain hit your face, water running down your cheeks and you blinked against it as your eyes rolled back.

He fucked you in rough, hurried thrusts, his hands digging into the flesh of your ass possessively. A shiver wracked through you, and you could feel his body trembling with the cold of the rain despite the heat of his body against yours.

When you came, the sound of your moan was drowned out by thunder, and you could have sworn you heard Peter whisper three words against your skin.

tags: @lovely-dreamer19 @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink @s0ftness @castieltrash1 @drakelover78 @queenoftheunderdark @bombardia @bellarkeselection @nix-rose-q @blue-chup @curcuma-yn0t

[sunriserose1023]

Point of Ignition [eight]

WARNINGS: Mini panic attack, nicknames, semi sexual situation WORD COUNT: 6055

masterlist

You gave a soft moan as Bucky’s hand slid down your side, coming to rest on your hip. His lips were at your neck and you moaned again as you lifted a hand to push your fingers through his hair, holding him where he was. His thick thigh moved between yours and you bucked your hips up, both of you groaning at the feeling. 

“Fuck, Pidge. You’re driving me crazy.”

He didn’t give you a chance to reply, his lips finding yours and kissing you thoroughly. You wrapped your arms around his muscled body, his tattooed arms gently groping you and making you moan. 

“You ready for me, baby?”

You nodded furtively, unable to put your desires into words. Bucky just chuckled, pushing your legs further apart. You whimpered for him and he nodded, moving closer to you, lips pressing to yours. 

“I’ve got you, Pidge.” “Please.” “Oh, baby. You don’t have to beg with me.”

Bucky moved closer, bringing his hips closer to yours and you felt your heart start pounding in anticipation. You sighed, closing your eyes as you wrapped your legs around Bucky’s narrow hips. 

“Pidge.”

You sighed again, and you could almost hear the smile in Bucky’s voice. 

“Pidge, wake up.” “Hmm?” “Open your eyes.”

You did, looking around, eyes widening as you took in the far wall of Bucky’s sparsely decorated bedroom. You looked down to find yourself under the covers, laying on your side, head on the pillow. You slowly rolled to your back, finding Bucky sitting up in bed, wide chest bare, a huge grin on his face. 

“Good morning, pigeon. Had a good dream?”

Your eyes widened as you felt your face begin to burn as Bucky gave a soft laugh. 

“It happens to everybody, Pidge. Don’t be embarrassed.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bucky smiled as he nodded. 

“Sure sounded like a good dream to me.” “Oh my god.”

You sat up and put your face in your hands. Bucky chuckled, his hand moving to gently rub your back. 

“Everybody has sex dreams, Pidge. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” “That’s easy for you to say. You didn’t wake anybody up by moaning.” “First, I was already up when you started. Second, a little moan is nothing. You’re not like a guy, where you can actually see when we have a sex dream.”

You raised your eyebrows, then nodded in agreement. You turned back to look at him over your shoulder and he grinned. 

“Tell me about your dream, Pidge.” “No.” “It was about me, wasn’t it?”

You snorted, even as your cheeks felt like they were on fire. 

“You wish.” “You got me, Pidge. That’s my dream, babe. You dreaming about me.”

You pushed his tattooed arm, and he laughed as he leaned in and pulled you into a hug before climbing off the bed.  

“Come on, pigeon. I’ll cook you breakfast and you can lust after me some more.” “It wasn’t about—Bucky!”

You stared off into space, not paying attention to anything in the cafeteria. Your hand absently kept moving your fork into your salad, but you didn’t take a bite. Natasha sat down across from you, watching you as she ate her own salad. After an unreasonably long stretch of silence, she leaned over and snapped her fingers in front of your nose, making you blink and bobble your overloaded fork. 

“Nat, what the hell?!” “What the hell is up with you? I’ve been sitting here watching you stare into space for like twenty minutes.”

You blinked again. 

“Really?”

She nodded as she took a bite of salad. She chewed for a moment, then nodded at you. 

“What’s on your mind?”

You swallowed, looking down into your food. You took in a breath, then let it out slowly. 

“You can’t tell anybody.” “Oh, shit.”

She set her fork down, lifting a napkin to her lips. You looked up to see her eyes on you, giving you her full attention. 

“How bad is it?”

You sighed. 

“Not as bad as I’m making it out to be.” “Talk to me, muffin.”

You lifted a hand to cover your eyes, speaking softly. 

“I had a sex dream about Bucky.” “You what?!”

You let your hand fall to glance around the cafeteria, which had fallen silent, all eyes on you and Natasha. You put in a smile, lifting a hand to wave, then using that hand to slap Natasha’s arm. 

“What is the matter with you?!”

You hissed the words as she pressed her lips together. Once the cafeteria had started buzzing again, she leaned closer. 

“You can’t just drop a bomb like that and expect me to go ‘oh cool. Want some ice cream?’” “It’s not a bomb. It’s a … it’s not a thing.” “It’s obviously a thing if it’s bothering you this much.” “It’s not bothering me.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow as you glanced down at your massacred salad, barely any bites taken. You blew out a breath, putting your elbows on the table and covering your eyes. 

“Was it good?”

You peeked at Natasha through a gap in your fingers. She smiled as she speared a tomato and took a bite of it. 

“Had to be good, right? Even dreams look like they’d be good with him.” “So you’ve never …” “About Bucky? No. Now Sam? Absolutely, and let me tell you, reality is even better than the dreams.”

You made a face, which made Natasha laugh. You couldn’t help but smile, and Natasha bumped your foot with her own. 

“So what about it? You had a naughty dream and so what?” “So … I was in his bed when it happened.”

Natasha’s eyes widened. 

“But you two weren’t …” “No! Nat, come on. We don’t do that. I just sleep there.” “In his bed. Beside him.” “Yeah. It’s harmless.” “Not for your panties.”

You kicked her under the table almost automatically, and she glared at you as she leaned down to rub her shin. 

“Ow.” “You’re fine.”

She glared at you some more, then straightened and took a sip of water. 

“So what’s the big deal?”

You blew out a breath. 

“Apparently I was making noise and he heard it and he knew what was going on.” “Did he know it was about him?” “Well God, I hope not. I tried to play it off like it was nothing, but I failed spectacularly because I was mortified. He tried to make me feel better, saying at least I don’t get boners.”

Natasha snorted. 

“Yep, that’s Bucky.”

You shook your head. 

“Nat, what do I do?” “What do you mean?” “I mean I can’t be sleeping in his bed and dreaming about him.” “Muffin, it’s harmless. So you had a dirty dream. So what? Are you going to act on it?” “No!”

Natasha clicked her tongue. 

“Shame. That would be a good time.”

You rolled your eyes and she chuckled softly. 

“You’re blowing it way out of proportion, sweetie. It’s nothing. I’m sure he’s dreamt about you. Probably even rubbed one out while you slept.” “Oh my god, Nat! That’s horrible!”

She laughed and you shook your head. 

“I’m kidding. I’m sure he’s waited until he was in the shower. Easy clean up.” “You are not helping.”

She smiled as she reached across the table and laid a hand on your arm. 

“It’s fine. Try not to focus on it too much and you’ll forget about it soon.” “I doubt Bucky’s going to let that happen.” “Oh no, he’s going to tease you within an inch of your life. Get ready for that.”

You closed your laptop and lifted your hands over your head, moaning softly as you stretched. You leaned to one side and gasped when your spine popped, then slowly lowered your hands. You picked up the phone you’d placed face-down beside your laptop and tapped the message icon. There was a text from John Walker, asking if you wanted to grab some dinner with him. 

You set your phone down, thinking back over the last week. You’d been so sick, and the last thing on your mind had been your phone. Bucky hadn’t checked it, or if he had, he didn’t tell you about it. But the point was, you hadn’t heard from John since a week before. Did he not know you were sick? Did he even try to check on you? 

A funny feeling settled in your belly when you flashed back to last week, shivering under Bucky’s covers. Bucky had been there, brushing your hair out of your face, pushing pills between your lips, doing everything he could to bring your fever down. 

You looked back at your phone, eyes lifting to the door when it opened. Bucky stepped in, a wide smile coming to his face when he saw you. 

“Hey, pigeon.” “Hey.”

He set his bag by the door, closing it with his foot. He shrugged his jacket off and tossed it over the back of the recliner, making his way to you. He grabbed a bottle of water off the counter, taking hold of the chair across from you and turning it backwards before straddling it.

“I’ve got a favor to ask of you, pigeon.” “Oh, boy.”

Bucky grinned as he took a long sip from his water. 

“It’s nothing bad.” “Somehow I doubt that.” “Come on, Pidge. Don’t you trust me?”

The breath caught in your throat at the sight of his icy blue eyes, the casual grin on his lips. He needed to shave, but the scruff was a good look for him. You swallowed, a smile of your own coming to your lips. 

“What is it?”

The smile on Bucky’s face went soft. 

“Come home with me.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, glancing around the apartment. Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. 

“No, I mean my real home. My dad’s house. Everybody gets together once a month to have dinner and hang out. I want you to come with me. “Buck, that sounds like a family thing.” “It is. But I want you there.”

That funny feeling in your gut seemed to intensify the longer he smiled at you. You couldn’t help but smile back, and Bucky’s eyes shined. 

“You’ll love them, Pidge. They’re a fucking mess, but I think you’ll understand me better once you see what I grew up with.” “Buck—“ “Don’t worry about dressing up. You look gorgeous, and you don’t need to worry about impressing anyone. They sure ain’t gonna impress you.”

You watched him walk down the hall to his bedroom and you looked back at your phone. You picked it up and typed out a simple reply to John Walker, then followed Bucky down the hall. 

Sorry, not tonight. 

You were on the back of Bucky’s bike, arms around his torso as he rode to his parents’ house. He rested one hand on your thigh whenever you came upon a red light or a stop sign, and despite the cool air whipping around you, you were nice and warm in Bucky’s jacket. You turned your head to rest it against the wide expanse of Bucky’s back, feeling a gentle squeeze to your thigh, and you smiled as you closed your eyes. 

Soon, the scenery turned more residential, and you looked around as Bucky turned down one street, then pulled into a driveway. There was a modest two-story house with multiple cars in the driveway, and Bucky parked his bike near a large truck. He shut the bike off and climbed off, removing his helmet and shaking out his hair before helping you from the bike and taking your helmet off. You turned to try to see your reflection in one of the nearby cars’ windows. 

“Pidge, you look beautiful.” “Please. I know I have helmet hair.”

You tried to fix your appearance as best you could, then glanced over your shoulder to see Bucky leaning against the truck. You raised an eyebrow and he sighed. 

“Alright. Tragic backstory time.”

You turned to face him and he pushed off from the truck. 

“I’m adopted.” “Bucky.” “It’s fine. I came to terms with it a long time ago. I bounced around the system for a while until I landed here. For some reason, they wanted me, and not only that, but they adopted five boys.” “Five?!”

Bucky chuckled. 

“Yep. My parents are saints. Maybe a little mental, but definitely the best-hearted people I’ve ever met.”

You stepped closer to him, reaching out a hand. He took it, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you closer. You smiled up at him. 

“I can’t wait to meet them.” “Almost everyone will be here. The brother closest in age to me, Steve, won’t be here. You’ll never believe what his job is.” “Enlighten me.” “Cruise ship director.”

You gasped, hitting his shoulder with your hand. 

“No way!” “Right? He’s gone most of the year, and we’re lucky if we get to see him for Christmas. He tries to come back at least once a year, but it’s tricky.” “Wow.” “I know. Oh, and you will see a familiar face.”

The two of you started walking down the sidewalk, to the front steps. 

“Who?” “You’ll see.” “Bucky—“ “Honey, I’m home!”

He’d thrown the front door open, letting it bounce off the wall. He kept hold of your hand as he led you inside, and your eyes widened at the cacophony of sounds that greeted the two of you. 

“Whoa, Buck. Who’s the babe?”

You blinked at the man who walked through the door, a sandwich in one hand. 

“That’s Clint. Total sleazeball. Keep your distance.” “Why you little—“

Bucky stepped behind you as Clint started to lunge forward, both of them laughing when Clint gripped Bucky’s shoulder. They did a “bro hug,” slapping the other on the back once before Clint turned and left the room. 

“Hey everybody! Bucky brought a babe home!”

Bucky groaned as he lifted a hand to his face. 

“Let me apologize in advance for this. We’re a family of men since Ma died and we’re basically animals.” “Hey, pigeon’s here!”

Your eyes widened when Sam walked into the room, emptying a bag of chips into his mouth. Clint followed Sam into the room with a man in a hoodie behind them, followed by an older black man with an eye patch. Bucky put an arm around your shoulders. 

“Guys, this is—“

You interrupted him to say your name. The last thing you wanted was his whole family referring to you as “pigeon.” Sam winked at you as the man in the hoodie stepped up with his head down and hand out. 

“Hey, I’m Wade. Oldest of these ragamuffins.” “Hi.” “I’m Clint, but you knew that. Obviously you know Sam, too?”

You nodded as you shook Clint’s hand, and the man with the eye patch stepped up with his hand out.

“Nick Fury.”

You shook his hand as Bucky leaned closer to you. 

“Call him Fury. We all do. Just don’t call him Nick.”

You nodded, feeling intimidated, moving closer to Bucky. He smiled as he wrapped his arm around you again, pulling you close to his side. 

“You assholes leave us any food?” “This is just hors d'oeuvres. Fury’s grilling.” “Do you like steak or chicken, Miss Y/N?”

You nodded with a smile, and Fury smiled back. 

“Good answer. Wade, a little help?”

Wade nodded, keeping his head down as he followed Fury out of the room. Sam and Clint went back towards the kitchen and you turned to Bucky. He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” “No, they’re nice. But I … I didn’t …” “Oh, Wade, you mean?”

You nodded and Bucky sighed. 

“His parents were drug dealers and they were running a meth lab out of their house. He almost burned up when it exploded.”

You sucked in a breath and Bucky nodded. 

“He’s covered in scars, and he tries to pretend like people’s stares don’t bother him, but … he just tries to hide as much as he can.” “That’s terrible.” “Tragic backstory, pigeon. We’ve all got them.”

You nodded in agreement and Bucky sighed as he reached to take hold of your hand. 

“Clint’s dad was an abusive prick. Sam’s parents were killed in a car accident. Steve’s dad was a soldier who was killed in action and his mom died of cancer shortly after losing his dad.”

He met your eyes as you waited for him to mention his own parents, but he shook his head. You gave him a soft smile. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” “Pidge.”

You met his eyes and he shook his head again. You let go of his hand as he closed his eyes, then wrapped him in a hug. You closed your own eyes as he held you, putting his face in your hair. 

“You two wanna quit playing grab ass and come help set the table?”

You and Bucky both turned to see Clint leaning against the door frame, tossing M&Ms into the air, catching them in his mouth. 

“‘Cause God forbid you do a thing to help, right, Barton?” “Hey, I’ve been here for hours. Who do you think marinated the damn steak you’re going to eat?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, giving your hand a squeeze before he walked with his brother into the kitchen, bickering the whole way. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, and you pressed a hand to your stomach before you followed them. 

You set your fork onto your empty plate, looking around the table at the state of disarray. Everyone’s plates were empty, the bread basket was empty, the side dishes were scraped clean. Most of the men were leaning back in their chairs, groaning softly. 

“Killer meal, Dad.”

You’d learned that Wade was the only one who called Fury something other than Fury, and that he was lightning fast with wit. He’d finally taken the hood off his head, inconspicuously looking at you when he thought you weren’t looking, but once you’d caught his eye and smiled, his shoulders had relaxed and he’d joined in on the conversation. 

You’d learned that Clint was an EMT in town, Fury was a detective on the police force, and their mom had been a nurse before she’d passed from breast cancer a few years back. They were a tight-knit group, even with Steve gone most of the time, and they had a family text chain that was completely obscene more often than not. 

“Should we initiate the babe in properly?”

You looked to Clint, who’d broken the silence. He refused to call you anything other than “babe,” but at least it wasn’t “pigeon.” Wade clicked his teeth, then nodded. 

“I think it’s only fair.” “Come on, guys.” “No, no. You bring a chick around and don’t warn her beforehand, that’s your fault. Let’s go, boys.”

You watched as the men stood up, leaving you and Fury at the table. Bucky had shaken his head when you tried to stand up, taking your plate with his to the sink. 

“I can wash those dishes.”

Silence fell over the room, looks being exchanged. Fury sat up in his chair, leaning towards you. 

“You’re a guest here. They know the drill. Whoever cooks…” “Doesn’t clean.”

The boys had answered in one voice, and Fury winked at you as he relaxed back in his chair. In a few loud, curse-filled moments, the table was clear and the kitchen was clean. Bucky walked back to stand behind you, scooting your chair backwards just a bit. 

“Watch this.”

You watched as Sam and Wade took hold of opposite ends of the table, lifting and turning. Your mouth dropped open as the table turned upside down, revealing a green felt-covered table. 

Something you knew all too well, even as your blood suddenly ran cold. 

A poker table. 

You blinked as you heard your blood rushing in your ears, heartbeat thundering so loudly you couldn’t hear Wade teasing Sam as Clint grabbed the box of chips and cards and placed them on the table. Fury started shuffling the cards as Sam divvied up the chips, and it wasn’t until Bucky spoke beside your ear, making you jump, that you came back to yourself. 

“Pidge, you alright?”

Your eyes were wide as you stared at him, and the room slowly fell silent as your quick breathing got louder and louder. Clint stepped closer, speaking low. 

“Buck, she may be hyperventilating.” “No, I—I just …”

You stood up from the table, rushing through the front door. You gasped when the cold air hit you suddenly, and you put your arms on top of your head as you tried to regulate your breathing and slow your heart rate. 

This was nothing. This was a friendly game between family. There were no high stakes here, no one’s life hanging in the balance. Bucky won’t stop loving you if you mess up the game. 

Wait, what?

Fuck. 

“Pidge?”

You turned around, wide eyes locking on Bucky. He held out his hands and you shook your head, taking a step back. 

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t—“ “Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

You put your face in your hands, leaning into Bucky when he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. 

“You’re okay, Pidge. I’ve got you.”

You let your hands fall, burying your face in Bucky’s chest, wrapping your arms around him and holding on tight. 

“I got you, baby. Just breathe.” “I’m sorry. “Hush.”

You nodded, turning your head to rest your ear against the middle of his chest, closing your eyes at the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Bucky laid a hand over your other ear and you sighed as you moved even closer to him. After a moment, Bucky moved his hand and spoke softly. 

“You want to talk about it? “Not really. I’m sorry for being so stupid.” “Hey.”

He pushed you back so he could see your face, one hand going under your chin to force you to meet his eyes. 

“One, you’re not stupid. Don’t ever say that. Two, something serious must have gone on around a poker table for you to act like that. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have put you in that situation if I had known.”

You shook your head. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky stepped closer, taking your face in his hands. 

“Neither did you.”

You stared up at him as he stared back at you, your lips parting slightly. Bucky’s eyes danced to your lips then back to your eyes and he took in a breath. 

“Let me get my jacket and we’ll go.”

He let go of your face and started to go back in the house. You reached out and grabbed his hand and he looked down at it before meeting your eyes again. You shook your head, giving his hand a squeeze. 

“I’m okay.” “Pidge—“ “I mean it. I overreacted. We don’t have to leave.”

Bucky turned back to face you, keeping a tight hold of your hand. 

“Don’t do that.” “What?” “Minimize your feelings because you think it would make me happy to stay.”

Your eyes widened as he stepped closer to you. 

“You’re allowed to feel things, Pidge. Even bad things. Doesn’t matter if it makes sense or not, if you mean to or not. We can go, back to somewhere that’s familiar and comfortable, and you can let me hold you til you fall asleep or something.”

It was his turn to widen his eyes when you stepped forward, putting your face in his chest again and wrapping your arms around him. He smiled as he enveloped you in his arms, resting his head atop yours. After a moment, you spoke softly. 

“I really would like to go back inside. Apologize to everyone.” “You don’t have to. They get it.” “But—“ “Shh.”

Bucky rubbed a hand up and down your back. 

“We can go back inside if you want. If not, let me grab my jacket and we’ll go because, no offense, but it’s cold as shit out here.”

You laughed, nodding as you stepped back. 

“I’d like to go back in.” “Okay then.”

Bucky took your hand and led you back inside. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you stepped through the door, but it faded as you heard the raucous noise from the kitchen. You stopped in the doorway, warmth filling your chest and tears coming to your eyes when you saw the table had been flipped back, the wooden side that you’d eaten on visible instead of the felt. Bucky rubbed your back and took a step forward as Wade gave a shout. 

“Ha! Gin! Eat me, suckers.”

Sam and Clint groaned, and Fury chuckled under his breath as you followed Bucky back into the room. You stayed behind Bucky as he moved closer to the table. 

“Ready for me to whip your asses now?”

Wade snorted as he shuffled the cards. Sam clicked his tongue and you looked his way. 

“You play gin?”

You lifted a shoulder, sitting in the chair beside Bucky when he pulled you down. Wade cursed as he fumbled the cards and you spoke softly. 

“We can play poker. It’s no big deal.”

You stared at the wood grain of the table as silent conversations were held over your head. After an uncomfortable bout of silence, Fury spoke. 

“Texas Hold ‘Em. We can do a practice round. Deal the cards, Wade.”

You glanced over at Fury, smiling when one card, then another was placed in front of you. You managed to suppress a shiver when Bucky’s voice was whispering into your ear. 

“You familiar with Texas, Pidge?” “It’s been a minute since I played.” “Rules are simple. Don’t show anybody your cards. Wade’s gonna put five cards down in the middle of the table. You want to get your two cards to match up with three of those cards to make a hand of five. Either a full house or a straight or three of a kind, but we’ll help you with that later.”

Bucky glanced at his cards, and the two of you watched as Wade set five cards in the middle of the table. 

“Now if we were playing with chips, this is when we’d place a bet.” “Do you guys do real money?”

Bucky smirked. 

“We usually just give whoever wins twenty bucks at the end of the night. It’s usually me.”

Sam coughed across the table and you smiled. You sucked in a breath when Bucky’s mouth was at your ear. 

“Wade can bluff with the best of them. Fury was born with a poker face. Sam’s got tells that are just short of a flashing neon sign and Clint’s a card shark.”

You turned your head, meeting his eyes, whispering just as low as he’d been. 

“And what about you?”

Bucky grinned. 

“Play me and find out.”

When you turned back to your cards he leaned in again, his mouth at your ear. 

“But if you get to playing good here, we can play strip poker back home.”

He groaned when you elbowed him in the stomach and you grinned as you looked across the table to Sam and Clint, who were smiling back at you. 

The first couple of rounds were touch and go. Bucky won one round, then Wade, and you got lucky on the third round, but you really suspected that they let you win. They decided to play one last game, so you and Bucky and Sam could get back to the apartment before it got too late. 

“Think you can handle yourself, pigeon?” “I think so.”

Bucky smiled and nodded, both of you turning your attention to the table as Clint dealt the cards. Sam folded early, as did Fury. Wade tossed his cards at one point, until it was just you and Bucky. 

“Want to make it interesting, Pidge?”

You flicked your eyes from your cards to him. 

“What did you have in mind?” “If I win, you’ve got to come back with me for every family dinner, including holidays.”

You glanced at your cards, then back to him. 

“And if I win?” “Then you’ve got to cook for those holidays.”

You let out a laugh. 

“That’s not a good enough bet for me.” “What would make it sweeter, then?”

You set one card aside and nodded to Clint. He handed you another card and you held your hand over it, then looked to Bucky. 

“Can I think on it?”

You kept staring into his eyes as he looked back at you, the two of you missing the smirks and eyebrow wiggles from the rest of the family. Bucky finally nodded. 

“You can think as long as you want, Pidge. No way you’re beating my three of a kind.”

You pursed your lips, nodding as you studied the cards he just laid down. He had two eights, and with an eight on the table, he had a pretty good hand. You looked at the last card Clint had dealt you, placing it in your hand as you spoke. 

“That’s good. But I’m not exactly sure … remind me. Is this good?”

You laid down a seven and a nine, and with the eight on the table along with a ten beside it, you had a straight. You looked at Bucky, who was staring at your cards with his mouth open. Wade let out a loud whoop, laughing as he jumped out of his chair. 

“Whipped your ass! She whipped your ass, brother!”

Bucky met your eyes as his brothers joked and laughed. You smiled softly as he leaned in closer, until his nose was almost brushing yours. 

“Did you hustle me, pigeon?”

You bat your eyelashes. 

“No, I just got lucky.”

Bucky shook his head, a smile on his face. He stood up from the table, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and dropping a twenty on the table in front of you. His brothers did the same, despite your protests. Fury stood up from the table and did the same, laying his hand on the pile of twenties in front of you. 

“This is how we do. You earned it.”

You swallowed at the sudden pit in your stomach, smiling at him and nodding. You gathered the money and folded it before standing and sliding it into the back pocket of your jeans. Bucky was behind you then, sliding his jacket over your shoulders. He turned and held out a hand for Fury, who put his hand in Bucky’s to shake, then pulled him in for a hug. He did the same thing to his brothers except for Sam, and you laughed when Wade got him into a headlock and rubbed his fist over Bucky’s hair. Bucky gave Wade a shove as he glared at him, the glare softening when he looked at your giggling face. Clint nodded to you. 

“It was nice to meet you, babe.” “Yeah, come back anytime. You don’t even have to bring Bucky.”

Fury laughed at Wade’s statement, and Bucky took your hand as he walked up beside you. He waved before he led you out the door, and you giggled at the kissing sounds his brothers made. 

“They are the absolute worst.”

You laughed as the door closed, following Bucky as he went to his bike. 

“I had a great time with them. They’re fun.” “Yeah okay. Whatever you say.”

Bucky was smiling as wide as you were as the two of you stopped in front of his bike. You started to shrug his jacket off, but he shook his head, pulling it closer around you. 

“Buck, you’ll get cold.” “I’ll be fine. I’m gonna have you cuddled up against me.”

You felt your cheeks warm as you slid your arms through his jacket. He picked up your helmet and put it on your head. 

“I can do that.” “I know.”

His voice was as quiet as yours had been, and you were still as he fastened the strap under your chin. You watched as he put his own helmet on, then swung his leg over the bike. You held a hand on his shoulder as you climbed on behind him, and he gave your thigh a squeeze as he kickstarted the bike. You wrapped your arms around his torso, holding tight to him as he backed out of the driveway, reveling in the warmth in your chest when he held his hand on your thigh during straight lengths of the road and at red lights or stop signs. 

“Hey Buck?” “Hey, Pidge.”

You smiled as you turned to face him. He was wearing his regular pajamas, a pair of sweats with no shirt, the tattoos on his arms gleaming in the low lighting. You were wearing one of his shirts, and while you had debated wearing a pair of pajama shorts, you decided not to. You saw Bucky’s eyes flash when he noticed, but he didn’t say a word. You walked over and sat on the bed facing him, watching his nostrils flare when your shirt rode up and gave him a flash of your panties. He licked his lips, then turned his attention to you. 

“What’s on your mind, Pidge?” “I have a question.” “Lay it on me.”

You twisted the blanket in your fingers for a moment before you spoke. 

“Did you go through my phone while I was sick?”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Why are you asking me that?” “I just … I don’t know.” “Pidge.”

He leaned forward, taking your hand. You looked up to meet his eyes and he tilted his head to the left a bit. 

“What is it?”

You blew out a breath. 

“John Walker texted me earlier and I realized I hadn’t heard from him in a while and it got me thinking that maybe he texted me while I was sick and I missed it and—“ “You thought maybe I saw it and deleted it?”

Your eyes widened. 

“What? No! Bucky, no. I know you wouldn’t do that. I just … I thought that may…”

You blew out a breath, looking back at him when Bucky gave your hand a squeeze. 

“He didn’t text. The only thing I did with your phone was put it on the charger a couple times. I would have told him you were sick if he’d called or whatever.”

You looked down at your hands, taking yours away from Bucky and putting it over your face as you moved to sit on the side of the bed, putting your back to Bucky. 

“I’m sorry.” “Hey. Hey, you don’t have to be sorry, Pidge. It’s okay.” “No, it’s not. You’re such a good person, taking care of me when I was sick and taking me home to meet your family and I’m worried about some asshole who didn’t even text when I was sick. He probably doesn’t even know I was sick, but he didn’t even try to talk to me until today.”

Bucky sighed. 

“I’m not that good of a person, pigeon.”

You let your hands fall, turning to look at him over your shoulder. 

“You are to me.”

You stared at him, watching his blue eyes turn stormy. He crawled over the bed until he was beside you, and you closed your eyes as he lifted his hand to cup your face. You lifted your hand to hold onto his wrist as he leaned in closer, so close you could feel his breath on your lips. Your lips parted the slightest bit, and you opened your eyes when you felt his touch soften. His eyes were roaming over your face, lingering on your lips. 

“Buck?”

Your voice was barely audible, and Bucky leaned back, letting his hand fall. You furrowed your eyebrows as he slid back, going to his spot in the bed. 

“Let’s go to bed, Pidge.” “Bucky, what’s wrong?” “Nothing. I’m just tired.” “Buck—“ “Come on, Pidge. Let me hold you.”

You blinked a few times, then did as he said, crawling under the covers. You rolled onto your side and Bucky plastered himself against your back. You laced your fingers through his, holding tightly, but even in his arms, your sleep was anything but peaceful.

PREVIOUS//NEXT

[fanfic-scribbles]

Steeb

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Working in a coffee shop, you have heard and seen all manner of names and spellings thereof, and you’re only human– mistakes happen.

So why’s this guy gotta be such a dick about it?

Quick facts: Friendship – Steve & Reader – Nondescript Reader

MCU Timeline: Set some nebulous time after CA:TWS

Words: 4218

A/N: Back on my coffee shop bullshit because the idea made me laugh :)

~

You don’t mean to do it.

It’s been a long day, you’re overworked, and so when you hear ‘Steeb,’ (you’re certain you heard it exactly like that), you write it down to the best of your ability and go on with making the drink. You’ve heard plenty of unique names during your tenure working behind the counter of a coffee shop, and been subjected to every possible way to spell even the most common ones, so you don’t even bat an eye. You simply finish making the drink, call out the name as you set it on the counter, and immediately turn to the next to keep the line moving.

After a few minutes the rush has died and the cup is still there, and a tall blond man hovers around, staring at it uncertainly. Starting to fill with dread, you go repeat the drink order in the hopes that he’ll recognize it.

“Oh, yes; that is me…” He frowns at the cup, holds it up, and squints at it some more. He looks as tired as you feel, but instead of replenishing his energy with some sugar and caffeine, he frowns at you and says, in a terse, clipped tone, “‘Steeb?’ Really?”

It has been a long fucking day and you feel a rush of anger blow through you before you tamp it down, put on the smile that you hope doesn’t look as lined with knives as it feels, and say, “I am very, very sorry sir; I must have misheard your name. Please enjoy your drink.”

He waits, opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but thankfully he just takes his drink and goes.

Good riddance.

~

A few days later you’re wiping down behind the counter after a long rush when he comes in again. He sees you, hesitates, and therefore so do you– but he approaches with a forced smile and you try to relax. He’s not anywhere near the top ten worst customers you’ve ever had to deal with; so what if he got a little snippy when you fucked up his name. Maybe he was having a bad day too. You decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Oh, and it’s ‘Steeeeeeve.’ ‘Steeeeeeeeeeevvve.’”

Nope. Still an asshole. The way he says it is so much like explaining his name to a small child with next to no verbal skills that you nearly grip the cup in your hand to destruction while he watches you. Through great restraint, (and the truly unfortunate need to keep paying for groceries and shelter), you plaster on a smile. “Of course,” you say placidly. His brow furrows in…concern? You wait until you turn away to roll your eyes. You’re not going to mess with food; what kind of monster does he think you are? You prepare him his drinks– but before that you write down his name. Exactly as he said it.

‘Steeeeeeeeeeevvve’ wraps at least halfway around the cup and given that he’s the only one waiting you call his name out likewise. It’s petty, and it’s definitely petty the way you take enjoyment in his annoyance as he picks up the cup and follows all the letters.

“Did I do something?” he asks.

Aside from treat me like a fucking toddler? But you can’t say that. Stupid food. Stupid rent. “Of course not sir,” you say flatly. Sometimes you can skate by pissing people off if you seem unaffected enough– some people really do believe you’re that stupid. “I’m just trying to get your name right. Exactly as you say it.”

It doesn’t seem to work on him. However, the way it doesn’t work on him means he…snorts, the corners of his lips turn briefly up, and he walks away with his drinks without lodging a complaint.

…Maybe he’s not a total asshole after all.

~

The next time he shows up, after ordering, he stares at you for a moment and then brings out his debit card and shows you the name printed on it.

At this point you do know his name (it’s not like ‘Steve’ is actually the hardest name to remember for someone who left such a negative impression on you, even if that impression was a bit of a knee-jerk) but he looks a little amused and wary, like he’s not sure how you’re going to mangle it this time.

You’re not really sure what his deal is, but you know a challenge when you see it. Still, fucking up his name on purpose feels like it violates the spirit of…whatever this thing is. However…

It’s a little slow, so you take a moment to write on the cup, trying to perfectly mimic the print of his name on the card. When his drinks are done you call out the order instead of his name, though you face the writing on the cup towards him. He walks up, his eyes zero in, and he…cracks a smile. A real smile, if a bit wobbly.

He shakes his head as you restock some cups, nods his thanks, and leaves.

You’re probably done now, but that’s a good note to leave it on, you think.

~

He comes in another time with two people– a reserved woman and a man with a bright smile. They’re both friendly and the new guy is so personable he makes you smile even after a long night of little sleep. Steve seems happy enough today and doesn’t make a fuss about his name, although the both of them watch you for a reaction as though he’s told them. They seem amused, but they all shuffle off after they pay.

Well. You would hate to disappoint.

Natasha and Sam get nice cursive. ‘Sam and Natasha’s Friend’ gets flat print.

Steve sighs heavily, Sam laughs, and Natasha grins wickedly. More customers come in and you forget about them except as a nice note on an otherwise unremarkable day.

~

You are more than willing to admit Steve is not as much a jerk as he first seemed to be. He must have been having a few bad days himself, to be so snippy, and hey, maybe names were a sore subject with him as they could be with so many others. Trying your best doesn’t mean you’re exempt from being accidentally hurtful. Being as short on patience as you were, (unfortunately, often are these days), you didn’t exactly act as well as maybe you should have either.

So when he comes in and looks a little down, you treat him with a bit more care. He orders something warm and, in your opinion, comforting. When you ask him if he wants whipped cream he shrugs, and before you can say anything else, he says his name in a very quiet voice.

When he walks away you switch out the cup for another size up, break out a special pen, write his name carefully, and go about making the best damn drink you can. The whipped cream towers on the top, you dig out some of the colorful sprinkles left over from a recent seasonal promotion, and you barely put the drink down in the pick-up window before he’s there. He smiles slightly when he sees it (that whipped cream tower is a work of art if you do say so yourself) and he carefully turns the cup around, looking for his name. When he goes a full circle he squints and looks at you.

“Keep looking,” you say and go back to the register.

He stays in the shop to drink it and tries to find his name for a bit before he gives up and gets through the whipped cream and a good portion of the drink before he’s able to hold it up and try again. He glances back at you a few times, as if to ask if you really wrote it. You nod, and he gets back to hunting. When the drink is nearly done he finally finds it– a tiny, careful scrawl just outside the edge of the artwork near the bottom of the cup. When he grins at you, you nod in approval, and he leaves in a better mood than he came in.

That’s the best outcome you can ask for, really.

~

He comes in at least once a week, most of the time, and you try to do little variations on each visit. The rainbow one with your new huge multi-colored pen goes over well. The attempt at calligraphy makes him smile. Once when you’re really rushed you scratch it out like a simple metal band logo. That gets a little laugh.

One day you’re out of ideas, and out of patience. Every customer is grating, and then there’s…

“How hard is it to remember Bill?” the man snaps.

“I’m sorry sir,” you say and try not to show how tired you are. You’re actually not responsible for this one, but you’re not going to throw your co-worker under the bus. Also, she wrote down ‘Will,’ and you’re having a hard time getting worked up over one letter that’s…basically the same name. But names are sensitive, and you’re really actually not trying to be an asshole. You wish other people knew that. “We’ll do better next time.”

He scoffs and opens his mouth, but there’s someone looming behind him that makes him turn. In a good flash of irony, Steve is the one staring down at him. Not threatening though– his face is more of a ‘I’m so disappointed in you’ frown and it is frighteningly effective. You haven’t even done anything wrong and suddenly you’re questioning your life choices.

Bill takes his coffee and leaves. Steve looks at you and asks, “Was I that bad?”

You shake your head. “I think we were both having a bad day,” you say and start wiping down the counter. Slowly, so you can take a moment for yourself. You don’t get many of those. “Thanks.”

“I’ve been told my ‘disappointed’ face can make almost anyone rethink what they’re doing,” he says.

You smile. “I started rethinking my life, and I wasn’t even the target,” you say and his smile is like a reward. “I’ll…try and find your drink,” you say and go to get to work. But there is no drink waiting and with some dread you come back to ask him what he ordered, because he is a good guy and damn it you’re going to fix this.

But he’s gone, and there’s a folded piece of paper on the counter that you grab and open.

“No coffee today,” reads the note that is signed “Steeb” and you roll your eyes, but it makes you smile.

“PS: Check the back”

You do, and find a little drawing of a coffee cup with your name scrawled in as part of the design. Spelled right of course. You’re not sure if that’s a passive aggressive dig, but honestly, you’ve had way worse.

You fold up the paper and put it away.

~

The next time Steve comes in it’s at a quiet part of the day, and he hands you a paper and presses a finger to his lips. You stare a bit too long at that but unfold the paper. Your name is decorated with cute cartoon flowers, and what follows is his order.

You roll your eyes but ring him up, and get to work.

The cup gets decorated with a quick hangman’s game, with some of the letters missing from his name and nearly a complete stick figure with several wrong letters to accompany the cartoon execution. (Naturally, ‘b’ is one of them.)

When Steve sees it…well, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile like that. “I’m going to feel bad throwing this one away,” he says, admiring it.

“Take a picture. Doesn’t leak as much,” you say, but his eyes light up and he actually does. “I was joking,” you say, a hand on your face.

“It was a good idea.” His grin is devious. “And embarrassed is a good look on you.”

“Uh huh,” you say and put your hand down. “Didn’t get enough of it your first time around?”

“This one’s better,” he says, taking your comment with the humor you intended.

“Right. Sure.” You start wiping up an invisible spot behind the counter. “Enjoy your coffee.”

“I always do,” he says and takes a long drink before he leaves.

It’s almost embarrassing, how much you smile the rest of your shift.

~

By now you’re well aware that ‘Steeb’ is Steve, is Steve Rogers, is Captain America, is…yeah. That guy. And you’re actually pretty relieved that it took you a while to figure it out. If you’d known from the start, your initial judgement probably would have been even harsher, and now you know he’s definitely not an ass.

This other guy though…

He looks (and acts) like a Jersey frat boy graduated to a tech bro and he’s been verbally harassing Steve for several minutes now, emboldened by his pack of cronies and the fact that Steve is just stoically taking it. Even the handful of people watching the proceedings are frowning or otherwise giving the douchebag dirty looks, but they seem to be following Steve’s lead and leaving well enough alone. Steve is sitting with his friends Sam (Falcon, he winked at you once holy shit) and Natasha (freaking Black Widow) and while Sam has attempted to diffuse the situation, Natasha has been quietly watching with light but focused interest that, if the guy was smart, should have made him crawl away with a thousand apologies by now.

Alas, he is a moron, and continues mouthing off.

Your manager finishes his phone call and turns the rest of his divided attention to focus on the…Situation. He’s frowning deep, but he just sighs. “He’s not doing anything I can kick him out for,” he grumbles.

“Hmm.” You look at the drink in your hand, and do a little double-take at the name before you realize you just misread it. However, that gives you an idea. “Hey. Your shift is almost through and you haven't taken a break yet.”

He looks at you suspiciously. Then he just looks tired as he takes off his apron. “Please, please don’t let them make me fire you.”

You flit one hand at him while you go to work with the other. “Written up maybe, but who gives a shit. Now go away; plausible deniability won’t manufacture itself.”

He rolls his eyes but he goes. You whip up the obnoxious group’s drinks, paying special attention to Guido Musk’s and making it as…pretty as possible.

When you’re done you put the drinks up, clear your throat, and in your best service-with-a-smile voice, call out, “Grunt!”

The talking stills, and you go on to rattle off his drink specifications, topping it all off with, “…and extra whip, for Grunt!”

He stalks over, scowling, and you brace yourself behind a docile smile as he hisses, “It’s Grant!”

You’d bet the nickel he tossed in the tip jar that that’s not actually his name, but you play along. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” you say and snatch the drink to give his name an exaggerated read-over. Your manager has just messy enough writing that the ‘a’ doesn’t quite close, so your alibi is solid. “Oh, I see, you’re completely right! I’m sorry, I misread it; that’s my bad,” you say and hand it over to him.

He's still glaring. “Who the hell gets called ‘Grunt?’”

“Sir, I’ve written cups for ‘Batman’ and ‘Spock.’” You shrug. “I don’t judge; however someone knows their order is fine.” You smile brightly at him. “Please enjoy your drink!” You then call out the rest of his friends’ orders, and go to the register to help a serendipitously-timed new customer. He pouts and hovers a little longer, but Steve is visibly more relaxed, smirking into his cup as his friends smile and stand down, and even the people who had been watching are now looking at Grant and whispering or laughing with their tablemates. So when one friend claps his shoulder and they all start to leave, he follows.

“Bye Grunt!” Sam calls out cheerfully as he passes through the door, and you duck your head behind the espresso machine as half the store laughs out loud. That is definitely going to get you a complaint, but it’s hard to be too mad about it. Once you’re composed enough not to crack you lift your head, but thankfully Grant is gone. You resolve to do everything in your power to avoid answering the phone today. …Even more than usual.

Later, it’s near close and Steve and his friends are among some of the last to leave. But he stops by the counter. “Thanks,” he says.

“For what?” you say with as much innocence as you can muster. Sam snorts and Natasha rolls her eyes, but Steve smiles. You drop the act and shrug your shoulder. “For the record,” you say, “–there is a difference between an accident, and being petty.”

Steve’s smile shifts more to one side. “Oh, I think I get it by now.” He then grins and says, “I guess it’s a good thing I never tried to use my middle name.”

You snort and shake your head. Natasha tilts hers. “Are you going to get in trouble for that?” she asks casually.

The mood drops a little. Sure, you won’t lose your job, but getting called in front of the manager –even the nice one– sucks. You shrug again, trying to keep it relaxed. “He left too fast to complain, but he might call tomorrow. We’ll see.” Steve and Sam frown deeply, like they hadn’t thought of that, and despite everything it makes you smile a little. “Relax; we’re perpetually understaffed. I’ll just get written up. It’s no big deal.”

“Still,” Steve says and looks at you with a very earnest expression that almost brings you up short. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” you say, and wince at the thought of him going up the chain and making more of a mess. You shake your head definitively. “Trust me, it’s fine. I misread a name. Happens all the time.” You give Steve a look with raised eyebrows. “Happens almost as much as mishearing a customer’s name.”

He blushes. Blushes. But before he can say anything else, Natasha hooks her arm in his, says, “Have a good night,” and leaves with him in hand and Sam following bemusedly behind.

You look around the dirty shop and sigh. Back to work.

~

After a week Grant-Grunt hasn’t come back, hasn’t called, and you’re just starting to relax when you see him walking past the window just outside. He lifts his head, you freeze, braced for the confrontation, but his eyes widen and he…bolts. Literally, actually, runs.

You blink, and suddenly jolt when one of the customers taking an easy morning is suddenly right at the counter. “Sorry; I didn’t see y–”

It’s Natasha. Smiling patiently as she holds her nearly-empty cup up for a refill. Your mouth works ineffectively to ask her how and when, but reflexively you take the cup, and then immediately check it. That’s her name, in your handwriting. You take a moment to reboot. “How do you do that?”

“Trade secret,” she replies with mild amusement. “Has he made a complaint?”

You shake your head. “Haven't heard a word.”

“Good.” Her smile grows. It’s sort of terrifying. And really hot. “The dark roast is very good today. May I have a refill?”

“Yes ma’am,” you say and immediately go to give her a whole new cup. You resolve to give her anything she asks for. And spell her name right. Every time.

~

You’re waiting for a sandwich you ordered in a busy shop when someone big bumps into you. As you’re starting to turn it is a familiar voice that starts apologizing profusely with, “I am so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

Steve stops when you face him. He actually even squints a little, which makes you laugh. “Am I really that strange looking without an apron?”

He smiles. “I’ve never seen you outside of work.”

“Town is smaller than I thought,” you say and both of you just…stand there for a few seconds.

Then your number is called, and you go to get your sandwich. You come back to where Steve is, just because…well, you don’t know why. He was just surprised to see you outside of work. There’s no reason he would still want to see you. But here you are.

“Apparently I’m not that far behind you,” he says and glances around. “Are you…staying to eat?”

You bob your head, for lack of anything else to do. “I was planning on it.”

“Do you want to share a table?” he says. “It’s pretty busy in here.”

Something in you flips. “That’d be great.”

He smiles. “Yeah?” He then looks around, and points out a table in the corner. “How about there?”

“I’ll be waiting,” you say and go to claim the space. He comes over maybe just a minute later, and as you’re unwrapping your food, you admit, “I sort of wish we could get away with assigning numbers.”

“I don’t know. I’m really partial to the names,” Steve says and gives you a devious little smile over his sandwich.

“Yeah, now you are,” you say, maybe overly teasing just to make sure he gets it. Now’s a good time for a sincere apology, and though part of you rails against it for an honest mistake, you manage to quash it down and say, “I don’t know if I’ve said it yet, but just to put it out there– I am sorry for screwing up your name that first time. The shop gets loud and I have seen a lot of names, and even the ‘usual’ ones sometimes get spelled differently. I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.”

He ducks his head and quickly finishes the bite he’s just taken. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed malice; I just…” He looks away. You want to tell him he doesn’t have to explain, but…maybe he wants to. He looks at you again. “People get weird, sometimes, when they see me,” he says with a slight flush of embarrassment. “And it’s all ‘Cap’ this and ‘Cap’ that, so I…I just like hearing my name, you know?”

You nod. “Names are important,” you say and take a bite. He smiles slightly at your easy acceptance, and you both settle in for a nice lunch, and some good company.

~

It has been a good week, relatively, and the next time he shows up at the shop you're all set, writing ‘Steeb’ with some stars and quickly poorly drawn flags around it, but your new co-worker appears suddenly and swoops in just as you finish with the pen, spiriting the cup away and giving Steve a brilliant smile as she starts making his drink. Steve blinks, and since she can’t see your face from this angle, you give him a look begging him to put you out of your misery.

He smiles sympathetically, dumps a bigger tip in the jar, and moves away. You go pick up the forgotten pastry your co-worker had been getting for another customer, slip it in the wrapper, hand it over, and go to await your reaction just as she finishes cleaning the cup. She instinctively looks at the name as she starts to make the call, then stops suddenly and stares at you like you’re crazy. You gesture at the cup. “He’ll understand. Trust me.”

She shakes her head, then smiles brightly at Steve and chirps, “Your drink’s ready, Cap!”

You roll your eyes as Steve comes to the pick-up with a polite smile that’s definitely tinged with disappointment. But then he turns the cup to see his name, smiles a little more for real, and, despite the expression not budging an inch, tries to scowl at you. “A repeat already?” he asks with a likewise lame attempt at chiding.

“A callback,” you correct. “It’s sweet.”

“If you say so,” he says and picks up his drink. “I hope for a little more creativity next time.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” you say. You’ve been saving the katakana for a special occasion, but if he insists. Then again maybe the ‘b’ sound would be too repetitive so soon? Perhaps it’s time to practice the comic sans idea. You’ll think more about it, later. “Have a nice day, Steve.”

His real smile is so nice. “You too,” he says, with a gentle addition of your name, merely tilts his head respectfully at your co-worker, and leaves.

Said co-worker gapes. You reach around her for a rag and go to clean up some of the milk she spilled since you already know she won’t do it herself. “You have an in-joke with Captain America?” she asks, following along.

“No,” you say. “I have an in-joke with Steve.”

She blinks. “What’s the difference?” She then gets called over by the manager, huffs a put-upon sigh, and toddles off. You shrug. She probably wouldn’t get it anyway. But that’s okay. Steve does, and that’s all that matters.