#amrvel fluff

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Without Question (Epilogue)

Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Content: fluffy conclusion and maybe...mayyyyybe a future fic idea

Warnings: …none? Um...except for that one lady in there.

Word Count: Hot water does not quench my thirst no matter how good it might be for my body...which in itself is such a disaster of a thing.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

The life of a parasite is not that complex of an affair. It is born to live inside a host, gather its nutrients from the said host- more than often at the host's expense- live till it can breed more or find a better host. Its entire life is based on the expense of another creature; its survival in the flesh of someone who can contain it. Therefore, it is no wonder she does not like it when someone calls her a parasite. For she is not one. Her kind lives in codependency, finding a host it is compatible with and helping it flourish in return for nourishment.

Her species was known to have always gone for the living, looking for hosts they could control, be the dominant party of the two sitting in the conference room inside the mind of the body they inhabited, the foreboding controllers that they were. However, inhabiting a dead host- or someone near to it- was never talked about for carcasses were beneath them and their Titan-like ego.

But she isn't like them. She wants to be different. To finally have the freedom she has craved for her entire existence; she wants to live it. And so, she has decided to throw all the laws of the dead empire outside the window and try her theory of inhabiting a body nearly at its deathbed.

The woman- strolled into the emergency room with fatal blows to her body in some accident- is covered in blood and bruises when the doctors try to rush into the process of saving her, measuring her heart rate, blood pressure and respiration rate. It is pure chaos for her to watch it all from the ceiling. Humans. Such soft creatures. She can sense that woman's vitals weakening with every passing moment, something the machines tell the medical professionals by a few seconds' delay. No amount of effort is going to repair that internal bleeding and shock accelerating that human's chances of death slithering right by the corner. And just at that second, she knows that flesh is no longer the resident to the soul it has been harbouring since the beginning of its time, she jumps discreetly into the body when the doctors are focusing at the screen that shows the patient is flatlining. One shock to through the defibrillator is enough for her to let the chemicals be catalysed to become one with neurons; her presence gradually gelling with the body to become one with it. And before any other human in the room can debate on it being a medical miracle, a sign of higher power or simply the inadequacy of the machines, she opens her eyes in her new form, seeing the world through an independent pair of windows for the first time.

Free.

.

"You know, when we both silently agreed on staying together, I wasn't really expecting you to spoil my life like this."

Steve's chuckle reverberates through the kitchen and dining hall. His honey-laced laugh reaches you in the living room to make you smile as you gather the whiteboard, a few markers, the portable speaker, and a couple of other knick-knacks for the small gathering you are about to have.

"If making breakfast every day is spoiling you then I am not even halfway to showing you how much more I can spoil your life, doll," he announces over the sound of something sizzling over the stove.

You bite your lips to stop the overflow of these gushing emotions all inside you. "Oh, let's not forget giving Stace the freedom to do whatever she wants, okay?" You state, getting up and moving towards the hall, "And you making that entire front yard-"

"That's our back yard."

Our back yard.

...Fuck. Why is he like this?

"Making our entire back yard into this freaking perfect garden with all those fancy fairy lights and a freaking gazebo!"

"You liked it," he stresses. You peak in from the entrance of the kitchen, watching him carefully place the omelettes in two plates along with the toasts- yours extra crispy with thinly spread butter on them- before pouring orange juice in two glasses.

"That doesn't matter," you retort, watching him being caught off guard, your heart instantly melting when his eyes light up on seeing you stand there. "I'm not gonna maintain that luxurious green patch when the time comes."

He stands facing you, his hands on his hips and oh heavens! that customised blue apron with chibi Captain America blessing its front gives you all the right feels in your stomach. "No problem," he affirms, picking the plates and moving them to the tiny breakfast table by the French window before coming back for the juice, "I'll take care of it. I'm pretty sure all of these are positive spoil-"

"Oh I'm not done yet," you interject, sauntering towards a slightly confused and faintly excited Steve, "you have me utterly spoiled-" you move your hands around his waist, earning an arched brow from him- "with all-" your hands go beyond his back, moving lower till they land over his butt cheeks- "of that-" and give them a tight squeeze, forcing a delightful hum out of Steve as you push him closer to you- "sex!"

"Hmm," Steve growls, planting his one hand on your waist under your t-shirt, while the other goes up to tease your lower lip with his thumb. "If you don't like being spoiled," he whispers, bringing his lips closer to you but never close enough for you to get a taste of him, "we can always stop."

"Or," you begin to propose through a moan by letting your hands run along the hem of his track pants, creating a wave of disturbance wherever your fingers touch him before stopping at the trail of hair going down, "we could make it a healthy habit so it doesn't seem like I'm being spoiled." 

Your fingers run down that soft golden trail, stirring something inside the Captain, his light eyes feeling a dark edge of mischief being added to them. His finger traces a path down from your lips to your neck, going further down your chest. "Everyone'll arrive in an hour," Steve sighs, giving a light shrug.

"Oh," you turn to look at the clock and realise he's not wrong, letting go of the waistband of his track pants, "then we should-"

Your sentence ends up a light shriek from Steve lifting you by your ass, making your reflexes wrap your legs around him. "That means," he grunts, balancing you effortlessly in those buff arms while his lust-filled eyes have yours locked in place, his voice a shade huskier as he starts moving to the bedroom, "I have a lot of time to make you question all that I do for you. And to you. And more."

Oooh yes!

.

"How do I use this thing?"

Wasn't working with a human vessel not enough? Did they really have to invent these cheap electronic devices?

She looks down at the device that seems to keep buzzing with different messages for some reason as she tries to find her way through the street.

Getting out of the hospital had been easy (and so was getting a fresh set of clothes). Give the docs and nurses another pile of flesh and bones to worry about and they run like scared animals to help their flock. Now, she is out exploring, trying to work with this new suit, find out the perks and non-perks, questioning her idea of travelling solo when having another conscience to talk to and gnaw at would have been easier. Now it's just her with her voice speaking from some uncharted void walking down into a farmer's market, already having discovered how much of gross unwanted attention this sex of the human species is given on the street.

There is a huge variety of delectables lines up that the humans seemingly prefer. Different shapes, colours and sizes. Some smell sweet, some sour, and some smell like they would sting your tongue before leaving a sweetness behind. Strange edibles. She watches another human- a man as far as the scent of the hormones off him goes- politely asking for some fresh oranges while telling the man behind the counter the ones he is trying to pack do not smell fresh. The sweet nectar of curiosity seems to send a reaction to her brain, making her step towards the box of citrus fruits displayed for the customers. Quickly picking half a dozen from down the different boxes, she brings them forward to the man who is nearly losing his patience. "These are fresh."

The man turns to see her. And she gets a good look at him for the first time. Hypnotising blue eyes look at her in a flurry of confusion and gratuitous delight, the beard hiding pink lips and flushed cheeks.

After a short considerable second, he takes the oranges from her. "Thank you," he mentions without blinking, taking a little time to turn back to make the payment. And in that turn is a microscopic moment, he watches, from the corner of his eye, a stranger try to touch her ass for barely a second.

She, of course, feels it too well. The man turns to get hold of that pervert and kick some respect into him only to find her punching the daylights out of him.

And he just stands there, full body in pause, mind in awe of the woman who has knocked that excuse of a man out in one blow, looking at her once again- this time from his heart. She looks back at him too; though with visible shades of uncertainty before looking down at the guy.

"Was I not supposed to do that?" She asks the man who by now has his mouth agape, still looking at her.

He blinks. "Huh?" Looks down at the man and raises his brows and chuckles. "What? No. I mean yes. You are absolutely supposed to do that."

"Oh-" she nods, and he watches her beam and be proud of herself, "okay."

"Um," he tries to catch her attention.  "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

She looks down at the hand she used, feeling nothing more than minute tickles. "Yeah, I think I'm good." She turns her gaze back to him with a smile.

He melts inside.

"Do you know where is this place?" She asks him, taking out a card she found in her- the dead woman's- pocket.

"This," he hums, reading the card, "was a few blocks down the road the last I saw it."

"Oh," she scrunches her nose and feels a tired groan come out of her, "how far?"

"I can drop you there if you want," he blurts out, "I'm going that way myself."

She looks at him again. Watching him run his hands through his long lush hair, wondering if she'd seen him somewhere before shaking that thought off, knowing full well that she would remember a pretty face like this. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Great," he chirps. "Oh, I'm James," he addresses, drawing forward his hand, "my friends call me Bucky."

"Bucky," she tastes the name on her tongue and feels all the black mush inside her do a little dance for some unknown reason.

"And you are?"

She licks her lips and feels them stretch involuntary, drawing her own hand forward to meet his, saying her name to bring herself- her true self- into existence, letting the air carry her name for whatever future it is to bring for her.