#jammywrites

[jarofmeat]

Here have Angst

I´m sorry about my horrible writing.

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Undyne was going through some of the old boxes in her closet. Monsters had just gotten freed from the Underground and were headed to the surface and she wasn't an expectation. She didn't really have anyone other than Gerson and Asgore and they were already on the surface dealing with potential stuff, but mo…

Undyne slapped herself, ¨No, no, no. Stop thinking about them. They're gone now.¨ She didn't want to think about them, she was past that point in her life and she needed to move on. She kept going through the boxes trying to keep her thoughts of them suppressed. Instead, she thought about the cool things that would be on the surface.

All the new food, activities, people, it made her want to just run to the surface and experience it all. She giggled to herself, she never patience, dad hated… ´NO, NO, NO. Stop, stop, stop. Stop thinking about them. They´re dead. They aren't gonna come back,´ she yelled at herself in her mind. Tears streamed down her face.

She slapped herself again, trying to stop herself from going into a full meltdown, but it was too late. She was now in the corner of her closet, sobbing her heart out. She banged her head against the wall behind her, trying to stop herself, or maybe even knock herself out. But of course that didn't work. Then her phone ran, and she looked over at it.

Sans was calling her. She froze for a bit. Sans was probably one of the only people who was able to tell when she was trying to hide something. Should she answer it? No. Yes? If she didn't answer he would probably come over worried and see her like this. She mustered up all of her courage and answered the call. ¨Hey Sans.¨ she said, trying to hide her stuerrting and the upset in her voice.

¨hey fishsticks,¨ Sans said, snarky. Undyne could sense his smile. She didn´t have the energy to yell at him, so she just said, ¨What´s up.¨ Sans didn't respond at first, mumbling, ¨no respond, weird.¨ He eventually responded though, ¨me and paps just finished packing up our stuff and we just wanted to know if you needed help.¨

¨No, I´m good,¨ Undyne said, slowly getting up, ¨I´m almost done packing.¨ ¨well that's good… hey undyne.¨ ¨Yeah?¨ ¨are you okay?¨ ¨Y-yeah, I´m fine,¨ she said, her voice cracking. ¨… I´m coming over,¨ Sans said, the sound of his teleporting filling Undyne´spears. Sans ended the call, and she heard knocking on her front door.

Undyne´s body froze, and she started shaking. ´Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit!´ she screamed inside of her head. She started breathing, wiping her tears, and heading to the door. She opened it and Sans stood there, staring at her. ¨what's going on?¨ Undyne looked away from Sans trying to think about a way to lie out of this situation.

She backed away a bit. Maybe she could lock herself in the closet. No. Sans would just teleport into the closet with her. Sans must have noticed her nervousness because he sighed and said, ¨Come on, let's make some tea and talk about it over that.¨ Sans walked into the house, closing the door behind him. Undyne´s body is untensed.

Undyne started making the tea, thinking about how she would tell Sans. She didn't want to tell him directly, but she didn't know what she could lie about. The high pitched wail of the tea terrified her. She didn't have anything, and didn´t want to talk about it. She had gotten over it. She didn't need to talk about it. She was fine.

Tears streamed down her face. Sans wasn't facing her, sitting at her table. Undyne was breathing heavily, trying not to sob her heart out in front of Sans. ¨hey undyne, you okay?¨ Sans said. Sans walked next to Undyne, looking up at her. He started patting her back, ¨you can cry, it's okay.¨ Undyne started sobbing, getting on her knees.

¨just let it all out.¨ Undyne stopped sobbing a few minutes later. ¨do you want to tell me what's wrong?¨ Undyne shook her head. ¨that's fine… but remember if want to talk, i´m here.¨ ¨Thanks Sans.¨ ¨no problem buddy.¨

[star-spangledstud]

ALL THAT MATTERS

Pairing: Frank Castle x (female!) reader

Warning(s): angst

Summary: he’s all that matters to her. Is she all that matters to him?

"How many times have I told you to be careful out there?" You ask, allowing the back of your hand to rub against your tired eyes.

"Every time." Frank mumbles, looking down at his feet while he allows you to gently tend to his injuries.

Truthfully, you don't even remember when or how it got started. It was initially Karen who asked you to keep an eye on him and since you owed her a big favor you complied, but that debt’s been paid long ago and the late night nursing hasn’t stopped. You don’t even question Frank anymore at this point, because you know damn well what he gets up to on nights like this one.

He stumbles through your front door with a trail of blood on his heel and a deep scowl etched onto his face, which is mostly covered in caked blood and bruises.

It scares you every time, knowing what he’s is capable of. You always wonder what the other guy looks like after a run in with The Punisher, but more often than not, Frank's injuries imply his opponent has either bit the bullet or is wishing that they had. You know he’s killed people in the past, and that he still does it all the time, but you still help him. Whether or not that makes you an accomplice is something you'd rather not question. Instead, you stitch him up in silence.

You are scared of his capabilities, but not of him.

You can hear the low rumbling of cars outside while you scoot closer to Frank so you can get a better look. He’s currently seated on the edge of your queen-sized bed, the fresh linen sheets a crumpled mess beneath him while his hands grip the soft material tightly. His eyes are screwed shut while you thread a needle through a superficial stab wound near his shoulder. Frank doesn’t make a sound. Instead, he bites his tongue, allowing you to focus on what you’re trying to do. 

"I'm getting really sick and tired of your shit, Frank." You grumble through gritted teeth while pulling the wire through his irritated flesh.

He grimaces when you tie it into a small knot to secure it, but his face changes completely when your eyes meet his for the first time since you broke out the seeing kit.

He grins down at you, causing the streaks of dried blood across his nose and temple to crack into little broken lines that remind you of cracked face paint on Halloween. 

You hate how much you enjoy it when he smiles because it’s a rarity to find Frank with anything but harsh words and a scowl, but you can’t help the warm sensation spreading through your lower abdomen when he does smile. Frank's smiles are more rare than blood diamonds, that you’re sure of. A man like Frank might've done a lot of smiling when his family was still alive and well, but those days are long gone and anger is all he has left now.

"That right?" He asks, his eyes lingering on your face while you continue to clean him up.

Drops of heavy rain and gusts of wind roughly hit the window panes, creating a melody of pitter-patter and whistles that echo softly throughout the room. The clock on your nightstand hit 4 a.m. ten minutes ago and you should be fast asleep at this ungodly hour, but your priority is the man in front of you. He’s always the priority.

"Damn right I am." You say, taking a pause to look back at him.

Frank’s wet clothes are soaking through your white sheets, which are now nearly fully covered in a mixture of fresh mud and blood that leave the air with a coppery scent. Frank knows you'll get over it, you always do, and frankly, he wonders why you even bothered to purchase such expensive linen in the first place. The first time he tried to pay you back for ripping them accidentally with one of the knives he had sticking out of his jeans, you'd politely told him to fuck off and that you'd take care of it. He never brought it up again, even though his hands itch to give you money for all the trouble he causes every time he finds himself leaving your apartment after a nightly patch-up and a glass of whiskey.

Frank’s come to understand this isn’t a business transaction for you anymore. You don’t see him as one of the animals you’re paid to treat during your daytime veterinary job. He isn’t just some sick little puppy looking for treatment. He’s a broken man, looking for understanding in a world he can’t understand himself and somehow, he found something it in you. You don’t take pity on him. You just do what has to be done and he admires that, because he does the same.

He slowly sips the whiskey you gave him when he first came in and stares blankly at the black screen of the television that hangs above your dresser. He’s the one who hung it up for you. He did a good job, he muses. Perfect height, perfectly straight.

You suddenly notice a piece of glass sticking from the top of his abdomen. With a gulp, you grab the whiskey glass from Frank’s fingertips. Before he can object, you down it, allowing the sting from the alcohol to heat the back of your throat as the liquid slides down. You don’t think he knows you hate the sight of blood, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting him fixed up.

You rise from your chair after taking a lukewarm washcloth and dabbing it across the scrapes and cuts on his hands. Giving him a once-over, you take in the work you just did, subconsciously counting the bruises that stain his tanned skin in the process. You’re exhausted, terrified to turn around and look at the clock at this point in time, but you’re too persistent and set on making sure he’s okay to really care.

Letting out a breath you'd been holding in, you absentmindedly nod. Frank’s eyes, dark and restless, scan your face slowly, taking in every feature from the blue circles underneath your droopy eyes to your rose colored lips and strands of hair that always fall out of the messy bun atop your head. 

"Why do you keep doing this, huh?" He asks suddenly, voice gruff and thick with sleep.

You lift your shoulders and bite your lower lip, afraid to speak. He notices the wrinkles in between your brows when you frown ever so slightly and he sighs. With both hands placed on the bed, he makes a move to get up, groaning when you instantly shove him back down.

"Can you like, not rip out your stitches? Just this once, I'm begging you," You huff, your hands pressed firmly against his chest to make sure he doesn’t move again, "Just because you're The Punisher doesn't mean you're immortal. You need to rest as much as the next guy."

You slam the first aid kit shut and tap on it with your fingernails, anything to keep yourself distracted after tossing your dirty gloves in the bin next to the dresser. He smells like musk and expensive cologne. You didn’t notice it until he got so close to you.

"Hey," he says, grabbing both your hands and holding them tightly in his, "You don't need to do this, alright? I won't bother you anymore if-"

"Shut up, Frank." You say curtly, cutting him off before his statement could fully pass his swollen lips.

You don’t want him to say it, because you don’t want this - whatever it is - to stop happening. You’re emotionally invested and breaking it off now would do more harm than good. You think he secretly knowsleaving you will fuck you up, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

"I'm serious, girl." He said.

"Look, I get it, alright. You're a bad man, Frank. The kind of man I'm supposed to have nightmares about. The kind I'm supposed to stay away from so I don't get myself into trouble or get myself killed," You roll your tired eyes, "but I don't believe it for a second."

"Believe what?" He asks genuinely, rolling the pad of his thumb along your soft fingers.

"That you're bad, Frank. Sure, you have shitty ways to go about things, but I refuse to believe you're a bad person. Karen doesn't believe it and she knew that I wouldn't believe it either. That's why she sent you to me." You sink down on the bed beside him, feeling the dirt and sand rub against your bare legs.

He wants to leave in this moment, get the hell out of your bedroom before you get in too deep, but the look you’re giving him tells him that ship has already sailed and there is no way for him to get rid of you. He knows the people around him always manage to get hurt because of him and as he’s sitting there, watching you in completely silence, Frank realizes he’d rather die than watch you get hurt. You've been taking care of him for months, never question his motives, never complain when he goes off the radar for weeks on end. He needs someone like you in his life.

He needs a woman like you in his life.

"Then what am I?" He asks finally, breaking the heavy silence between the two of you.

"I don't know," you say frankly, "For now, you're alive. That's all that matters to me."

The words leave your mouth before you can silence yourself. Heat rises to your cheeks when Frank inhales sharply at the sound of your voice, sweet and soft and so much the opposite of his own. It isn’t a confession of undying love, but it confirms his suspicion. You care for him beyond the formal patient/nurse relationship you two share.

His heart begins to involuntarily hammer in his chest from the thought alone.

He wants it, to be close to another human again, more than he ever thought possible after what happened to his family, but he doesn’t trust himself enough to make a sound or move an inch. When he looks at your bare arm and notices goosebumps rising all along your skin, he finally moves.

"You cold?" He asks in a raspy tone of voice, allowing his crooked nose to momentarily bury itself in your naked shoulder.

You shudder at the feeling of his hot breath against your skin and you nod silently, your ear making contact with the side of his head. Your heart aches for him and you wish so badly he would just make a move, anything to let you know your feelings are reciprocated, but he remains idle beside you, leaning against you in the glimmer of gentle candlelight.

Your body finally jerks up when he presses a long kiss to your temple, your eyes screwing shut in a painful frown while his do the same. His hand clasps around your back and squeezes it, but before you can even let out a content sigh, the warmth of his hand disappears, and all that remains is cool air coming in through the draft from underneath your bedroom door.

He picks up his stuff, the guns and ammo he keeps on his person at all times disappears in his pockets while you watch him trudge through your bedroom. His dirty shoes leave footprints all over the cream colored carpet, his fingertips leave stains on your furniture. The speed with which he moves through your safe space painfully tugs on your heartstrings.

He looks at you once more after swinging open the door, a sad expression painted on his face in blood and words he can never say on the tip of his sandpaper tongue. When he catches your face, eyes misty and mouth quivering, he needs to bite his lip to stop himself from punching a hole through the wall. Frank leaves without another word, forcing you to listen to the sounds of his weakening footsteps and the front door that closes silently behind him.

You don’t see him again for another four months.

[star-spangledstud]

MIND GAMES - TWO

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve suggests dinner with the team. You find out you hate lying. 

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence, anxiety 

Note: Wanna be tagged in future chapters? Shoot me a message :)

SERIES MASTERLIST.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

A hail of half-empty wine glasses, trail mix and playing cards fly around the room when the coffee table they were stood on is flipped upside down. Your back hits the carpet with a dull thud, followed soon after by the back of your head. You wince loudly, hand reaching immediately for the base of your skull to relieve the throbbing pain that will no doubt leave you with a menacing headache for days to come.

The men in black, whose faces are nothing but a swirl of flesh tones in your peripheral, grab you by each ankle while you try to recover from your fall. They shout in a foreign language as glass shatters somewhere in one of the other rooms. Then, the sound of open gunfire and the scent of smoke and gunpowder pervade the air. You’re screaming, kicking your feet and flailing your arms wildly while they drag you along the floor, but the sound of your voice is drowned out by the shouting and the guns.

Glass and trailmix accumulate in your hair when they drag you across the room, and small pieces cut the back of your arms and legs. You’re crying, you can tell because your cheeks are warm and wet, and the tears flowing from your eyes mix with the blood of your dead family as they run down the length of your face.

The good thing is you know you’re having a bad dream, but the problem is that you’ve seen this scene unfold so many times that you’re not sure whether the memory of what happened is real or not. 

You’ve seen the scene play out well over one hundred times in your sleep. Red liquid flies through the air in slow motion, your assailants shove their weapons in your face, you try to run away but feel nailed to the ground. You’ve experienced it so many times, and have attempted to change what happens in so many instances. Still, whatever you do, the ending is always the same.

The faces of the men responsible for the murder of your family are blurry, not because you hit your head so hard you can’t see straight, but because you don’t remember what they look like. Their features are warped beyond recognition, and no matter how hard you try to focus on the words spilling from their mouths, you can’t identify any of what they’re saying. It almost sounds like you’re underwater.

In the dream, you try to remember where you are, but your immediate surroundings change every time. Sometimes the coffee table is glass, sometimes it’s wood. The wallpaper shows a different pattern each time you look at it, and the dead bodies scattered all around the room have the same undefined features as your assailants. The only thing that remains the same is the feeling of absolute hopelessness and terror as they drag you away to an unmarked aeroplane that takes you somewhere in Eastern Europe. 

Poland, maybe. You can’t remember, even though you came to spend the next seven years of your life there.

Nearly every one of these dreams is the same. It’s just you, watching scenes of your life unfold through a thick curtain of smoke that hides the most distinct, essential details. A large, gaping black hole has been punched through the part of your brain responsible for the production of memories. No matter how hard you try to fill in the blank spaces, it proves to be absolutely impossible. 

Whatever HYDRA did to erase your memories, it worked.

It’s hard to think straight when you wake up in the middle of the night, images of the dream you just had still playing before your eyes. You hoped that getting further away from the people that created those dreadful memories would allow the pictures to go away. Yet, as you sit up straight in bed, chest heaving up and down in rapid motions, you know they followed you even here, like a thundercloud continuously looming over you.

As your first week in the compound comes to a close, you find yourself slowly getting settled into your new home. With Steve practically following you around every chance he gets, the two of you take the time exploring the entire building from top to bottom. He shows you the library, the garage, the gym and the lab, and promises to take you to the theatre the next time the team hosts a movie night. 

You don’t tell him you haven’t seen a single movie in years, but the words are on the tip of your tongue while he rattles on about 21st century flicks he was forced to watch and ended up really loving.

When the two of you walk along the corridors of the compound, it’s mostly him who talks while you do the listening. You don’t mind it. It gives you time to think. While he speaks, you find yourself trying to dissect the inside of his mind. Still, no matter how hard you listen, all that comes up is silence. It’s odd not to be distracted by a second voice in your head. You’re not used to the simplicity of not having to focus on what’s coming from the other person’s mouth instead of what’s coming from their thoughts.

Each day that passes, Steve introduces you to a new member of the team. The first person you come across is Sam Wilson, who you find running on the treadmill two days after your arrival. He immediately takes a liking to you, and you end up chatting for nearly an hour straight. His thoughts are almost deafening, but his sense of humour makes up for his internal volume.

By the time Saturday rolls around, you find yourself able to chat comfortably with everyone you’ve met so far. Even Tony Stark, who appears at first to be quite wary of your presence despite giving you a place to stay, engages in conversation with you over a cup of black coffee. It’s relatively easy to befriend people when you can see straight through them, especially when they aren’t aware of your abilities.

Still, it’s odd how easily all of them have accepted you into their little bubble.

“Are you okay?”

Unease blooms in the pit of your stomach when you realize you’ve been quiet for nearly fifteen minutes, and your palms instantly begin to sweat.

“Yeah,” you quickly conjure up a smile, “just thinking.”

“About what? If you don’t mind me asking,” Steve asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully, “I feel like this is all very weird.”

Sam raises a brow, “What do you mean?”

“You guys don’t even really know me,” you remind him, “and you’re giving me shelter. I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around all of this.”

“We’ve read your file,” Steve bites his lower lip, “letting you in was a collective decision, made by all of us.”

Sam nods in agreement, arms crossed tight over his chest. 

Wondering what exactly is written in this so-called file, you chuckle dryly, “no offence guys, but I think that file might be missing a few important details.”

Steve blushes, “a lot of it was blacked out. Look, maybe we should all come together tonight, have dinner or something. You can tell us more about yourself if you want.”

“Yeah,” Sam exclaims, “good idea, cap.” 

Your heart picks up, pushing your pulse while you slowly nod your head, “sure.”

“Great,” Steve steps towards his own room and places his palm on the fingerprint scanner, “we’ll let everybody know.”

Sam turns around and heads for his own room. You quickly disappear into the safety of your bedroom and slam the door shut a little too hard in the process.

“Crap,” you mutter to yourself, “fuck!”

You are not looking forward to this.

“What do you mean, you’ve never heard of Asgard?!” 

Thor’s voice booms over the sound of clinking cutlery and laughter. You slowly lift your shoulders before taking a large sip of water, allowing the cold beverage to relieve the tension in the back of your throat. 

It’s hard to keep all the buzzing internal monologues in the back of your mind, and it takes a moment for you to center yourself before you can answer Thor’s burning question. 

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, “I just never had a chance to read up on Norse mythology. Please forgive me. I’m sure it’s a beautiful place.” 

It is beautiful, Thor pouts, I miss it. 

“I’m sure you miss it very much,” you add quickly, to which he smiles sadly. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Tony smirks, “he has a big ego and a tiny brain.”

You nearly choke on your water when he winks in your direction. You roll your shoulders to rid yourself of the tension building in your muscles and prepare yourself for the direction the conversation is headed next. 

“So, Y/N,” Tony continues, “how do you know Fury?” 

Of course you knew he was going to ask this. He’s been thinking about it for the last fifteen minutes. Still, heat rises to your cheeks when you place your glass down, and you push a few stray strands of hair from your face and tuck them behind your ear. Your heart is pounding now, but in a room full of enhanced people, including some of the world’s best spies, you know better than to allow yourself to freak out.

Steve, who’s seated right next to you, shifts in his seat. The action, albeit hardly noticeable, startles you anyway, and your eyes fly in his direction out of reflex. You think he looks nice, dressed in a cream colored sweater with his hair swooped to one side, and in a fit of insanity, you’re tempted to compliment him and ignore Tony all together. 

“I don’t actually,” you say slowly, “My mom did, before she passed away. They knew each other before SHIELD was even a thing, when they were still young.” 

“So how’d you get his number?” Clint questions. 

“My mom gave it to me be before she died, told me to call it if I ever needed help.” 

“What’d you need help for?” he continues. 

“Clint, that’s enough-” Steve says before you can answer. 

“No, it’s okay,” you gently touch his arm, “my family got caught up with the wrong people a long time ago. Since the death of my mother tensions have only gotten worse. Fury offered me a place to stay while I wait for things to settle down.”

“What kind of people?” Natasha asks while she lays her fork down. 

“I think Fury can tell you more about that than I can,” you take a bite of your potatoes, “my mom did her best to shelter me.”

Your gaze flies back and forth between Natasha and Steve, and you begin to pray that she out of everyone at this table believes your story. You’re hyper aware of every move you make, and the tension in the air is almost too much for you to bear.

The crease between Steve’s brows and his hunched shoulders make you more uncomfortable. You read the room to make sure they believe you, before picking up your glass and taking another sip of water. Slowly, the conversation dies down, and you’re left with shallow breathing and red cheeks by the time Tony and Sam begin a discussion about a video game they were playing last night. 

“Are you okay?”

Steve’s voice is soft in your ear. The unmistakable hint of concern is evident in its tone when it breaks through your thoughts, and you quickly nod as to not alarm him any further.

When you walk back to your room later that evening,  you can’t ignore the painful twist in your stomach. Your hands are tightened into fists by the time you enter your dorm, and the need to swallow away the lump in your throat is nearly overbearing. You could never tell them you used to work for HYDRA, not in a million years. They would cast you out immediately, send your ass to the curb or lock you away in a federal prison for the rest of your life before they’d let you get away with it.

You didn’t think lying to people you hardly know could hurt this much. 

NEXT CHAPTER.

Taglist:

@foxyjwls007​ @littlegasps​ @hurricane-abigail​ @idk123906​

[star-spangledstud]

Webcam

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (female!)reader.

Word Count: 2800-ish

Summary: You and Bucky try something you’ve never tried before. 

A/N: Based on the song ‘Cyber Sex’ by Doja Cat. (I’M OBSESSED WITH HER RIGHT NOW, OKAY?!” also my first smut so be gentle ;)

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (don’t read if you’re a minor mmkay?); masturbation; cursing

For the fourth time in half an hour, you looked at yourself in the mirror. With one finger, you cleaned up your lip gloss, removing it from the edge of your lower lip before tousling your hair to give it more volume. You straightened out your dress next, blushing to yourself when you thought of what you wore underneath. Bucky had no idea what was coming to him, you were sure of it. After all, you’d never had cybersex before. The guy hardly knew how to work an iPhone 4.

“Can you see me yet?” 

You chuckled, adjusting your camera so he would be able to see you better. Staring back at you was a black screen with three dots in the center and a small cutout square in the corner in which you could see yourself waving your hand in front of the webcam. You wiggled in your seat and squeezed your thighs together, anticipation bubbling in your lower belly at the thought of what you were about to do. 

“No,” he muttered, “how the hell does this work again? Hang on, baby, the computer hates me.”

He pressed several buttons, thick fingers jamming the keyboard in quick motions. You doubted he had any clue what he was doing. Technology had never been Bucky’s strong suit. 

You rolled your eyes and snorted, “James, we went over this. You have to press the camera button and make your own screen smaller with the little arrows so you can see me.”

A picture suddenly replaced the blackness, causing your cheeks to heat up and your heart to skip. There he was, your man, staring at his screen with a deep frown on his forehead and his tongue sticking out of his mouth; his concentration face. He was still dressed in his tactile suit, streaks of dirt evident on his chiseled cheekbones. 

“I see you now,” he said, smiling at you, “can you see me?” 

You nodded and waved again, smiling wide when he returned the gesture. You’d never get tired of seeing that face, not in a million years. He’d always give you butterflies.

“Where’s Steve?” You asked to be safe, peering into the motel room behind him.

“Got his own room for the night,” he commented, “I wanted to be alone with my best girl.”

He got up, placing the gun that had been lying on the desk in front of his computer on the nightstand of his double bed. The entire room seemed to entirely be clad in 80s decor, from the wallpaper to the sheets and even the TV behind him. You watched as he took another weapon from his waistband and placed it beside the other one. Then a knife, which he collected from his right boot, ended up on the table as well. 

“How long have you been in?” You asked. 

“We just got back ten minutes ago,” he smiled, “I couldn’t wait to see your face. I miss you.” 

“I miss you too,” you said, “come sit down, big guy.” 

He did as told and took a seat after taking his jacket off and hanging it up over the back of the chair. His finger went out to touch the screen but recoiled when he realized it was silly. He really did miss you, it had been too damn long since he was able to touch you. 

Bucky and Steve left nearly two months ago. He knew it would be a long mission with endless stakeouts and not a lot of action, which made the time pass by even slower. Every day he’d sit in various hiding spots for hours, underneath bushes, behind trees and sometimes even high up inside them with weapons at the ready but nobody to shoot. HYDRA employees seemed to live in the underground facility he and Steve had been staking out for weeks now because neither of them had seen anyone go in our out so far and it was starting to become frustrating. 

“We’re thinking we might call it quits in a few days,” he said, rubbing his arms, “we haven’t seen shit and we both doubt things will change anytime soon. It looks like they’re laying low for now. All the cameras are almost set up anyway, so we can watch ‘em remotely.” 

You nodded happily, excited at the prospect of seeing your boyfriend again soon. You missed him terribly, missed having him by your side every day and in your bed every night. You missed pulling at his hair while his hands were on your hips, fingertips pushing into your bare skin as he drew profanities from your lips. Fuck, you missed him terribly.

“Speaking of cameras,” you grinned, “do you like my new dress? Haven’t had a chance to show you yet.” You asked, getting up from your chair. 

You pushed it back so your whole body could get in the frame, your hands slowly running down the length of the pastel gingham dress that made your skin tone stand out beautifully. You could see Bucky closing in on his computer screen to see better, lower lip between his teeth when you twirled for him, making the skirt lift to expose more of your skin. He looked down at the white knee socks that clad your legs and the black Mary-Jane pumps on your feet and his lip turned red from the biting. 

“I love it,” he said breathlessly, “really makin’ me miss you right now.”

“I’ve so been lonely without you,” you purred.

To say you’d planned how this would go be a lie. You’d never undressed on camera before and weren’t exactly confident in your abilities to sensually strip for a man, but it was Bucky who you were doing it for and just knowing that made you feel more at ease. Nevertheless, your heart thumped in your chest while your fingers went to the hem of the dress, which ended just above your knees. Bucky frowned as you began to lift the piece of fabric slowly over your thighs, his breath hitching when you looked up into the webcam.

“What’re you doing?” He asked breathlessly, “baby...” 

He knew damn well what you were doing, he could see what you were doing with his icy blues, but he was afraid, terrified to think they were deceiving him or that it was all a terribly wonderful dream. Either way, he didn’t want to wake up before having the chance to see it all unfold. Being away from you for so long was starting to remind him of going to war. To make matters worse, he couldn’t just easily jerk off with Steve’s supersoldier hearing. Bucky was itching for release.

“Wanna show you how much I miss you, James,” you cooed, “cause I miss you real bad.” 

Your hands left the hem for a moment, fabric dropping to just above your knees again. Then, they found the underside of your breasts, your sternum, your stomach, and your hips. You caressed yourself, flicking your own nipples and fiddling with the cotton straps slowly before you finally lifted the dress up again, further this time. He’d soon be able to see your new underwear, pretty, soft, and pink just like your pussy. 

As soon as the fabric of the dress exposed the line of your panties, Bucky was gripping the table in front of him like his life depended on it. He’d never in his life thought about using modern communication devices for, well, sexual purposes, but the growing pressure inside his tactile pants had him suppressing a groan he could hardly keep inside his hot mouth and he had to stop himself from bucking his hips forward in an attempt to create deliciously painful friction against his pants.

Your bra, brand new and the same shade of baby pink with red lace around the wire, his favorite color on you, came into view and he was like a puddle at your feet. You tossed the dress on your bed, allowing your hands to slide up and down your body while he watched you in silence, the only sound being soft jazz music that played through your surround-sound system. Just the thought of his eyes on you getting naked in your bedroom made wetness pool between your legs.

You sauntered back towards the camera, using your hands to lean against the desk so your breasts were pushed together. Your mind was consumed with thoughts of him, had been ever since he was roughly whisked away from you two months ago and Jesus Christ you needed him so bad. It was a fucking sin to be away from him for so long. How the hell did you survive before you met him? How did you get off without his dick?

“Is that new too? Did you buy that for me as well?” He asked, voice gruff and dangerously low. 

You nodded, showing off the fabric by coming even closer to the camera. Then, you turned around again, slightly shaking your ass when you showed him the back of your panties up close. Your thumbs hooked under the band on your hips and they smacked against your skin when you let it go again. 

“I can’t wait to see you in that in-person, baby. All the things I’m gonna do to you while you’re wearing it. Gonna rip it right off you.”

“Yeah?” you taunted, licking your lips while cupping your bra with both hands.

“You doubtin’ me?” he asked darkly. 

“Seeing is believing, Sarge.”

“You’ll see it,” he smirked, “feel it too, when I shove my fucking cock down your throat.” 

You sat back down in the chair, squeezing your legs together to stop the ache between them as you shivered. How bad you wished he would come barging into the room right then and there to make you his, how much you needed his hand around your throat while he fucked you mercilessly into the desk, the thoughts were driving you up the fucking wall. You inhaled deeply, a deep breath enough to suck in the courage for what you were about to say. 

“I’m so wet for you, James.” 

You could hear the sharp intake of breath through the microphone of your laptop. He remained silent for a moment, contemplating what to say. He’d never done this before, but he wanted to make you happy in any way he could. He’d do anything for you, even being thousands of miles away from you. 

“Are you now?” he huffed, “guess that since I can’t be there to help you, you’re gonna have to listen to what I tell you to do. Can you do that for me, baby? Be so good for me.” 

You nodded quickly, taking your index finger in your mouth and biting the skin in anticipation. He had you writhing in your chair without even touching you. You didn’t know what it was about him, but everything about him turned you on, from the way his jawline was covered in dark scruff to his metal arm, which gleamed beautifully in the artificial motel room light. Everything about him oozed masculinity. 

“Show me how wet you are,” he told you, “come on angel.” 

You did as told by placing both heels on either side of the desk. He could already see the wet patch in the center of your panties begin to form and this time, Bucky couldn’t help but to let out a throaty groan when memories of him fucking you harshly and relentlessly into the mattress behind you clouded his vision. 

“I’ve been so lonely without you, Bucky,” you said, rubbing your fingers across your inner thighs teasingly, “It’s just not the same when I do it.”

He palmed his cock through his pants en began to rub it slowly at the sight of you; one hand moving over your clothed pussy and the other disappearing inside the cup of your bra. You adored way his dark, long hair was tied in a messy bun and wished you could reach through the screen to touch it. You wanted to kiss him, to feel his lips trailing down between your breasts, along your stomach and to the place where you needed him most. 

“Take it off,” he grumbled as he undid the button and unzipped his pants, “all of it. Take it off right now.”

He didn’t have to tell you again. Your bra was on the floor in seconds, exposing your perked nipples to the cold air of your room and his wanting gaze. You wiggled out of your panties, dropping them on the ground in front of you. Then, your legs resumed their previous position, one on the left side of your laptop and the other on the right, heels clicking against the wood in anticipation. 

You swore you could hear him curse underneath his breath when he caught a view of your naked pussy, glistening with slick and pretty pink contrasted by dark tan lines. He pulled his straining cock free from his boxers at last. It’s hard and thick, so fucking thick it made you want to cry out in desperation. There was no way you could’ve waited another day without at least seeing him, it was downright torture.

“So pretty, baby,” he groaned into his microphone, “touch yourself for me.”

You did as told, placing a finger on your most sensitive place, “Like this?” 

You began to rub circles over your clit, finally allowing a moan to escape your lips while Bucky slowly rubbed his throbbing cock. 

“Jesus, I want you to come sit on my dick,” his eyes screwed shut, “fuck you ‘til you can’t breathe.” 

“Come home then,” you tease, licking your finger before placing it back on your nub, “I’ll sit on your dick all day long.” 

“All day? You sure you can handle that?” He asked, eyes opening again just in time to see you plunge your middle finger inside yourself. 

You were so hot, burning to the touch and your back arched involuntarily when you dipped your finger in and out of your glistening pussy, “I’ll sit on your dick and your face, Bucky. You’re my favorite seat.” 

He chuckled, his grip on his cock tightening in an attempt to mimic the way you felt clenching around him. He envisioned it, your pussy over his mouth, nose pushed against your public bone as his tongue dove in and out of you. He’d grip your ass and smack it red with his metal one while groping your tits with his flesh one, drinking you up as you came in his mouth, driven to near madness from the feeling of his scruff against your most sensitive area.

You couldn’t wait for him to be with you again so he could be the one whose fingers were inside you instead of your own, ready to cave under the pressure of his muscular body on top of you. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, plunging another digit in so your middle finger wouldn’t cramp up, “wish you could cum in my mouth.” 

“Jesus Christ, I will,” the velvet murmur of his voice reminded you to look up at the camera instead of down at yourself, “soon as I get back to you I’ll cum wherever you want.”

You began to pump faster, rubbing your clit in smaller and more intense circles than before. You could see him do the same, increasing the speed with which he jerked himself off. His face was red and gleaming with sweat, running along his temple and down his neck. Your moans echoed through his speakers and through your room, filling his ears with a sound so delicious it nearly drove him insane.

“Cum for me, baby,” he urged, “I wanna see you make yourself cum like my good girl.” 

Pleasure overtook you when his words rang in your ears on repeat, eyes screwing shut when you continued to plunge your fingers inside you at a fast pace. Your hips rolled inside the chair, desperate for as much friction as you could possibly get. It creaked under your jerky movements, but you didn’t pay it any attention when Bucky’s voice filled the room through the speakers. 

You tossed your head back in bliss, pressure building so fast and deep inside of you that you knew you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Keep going,” he urged, “don’t you dare stop, baby.” 

“James, fuck” you moaned loudly, “I’m gonna..” 

Before you could finish your sentence, you were cumming so hard you saw stars clouding your vision. Your walls clenched around your fingers while you continued to rub circles over your oversensitized clit in an attempt to ride out your orgasm as long as you could. The coil of pleasure inside your lower belly finally snapped, sending sparks before your eyes and your mind blanked. 

You shuddered and opened your eyes, watching Bucky stroke himself from tip to base, hair beginning to fall from the bun atop his head the more he tilted his head back. 

With a harsh pant, he came all over his stomach, coating the black tactile vest in glossy white spurts of hot cum. He’d have to clean it before tomorrow because his other one had ripped when trying to climb a tree, but right now, all he could think about was how good it felt.

He fell back inside his chair, hands falling limply to his sides while he watched you remove your fingers from inside you. 

“We should’ve done this two months ago,” he panted, “could’ve saved me a lot of lonely nights.” 

You smiled blissfully, wiping a strand of sticky hair from your forehead.

Still, you couldn’t wait to have him with you for real. 

[star-spangledstud]

TAKE CARE OF ME

Request: “Can I request a smutty goodness with daddy Steve and a soft reader? Maybe she wants to take care of daddy for once but he won't let her. Thank you❤❤” @donutloverxo​

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (female!)reader

Word count: 2500-ish

Warning(s): SMUUUT 18+

A/N: I’m not the best smut writer, that’s for sure, but I enjoyed writing this while I should have been preparing for my exams. Thank you for sending in this lovely request :) I hope you like it! PS: I didn’t check this, so please forgive any mistakes. 

Steve always wants to take care of you. 

He draws you a bubble bath with slow burning candles lining the edge of the tub and soft jazz music playing in the background after particularly long or especially dangerous missions that often force the two of you to spend time away from each other. 

He cooks you dinner when you’re too tired to stand on your feet on sparring days with Natasha who makes you fight her in little mini skirts, long tight dresses and strappy heels without weapons to make the job easier. He’s not a great cook, but he tries his best for you. Hell, he’s even learned how to work YouTube just so he can watch videos on how to properly prepare steaks, quiches and risottos.

He treats and surprises you with lavish gifts every chance he gets. In his eyes, he doesn’t need an excuse or special occasion to surprise his best girl with diamonds, pearls and designer handbags. The man has more money than he knows how to spend on himself, so he does his best by giving it to you. You never ask for anything, and you cherish every gift he’s ever given you. More often than not, the fact he’s able to pick out items that are just your taste makes your head spin in amazement. 

There’s an enormous bouquet of fresh pink roses and white lilies on your dining room table every Thursday, and as long as either of you aren’t away on missions, Friday nights are reserved for dates. Those are typically spent at expensive restaurants that put his own food to shame and they always end in an entire night of passionate, sweet sex in various locations. 

You wear the dresses he buys you while dining at those restaurants, low cut and in soft colors that accentuate your glowing skin and that compliment the fiery look in your eyes that you give him when you eye-fuck him from across the table. He started buying his slacks in a larger size just so his throbbing dick doesn’t strain against the luxurious material. Even then, he sometimes doesn’t make it through the night, and more often then not, the two of you end up in the bathroom, your hands pressed against the mirror while he fucks you over the sink. One time, you didn’t quite make it home; you ended up pulled up on the side of the highway with your panties around your ankles while he fucked you against the hood of his car. 

He bought you a house so you don’t have to live in the tower anymore, because according to the man whose super hero name seems to be permanently attached to his being, separating work and private life is extremely important. You suspect he bought it so he can fuck you in every room without having to be quiet and afraid of being walked in on, because he loves the way you sound when you loudly moan his name when he makes you cum. 

He bought you a car so you can get around easier when he’s not there. He knows you prefer being in the passenger’s seat and prefers to drive, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer when he handed you the key. The two of you fucked on the backseat the first night you got it, windows fogged and air thick with sex. The drive afterwards was the best he’s ever had, right hand rubbing soft circles on your bruised thigh while the breeze coming in through the open window blew the scent of himself on your skin back to him. 

He takes you on vacations three times a year to resorts with private beaches so he doesn’t have to share his view of your ass with anyone. He loves seeing you strutting around in mini dresses and skimpy bikinis all day long, and fingering your sweet pussy inside swimming pools with bright blue ripples has become a new favorite past time of his.

You love it when he takes care of you, although for you, it goes far beyond expensive gifts and lavish holidays to exotic places. Sure, you enjoy being spoiled by your boyfriend, but its the idea that you’re constantly on his mind that really makes your heart beat faster. The only problem you face is that he spoils you so much, you hardly find the time and place to do the same for him. 

It’s been three weeks since you last saw him. The house out in the countryside that the two of you share feels too empty without his presence, and you can’t wait to see him again. Your heart has been skipping beats since the moment you woke up, and it hasn’t stopped thumping ever since. 

Standing in front of the full body mirror in your bedroom, you take a moment to check yourself out. Clad in a new pink satin lingerie set your heart surges, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling. The dress you put on over it is one of Steve’s favorites, a figure-hugging number in a light shade of lilac. Something about seeing you in varying shades of pastel always seems to drive Steve over the edge. 

Today is the day you intend to take care of him. 

You prepare his favorite food well in advance and play his favorite music while you wait for him to come home. You know you could’ve bought him a welcoming gift, but you know he doesn’t care for materialistic things and that he already owns everything he needs right there with you. 

You feel nervous and excited at the same time all throughout the day. Butterflies seemed to have blossomed inside your stomach, and they don’t stop fluttering around for even a second. When the front door finally opens, the feeling only intensifies, and you quickly scramble to get the dessert into the fridge to chill before he sees it. 

“Y/N?” he shouts, voice straining in order to make himself heard through the entire house at once, “you here?” 

“In the kitchen!” you shout back as you straighten out your dress. 

Your back is turned to him when he enters, and his pupils dilate when he catches a glimpse of your ass straining against the lilac satin. The familiar scent of his cologne invades your nose, and you can tell he showered in the tower after the debriefing when the smell of his body wash enters your nostrils next. 

“Smells good,” he mumbles against the bare skin of your shoulder, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” you reply with shut eyes while relishing the feeling of his body pressed up against you, “I made dinner.” 

The two of you eat by candle light. Steve tells you everything that happened on the mission in great detail, and in turn you explain to him what you’d been up to while he was away. His eyes never once leave you, and the intense feeling of his gaze burns every inch of your skin.

Before you have time to bring out the pavlova you made, you find yourself pushed against your bedroom door. Steve’s hands are all over you, working their way up the length of your right leg while the other has you by the waist. His mouth, hot and wet, tastes like Asgardian mead on your tongue, and the kisses he trails along your jawline light your skin on fire. 

“Tell daddy how much you missed him,” he mumbles in your ear, “sweet girl.” 

“So much,” you manage, “I missed you so much, daddy.” 

You vividly remember the first time it accidentally slipped out. You were on your knees with him behind you when the word spilled from your panting lips, and you’ll never forget the instant effect it had on him. Steve had never been called daddy before, but the way it sounded coming from you while his dick was inside of you to the hilt nearly sent his senses into overdrive and it stuck with you ever since. 

“I missed you too baby,” he says while leading you to the freshly made bed with satin sheets, “let me show you how much I missed you.” 

His favorite dress is on the floor not even a minute later, and the sight of what you’re wearing underneath makes Steve’s mouth water more than any food could ever do. The soft shade of pastel compliments your skin so perfectly it’s painful, and he doesn’t waste time getting out of his clothes after seeing you sprawled out on the bed for him.

The kisses he trails from your shin to your thigh make you shiver. Your panties are already wet by the time he plants a kiss on top of them, leaving the color to darken to a deep shade of pink that marks your arousal.

“So wet already,” he muses, “that all for me?” 

“Yes daddy,” you moan when he presses another kiss to your clothed pussy, “all for you.” 

He hooks his fingers underneath the soft fabric of your new panties and takes agonizingly long to pull them down, inching them down your burning flesh while he peppers more kisses on your stomach.

You take the liberty of unhooking your bra, and it lands on top of the panties he’s already thrown on the floor. Your hands caress his bare chest, fingertips relishing in the feeling of hard muscles protected by smooth, milky skin. Every time you see him without clothes you marvel at how perfectly sculpted his body is, every thing from the broadness of his shoulders to the clean cut v-lines that lead your eyes straight down to his large, beautifully straining cock. 

“Oh god,” you mewl when his tongue connects to your already soaking pussy, “Steve!” 

He savors the heavenly flavor on his tongue when his tongue dances across your pussy. You’re a moaning mess by the time his thick fingers plunge inside of you and he laps at your clit like a starved man while he slowly pumps them in and out of you. You’re writhing beneath him in an attempt to gain more friction when he doesn’t speed up, and he smiles cheekily against your bud when your muscles contract around his fingers.

“Please,” you can feel your cheeks burning, “Steve.”  

“What do you want, baby?” he asks, pausing for a moment. 

“Want you,” you pant, “inside of me.” 

You whine when he pushes his dripping fingers into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on him while he kisses your cheek and the lobe of your ear. His chest covers your own, and you don’t realize how much you’ve been craving the feeling of his body weight pressing down on top of you until his body is flush with your own.

“I love you so much baby,” he whispers when he lines himself up with your aching entrance, “my sweet girl.”

“I love you-” a sinful moan interrupts your profession of love when you feel his cock sliding slowly between your folds, “I love you too, daddy.” 

“I’m gonna show you how much I missed you,” he groans. 

You cry out when he finally enters you. The sensation of his thick cock filling you causes your eyes to involuntarily roll back. You grab a tight hold of the sheets for support when he grips your hips to get a better angle. The sight of you beneath him, lips parted and strands of hair already sticking to your face is damn near enough for Steve to cum then and there, but he pushes the urge back down while he takes a moment to get used to the feeling of your walls stretching beautifully around his aching cock. 

Your moans echo through the room when he finally thrusts into you, a thin layer of glistening sweat quickly forming on the toned biceps he uses to push and pull himself in and out of your tight cunt. The scent of sex quickly pervades the air, and the sweet slick drips out of your pussy and onto the sheets you washed just this morning. 

“Feels so good daddy,” you whine, “please don’t stop.” 

Every inch of your skin burns under Steve’s touch and you find yourself getting closer to the edge with each roll of Steve’s hips. The knot buried deep inside your stomach tightens, the coil almost ready to snap. The way Steve seems to know exactly which spot makes your toes curl makes you for a moment believe he possesses some sort of telekinetic powers. The rhythm created by his hips is far more intoxicating than any bottle of Asgardian mead, and the edge you’re threatening to fall down is the most dangerous of all.

“I won’t stop until you cum baby,” he tells you, “I want to see your face when you cum all over my dick.” 

Your mind draws blank when his thrusts quicken, the movements of his hips becoming sloppier with each passing moment. You can tell by the throbbing of his cock inside of you and the frown etched in his forehead that he’s just as close as you are.

His voice is muffled between the crook of your neck and the mattress, but you can hear him muttering filthy words under ragged breaths. 

“You feel so good baby,” he pants, “gonna make me cum.” 

Before you can respond, warmth engulfs your entire body from head to toe. You arch your back, pressing your breasts flush against Steve’s glistening chest. His name leaves your lips repeatedly when you come undone beneath him, and he follows right behind you when the sensation of your clenching walls becomes too much for him to bear.

Steve slowly eases his way out of you and the both of you take a moment to regain your breaths. Your mind begins to wander, and a sudden wave of sadness overtakes you. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks when he notices the slight pout of your lips and frown on your forehead, “did I hurt you?” 

“No,” you say quickly, “it’s just that... well... I wanted to take care of you for once.” 

Steve’s heart clenches when he hears the sad sound of your voice and he turns on his side to face you. With his free hand, he wipes a strand of sticky hair out of your face. Then, he takes yours and holds it gently. 

“You do take care of me,” he says earnestly, “you take care of me every day.” 

“How?” you raise a brow, “you’re always the one paying for everything and stuff.” 

“Baby,” he kisses your knuckles, “you know how I feel about money. It doesn’t mean anything to me, and it sure as hell doesn’t define the amount of love I have for you and vice versa. Making sure I take time away from my job is how you take care of me. I’d be a mess without you, Y/N. I’d be miserable drowning in work if i didn’t have you.” 

“You make me a happy man every day,” he continues, “you made me realize that I’m right where I should be. I don’t dwell on the past anymore because I have you. I’m happy, because of you.”

You smile and nod, “I love you Steve.” 

“I love you too, Y/N.” 

You’re silent for a moment, enjoying the sound of Steve’s heartbeat against your ear when you lay your head on his bare chest. Just before you’re about to doze off, a single thought enters your brain. 

“Steve?” you ask.

“Hmm?” he replies, also on the verge of falling asleep. 

“We forgot about dessert.” 

[star-spangledstud]

A Deadly Gift

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x enhanced(female!)reader

Summary: You and Bucky play your yearly game of hide and seek.

Word count: 3400-ish.

Warnings: +18 SMUT (don’t read if you’re a minor), blood (knife play, gun play), gore, rough sex at its finest, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!)

A/N: this is a lot. I don’t know where it came from, but here it is. Might be a little (or a lot) AU for Bucky’s character, but whatever. I’m crazy and this was hella fun to write. 

Your heart was beating so fast you were convinced you were gonna have a fucking heart attack. You’d been on the run for at least four hours now, trying your hardest to keep as much distance between you and him as humanly possible. The only problem? He was known as the Winter Soldier, a man who wouldn’t stop until he completed his missions whatever the cost and right now, the only thing on his mind was your immediate capture.

Sure, he wasn’t under HYDRA’s mind control anymore, but he still possessed the deadly qualities of his former alter ego. He was incredibly fast on his feet, insanely stealthy and extremely deadly, and no matter how far away from him you thought you might’ve gotten, the chances of him sneaking up on you remained, lingering like a mist that clouded your common sense and rational thinking processes.

Bucky Barnes had been gracious enough to give you a fairly large lead, allowing you a two-hour head start before he’d come chasing after you with everything he had. You didn’t waste any time after the clock began to run, slamming the door shut in his face before you took off in a blind sprint for the woods behind the house you rented just for the occasion. That was so long ago that it was starting to get dark. This was an advantage for him with his heightened sight, hearing, and sense of smell, but not for you. You weren’t a super soldier, nor were you Daredevil. 

You purposefully didn’t put on perfume or body lotion and you hadn’t washed your hair in a few days, afraid your signature scent would be a dead giveaway to your whereabouts. Over the years, you’d grown smarter, making the game harder for him each time it was his turn. Still, it thrilled him to chase you down, and you were a great location scout.

You sat still for a moment, straining your ears in an attempt to focus on the sound of his combat boots on the soil or the gears in his metal arm twisting and turning with low hums. It was hard for you, nearly impossible to distinguish the sound of animals rustling between the trees and a deadly assassin on the hunt for you. You knew had to slow down your breathing to a controlled speed as fast as possible, afraid he might be able to hear the pounding against your chest in the deafening silence of the northern forest. You took five minutes, that was all you allowed yourself to calm down and take a breather. He could be miles off for all you knew, but he could be watching you as well from just beyond your view, waiting to pounce until he’d driven you into a corner like a lion did on a wounded animal. It made you dizzy. 

When you thought back on how your relationship started, you couldn’t help but snort in irony. You hated him at first, treated him like the enemy even after he’d been accepted into the team with open arms because of Steve. You didn’t trust him, even after he went to Wakanda to get that mind control shit extracted from his brain. You didn’t like the way he would sneak up on you when you were making pancakes for breakfast, or the way he’d look at you for minutes on end without blinking during three-hour long mission debriefings. 

You were sick of the way he’d stare at you while you were running miles on the treadmill, always looking at your ass in tight Gymshark leggings but never saying a word to you. So, you decided to confront him, to tell him to fuck right off and mind his own goddamn business or else.  

It only took for him to say one word before you were on your knees in the changing room, sloppily sucking on and licking down his beautiful cock until he came down your throat. It wasn’t the word itself that made you so angry you wanted him to fuck the rage out of you. It was the way he smirked slyly when he said it. Sorry. 

It took you two nearly a year for your relationship status to change from fuckbuddies to boyfriend and girlfriend. Everybody knew it coming except for you, you’d never been interested in a relationship before him. You didn’t know what it was about him that drew you in, but he was like a drug you’d never be able to quit. He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man and everything you didn’t know you wanted. If there was such a thing as soulmates, you were convinced he was yours. 

Of course, the former iron fist of HYDRA came with baggage. He’d wake up in the middle of the night screaming sometimes, drenched in his own sweat. One time, he’d tried to murder you in your sleep. Still, you stuck with him, offering him a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on when he needed it. He loved you, you could tell from the way he’d glance at you while you checked your phone first thing in the morning and the way he cherished and worshiped your entire body from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head. He was gentle with you, making sure to always put your needs above his own, a true 1940′s gentleman. He held doors open for you, held an umbrella over your head when it rained, carried you to bed when you were too damn tired to move another muscle after sparring and he’d take you out to dinner at least twice a week. He was sweet, soft when you were alone with him and he cared about you so much it nearly gave you cold feet once. Bucky Barnes was almost too sweet. 

He knew you were close by. He’d heard your exasperated breathing an hour ago to his east, after which he decided to grant himself a break. He didn’t want the game to end so soon. The more he allowed you to think you were in control, the more worked up you’d be. The wetter you’d be for him. 

He sniffed the air after being seated on a dead tree trunk in the middle of nowhere for almost thirty minutes. Your scent, naturally sweet and powdery, stuck to the leaves you’d swatted out of your face with your hand while trying to run through them. No perfume indeed, he applauded you for that, but he could still smell you in the sea of pine needles and dirt. You were getting further away from him, almost too far, so he began to jog, placing his feet on the ground so softly he looked and sounded like a ghost. Right now, he was your biggest nightmare. 

You panted harshly, leaning against a tree with your hands on your knees. You hadn’t heard a single sound except for a howling owl in the past hour and were confident in the distance you managed to create between you and James. You knew it couldn’t last forever, that he’d find you sooner or later, but it was that exact knowledge that caused your belly to tighten and your heart rate to speed up to an almost uncontrollable speed. You clenched your thighs together and smiled in the darkness while you explored your surroundings, already excited at the thought of it being your turn next time. You were thinking the Amazon, or maybe Egypt. Not a lot of cover in the desert, though, but that was his problem.

He knew he had you right where he wanted you when he heard the sickening crunch of a twig breaking under the ball of your left foot. He had better senses than you, but you clouded him nearly as much as he did you, causing him too to step on a twig, its sound ringing through the trees until it reached your heaving form.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath, earning a loud laugh to escape his lips. The sound echoed through the trees, making a chill run along the entirety of your spine. 

“Come on out, baby doll,” he taunted, “There’s nowhere left to run.” 

You could hear the sound of a blade unsheathing and quickly followed his action, grabbing your knife from your boot and gripping it tightly in your hand as a form of protection. He was stomping now, not giving a flying fuck whether you heard him or not. The game was up, he was going to win. He won every time, although this was the longest you’d ever gone without being caught. 

“I’m going to find you,” he continued, “and you won’t like what happens to you when I do.” 

You took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from your brow. Then, you launched yourself at him. He chuckled when he saw you emerge from between the trees, easily blocking the first jab you threw at him. The black mask that covered his mouth obscured his voice somewhat, but you could still hear him laughing loud and clear. He toyed with you when he easily tossed his knife in the air, catching in his other hand without even looking at where it landed. 

Fucking hell, that turned you on. 

He grabbed your arm and twisted it, forcing you down on your knees with the push of his foot on your back before the fight had even had a chance to get started. 

“Told you I’d find you,” he smirked. 

You turned your head around and spat in his face, saliva dripping down his cheek and wetting the mask, “fuck you.”

It didn’t take much for you to break free from his grasp. After all, he was the one who taught you how to do it. You hooked your leg under his own, sending him flying to the dirt. He landed on his back with a thud, but before you could run away again, he was already back on his feet. The knife in his hand found its way in your shoulder, sinking deep into you. You cried out in pain, screaming when he pulled it back out in a fluid motion before he tossed it to the side. If he needed another knife, he’d take yours. 

“I said, fuck you!” You shouted again, kicking back your leg into his left thigh. 

“Oh baby,” he said quietly as he wiped the spit from his cheek, “that’s exactly what I intend to do to you.”

You ran away, but he was much faster. In less than ten seconds, he had you on the ground with a thud, gasping for air while he began to drag you back to your previous spot by your ankles. You screamed and tried to kick him, but he pulled your legs apart, holding them in a grip so tight you felt like you could never break free. Instead, you twisted your torso in a half sit-up, taking your knife and plunging it into his calf. It pierced his skin and flesh, but he didn’t say a word, even as you retrieved it with a twist that sent blood gushing down his pant leg.

He grabbed your knees next, pulling you closer to him with a hard yank. You flailed your legs and punched him wherever you could hit him, but he only held you tighter, creating marks on your skin that would surely bruise even when he heard his bones crack under the force of your fists connecting with his body. 

You slashed his arm, breaking the fabric of his tactile suit and exposing his skin. The blade connected with his flesh and drew blood that dripped down his arm and into the soil beneath. You momentarily managed to break from his grasp and punched him in the face, sending it flying to the side. Another punch, bruising his cheekbone and another, splitting his lip underneath the mask. He took the knife from you with a growl and tossed it into the darkness, adrenaline overpowering the feeling of his burning leg.

You grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, allowing you to free yourself from his hold. Instead of running, you got up to fight, wiping dirt from your cheek before hurling your fist at him. He barely managed to dodge the attack, grabbing your arm as it flew passed his face and twisted it painfully behind your back.

You were on the floor again in under a minute. 

“You like hurting me, don’tcha?” he grinned, straddling your waist and grabbing hold of your wrists. 

You looked up at him through damp lashes, unaware of the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes. You hardly recognized him hovering above you, eyes so black they looked like obsidian. You tried to wiggle out from underneath him, a moan escaping your lips when his hard cock came in contact with your clothed core.

“Bucky,” you mewled, shutting your eyes, “shit.” 

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he ordered, “Or I’ll shoot you in the face.”

He began to pull a gun from the waistband of his trousers and proceeded to cock the safety and pointed it straight at your face. You kicked your legs wildly, straining against his metal hand around your wrists with all your might. He didn’t budge, not even as you stared down the barrel of the Glock. The fear of dying to the hands of the man you loved caused your entire body to vibrate. 

“Sarge,” you bucked your hips into his, “Sergeant fucking Barnes.” 

He pushed the gun into your temple, cold iron chilling you to the bone. Then, he lowered his head, pressing a rough kiss to your open mouth through his mask. You could taste the fabric on your tongue, mixed with blood, his blood.

“Shut the fuck up,” he barked, “this is your fault, not mine. So easy to find. You’re gonna have to blindfold me next time. Maybe then it’ll finally take some effort.”

“I’ll gouge your eyes out with my nails instead,” you snarled. 

His mouth met yours again, but instead of kissing him back like before, you headbutted him. Your forehead connected with his nose, sending blood squirting in your eyes and face. He cursed this time, almost removing his grip from your wrists out of reflex, but ignored the burning sensation in his nose and the heat of streaming blood down his face.

He hovered over you for a moment, taking in the sight of you, lying under him with his blood coating your scowling face. Your hair, long and messy, had fallen from the ribbon you’d used to secure it in place and your chest heaved up and down. With a grunt, he placed the gun back in his waistband with the safety back on. You ripped off his mask, crashing your lips to his in a kiss so heated you could set the forest aflame. Teeth, lips, and tongues collided painfully, eliciting a moan from the back of your throat so wonderful Bucky’s dick twitched in his pants.

He grabbed the nearly forgotten butterfly knife hidden inside his shoe and used it to slice open the front of your t-shirt. You had goosebumps all over your skin when the blade dragged across your naked skin. With the flick of his wrist, Bucky sliced your bra from your chest, exposing your already peaking nipples to his wanting eyes. The knife quickly disappeared from view again, but the thought of him pulling it out again had you squirming under him in anticipation. He undid your pants next, forcing them down to your ankles before finally undoing his own. 

The sight of his cock, long and hard and dripping with pre-cum as it sprung free from his boxers drove you up the fucking wall.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t breathe,” he smiled, “gonna fuck you so hard I’m gonna have to drag you back home by your ankles.” 

The weight of his body on top of you, his heavy breathing in your ear, the way he bit at the exposed skin on your neck, all of it combined had you soaking wet for him in seconds. He found out soon enough because his metal fingers found your folds seconds after your pants were around your ankles. He rubbed your clit in slow motions, drawing a moan so delicious from your mouth he wanted to cum then and there. 

“Gonna get you ready for my cock now. You’ll take it like a good girl.” 

A gasp left your mouth when three of his fingers plunged inside of your already soaking pussy. He didn’t waste any time, pumping into you at a fast speed until your pussy was sopping wet.

“So fucking wet,” he smirked, “every. Damn. Time.” 

His fingers left you far too soon. You whined, the need for him to fill you up rising with each passing second. He licked his fingers, savoring the sweet flavor of your slick on his taste buds.

“You’re gonna be on top,” he said, “get on my fucking dick and don’t get off until you make me cum.” 

You nodded quickly, wincing when he squeezed your wrists before letting you go. He sank down on the soil, grabbing you under your arms and hoisting you on top of him with a hard yank. 

You lowered yourself down on him, inhaling sharply at the sensation of his dick stretching your pussy. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to his size. His hands gripped your ass, his metal hand and his flesh one offering a delicious contrast that sent sparks flying before your eyes. Then, you began to ride him, slow at first, pushing down on him until he bottomed out inside you. He hit your most sensitive spot, nearly sending your senses into overdrive.

With a wicked grin on your flawless face, you reached behind you. You dug your finger into the stab wound on his calf, causing his eyes to screw shut and a loud groan to spill from his lips.

“You like that, don’t you?” You asked, pressing harder into the wound you’d created moments before. 

He reached behind him, pulling the gun from behind his back. He pushed it into your side, nudging for you to move faster. You complied instantly, picking up the pace on top of him.

You nearly came when he pressed the cold metal against your clit, using the barrel of the gun to rub aggravated circles against the sensitive bud. 

“Good girl,” he panted, “make yourself cum on my cock.”

You gripped his shoulders, arching your back to create selfish pressure against your g-spot. You rocked your hips back and forth while he twisted and flicked your nipple. You kissed him again, eliciting a nasty moan into his mouth. 

You came hard, so fucking hard your vision blurred. He shoved the gun in your hand and forced his hands on your hips, pushing you faster up and down his dick until he came as well, cum shooting in spurts against your clenching walls.

You collapsed on top of him, panting and gasping for air while his head collided with the earth. You laid there for God knows how long, one of his hands rubbing circles on your back as the other caressed your cheek. Finally, he took off his jacket, hanging it over your shoulders to keep you warm. 

“Sorry I broke your nose,” you mumbled before kissing him gently, “you’re still handsome, though.” 

He smiled, “Be good as new in a week, baby. You went soft on me. I expected more of a struggle.”

You felt his hand travel under the jacket over the spot where he stabbed you and hissed in pain, “sorry bout that.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled softly, “be good as new tomorrow.” 

You may not have been a super soldier, but you healed fast. 

He offered his hand, placing the gun back in the waistband of his trousers.

“We have a long way back ahead of us,” he smirked, “You came a long way this time. No helicopter though, thank God. That was annoying as hell.” 

You nodded, biting your lip as you began to follow him through the trees. He walked with a limp, but he was fine. The serum never failed him.

“Hey, James?” You asked as you tried hard not to trip over the bed of leaves and twigs below your feet, “shoot me next time, will you?”

“Sure thing baby,” he said, kissing you softly on the temple, “happy anniversary.” 

Yeah, you sure as fuck were going to have fun chasing him next year. 

[star-spangledstud]

Better Than Me (1/2)

Part two here!

Description: Based off of Doja Cat’s song Better Than Me. Steve seems to see every woman except for you.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (Female) Reader

Word count: 2000-ish. 

Warnings: Angst? Brief mentions of sex. 

Your heart thumped so fast you could feel it beating in your throat. There was a lump in the back of it that made it hard to swallow, accompanied by the feeling of a dry mouth that didn’t help your case. You bit your lip harshly in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, but they still pricked in the corners of your eyes, which flew to the ceiling and focused on nothing in particular. 

You were standing behind the door of your room, chest heaving and hands shaking. In fact, you didn’t even notice it, but your entire body was trembling. You were angry, so angry that it made you want to cry and at least three people had to have heard your door slam so loud it nearly came off its hinges. You knew nobody would dare to disturb you, not like this, not unless they had a death wish.

He’d brought a stranger to Tony’s party. Again. You almost expected it, but still, you’d gotten dolled up, dressed in the nicest dress Wanda was able to find for you on her shopping trip three weeks prior. Light blue satin with spaghetti straps that ended just above your knees. It was pretty, it was fucking amazing, so amazing it could only have cost her at least $1000, but she gave it to you as a present and had practically forced you to put it on. It wasn’t your style, way out of your comfort zone, but you’d hoped he would see it and change his mind about you.

A tear finally slipped down your cheeks, instantly ruining the eyeliner and mascara that had taken you nearly an hour to apply. The sheer pink sparkly lipgloss you’d used to plump your lips in an effort to make yourself irresistible had already faded from drinking too much champagne, yet you could taste the vanilla on your tongue when you once again bit into your bottom lip. Your highlighted cheekbones and nose still shone, but the light in your eyes had dimmed the second you saw them together, laughing and joking and worst of all, dancing. 

He’d always told you he hated dancing. That he was no good at it, that he had two left feet that were just waiting for him to make a fool of himself on the dancefloor. Yet still, she managed to pull him along while you sat by the bar, gripping the elongated glass of bubbly so hard it nearly shattered in your fist. From where you sat, it didn’t look like he hated dancing at all. In fact, it looked like he was having the time of his life. He never danced with you. 

As you plopped down on your bed, your mind immediately began to race. What did she have that you didn’t? What made her more special than you? What was it about her that he liked so much? You could name at least a thousand things that you could use to compare yourself to her, even though you didn’t even know her. Did he even know her?

Foundation, concealer, and bronzer stained your pillowcase as you cried into it, but you didn’t bother taking it off with a makeup wipe until the day after. You snorted when you realized you woke up still wearing that blue fucking dress, the dress that would make any man bend over backward for you. Any man except the one you wanted so badly.

You’d been friends with him ever since you first got recruited. He enjoyed the fact that you could show him the world, that you listened to him when he felt down and that you were always there when he needed you. You were enamored with him from the first hello, thought he felt the same way. Apparently, the only thing you were really good for was your extensive knowledge of 21st-century pop-culture and your listening ear. He should’ve expected you to fall for him with how nice and sweet and handsome and- Stop it.

He found out you liked him through Sam, who found out through Natasha. Of course, she was the first person to know. Nothing could slip by the seasoned assassin, not even your dying love for Steve fucking Rogers and naturally, Sam couldn’t keep his blabbering mouth shut. You loved the guy, but he had no filter sometimes. It could’ve been a good thing though because you’d been too afraid to tell Steve yourself. Could have, because things didn’t work out how you expected, not even after he kissed you one night on the roof of the compound. Why the fuck did he kiss you if he didn’t mean it?

 Steve told you he didn’t want to date a coworker, that it would never work with how busy the two of you were and instead of trying to convince him otherwise, you agreed with him. Of course, after he’d left the room, you cried so hard you thought your eyes would pop out of your sockets and you hadn’t been the same ever since. You’d lost confidence in yourself, lost trust in your abilities to be what a man would want in a woman. Lost trust in your own womanhood and femininity.

Before, all of you would hang out together in the common room at night, watching movies, chatting about your day and playing video games on the PlayStation console. You’d have breakfast and dinner together as a family, share your dreams and plans for the day with one another, wish each other luck on missions. You were always the light in the room, or so they said. You’d make pancakes or fried eggs with bacon for the whole team, beat Bucky in Call of Duty and you’d pick movies that made even Natasha cry tears of sadness. They loved having you around, every single one of them had a connection with you. 

But you just couldn’t bear to spend more than ten minutes in the same room as him anymore. The tension that only you seemed to feel hung heavy over your shoulders while he laughed trying to figure out Assassin’s Creed with Sam. You couldn’t stand it when he talked to you, tried to get you to laugh with him as if nothing ever happened. He thought you were okay with it, that you felt the same way about dating as he did. He had no idea it was eating you up from the inside because you refused to let him. You didn’t want anyone to think you were weak, even though that’s exactly how you felt. 

Wanda did notice how down you were, which is why she bought you the dress. It was her idea to get over him, make him fall for you so hard he couldn’t get around his feelings even if he tried. It was stupid, looking back because Steve didn’t just fall for women because of their appearance, but it was the only thing you still hadn’t tried. Had he even looked at you once? You couldn’t remember, because you were tired and drunk and too busy wallowing in self-pity, but you hadn’t once felt his eyes on you and it hurt like hell. 

Get over him was the idea, but your efforts had resulted in the opposite. The way he looked in that green velvet tuxedo, that black-tie tight around his neck and his hair perfectly coiffed, it had made you want to rip his clothes off then and there. You wanted to have the upper hand in the situation, but you were still at this man’s mercy.

“Get up,” Wanda said while pulling open your curtains with her powers, “Operation Spangles isn’t over yet.” 

“Get lost,” you muttered, dragging the covers over your face further, “it’s no use. I’ll never get over that perfect dipshit.”

She ripped the sheets away in a swift motion, long hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head and her face free of make-up. Wanda cringed when she saw you, eyes red and bags under them. 

“Don’t say that,” she sat down on the edge of your bed, “You need to realize those girls aren’t any better than you and that he is in denial. It’s his loss, sweetheart, and he’s anything but perfect.” 

“Is he though?” You snorted, “He’s brought back like, five girls in three months. Clearly, he can get whoever he wants.” 

“Just because he can get them, doesn’t mean he wants them. Anyway, you can’t let this get you down. C’mon, get dressed.” 

So you allowed her to drag you out of bed. Allowed her to take you shopping, buy you new clothes with too much cleavage and ruffles made from silk and velvet. Dresses that almost showed your ass in colors you’d never pick if it weren’t for her. You chose heels instead of sneakers, a perfume that smelled like freshly picked flowers and more of that pink, sparkly lipgloss, all with the idea that dressing up was fun. You looked like you belonged on an Instagram profile with 500k followers, not out on the streets of dirty, dusty New York City. 

But you tried, put effort into your appearance as a distraction. You tried to become social again, tried to strike up friendships with people outside of the Avengers because you desperately craved normalcy. Eventually, you got good at picking out outfits and styling your hair. It became a new pastime, a new hobby to keep your mind away from the guy that was constantly near you, no matter how hard you tried to avoid him. 

You began to enjoy applying make-up in the early hours of the morning with a cup of coffee and some YouTube videos to keep you company. It became a part of your morning routine. Sam always complimented you on how you matched your eyeshadow to your lipstick. Bruce said he respected you for wearing heels all day - even though you still wore sneakers when your feet got too tired. Even Tony complimented you, saying he thought you looked happy and healthy. You weren’t exactly sure if happy was the right word, but to you, it was a start. The distraction was a start. 

Even Natasha told you how beautiful you were so often you eventually began to believe it. She took you to bars and taught to seduce men that didn’t mean shit to you just like she had to do during her years of training. She brought you to sweaty nightclubs with VIP tables and guest lists that contained celebrities where drinks were at least $35 apiece and where you couldn’t even talk over the sound of the music. You still thought of him, wondering what it would be like to dance with him instead of some greasy stranger rubbing his dick against your ass, but you didn’t allow yourself to ponder. He didn’t want to dance with you, so you didn’t want to dance with him, either. That ship had sailed. 

You brought them back to the compound sometimes. If the alcohol flowed too freely and the grinding had riled you up, you’d whisper in their ears and they’d follow you like lost puppies. Fuck, they would follow you to Europe if you asked them to because you were irresistible and fuck Steve for not seeing it before. Most times you’d order them an Uber and kick them out before the sun had a chance to rise over the skyline, but sometimes you’d allow them to stay for breakfast followed by round two. It didn’t mean anything, it was just a hobby. 

It took you months to get to that point. Months of spending money on clothes and bottles, months of taking people to lunch and getting treated in return. Months of socially distancing yourself from Steve Rogers, who eventually began to notice the shift in your personality. He missed your presence more than he realized in the beginning. You reminded him of Houdini with the way that you changed your look every day. You didn’t think he noticed when you used a new eyeshadow palette, but he did. You didn’t think he appreciated the way your body looked in bodycon dresses and tailored blazers, but he sure did.

Steve realized something, too. 

They were definitely not better than you. 

[star-spangledstud]

Better Than Me (2/2)

Part one is here!

Summary: You really are better than them. 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (female!)Reader.

Word Count: 3000-ish.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff.

It was ridiculous. So ridiculous that it bordered near downright insane. Absolutely fucking ridiculous. Impractical, stupid and completely, utterly ridiculous. Beautiful, sparkly and downright amazing, but ridiculous. You fucking loved it.

The baby pink, bejeweled handgun sat inside a pink velvet box on your lap. The bow, which was also pink, of course, was lying at your feet, which were clad in bedazzled silver Louboutins. Gems of all colors on the rainbow covered it on all sides, from the barrel to the handgrip and along the safety pin.

You gazed up at Tony, who wore an amused expression on his face, before glancing over at Pepper. She had her hand over her mouth in embarrassment, clearly horrified by Tony’s gift choice. The card read that it was from both of them. Clearly, that wasn’t the case. 

“Happy birthday, kid.” He said with a smirk that nearly extended from ear to ear.

“I don’t even want to know how much you spent on that,” Pepper muttered, shaking her head while you took the thing out of the pink and white polka-dotted tissue paper.

The others sighed audibly when you smiled, annoyed that Tony’s gift overshadowed theirs yet again. To be fair, they’d all expected it, but all of them secretly hoped any one of their gifts would be your favorite. 

“I love it,” you said, twirling the weapon around in your hand, “and I agree with Pepper, I can’t even imagine how much you spent on this thing...”

“You’ll make it work,” he mused, “Two million dollars, by the way, and you could just thank me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and for a moment, you were sure Pepper was going to faint. Natasha shook her head, watching the scene unfold in horror. It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. Wanda, who seemed to share none of her feelings, had created a monster out of you.

“Thanks, Tony,” you blew him a kiss, unable to get up from your seat at the dinner table that was covered in white roses in silver vases and wine that came from expensive bottles.

“It’s very pretty,” the witch said, “Can I hold it?” 

“Please,” you shoved it into her hands, “by all means.” 

“You’re insane, Tony,” you said as you took the gift Bruce had gotten for you from his outstretched hands with a smile, “Absolutely fucking nuts, but I love you for it.”

Your eyes went around the room, finding Steve at the end of the table of which you sat at the head. You were the birthday girl, after all, the pink satin sash draped around you said so in large, cursive letters and so it was your turn to have the most important seat of the house. It was a ridiculous ordeal, he thought so anyway, but you were smiling and chatting and enjoying the company of your friends and it was good to see. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened and knew very well he was to blame. 

He was the one who pushed you away, even though it was for your own good.

You took Thor’s gift just as the waiter began to serve your first course, and since he was seated closest to you, you thanked him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Steve’s gift came last. You didn’t expect anything from him given the circumstances.

Four hours, six courses and many glasses of wine and Asgardian mead later, you found yourself back in your room. Gifts given to you by your fellow team members were sprawled out on your bed, ranging from a pair of silk pajamas with glittery Ugg slippers to match from Wanda to Starbucks and Sephora gift cards from Sam and everything in between. Chocolate covered strawberries in a glittery box, two romance novels, a bottle of beautifully aged red wine from Asgard and a peach-toned Dior lipstick, all tokens of appreciation given to you by the people you cared about the most. 

Despite the hardships that you faced the previous year and the social distancing that occurred during that time, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be with the team again. You’d changed a lot in a year, grown to be a different person than the one you were before. It wasn’t necessarily a good or a bad thing in your mind, it just happened naturally.  

You sat down beside the velvet box, eyes automatically flying towards the item on your far left. A drawing of you, sitting on a terrace, staring out into the sunny skyline with a cup of coffee in your hand. It was an old drawing by the looks of it because your hair was much shorter and a different shade and your clothing was far plainer than it was now; black jeans and a white t-shirt. A signature that read SR sat in the bottom right corner in messy, doctor-like handwriting. It made your toes curl. 

Of course, he was the one with the overly personal gift. You didn’t know whether it was because he simply had no fucking clue what 21st-century women liked to receive for their birthdays or whether he’d purposely done it to make you remember the day it was drawn, but the latter happened and now, you were sitting on your bed with prickling eyes and goosebumps that lined your skin.

You remembered that day very vividly. You’d only been an Avenger for three months and were struggling to adjust to the fact that you had to suddenly follow orders. Before joining the team, you’d worked alone, hired by people with deep pockets and dark intentions. You made your own rules. 

The first time Steve had taken you out for coffee he kind to offer you advice. At first, you thought it felt a little like he was trying to be the human resource manager with the way he talked to you, you continued to meet up every Saturday afternoon and as the weeks passed, something in the dynamic changed.  He loosened up, got rid of his Captain America persona and instead became Steve. You didn’t know what caused the change, but it was good, allowed you to actually get to know the man behind the suit and vice versa. 

That particular day was a good one, It was a sunny day in spring, not too hot and not too cold, with a soft breeze that carried the scent of fresh flowers across the terrace. You’d ordered a latte, Steve liked it black. You weren’t talking, but instead, a comfortable silence hung between you. You’d brought a book just like you always did and read it while occasionally eyeing the people that passed you by. Steve, whose cheeks had become fiery red out of the blue, pulled out a leather-bound sketchbook and began to draw.

You never asked him what he was drawing, even when he stored away his pencils and shoved the book back inside his tote did you not bother to pry. Not even when you became so close you’d sometimes fall asleep together on the couch, did you not ask. 

You knew now, but they didn’t say ignorance is bliss without reason.

You began to mindlessly pick at three layers of lavender toned sparkling nail polish, pulling at it as it came off your fingers with far too much ease. You’d paid the lady $60 for your manicure three days prior and now, you were ripping it off. With a deep sigh, you pushed yourself up, gripping the back of your heels so you could slip them off with ease. You’d probably never wear them again. 

You slowly began to clean up the mess, discarded packaging, boxes, and gift bags and placing them in the corner of your room near the door. You put everything away except for the drawing, which you couldn’t decide what to do with. Why was it such a big deal to you, anyway? You hardly spoke to Steve anymore and if you did, it was during pre- and post-mission briefings. Maybe that’s why it made you feel so strange. it didn’t feel right, such a personal, intimate gift after how far the two of you had drifted apart. 

He hadn’t asked you about Netflix in four months and you hadn’t offered your expertise on which shows and movies were the best. You didn’t bring him coffee anymore but instead, he made his own, never leaving enough in the pot for you to make a cup as well. The message he sent you was loud and clear and in return, you were an open book. 

He’d grumble when a stranger was seated at the breakfast table on Sundays courtesy of your hospitality, avert his eyes when they tried to kiss you openly (which you refused). The pang in his chest would hit him when he saw Ubers out front whose engines were running to carry you to your dates in high-end restaurants and fancy bars. He wasn’t jealous, he kept telling himself. He was just worried about your safety when you disappeared into the night with strange men. Men that weren’t him, ironically. 

He should’ve seen you when you were right in front of him. When you were there, literally waiting for him to make a move on you, begging him with your mannerisms and your looks, your glances, and smiles even when his jokes weren’t funny. He knew damn well you would make an amazing couple, that you could take on the entire fucking world as a duo, but he was too scared to put it on the line, too scared of what might happen once the bad guys caught a whiff of your relationship. They’d already tried to destroy Bucky and Jesus Christ, they nearly succeeded. He couldn’t handle the thought of losing you to an organization like HYDRA, or worse. He never told you this. You had no idea. You were convinced he didn’t want you because of your flaws. Because of who you were. 

You got over it, shut out the thought of ever holding hands with Steve in public, the thoughts of ever feeling his lips softly pressing against your plump cheeks and his body weighing down on top of you while his voice vibrated against your ear and neck. You managed to forget about him, managed to exchange the memories and fantasies of him for diamond necklaces, silk blazers, and expensive shoes. You traded him in for strangers with big bank accounts driving nice cars wearing expensive suits. They managed to fill the void he created by pushing you away. 

So yeah, the gift bothered you. It was too nice, too sweet, so sweet you had to struggle to stay stoic when thanking him earlier. You literally had to stop yourself from smiling too big, from allowing tears of gratitude and happiness to completely ruin your make-up. if things had been different, you would have done those things. They weren’t. He didn’t want you and now he was being nice. It didn’t make sense. 

Just as you were about to change into a different outfit for the evening, your phone vibrated. You picked it up off your nightstand and opened it. It was a text message, but not from the guy who would be knocking on the front door in the coming hour.

I didn’t get a chance to personally wish you a happy birthday. Can we talk? -S

You gripped the device so hard you nearly crushed the screen. Six months ago, a message like this would’ve had you crying on your bathroom floor for four hours. Now, it just made you angry. So angry, that you picked your studded Louboutin off the floor and chucked it at the wall. The heel broke off against the concrete, but you didn’t notice. You weren’t going to wear them again anyway.  

Your fingers typed furiously, breathing coming out in shallow huffs. Images of the girls he’d brought back to Tony’s party’s flashed before your eyes while your fingers went faster than your brain could keep up with. 

Roof. Omw. 

Whether he understood the abbreviation ‘omw’ or not, you didn’t take the time to guess. You left your room without changing into the other dress or putting on new shoes. The elevator went up agonizingly slowly, but it was too late to go back and take the stairs. The buttons were pushed and the door closed. 

He was standing by the edge, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed over his chest. In contrast to you, he had changed his attire, leaving the light blue button-down he was wearing earlier for a plain white t-shirt and black sweatpants. He looked down at your feet, noticed how your polished toes were bare and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he caught the expression on your face. You weren’t surprised to find him there first. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d come up there running. Apparently, though, he did know what ‘omw’ meant.

“What the hell is this?” You asked, waving your phone in front of his face, “what do you think you’re doing?” 

“What do you mean?” He asked, voice wavering. 

“What do I mean? What...,” you snorted, “What do you mean?! The gift, the talking? We shouldn’t be here.” 

“But why?” He knew why but chose to ignore the sensical part of his brain that told him he shouldn’t be doing this.

You lifted your arms, a deep breath leaving you while you considered what to say. You wanted to come up with an excuse, tell him you were busy or that you’d lost sight of not just him, but the entire team, but fuck it, lying wouldn’t get you anywhere. It had never gotten you anywhere before.  

“Because I have to get over you.” 

He was silent, taking in your words. They stung, even though he already knew the truth they carried. 

“I couldn’t have you constantly hanging around me anymore. I couldn’t stand seeing those girls hanging off your arm at those stupid parties and I sure as hell didn’t want to hear how fun they were and how great and wonderful and how amazing, and-”

He stepped forward, gripping your arms. The sudden contact made blood rush to your head, making you nauseous and dizzy simultaneously. 

 “I spent so much time wondering why they were better than me,” you mumbled, “I still haven’t figured it out.” 

“They aren’t better than you,” he replied softly, “they don’t even compare to you.” 

You looked up, eyes large and glossy and so goddamn pretty with that champagne eyeshadow and winged liner and Steve thought he was going to lose his mind then and there.

“I had to let you go because I’m afraid,” he admitted, “terrified of what might happen if anyone tries to get to you because of me.” 

“Steve,” you tried, but couldn’t find words. 

All this time, you thought he didn’t like you. That he wasn’t interested in you, didn’t want anything from you but a friendship at most. You’d taught yourself to ignore your constant desire for him because it would never be reciprocated.

“When you distanced yourself from me, I knew I’d messed up, but it was too late. I’d dug a hole for myself and there was nothing I could do to get back out,” he snorted, “I needed those girls as a distraction, but none of them are as good as you.” 

He smiled sadly, taking your hands in his larger, calloused palms and began to rub circles on your knuckles. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I’ve been stupid and an ass and I don’t deserve to even be in the same room as you. I fucked up, Y/N.”

The skin on the back of his neck was soft when you clasped your fingers around it, muscles tensing up when you began to pull him down to meet you. Without heels on, you’d lost a significant amount of height on him, causing him to tower over you. On a hot day, he could be your personal parasol, shielding you from the sun with his entire body.

“Idiot,” you mumbled before his mouth found yours. 

He kissed you, hands gripping your waist out of fear that if he were to let go, he’d wake up in his bed alone. But it wasn’t a dream, he knew it because the soft feeling of your glossy lips against his own was unlike anything he’d ever felt. 

“Idiot,” you said again when you took a moment to breathe. 

“I am,” he kissed you again, the sweet taste of Chardonnay and that night’s dessert - creme brulee and vanilla ice cream - still lingering on your tongue, sending his senses in complete overdrive. 

“I don’t want to stay away from you anymore,” he said finally, “I’d never let anyone hurt you.” 

You smiled, heart ready to explode from the sudden burst of happiness you experienced for the first time in a long time. Maybe Wanda was right all along. 

“Steve, I can defend myself. You know that, right?” You mused.

“I’ll kill them if they try.” 

He captured your lips with his again. The scent of his cologne, oud, and pine, nearly caused your knees to buckle from under you. You didn’t even realize the goosebumps that lined your skin, or the fact that the date you were supposed to meet up with had already bailed on you. It didn’t matter, because you finally had Steve where you wanted him. It only took for the two of you to drift apart almost completely for you to realize that you could never truly get away from one another. 

You placed your head on top of his chest, allowing his body heat to warm you up in a hug that engulfed you. It was nice, the feeling of his chest rising and falling slowly while you watched the city’s skyline in the dark. The want for it had been suppressed for so long you almost forgot what it felt like. 

“Steve?” You asked, peeking up at him through false eyelashes and three layers of waterproof mascara. 

“Hmm?”

“Your gift was my favorite.”

Yeah, all of those bitches definitely weren’t better than you. 

[star-spangledstud]

Like You

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (Female) Reader.

Word Count: 2800-ish.

Summary: Steve has a really shitty way of saying goodbye. 

A/N: My friend sent me the prompt: “If I knew then what I know now.”. I decided to play around with it and then this happened. 

Warnings: Angst at its finest. Such brief mentions of sex you hardly notice them. Heartbreak. 

You didn’t understand why he didn’t come back to you like he was supposed to. 

It wasn’t like the two of you didn’t have a solid relationship. You complemented each other when you walked into the room, the perfect blend of two different people that had come together as one. You hardly argued, barely even disagreed on matters that concerned the both of you and you never got sick of each other’s company. You were complete, whole when you were with him and he was with you. 

You ate together, trained together, slept together in the same bed night after night. Even as the world burned after the big Snap, you stayed together, thankful every day for the fact that the both of you had made it out alive. You mourned the loss of friends together, tried to overcome the holes in your hearts together. It was an obstacle in the road that paved the way for your lives and you faced it together. When everyone was brought back, you couldn’t have been more grateful, because five years of learning how to rebuild everything had made the two of you stronger, more aware of how much you needed each other to survive. Most importantly, it made you aware of how all you needed to survive was each other. 

A power couple, that’s what they called you. Sun and moon, yin and yang. The perfect balance of work and play, of fun and professionalism. You kept each other moving, kept one another going with words of encouragement and wisdom, forced each other out of bed after half the world had literally vanished in the blink of an eye. It hadn’t been easy, but you expected the strain on your relationship to have been much worse. You got off easy compared to many other people. 

When the two of you first caught wind of the possibility to bring everybody back, of course, you jumped on the bandwagon. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to see your best friends again, for things to go back to the way they were. You knew it would be hard because people had moved on, started new relationships, new careers and had moved house, but you had faith that humanity could overcome it.

You still got chills when you thought of the orange portals that signaled everyone’s return. The distant memory of seeing the people you thought you’d never see again in the flesh for the first time in five years still brought prickly tears to the corners of your eyes, as did the knowledge that Natasha and Tony had given their lives to make it happen. They sacrificed their lives so you could have yours.

You hardly had time to notice the sudden change in Steve’s behavior. You were so busy trying to reintegrate half the population into the current day, that the two of you spent less and less time together. You were in charge of bringing back the positions of SHIELD agents that had vanished and offered your help to them both professionally as well as privately. Some of them had lost their families because they’d moved on and it was very hard on them to realize that five years of life had simply passed them by. 

Steve had been talking about retirement for years. You knew he wanted to finally lay down the shield once and for all and the two of you had been talking about it more and more as time progressed. Finally, he decided to bring the team back to its former glory, to rebuild the facility and to find new possible recruits, before he’d finally call it quits forever. 

Before that could be done, the Infinity Stones had to be returned to their respective timelines. Of course, he was the one to suggest to do it. You’d honestly be surprised if he didn’t offer to do it himself. You told him it was okay because you trusted him and trusted his judgment and if he felt like he could complete the mission successfully, you would stand behind him and support him because that’s what good girlfriends did. 

You remembered the way he gently kissed you before stepping onto that godforsaken platform all too well, the way his hand caressed the side of your face and hair, the squeeze in your shoulder. It was a kiss unlike any of the ones you’d ever shared before, not even the ones he gave you after Tony’s funeral, filled with grief, sadness and need. No, this one was different. You didn’t know it at the time, but you did know it when looking back. 

He was telling you goodbye.

“No,” you cried, “no, no, no!” 

Your arms and legs flailed miserably, chest heaving rapidly up and down in irregular motions. Bucky cringed with how horribly upset and distraught you were, unsure of what the hell he should do about you crying beneath him.

He was sitting on the edge of your bed, rubbing your back in soft, circular motions while you hugged your pillow tight to your chest. Your face was red, tip of your nose glowing and your cheeks were so puffy you looked almost like a clown. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t think words could suffice or make you feel any better. He was probably right. 

“Why?” You choked out, “Why did he leave me?” 

You could hardly breathe without Steve. 

Bucky could hardly understand what you were saying. Every word came out in hiccups, forced to the surface by the tension in your lungs and contracting chest. For a long moment, you stopped breathing. Bucky panicked immediately. His pulse quickened and grip on you tightened. Then, you took a deep, panicked breath of air with a high pitched cry.

All you could think of was Steve, how he glanced at you from his spot in the dead center of the platform. How his lips tightened into a sad line, how his brow creased and his eyes closed just before he disappeared on you forever. You should have fucking known, but how could you? He was everything you ever wanted and you thought you were the same to him. He never even gave you the indication that he was unhappy, that he didn’t love you. That he was going to leave you for her. 

“Shh,” Bucky cooed, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sam showed up at the door, which stood slightly ajar. His head peaked in, eyes following your heaving body and Bucky’s slouched form before resting on his face. Bucky shook his head. Sam quietly left. There was nothing he could do to ease the pain one of his best friends had caused you.

“Get some sleep,” he told you quietly after your sobs had silenced.

“Don’t leave me,” you managed to whimper, grabbing hold of his flesh arm and pulling it down with you.

You needed human contact, couldn’t stand the thought of being alone after being left by the love of your life.  

“Of course,” he replied, biting the inside of his cheek, “I’m not going anywhere, sugar.” 

You slept with Bucky by your side that night, still dressed in the clothes you’d put on while Steve was still lounging in bed that morning. The make-up you’d put on while Steve was in the shower had mostly come off on your sheets and on Bucky’s left shoulder. You clutched his shirt while you dreamt of Steve in short bursts, the desperate need for comfort so dire that you refused to let the man leave when he tried. He was angry too, angry with his best friend for putting the woman he loved so much through such pain. 

You cried as soon as you woke up the next morning, hand sore from fisting Bucky’s shirt all night. Your head hurt terribly, a pressure had built up behind your eyes overnight and it worsened as the day continued. Bucky eventually managed to leave you alone so he could get changed and talked to Steve, who was now an old man instead of the man who’d taken you to Paris on your first anniversary. 

You became indifferent to the saying ‘time heals all wounds’, because it no matter how many days passed you by, it never seized to hurt. Every little thing that reminded you of Steve would send you in a downward spiral. People recognizing you on the street for once being the most beloved Avenger began to walk around you with a wide arch because even they could tell something was terribly wrong with you. Soon enough, they all knew what had happened.

You hardly slept, because images of Steve dancing with Peggy haunted you all night long. Images of him, telling you he’d chosen her instead of you would flood your mind, along with pictures of the two of you when you were happy. You began to question it, all of it and wondered often what would’ve happened if you had been the one to join Tony on his journey back to the 70s instead of him. You wondered if he’d still be here, sleeping soundly next to you with his arms engulfing you in warmth. Now, there was only cold. 

You didn’t have the energy to be productive anymore. Life without Steve was no life and the void of his existence had taken away the importance of everyday tasks for you. Literally, everything you came in contact with reminded you of him, from the cereal you used to eat together to the movies you would watch. You couldn’t go to your favorite coffee place anymore, because that’s where you went to get his morning cup on the weekends. You couldn’t even stand to look your fellow teammates in the eye. They’d become afraid to be around you, walking on eggshells when you ventured out of the depths of your room for food because they were scared of saying the wrong thing. It happened once when Bruce made a comment towards Sam’s shield. His shield. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said as he watched Bucky carry you back to your room, “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault,” Wanda assured him, “She’s in a lot of pain right now. It could’ve been any of us.”

“Can’t we do something?” Sam asked, hands on his head. 

Wanda shook her head, “We can support her, but she needs time to heal.”

You never knew heartbreak could cause physical pain, but the constant strain on your heart was exhausting. You went through entire boxes of Ibuprofen to ease the constantly looming headaches, but they did very little to ease the dull throbbing of the back of your head. Your eyes were red constantly and your skin didn’t glow anymore. Everything had dulled like Steve had taken your life light with him back to the past, engulfing you in complete darkness.

You’d never find someone like him again because nobody compared to him. 

You often reminisced the good times you experienced with him by your side. The fun you had while sparring in the gym room, climbing on his back as he tried to push you to the floor. You thought back to the many dates you had, fancy candlelit dinners inside of expensive restaurants that involved your favorite flowers at the beginning of the night and passionate sex at the end. You remembered holidays, Tony’s extravagant parties that were mostly just you and him eye-fucking each other in fancy clothing with champagne on your breaths until it was late enough for you to bail so you could fuck for real. 

It was holding his hand, kissing him hard and long on his beautiful mouth before he had to leave for missions that sometimes lasted far too long for both your liking. Placing fingers on his thigh while he was driving and toying with the soft fabric of his jeans higher and higher until he couldn’t take it anymore. It was walking on the beach early enough to see the sunrise and long drives back on the back of his motorcycle, safely hidden away from the world behind tinted helmets.

Now, there was nothing. No hand-holding, no joking around, no fucking each other in the storage closet because you couldn’t wait to get back to your room on the top floor. Nothing but emptiness, cold and dreadful and tiring like a weighted blanket made of snow that refused to thaw under your own body temperature. 

Even when you finally decided to become more active again did the emptiness not leave you. It followed you around like a ghost, always lingering in every corner of every room you entered. Bucky felt sympathy for you, but even he couldn’t help you. You had to pull yourself from the depths of the ocean by yourself, had to swim back to the surface without a life vest or oxygen tank strapped to your back and you constantly felt like you were going to drown. Maybe you already had and this was your purgatory. 

You couldn’t help but regret it sometimes. Getting together with him. It was when that looming darkness engulfed you that you allowed yourself to regret ever getting to meet him. You’d lay in bed at night and pray to the Gods to turn back time just once, allow yourself to make the choice that would’ve prevented you from getting to learn who Steve Rogers was because that choice ultimately led you to fall in love with him.  If only you knew then what you knew now.

You sat by the fireplace alone now, staring at the smoldering embers and the flames that licked slowly burning wood. You watched the trees move in the wind by yourself now, watched the rain drip against the window panes with your knees pulled up to your chest. How could loving Steve Rogers hurt so fucking bad?

“How you holding up, kiddo?” Bucky asked, taking a seat beside you on the couch that directly faced the window. 

“I’m alright,” you responded, voice raspy and dry. 

He offered you a glass of water, which you took gladly. At least someone cared about you despite your efforts to push everyone away.

“I talked to him this morning,” he said finally, “he misses you, I think. Might even regret his decision to leave.” 

Your eyes flicker to Bucky, then fall back on the fireplace, “I miss him too.”

“He asked how you were doing,” he said carefully.

“What did you say?”

Bucky exhaled, “I didn’t lie.”

A comfortable silence fell over you, allowing you to listen to the crackling of the fire and Bucky’s breathing beside you. Sometimes, no words needed to be said for them to be exchanged. You toyed with the shaggy blanket over your lap, twirling the fabric between your fingers. 

“I don’t think he has a lot of time left.” 

You scooted closer to him, allowing your head to rest on top of his torso. He patted your head and drew circles in your hair while you rested your eyes for a moment. You hardly slept the night before and were beginning to feel drowsy. You started napping frequently, finding sleep wherever and whenever you could because your bed was too empty and too large at night. 

“Will you come with me?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I will,” he said, nodding although you couldn’t see it, “I’ll come with you.”

“When?” 

Bucky’s shoulders rose, “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll make time.” 

Maybe you should’ve known that he’d go back to her if the opportunity arose. You’d heard stories, of course, Bucky had told you enough. Steve didn’t talk about her much, except for after her funeral, which he attended alone without telling you. You should’ve known it then with how messed up he was after her death. Should have known that he’d never been able to really get over her. You couldn’t even really blame him, either. She’d been ripped from him when he went into the ice and was already on her deathbed by the time he woke up. For her, a lifetime had gone by. To him, it felt like seconds. It’s how Bucky must’ve felt when he came back after the Snap.

Sitting with him on the couch, you weren’t sure if you would’ve changed things. You had a lot of good times with Steve, they largely overshadowed the bad. He’d made you a stronger person, made you appreciate your talents and weaknesses for what they were and he never made you feel less than your worth. He was a good man, you knew it deep down, but accepting that you might not have been good enough for him was a wound that would never heal, not even as you took your last breath.

Still, a small shimmer of hope began to grow somewhere deep within your chest like a seed had been planted. Laying with Bucky in silence, watching the rain pitter-patter against the window, made you think one thought before sleep engulfed you properly for the first time in months.

Maybe things were the way they were meant to be. 

[star-spangledstud]

MASTERLIST

** = smut (18+!)

STEVE ROGERS:

IMAGINES:

1. PARADISE (Fluff) - The Avengers enjoy a hard-earned vacation.

2. BETTER THAN ME (1)  (2) (angst, fluff)  

(1) Steve seems to see every woman except for you.

(2)  You really are better than them.

3. ROAD TRIP (fluff) - You take the boys on a road trip. Steve has a big surprise.

4. LIKE YOU (angst) - Steve has a really shitty way of saying goodbye. 

5. DIAMONDS** (+18) - You know exactly how to push Steve’s buttons. 

6. TAKE CARE OF ME** (+18) - You want to take care of Steve for once. 

7. TWISTER** (+18) -  Your attempt to cool off on a hot day only leads to more heat.

8. SELF-DEFENSE** (+18) - Steve teaches you how to defend yourself when he’s away on missions.

SERIES:

1. MIND GAMES - He’s trying to figure out who you are. You’re trying to figure out why you can’t read his mind. 

BUCKY BARNES:

IMAGINES:

1. WEBCAM** (+18) - You and Bucky try something you’ve never tried before.

2. A DEADLY GIFT** (+18) - You and Bucky play your yearly game of hide and seek.

3. SUITS** (+18) - You really love it when Bucky wears suits. 

4. STRANGER - You don’t know his name, but you know him.

SERIES: 

1. THE CURE KEEPER

PETER PARKER:

1. SAVE THE DAY -  Peter Parker wants to quit being Spider-Man, but the reader needs saving.

FRANK CASTLE:

1. ALL THAT MATTERS - All you want is for Frank to realize how much he means to you. 

[star-spangledstud]

ROAD TRIP

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (female!) reader

Summary: You take the boys on a road trip. Steve has a big surprise.

Warning(s): fluff, an overload of sappy goodness and a snoring Bucky. 

Word count: 3700-ish. 

Just as the sun reaches its peak and the wind sends humid blasts of air through the air-conditioning system, Steve glances in his rear-view mirror for the fifth time in three hours. From a distance, he can barely make out the car that trails behind him along the highway. The shiny black vehicle behind his is surrounded in a cloud of sand much similar to the one that follows his own car, and slightly obscures his view. 

Even though he can hardly make out more than the outline of Sam’s car, his eyes are perfectly capable of inspecting and basking in the glorious view ahead of him. For hours it’s been nothing but sandy panes and distant canyons stretched across the horizon along the mostly deserted highway. It’s an incredible contrast to the busy streets of Brooklyn he’s so used to seeing and for the first time in months, he finds himself able to relax without having to think about missions and lurking alien threats.

He knows it was your idea to take the cross-country road trip with just the four of you, and the only reason why he even agreed to tag along in the first place was exactly that. Steve doesn’t think of himself as a particularly good driver, but with the roads mostly deserted and his best friend right beside him, he feels mostly chilled out, excited even, and he’s glad he came, because the scenery would have been lost on him if he hadn’t.

Speaking of best friends, Bucky is snoring so loud in the passenger’s seat his voice almost completely overtakes the sound of the mellow tones of Mac Demarco’s voice on the radio. Bucky has been fast asleep all morning, and even with the sun shining directly through the halfway opened window and onto his face, he looks extremely peaceful. A tad uncomfortable perhaps in his current position but peaceful, nonetheless. To this day, seeing his best friend content brings a feeling of happiness to Steve’s insides that he can’t quite put his finger on. It brings him a sense of relief that he’d been searching for years.

Even though Steve can barely hear the radio, he does hear the honking coming from behind him seconds after passing by an exit sign. He quickly glances in the mirror again and is immediately greeted with flashing headlights that shine bright, white light into his eyes. He signals back by flashing his taillights a few times in a row, and contemplates whether he should wake Bucky up now or let him sleep until they get off the road, but decides not to wake him until he pulls off the highway into a mostly abandoned parking lot that overlooks a field of cacti and dried grass blinking in the sun.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Steve says with a cheeky smile while he nudges him gently, “bathroom break.”

Bucky groans and extends his arms above his head, his eyes falling on the gas station in front of the car. He watches an elderly gentleman entering the gas station wearing a cowboy hat and leather boots and rolls his eyes while he opens his door.

He steps out of the car and makes a straight line for the bathrooms, leaving Steve standing with his arm leaning against the burning rooftop of the shiny black vehicle as he waits for you and Sam. Apparently, Bucky is not a morning person, even though it’s technically already way past noon, and hopes his friend gets a coffee before getting back in the car.

Steve smiles brightly when you exit the passenger side, and his smile grows even bigger when you offer him a wave after stretching out your limbs. Sam locks the car and follows you over to where Steve is standing, the two of your engrossed in a discussion about which flavor of Ben & Jerry’s tastes better. Both of your sandal-clad feet drag across the sandy road, gravel rolling beneath your toes and bouncing off into the sea of sand like flying fish while you’re busy trying to convince Sam Chunky Monkey is an awful first choice. Cookie dough is clearly the best flavor.

“Pee break,” you explain when you fall in line with Steve’s step, “Where’s Buck?”

“Pee break. He beat you to the punch,” Steve says, grinning as he watches you enter the shade.

“She had four bottles of water,” Sam explains when you walk ahead of the guys, “your girl is thirsty as hell, my friend.”

He pulls down his sunglasses and winks at Steve, but Steve doesn’t reply. He punches his friend in the arm instead and begins to follow after you as he raises his middle finger in Sam’s general direction. 

He waits for you to finish going to the bathroom by the snack isle, and proceeds to watch you in amusement as you pick out two bags of sour candy and a bag of salt and vinegar chips from the spinning rack. Sam and Bucky are outside pumping gas while the two of you scour the isles of the gas station, picking up bottles of cold water, a watermelon Slurpee for you and more snacks along the way.

Steve takes in your appearance when you take a stand next to him in line. Your skin is glowing, highlighted cheekbones flashing brightly in his direction when you turn your head the other way. The Slurpee you’re sipping on tints your lips a soft shade of red, and your eyes sparkle when you meet his longing gaze.

“You tired of driving yet?” you ask as the two of you get in line for check out.

Steve drapes a heavy, glistening arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head. His lips, soft and warm against your skin, still give you goosebumps every time they come in contact with you.

“I wanna ride with you next,” you mumble when he kisses your lips, batting your lashes at him in a way you know he can’t resist. 

It was your idea to ride with Sam in the first place, claiming you wanted to get to know him better while simultaneously allowing Steve and Bucky some quality best friend time. Of course you didn’t know Bucky would be out like a light the entire drive, and you secretly missed the company of your boyfriend already. You couldn’t be happier when he agreed to take the trip with you, and so far it’s exceeded all your expectations and then some. Hell, even Bucky looks like he’s enjoying himself.

“How long before we get to the motel?” He asks when you place everything in your arms on the counter.

“Three hours or so,” you say after greeting the cashier, “there’s a diner on the same street where we can eat.” 

“Hmm,” he kisses your cheek and whips out his credit card before you find yours in your cross-body bag, “my girl’s done her research.” 

“Of course,” you beam when the cashier hands you the bags, “it was my idea after all.” 

Sam gladly trades you for Bucky. According to him, the Ben & Jerry’s discussion brought a cliff between your relationship that can’t possibly be fixed, and he needs time away from you to think about the future of your companionship. You laugh and flip him off as you gather your belongings from the backseat of his car, and skip happily to Steve, who’s leaning against the trunk while he waits for you.

“Forgot my sunglasses,” you say between pecks, “I’ll go get them real quick.” 

But he grabs a hold of your arm before you can turn around and from his back pocket appears a pair of black Ray-Bans. He gently pushes them onto your nose, and ten minutes later, the four of you are back on the road. 

The motel you booked earlier that morning - talk about last minute - is located in an old mining town on the edge of the desert. From the window of the room you share with Steve, you can see the bright neon sign flashing against a background of tumbleweeds and cacti illuminated by the undergoing sun. You plop down onto the king bed, hand rubbing your stomach after the heavy meal the four of you just shared while Steve grabs your overnight bags from the trunk of the car. 

“Come here,” you whine with outstretched grabby hands when he finally shuts the door behind him.

He chuckles, but follows your command, getting on the bed until he’s hovering over your body, warm breath scented like vanilla milkshake fanning across your face.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, “for coming with me.” 

“Of course,” he says, “I wanted to come and so did the guys. You reminded us how important it is to take time off, even with our jobs.” 

You were terrified of the thought of dating an Avenger when you first met Steve in your local coffee shop in Brooklyn. You’d seen them on the news plenty of times of course, but had never come face to face with one of the mighty heroes until then. The two of you hit it off right away, and it didn’t take him very long to ask you to be his girlfriend. You remember the day like it was yesterday, and remember even more vividly how scared you were before meeting the rest of the team for the first time. 

It was your idea to take the road trip, because you wanted to get closer to the people who Steve trusted with his life. You liked all of them and wanted everyone to come along, but sadly not everyone on the team could get vacation time simultaneously, so instead of bringing the whole gang along, it was just the four of you. You’d been driving for two days straight now, and so far everything had gone smoothly. 

You’ve grown to love Sam, because the two of you can just bicker about absolutely nothing for hours on end, and you share the same dry, sarcastic humor. Bucky was harder to read in the beginning, but after seeing you and Steve together, he’s grown to love you like a sister, and you him like a brother just the same. 

“I know how much you love your job,” you say, “I just don’t want you to think I’m trying to rip you away from it.” 

He shakes his head, “of course not, baby. Like I said, I wanted to come. I enjoy spending time with you, and I can’t wait to spend two weeks with you and my best friends in a cabin by a beautiful lake.” 

“I hope you know I’m going to push you in the water,” you smile. 

“Baby,” he snorts, “do you really think you can move me even an inch? I’m the mighty Captain America.” 

“You may be Captain America, but I’ll catch you off guard and have you soaked in no-time.” 

He kisses you deeply, savoring the sweet taste of your cherry Chap-stick and the scent of your vanilla body splash. Then, he gets up from the bed, taking your arms and pulling you up with him. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, frowning when he slips on his sneakers. 

“We’re going for a walk,” he explains, “come on.” 

You follow him outside, enjoying the lingering heat on your bare arms when the two of you walk around the premises of the motel. He grabs your hand and holds it, thumb rubbing gentle circles over your skin that leave you feeling warm from the inside as well. The two of you are silent when you walk, the only sound audible being the gravel beneath your feet and the occasional car driving along the road behind you.

An hour later, you return to your room and within minutes of your heads hitting the pillows, both of you are knocked out cold.

The cabin you rented for two weeks is even more beautiful in person than in the pictures you found of it online. It’s the perfect mixture of modernistic architecture with classic log cabin vibes, which are created by the wooden log exterior and glass panels that give a perfect living room view out onto the glistening lake. Inside, the interior is eclectic, futuristic furniture with deer heads mounted to the walls. You and Steve share the master bedroom upstairs, while Bucky and Sam each have their own room on the ground floor. There’s a fireplace in the living space that is connected to the kitchen, which you immediately begin to fill with the groceries you picked up shortly before your arrival. 

Remembering you have to feed three hungry men who eat like bears, you immediately start dinner while the three of them explore the surrounding area. Sam is particularly excited about renting a boat, and you’re not opposed to spending some time out on the water yourself. You decide to make something simple, pasta Alfredo, and make sure to place a handful of beers in the freezer to chill while you cook. Steve and Bucky may not be able to get drunk, but they can still enjoy a cold one. 

After dinner, Bucky and Sam disappear again for another walk with just the two of them, and when you voice your concerns regarding them getting lost in the woods, they - including Steve - have no trouble reminding you of their Avenger status. You’re embarrassed for a moment, until Steve kisses your cheek and the guys apologize to you. The grins never leave their faces, though. 

“Those two are awfully happy to spend time together,” you mention while washing the dishes, “I feel a bromance blossoming right before us.” 

“I’ll pretend to know what a bromance is and agree with you,” Steve places a dried plate back inside the cabinet, “I love you.” 

You smile, cheeks heating when he squeezes your side with his fingers before kissing you softly on the lips. You marvel at him, amazed with how much of a perfect boyfriend he is, and kiss him twice more before the sound of running water brings you back down from the cloud you’re doing cartwheels on. 

“I like your dress,” he says, “it’s very pretty.”

“Of course you like it,” you state, “I wore it for you.” 

Steve drops the towel in his hands onto the counter and moved behind you. He pushes you hair to the side and his lips ghost over the bare skin of you neck, fingers playing teasingly with the spaghetti straps of your pastel pink summer dress. 

“Did you, now?” He whispers in your ear, hands caressing your bare shoulders and upper arms in a slow manner. 

You hum in response and shudder when he kisses your neck, softly sucking and biting on the exposed skin. The way he manages to instantly find just the spot you like does something funny to your heart rate and breathing every time, and just as you’re about to order him into your bedroom, the front door opens, and two laughing men stumble inside. 

Steve groans from the loss of contact, but steps away from you nonetheless, and he follows the sound of laughter into the living room while you finish doing the dishes alone. Tomorrow the two of them can do it, you think in annoyance. This is your vacation too, after all, and the person who cooks is never the one who cleans. 

Just before you enter the living room, the three men are speaking in hushed tones. You can’t make out what they’re saying, but the conversation falls silent the second you walk in and the atmosphere feels tense. You want to say something about the newfound silence, but swallow your words when Steve speaks first.

“Wanna go for a walk?” Steve asks with a twinkle in his eye when he spots you, and you nod hesitantly, eyes scanning the guys’ faces.

Your feet graze the beautiful old rug, and you lean against the bookshelf that’s stuffed with encyclopedias and classic board games like Monopoly, scrabble and Clue. There’s a painting above the door you only just noticed. It’s a replica of The Allegory of Painting by Vermeer.

“Something wrong?” You ask, afraid of work-related issues rising during your first night at the lake, but Steve waves them away when motions for you to join him after ordering the guys to finish cleaning up the kitchen space. 

it’s warm outside when you step onto the wooden porch, and the sound of fireflies and lizards hidden from view creates a smile on your face. It’s extremely peaceful and quiet, just what the guys need; an idyllic getaway from their jam packed schedules as Avengers and the fast-paced New York City lifestyle. It’s nice to see Steve this relaxed, you think when you take his hand, and you follow him down the trail that leads around the lake.

This is the Steve you fell in love with nearly two years ago now. You loved him, every part of him, but you had to admit you preferred casual Steve over his alternative persona. With you, he could be his authentic self. No fronts, no righteous facade, just Steve, with flaws and imperfections and questions about life in the 21st century that he only dared to ask you because you’d never laugh at him for not knowing how to work induction plates and FaceTime.

“This place is incredible,” he says when turning back to look at the slowly disappearing cabin. 

It is. It’s better than any of the places either of you have stayed at since you started dating. Hell, it even beats Tony’s penthouse suite and the mansion he owns in the south of Greece. He let you two stay there for your one-year anniversary. You smile when thinking back on that time. 

Usually, you wouldn’t even dream of walking around outside late at night, but you’ve never felt safer with Steve’s hand clasped tightly in yours. You want him here, and the look in his eyes he gives you every time he tries to secretly glance at you lets you know he wants to be here just as bad. Exactly that is what makes your relationship work; it’s a companionship just as much as it is a friendship. 

It’s nearly impossible for you to imagine him on the job when he’s strolling alongside you on the trail illuminated by the light of the moon, nearly impossible to imagine the brute force he’s accustomed to using on a daily basis. Steve’s not a violent man by nature, but his willpower to win a fair fight and keep the world safe from inner- and outer-worldly threats require him to use his power and strength all the time. You know it’s a part of him and it most likely always will be and you’ve accepted it, but still, having a super hero boyfriend brings baggage you only have time to think about when you’re spending quality time with him. It’s during those times that you realize how busy he actually is, and even though you don’t blame him for it, it still saddens you. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks, watching you bite your lip in thought. 

You smile at him, “I’m just very happy you came.” 

“Honey,” he presses, “I already told you I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” 

“I know,” you reply, “but I also know your job is your life, and I can’t help but feel as if I’m trying to take you away from it.” 

He takes your face in his hands and bends down until his eyes meet yours, “Don’t ever say that again, you hear me? I mean it. I. Want. To. Spend. Time. With you. Too much work isn’t healthy, and I need you to tell me to stop when I go too far.” 

The two of you continue walking further along the trail, until finally, you pass between a group of tall trees. 

Your jaw drops when you reach the clearing, tears pricking the corners of your eyes when you look at what’s in front of you. A dozen torches, spread around the clearing in the shape of a heart light up the entire area. In the center, a blanket and two fluffy pillows are spread out across the grass. Beside it is a picnic basket, filled to the brim with fruits, snacks, and a bottle of expensive wine. 

“What is this?” You ask when Steve leads you closer to the blanket, “Steve! Did you put Sam and Bucky up to this?”

You walk closer towards the scene, face glowing in the orange flames, “this is amazing!” 

“Y/N,” he says, pulling on your wrist to catch your attention, “I love you, baby.” 

You look back at him just in time to see him falling to one knee, and when he shoves his hand into his back pocket to retrieve a blue velvet box, your vision blurs until you’re rapidly blinking to keep the tears at bay. 

“I’ve loved you from the first moment I met you,” he says, “you keep me grounded when my head is too far up in the clouds. You make me want to be a better man every day. You shine brighter than any light in New York City, and I want that shine to be for me, and me alone. I want you to take my name, Y/N. I’m not worthy of you, but I promise you I’ll do my best every day to try. Please let me try.” 

You’re crying, ugly crying now, and you don’t even realize you’re shaking your head until he finally speaks the words you’re dying to hear spill from his heart-shaped lips, “Marry me, baby.” 

“Yes,” you manage between cries, “of course I will!” 

The diamonds sparkle around your finger when he slips it on, and you’re hanging onto his neck for dear life the second he lets go of your hand.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he mumbles into your hair, “love you so much.” 

“I love you too Steve,” you sniffle. 

Yeah, this really is the nicest place the two of you have ever been. 

[star-spangledstud]

The Cure Keeper - One

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (female!)reader

Summary: Bucky doesn’t quite know how the microwave works. Thankfully, you’re there to help him out. 

Word count: 2300-ish.

Warnings: none 

A/N: There he is! Tags are open ;) hmu!

Avengers Tower, New York City, USA. 12 May 2018, 1:55 AM. 

You don’t remember how long you’ve been reading Shakespeare for when your stomach violently spasms for the third time in less than five minutes. You chose to ignore the growls before, but when the sound is so loud you’re almost sure it can be heard from the floor above, you finally allow your eyes to stray from the beautifully written words. You hear raindrops, thick and translucent as they fall against the windows when your stomach finally settles down, and you hope the weather clears up again tomorrow. 

You’re thirsty, the kind of thirst that brings a headache with it if you choose to ignore it long enough. The kind headache that includes pain that leaves a lingering throb behind your eyes, as if someone is pushing against the sockets with their fingers and pinching the nerves with the tips. It’s the kind of headache that sneaks up on you and gets progressively worse as the day continues, only to be relieved under a hot shower or by sleeping it off.

The clock’s illuminated letters worry you because you’ve been at it for far longer than you know is good for you. It’s the rain, you think. It does something to your emotions you can’t quite understand, never have. It causes melancholy to settle deep within your bones, causes you to want nothing but to curl in bed with blankets over your head. That’s why you hope it clears up tomorrow. You prefer the heat of the sun and the rays that warm you from the inside. It’s pleasant, harsh yet gentle, and less constricting than rain. 

You get up finally, shoving the covers to the side before slipping out of bed. The floor is chilly, but you don’t bother to locate the fluffy slippers Bruce gave you for Christmas. You take the book with you, yawning when your eyes locate where you last left off. 

You’re not surprised to find him in the kitchen at this hour, fiddling with the buttons on the microwave like he’s never used one before. Perhaps, you think, he hasn’t. Usually, he gets somebody else to do the heating and defrosting for him, but everyone is gone now except for you and Bruce, and God knows where on earth Bruce is. He only shows his face when he’s sick of staring at computer screens and stacks of notes, and he doesn’t get sick of working very quickly, so both of you doubt you’ll see him pop up any time soon.

You know Bucky hasn’t heard you come in, because he doesn’t make a move to let you know he’s aware of your presence. The muscles on the side of his neck are tense and his jaw is clenched and for a small moment, you fear he’s going to break the device off its hinges and toss it across the kitchen in a fit of rage.

The window is cracked open just a bit. It lets in the bitter New York breeze, making you shiver when you remember what you’re wearing. In your defense, it was sunny when you put it on. Granted, that was nearly 16 hours ago, but still. Your hair brushes against the side of your face when you cross the wind’s path and it amuses you to know he still has no clue you’re this close to him. For a deadly assassin, he sure is oblivious. 

Bucky doesn’t notice you when you walk into the common kitchen, not because he’s so engrossed in trying to figure out how to work the microwave for a bag of popcorn, but because you’re extremely silent, even to a guy with heightened hearing.

Book in hand, carefully flipping the pages every once in a while, you’re sitting at the dining table before he even realizes you’re there and his heart skips at least three beats when he finally does. It isn’t the first time that you manage to sneak up on the man with enhanced senses, because you seemed to almost float through the halls of the compound like a little fucking fairy, and while he curses quietly to himself, Bucky recognizes it won’t be the last. 

Speaking of fairies, you look like one too, with strands of hair flowing behind you when you skip happily through the building on days where infinite rays of sunshine illuminate it from all angles. You don’t skip on rainy days, but even then, it’s almost hard for him to imagine your feet are touching the ground you walk on.

He’s stunned completely in place, partially because you managed to get so close to him without drawing his attention from the flickering microwave that’s not behind him, but mostly because you seem to pay him no mind like he’s nothing but a ghost to you. Big and bright doe eyes are on the book, frantically scanning the lines from left to right and he knows you’re getting to a good part because your breath hitches just before you turn the next page.

He’s never been a reader himself, Bucky prefers to watch pictures on the television over words written on paper. You seem to feel the opposite.

Bucky doesn’t want to interrupt whatever’s happening inside your head, your imagination no-doubt fully playing out whatever’s written inside the book scene by scene. It’s a different one from the one you were reading yesterday, that one undoubtedly already finished and placed neatly at the top of your bookcase, which took up the entirety of one of your bedroom walls. He can tell from the cover, which shows the picture of two kissing people, as opposed to the plain purple covered book you held to your chest the day before. 

You’re a complete mystery to him.

He’s never seen you in action, nor does he have any idea what you’re capable of other than to look angelic in the kitchen at this ungodly hour and to creep up on people. Oh, and you can read fast. He figured out that when Tony brought in a stack of books for your last birthday and you finished them in less than a week. He thinks he saw you at the gym once, but you were leaving just as he came in and the earbuds in your ear obstructed you from hearing his greeting. He hasn’t seen you down there since. 

He’s tried to ask Steve once, three months after becoming a permanent part of the team, but Steve was busy filing very classified and highly important paperwork at the time and the conversation hasn’t resurfaced, not even four months later, when he has done countless missions since then, all without you. He doesn’t want to pry, but his curiosity gets the better of him every time he catches you laughing with Peter over some 21st century inside joke he doesn’t understand. He still hasn’t figured out pop culture references, to his dismay.

The itch to say something is right below his skin, but he’s too mesmerized by the sight of your bare feet crossed over the top of the table, summer dress rose high enough to show your thighs while you’re balancing the chair on two legs. It’s dangerous, it could fall backward and you could slam your head onto the concrete, but you’re doing it so effortlessly he tries not to think about it. Besides, what would he even say to you that would make you stop? He hardly knows you. You probably don’t like him. A lot of people don’t like the Winter Soldier, even though he’s not under mind control anymore. The metal arm is enough to have people cowering away in fear. You, however, Bucky can’t imagine anyone being afraid of you. 

Instead of commenting on you potentially cracking open your skull, he swallows the words that burn on his tongue and turns back to the microwave, one hand on his hip in frustration and the other on the buttons. The shrill sound of irregular beeps brings you from your book at last, and an amused expression falls upon your soft features when you take in the scene before your eyes. You set the novel upside down as to not lose the correct page and take in the sight of Bucky’s disheveled appearance for the first time since entering the kitchen. 

He’s wearing green sweatpants and a black figure-hugging t-shirt, feet clad in fluffy black socks with anti-slip on the soles so he doesn’t go sliding around the compound at 2 in the morning. His hair is tied in a low bun, but you can tell he’s been messing with it because strands are beginning to fall from the hair tie down the nape of his neck and his ears.

“Need any help with that?” You ask him, voice soft-spoken and quiet as if you’re afraid to wake anyone even though nobody besides the two of you is currently sleeping on this floor. 

Just this morning, a Quinjet full of agents left the compound, leaving only you, Bucky and Bruce behind, and Bucky’s pretty sure Bruce sleeps in his lab. He doesn’t mind, because he’s sick of people hearing him shouting in his bed at night, haunted by the nightmares filled with images of horrendous acts he committed against innocent people. He knows you’ve heard him because your room is next door to his, but you’ve never said anything about it. He’s grateful for it. 

Bucky jumps, once again not having heard you sneak upon him, and turns his torso slightly sideways so he can look down on you. Because he’s well over a foot taller than you and at least twice as broad. You have dimples even when you don’t smile that seemed to have permanently etched themselves on both sides of your cheeks and tiny freckles that you don’t care to hide with layers of make-up cover your nose and forehead. You’re young, much younger than his 101-year-old self, but he can’t tell exactly how young. 23, he guesses, but what does he know?

“Hello?” You wave your hands in front of his face and he suddenly realizes he’s been staring at you from behind glassy eyes, “earth to James. You need a hand or what?” 

James. You’re the only one who calls him that. Nobody calls him James, not even the people that enjoy pushing his buttons. It’s always Bucky, Buck, Barnes, or whatever dumb nickname Tony manages to pull out of his ass at any given time, but never James. He likes it, even though he’s not sure whether he does because it’s a breath of fresh air to hear his first name among a sea of nicknames, or because it’s you who’s saying it. It sounds pure and normal like it doesn’t belong to him, but you’re addressing him alright, not someone else. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he breathes out, “technology’s still not my strong suit.” 

You smile, exposing pearly white teeth, and he steps aside to allow you access to the device. You have to get on the tips of your toes to reach the timer, courtesy of Tony Stark, who for some reason thought only tall people needed easy access to the damn thing when he had it installed, but you don’t seem to mind. He suspects you’re used to it, being the shortest person in the room. It adds to your childlike innocence, he thinks. 

Three buttons are all you need to push for the microwave to light up the flat bag of popcorn lying inside, its quiet hums quickly filling the silent kitchen. You smile again, no teeth this time, and head for the fridge, where you grab a bottle of water before sitting back down in your seat. He’s thankful because he’s really craving a late-night snack and to be fair, he was very close to grabbing a pan from the cupboard and cooking it on the stove. Of course, then, he would have to figure out the induction plates and that’s a battle for another day. 

You drink from the bottle, chugging nearly half before placing it down and picking up your book again. You return to your original position, naked toes wiggling while you balance in the chair. It reminds him of one of those circus acts on a rope. The popping of popcorn soothes him slightly, but knowing that the silence will return after it’s done makes him nervous. It’s funny to him because he can’t even remember how many people he’s killed in cold blood and yet you’re the one to make him feel nervous.

Three minutes later, a ding interrupts the mixture of hums and pops and, as suspected, the finished product of Bucky’s late-night endeavor once again envelops the two of you in silence. He picks the bag out of the microwave, careful not to burn his fingers despite knowing they’ll heal fast, unwilling to choose practicality over comfort. He plunges the contents into a glass bowl, making sure to get each little kernel until there’s nothing left but salt and oil inside the bag. He doesn’t bother throwing the bag away. It stays on the counter until the cleaning lady comes by the next morning.

“Want some?” He asks with a mouthful. 

It’s a miracle his voice doesn’t crack when he finally works up the courage to speak again because it always happens in situations where he can’t afford to sound like an early pubescent 12-year-old. You glance up from your book, smile hidden behind the tattered pages, and you nod at his question. He assumes that’s why you’re there in the first place, also in search of a late-night snack. You settled for his choice of salted popcorn. You don’t appear bothered enough to look further. Perhaps the popcorn is what you wanted all along, and he stole the last bag from under your nose.  

He turns back around and divides the bowl into two smaller bowls, one of which he slides across the table to you. You pick it up with two of your toes, skillfully lifting it through the air with nothing but the strength of your foot, before placing it in your lap. He hears you munching contently seconds later, attention once more returned to your book, and fights the urge to smile at your monkey-like manner of grabbing the bowl. 

He thinks of sitting down at the table beside you but changes his mind before he can make a real fool of himself. Besides, you haven’t said anything to indicate you might enjoy his company, and to top it off, you’re reading, and you still look very much into your book. Bucky’s already interrupted you once, not that he regrets it. You’re fascinating to him. 

The urge to ruffle your hair is so strong it takes all his strength to keep his arm to his side when he passes you by. You don’t look back when he disappears into the hallway, door slamming shut with the kick of his foot when he enters his bedroom seconds later.

Yeah, he doesn’t know you at all.

tags:

@justine-en​

[star-spangledstud]

THE CURE KEEPER (masterlist)

Summary: You’re sweet, airy and relaxed. Basically, you’re everything he isn’t. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much. The only problem is that he really doesn’t know you at all. He doesn’t even know why you’re always hanging around the tower, and he sure as hell doesn’t know you have something that can change him forever. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (female!) Reader

Warnings: Might have some smut in the future!

A/N: This is AU, cause I couldn’t be bothered by forcing myself to calculate timelines and stuff. Enjoy! :D

Let me know if you wanna be tagged in this!

Prologue. -  Your meeting with Bruce goes better than expected.

One. -  Bucky forgot how the microwave works. Thankfully, you’re there to help him out.

Two. -  Bucky doesn’t even like pool. The team gets back from their mission.

Taglist:

@justine-en​ @meghapillai​ @savingprivatecass​ 

[star-spangledstud]

THE CURE KEEPER - two

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (female!)reader

Summary: Bucky doesn’t even like pool. The team gets back from their mission. 

Word count: 3100-ish. 

Warnings: none

A/N: I don’t have an upload schedule or anything, I just post whenever a new chapter is finished ;) I also don’t have anyone to proofread for me, so there might be a few mistakes here and there (of course I do my best to check my spelling/grammar). English isn’t my first language!

The Avengers Tower, New York City, USA. 13 May 2018, 3:23 a.m.

He doesn’t realize he’s shouting until he’s woken up by the sound of his voice spewing profanities and pleas in Russian hidden behind a thick, American accent. There’s heavy breathing to break the deafening silence of his room that causes his chest to rise and fall in irregular motions, and his fists are curled around damp sheets as if he’s afraid he’ll fall deep into the abyss if he lets go. He’s sweating profusely and his entire body trembles as he tries to remember where he is.

Bucky turns over in his bed, twitching eyes falling on the alarm clock on his nightstand. It’s nearing 4 am, which means it’s nowhere near a respectable time to be awake, but he can’t help it. Most of the events that occur within his dreams he can’t remember ever taking place, but he knows they’re real because he’s been told what kind of person he used to be. The things he used to do remain inside him as stories, narrated by the people that judge him for them. 

Bucky’s dreams are flashes of people donned in clothing from different periods of time and weapons of varying intricacy, one as dangerous and deadly as the other. He surely doesn’t remember the bow, but it was there in his hand, the rope tight against his cheekbone and ready to wreak havoc. He woke up moments before letting the arrow fly to its target, but didn’t need to see it. He knows even in his current state of fighting between sleep and being awake what the aftermath would look like.

He frantically searches for five items in his room to calm himself down, five random objects to help him shift his focus from the hellish images of people dying at his hands to tangible objects. It’s a trick he’s learned from Sam and although the guy gets on Bucky’s nerves, he has some good words of advice, because it works every time. 

Cream-colored curtains, dresser filled with clothing, dirty t-shirt on the floor, coat hanger on the doorknob, just one more.

When he’s calmed down his breathing enough to remember his name, he hears something that draws his attention. It’s strange, because for one, it’s the middle of the night, and two, everyone’s still gone. Everyone except for you and Bruce, who’s most likely sleeping in the lab. The sound, soft yet unmistakably clear to his overly sensitive ears, is that of a record player, which quietly elicits jazz music from its speakers. It sounds old, he can tell from the static and the poor quality of the recording, but it’s younger than he is because although he might recognize the artist’s name if you were to tell him, he surely doesn’t remember hearing this song before.

Lampshade. That’s it. Breathe. 

He’s up in an instant, covers swept carelessly to the side as he rises, and he doesn’t bother with fluffy socks to keep his feet from chilling against the hardwood floors or to keep himself from sliding across. He knows the sound is coming from you, because the wall that separates you from him is also the wall that separates him from you, and it's coming from the other side. The hallway is dark when he sets foot in it, but a small slither of light is coming in from underneath the crack beneath your door. That’s when he’s sure you’re the source of the sound. 

He knows you know it’s him who’s at your door because who the fuck else would it be, but he knocks anyway, waiting impatiently until he hears the unmistakable sound of feet clad in Adidas slippers shuffling to the door and you, yawning twice in a row, stand before him moments later. You’re not so silent now, but he decides to give you a break. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, and it’s not at all what he expected to come falling from your lips, “did I wake you?”

A fuck you, or a what the hell are you doing at my door at 3 in the morning sounded more appropriate in his head, but an apology didn’t even make it near the top of the list of things he expected you to say to him. You notice he doesn’t respond, and once again have the urge to wave your hands in front of his face. He zones out a lot, you think. 

“No,” he says finally, peering into your bedroom in search of the music, “no, you didn’t.”

“Then what is it?” you ask, hands with red painted fingernails holding the door frame through which you peeked at him.

“The music,” he points out, “can I listen?” 

You frown for a moment, searching his face for emotion. Anger, maybe, because you’re convinced you woke him up after all, or laughter at your expense, but you find none in his words and you find nothing of the sorts on his sweaty face. You let go of the door and step aside, allowing him inside your room for the first time.

It’s nothing and everything he expected at the same time. It’s cozy. A plush, white rug comforts his cold feet, and several fluffy pillows are stacked on your bed, leaning against the headboard. Fairy lights are strung up on the wall and serve as the only source of illumination, the same light that flooded out from underneath the door. You don’t say anything when he sits down at the foot of your bed, hands clasped in his lap, and his eyes on the ground. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist, or Bruce Banner for that matter, to figure out something’s wrong with him. You’ve heard the screams. You know the stories, the myths that surround him. 

“It’s early 60′s Frank Sinatra,” you explain, “the next song is my favorite.”

“What’s it called?” He asks as silence between tunes fills the room, before soft drums queue the next song. 

“All I need is the girl,” you reply, smiling as you sat down next to him, “it’s underrated in my opinion.” 

He appreciates the fact that you don’t bring up his disheveled features, or the frown that seems permanently etched into his forehead. It’s not what he needs right now, a lecture, or words of advice. He needs distraction from what’s going on inside his mind and the one person who truly understands him is currently 5000 miles away fighting a battle Bucky himself wasn’t allowed to join. 

“I like it,” he replies, “it’s better than most of the music Tony’s been showing me.” 

Laughter erupts from deep within your chest. It’s a sound Bucky’s never truly listened to before, not even when you snicker next to him as Natasha’s secretly making funny faces at you during meetings that last for hours. It’s warm and makes his heart thump. It makes him feel human. 

“That’s because Tony only wants you to hear garbage,” you smile, “there’s plenty of good music nowadays, you just have to look for it.”

“I didn’t peg you for a jazz-enthusiast, Y/N.” He says bluntly. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, James.”

He doesn’t respond, because why would he? You’re right, he knows absolutely nothing about you, nothing other than your first name and that you like to read and can sneak up on people when they least expect it. This realization makes him get up, afraid to think he’s over-welcomed his stay just as the song comes to a soft end. 

You look tired, purple circles make your eyes less bright, and even though it appears you’re a night owl, he remembers even owls need to sleep sometimes, and so do you. 

“I’ll remember that,” he says, and with one last look back at you on the bed wearing pink pajamas with kitty cats on them, he leaves to return to his room, which suddenly doesn’t feel so homely anymore.

The Avengers Tower, New York City, USA. 15 May 2018, 11:10 a.m. 

After he’s done with his daily morning work out routine, Bucky Barnes heads back to his room to take a well-deserved shower. He hasn’t seen you in two days, which slightly worries him, although it’s not that hard to disappear in a building as large as the tower. You could be anywhere at any given time. Just because you share a room on the same floor, doesn’t mean that’s where you are. Besides, he’s had his fair share of keeping track of people’s whereabouts. He doesn’t want to do that anymore.

Despite this, he finds himself looking for you, keeping an ear out just in case you decide to once again sneak upon him. He wants to ask you if he can borrow the record you were playing earlier, but the question that’s been heavy on his tongue gets swallowed down his throat when he finally does see you again.

You’re seated on one of two wooden benches by the pond out back, legs dipped in shallow, murky water while you’re reading yet another book. He begins to wonder if that’s all you do because he can’t recall ever seeing you not holding at least one in your hands. You have red heart-shaped sunglasses on to shield your eyes from the sun, which brings its powerful rays down on your bare shoulders without mercy. You’re enjoying it, he can tell because you have a smile on your lips that’s so small he’s sure you don’t even realize you’re smiling. You enjoy the heat, it brings an airiness out in you that’s not there when it rains. 

He’s looking out the window now, praying to whatever god is listening to him that you don’t see him lurking in the shadows of the compound’s game room. 

After what feels like hours of eyeing you from across the yard, he turns back around, taking the pool cue between his fingers and twisting it mindlessly. He’s playing a game against himself, so he can’t lose. Still, he has a favorite side, the winning one of course. He doesn’t even like pool, even after three rounds of winning games he literally can’t lose, but he also doesn’t have any better ideas, so he begins to once again line up all the balls for a fourth round. 

“You winning yet?” 

He jumps, dropping the pool cue to the floor and three balls with it. They roll across the wooden floor, the sound so loud it reminds him of gunshots before all of them disappear from view.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaims, placing his hands on the pool table to steady himself, “you scared me half to death.”

“I’m not Jesus, sorry,” You, looking up from your book, smile gently, “you were very concentrated.”

“I’m a bit of a sore loser,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck before picking up the wooden stick he lost moments ago, “even against myself.” 

You hum, before skipping past him to the bookshelves on the wall. You see him watching you intently, which causes you to turn around slightly so you can see his face.

“Glad I didn’t join you, then. I never lose.” 

He remains silent, wondering for a moment if you would’ve played with him had he asked. Probably not. 

“I read this one already,” you explain, motioning to the book in your hand, “twice, actually. It was better the first two times. I can’t get myself to finish it a third time. The ending’s too sad.”

The only plausible reason for the sudden increase in conversation on your part is that, well, you’re just as bored as he is staying alone in a house big enough to accommodate well over a hundred people, but that instead of playing a game of pool against yourself, you chose to read. Apparently, even reading gets boring to you, or maybe reading the books available to you has become boring. Bucky’s not sure.

“Would you mind putting this back for me?” You ask, holding the book in your hand out to him.

He sees the empty spot at the top of the shelf almost immediately and realizes quickly you’d never be able to reach it without a ladder or at least a chair. 

“Sure,” he mumbles, placing the pool cue on the table and walking towards you. 

“Steve usually does it for me,” you explain, “but he’s still gone.” 

His heart twitches slightly, and he’s not sure why. Jealousy, probably, but he refuses to give in to the idea of being jealous of his best friend just because he gets to be the one to help you reach for something so stupid as a book. He doesn’t even know you, and he sure as hell doesn’t know what type of friendship you have with Steve. He’s never studied your interactions before and he doesn’t keep tabs on his best friend’s acquaintances. 

He reluctantly takes it from you, lifting it by the spine with just two fingers as if it’ll crumble beneath his touch if he applies even the smallest amount of pressure. He puts it back without much effort, only required to stretch his body a little to reach the shelf. His shirt hardly rides up. 

“Can I have that one?” You ask, pointing in the general direction of the highest books. 

“Which one?” he replies, looking at the spines lined up in perfect alphabetical order. 

“The green one,” you say after some thought, “I’m not sure if I’ve read that one yet.” 

He picks it up and hands it to you, allowing you to quickly scan the back cover before shaking your head. You give it back, he puts it back on the shelf. This continues for quite some time until finally, he grabs one you surprisingly haven’t indulged in. You open it up on a random page, nodding to yourself when you indeed confirm the word patterns are foreign to your brain. It’s thick, the heaviest one out of all of them, there’s a large crack in the spine and the pages are frayed. The title, which was previously painted on in gold letters, faded so much Bucky can’t quite make out what it says. He wonders why on earth Tony has so many books anyway. The guy doesn’t even read. 

You don’t even say thanks as you begin to skip away from him, leaving Bucky wondering what the hell just happened before he realizes you’re out the door. Then, he glances at the pool table, a groan erupting from his throat when he realizes he’s lost at least three balls he now has the privilege of trying to find. It takes him nearly an hour.

You’re not sure what compelled you to seek him out in the first place. You were perfectly content sitting outside basking in the sunlight, enjoying the scent of fresh grass and blossoming flowers while frogs and birds made their presence known in their funny ways. As such, it takes you a while to realize you’re curious. Curious to know what the infamous Winter Soldier is really like. You’ve lived with the guy for months, but have never so much as spoken more than a few words at any given time and it bothers you because something is lingering just behind the facade that draws you in more than you’re willing to admit.

Maybe it’s because his hands tell stories that go further than any book you’ve ever read. Their actions could fill novels, yet he doesn’t know how to put a single word on paper because he doesn’t remember any of it. It fascinates you beyond comprehension. 

You tried to stay away from him because you know it’s what’s best for everybody, but the screaming and howling at night, and the depth of the ocean in his eyes spike your curiosity and suddenly you find yourself wandering the halls in search of him, wondering what a man like him could be up to on a beautiful day like this. 

You really did not expect him to be playing a game of pool against himself. 

The Avengers Tower, New York City, USA. 16 May 2018, 1:44 p.m.

A book is in your hand when the others finally make it back the following day. To everyone’s relief, none of them are seriously injured, but Natasha needs an x-ray to make sure she doesn’t have a cracked rib, and you find it in yourself to leave the book - a new one, with a bird on the cover this time - you were reading before they arrived behind just long enough for you to accompany her to the medical bay. 

Bucky hugs his best friend close to his chest, glad to see he’s made it back without any major injuries. He knows Steve has the same serum coursing through his veins that allows him to heal in a very short amount of time, but he can’t help but worry nonetheless. It’s in his nature to take care of him, just like he used to do when they were in the previous century. Habits die hard.

“What have you been up to?” Steve asks as they follow each other back inside the compound. 

“Not much,” Bucky says nonchalantly, “relaxing.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. He knows Bucky doesn’t typically relax but chooses not to question his answer. Instead, Steve watches you skip gleefully after Natasha, telling her in grave detail how your last book, the one Bucky handed you, ended with a horrifying plot twist that left you shivering and shaken to your core. The redhead nods in your direction as Sam, who’s clearly not amused by your need for storytelling, uses his arm to support her weight. She’s intently listening to your expressive story, simply happy to be near you again because you offer normalcy in her crazy life.

It doesn’t take Bucky very long to realize Steve’s looking at you in the same way. Even Sam, whose teeth are gritted and whose lips are pursed in a tight line, has a twinkle in his eyes that Bucky’s never noticed before now. 

He realizes at that moment he can no longer push away his curiosity. There’s something buried deep inside him that’s nestled within his core, something that compels him to know more. He decides he’s going to ask Steve about you but closes his mouth the second he opens it because he knows now is not the right time for such questions. Steve’s tired, he can tell by the way his eyes droop and he’s dirty and smells like sweat and gunpowder, and Bucky can only imagine how badly his friend wants to take a shower. 

“What?” Steve asks with his eyebrow raised as he watches Bucky’s mouth move like that of a fish on land.

“Nothing,” Bucky says, “Just glad you guys are back.” 

“That bad, huh?” Steve jokes, punching him lightly in the shoulder. 

Bucky begins to follow him inside. 

“It’s been quiet, that’s all.” 

“Admit it pal,” Steve grins through his tiredness, “you’d be lost without us.” 

--

Taglist:

@justine-en​ @meghapillai

[star-spangledstud]

THE CURE KEEPER - prologue

You’re sweet, airy and relaxed. Basically, you’re everything he isn’t. Maybe that’s why he likes you so much. The only problem is that he really doesn’t know you at all. He doesn’t even know why you’re always hanging around the tower, and he sure as hell doesn’t know you have something that can change him forever. 

Pairing: Bucky x (female!)reader. 

Chapter summary: Your meeting with Bruce goes better than expected.

word count: 1200-ish

warnings: none

A/N: No Bucky yet, sadly. I just felt like I needed to set the tone a little before he shows up :) 

Café Américain, Amsterdam, Netherlands. 12 August 2017, 9:44 a.m.

The glorious scents of roasted coffee beans, freshly baked croissants, and creamy apple pie greet Bruce Banner’s nose the second he sets foot in the cafe. He’s never been there before, but he’s seen the city its located in once or twice in his life, and it brings back memories from many, many years ago that greet him around every street corner. The soft swish of somebody flipping the Sunday newspaper, it’s cover donning letters in a language he can’t read along with several colorful pictures, and the grumbling of the espresso machine near the counter, make him feel at ease. 

He’s comfortable, perhaps too comfortable given the circumstances, but he likes the quaintness of the place, the vintage records and black and white photos on the wall and the central piece, a moon-shaped mint green bar with glasses on the top and hanging from ceiling racks in various shapes and sizes. It makes him feel normal, like for a moment, his alter ego doesn’t exist. He knows that’s why you chose this place, to ease the constant turmoil in his head, and unbeknownst to you, you’ve done a good job. 

It’s more crowded than he expected for a Sunday morning, but the sun is out and there’s only a soft breeze, so it shouldn’t surprise him to see this many people out this early in the morning. A family, three young kids including one toddler and their parents, is seated not too far from him, and he’s worried their seating arrangement might interfere with what he’s there to talk about. He chooses not to dwell on the possibility of a toddler overhearing sensitive information in a language she can’t possibly understand at her age. 

Still, he can’t completely shake the nerves that settled in the pit of his stomach, because he hasn’t seen you since he was in Phuket, and that was years ago. He can’t help but rub his hands together in anticipation when he searches the cafe’s walls for records he recognizes. He takes a seat near the back and orders two coffees; one for the both of you, and hopes you show up on time. The drinks, supported in pastel mugs, are piping hot when the waitress brings them to his table, and he contemplates waiting for you before taking his first sip. 

It’s half-empty by the time you arrive. 

Your eyes immediately find him in the back of the cafe when you enter two minutes before ten. Your eyes quickly scan your surroundings, and relief washes over you when it looks just the way it looks every Sunday and feels the same as well. The barista, whose name you came to learn after your fifth visit, greets you with a wave and a small smile before she returns to the customer in front of her. You return the gesture.

You’re not surprised to see two still semi-hot cups of coffee when you take a seat. There’s almond milk in yours, just how you like it, and the steaming beverage warms your insides when you take your first sip. You’re wearing a plain black baseball cap on your head as a precaution, just like you do every week, but Bruce recognized you the second you opened the cafe door. If he were in the mood to laugh at your version of a disguise, he would, but the seriousness of the situation prohibited him from expressing happy emotions at any capacity.

Hair in a color he’s never seen before spills from underneath the cap, and he supposes that’s another part of your disguise. Then again, you were only a teenager when you last saw him, and you’d since grown into a beautiful young woman.

“Morning, Angel,” he hums before taking a sip. 

“I need your help,” you say, ignoring the code name he used to address you. 

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, hyper-aware of the I HEART AMSTERDAM t-shirt you’re wearing. You’re trying too hard to blend in as a tourist, he thinks, but then again, he himself is by no means a master of disguises. He leaves that up to the professionals while he works behind the scenes. 

“Witnesses, really? You know me better than that.” He sounds offended, you pay it no mind. 

“Pawns, I’d call them,” you mutter, “they help me blend in. I was going to pick central station, but I wasn’t sure where you’re at with your... friend.” 

Bruce can’t say he’s thrilled by the way you’re leaning in further to talk to him. His body does the same, hovering over the small round table in an effort to hear you better.

“It varies,” he admits, “I’ll take what I can get.” 

You sip your coffee and nod, eyes scanning his features. He still looks pretty much the same, but the fine lines that settled around his eyes and on his forehead weren’t there the last time you saw him. 

“I messed up and I need your help,” you spill, “need to get out of here.” 

“What happened?” He asks.

“I took something,” you bite your lip, “something I wasn’t supposed to take. I mean, it was just out in the open. They practically gave it to me.” 

“What are you talking about?” He hisses, “Took what? From who?” 

You lean back and take a sip of coffee, savoring the bittersweet taste on your tongue, “I can’t tell you, obviously. Information’s classified, bla bla bla. Come on, you know the drill.”

“Angel,” he pauses to take a breath, “how bad is it?” 

“Green,” she chuckles dryly, “it’s very, very bad. Anyway, let’s just enjoy our coffee for now, alright? Did you order breakfast? I’m kind of feeling some waffles, or maybe some fried eggs.”

“I really think you should tell me what’s going on,” he says, “I can’t help you if you don’t.”

You sigh. You knew this was going to be a problem the moment you decided to ask for his help. The constant questioning, curiosity. Of course, he isn’t just going to let things go without at least trying to pry some answers from you. Nothing slips past Bruce. 

“Angel,” he pleads when you flag down the waitress, “please. I came all the way down here, the least you could do is tell me why.”

“Green,” you warn him, “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t need your help. No offense, but you’re kind of my last resort.”

“None taken,” he grimaces, “you’re lucky I promised her.”

You inhale sharply, taken aback by his statement for a small moment. Then, you turn to the young woman who stands beside your table. Without looking at the menu, you list off your order. With the tilt of your head, you urge him to do the same, and with a grunt, Bruce asks for a grilled cheese sandwich and another coffee. You decide on orange juice instead, eager to wash the bitter taste of your previous beverage out of your mouth. 

Instead of continuing the conversation, you dig a book out of the messenger bag you slumped over your seat. Bruce rolls his eyes when you slam the worn copy of Lolita onto the table, but you ignore him when you open the tattered pages and begin to read. Perhaps you haven’t changed as much as he initially thought, he muses.

“Eat up,” he says as soon as the food arrives, “we’re leaving in ten minutes.”

You smile and nod, eager to dig into your plate of fruity waffles. You manage to put the book down long enough to eat. That has changed, he thinks. 

You aren’t really surprised to see how easy it is to convince him to help you. He’ll always have a soft spot for you even if he refuses to admit it. 

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, either. You still owe me an explanation.”

Maybe he has changed, after all, you think. He’s more confident than he was when you last saw him, has a new way of carrying himself like he’s done with taking shit from people that offer him nothing in return. Good for him. You suppose it’s about time. 

“I never said I won’t tell you,” you smirk, “just that now’s not the right time for me to be spilling all my secrets.” 

He hums as he bites into the buttery smooth grilled cheese sandwich, savoring the flavor of fresh tomatoes and perfectly aged mozzarella.

“What am I supposed to tell Tony?” 

“Green,” his code name spills from your lips, “I am your niece, remember?” 

[star-spangledstud]

I wrote smut, but I’m too scared to post it cause it might be garbage 

(its a bucky x reader)