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lefteagleblizzard · 2 months ago

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𝔅𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩𝔰

Mike Munroe x male reader x Grant Ward

Summary: The lodge burned, sealing away the horrors inside until S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived, determined to uncover the truth. You swore your feelings for Mike Munroe would never be returned. But after a charged encounter with a certain agent, you find yourself caught between two men. One wants to tame you. The other wants to break you.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Friends to lovers. Strangers to ???. Angst. Lots of sensual tension. Jealousy. Love corner. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Top Grant Ward (Pre-Hydra). (No selfcest). Bottom male reader. Blowjob (reading giving). Anal sex. Double penetration.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 8000 words

You adjusted the weight of the gun in your belt, a gift from Mike that he stubbornly insisted you take. You still weren't sure why he'd been so adamant, but at this moment, you were almost grateful for it.

You jumped down from the rocky ledge, the freezing water swallowing your lower body again and forcing a sharp hiss of pain through your clenched teeth that clattered against each other. The water ripple beside you as Mike jumped in as well.

He cursed under his breath, a sharp ‘fuck’ cutting through the still air, but he adjusted quickly, stepping closer to rub your arm with his hand, the friction a weak attempt at warmth. You managed a small, tight smile, your lips trembling from the cold.

"I'm fine," you forced a smile, ignoring how your teeth clacked together. "You should worry more about Josh."

Mike's hand didn't leave your arm.

Even as you lied through your teeth about being fine, his fingers stayed curled around your sleeve, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles over the damp fabric. His brows were drawn tight, lips pressed into a thin line like he was searching for something in you.

But whatever he was looking for, he didn't seem to find it. He gave a single, stiff nod.

"Alright," he muttered, voice rough, like he didn't even believe himself.

Another splash echoed behind you. Josh had followed, his mumbling barely intelligible over the sloshing water, his head tilting this way and that, movements erratic. He wasn't here with you, not mentally.

Mike's grip on your arm lingered, just a second too long before he moved forward and you took the chance to move towards the rocks on the side, feeling the merciful relief of shallower water as you reached a cluster of jagged rocks.

It happened in an instant. A sudden splash and Mike disappeared beneath the dark water.

Panic surged in your chest as your eyes darted wildly across the water's surface, trying to catch a glimpse of him until something rose from the depths.

The thing that emerged was not human. It had once been, maybe, but what stood before you was something twisted beyond recognition, something starved, stretched, monstrous. Its skin clung too tightly over its skinny frame, stretched thin over bones that jutted at jagged, unnatural angles. And the eyes. Sunken pits of milky white, rolling wildly in their sockets as the head snapped towards Josh, neck cracking with the motion. The jaw hung open far wider than it should have, an unhinged, gaping maw lined with jagged teeth.

The sheer wrongness of it paralyzed you. Your body refused to move, breath lodged somewhere between your ribs, mind caught in the primal terror of staring into something that simply should not be.

An arm locked around your waist, yanking you backward with such force that your frozen muscles finally snapped into motion. You gasped, twisting in the grip and found Mike, soaked and terrified. His grip was iron, pulling you toward cover, away from that thing.

Its claws snapped around Josh and he screamed, dragging him from the water like he weighed nothing.

Mike hauled you behind a large rock, his body pressing into yours,pinning you between his heat and the cold, wet stone and holding you against him, arms tight and firm. His heartbeat pounded beneath your cheek, rapid, erratic, just as shaken as you.

He moved to reach for something at your waist.

The gun.

His fingers brushed your belt, pulling the cold weight of it free.

Your fingers twitched as if trying to recall a missed opportunity, the crushing realization slamming into you like a freight train. You had a way to fight back, and instead you stood there, useless, frozen in fear while Josh was taken

Mike cursed under his breath as he raised the gun with his injured hand and aimed where Josh was.

Nothing. Neither him or the wendigo were there.

He swore under his breath, dragging a rough hand down his face, frustration evident in the lines of his body. Then he turned, locking onto you again, softer this time.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was quiet, but insistent, hands gripping your shoulders. His thumbs rubbed slow, grounding circles into your soaked jacket.

You shook your head. Your throat was tight, something thick and painful building there. "It's my fault." The words barely came out. "I could've—should've—"

"Stop." His voice was firm, not allowing space for doubt. "I unloaded hundreds of rounds into those things at the sanatorium. They don't fucking die." His fingers tightened, forcing you to meet his gaze. "If you shot it, all it would've done is kill you next. There was no point in both of you dying."

Your chest was too tight, breathing uneven, and rapid. His arms locked around you with force, pressing you flush against him protectively, body radiating heat despite the cold seeping into your clothes. Your face met his chest, his soaked, dirt-covered shirt and his sturdy chest against your skin, he held you like he needed it just as much as you did

The hum of the aircraft was a dull, constant vibration beneath you. The lodge was gone, reduced to embers and the wendigos—what was left of Hannah and those poor miners experimented on at the sanatorium—were nothing but charred skeletons buried in the wreckage.

SHIELD had arrived before the police even had a chance.

You hadn't even processed how they got there so fast before you were ushered onto The Bus, this massive military transport plane. Instead of immediate safety, you were met with cold professionalism agents in black tactical gear, armed with sidearms that wanted to know everything.

One by one, you and the others were being interrogated. The idea of recounting the night in painful, graphic detail made your stomach twist, but exhaustion sat heavy on you, making it difficult to do much more than sit back and wait.

Mike was beside you and that was enough to keep you grounded. Your body ached, bruises forming where you'd been slammed against walls, dragged through frozen water, thrown to the ground.

You glanced across the cabin. Sam sat a few seats away, elbows on her knees, hands over her face. She was probably thinking about Josh, about Hannah, about everything. The truth had hit her harder than anyone else.

Ashley was already being interrogated, locked away in some windowless room on the aircraft, probably struggling to explain to an agent how cannibalism had turned people into monsters with supernatural strength and speed.

Emily sat across from you and Mike, staring down at the metal floor, her hands gripping the fabric of her torn pants. She muttered curses under her breath over and over, her rage and grief bubbling under the surface, directed at Matt. Whether for leaving her, abandoning her, or not making it out alive, you weren't sure.

You still didn't know if Jessica and Matt made it.

Beside you, Mike shifted. The seat creaked under his weight as his shoulder brushed yours.

It felt stupid how good it felt just the contact alone and you didn’t think twice before leaning into him, resting your head against his shoulder, instinct overriding hesitation.

For a moment, you thought he was going to pull away but then, hesitantly, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer.

Mike's jaw clenched. He hadn't thought past the constant static in his chest every time he looked at you.

There was a weight between you, something unspoken but heavy pressing at the edges of whatever this had always been. You swallowed hard, a quiet, bitter chuckle slipping past your lips in a desperate attempt to ease the tension. "At least we both made it out in one piece," you murmured, your voice hoarse.

Mike scoffed, shifting slightly to wave his injured left hand in front of you. The crude bandage was still wrapped tight around the stump where his fingers used to be, the fabric stained with dried blood.

"I wouldn't say one piece, exactly."

You rolled your eyes, nudging him lightly "You know what I mean, dumbass."

The teasing was easy. It almost felt normal, like the two of you were back at some party, throwing banter across the room. But Mike's fingers brushed over your wrist, his thumb tracing small, absentminded patterns against your skin.

His mind was racing.

If this night had taught him anything, it was that life was too fucking short. If he was willing to fight monsters for you, if he was willing to nearly die for you, what the hell was stopping him from saying what's been on his mind for months now?

His grip on you tightened slightly. His throat felt dry.

"I won't tell anyone about what happened in the mines."

The words weren't what he meant to say. Not even close.

He cursed at himself immediately when he felt you tense. There was a moment of silence that stretched painfully, then you whispered, "You shouldn't do that."

Mike turned to look at you fully. Your face was so close to his, barely millimeters apart. He took it all in at once, the dirt and dried blood on your skin, exhaustion clung to your expression and the sharp line of your jaw. It made his chest feel too full.

Your voice was strained. "You shouldn't possibly ruin your life for something I did."

Mike clenched his jaw. He hated the way you blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. If you had tried to save Josh, you'd be fucking dead. He was doing this because he wanted to, because the idea of you getting dragged into something worse than what you'd already suffered made him sick.

Mike swallowed hard. "It's not up for debate."

"It's not your responsibility."

Mike shook his head, jaw set. "I don't care."

Another stretch of silence that felt longer than it really was. Then, slowly, you turned your head to look at him. Your faces were too close and Mike's breath caught in his throat.

You were exhausted, bruised. Blood streaked across your temple, a smudge of dirt on your cheek. But you still looked perfect in his eyes.

You swallowed, breath shaky. "Why are you doing this?"

Mike clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his pulse spiked.

You could see the dirt and blood streaking his face, the cuts and bruises from his fights. His lips were split, his cheekbones shadowed with fatigue and grime, and his sharp but tired eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

Mike exhaled sharply, his breath unsteady, pulse hammering like a war drum in his chest. The words clawed at his throat, desperate to be freed, but his tongue felt heavy, his mind a battlefield of hesitation and raw emotion.

This was it. No more second-guessing. No more biting his tongue. He had to say it now before the moment slipped through his fingers.

He loved you. He fucking loved you.

If it meant keeping you safe, he would have faced a hundred more of those wendigos with nothing but his bare hands if that’s what it took.

His breath hitched as the weight of it settled between you both, hanging thick in the air, electric and undeniable.

He opened his mouth—

"Jesus," Chris groaned suddenly, dropping into the seat in front of you both. "That was terrifying. I think I aged ten years in the last ten minutes. That woman is scary."

Mike clenched his jaw so fucking hard it hurt.

You blinked, lifting your head from his shoulder and he immediately hated the loss of warmth. His arm was still around your waist and his grip twitched, fingers digging in slightly as if he could silently tell you to stay where you were.

But you were already looking at Chris, frowning. "Who?"

Chris rubbed his temple. "The one who interrogated me. Dark hair, totally deadpan face. I thought she was gonna flip the table over when I took too long to answer."

You recalled all the agents that swarmed you when they arrived and circled all of you, your mind settling on a stern-looking Asian woman with sharp, no-nonsense eyes, her posture rigid with the kind of discipline that made it clear she didn’t tolerate any bullshit. Beside her there was a man with neatly combed brown hair, a slight receding hairline that did nothing to diminish the quiet authority he carried. His composed expression barely shifted, save for the occasional flicker of dry amusement in his gaze, as if he was already ten steps ahead of everyone in the room.

You stifled a laugh. "What, you got interrogated by an adult Emily?"

Emily scoffed, shooting you a glare but didn't argue, too preoccupied muttering about Matt under her breath.

Then someone called your name.

Your stomach dropped as you realized that it was your turn.

You groaned, pushing yourself to your feet and squeezing Mike's shoulder in reassurance.

Mike looked up at you and it was easy to pick that your smile wasn't real. Your eyes were too tight, anxiety flickering behind them.

You turned and walked away and all Mike could do was watch until you stepped inside the room.

It was cold not just in temperature, but in presence as well.

A man was seated with calculated ease, fingers interlaced on the metal table between you. He was handsome in a way that was almost unfair, like someone had sculpted the sharp lines of his jaw with the intention of making people stare.

His suit was crisp, tailored to broad shoulders and a lean, solid frame, emphasizing the lean muscle beneath. The sleeves were rolled up enough to expose his forearms, the fabric pressed neatly against defined muscle that flexes subtly as he tapped a pen once against the metal table. The name ‘Grant Ward’ placed on the right side of his suit.

He didn't greet you. Didn't offer a single word of pretense.

Instead, he studied you. No unnecessary movement. Just an unwavering gaze as you took your seat.

Goddamn. Was it too late to request the terrifying woman Chris had mentioned?

Ward exhaled through his nose, gaze flickering over your face like he was assessing something. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Start from the beginning." His voice was sharp, commanding. "Tell me exactly what happened on this mountain."

The sheer weight of the question hit you like a sledgehammer.

Your body screamed with exhaustion, every muscle sore from the night's horrors with your mind in an even worse state.

And now, you have to relive it all again. But Ward's expression made it clear that there was no room for evasion.

So you started talking.

About a year ago Hannah ran into the woods, Beth chasing after her. About how neither of them came back. Then came the present. The stranger with a flamethrower that helped all of you. The sanatorium and the notes you and Mike found about the experiments. The Wendigos.

Every fucking detail, laid bare before him.

You could see Ward's hand moving occasionally, jotting things down, but his face barely moved. His expression remained unreadable, eyes locked onto yours like he was watching for the moment you slipped up.

But when you got to Josh you hesitated.

Just for a second. A single, sharp second.

And he noticed. His pen stilled.

You forced yourself to keep going, but you carefully didn't mention what had happened in the mines. You spoke about how Josh had planned revenge, the fake deaths and the psychological torture.

"You're leaving something out about your friend," he said smoothly.

Your jaw tightened, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "It's a hard thing to talk about."

Ward leaned back slightly, tapping his pen against the table with a thoughtful rhythm. "That's understandable."

You exhaled slowly.

"But," he continued, "what I don't understand is why, out of all the things you just told me, this is the part you struggled with."

Your fingers curled into fists. "Because he was my friend.”

The words came out sharper than you intended, the exhaustion making your patience wear too thin, and that was when you realized that you just walked straight into his trap.

Ward didn't blink. "That didn't stop you from telling me about Hannah."

He tilted his head slightly, watching you like you were an interesting puzzle he was beginning to enjoy putting together. Ward knew he had you.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "Josh wasn't the bad guy."

Ward made a soft, considering sound. "So you're saying he's innocent?" His tone was too neutral, too practiced. "Then why did you tie him up in the barn and left him for the Wendigo?"

You inhaled sharply through your nose, forcing control. "You're twisting my words," you shot back.

"Am I?" A flicker of something subtle, dark amusement.

"Yeah," you said, leaning forward now, refusing to back down. "You weren't there. You don't get to act like you know what we all went through."

Something about that seemed to interest him. "You seem defensive."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You seem like a pain in the ass."

Ward's smirk fully formed, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that sent something sharp through your chest.

Your body had already betrayed you, but your mind? Your mind was a fucking traitor.

Suddenly you ended up thinking about his hands. Big and strong fingers that could wrap around your throat with the same practiced ease he used to hold a gun.

Or pin you down, bent over this fucking table, pressing you down against the cold metal with his body flush against yours.

Your jaw clenched, nails dug into your thighs beneath the table.

If he really wanted answers, how far would he go?

Would he whisper in your ear, that same mocking lilt in his voice as he asked his questions while his fingers traced down your spine? Would he take his time, make you beg to speak, make you squirm under him until you gave him every secret, every confession, every fucking moan?

Or would he be impatient? Would he press you down harder, his breath hot against your neck, hips pinning you in place as he made it clear that this was about breaking you completely?

"Something on your mind?" He was watching you unravel and he liked it.

Your breath hitched, and of course he caught it. You saw the flicker of amusement in his expression, the way his gaze dropped so briefly to your throat, watching the way you swallowed, like he was considering something and your skin burned with the realization.

Your nails dug harder into your thighs. "Fuck you."

Ward chuckled, low and deep and you hated how fucking good it sounded

"Careful," he murmured, tilting his head, "I might think that's an offer."

He stood abruptly, the movement was fluid, precise, the scrape of the chair's legs against the floor sharp in the too-quiet room. He didn't hesitate, didn't break eye contact.

And in seconds, he was at your side.

A strong hand clamped down on your shoulder, the calloused pads of his fingers pressed against the fabric of your shirt, squeezing not in aggression, but in something worse.

"You're free to go," he said.

Except he didn't move. He stood directly in front of you, his frame blocking the path.

You could have stepped to the side and walked past him, left without a second glance.

So why the hell couldn't you move?

He leaned forward. Hands braced on either side of the cold, metal table behind you.

Caging you in.

Your back hit the table as you involuntarily backed away, but there was nowhere left to go.

Ward was too close now. The heat radiating from his body was at odds with the sterile chill of the interrogation room, his presence swallowing the space between you. The scent he had was something like faint gunpowder and expensive cologne that wrapped around you and fuck, your heart was pounding.

"It wouldn't take much for me to find out what you're hiding." A whisper that came low and rough as he spoke.

You swallowed hard, the knot in your throat tightening as his presence loomed closer.

His eyes, dark and piercing, never wavered from yours. They held a promise of retribution that made your skin prickle with unease. A slow, deliberate step brought him nearer, the barest smirk curling the corner of his mouth as he studied your reaction.

"And when I do," he continued, his voice dropping further, almost a growl now, "I'll give you exactly what you deserve."

A sharp wave of heat rolled through you, unwanted, undeniable.

Your breath hitched and you knew he fucking felt it.

His gaze flickered down to your lips.

Voluntary? Involuntary? You had no fucking clue.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as your body moved before your mind could catch up.

You tilted your head slightly. Let your gaze flicker to his lips just for a brief, fleeting second enough to let him notice.

You moved so goddamn slowly, closing the space between you inch by inch, breath by breath.

His was warm. It ghosted over your lips, mingling with your own and he didn't pull away.

Your chest was tight, skin burning, and just when you felt him shift slightly—

"Leave."

You flinched. The word hit like a slap, rough and sharp, dragging you out of the haze of whatever the fuck this was.

Ward was already pulling away, his face was yet again cold, controlled and detached.

He turned toward the files on the table, attention already elsewhere like you were nothing.

Your legs felt weak, heart hammering so hard you could barely breathe as you forced yourself to get the hell out of there before you lost all composure.

You didn't let yourself look back.

Mike was already waiting for you when you stepped out, leaning against the wall, arms loosely crossed over his chest, his head tilted downward in deep thought. His fingers tapped idly against his bicep, brows furrowed.

The second his gaze landed on your face, something in his expression shifted.

His brows pulled together, eyes narrowing and scanning your face in quick, sharp flicks like he was trying to read you. He pushed off the wall instantly, straightening up, body already moving toward you before he even realized it.

Your shoulders were too tight, body wound up like a coil ready to snap. You wouldn't meet his eyes, and made his stomach twist.

"You good?" His voice was lower than usual, careful.

You shrugged. "I'm fine."

He didn't believe you. Not for a fucking second.

His gaze flickered over your shoulder, toward the interrogation room door.

The agent was leaning against the doorframe, posture too relaxed, as if he had no real interest in you at all. But Mike wasn't an idiot. He saw the way Ward was watching you, gaze lingering for just a second too long before finally flicking toward Mike.

The ghost of a smirk was barely there, but it sent something sharp through Mike's chest.

His fingers curled into fists as he forced himself to tear his eyes away from Ward before he did something fucking stupid.

Instead, he turned his attention back to you.

"You don't look fine." His voice was firmer now, pressing.

You exhaled sharply "Mike, I said I'm fine."

He definitely didn't believe you now. His hands clenched inside his pockets, nails biting into his palms as something ugly curled in his chest.

"What the fuck happened in there?" His voice was low, sharp, his patience running thin.

You ran a hand down your face, frustration creeping into your tone. "Mike."

He stepped too close to you now and you stiffened, instinctively leaning back, as his broad frame looming.

"I'm serious," he said, voice quieter now, but somehow more intense. "What did he do?”

"I said nothing happened," you snapped, the exhaustion making your voice too sharp, the words coming out too fast. "Jesus Christ, what is this, round two? I've had enough of being interrogated, okay?”

The second the words left your mouth, regret hit you immediately.

You hadn't meant to say it like that, hadn't meant to make it sound like you were pushing him away.

Mike exhaled harshly through his nose, his fingers flexing like he was fighting the urge to lash out—not at you, never at you, but at something, someone, at the situation, at himself.

He had let his emotions get the better of him and he backed off immediately, the heat of his presence suddenly gone, the absence of it making your skin prickle. He scrubbed a hand down his face, forcing himself to breathe, to calm the fuck down.

"Shit." His voice was quieter now, rough. "That was—fuck, I didn't mean to—" He cut himself off, shaking his head like he was pissed at himself.

Mike swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took a step back. He turned on his heel, rolling his shoulders back.

"I should go. Get this shit over with."

The words were calm, but the tension still hung thick in the air, something unfinished between you.

Leaving you alone with nothing but the sharp regret in his expression and the lingering heat of his body that still clung to your skin.

A whole night awake was definitely something that would make anyone fall asleep the second they would spot anything to lay on.

Your body was beyond exhausted, beaten, bruised, still aching from the hell you had barely survived, but your mind refused to let you rest. Every time you close your eyes, you see those wendigos ready to tear you apart. Their screech mingled with Josh’s scream of pure terror.

It was too much so you had given up. Restless, drained and unable to fight the battle in your own mind, you quietly slipped out of the makeshift 'room' SHIELD had provided you on The Bus, wandering into the dimly lit corridor.

The hallway was dimly lit, lined with reinforced steel doors and you weren't surprised when you spotted Mike already there.

He was standing just a few feet away, like he had been about to come find you. Arms that were crossed over his chest, head tilted downward, lost in thought.

Your chest tightened at the sight. Still, you mustered a small, careful smile as you stepped closer. "Can't sleep either?"

His lips quirked into a nervous, almost shy smile, something you rarely saw from him. "Not a chance," he murmured, shifting on his feet.

He had cleaned up since earlier, finally able to wash away the grime and blood that had clung to his skin since the sanatorium. His injuries had been properly patched up, bandages wrapped neatly around the places that had once been a mess of hastily-tied cloth and dried blood.

The slightly too tight black shirt SHIELD gave him hugs his torso in a way that's... distracting.

Mike has always been fit, but this is just unfair. His broad shoulders, the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the way his arms look even stronger now without the oversized jacket hiding them.

You slid down the wall, settling onto the cool metal floor. Mike followed suit, sinking down beside you, his body warm where it pressed just slightly against yours.

The silence that followed was comfortable, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to everything you had been through.

"I was scared," he admitted suddenly, voice quieter now. "Back at the lodge. When everything started going to shit. I was losing my mind, man. Thinking about where you were, if you were okay. Fuck, I could barely focus on anything else.”

You turned your head slightly, watching him. His fingers flexed against his knee, his good hand idly fidgeting with the hem of his too tight SHIELD issued shirt.

"Hell, I was this close to torturing Josh if he didn't tell me what the fuck he did to you." He clarified.

The warmth that sparked in your chest was almost overwhelming. You barely even noticed that you had leaned closer, your shoulder pressing against his, most likely driven by the fact that you had always felt something for him that never really went away.

He seemed to lean in too, his breath mixing with yours, gaze flickering downward for half a second before snapping back up.

All at once, the words tumbled out

"I fucking like you, okay?" Mike blurted, rubbing a hand down his face as if trying to physically wipe away his nerves. "Like, really like you. And I know this is probably— No. it’s definitely the worst time for this, but I've been sitting on this for so long and after almost dying I can't not say it anymore."

You kiss him.

It's instinct. A desperate reaction, wordless way of shutting him up before he drives himself insane.

Your lips press against his hesitation at first, but the second it happens, the second Mike registers what's happening, he melts into it.

His hand moves to your face, fingers threading through your hair as he kisses you back, harder, deeper.

It's hungry. Messy. Like he's been waiting forever for this and can't hold back anymore.

Your hands find his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his too-tight shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the solid muscle beneath your fingers.

The moment his tongue slips past your lips, you shudder, a low sound escaping the back of your throat. Mike groans at that, shifting, pressing even closer, his body half on top of yours now as he deepens the kiss.

His fingers tighten in your hair, his other hand gripping your waist, breath heavy as his tongue brushes against yours, slow, deliberate, teasing.

As you back away to recover your breath, the heat of Mike's mouth is still on yours. The warmth of his body still lingers where it had pressed against you.

You swallow, dragging in a breath that does nothing to calm your nerves, because the second you pull away, you realize you need to tell him.

"I'm sorry. For earlier."

Mike's brows furrow slightly. "What?"

You swallowed hard. "When I snapped at you. That was—"

"Don't," he interrupted, shaking his head. "You don't need to apologize, I—"

"No." Your voice was firm, and this time he shut up. "Something happened during my interrogation and it left me speechless."

The shift in Mike's demeanor was immediate. One second, he was soft, open, vulnerable. The next his entire body tensed like a coiled spring.

"What did he do?" His voice was sharp, low, ready to fight.

You quickly cut in before he actually tried to throw hands with a SHIELD agent. "Nothing," you reassured, a half-hearted chuckle escaping. "Come on, man. You really think you could take down a trained—"

"I don't fucking care who he is. What the fuck did he do?" His voice dropped into something low, dangerous, controlled but barely. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the muscles in his forearms tightening visibly beneath the too tight fabric of his SHIELD-issued shirt.

"Nothing like that," you said quickly, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

But that didn't calm him. If anything, it made him more on edge.

"Then what?"

You hesitated for a second too long before breaking it down to him, explaining everything that occurred in that cold room.

"Hey." His voice is quieter now, rougher. His fingers twitch before moving, hesitantly, to your face. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and the second he does, you lean into it.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world and fuck, that makes something warm ache in his chest.

"You know not to let that guy get into your head, right?" he murmurs, voice lower now, softer, but still edged with something firm. "Whatever mind games he was playing? That's all they were."

Mike's voice was rough, raw, pleading beneath the sharp edge of his frustration. His hand was still on your face, fingers warm against your skin, thumb barely brushing your jawline.

You knew what he was asking and you should have said yes. Should have reassured him and pushed every thought of Ward out of your mind.

But you hesitated and Mike saw it.

His entire body tensed, fingers twitching against your skin before he abruptly pulled away, ripping his hand back from.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered under his breath, his good hand dragging through his already-messy hair, his movements sharp, frustrated. He let out a harsh exhale, shaking his head like he couldn't fucking believe this.

You swallowed hard. "Mike, I—"

"No." He cut you off fast, voice low, sharp. "Don't. Just—don't.”

He pushed himself up off the floor, standing so fast it made you flinch. His body radiated tension, shoulders tight and stance stiff. His fingers flexed at his sides like he was barely holding himself together.

"Mike," you said quickly, scrambling up after him. "Please, don't—don't be mad, I—"

He spun to face you and for a second you froze.

His expression is intense and menacing, brows slightly furrowed and eyes locked in a piercing, almost predatory stare. His lips are pressed together and the shadows on his face emphasize the sharpness of his features, making him look intimidating and unreadable. The dim, moody lighting of the hallway adds to the overall eerie and threatening atmosphere. But more than anything he looked hurt.

His voice was quiet when he spoke, but lethal in its intensity.

"I protected you. For hours. Through all that fucking shit. I never left you. Not once." His voice was shaking, just slightly, but his anger held steady.

“Tonight I finally got the balls to tell you about how i felt and you—" he let out a harsh exhale, shaking his head. "And you're sitting here, thinking about fucking some other man?"

His voice cracked slightly at the end and that broke something in you.

You didn't know what to say because he was right.

Your stomach sank. You had ruined this like everything else.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven pulls as you took a step forward, fully aware of how dangerous his expression had become. Something you never thought you'd see directed at you.

You wet your lips, forcing yourself to speak, to carefully form the words you needed.

"Mike." Your voice was softer now, controlled, but not fake. "Everything I feel for you is real." You stepped closer, slow, cautious, searching his face, watching every flicker of emotion behind his eyes. "Nothing has changed that. "

Mike inhaled through his nose, his jaw twitching, arms crossing tightly over his chest like he was physically holding himself back from reacting.

A long silence.

"It's hard to believe that," he murmured, "when you're fantasizing about getting fucked by another man while saying those things to me."

Your breath caught, his words sinking deep, hitting your chest, your stomach, making something coil inside you.

Softer, but somehow worse, his voice dripping with something bitter and almost mocking. "Even after all the things that I did for you."

Your fingers twitched at your sides, irritation flaring up like a spark against dry kindling.

The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharp, cutting, your emotions pushing too hard to keep your voice controlled.

"I never asked you to protect me from what happened to Josh!"

The second it left your mouth, you saw the way his entire body locked up. His face twisted, something raw and pained flickering across his features for just a second before it was buried beneath something darker.

His teeth clenched and for the first time in your life, Mike Munroe was looking at you like he didn't recognize you.

Silence.

Horrible silence.

A flicker of movement behind Mike.

Even before your eyes locked onto him, you felt him.

Grant Ward was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, exuding that same calculated stillness as before. Not surprised. Not irritated. Just watching.

"Trouble in paradise?" His voice was smooth. Controlled and mocking in that way that made your skin prickle, your breath hitch.

Fuck. He had heard everything.

Mike stilled in front of you. You barely had time to process it before your mouth moved on instinct, your voice sharper than intended. "What do you want?"

Ward's gaze never left you.

Mike stepped forward immediately, his entire body moving like instinct, slotting between you and Ward, his stance tight, protective, like he was physically blocking you.

"Fuck off."

Mike's voice was low, dangerous, practically dripping with barely-contained rage.

And Ward just chuckled. A slow, quiet thing, his lips twitching just slightly, his eyes flickering between you and Mike like he was enjoying the show.

"I didn't know you were so eager to sleep with a criminal."

The words landed like a fucking grenade.

Mike’s entire body tensed, his breath shuddering out uneven, his bandaged hand clenching into a fist too tightly.

The bandages around the healing wound where his pinky and ring finger used to be started to tear, the fabric pulling apart under the sheer pressure of how fucking hard he was gripping.

"Mike, what is he talking about?"

His shoulders tightened.

He turned, his eyes flickering to your face, mouth parting like he was going to say something but no words came out.

Silence that Ward filled eagerly.

"He told me," he said smoothly, gaze locked onto yours, "that it was his fault Josh was taken."

Your stomach dropped.

"He heard screaming," Ward continued, voice even, clinical, like he was repeating evidence, "and urged you to follow him. Since there was no point in both of you dying."

The words hit and your chest ached. Mike had twisted the truth to protect you and keep your name out of it.

"What the fuck do you want?" Mike’s voice was hostile as he barked back at Grant. "You already have everything you need."

Ward tilted his head slightly. Then, simply. "I want the truth."

You stepped forward before you could think, moving until you were right in front of Grant, your chest nearly brushing against his.

"You want the truth?"

Mike's voice called your name sharply behind you, irritation and something dangerously close to desperation in his tone.

But you ignored him.

Grant’s expression remained calm, still, unreadable, but his eyes were locked onto you like he was analyzing every shift, every breath, every flicker of emotion that passed through you.

"It wasn't Mike's fault." Your voice came out stronger than you expected, but your throat felt tight. "It was mine."

Grant raised an eyebrow.

"Josh—" You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to say it. "Josh is gone because of me. I could've saved him. I froze. I did nothing."

The words felt like broken glass on your tongue, sharp and bitter. He studied you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze was suffocating, inescapable, pressing down on you like a physical force.

And then he spoke. "We found your friend. Deep in the mines," Ward continued, voice perfectly level. "Alive. Fully intact."

Your breath hitched. Josh was alive. Even after you had left him to whatever nightmare awaited him in those tunnels.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, your feet shifting, breath stumbling, turning sharply toward Mike.

His eyes were already on you, his shock mirroring your own.

The sound of a boot clicking softly against metal. A shift in the air, something subtle, something felt before it was heard.

A firm grip wrapping around your shoulder, pressing down enough to remind you who was in control.

"Told you I keep my promises."

Ward's voice was low, smooth, too close, edged with mockery as he leaned in just slightly. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting against your ear.

"You lied to me." His voice was sharper now.

Ward's gaze flicked up past you to Mike.

You felt the way Mike stiffened, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles going white.

"It’s almost endearing how willing he was to throw himself under the bus for you." He mused to you. His fingers curled slightly, dragging along the fabric of your shirt before his grip tightened again.

"Despite everything he's done for you—" his voice was smooth, casual, but dripping with purpose as he angled his head toward Mike, twisting the knife deeper. "You still have room in that pretty little head of yours for me."

Heat flooded your body, something sharp, something foul, something filthy curling deep in your stomach.

Your entire body felt hot, your pulse pounding in your fucking dick, because fuck, fuck, you shouldn't—

"Maybe he needs to be taught a lesson."

The words slammed into you like a physical force, knocking the breath from your lungs, making your fingers tighten against your sides.

You knew exactly what he was implying.

Exactly where this was going.

And fuck—you wanted it.

Heat. Everywhere. It clung to your skin, thick and stifling, rolling off you in waves as strong hands kept you pressed between two bodies that left no room to breathe. Your head was spinning, vision hazy, barely able to register whose lips were on you at any given moment.

The air was filled with the sounds of ragged breathing and the low, guttural groans of satisfaction. Hands roamed greedily, possessively, sliding under your shirt and tugging at your waistband. Grant’s fingers dug into your hips, pinning you back against his sturdy chest while his free hand snaked down inside your underwear, squeezing your ass painfully.

Mike was in front of you, his grip firm as he tilted your chin up, forcing your half-lidded gaze to meet his. His lips crashed against yours and the kiss was anything but gentle. It was demanding, a collision of hunger and dominance as his mouth slanted over yours. His teeth caught your bottom lip between them, sharp but not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp and he used that moment to push his tongue past your lips, sweeping inside and dragging along the roof of your mouth, tangling with yours in a messy, desperate exchange.

He sucked at your tongue, drawing a groan from deep in your throat that only made him press closer, body flush against yours, chest heaving. One of his hands cupped your jaw roughly, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, while the other had already made its way between your legs, gripping your cock through your pants, fingers pressing just enough to make you squirm.

Grant's touch was almost cruel in contrast to Mike's reckless desperation. His mouth was on your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin before his teeth sank into the flesh of your shoulder and the jolt of pain only made the pleasure sharper. You moaned into Mike's mouth, the sound swallowed eagerly as he deepened the kiss.

"Look at you," Grant murmured against your skin, his voice smooth, low, full of dark amusement as he squeezed your ass hard enough to make you hiss. The heat in your stomach twisted tighter at the rough touch, at the way his fingers slid possessively over your flesh, teasing, testing, like he was savoring the way you twitched at every squeeze. "Didn't take much to get you pliant, did it?"

Mike broke away from your lips just long enough to glare over your shoulder, breath hot and heavy against your skin. "Shut the fuck up," he growled, his grip on your cock tightening, his strokes more deliberate now, fingers teasing the outline of your length through your pants.

Grant chuckled, dark and knowing, but the way his fingers dragged lower, circling where you needed them most, made your breath hitch. Your body betrayed you, arching instinctively into his touch, and the satisfaction that rumbled from his chest made it clear he'd noticed.

Mike let his lips trail teasingly downward, nipping at the sensitive skin there, his tongue darting out to soothe the bites he left behind while his hand gave your cock a slow, deliberate stroke that made your knees go weak, each stroke perfectly teasing, dragging his fingers just right over the sensitive tip, making you whimper into his mouth as he kissed you hungrily again.

One of Grant’ hands slid up your spine, pressing you further into his chest. The other was still firmly cupping your ass, fingers pressing into your flesh and when it dipped lower, his fingers pressing inside you, that the air left your lungs entirely.

The stretch was sudden, practiced, his fingers scissoring, curling with high experience, hitting exactly the right spot to send a wave of pleasure rolling through you. Your moan was swallowed by Mike's mouth again, his tongue eager as he licked inside, owning every sound you made.

"We'll see if you're this eager when it's my cock stretching you open." Grant murmured against your ear, voice dripping with approval and something dark.

Your body was on fire, stretched between them, caught in their hands as they kept pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Every inch of your skin was burning and the way their bodies were pressed against you only made it worse. You could feel both of them hard and thick, their cocks pressing into you from both sides, undeniable reminders of what was coming next.

They moved you through the room without a pause in their assault, hands stripping away every last piece of clothing until you were completely bare, caught between them, exposed and theirs. Grant's fingers never stopped working you open with ruthless precision, while Mike's hand kept you throbbing and aching, keeping you right on the precipice of release but never quite letting you tip over.

By the time Grant bent you over the bed, your body was trembling, your mind a haze of pleasure and desperation. His big hands kept you steady, one firm on your hip, the other still working inside you, dragging more obscene noises from your lips with every twist and curl of his fingers.

His breath was hot against your neck, lips brushing the fresh bruises he had left before his teeth sank in again, making you jerk and groan as he lapped at the red spot like a hungry animal savoring its claim as he ground his cock against your ass.

Behind you, the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone cut through the haze of pleasure, sharp and clear despite the heavy drumming of your heartbeat in your ears.

Grant leaned in, his solid chest pressing against your back, heavy and unyielding. His body was heat and strength, trapping you beneath him, his breath fanning against your ear as he shifted just enough to settle into place. You felt him big and hot, pressing right against your entrance, the blunt head teasing you just enough to make you whimper. The pressure alone was a sharp reminder of just how thick he was, how much he was about to give you.

He didn't waste time. His hand came up, fingers gripping the back of your neck with firm possession as he spat into his other hand, stroking himself once, twice, enough to spread the slick heat along his length before lining himself up again and pushing in.

A guttural grunt ripped from Grant's throat as he sank into you, his cock stretching you wide, forcing your body to take every inch of him in one slow, unforgiving thrust. He bottomed out completely, his hips pressing flush against your ass, his chest rising and falling heavy against your back as he exhaled a rough, almost shaky breath. His fingers tightened against your neck, keeping you exactly where he wanted you as he pulled your head back, his lips dragging over your jaw before kissing you.

A bruising clash of lips and teeth that stole the breath from your lungs. His tongue pushed past your lips immediately, licking into your mouth with the same dominance he was using to claim your body. His teeth scraped over your bottom lip, biting down to sting painfully before swallowing your gasp, thrusting his tongue deep into your mouth to chase the sound.

His hips moved in tandem with his kiss, pulling back only to slam forward again, setting a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure rippling through you. His hands were everywhere, both of them gripping your ass now, spreading you wider, fingers digging into the flesh with bruising force as he fucked into you harder. Every drag of his cock inside you made your brain blank, moans spilling into his mouth only to be swallowed whole.

"Fuck," Grant growled against your lips, his thrusts turning rougher, faster, as he held you firm in his grasp. His fingers dug into your skin, marking and claiming you.

Then he moved you, shifting your body like you were nothing in his grasp and pulling you up so that you were no longer on your stomach but leaning against his chest, fully exposed, fully on display. Your back pressed against the solid heat of him, his arms wrapping around you to hold you in place as he thrust into you harder, making your cock bounce with every snap of his hips.

Mike was right in front of you now, kneeling on the bed, his eyes dark and heavy lidded as he watched.

Grant's lips ghosted over your ear, his breath hot, full of amusement as he spoke to Mike all while still fucking into you, his thrusts slow and deliberate, dragging every inch of his cock against your walls. "You see that?" he murmured, voice deep, controlled, laced with smug satisfaction. "How easy he falls apart for me?"

Mike's jaw clenched, his fingers twitching against the sheets, his own arousal painfully obvious, pressing against his pants as he took in the sight of you your body trembling, your cock leaking, your lips already swollen from Grant's bruising kisses.

Grant chuckled lowly, biting at your neck again, his tongue flicking over the bruises he was leaving behind as he picked up his pace, fucking into you harder and making sure Mike saw every single thrust.

Mike exhaled roughly, then made his move. He surged forward, one hand tangling into your hair as he crashed his lips against yours, stealing you from Grant's kiss with a hunger that bordered on feral. His mouth was hot, tongue forcing its way in to claim you, fighting for dominance, taking what he wanted as his free hand found your cock and wrapped around it without hesitation.

His strokes deliberate, teasing the sensitive tip before sliding down with an unrelenting pace that sent pleasure shooting through your core. His fingers were slick with the pre-cum already dripping from you, making every movement easier as he pumped you in time with Grant's cock driving into you hard, deep, the thick stretch rearranging your insides with every powerful roll of his hips, engulfing your entire being in this overwhelming sensation consuming you.

His thumb circled the head, pressing enough to make your whole body jolt, his grin widening as he felt the way you twitched in his grasp.

Behind you, Grant let out a low, approving hum, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you back hard against every thrust, making sure you felt every inch of him splitting you open.

Your nails scratched against the sheets, body trembling between them, the pleasure winding so tight inside you that you felt like you might break apart at any second. Mike pulled back slightly as you weakly reached for his waistband, your fingers fumbling to undo his zipper.

His breath hitched and his eyes flickered to your face, watching as you struggled to form words between the brutal rhythm of Grant fucking into you. The desperate pleading look in your eyes was enough.

Mike's smirk was instant, sharp with amusement and desire. "You want it that bad?" He teased, lifting his hips slightly, allowing you better access.

He made quick work of the rest himself, shoving down the last of his clothes, his cock springing free, thick and flushed with arousal. His hand wrapped around the base, stroking himself lazily as he watched you, his other hand reaching out to squeeze your cheek playfully, tilting your head up toward him.

"C'mon," he murmured, voice thick with anticipation. He guided his cock to your lips, tapping it against them, smearing pre-cum across the softness before pressing in, slow but insistent. "Show me how much you want me," he murmured.

You didn't hesitate. Your lips wrapped around the tip, tongue swirling over the head before sliding lower, taking as much of him as you could in one eager motion. The thick weight of him settled against your tongue, and you moaned around him, the vibration making him groan above you, his hand tightening in your hair as your mouth stretched around his length.

Behind you, Grant's thrusts didn't slow-not even for a second. If anything, he fucked you harder, clearly enjoying the way you struggled to keep up with both sensations at once. His fingers dug into your hips, each thrust sending another spark of pleasure tearing through you.

Mike let out a breathless hiss, his grip tightening as he started rolling his hips, fucking into your mouth with slow, shallow thrusts, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every movement.

Your whole body was trembling, caught in their grip, every nerve set on fire as you were being filled from both ends, ragged groans and curses spilling from both of them.

Mike’s free hand slid into your hair, guiding your pace, his hips starting to move faster, his cock pushing deeper.

Behind you, Grant grunted, his thrusts turning rougher, harder. He was close, you could feel it in the way his fingers gripped you tighter, his breathing turned ragged with thrusts that started to lose some of their precision.

"Gonna make sure you feel me for days,” Grant growled, his voice dark and wrecked as he slammed into you, the force making you choke slightly on Mike's cock.

The words sent a sharp pulse of heat through your gut and Mike groaned at the that feeling, his fingers tightening in your hair as his own rhythm stuttered. You hollowed your cheeks around him, sucking harder and that was all it took.

Mike panted, his head tilting back slightly as he let himself savor the wet heat of your mouth, his grip tightening as he groaned low and deep, cock twitching in your mouth before he came, thick and hot, spilling down your throat. His body trembled, a string of curses falling from his lips as he watched you swallow, his fingers brushing over your jaw as he panted, his pupils blown wide.

Grant’s pace turned brutal, his hips slamming forward as he bottomed out inside you one last time, his cock buried deep as he let out a rough, guttural groan as his cum flooded you, filling you up, making you feel impossibly full. You could feel it dripping from where he was still buried inside you. His grip on your hips was iron as he held you still, making sure you took every last drop.

The pleasure had built to a breaking point, your entire body trembling and right on the cusp of unraveling. Your cock throbbed, aching, so damn close until Grant's hand clamped around you, squeezing at the exact moment you were about to let go.

White-hot frustration shot through you like a bolt of lightning, your breath catching in your throat as your orgasm was ripped away with cruel precision. You whined, the sound breaking free before you could even think about suppressing it, hips twitching in a desperate attempt to seek friction, to chase the release he had just stolen from you.

But Grant laughed. Low, condescending, his breath fanning against your ear as he mocked you. "You really thought I'd let you come that easily?" he murmured, a patronizing sound that only made the humiliation sharper. He let go completely, leaving your cock aching, denied, your entire body shuddering from the ruined pleasure.

His hands gripped your shoulders, fingers digging in deep and he pulled, hauling you up in a seated position. You were too wrecked to fight him as he maneuvered you. His arms wrapped tight around your frame, one hand sliding lower to cup your ass possessively, fingers squeezing the abused flesh.

Then he kissed you. It was ravenous, all tongue and teeth. His lips were hot, rough from how hard he kissed, leaving no space for you to breathe. His tongue shoved past your lips, licking deep into your mouth, controlling the kiss just like he controlled everything else.

A sharp, brutal slap against your ass. The force of it making you jerk against him, a muffled, involuntary noise escaping against his lips. A brief and satisfied grin against your mouth, a silent acknowledgment of just how much he enjoyed making you react like this.

He bit your bottom lip, tugging roughly before diving back in, swallowing every sound you made. His hands held you in place, one still gripping your ass possessively while the other found your hip, fingers pressing deep enough to bruise.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted you again, pulling you forward until his back met the mattress and you were sprawled on top of him, your own back resting against the solid, defined heat of his chest. The sensation of his abs beneath you, all tight muscle and strength, was dizzying, every movement making you feel the hard ridges of him against your skin.

Mike crawled on top of you, his hands finding your waist while his body pressed you down further against Grant's chest. His thick, leaking and already achingly hard cock dragged against your entrance, circling and sending sharp sparks of anticipation burning through you.

His breath came in short, ragged gasps, matching yours. His lips descended, claiming yours in a greedy and scorching kiss, tongue sweeping into your mouth just like how, with one slow, deliberate thrust, Mike pushed inside.

Your whole body shook, pleasure crashing over you in an overwhelming wave as he sank in fully, the stretch perfect, the mess Grant had left inside making it effortless. No resistance or pain, just the overwhelming heat of being completely filled again, your walls stretching yet again to accommodate his size.

Mike groaned against your lips, his forehead pressing against yours, his body shuddering as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. "Fuck," he breathed, voice thick with pleasure, with awe.

He started moving in and out, dragging himself out almost completely before sinking back in. A slow pace at first like he wanted to savor every single second of being inside you. Firm hands held you in place, his breath coming in soft ragged gasps as he kissed you between every thrust, drowning in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

Soon enough the rhythm changed, he adjusted his hips, angled himself before slamming into you.

A guttural scream tore from your throat, only to be swallowed instantly by his lips, his tongue tangling with yours as he drowned in the sound. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, locking tight, holding him in place and keeping him against you.

His cock drove into you with relentless force, hitting deep with movements turning desperate, hungry. His hips snapped forward again and again, your whole body shaking, muscles burning, everything wound so tight you could barely breathe. Mike was pounding into you, his cock hitting deep, every thrust sending white-hot sparks of bliss ripping through your body.

You were right there, teetering on the brink, the pleasure building, rising, twisting into something uncontrollable-

Just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, body tightening, breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps—Grant's hand clamped down, fingers digging into your hip, stopping Mike's relentless thrusts in an instant.

A strangled, frustrated groan ripped from your throat, echoed by Mike, who cursed under his breath, his grip tightening on you as if willing himself to move despite Grant's interference. "Not yet," his breath hot against your ear as he murmured, voice dripping with cruel satisfaction as he shifted beneath you, his hands locking tight around your hips, forcing you still.

The blunt, thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance again, your entire body going rigid as he started to push in.

Mike groaned, his forehead dropping against yours, hands gripping your waist so tightly to leave bruises when he felt Grant forcing his way in, stretching you even further, pushing in alongside him, splitting you apart in a way that should've been impossible.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" your and Mike’s voice broke into a snarl, his fingers digging into your skin as his cock twitched inside you, overwhelmed by the sensation of Grant joining him.

Grant bites into your shoulder, muffling his own deep, ragged groan as he buried himself inside you.

The stretch was blinding.

Your walls clamped down tight, forced to accommodate both of them, the impossibly full sensation setting every nerve ending on fire.

"You're taking us so fucking well," Grant murmured against your skin, though his voice was anything but gentle, more of an order than anything else.

Mike grunted, a wrecked sound that he barely managed to contain, his forehead still flush against your away, body shaking on top of yours. "Holy shit—He's so fucking tight like this—" His hands slid up your sides, palms skimming your overheated skin.

Grant growled low in agreement, his grip tightening. "He can take it. That’s all he’s good at."

Your whole body was trembling, overwhelmed, completely at their mercy. Every inch felt too stretched, too full. And the feeling didn’t went any better when they started to move.

A slow, teasing rock of Grant's hips, pushing even deeper, a grind from Mike, rubbing up against everything inside you and your vision went white.

A broken, wrecked moan tore from your throat, all muscles clamping down around them while they dragged against each other inside you, stretching you to your absolute limit. The way they alternated with one pushing in as the other pulled out, fucking you in tandem, making sure you never got a moment to breathe or a second of reprieve.

Mike was getting rougher, more desperate, his movements turning erratic, his forehead pressed against yours as he panted, his breath shaky, uneven, grip tightening more, his hips pounding against yours.

Grant’s fingers wrapped around your throat, tilting your head back just enough to claim your mouth in another devouring kiss. His thrusts turned brutal, matching Mike's, filling and owning you.

The pleasure twisted, sharpened, built, your entire body rocked between them, completely at their mercy until you finally came hard.

Your vision blacked out, pleasure so intense it was almost painful, your entire body convulsing between them as your release spilled, untouched, onto Mike's stomach.

He lets out a strangled, wrecked groan as he buried himself deep, his cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled, thick, hot cum flooding your insides as he pressed in deep as he filled you completely, painting your walls with everything he had left.

The moment Mike came undone, Grant followed, his grip crushing, his breath ragged as his hips snapped forward in a few final, deep, brutal thrusts. His cock throbbed, pulsed until he came as well.

The heat of it was scalding, overwhelming, pouring into you in thick, endless spurts, so much that it leaked out around their cocks, slick and messy, dripping down your thighs, making you feel just how full they had made you.

They didn't pull out. Their bodies pressed against you, cocks still buried deep and twitching, filling you with more and more, stretching you to your absolute limit.

Your whole body was shaking, overwhelmed, overstimulated, your breath coming in rapid, sharp gasps. You felt them inside you, the weight of their releases thick, dripping, claiming you completely.

The dim glow of the night watch flickered softly on the bedside table, time had become meaningless here with no windows, no frame of reference for morning or night, only the distant, ambient hum of The Bus and the steady rise and fall of Mike's breathing beside you.

His arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his other tucked beneath your head like a makeshift pillow. Warmth radiated off him in steady waves, seeping into your skin where it pressed against his bare chest. Every inhale and exhale brushed softly against your hair, each slow rise of his ribs against your back grounding you in the present, in him.

The soreness in your body was a dull and pulsing reminder of what had happened before you'd both collapsed into this tangled heap. The ache ran deep, bruises left from hands that had gripped too hard, mouths that had bitten too eagerly. The dull burn in your lower back sent a shiver through you as you shifted slightly, the movement dragging a quiet groan from your throat.

Mike stirred immediately, his grip tightened first, followed by a sleepy mumble against the back of your neck. Then his eyes cracked open, bleary but alert, scanning your face in the dim light. Naked just as you were, he murmured a sleepy, raspy, "Hey," his voice rough from disuse, cracking slightly at the end.

You swallowed down the warmth that curled in your chest at the sound. "Hey"

A deep chuckle rumbled through him as you groaned, twisting to ease the soreness in your muscles. Mike grinned at your wince, his amusement entirely too smug. "That bad, huh?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even as a small smirk played at your lips. "What do you think?"

His laughter was quiet but genuine, his arm beneath you shifting, curling further around you. "I think you sound like an old man," he teased.

You shot him a look. "Oh, fuck off."

You turned your head enough to catch the sleepy, half-lidded gaze of Mike Munroe. Messy haired, bare chested, eyes heavy with the remnants of exhaustion. He was unfairly handsome like this, stripped of his usual cocky bravado, blinking at you with something softer.

His fingers flexed lazily against your waist, tracing over where bruises had likely already begun to bloom.

You rolled your body so that you were on top of him now, hands playfully on both of his to keep them grounded with your weak and absent strength as he stared up at you with a grin. You shifted your head enough to scan the bed.

No Grant

The realization settled in quickly and you tried to keep it subtle, tried to avoid letting Mike notice, but you weren't fast enough. Your movements slow and clunky from tiredness.

His grin faltered barely, the cocky expression slipping into something tighter and slightly forced. You caught the tension in his jaw before he muttered, "He's gone. Got called for a mission or whatever. Some really important work shit." His voice dropped, dripping with sarcasm. "Hopefully won't make it back."

You snorted at that, his lips twitching into a grin despite himself. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and whatever sharp response he had died instantly in his throat.

Mike melted into it immediately, hand coming up to rest behind your neck, lips moving slowly and deliberately.

His hand drifted lower, fingers ghosting over your waist before gripping it fully. He got into a seated position, his upper body resting on his arms with you still on top of him and was about to kiss you again, lips just barely brushing yours when—

"You were really gonna let yourself get incriminated because of me?"

The words hit him like a bullet and he froze. "Jesus," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, "you really had to kill the mood, huh?"

You gave him a look. "Mike."

He groaned, flopping down on the pillow dramatically, one arm still curled around your body. Mike inhaled sharply, his chest rising with the weight of his breath, then exhaled slowly.

“I’d do anything for you,” he confessed, a vow edged with devotion and an intensity that burned in his every syllable. His fingers trailed up, cradling your face like you were something precious and irreplaceable. The rough pad of his thumb traced slow, reverent circles over your cheek. “And I’d do it again,” he murmured, his tone unwavering, absolute. “A hundred times over.”

His nose brushed against yours, the space between you nonexistent. His lips hovered just a hair’s breadth away, teasing, tormenting. “Because I fucking love you.”

You swallowed thickly, staring down at him, your pulse roaring in your ears. His body pressed into yours, heat radiating off him and you felt the way he trembled slightly, how his breath hitched when your hands threaded into his hair.

“Now tell me,” he murmured, voice rough, a command, but you could hear the uncertainty beneath it.

Your breath stalled. “Tell you what?”

Mike’s jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your waist. “Tell me it didn’t mean anything. Tell me you’re mine.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Your stomach twisted painfully. It would have been easy to lie, to tell him what he wanted to hear. But he deserved the truth.

You exhaled shakily, closing your eyes for the briefest second before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. ��He got under my skin,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Mike inhaled sharply through his nose, but you pushed forward before he could react.

“And yeah, I let him.” you continued, your voice unsteady but firm.

Mike’s entire body went rigid against yours.

“I wanted him because he reminded me of you.” You admitted, your throat bobbing as you forced the words out.

Mike’s breath hitched. His grip on you was firm, like he was grounding himself, barely holding himself together.

You swallowed, pressing on. “I thought I’d never have this,” you whispered, voice raw, cracking slightly. “I thought we were never gonna be this. So when he got in my head and looked at me like that, I wanted to feel something back. Because it was familiar. It reminded me of you and it was the closest I thought I’d ever get.”

Grant didn’t just challenge you. He saw you, tested you and in some twisted way, made you feel wanted in a way you never thought Mike would.

Mike made a sound, something between a sharp breath and a curse, his hands sliding up, framing your face, tilting your head up to force you to look at him. His pupils were blown wide. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he rasped, voice thick. “If you think for a second that there was ever a chance I didn’t want you.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could process it, Mike dragged you closer, his lips hovering just over yours, heat rolling off him in waves.

“You want me?” His voice was low, rough, testing, searching.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering against your ribs. “Yes,” you breathed.

Then he flipped you. In an instant, you were on your back and Mike was above you, his body caging you in, knee pressing between your legs. His fingers curled tighter, voice taking a huskier tone. “Say it again.”

“I want you.”

His lips crashed into yours. Deep, slow, deliberate. Like a promise of something real that believed wholeheartedly.

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natashaslesbian · 4 months ago

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Happy House | NR | I

Summary: Natasha suspects something is seriously wrong when you suddenly hand in your notice as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings/Content: Domestic Abuse / Verbal Abuse / Physical Abuse / Violence / Sexual Assault / Rape

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“Sorry to interrupt Director Fury, Hill said I should pass this on to you myself” you said as you snuck around the door to Nick’s office, surprised to see another agent with him. “What is it?” He said “My resignation sir” you answered, not missing the glance from the redhead at Nicks side “I’m sorry to hear that Miss Y/L/N, we will miss you in the offices” Fury sighed with full authenticity “Thank you Sir, I will work my weeks notice with the most attention” you spoke through small shakes. “Well I wish you all the best” Nick rose from his chair to shake your hand “Thank you Sir, Agent Romanoff, apologies for the interruption” you nodded to the agent and director “Not at all” you heard behind you as you closed the door. “What was that?” Natasha said the second the door was shut “what was what?” Nick questioned “you’re just gonna let her leave?” The redhead exclaimed “she’s handed in a resignation Romanoff, there’s nothing I can do” Nick said “she’s your best office agent! I mean her reports are superior not to mention her tech skills!” Natasha pleaded “Well I didn’t know you took such interest in every member of the office Nat” Nick teased with a suspecting look “shut up” Nat said as she smacked him lightly in the arm, also giggling.

You trudged home through the snow that night, having given up on your boyfriends lift home. There were no lights on, visibly from the outside of your small apartment, you hoped that Dylan would be sleeping. You crept in quietly, shaking off as much snow from your boots as you could. Walking silently through the hall you came to the living area, a sudden overhead light alerting you to someone’s presence “where have you been?” Dylan said, slurring his words “baby you scared me” you smiled, hoping to defuse the tension. “I said, where have you been?” Your boyfriend said again, rising to his feet on shaky legs “you said your shift finished at 4:30, and what time is it now?” Dylan asked “it’s 6, but you see I had to stay late there was so much to do and I-“ you began to mumble before Dylan cut you off “oh shut up!” He screamed as he launched his beer can towards your head. You managed to doge it at the last second “if I find out that you’ve been with that Romanoff, I’ll kill her, then you’ll realise what happens to bad little girls” your boyfriend raged as he closed the Space between you both. “No baby, I wasn’t” you mumbled, feeling the cold wall against your back “she doesn’t even know my name, but you know I did give in my resignation, just like you asked” you could smell the alcohol on Dylan’s breath as he leaned in to give you a harsh kiss. “Good girl” he grumbled “now why don’t you get dinner started, I’m starving” he finished as he finally backed away.

“Natasha come on” Clint groaned “you said you’d be done with the report by now” he said. “I am done with the report” Nat said, her eyes still glued to her laptop. “So what are you doing?” Clint asked, “I’m just… looking into some of our agents” the redhead said. Clint came to his best friends side hovering over her shoulders “and why would you be doing that?” He asked. Natasha paused for a moment, debating if she should tell Clint the real reason she was looking over your file. “There’s this girl, from the offices downstairs, and something just seems off” the redhead said. “How do you mean?” Clint said with intrigue. “She’s been with shield for 5 years and last week she handed in her resignation. I’ve only spoken to her a few times but she seems so dedicated like she really loves it here. She’s never had a sick day she’s always in early but in the last few months somethings changed.” Natasha explained. “How so?” Clint asked. “She’s sheepish, tired, frail. She’s different” Natasha said, keeping some of the information from her own eyes to herself. “So what are you thinking” Clint asked as he eyed the laptop screen. Nat pointed towards your relation details “she updated her profile 6 months ago, added some boyfriend as her emergency contact” the widow said. “It’s the only noticeable change along with her personality” she finished. “You think there’s something wrong?” Clint said. “Maybe” Nat sighed.

You were backed into your bedroom as Dylan walked towards you. “I told you, you’re not going out tonight” he said as he continued to stomp at you. “I got tonight off work so we could be together” he said, faux sweetness in his voice. “I know” you whispered “but my friends they wanted to throw me a leaving party” you said. “What friends?” Dylan asked as he took hold of your shoulders. “My work friends” you whimpered as his grip tightened. “Romanoff?” Dylan shouted as he twisted in his stance and threw you against the bedroom wall “I thought I told you what would happen if you went mingling with that freak” he hissed at you. “No no it’s not her, just my friends from the office” you said through shaky breaths “friends?” Dylan scoffed “who’d wanna be friends with you?” He laughed. Dylan trailed his hands down your body and pushed his fingers into your hips pinning you against the wall “I thought we’d stay here and… you know” he said as he lent forward, his breath got against your face. “Dylan I’m gonna be late, everyone’s waiting for me at the restaurant” you whispered “you are not going anywhere” your boyfriend said as he gritted his teeth. Dylan took a step back and slowly walked towards the door, pushing it shut and locking it “get on the bed” he instructed. You knew better than do disobey him.

Clint put the car into park and leaned over to stop Natasha from climbing out “I don’t think this is a good idea” he said “we can’t just crash her leaving party” Natasha shrugged “we’ll just say it’s a coincidence” she said, opening the door and jumping out before Clint could say anything else. Of course Natasha had this planned out, she had called the restaurant this morning and booked a table so it was no trouble when she walked right in dragging Clint behind her. The two were sat at a small table near the back of the small restaurant, and it didn’t take long to find out where your party was sitting, the only problem was, you weren’t there. “She’s probably just stuck in traffic” Natasha heard one of your coworkers say “no she only lives round the corner she’d usually walk” Sarah, another of your coworkers, said. Clint flashed Natasha a worried glance, having been listening in to the conversation as well.

You rolled slowly over to your side of the bed, your thighs sore and your hips throbbing. “See that wasn’t so hard was it?” Dylan said as he leaned over to kiss your cheek “it’s always best when you listen to me” he said. You pulled the duvet up above your shoulders as Dylan got up out of bed “right I’m going out” he huffed “and you are staying here” he said as he pulled the duvet off your bruised body “make me something nice to eat” he demanded. You stayed frozen as you listened to Dylan shuffling through your apartment, flinching suddenly when the front door slammed shut. You pulled your legs up to your chest as you sat up, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth as you cried. There was no way out of this hell, you’d tried again and again. Taking a job at S.H.I.E.L.D was supposed to be your ticket out but when you were passed over for a promotion to field agent you knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

On his way out, Dylan took a look at your phone and found the name of the restaurant your co workers were at. He made his way down the apartment building stairs and onto the street, taking a short walk around the corner to the restaurant. He strode through the doors and brushed off the waitress flashing him a kind smile. “Dylan!” Sarah, your colleague called “what are you doing here where’s y/n?” She asked “oh she’s not feeling well, she sends her apologies and sent me along to make sure you were all having a good time” your boyfriend said as he pasted a smile across his face. “The boyfriend?” Clint quietly asked, Natasha nodded her head yes as she watched Dylan from the corner of her eyes. “Oh that’s such a shame!” One of your colleagues said as she moved to hug your boyfriend. “Somethings not right” Natasha said having been tuned into the conversation “she wouldn’t miss this, she’s too much of a people pleaser” she said. “Sounds like someone else I know” Clint remarked, attempting to defuse Natasha’s tension. The widow glared at him with a hint of humour before an idea came to her mind. “Let’s go” Natasha said as she stood up “go where?” Clint asked. “Well if Dylan’s here and y/n’s not then I have a pretty good idea where she might be, and she’s there alone” the redhead said as she stealthily made her way towards the exit.

You hobbled around the kitchen slowly, a slight limp in your steps. The room was filled with the sizzling of the steak atop the pan, you moved around on auto pilot cutting up vegetables for a salad. You focused on the throbbing pain in your hips and watched as a small purple bruise began to form along your arm. You were used to this by now, completely alienated from your body as you recovered until the next time. The kitchen fell silent as you took the steak off the heat, reminding you of the presence of the ticking clock on the wall. Too focused on the thoughts circling in your head, you failed to notice the gentle click of your front door and the almost inaudible squeak of its hinges. You winced as you opened the freezer door with your sore arm, cursing under your breath at your own stupidity. You reached for the frozen vegetables when a voice from behind startled you. “Y/n?” you spun round in shock and your eyes met the same redhead you admired so much. “Natasha?” You asked with wide eyes “what are- how did you get in here?” You stuttered as your breathing picked up a rapid pace. The widow took in your dishevelled appearance and the smudged mascara underneath your eyes. “Did he do this?” She said as she reached out for your bruised arm “what?” You shrieked as you pulled away from Natasha “who? What are you talking about?” You asked as you felt the panic rise into your chest. “Dylan” Clint said, speaking up from behind the concerned redhead. “How long has this been going on?” Natasha asked as she took a sceptical step towards you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about” you said dismissively.

Avoiding eye contact with the concerned avengers you continued to potter about the kitchen. “I think you should leave, Dylan’ll be back for his dinner soon” you said. “What, he’ll be back from your leaving party” Natasha countered as she followed your footsteps. “Yeah, I’m not feeling great so I sent him along by himself” you grumbled in annoyance. “Oh right but you’re well enough to cook him a steak” the widow said becoming increasingly more angry. “What are you implying?” You asked “I’m not implying anything, I’m telling you that I know what’s going on” the furious redhead said. “Nat” Clint warned at his friend’s increasing temper. “Nothing is going on! Get out!” You yelled “y/n look at yourself!” As she took the empty plate from your hands. “Natasha” Clint sighed as he stepped forward “how did you get that bruise?” The widow asked “and before you lie, remember what it is that I do” she said. “I…I fell over the other day” you stuttered. Natasha let out a frustrated sigh as she turned away from you, not wanting to hear anymore lies. “Y/n that’s a recent bruise” Clint said calmly. “No it’s not” you argued “and the limp? You’re gonna tell me you got that when you fell over too right?” Natasha said as she twisted around to face you again. “Ye-yes…I…tripped on the stairs” you said anxiously. “Liar!” Natasha yelled.

The room was silenced when the front door slammed with a large bang; Natasha didn’t miss the way your body flinched. “Y/n?” Dylan said as he stomped into the kitchen “what’s going on?” He asked with faux sweetness. “Sorry, I’m Clint from S.H.I.E.L.D” the archer said as he extended his hand “we just wanted to see if y/n here would consider extending her notice. She’s an exceptional agent and will be a huge loss for us” Clint said. “Well I think she’s made up her mind, right honey?” Dylan nodded as he slipped his hands back into his pocket “yeah” you huffed quickly “yeah that’s right”. Natasha watched closely during this exchange, eyes running the length of Dylan’s hand to examine them for any signs of harm. “Okay” Clint sighed “then we’ll get out of your hair” he smiled “keep in touch okay kid” he said to you as he handed over a card with his phone number. Dylan stepped aside as the two agents headed for the door “goodnight y/n” Natasha said as she turned back to you, a sad smile pasted on her face. “Goodnight” Dylan said for the both of you, silencing your words and ending the conversation. You watched as red hair cascaded down the corridor, you wondered if that would be the last time you saw Natasha.

You avoided Dylan’s gaze as you began serving up his food “dinner’s ready” you said “do you want a beer? Or is water fine?”. Your boyfriend eyed you suspiciously as you frantically ran around the kitchen. He reached for your arm as you passed him, using his fingers to dig into the fresh bruise on your skin “I don’t remember saying you could have guests over” he spat at you. “They…they were ju-just” you stuttered nervously “yeah yeah they were just asking if you’d extend your notice” Dylan said, annunciating each word with his harsh voice. “They just showed up I didn’t know they were coming” you whimpered as his grip began to hurt you. “Do you honestly think I would believe anything you say?” Dylan asked calmly, alerting you to what was coming next. “You are nothing but a lying, selfish little slut!” He suddenly screamed, releasing you from his hold but using that same arm to batter you in the stomach with each of his insults. “You were whoring yourself out to that fucking redhead weren’t you? But she didn’t want you so you invited that prick over too!” He yelled “what was the plan? They were gonna fuck you while I was out? Cause it’s all you’re good for bitch!” He continued to shout as his fits became rougher, knocking the air out of your lungs.

You managed to shuffle backwards away from your boyfriend “it wasn’t like that I swear!” You pleaded as you held your arms up in surrender, giving Dylan perfect access to wipe you out with a simple kick to your legs. You hit the floor hard, the room was starting to spin as you felt yourself being dragged across the cold tiles. This was it, he was finally going to do it. “You are the most worthless piece of shit on this planet!” Dylan spat as he placed his weight on top of your sore ribs “you know I only kept you around because you were a good fuck. I would’ve killed you a long time ago if you didn’t have anything to offer” he said as he roughly placed his hands on your chest. You had to get out of here, and not in a body bag. Your boyfriend became overwhelmed with his sexuality, lifting his weight up to lean down to your neck and litter it with harsh kisses. It was the fastest decision you ever made, but you knew it was now or never. Using all your strength you flipped your body to one side and used Dylan’s surprise to push him away. The hallway was small so it didn’t create much distance and he was sure to be even more mad at the way he hit the wall.

You scrambled to your feet as Dylan groaned on the floor. Sprinting through the house, you didn’t bother to grab anything before heading straight to the door. Your boyfriend was on his feet now, he was going to catch up unless you stalled him. When you passed through the doorway you turned on your hells and dragged down the tall cabinet leaning against the wall. It came crashing down and blocked the only exit from your apartment. You decided to take the stairs, not the elevator, there was no way you could stop now, your adrenaline wouldn’t let you stand still for one second. You finally made it to the lobby of your building and hurried straight past all the concerned faces looking your way. You came out into the cold night, wearing nothing more than shorts and an oversized shirt. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t know where you were going. You just knew you had to run. So that’s what you did. Ran. You just ran.

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A/N: If this story has affected you in anyway please know you can always message me if you want to! Equally, there are so many resources available if you need support🤍

I’m an asshole for leaving you all with this cliffhanger before I take a break, see you in February hehe

- Astara Bell

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[Taglist]

@saraaahsstuff / @dannipotatoo / @tobiaslut / @nev-valkyriesdottir / @marvelnatasha12346 / @yelenasdiary / @mousetheorist / @ashadash0904 / @strange-night-owl / @acciowriting / @hatergirl-69 / @lovelyy-moonlight

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#marvel #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel fic #nat x reader #avengers #clint barton #clint x natasha #natasha romanoff x reader #agents of shield

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fandomnerd9602 · 1 year ago

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Maria grabs Y/N as they come back from an Avengers assignment…

Maria: you are not doing that again

Y/N: yes ma’am

Maria: I am going to take you back to our bedroom and screw you til you see stars

Y/N: (sarcastic) oh work work work

Maria giggles and pulls Y/N off somewhere private…

#marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #marvel incorrect quotes #incorrect marvel quotes #maria hill #maria hill x reader #shield #agents of shield #colbie smulders #the avengers

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esmerxyaugusta · 1 year ago

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[ maria coming back from a mission ]

nat: are you okay? are you hurt?

maria: *shaking her head* but i think i need sleep

nat: what, why? we have a date tonight *pouts*

maria: blood loss

nat: I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WEREN'T INJURED

maria: i mean my period, vagina blood loss

#source: unknown #marvel #incorrect quotes #marvel cinematic universe #marvel incorrect quotes #black widow #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #maria hill #black widow incorrect quote #blackhill #commander hill #agents of shield #gay #tw blood

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softlymaximoff · 3 days ago

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Head canons of Agent Romanoff and new SHIELD recruit, Agent Y/N. Part 2

18+ ONLY MEN & MINORS DNI (blank blogs will be blocked you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.

Oliver (the polydactyl cat) has a nasty habit of stealing Natasha’s Nerf Darts, to the point where at the end of each passing week, Nat tallies off how many he’s stolen and gives you that amount of jumping jacks. You’ve never caught on and she’s not gonna tell you until you come clean about housing a stray, yes she saw you rescue it out of a crushed milk carton when he was an angsty teen cat.

Truly hilarious to watch you gentle parent the most bratty and mouthy cat. The day you turned up for training with a sour face and a full sleeve workout shirt, she mentally giggled to herself. But you had a heart of gold and the love of an angel’s warmth so she wasn’t surprised you wrangled with that thing. Impressed almost.

Catnip. Natasha loves feeding Oliver his happy herbs and the cat turns into a complete menace, the zoomies, the race car purrs, the parkour, everything. A sight to see when she hold the gremlin in arms reach and his tail is partaking in a helicopter blade audition with his purrs rumbling through his chest.

You thought it was just orange cat behaviour, the internet feeding you all sorts of lies (somewhat cause orange cats are feral). Nights when he’d return from the edges of the building (you also had a suspicion he was doing recall but who knows) he’d be all hyper and vocal, more than usual.

On rainy days in the compound, most SHIELD recruits would hang out in their common area, a game of ping pong here and there, pool, darts, Nerf Wars around the lounge, anything to have some sort of team bonding experience. You simply read old English or History books in your room or on undercover terrace on the roof, Ollie lounging out with you, working up a bakery with his paws.

Natasha knew, she watched, she learned. She understood.

One afternoon, the stray refused to go anywhere with you, hissing and whinging on his bed of crushed cardboard boxes, (yes you actually had a small cat tree tucked away in the corner but no, Oliver liked his cardboard, old habits never die you concluded). You flipped the stray off, his paw swatting the air in defiance and you retreated up to the rooftop to clear your head.

You had an intel mission within a few days and you were to go with Wanda just out of town. You were stressing, hard. Who would take care of Oliver? What happens if he got out of the compound? What would happen if things went south and you didn’t come back? All these thought were becoming messy and panicky hindering your reflexes when the rooftop door swung open.

A strangled curse made you jump and spin around, coming face to face with your evil child. Behind him was Natasha with a much less impressed expression, “The little fucker climbed into my room and jumped me like his tree. Wouldn’t stop yapping and chirping. I think he’s broken”

Your face, red as ever, turned into a harsh glare towards Oliver. “What is with you today. Some days I think you take me too much for granted little dude” you sighed as the spy shoved the cat into your arms, not missing the way the animal burrowed its head in the crook of your neck. “Traitor” she whispered, a little accent dripping into her tone.

She gave you a smirk and left the rooftop before you could defend yourself with the feline.

When the day came for your intel mission, his cardboard box empty save for a small note tucked away under the top sheet, “He came in to mine this morning. Leave him with me, he’ll be okay. We have enough milk and ham, don’t worry. If he eats it all I’ll teach him how to hunt mice, maybe even scare Clint in the vents x N.R”

You shook your head in amusement and slight offence at the traitorous cat but packed your bags anyway. Wanda came through mid morning, smiling brightly and introducing herself. You greeted her with a nervous wave and introduced yourself, not missing her eyes when they darted over to the cardboard boxes and left over kibble next to the set up.

“Do I even wanna know?” She teased at your flushed cheeks and you shook your head, once again, being caught red handed about owning an animal in the compound. “C’mon Clint’s waiting downstairs, he’d gonna drop us off. I’m sure your little friend is in safe hands. And besides, it’s not often you hear a Russian curse out a cat. The walls are thin, honey, very” the witch chuckled as she helped you pick your bags up.

Safe to say, when you passed the main rooms in the compound on your way to the front entrance, a faint string of Russian curses could be heard followed by “Stop chewing on my Nerf Darts you little-!” Yes. The walls were extremely thin.

#Agent!natty #SHIELD recruit!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha x you #nat x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov

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queerocfandomer · 19 days ago

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"Mission First Kiss"

The Story of the undercover mission that resulted in you and Natasha's first kiss. Set in 2011 around 6 months prior to Avengers.

One Shot - 4909 Words - NatashaxReader/OC - Reader is SHIELD Agent with Enhanced Hearing and Sight (L/N=Jensen)

READ ON A03 HERE :)

"your attention shifted to the main doors as a group of about a dozen young women entered. Not an uncommon sight, of course; however, it was the bright red hair that had immediately caught your attention. A smirk spread across your face as you wondered what kind of trouble Natasha Romanoff was inevitably bringing with her."

As you returned to the second floor, the music reverberated through your entire body, and you took a brief moment to steady yourself, straightening out your suit jacket. Even after almost six months, it still took a fair amount of concentration to keep control of your abilities in this atmosphere. This mission had ended up being quite helpful for practice; it did feel as though you had made significant progress in controlling your ability to differentiate between sounds and block out unnecessary ones.

You were currently running the club and the drug operation it was a cover for while Klein was away on business. You were usually placed in less desirable positions, often the target of capture—the exact opposite of your current mission—and you had to admit you found yourself enjoying the power.

You were here because, even the drug operation was somewhat of a front, Klein was working with someone you knew only as ‘The Pedlar,’ funneling top-secret information to criminal organizations across the globe. Although Klein had not yet brought you fully into that aspect of the work, your abilities had allowed you to gather a fair amount of information, and you were sure that this was a kind of test that would result in your being brought further in upon his return.

Everything had been going well so far; the most important part of the weekend, a large cocaine delivery, had progressed without issue last night, and now you just had the evening to relax until his return tomorrow. Marcus, the club manager, approached as you walked along the rail of the balcony. He was young, barely out of high school, and honestly too innocent to be taking up this kind of life, but he did what he was told.

“Jeremiah is here again. He’s insisting on speaking with you.”

“Couldn't handle it yourself, Marcus?”

you tilted your head in return, and as he replied, your attention shifted to the main doors as a group of about a dozen young women entered. Not an uncommon sight, of course; however, it was the bright red hair that had immediately caught your attention. A smirk spread across your face as you wondered what kind of trouble Natasha Romanoff was inevitably bringing with her.

“It’s fine, Marcus. You can bring him up, and while you're down there, find out about this group of women that just came in for me, would you?”

“Yes, boss, of course.”

You kept your eyes on the women as they made their way to a set of tables in the corner, and Natasha positioned herself in the booth between the tables, an easy exit and good vantage point for the room as she conversed with the others, her eyes subtly taking in the surroundings. She was wearing a simple black asymmetric dress, with her left shoulder fully exposed and the hem falling just below the knee, a reasonable length aside from the drastic slit running nearly the full length of her right thigh.

Whatever the issue was, it must be serious; otherwise, they would have simply waited until your weekly check-in. Yet of all the agents they could have sent, it just had to be her. At least you could take advantage of your abilities; you just hoped that the benefit would outweigh the distraction she always managed to cause within you.

Marcus returned with Jerimiah following closely behind. He was in his early 40s with a disheveled appearance.

“If you are hoping to get any special treatment because Klein is away, you are very, very mistaken.”

“No, no, of course not, Jayce. I, ah, I know you run a tight ship. I, ah, I’m just here to, like, apologize. I know I messed up, but I can make it up. I can, if you just give me a chance.”

“Ahhh, you want MORE,”

you respond as you walk closer to the man.

“We are not in the business of supplying to people who like to sample the product, and by the looks of you right now, that is still a problem.”

“No, no. Jayce, I swear I’ll pay full. I will. I just can’t survive off 200; I need to bring in more. Please, I can do it. I can.”

Reaching out, you grab him by the shirt and move him against the nearby wall before continuing,

“Clean yourself up, and you'll make more by actually selling what you’re taking for yourself. Three months at 2, and then I’ll consider it. But if you show up here again asking for more before then, it will be the last time you get anything. You hear me?”

He only nodded as you released him, and he made his way back down the nearby stairs. You turn to Marcus.

“You don't have to do much, you know, Marcus, just be firm and always follow through.”

“Right, got it, boss. Also, those women you asked about? They are from the local sorority—semi-regulars—but have a couple of new members with them, apparently. No red flags, though.”

“Good. Send a round to their table from me.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

Grabbing your drink from the table, you returned to the railing. You knew it wouldn't take Natasha long to spot you, yet you figured it would be better to make it as easy as possible. Marcus approached the table, and after divvying up the drinks among the women, he gestured to you above, and they all cheered in your direction.

You and Natasha locked eyes as you shared a small smile and raised your glasses before you rested your forearms on the railing, holding your drink in front of you. She raised her glass to her lips, pretending to drink as she spoke,

“Long time no see, Jensen. You good to hear me from up there?”

You nodded and tugged at your ear to signal her to go ahead.

“Sorry to intrude, but we have a problem that they wanted relayed ASAP. Klein was taken in by the FBI yesterday, and it sounds like he’s making a deal. Fury wants to know if you are able to access the record system so we can get the data out before they take this place down.”

You stretched your neck out and downed the rest of your drink, pointing at the dance floor before turning around. Heading down the stairs, you stopped at the edge of the bar and advised the VIP waitress to send some champagne up and to be ready to supply full service.

Natasha is easily spotted on the dance floor as you approach, offering her a hand and immediately pulling her in close. Her arms wrap around your neck as you take hold of her hips and move your head above her shoulder to speak into her ear.

“Aren't you getting a little old to be taking the role of a college student?”

You find yourself overly aware of just how close your bodies are as you move to the music. You both pull away slightly to face each other, a smirk on her face as she raises an eyebrow and responds,

“Maybe. But it sure caught your attention pretty quick.”

You raise a hand and run it through the hair flowing over her shoulder as it runs halfway down her bicep.

“Your hair is longer.”

“It does that. But I have been thinking about cutting it short.”

“Well, either way, you always look stunning.”

“You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Her hand moves down the lapel of your suit jacket slowly before she turns, pressing her back to your front as you continue to dance.

“We can do it, but it has to be tonight, and it will break my cover.”

“We suspected it might. We have the go-ahead to break if you're sure we can get it, but Fury says we can have four days.”

“I'm head of the house until Klein gets back tomorrow, and once he does, it will be much harder. Do you have a USB on you?”

“I do.”

“Good. Then let's party. Introduce me to your new friends.”

****************************************************************

You spend the next hour or so back up on the second floor with the dozen college students as they continue to drink and dance. Settled into the corner of one of the couches with your arm around Natasha, your fingers running along her bare arm while hers rest on your thigh, playing your parts.

She continues to play up her intoxication, switching between conversations with the others and whispering in your ear. With anyone else, you're sure you would have had to actively remember to keep up with the ruse even to simply look relaxed in this position. However, with Natasha, it wasn't even really a ruse; the positioning, the physical closeness, the movements just felt natural.

The thought of which causes you pause, you had hoped that perhaps some more significant time away from her would have diminished some of these feelings, but it seemed as though they were as prevalent as ever. Shifting slightly, Natasha moves her hand up to the base of your neck, drawing your attention back to her.

“So when are we gonna get out of here?”

“Soon,”

you reply, moving your own hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear and slowly pulling it back across her face. Staring into each other's eyes, you can't help but find yourself drawn to her. Unsure if it was on purpose or not, her gaze quickly jumps to your lips and back. Causing your breath to hitch slightly as you both look away, and you bite your lip.

Considering the play you were trying to put on, it would have made sense for you to have kissed her by now, probably more than once, and yet you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. As you try to sort through the thoughts of why you are holding back, the announcement for the last call rings out. You shift to get up, seeing Marcus against the wall nearby.

“Come on, Marcus, let loose a bit! You did well this weekend, so have a bit of fun to celebrate. I know I'm going to.”

You wink at him as you turn to Natasha, holding out your hand. She takes it and rises to her feet, adding a slight stumble for dramatic flair. You lead her to the elevator doors and make your way up to the third floor. It’s slightly more narrow and runs around the perimeter of the building, similar to the second; however, it is fully enclosed with one-way glass, the sound of the music greatly diminished.

You head down the hallway, stopping briefly at the security room. You open the door, and multiple screens fill the wall with two people seated inside. The older of the two has already turned to face you.

“James, I'm going to the office for a while, and I DO NOT want to be disturbed, got it?”

His eyes flicker between the two of you with a satisfied grin.

“You got it, boss.”

Closing the door behind you, you continue on to the final room, reaching your hand up to glide your ring over the access panel light, which turns green before you enter the code and it clicks open. Once inside, you release Natasha and direct her to the desk at the center.

“This is the only room in the building not monitored. Everything is in there. I only have access to the primary system; however, it shouldn't be hard to break into the rest, so have at it.”

You finish entering your login information and gesture to Natasha toward the computer as she pulls a USB drive out from her clutch.

“Admitting that I'm better than you, Jensen?”

“Maybe. But then again, faster isn't the same as better.”

“I suppose that depends on who you ask.”

As she works her way through the computer, you take off your suit jacket and toss it onto one of the chairs, then swipe your arm along the edge of the desk, causing some papers and office supplies to fall to the floor. Natasha shoots you an amused look while you untuck your shirt.

“Might as well make it look convincing,”

you muse as you remove your ring and toss it in the garbage can.

“Okay, I'm in, but it's a lot. It could take up to 15 minutes to download. Think we have that?”

“Should be fine. Just one wildcard.”

She moves to the front of the desk and leans against it as you look on from the window.

“Certainly not the kind of place I usually find myself extricating you from.”

“It certainly is not. It has been an interesting change of pace.”

“The power looks good on you.”

“Careful, Romanoff; I might start to think you actually like me.”

You share a look before you turn your attention back to the window.

“We will be able to walk away from here with no issue. They won't even notice anything, not until Klein gets back, and we are hopefully long gone so we can stop at my apartment and collect the relay supplies before we head out. It will also be good for the car tracker.”

“Sounds good. I'm set up at a hotel downtown and can contact HQ when we arrive to arrange travel.”

“When did you get in?”

“About this time yesterday.”

“And still took you this long to come visit?”

“Well, I did expect to have a few more days to plan after contact, but I also didn't expect it to be quite this easy.”

“Yeah, me too. I mean, they will mess you up, but if you're in, you're in. Honestly, I think the Pedlar might have picked them as an access point because the operation is just so- average none would expect big things from them”

Then you see Allison talking with Marcus on the second floor, her typical irritating self, asking where you are.

“Well, of course there's the wild card. How much time do we have left?”

Natasha leans back to look at the screen as you walk towards her, listening to the pair reach the top of the elevator.

“87%. Should only be a couple of minutes, max.”

“Okay, we should be able to handle that then,”

you finish as you approach her space, smirking as you lift her onto the desk to sit just in front of the computer, positioning yourself between her legs. She subtly places her left hand at your waist, within easy reach of your holster.

“Don’t get trigger happy; it’s just the second in command. I had her taking care of distribution downstairs. She's annoying but won't cause issues unless we do. Trust me, Natalie , I can talk us out.”

“Don't worry, Jayce , I’ll follow your lead.”

You look into each other's eyes again, bodies against each other, face so close you can feel her breath on your lips. You find yourself having to focus on controlling your breathing as she raises her right hand to your face. You can hear James arguing with them as they approach the door, and you brace yourself to move.

Hesitating for a moment, you begin; however, instead of a forward motion, you move drastically to her left and lay your lips on her neck. She stretches away from you, looking at the ceiling as she moves her hand past your ear to grip the back of your head. You find yourself a little lost in the taste of her skin as you slowly move, then hearing the security panel activate, you move your right hand to her exposed thigh.

As your fingers slide under the fabric of the slit, you notice her breath catch, causing you to tighten your grip. The sudden hum that escapes her throat immediately elicits the same effect in yours, taking you by surprise as the door opens. You glance at the USB, still glowing red, before you turn your head to the right, remaining in the same position and speaking towards the wall.

“I recall specifically telling you that I did not want to be disturbed, James.”

It’s Allison who responds, irritation lacing her voice.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be fucking around on the job.”

“I’ll fuck around when and wherever I want.”

You turn your head back towards Natasha’s shoulder, taking a glance at the computer just as you see the glow turn green. You plant another kiss on her shoulder, continuing to speak as you move your right hand from her thigh to her hip and lean forward slightly so that you can remove the USB from the computer.

“But there is no need to be jealous, Allison.”

As you turn to face the trio, you run your hand up Natasha’s back and tuck the USB into the band of her bra before running your fingers along her hair.

“Excuse me for a moment here, darling.”

You walk across the room towards the three standing at the door. Marcus and James have slight concern etched on their faces while Allison continues to look at Natasha.

“James, I find myself disappointed in you, and trust me, you will not like what happens if you do that a second time. Get back to your post.”

“Yes, boss. Won't happen again.”

He turns and leaves the room as you turn to the others.

“Might you please remind me who Klein left in charge?”

“That would be you, Jayce,”

Marcus responds with a clearing of his throat as Allison turns her gaze back to you. You move to stand in front of her, only a step away.

“But of course, you think it should have been you.”

“I've been here for over a year; I should have been next in line when Alaris left.”

She raises her arm, and you quickly catch her wrist in a firm grip.

“Perhaps you should have done a better job of proving yourself then, mmm?”

She moves to pull away from your grip while attempting to strike you with her free arm, and you easily block her. Quickly, you strike an elbow into her jaw and spin her in your grip before pinning her to the wall, one arm behind her back, with your knife now pulled from your belt and pressed into the wall beside her head.

“You really need to learn to keep your attitude in check.”

Moving the knife down to her shoulder, you slowly press in until drawing blood and slide back, leaving an inch-long cut.

“Truly Allison. You should think about how to better prove yourself, because when Klein returns and finds out that you gave Jerimiah another 200 after I specifically told him no, well, let’s just say he’s not going to be very happy with you.”

“How did you…”

Before she finishes, you pull her back from the wall a couple of inches before pushing her back into it with force and kicking out her knee, letting her fall to the ground.

“I, unlike some of us here, am actually good at my job.”

You turn around, sheathing your knife, and throwing Natasha a roll of the eyes as you walk back towards her.

“It was, ahhh, Niomi?”

She stands from the desk.

“Natalie.”

“Right, Natalie, sorry. What do you say we take this back to my place, where we won’t get so rudely interrupted?”

She simply nods coyly and takes your hand, both turning to leave as Allison stands from the floor.

“You think you can do better? Have at it. Close up for the night, and if I find anything out of place come morning, I'll show you what a real scar looks like.”

Walking back out of the club and heading down toward the garage, you notice Marcus coming down behind you.

“Just close up and head home as usual, Marcus. She shouldn't give you any trouble.”

“I was just wondering, was there anything I could — I mean, should — have done differently, Jayce? I know I shouldn't really ask. I'm just really trying, and I want to do better. Be more like you.”

You share a quick glance with Natasha as you approach the car.

“Honestly, if you want to be more like me, then you're in the wrong place.”

You open the passenger door for Natasha and close it behind her before turning to the young man.

“Why do you even want to be in this business, Marcus?”

“Well, I mean, you know I'm good with the books, and it's lucrative, so why not?”

“Look, kid, I'm going to be straight with you for a minute, okay? You have some good skills and potential, but those can be put to good use in a lot of different areas, and you could do some good out there. So I'm just saying, if an opportunity presents itself, you should seriously consider it.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder briefly before heading over to the driver's side and opening the door.

“Oh, and Marcus?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“This conversation never happened.”

He nodded, and you entered the car and drove away.

“Getting soft spots for criminals now, Jensen?”

Natasha smirked as you drove.

“I wouldn't call it that. But I would be lying if I said I didn't see a bit of myself in him.”

******************************************************************

It didn't take long to get to your nearby apartment. Upon entry, you began to strip down, tossing articles of clothing onto the floor as you walked to the bedroom and removed the blanket. You pulled off and reset the sheet in a more disorganized position, and before removing your pants, now only in your underwear, Natasha spoke from her position leaning against the doorframe.

“Always putting on a show.”

You shrugged as you made your way to the closet, noting her gaze lingering on you.

“Why not? They will look here eventually; might as well keep up the act as much as possible. You know, you could take that off and add to the ploy.”

You sent a wink her way as you donned more casual attire.

“I could. But I think you would enjoy it too much; best to keep free of distractions.”

“You say that as if just being here isn't a distraction.”

You purposefully avoid looking at her during the exchange. This style of banter is not out of the ordinary, but it was getting more difficult to keep a straight face. She simply watched as you finished your task, collecting the relay equipment from its hiding place inside the vent before emptying the gun magazine and leaving it on the counter with the knife, phone, and keys. You left through the fire escape in order to avoid the front door security cameras and walked a couple of blocks before hailing a cab and heading to the hotel.

Once you arrived, Natasha went to change and called to arrange transport back to DC while you made some tea. She exited the washroom wearing jeans and a simple red tank top, her hair tied up in a ponytail and cell phone tucked against her shoulder. You handed her a mug, and she nodded with a smile as you passed by, heading to the balcony with your own in hand.

The early morning stillness was always something you enjoyed, as long as it was the end of a day and not the start of one. You realized you must have gotten quite used to standing on a balcony from your time at the club, as you naturally leaned against the rail.

After a few minutes, Natasha joined you, advising that they had been able to reroute a nearby Quinjet, which would arrive in just a couple of hours. She stood a few steps away from you, leaning her back against the rail as she drank. You stood in silence for several minutes, simply breathing the fresh air before she spoke.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You know you can, but whether or not I answer is another story.”

You turned your head to look at her as you replied with curiosity, wondering what it would be, as you could tell her tone was more serious in nature. She broke eye contact, looking up at the sky briefly before continuing to look forward.

“I was just curious. Earlier in the office. Why didn’t you kiss me?”

You couldn't help but release a small huff of amusement as you looked down.

“It ah, certainly would have made sense.”

“It would have. Probably even before the office.”

“Maybe I wanted to minimize distractions.”

“So my lips are a distraction, but my neck isn't?”

She smirked as she looked at you this time, and you turned to face her, leaning a hip against the railing as you returned the look with a shrug of your shoulder.

“Well, I guess you've got me there.”

You paused for a moment as you considered your thoughts and took a breath.

“I was going to, and then I, ah, I had a thought, and so then I didn't.”

“What was the thought?”

“Natasha…” You took another deep breath as you shook your head. “Why do you want to know so badly?”

She crossed her arms and turned to face you, mirroring your position, hip against the rail.

“I, ah, had a thought too. When it seemed like you were going to.”

“Ah, I see, so you'll tell me if I tell you.”

You gestured with your hands as she shrugged.

“Only seems fair.”

You continued to shake your head and turned again to face the room, leaning your back against the rail and taking a drink, looking up at the sky for a moment as you thought.

“Because it was just a mission. An act we were putting on; something that had to be done. And I knew we needed to do something, but I couldn't shake the thought that I just... I didn't want our first kiss to be that—to be just a part of a mission.”

“Our first kiss?”

You tilted your head to look at her again.

“I said what I said.”

You watched her chest rise as she took a deep breath and then spoke, barely above a whisper.

“I wanted you to.”

She looked up at you, and you locked eyes as she continued more clearly.

“The thought that I had when it seemed like you were going to—it was that I wanted you too.”

“mmm, in the moment or in general?”

She didn't respond at first; you just looked at each other for a couple of seconds before she pushed away from the rail, putting her cup on the table beside you and moving to stand in front of you.

“Is this just a part of the mission?”

she asked, her face stern as a flash of confusion crossed over yours.

“What?”

Her demeanor broke as she scrunched her features slightly.

“Right now. Here. Do you consider this a part of the mission?”

You felt your heart beating as you realized what you thought she was implying, and as she ran her tongue along her lips, you found yourself having to swallow before you responded.

“No. It isn't.”

You only managed to stand up from your lean before she closed the distance between you, running her hand across your cheek as she leaned forward, pausing for only a second before making contact.

Her lips moved slowly against yours in the moment before you reacted, your free hand reaching for her hip and pushing harder against her. Tender yet fierce you moved firmly against each other, the tension of the last few years finally released.

Lost in the heat of the moment for only a minute before the need to touch her overtook you, you pushed your body forward a step, causing her to stumble back slightly, gripping your hip to stabilize herself. You pulled away for air and leaned to place your cup onto the table, finding yourself distracted enough that it tipped to its side rather loudly, causing you both to smile and huff.

Your attention turned back to her as you raised your now free hand to her face, running your thumb along her jawline. Silent for a moment, you simply took in her features in a way that you had stopped yourself from doing since you first met. As your hand completed its trip across her face, you moved it to the back of her neck and lightly pulled her back towards you.

You wouldn't even be able to estimate the number of times you had thought about this moment. Yet it was like nothing you could have imagined—the feeling of her body against yours, her lips smooth and full, the softness of her skin and hair in your hand, her grip as her hand slid up your back. You found yourself completely lost in the moment, hearing only the rapid thumping of your hearts.

Unsure how many minutes passed before the sudden ringing of the phone startled you. Pulling apart, your foreheads leaned against each other to breathe, she was the first to speak.

“That's probably the notice that our car has arrived.”

“Yeah. We should. probably get it.”

“Yeah. We probably. should.”

You pulled away enough to look into each other's eyes again as you moved a stray hair behind her ear and softly declared,

“First kiss?”

She smiled and nodded.

“Yeah. Just the first one.”

#fanfic #slash fanfiction #queer #fan fiction #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x you #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #shield agents #a03 fic #first kiss

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siconetribal · 21 days ago

Text

Beyond the Bookshelves (11)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: "I see."

Summary: You’re a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You’ve been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.

A/N:

Sorry about the delay. I ended up getting more tasks for work right after traveling abroad. It was a scramble to get the last 2 months caught up.

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! (If I missed any tags, please let me know, I’ll add you right away!) I’d also greatly appreciate it if rebloggers remember to add the tags (or some at least).

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

Loki stood awkwardly in the sterile environment, too far from the door to leave yet close enough to not hover over the staff member dressed in a white coat. Y/N lay motionless on the atrocity that is considered a “bed”. A cuff was wrapped around her bicep which whirred to life with a few button presses. It inflated until it looked as if it would burst before slowly deflating with evenly placed clicks until numbers popped up on the screen. A plastic device was clamped over the tip of one finger and more numbers came onto the screen. The medic then slipped a metal probe encased in plastic into her mouth. Another portion of the screen lit up and a new set of numbers came up. He was not entirely sure what all these numbers meant, but it was clear by the frown that it was not good.

“What are these numbers and why are you wrapping her in such machinery? She fainted, how do all these gadgets treat that?” He finally asked two of the questions that only grew in number with each new thing. The staff member turned to face him, sizing him up.

“And you are what to her exactly?” The question was simple, but the scrutiny in the medic’s gaze gave pause. Was he being questioned on why he cared for her? Or was he being reminded rhetorically that he was an outsider and that he simply should leave?

If it’s the former, well is it not obvious? She is a thorn in my side. The vile villainess who dared to ban me, a prince, from the library! She is a haughty midgardian who lacks any proper etiquette towards royalty though she is surrounded by knowledge. He recalled their “first encounter” and the texts. His frown deepened. An oddity in this world that does not follow the norm. “She is someone I made to work with on a large assignment given to her by Fury. I need her to be normal for the work to be done and I can be freed of this extra burden.” He finally responded.

“I see,” was followed by silence. “This medical equipment does not treat her. It allows me to gather necessary information to best assess, diagnose, and treat her. Is there anything that happened during your assignment that I should know about?”

“That it has yet to start, because she simply vanished for a lengthy amount of time and only recently returned? Or perhaps her incessant chattering with the equally annoyingly talkative Rogers?” And I was forced to wait, none the wiser of her absence. “You've gathered your vitals, what is wrong with her?”

“I see, so she was traveling recently for work?”

“As per her claims.”

“I see,” the medic turned and began to tap away on a tablet. That two word phrase was beginning to poke at his nerves.

“And?”

“And do you know where she had gone in her travels?”

Do I look to be her keeper? I only brought her to you to be treated, not be her living diary! He bit back the words and dulled his sharp tone, taking a deep breath. “Do I look like her keeper?”

“I am simply gathering the necessary information to better assess her.”

“And how would knowing where she traveled be of any use to you?”

“Climate, environment, and what the current illnesses are currently on the rise.”

“No, I do not know where she went nor did I ask her or anyone. I was preoccupied with more important matters.” Loki took another deep breath. Will these insufferable questions end and the treatment begin?”

“I see,” his eyebrow twitched at the repeated statement. The medic moved from Y/N’s beside.

“Are you not going to cure her now? Where are you going?” The younger prince turned on his heel to see the medic start tapping away at a computer. “What are you doing now? What could possibly be more important in that hellish void than healing a fallen midgardian?” His jaw tightened at the series of clicks and clacks that came from the mechanical keyboard.

“I need to document my treatment in her chart.” The forever unperturbed voice of the medic was like nails on a chalkboard. Was there no sense of urgency? Was the health of someone who could outrank an Avenger mean so little? Or were the staff uncaring because he was involved? Was he hindering proper treatment because he was so hated and she was being associated with him? He glanced over his shoulder at Y/N. Her eyebrows were furrowed, creating creases in her forehead; and her breathing was labored and shallow.

“Is it necessary to do that right now?” The medic turned from the monitor and silently observed the irritated royal before refocusing in the computer screen.

“Yes, it needs to be done timely.” Once again, a sluggish and bland tone that gave no sense of security. “Do you plan on staying here with her?”

“Why would I stay here with her? Treat her so that she is back up on her feet and I am free of this unnecessary burden!” He demanded.

“I see,” his hand twitched at the statement that was repeated for the umpteenth time. It took a great amount of control to not summon one of his beloved throwing knives to threaten the medic into working properly.

“I highly doubt it.” He coolly retorted. “You’ve done absolutely nothing to treat her and are now requesting me to watch over her while you galavant off to do absolutely nothing. You've only assessed what I have told you multiple times, the Librarian fainted and needs to be revived. You have done nothing to remedy this.” He forced his jaw to unclench so that his words were clear for the pathetic midgardian in charge of care.

“There’s no medicine on Earth that can suddenly revive someone who has fainted as she has. As per what you said, she fell unconscious and did not hit her head, recently returned from a trip, and has been recently assigned something that requires the assistance of an Avenger. Coupled with her vitals, I can say she is safe from serious danger and will get better. It will take time, some medication, and proper hydration.” The medic walked past the irritated Asgardian, donning gloves after gathering some supplies. Loki observed the odd steps taken, skeptical and confused as part of her arm under her elbow was wiped and a needle with some tubing was inserted. The tubing was then attached to a bag that was hung above Y/N and drops of clear liquid began to steadily fill a chamber. Then the medic brought forth a syringe and poked something into the bag, pushing it into it. “She’ll need to rest here. I can’t say when she’ll wake up, but you can stop by and check in a couple of hours. The IV and medication will help her. If that’s all, I’ll be heading back to do my charting.” Seeing the prince stand there in silence was sign enough for the medic to walk out of the room and head to the back office.

That’s it?! That’s all that can be done? And they simply wash their hands of the matter and move on? What could that ridiculous excuse of a physician possibly have seen if that was all that could be done?! Loki had half the mind to teleport to the back and demand more be done, but stopped himself. Why am I so aggrieved by this? This is all her own fault! Why am I wasting my time here when she's the one who abruptly left me banned from the library for weeks? This it's simply the consequences of her actions. I have no work to be done at this moment, I need to eat and head back to the library to avoid all unnecessary interactions. He turned to the door and resolutely made his way back to the cafeteria to get some food.

Where am I? Y/N slowly slipped back into the world of the conscious. Her head felt like it was skimming on water and one arm felt a bit swollen. Forcing her eyes open, she blinked away the bleariness to see the IV drip and digital monitor. I'm in infirmary? How? She craned her neck to look around the room a bit before dropping it back against the pillow. Obviously someone brought me here, because I sure as hell know I did not bring myself. I went to lunch with Jess and she was telling me about a new recruit for the Avengers. Another super soldier, I think? Or was it something that has to do with Steve and not a newcomer? Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths to ease the oncoming headache. Don’t worry about that detail for now Y/N. Focus on not having your brain rip itself in two. She used her free arm to rub her face.

“I was talking to Jess, we ate lunch in the cafeteria, and we were walking out together. She was fussing over my health and then what happened? Did I black out?” She frowned. “That’s not good. Fury’ll be furious if my report isn't in by tomorrow, pun intended.” She mumbled aloud to herself. “What time is it?”

“It’s currently 19:30.” A voice off to the right answered her. Rolling her head to the side, she saw one of the nurses step through the glass door, the curtain half drawn across the glass wall for some privacy.

“Seven thirty? How long have I been here?” Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and opened them once more.

“You were checked in at 13:06 and have been under observation for fever, exhaustion, and dehydration. You’ve been asleep the majority of the time. We were told that you were travelling recently?”

“Yeah, I had to go to all the SHIELD libraries to make sure the new network was functional and the staff properly trained.” She muttered, rubbing her face. “I was working on the reports and took a break for lunch, but that's the last thing I remember before waking up here.”

“So no issues in remembering what happened prior to the incident. Do you recall hitting your head on something?”

“Hitting my head?” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, trying to recall what happened in more detail. “No, I don't recall. I was talking to my friend and I just blacked out. No, wait, I did fall. I got dizzy and blacked out for a moment. I stumbled into the wall and slid down. Jess was freaking out, I used the wall to stand up again, and then I passed out again.” She opened her eyes again and turned to the nurse. “I don’t remember bringing myself here.” She frowned.

“You didn't, someone brought you in while you were unconscious.”

“Oh, I guess Jess called for assistance.”

“No, one of the other personnel brought you in.” Y/N’s head jerked up off the pillow at this detail.

“Another? Another who? I can’t have been Jess. She’s strong, but she isn’t that strong. Did she get someone to help?”

“Bingo, your friend Jess found one of the strongest to assist. You were brought in by an Avenger.”

An Avenger? Maybe Steve was nearby. Oh, maybe that's why I thought we talked about super soldiers. “Well, aren't I a lucky gal? Not everyday you get carried off by an Avenger without some life altering calamity happening.”

“Ain’t that the truth!” The nurse laughed, scanning Y/N’s wristband before taking her vitals. “Well, you’re looking good so far. Seems like it was purely exhaustion hitting you hard. You need to rest, don’t go running back to work after so much travel and in so many different time zones. Your body needs to recover.”

“Yeah, I made a promise to someone so I came in Toby away.”

“Y/N, I’m sure they'd have understood. Even if they didn't, your health is a priority to you. No one else is going to care for it for you. So, rest and proper nutrition for the next two days. No rushing to work, I'll post your order so everyone who needs to know doesn't give you a hard time.”

“Thanks, that'll help.” Y/N sat up at the edge of the bed, letting the nurse unhook her from the machines and clear her for leave. “I’ll be sure to stay home for two days as the doctor ordered.”

“Good, now off you go. Do you need someone to help you home?”

“Oh, no need to go that far, I'm fine.” Y/N assured. “Thanks again,” she stood up once cleared and left the infirmary. I’ll need to thank Steve tomor-no, when I get back. I'll thank him when I get back. Being carried by an Avenger is gossip enough, but by the Captain America only makes it worse! She pinched the bridge of her nose. A few days away from work would be the best course of action. P,us I can focus on my reports and submit them without an all-nighter.

Tags: @vbecker10 @huntress-artemiss @softestqueeen @thegodofnotknowing @princess-ofthe-pages @firedrakegirl @rcailleachcola @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lotrefcp @lwtannie @jainaeatsstars @msdjsg7 @tom-hlover @kneelingformyloki @gruftiela @gigglingtiggerv2 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @evalynanne @wolfsmom1

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anika-ann · 11 months ago

Text

Back and Forth - part 7

Part 7 - Step Forward

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 15000 (cough-)

Chapter summary: In which the heaviness of the past fall on you harder than before - but there might be someone more than willing to help you carry the weight.

Series masterlist

Warnings: deep-rooted issues with self-worth (result of shitty ‘parenting’), mentions of canon-typical violence and blood, unhealthy relationship with pain and one's self, language feels and fluff ✨ Please, let me know any time if you think I missed any!

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: hello, loves, thank you for your patience and enjoy the 15k worth of words. I'm afraid I have no advice as where to take break from reading. But stay hydrated and keep the tissues close. Enjoy ✨

Yesterday was a good day, you decided.

Hours had blended together and so it was rather difficult to draw sharp lines between days, even as there was no blessing such as forgetting a single minute of time spent in captivity due to your momentarily enhanced memory; but you had drawn a sharp line.

The gala, the kidnapping, the captivity and the rescue, that all had happened the day before; it might have as well happened in another dimension entirely.

On the other hand, waking up to Natasha and Steve, being visited by Daisy, who was picked up by Mack and May along with their greetings, a brief hello from Coulson, these happened yesterday. Way too much sleep, numerous check-ups and attempts at balancing your meds, finding out about the impending investigation of your mother, a therapy session, report writing and way too much sleep –those happened yesterday, but weren’t important.

Because yesterday was a good day.

Yesterday, giddiness filled you any moment you remembered Steve’s words: I just like you.

His warm smile.

The gentle touch of his hand.

Yesterday, a smile attacked your lips whenever you recalled his large hands holding up your face, tucking loose strands behind your ear, even if that memory was associated with pain and sweat and blood.

You’re being very brave, doll. I’m sorry, sweetheart.

I just like you.

See you soon, doll.

Yesterday, you giggled. You damn well giggled when the echo of his soft voice whispered the endearments to you so sweetly.

Sure, Daisy had a hand in that – she was just as giddy as you, probably even more so, with her eyes shining, so excited and happy for you. Her enthusiasm, despite carrying an air of naivety, was nothing short of contagious. You deserved a win, she said, and you believed her, accepted it as a fact for more than just a moment; and basking in the genuine warmth of hers, you didn’t feel guilty for being greedy, for thinking you deserved such a good thing to happen to you.

You didn’t feel bad for wanting, you didn’t feel bad for being so arrogant as to think you had a chance at not only happiness, but excellence, no matter how out of reach it usually appeared.

Yesterday, you were excited, because Steve said he would see you soon and he might as well have been saying ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’.

Today was the ‘tomorrow’.

And the feeling of glee and the butterflies in your stomach was replaced by a gaping hole filled with a cold coil of doubt, dread and, eventually, panic, as the sense of reality crept in and dug its nails straight into the edge of that hole and climbed out through your still open wounds.

The whole concept of yesterday was utter nonsense, which you should have known right away.

You had been taught better than to believe something as unplausible as this to be possible.

You felt like the stupidest person on Earth for entertaining the thought of this chance at happiness even for a moment.

Steve Rogers had said he liked you. Right.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, drop-dead gorgeous, annoyingly kind, utterly brilliant, absurdly stubborn and righteous and as close as humanly possible to perfect, had said he liked you. In romantic sense, unless your perception of other people’s emotion was entirely off; which surely was the case at times, but you did not believe that it was now.

The thing was, you did not have a single doubt in your mind that Steve had spoken the truth. He was one of those people who told no lie unless their life depended on it and maybe not even then, and he seemed so genuine in his care and interest in your well-being and youthat you would not only giggle with giddiness, but might actually weep.

However, the sudden source of anxiety curling in your stomach might as well be a gut feeling – an instinct you had been relying on ever since you had started at the academy and been told to listen to it at all times, because it was the most reliable tool an agent could ever gain, only improving with every single bit of experience gained. And it was very true, that; this very gut feeling had saved your life and the lives of others a hundred times.

The gut feeling was never wrong; even if it sometimes went against everything your purely rational thoughts whispered you to believe.

Today, the two – rationality and your gut feeling – came to a rare agreement.

Steve Rogers might have said he liked you, but there was no world in this universe in which that would be enough for him not to break your heart eventually. He wouldn’t want to and perhaps he would break his own in the process, because there was no world in which he’d intentionally harm another human being beyond actual physical fight with an enemy agent – but he would still do it.

And the reason for that was simple: Steve Rogers was too good to be true and despite that fact and against all laws of nature, he was true.

A guy like that was one in a million, if not in a billion. He was the impossible combination of kind, caring, fierce and handsome and had shoulders wide-enough to carry the weight of the world; but not even his shoulders were wide enough to carry a relationship based on mere, albeit genuine, care. Because that was what this was; care and lingering sense of compassion and belonging. You two had been through an extreme situation where the essential part of him, driving him to protect others, had been pushed into an overdrive and naturally, he had given in, dotting on you with utmost care and all gentleness he possessed.

And from his position as your superior, he might have approved of how you two had handled the situation. He might be riding on the sweet feeling of victory, even as you two hadn’t truly been the ones to deliver it. He might have been happy with your performance as an agent, as a colleague, even as it had been less than stellar. And there was no denying that you two had found a momentary understanding for each other in a situation that had left no other option, and it had served you as the sweetest relief, a calm shore in the raging sea of pain, fear and despair.

All that was true. And all that was bound to be temporary.

You had cared for him a long time before that, harboured feelings you shouldn’t have long before that. For him, it was much less than that: a feeling of affection having stemmed from crisis, lingering. A feeling that was about to run out of fuel soon enough.

And even if by some cosmic error it hadn’t been, you’d disappoint him eventually; an inevitable failure or even a mere misstep.

And a guy like him, almost the perfection incarnated, who could do so much better than that? He would turn his back to you then. He would get bored. He would have had explored the flare of passion, should you care for that term, and he’d realize that the spark had evaporated a long time ago. You’d be back to yelling and grunting and growling whenever you’d appear in each other’s immediate vicinity. Or maybe there’d be less of that; he’d be perfectly civil, but indifferent, acting like you two had never happened. Or, despite being the paragon of virtue he was, he’d push you away; probably into such elite position in SHIELD which would include zero interaction with him, making it look like an honour to you, while it would only serve to cover up for the fact he was simply looking for a way to kick you off the team to avoid you. Or perhaps the worst possibility of all – he’d stay with you out of pity despite not being happy, because Steve Rogers would never intentionally harm another human being beyond actual physical fight with an enemy agent.

And either of these scenarios would crush you.

When your therapist, whom you had had an appointment due to protocol, pried this information out of you long after you had exhausted the events of the mission, she expressed her compassion, confirmed your fears were valid and understandable, because she loved to do that, and warned you that you could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. To prevent that, she suggested more frequent sessions to help you deal and an extension of the session you were to share with Steve, because of course she did, and more importantly, she recommended you to talk about your feelings to Steve himself.

You nearly leaped for the door and ran despite the bullet holes in your thighs still closing.

Because that, that was not going to happen.

You weren’t sure how to handle with your predicament, but you knew that doing what she had suggested was not going to be it. You were not going to expose yourself even further than you already had, you were not going to show anyone, let alone Steve Rogers, any more of the mess you were; God knew he had seen more than enough for a lifetime and you were humiliated for just as long.

No.Telling him about these fears and doubts was certainly not an option. You would have to work out how to deal with what had happened yesterday and the day before and the night before, but revealing your raging emotions was not going to be the way – not if you wished to stay an Avenger and wanted to avoid pity and being labelled as insane and weak.

Yesterday was a good day.

Today was not.

And then Captain America strolled into your room with a cute bouquet of pink tulips, because of course he would guess you had a beef with roses, and with a slightly nervous smile on his lips, his arm still in a sling, because he healed on normal rate now since you had become the involuntary thief of his enhanced healing and--- your heart leaped to your throat, something ugly digging its nails into your stomach.

You smiled at him tightly, touched and irritated, because he was being his perfect self again, asking about how you felt and whether you had had a good time with Daisy and he smiled warmly when he said Coulson had talked to him; allegedly, he had been slightly star-struck still, wishing Steve an easy and early recovery, but had also warned him to take better care of one of his best agents and people he knew or else.

And you sat there, propped up on the bed, fisting the sheets and swallowing hard against the lump in your throat, painfully aware that you were staring at him, pretending that you didn’t feel the flutters of your heart over the gaping hole in your chest growing in size with every passing second. You should be able to appear calm and indifferent and goddamnit get a grip on your emotions or at least your reactions, but you seemed to lose all control over your body.

Because it was too much to handle even as it shouldn’t have been.

Because you could have this.

You could have this man for a while, this demi-god who, with only one fully functioning arm and actual gaping pain in his chest of his own, placed the flowers on your nightstand, moving effortlessly around the room and looked like he could lean to your face and kiss your cheek or forehead or do something else equally sweet any second.

But you were all to aware; you could only have this in some fever dream.

This scene didn’t only appear wrong because you had stolen his healing ability; this was you stealing someone else’s life.

This wasn’t how your life went.

You strived for excellence, but never succeeded. You didn’t catch an eye of people like him; and when you had, by some miracle, they didn’t stay. And Steve made for such an absurd sight; his beauty alone was blinding, and that was with a ghost of a prominent purple shiner on his right cheek, a cut above his brow and him otherwise injured, dressed in simple comfortable clothes; he had exchanged his hoodie and sweats for a henley and jeans. He was so infinitely good and handsome in his hesitance when he reached for a chair to pull up to your bed, stilling for a moment, his eyes finding yours.

“Can I?” he asked softly, a gentle furrow to his eyebrows, effectively confusing you by asking instead of questioning your silence.

“Of course,” you replied automatically, realizing that you had been, in fact, responding to whatever he had said, even if with a strained voice and in short.

Yeah, I’m better, thanks, the serum works wonders. How are you feeling? Is it time to switch?

Yeah, it was good to see her again.

Really? That’s nice of him…even if kinda rude.

Steve sat down, hands resting in his lap, observant gaze roaming your face, flickering to your own hands, following your line of sight as your own travelled to the flowers again and then reluctantly back to him.

He even brought you flowers. Really pretty flowers, one of your favourites, and he somehow managed to pick the right size of a bouquet for not seeming overbearing nor careless. Who the heck did that?

You noticed, however, that the blue of his irises lost some of its spark since the moment he had entered – and you hated it.

But that was barely a surprise, wasn’t it? You were acting strange, perhaps came off as hostile even. You were the kind of person who’d only dim him light more the longer he’d stay. It was no surprise he noticed your peculiar behaviour, and perhaps even the negative effect you had on his usual greatness. Of course he had noticed; he was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for, an unfortunate consequence of keeping people like Tony Stark, Bruce Banner or Natasha Romanoff for company.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said lowly, a sincere apology as he lightly beckoned with his chin to the vase of tulips – and you felt even worse than before for making him doubt his lovely gesture.

You gulped. “You didn’t.”

His creased eyebrows rose a fraction, along with one corner of his lips, an uncertain but telling smile, wordlessly calling your bluff.

It was a sweet image; your chest ached all the more for it, along with a flash of indignation and – as ashamed as you were for such an intense emotion – despair.

Just… why?

Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to be so devastatingly handsome? Why did he have to be just so… perfect? You didn’t belong with perfect, you never could. You could have belonged with him in some alternate universe in which he was a handsome scumbag perhaps. Or an average-looking good guy. Or a handsome good guy, but at least dumb. Or even a handsome, smart and relatively-good guy, but completely unavailable; not looking at you like he wanted to tell you that you could tell him anything and he’d listen and he’d make everything right.

Your heart hammered in your ribcage almost painfully, pulse throbbing in your temples as your lips acted of their own volition.

“I’m just… I’m scared.”

Steve’s brows arched higher, but much to your surprise, he didn’t laugh; if anything, he pulled back a bit, as if he wanted to give you space.

That ass. He just had to be so scandalously considerate too, didn’t he?

Damn him. Damn him and his pretty eyes, wide with bewilderment, and that barely visible flash of hurt, which made you want to explain yourself even as admitting you were afraid in the first place was an insanity which you had not planned on participating in. What the hell was it with him and that anyway? You had never had a case of a loose tongue with anyone else, not even with him, not before that… stupid charity auction and all that followed it.

“…of me?”

Are you scared… of me?

“What—No!” you blurted out instantly, almost laughing at the absurdity of that idea. “No! Not at all, that’s-- I just-”

You physically bit your tongue, forcing your mouth shut with jaw so tight it ached, but it was for a good cause. Telling him was a terrible idea – you had concluded that already.

But then Steven Grant Rogers was a rare bird and he was also an incredibly annoying one; because once you had mentioned being afraid, you could almost see the metaphorical grip he had got on your words, unrelenting. He was not going to let an admission like that go. The unfairly soft but expectant look in his eyes told you so.

Oh damn you, Steven Grant.

Damn you, damn you, damn you.

Your thoughts were running hundred miles a minute and still, you had no idea what to say and how, not without sounding completely deranged.

“I just… you said you liked me.”

Even as you spoke the words, you wished you could somehow take them back and choose different ones; in a barely visible movement, Steve cocked his head to side, curious.

“Yes, I did,” he said, voice puzzled as much as his expression. “I do.”

You gulped, unsure how to respond to that, vainly searching in your mind once again.

There was no safe way out. Whatever you’d say, you’d only make it worse. If you hadn’t mentioned it at all, had you made literally anything up – though you doubted telling him you were afraid of the HYDRA doctor returning or another plausible thing would have made you look any less unstable – the words spoken yesterday might have been forgotten. But it was too late for that now; you couldn’t take it back. And you had no idea how to move forward.

And the flowers were so pretty.

Silence stretched for a few moments as you kept wondering, kept looking for the right words; but as it turned out, you didn’t have to.

A brief disappointment flashed on Steve’s face as he caught on – or caught on on enough – and then his expression returned to pleasant neutral.

It made you want to scream.

“I see. Well, I also said I’d never bring it up again if you just said the word,” he reminded you, voice absurdly, maddeningly soft.

It pissed you beyond belief; flames of undiluted rage and frustration licked up your fingers, gripping onto the already rumpled sheets.

Nothing but the tinniest hurt had showed in Steve’s expression and then it was gone. A mask, no matter how pleasant, was in its place, compassion almost, tender understanding even as he could understand nothing at all.

Fucking why? Why wasn’t he angry instead? Why wasn’t he letting you see it?

“I… meant that. I mean that,” he continued, the cerulean blue of his irises just a tinge sad, but kind. So irritatingly kind – because of course it was. He was a good guy, hell, he was the ultimate good guy, he couldn’t afford to look offended, or god forbid wounded. He had to keep face, because that who he was, people need someone strong to look up to, need a strong leader – he even told you that for god’s sake. No, nothing could touch him, because the troops needed someone to lean onto. Of course.

Then, naturally, there was another explanation.

An explanation that stung much worse than the idea that he simply wouldn’t let anyone see his true emotion: he had no hurt to hide whatsoever. You had been right about his past words being but a lingering flare of sentiment. And now, with you backing off, you actually offered him the out he needed, the out he perhaps wouldn’t have found the will to create himself in fear of hurting you. He had realized what you knew too – that his interest was a simple consequence of a stressful situation you had handled together.

But that was what you wanted, wasn’t it? You predicted it and you got it. Not a self-fulfilling prophecy – just a prophecy. Maybe the artifact had given you the gift of divine foresight as a bonus. You wished that it hadn’t; because for some stupid reason, having those silly hopes of having him – hopes you hadn’t suffocated soon enough – crushed, that really fucking hurt.

“I promise it doesn’t change anything. You won’t bear any consequences. I won’t treat you any worse for it,” Steve added, reassuringly – or at least he had probably meant for it to sound as such.

It had the opposite effect.

Treat you any worse?

Of course he wouldn’t. He would never. And you were such great friends to begin with, weren’t you?

The sardonic chuckle escaped you before you could stop it, causing Steve’s gaze to snap up from where your hands were gripping the sheets, confusion and slight offence – at last – lacing his expression. Your satisfaction at seeing that however, mixed with guilt for making it so.

“Sorry. I mean… I just--- that’s it, isn’t it? There’s not that much potential for it to get worse,”you spat that word, malice slipping into your voice even as you tried to swallow as soon as you tasted its bitterness on your tongue. He didn’t deserve that; this was your hurt and your problem. All he had done wrong was having a little unfortunate hand when choosing his words. And looking utterly perplexed now. “We don’t really know each other, never talked much. When we did, we argued, pretty much every time, so… you know. Not much potential. Going separate ways is probably for the best.”

A beat of silence. Second ticking by without as much as an exhale.

Yet, the air shifted ever so subtly, but dramatically.

That.

That was it.

Whatever you had mentioned did it and despite the punch to your stomach that seeing Steve’s face distorted with distress felt like, it also hummed of satisfaction. Anger. He was finally angry with you, like he was supposed to.

His jaw tensed, eyes hardening, as did his voice, even if it spoke of an insult you didn’t quite understand.

“I like to think that at least some of those fights stemmed from misunderstandings and lack of will to see each other’s perspective. Which, I believe, is something we started to work on yesterday, and the day before. I think we were communicating just fine during the auction too, and we handled what followed just as well, don’t you?” he argued, a hint of what was a distinctly Captain voice – one you knew all too well, because he had been using it when talking to you more often than with anyone else – taking over.

Your next words – and frankly, you were unsure what they would be – died on your lips.

Well.

It was safe to say you hadn’t expected this when seeing his indignation rise.

Obviously, you hadn’t planned on telling him any of this in the first place, but a part of you knew that had you imagined telling him this, in your mind he wouldn’t have… protested against you parting ways being for the better. He would have rather agreed in a hard collected voice, if for nothing else, than for keeping the stability of team.

But he did protest.

Of course he did.

After all, you two were in opposition more than often, weren’t you?

You swallowed against the large lump that had grown in your throat, your pulse thundering in your ears. Steve’s frown was far from concerned now and you instantly kicked the fraction of your heart that whispered of missing his tenderness to shut the hell up.

Steve appeared as if he was hiding the fact that he was beyond angry and Captain-level disappointed in you.

That was supposed to be a victory of yours of sorts – proving your point.

Because you had known that was coming eventually, hadn’t you? It just came a lot sooner; you had sped it up by slipping and made for it to arrive right away. And that was a good thing, wasn’t it? Because now, it came before you could actually tangle with him enough to make it hurt more later, when he’d leave after having you truly believe that you could somehow, by some cosmic flaw, be worthy of him.

So why did you feel nauseous and weak and like you might start crying? You were a grown-ass woman and you were one of the top agents this country had, an agent who had, no matter how barely, made it to the Avengers Initiative. This shouldn’t affect you, especially since you had known it was coming.

But here you were, desperately trying to gather your scattered thoughts and rendered mute. And your boss, Captain Steven Grant Rogers, was waiting for your response, challenge written all over his expression.

You gulped, sticking your chin up to regain some resemblance of posture and scraps of dignity. You even managed to make your lips not tremble, perhaps even smile a polite and pleasantly neutral smile, as you set off to explain your perspective.

Because this was a rational discussion, an exchange of perspectives Steve had mentioned. This was what your purely rational thoughts and your field-experience gut feeling told you and you should stand by it. Right?

“I suppose. But… well, it’s been pretty intense, hasn’t it? It was… what happened was a forced bonding experience, emotions flew high. I just… know from experience that those tend to settle sooner or later, tend to revert… to its original state.”

It would be almost comical, the perplexion on your Captain’s – just Captain’s – face, if it wasn’t accompanied by his frown hardening, him straightening in the chair, shoulders squaring despite his injuries, his gaze turning piercing.

It would be comical if it only didn’t feel like a stab straight between your ribs, because you had seen expressions so much softer on his stupidly handsome face and they had even been directed at you. Before; and that was long, long gone.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded stiffly, shaking your wobbly mask of confidence.

“I- I mean-…“

He watched you as you found yourself at loss for words all of sudden; expectant, eyes practically drilling into your skull now as you scrambled for words.

“What did you mean by that?” he repeated, defensive.

He wasn’t shouting, didn’t even raise his voice; but the lump in your throat grew suffocating anyway, all alarm bells ringing in your head as that one single emotion of his had crystalized so clear in his expression. Disappointment.

You could not afford having the Captain, your direct superior, so thoroughly disappointed in you.

Fix that. You had to fix that right now, had to get your head down and keep it there, crawl if necessary, because you were toeing the line. The line of being dismissed. The line of getting fired.

And that was not an option.

“I mean… what I mean by that is that I understand people are influenced by intense emotions and… when the dust settles, they can… change their mind,” you explained clumsily, ashamed of how meek your voice had suddenly become – but you couldn’t help it. You had to show remorse. Not for earning pity, but to show willingness to learn from your apparent mistake; it would not save you, but it might salvage a faint image of your determination and skill.

You looked up from your lap carefully; and instantly snapped your gaze back. Steve’s frown disappeared as if you had snapped your fingers, sudden understanding written all over his face instead, clear as day.

But it brought you no relief.

“You think that I said I liked you only… out of some adrenalin-fuelled impulse? Is that it?”

A layer of ice ten inches thick covered his deceivingly calm voice and yet, this time you could hear the hurt in it; the bitter chuckle that followed his words cut into your stomach, screaming how absurd he thought that your idea of what his motivations were was.

Absurd. Stupid. He thought you were stup-

“No!” you blurted out, despite thinking, knowing, meaning, exactly that. “I mean… yes--- I-- don’t know, I just-“

Steve scoffed. Peripherally, you saw him shaking his head, running his fingers through his hair and shaking his head again.

You had never felt so small, not in any of your previous fights – and that was saying something, an ice-cold shiver running down your spine, sweat beading on your burning skin.

Fix that.

“I’m so sorry, St— I’m sorry, Captain Rogers.”

He winced. He actually winced, you saw as much when your gaze flickered up to show the sincerity of your apology. The smile he gave you in return was tight, hard and unforgiving.

Not that you’d deserve forgiveness, would you?

“Well, so am I.”

He spoke the words just as he rose to his feet, his gaze betraying him and flickering to the vase with the gorgeous tulips he had set up. They now felt like an insult on their own.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated pathetically, feeling the tell-tale burn of tears in your eyes.

And god, were you pathetic. Steve had just shown a flicker of emotions he actually felt, just as you had asked him back at the HYDRA base; and now that he had, you wished he hadn’t. Because he was hurt by your assumptions, hell, perhaps by your rejection as well, at least to a point.

He was hurt and you were the one to blame it on.

You hadn’t meant to hurt him. You just didn’t want to get hurt either. You wanted to save you both from inevitable heartache that was to come. Was that really so wrong of you?

Steve took a deep breath, releasing it slowly; you remembered the terrible pain he had to suffer from his spectral injury and you felt like you might actually throw up. That was on you too. Because that was your messy powers to deal with, not his.

“I should go, let you rest. I do hope you’ll feel better soon,” Steve said, almost on autopilot, but once again, so annoyingly sincere in his well-wishes you wanted to yell at him and shake his shoulders. Why couldn’t he just really be angry with you? It was clear you had touched a nerve, you very obviously wounded him, but there he was, as close to stoic as possible, and generously wishing you well.

A part of you – one that you were deeply ashamed of – quite literally wanted to crawl from the bed to grip at whatever part of his body and beg him to snap at you again even as it was simultaneously the last thing you wanted him to do.

Tell me you hate me. Tell me you think I’m stupid, that I’m evil, a bitch. Show me you are fucking angry, show me you feel something, even if it’s hate, you wanted to shout or whisper or rasp. Anything.

But you had some remnants of dignity left and a position on the team to maintain. So you didn’t do any of that.

Instead, you reciprocated in a whisper: “You too. And I… I really am sorry.”

Steve’s smile, while still tight-lipped, turned softer despite his jaw strung so tight it might cut glass.

“Don’t be. I am glad we cleared it up. I made a promise and I will keep it,” he declared lowly before he sighed and turned to the door, adding in a barely audible voice: “I hope you can trust me to do that at least.”

It was always that last straw that broke camel’s back, wasn’t it?

His barely-there whisper, one you likely weren’t meant to hear, because normal human ears probably wouldn’t – and it broke the dam you had so feebly tried to keep together. The tears sprung from your eyes, a rush of shame, desperation and anger bubbling to the surface, making your voice creak as your cried out.

“Goddammit, Steve, I trust you with my LIFE!”

At the sound of your distress, his head snapped back at you – because of course it fucking did, the caring asshole of a Captain – looking over his shoulder. His carefully crafted facade crumbled a fraction at the sight of your tears, his words slow and quiet.

“But not that I know how I feel?” he asked lowly. “Don’t trust me enough to-”

“I don’t trust myself, okay?!” you cried out, spilling the one truth that no one, no one was supposed to know. He turned to you fully, two surprised blinks of the sea of blue you could drown in; but you were drowning in your own tears instead, words spilling from your lips before you could stop them in between your heavy hitchy breaths, someone seemingly having sucked all air from the room. “I don’t trust myself to--- to keep you interested, not to bore you—to disappoint you somehow within a goddamn month! Because I never can-- I can never keep it up! I don’t trust myself to-- They always leave, everyone does--- sooner or later, because I’m never enough for any-- fuck.”

You choked on the last word, hand slapping over your mouth, forcefully suffocating any other words that might spill out at any cost. You had to stop this very fucking second.

Because Steve stared at you, rendered speechless.

You could only withstand the intensity of his gaze for few moments, before you buried your face in your hands, embarrassment enveloping you like a straitjacket filled with itchy powder; a fabric that trapped you without a chance of escape, but with tears drenching your face, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to judgement. An acute sensation of needing to crawl out of your skin tied your hands and your tongue alike.

You bit your tongue to keep the sob bubbling in your throat inside, humiliated enough for a hundred lifetimes; and all the more when it struck you over and over that hiding your face was so incredibly childish – your companion, your superior, had already witnessed your hysteria and could still see you.

And boy had he seen more than enough.

God, what you had been thinking – you hadn’t been,that was the problem – springing all that on him, crying in front of him--- You needed to pull yourself together, you had to do that right this goddamn second, or he really was going to mark you as mentally unstable and kick you out of the team. And hey, Coulson was still nearby perhaps, they could just seat you on a plane and-

“It’s not fair to judge me based on your past experience, no matter how bad,” Steve whispered tightly, interrupting your train of thought, and the sob you had tried to stifle so hard clawed its way out pathetically, a lovechild of a sardonic laugh and a wail.

He was right. Of course he was right. But that wasn’t what you were doing. It wasn’t that, it wasn’t--- alright, it was that too, but mainly it was your gut feeling, it was what kept you alive-

“I know. I know. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m scared. I know it’s not fair, but… what you said, I--- you like me? It’s--- it’s too unreal. It’s too fast. It’s-“ you were mumbling, probably incomprehensible, so you dropped your hands, daring to glance at him through your tears, glad you couldn’t quite decipher his expression. You chuckled bitterly – why were you still talking, what was it about this damn man that made you so unacceptably, unforgivingly and most of all brutally honest? He had already heard more than enough and yet you seemed unable to shut the hell up. “Come on, you gotta know that half of the reason why I always react to you the way I do is ‘cause you’re pretty much perfect-“

Did he just grind his teeth loud enough for you to hear-?

“-and I’m not. I know that in my goddamn bones. I always fuck up. I try my best, but my best is so damn far from perfect, case on fucking point- and I’m just scared even though I know I shouldn’t be scared of anything. I’m scared that as fast as we went from--- from yelling at each other and clashing to… to you bringing one of my favourite if not the most favourite flowers and all your damn sweetness and more respect than I deserve, your goddamn thoughtfulness-“

You gestured to the tulips and him, respectively, with both hands, because damn was he too large to encompass with a gesture of a single hand.

“And we’ll switch back to that--- that antagonism again, or dull indifference just as fast and-“ You gulped, catching your breath, staring at your comforter because you couldn’t admit that when facing him, not even with whatever magical truth serum his presence was, your voice falling quiet-

“-and it will devastate me.”

It will devastate me, because getting a taste of true happiness beyond the one born out of solid work and then losing it… it will kill me. It’s addictive – I know it is. Just like life without pain. And going back to normal will truly, irreparably devastate me.

Heavy silence settled over the room. Even without looking at Steve, you could feel the weight of his judgement and shock. With a wavering sigh, you hid your face in your hands again, squeezing your eyes shut, licking your lips; they seemed dry as sandpaper in contrast to your drenched cheeks.

“I’m truly sorry. About… that, springing all that on you and this—whatever pathetic shit it is,” you croaked, chuckling humourlessly, finding yourself actually too drained to feel as horrified as you should. Polite. You had to gather strength to be politeat least. “Could you--- could you please leave me alone? You should rest too. You’re more like a normal human now, you need time to hea-- that’s--- I’m sorry, that’s none of my business, I-- Captain.”

The lump in your throat had grown to such size there was no space for air to go in and out. Your throat working against it as you swallowed was the only movement of the statue you had become – hoping and praying your Captain to take the hint, pricking up your hearing to know the exact second the door would shut behind him so you could break further, alone.

A shaky inhale. A wavering exhale.

Silence.

A sigh.

Two steps; approaching, not retreating.

A scrape of the chair.

A gentle whisper of your name.

Your hands dropped, a feeble flicker of anger in your chest. You had literally just asked him to leave.

Yes, you had hurt him; yes, you had thrown a fit that would have probably had you hospitalized in a mental institution had you not had medication to blame it on, but did this have to the part where Steven Grant goddamn Rogers decided to be defiant? Couldn’t he have been considerate now, considerate enough to oblige you request to leave you in your laughable state of disintegration?

You attempted to shoot him an unimpressed glare, an uncompromising expression telling him to get the hell out.

It crumbled the second you saw him leaning forward on his healthy elbow propped on his thigh, soft, soft gaze roaming your damp blotchy face and no doubt red eyes. God, you had to look like a mess and he should not see you like this, no one should ever, ever see you like this—

Evading his painfully seeing gaze, you searched for the box of tissues; only to be handed it by him as if to accentuate your humiliation.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry-“

Steve repeated your name calmly, no doubt grimacing when you blew your nose loud and tried to clean your face a bit, probably failing. You inhaled shakily, then exhaled, in and out, licking your lips before you gathered enough courage to look up for at least for a moment.

Why the hell was he still here? Had he texted a mental hospital when you hadn’t been looking, making it his mission to guard you until they arrived? That would have been entirely legitimate thing to do, you were aware of that.

Once you met his eye, he held your gaze firmly, leaving no escape; you had no idea how he did that or how to free yourself. There was just something about this man, you swore-

“Let me clear one thing up. You are everything but pathetic,” Steve said slowly, emphasis on every syllable, practically spitting the last word.

“Really fucking debatable,” you muttered under your breath, wiping your nose again as if to unintentionally prove your point.

But thank god, at least you managed to stop more tears from spilling.

“No, it’s really fucking not,” Steve mimicked your words and it should feel insulting, but for some reason, it made your belly flutter a bit and your heart do a funny flipflop, because you were quite sure you had heard him drop but one F-bomb before despite the fact he had earned the right to curse incessantly with everything he had been through. “Captain’s orders. But now, I need you to clear one thing for me. Really clear it up this time, please.”

You felt bone tired all of sudden; which meant you felt like clearing up nothing. But he was your Captain. And he was, for some inexplicable reason, endlessly patient and even said ‘please’, so you’d answer anything, because there was nothing left to hide anymore. You had already revealed the darkest, ugliest parts of you, leaving you completely naked even as you sat here dressed in a hospital gown and under a thick comforter,.

You sighed, folding your hands in your lap, reciprocating his gaze in a lame attempt at bravery.

“And what’s that, CaptainRogers?”

To his credit, this time he barely moved at you addressing him in that manner; the intense sincere gaze on your tear-soaked face didn’t falter, his irises the most beautiful blue with a light speckle of green you had ever seen; a safe calm sea enveloping you sweetly and seeing right through you clearer and clearer the deeper you sank into it.

“Do you like me?”

All feigned bravery gone, you closed your eyes.

It figured he would ask that; it made sense. You didn’t remember every word of your outburst – well, you probably did, but didn’t wantto look back at it – but you assumed it was painfully clear from what you had word-vomited all over him that that might be the case. That you did very much liked him indeed.

There was no point in denying how you felt, was it? Steve was a smart man, brilliant even; even with the ambiguity of your behaviour, he had figured out the truth already. He was truly only asking for clarification; which was fair, because god knew that besides being hysterical, you had also been sending quite mixed signals.

His question was ridiculously worded, too, like one of a first grader to another, but you assumed that was what you deserved after having thrown a tantrum like a child indeed; and simplicity often carried the most power of all. A single word could break hearts or mend them; it could decide the fate of empires, have them burn to the ground or forge alliances to rebuild them.

A single word could mean the difference between life and death; a single word, and the course of a life could drastically change.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes when you whispered one word just like that, knowing it might change everything.

“…yes.”

A hitch of a breath.

A beat of silence.

A rustle of fabric and faint creak of a chair; he must have shifted in his position, but you refused to check.

“Well… as far as rapid changes go, that’s one for me. A really fast U-turn at that,” Steve said, contemplative – with the faintest hints of non-ill-intended teasing.

You opened your eyes slowly, fully aware of him not having said that he liked you back – but you did not think you’d deserve as much. Not to mention that he had already said so yesterday. Yesterday had been a good day.

Gulping, with your heart racing, you met his gaze again, moved by what you found; his gaze was warm and open and generously nonjudgemental. Hopeful even – and perhaps a little teary too.

Drowning in the sea of blue again, the words were slipping from your lips before you could think twice.

“Not to me.”

There’s nothing new to me about that.

I told myself I hate you. I often acted like I did, but I don’t. I like you. I’ve always liked you. I’ve always liked you and knew I could never compare. I admire you for all you are, I… like you for it. So much that it’s suffocating me.

As your admission brought a lovely smile to Steve’s lips, you were glad you didn’t share the rest of your thoughts.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that, since I feel the same,” he whispered tenderly, almost shyly, before his voice gained its firmness again – one of a leader, a fair one, a kind one. I just like you. “So… to sum up, despite what we believed we thought about each other, we discovered that we actually like each other. That… makes me very happy, but it doesn’t mean we have to-- it doesn’t mean we can’t take it slow.”

Your heart skipped a beat, painfully so, as if it got punched, and then broke into a mad race; your breath hitched, a single stunned word escaping you.

“What?”

The way your voice wavered was incredibly awkward, you were aware – but what?!

“If your concern is about things going too fast and burning out just as fast… then we can make sure to start by building a stronger foundation and take it slow. With no schedule or expectations,” Steve continued with patience you were sure you did not deserve, but with every word, you were only growing more and more confused.

You blinked, trying and failing to process his words. Words that made something very, very warm and fuzzy grow in your chest, your eyes beginning to burn with fresh tears.

It was safe to say that going too fast was not your only concern – but it was the one you admitted to and damn well meant it. And Steve, bless his heart, instantly rolled with the punch, taking it into consideration, because he--- he genuinely seemed to want to make this, whatever it was, work.

It was certainly true that if you walked into the relationship, so to speak, instead of rushing in like fools – if you got the feel of each other in immediate proximity, saw how you worked first, instead of jumping in head first only to find out that you didn’t work all that well – you might end up landing softer instead of meeting a brutal crash and burn. You knew you’d fall for Steve deeper either way, the occupational hazard of being in his vicinity with no intentionally built wall of forced contempt, but it would feel safer.

It was something you’d be much more willing to risk; there was absolutely no denying that and you had to bite your tongue as not to yell an immediate naïve yes.

Because it sounded like a whole lot of work. A lot more effort than Steve should have to put in, with women quite literally lining up to win over his heart, all of them offering him to share love a hundred times easier than this.

And yet, this infuriatingly gorgeous man was watching you patiently, appearing as if putting in that work didn’t bother him at all – and you wouldn’t be as crass as to question whether he realized his options, because you knew he was too intelligent not to. It felt like a conscious and entirely informed decision.

Which made no damn sense.

“You… wouldn’t mind that,” you stated more than asked, internally cringing at your choice of words.

“No. In fact, it might be a good idea, because I do see your point. We don’t know each other that well even as I feel I know quite enough, we didn’t interact outside of our job, so… let’s start there,” Steve suggested as if it was. Not. A. Big. Deal.

As if you weren’t negotiating term of a potential relationship but talked about where to go for lunch.

Except his intent and tender gaze told you he was all too aware of the gravity of his proposal – and that it mattered to him. And it sure as hell mattered to you. The fact he was still sitting there instead of shutting the door behind him as he would have stormed off mattered most of it all, telling you already that if there would be an eventual crash and burn, it certainly wouldn’t be on him. He had to know that too.

And yet he was still here, suggesting this.

That feeling in your chest was rapidly expanding and you had no idea how to stop it and whether you wanted to stop it in the first place.

“…as in, let’s try to become… friends, is what you’re saying.”

Steve shrugged lightly, one corner of his lips rising a tad higher; adorably so. “Sure, we can call it that. Or something else, or nothing at all. Just… let’s try get to know each other better.”

“Just like that?” you questioned, still stunned.

“Yes.”

“You-… you’d want that.”

“Yes.”

“But-” He tilted his head, almost looking as if he wanted to scold you for your continued protests which only undermined you, but he stopped himself last minute, giving you a gentle teasing smile instead, as to encourage you to talk about what you genuinely could not wrap your mind around. “I just—I mean… I disappointed you already. You’re rightfully angry – or were at least. I hurt you, just now.”

You felt like a child learning about adult matters for the first time and probably looked that too – but it was simply such an ungraspable concept you couldn’t seem to help it. Especially since Steve was everything but condescending about it and you would be worse than a half-wit not to use that opportunity.

“True. A little,” he admitted and while it stung to hear it, you couldn’t say you weren’t grateful for him not denying it and thus not making you feel like an idiot any more than necessary. “But like I said, I do see your point. I might not entirely agree, but you’re right in one thing for sure. You might trust me with your life – your words not mine, as much as I cherish them –, and I trust you with mine, but this… this requires a different kind of trust. So let’s try to build it and see how it turns out.”

Let’s try to build it and see how it turns out.

Just like that.

You were rendered entirely speechless.

Your lower lip was a second from wobbling and you bit your cheek in hopes to stop it, but there was no stopping the rapid acceleration of your heart; at this point, it galloped faster than in a middle of a taxing mission.

Because you might need to have Steve’s suggestions explained to you as if you were a child, but you had more wits than that. By offering to do this, Steve was putting his own feelings into jeopardy too; to offer this, he really had to have some feelings for you – for some insane reason – and he was risking them growing when entering this arrangement. He was risking he’d get burned too.

And to do that, he had to believe you were worth it.

And goddamn if that didn’t make you barely swallow your tears as it became harder and harder to breathe. It shouldn’t have stunned you, you supposed – not with the words he had spoken before, even if back in the cell, it would have been easy to dismiss the words as a soothing lie instead of the truth.

‘It was never my intention to make you feel like anything less than absolutely incredible. What I actually believe is that you are that and more,’ he had said.

He meant it. He truly did.

Now, he must have mistaken your silence for hesitance, because he carefully spoke up again.

“That is, of course, if that’s something you’d li-“

“Yes! …yes,” you repeated, softer this time. Still, your mind was racing as fast as your heart, in uncontrollable overdrive. “I’d really like that, but… but that doesn’t seem fair to you.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, features relaxing; he understood he had convinced you to try. He understood you agreed, but he was, as it seemed to be a constant in the past two days, interested in your perspective still.

“How so?”

“What if-” you started off, instantly earning a raised eyebrow. And you got his point, seeing no point in wallowing in what ifs – but he hadn’t heard what you had to say yet. “What if it doesn’t work out? What if we start… building that trust, be--- friends, and it turns out there’s nothing else waiting down the line? You’d waste your time and energy for nothing.”

Worse; you’d waste it on me.

It seemed Steve heard the unspoken too, judging by a small frown appearing on his face, not approving. But he was prepared – probably because it had taken you forever to put your thoughts into words.

“How is that a waste?” he questioned, not expecting an answer. “Do you consider getting to know me and becoming friends a waste of time then?”

You shot him an ugly, ugly look for hitting the nail on the head, because well, of course you didn’t – and he grinned boyishly, clearly having received your answer loud and clear.

You wished you were as brave and as strong as him – as big of a person. It felt like such a stark contrast, his behaviour and composition and yours. You had made a scene, you had insulted him and made him angry, you had hurt him.

And yet here he was, not only offering an alternative, genuine care and compassion and understanding, but himself too. He was willing to go slow for you. Build a friendship, build trust. For you. And it didn’t feel like the dynamics of the team was the thing he cared about the most. For some reason, it truly seemed to be about you. And him.

How could you measure up to that? a voice in the back of your head asked, a nasty bite to your conscience; but Steve was looking at you as if you already had. And you wanted to prove him right. For him and yourself.

You allowed yourself a brief reprieve before composing yourself, and let all your feelings wash over you, allowing yourself to feel them.

You granted yourself the dangerous luxury of fully entertaining the thought, of believing Steve didn’t give a damn about those women lining up, because he was genuinely interested in you, even if it meant putting in the work from the start. And that while the past two days have contributed to that, it seemed he had harboured certain feeling for longer.

And when you tried your damnest to apply that optics on his past actions, it was nothing short of mind-blowing how it could all actually make sense.

The fact he worried about your safety and well-being possibly being the reason why he had had trouble controlling his frustration around you, when you massively prioritized the mission objective to considering your own safety. He simply wouldn’t want you to get hurt.

The fact you had called him out on being a hypocrite only fuelling his anger, but the feelings he might have struggled with being the match to gasoline, contradiction of, on one hand agreeing, with you – he was barely someone not risking his life in name of protecting others – and on the other hand, utterly hating seeing you do the same. The feelings that got in the way, leading him to yell at you, even when you did what many of his friends did on daily basis and him seemingly appreciating it in them.

The way his eyes had lingered on you in the quinjet the night of the charity auction. The bold thought it might have not been strictly mission-related, might not have been memorising the dress which would have taken him a split second to do with his enhanced memory. Just maybe, maybe appreciating the sight of you, his compliment reaching beyond professional courtesy.

His behaviour the whole night perhaps being beyond what he considered being civil, being a gentleman, beyond trying to put out the dumpster fire the team dynamics became when you clashed with him. That it might, just might be him taking the opportunity to smoothen things out and make the most of the night in the sense of building a base for something not only much more amicable, but even something beautiful and fragile.

His soft, careful touch, a little tremble to his hands when he had taken care of you back in that base, nerves and fear and reassuring, affectionate and entirely unnecessary touches to comfort you rather than treat your wounds.

Entertaining all these thoughts was dizzying. It felt like walking on the ledge twenty stories high. And you were terrified of the fall.

It wasn't that the idea of a man being interested in you was a foreign concept; Steve would hardly be the first one. You weren't stupid enough to believe men never found your line of work or your appearance attractive; but entertaining the idea of Steve being that man to truly want you, even as it seemed more plausible by the minute... that did feel like you were balancing on your tiptoes on that ledge, just to tempt fate.

But what you had agreed to try, that felt like Steve standing on that ledge with you, just as prone to slipping and falling as you. He had given you power. You could easily push him off that ledge, throw it back to his face, try to turn that vulnerability he had shown against him, through HR if nothing else, twist it into some sort of unwanted advances, even as it was the farthest things from what he was doing or what you wanted to do.

And as he stood all the way up there with you, he was holding your hand. He was there and you knew he would strap you into a parachute himself to keep you safe even if he didn’t have one himself in case you were to fall; he'd dive right after you to save you without wearing any protective gear himself, just to take the brunt of impact, because that was who he was, on the battlefield or outside of it, because that was the standard he held himself against. This was how he lived and already died once.

You two were talking about building trust; but the truth was that deep down, maybe you knew you could put that trust in him already, and it wasn’t just about keeping you safe during missions.

You were kidding yourself when you spoke of nothing waiting down the line; whether you liked it or not, you were already falling for him, already had, because there was no other way with this gorgeous bastard.

“Well… I’d like that very much then,” you choked out at last, Steve’s smile shining all the brighter for that. “But I really am sorry I hurt you.”

He made a noncommittal sound. “I’ve had worse.”

Like getting shot in the chest?

Being leaned forward to you like that had to hurt like hell – but you hadn’t realized it until now. He was very good at hiding his pain, but you supposed that didn’t really surprise you.

He had been good at hiding a lot of things, apparently.

“Still sorry.”

“And I appreciate it.”

His smile remained genuine and warm as he said so, even as comfortable silence settled after that. It reminded you of the way he had introduced you during the function – and damn if that didn’t feel like it had happened at least a week ago – full of pride and faith. Like he believed without an ounce of doubt that you were able to do anything you’d put your mind to. And it helped you remind yourself that there had been rare times when you had believed that to.

The sudden urge to repay him, to reciprocate the kindness he was more than worthy of, to be as good as he was – the best possible version of yourself at least – had you blurting out the words before you could think twice.

“Is there anything I can do to make up for it?” you asked, instantly wincing at the overenthusiastic tone, the stupidity of the question and its – genuinely unintended – sexual subtext. “Sorry, that was a stupid question, I don’t know what I was-”

“Actually, there is,” he interjected, your eyebrows arching in surprise, heart skipping a startled beat. “You could finally join us for a board game night for once. Sam is in, Pepper and Tony too, Natasha should be back from her recon mission later. I’m sure Wanda will join in too and Bucky never misses an opportunity to show off.”

Oh.

Even as the last remark had the corners of your mouth twitch, you worried your teeth over your lower lip.

A board game night sounded… overwhelming, to say at least. But also rather fun. There had been maybe one or two nights together like that since you had joined the team, events you hadn’t participated in; but the laughter could be heard all over the Tower to your rooms. It had always made you question whether you shouldn’t try to join, feeling out of place in your room as much as you feared you would have felt out of place with them.

Perhaps joining this little event would be a nice, safe first step into the ‘friendship’ you and Steve had agreed on entering; with other Avengers around, you would still be spending time together, but there there would be less pressure to interact only with exclusively.

“No pressure. Honest,” Steve added quickly, clearly noticing your hesitation. “Just a night in with friends – if you want.”

Because that is what they are to you too – your friends, you heard unspoken.

And maybe it was the serum coursing your veins still, maybe it was the hint of uncertainly in Steve’s voice as he suggested it, the quiet hope – the olive branch extended even if you didn’t quite deserve it. Affection wrapped in a simple offer of spending time together. He believed you were worthy of it; whether this view of his would last or not, you’d take the chance. Because he deserved it.

And perhaps so did you.

Steve watched you, expectant but careful, truly trying his best to show there was no obligation. Too good; too kind.

It felt like you needed to remind him that despite what he had witnessed a few moments ago, you were not entirely made of glass. That beyond being an utter mess, you could hold your own at times too.

“I don’t know, Steve…”

He breathed in, a quick flash of disappointment in his expression, one he was just as quick to hide. Your gaze fell to the covers as you bit back a smirk. You almost, almost felt bad when he rushed to assure you.

“That’s perfectly fine. I understand. You-“

“I just don’t see how kicking your ass in a board game could make up for anything, you know?” you interrupted him quietly, peeking up at him from under your eyelashes, just in time to see his jaw fall slack a fraction, his back falling back to the chair with a barely-there astonished chuckle.

Laughter danced in his irises now, one corner of his lips lifting in a smirk.

“Oh, is that how it is, huh?”

“Yup,” you popped the p, a grin shyly tugging at the corners of your lips when you saw his amusement. Amusement you brought there.

“That’s quite the confidence, Agent Spectre. You don’t even know what games we play.”

You shrugged, the smile tugging insistently on your lips now; you caught yourself leaning forward, closer to him – and for some reason, an unexpected surge of confidence told you it was okay. More than okay.

“True. Then again, I never really played any, so I’ll be lost anyway. But… I’m a fast learner when I want to be.”

Something flashed in Steve’s eyes, be it at your words or your posture; something that made your stomach somersault a bit, pleasantly so.

“I bet you are, doll. I know you are.”

You had not been prepared for the shot of heat flooding your veins, but you certainly didn’t find it unwelcomed. If anything, you drank from with vigour it like from a glass of a fine sweet wine, going into your head just as fast, your gaze involuntarily flickering to Steve’s lips, the sight of them making your stomach do a funny flip-flop.

“Oh? And what else do you know?”

“A thing or two. Like that I’d rather have you on my team.”

You could melt at him saying that, both painfully sincere and playful. That was an awfully sweet sentiment, wasn’t it? You swallowed the brief hysteria that tried to overtake over your brain at the idea of him talking about your place in the Avengers instead of simply joining him in a team-up in a boardgame, sinking into his gaze instead, growing more intense by the second, feeding your confidence further.

“Is that right? Don’t want to play against me? Am I that intimidating to our mighty Captain?” you teased him lightly in a low voice.

And once again, you found yourself entirely unprepared for his reaction. Thoroughly unprepared.

God, his eyes darkened so prettily, pupils dilating a fraction, gaze flickering down to your lips and lingering for a moment, body leaning forward, the predator and the prey caught in a trap at once.

Challenging. Teasing. The mighty Captain. He liked that.He had asked you multiple times not to call him that; now with what he had confessed to before, it dawned to you that maybe, just maybe, there had been more to that request than he had felt mocked. You saved that important observation for later use.

“Maybe you are,” he whispered, his voice earning a huskier quality that spoke of that not quite being the case – and spoke of an entirely different emotion. “Or maybe I just know what I want.”

Fresh surge of burning heat spread all over you, your stomach making another mad flip. Your heart reached its speed limit, every beat painful with its ferocity, but oh so thrilling.

You were in a process of quite literally melting from inside out, searing hot sensation in your belly, when Steve suddenly winced and backed away into his chair, his intrigued expression rapidly shifting into an apologetic one.

“I’m sorry, that was--- I wasn’t—I meant that when I said there was no pressure, of any kind. I said we should—and you agreed and I’m more than fine with it, I just got carried--- which isn’t an excuse-“

You rushed to lean in further, ignoring the stab of pain in your legs as you did so and placed your hand over the fist curled on his thigh, effectively shutting him up as the warmth in your chest bloomed. You couldn’t seem to stop your smile from turning softer and wider, as Steve had stumbled over his words, so mindful of not coming off as forceful. Considerate. Kind. Sweet. But goddamn also so insanely attractive, his words having whispered of passion humming under that composed gentle exterior, passion you’d like to explore thoroughly… and repeatedly.

What did it matter your cheeks burned at initiating the touch when in reality you wanted to do much more? Preferably to smack your mouth on his to shut him up for real and show how you felt about his flirting and consideration alike, how the look in his eyes had almost literally set you on fire? How you had to remind yourself that going slow was a reasonable idea you appreciated, because that flicker of something in his expression had nearly made you want to forget all about reason?

He deserved to know; but you searched for gentler words, less rushed. Because building that firmer foundation he had talked about was worth it.

“Steve. It’s fine. You did not exactly hear me protest, did you? …thought so. If anything, I’m… flattered. And I’m not entirely made of glass,” you added self-deprecatingly, earning a quiet but decisive ‘I’m well-aware.’ “Now, if you want me on your team… I’ve got your six. Like I know you’ve got mine. Plus… someone has to protect our fearless leader, right?”

Your words echoing the ones back from the Hydra base had not been an accident; and Steve recognized them even in a vastly different context. He had to, because his tensed shoulders sagged a bit, torso leaning closer again; his fist relaxed too, turning palm up, opening for your hand to slip into his. The firm yet careful squeeze to your hand was only the warmer as it was joined by his smile.

“Well. I can’t say I have ever felt safer then.”

The flutter of your heart at the sincerity of his words was unexpected, but all the sweeter. Because once again, he seemed to mean it; and you had never realized not only how true these words were for you too, but also how insanely the idea of Steven Grant Rogers, the kindest and strongest human you had met, feeling safe with you, would take your breath away.

“Good. Me too,” you agreed softly. In the back of your mind, a familiar tune hummed tenderly, your heart fluttering again at the sheer warmth in Steve’s gaze. “I think we’ll make a good team, stranger.”

His thumb swept over the back of your hand as if there was nothing more natural in this world. And perhaps there wasn’t.

“Yeah. I think we will.”

The evening found you in the common room indeed, the space already buzzing with low chatter and clinking of glasses and mugs, nondescript radio music playing in the background.

Scattered around the living room adjoined to the communal kitchen, Tony, Pepper, Natasha, Sam, Bucky and Wanda were distributing drinks and plates with various snacks, mock-fighting for what they believed to be the best spot on the couch or this armchair or that one, or simply talking, giving the room an air of a venue of a nuclear family gathering rather than one of the couple of colleagues. As you and Steve walked in together – well, he walked, you rolled in on an electric wheelchair for the time being – it gave you a brief pause, an unpleasant feeling of being an intruder crawling up your spine, an instinct to turn on your wheels and roll away tugging at your mind even though you had once or twice reluctantly joined a very similar family back at the main SHIELD base.

Back then, you’d have Skye to nudge you in, even going to such lengths as loudly announcing your presence in various ways so it would be more embarrassing for you to flee; a sneaky, evil way of making you stay she’d pull every single time she believed you had had even the faintest desire to be there and socialize with other people than her.

Now, you had Steve by your side; and he didn’t push, not even when you caught Wanda’s encouraging smile, her lips curling up just a bit when she spotted you; just as warmly as when she had brought you a few essentials and outfits from your rooms at the Tower. Apparently, the system only permitted another Avenger to enter your quarters upon your request unless you were present at your door – which was a regulation you’d complain about since you had needed to get your things and you had been on a strict bedrest for at least a few more hours, which had forced you to bother an Avenger. You had a creeping suspicion it was a regulation Tony had made on spot when you had been bedridden, to make you socialize – it wouldn’t be the first time now, would it – but there was nothing you could have done about that. Wanda had been kind enough to answer your awkward plea, entering your mind as respectfully and briefly to find out what you wanted as she did with your private space.

You reluctantly reciprocated her smile, hearing Steve shift behind you; yet, he didn’t rush you to take the final step.

He had picked you up in your hospital room just as one of the nurses was helping you settle in the wheelchair, a concerned scowl on his face as if he was scolding you for not waiting for him to help you instead; and while you tried not to let it show, you did have to admit that even without the serum coursing his veins, he would have probably been able to help you avoid putting so much weight on your legs better. That was, had he not still had his arm in a sling which he conveniently seemed to forget. You were willing to forgive his hypocrisy this time only because it truly hadhurt and because his scowl gave way to a smile after your simple “shall we?”

“Of course. It’s good to see you out of the bed,” he had said, his eyes lighting up a bit indeed as his gaze roamed your body. “Anything I can help with?”

‘Clear the way if I decided to run – roll away – at the last moment,’ you wanted to retort, swallowing the remark and shaking your head instead with a silent “thanks”, deciding to focus on little joys offered instead – like Steve’s soft smile or the way the blue of his henley brought out the cerulean of his eyes or the faintest traces of smile lines framing them.

“Then into the lion’s den we go.”

Back then, you could hear the hints of humour in his voice; but as you took a deep breath before finally taking the figurative last step, your ribcage tight, it felt like you were entering exactly that.

“Heeey, look what the Cap dragged in!” Bucky greeted you loudly, causing you to jump at the noise and mainly at all heads snapping to you and Steve.

Starting just stellar, you thought to yourself darkly, arranging a polite smile despite your heart thundering and screaming at you to run with every rapid beat.

“Har har, Buchanan. Mind your own business,” Steve snapped from behind you, his voice carrying tension, but no malice. If anything, there was a light humour laced between his protective words.

“Ouch, full name, you’re in trouble, James Buchannan Barnes,” Sam commented with a grin, earning an eyeroll from the supersoldier – and a second later, Bucky was staring at you and Steve again, grinning as well.

“I think he’d much rather mind yours,” Natasha hummed as she set down her cocktail, beckoning at your pair in greeting. “Hey you guys.”

“Well too bad for him,” Steve said, stepping further into the room, a wordless prompt for you to do the same.

Into the lion’s den indeed. But at least they were friendly lions. Right? Why did it still feel like it would be safer to jump into the literal snake pit with no weapon but your own fists?

“Do you need any help?” Wanda asked sweetly, practically rushing to your side.

It reminded you of her earlier enthusiasm; your smile automatically grew, genuine. You simply shook your head with a low but heartfelt ‘no, thank you’.

“Is she here voluntarily?” Tony questioned, stealing your attention. “Casper, if you want to get out of here, blink twice, I’ll save you. Blink thrice if he threatened to shoot you to get you here.”

“Stark!”

“Tony!”

Despite all the heads snapping back at the man, it was Steve and Pepper who cried out; and you couldn’t but snort undignifiedly when Tony’s head whipped to Steve on instinct, and only then slowly, oh so slowly as if he was terrified, he turned his head from the hulking form of a semi-supersoldier to the petite woman that was his wife, clearly indicating who was the one inspiring more fear in him.

“What? It is too soon?”

Pepper just kept glaring at him, without a word – an answer in its own right.

It only now dawned to you why they had snapped at him, why Tony had asked if it was too soon. They were worried. About you. About how you’d react, about whether you’d fold down like a house of cards at a mention of a gun, whether you’d break like a weakling, like—

Except it wasn’t that, was it? the kinder voice in your mind questioned, growing stronger when you felt Steve step closer, your enhanced senses picking up on the warmth of his hand nearing your shoulder, even if not touching. They weren’t worried because they thought you were useless; they were worried and considerate, because that was what friends did for each other.

“I’m pretty sure that about thirty hours after is still rather soon, yes,” Natasha hummed, breaking the silence with light amusement in her voice, eyeing the billionaire who was smiling at Pepper with clueless innocence. “You’re lucky you’re tech-smart at least, Stark, even if Johnson keeps giving you run for your money.”

“Oh gimme a break!” Tony cried out, abandoning his post of a scolded child, turning to Natasha fully. “She basically grew up in the Rising Tide, that’s like… that’s like she’d been to Hogwarts of hacking and became Dumbledore’s protégé, or something, okay-!”

The corner of your lips twitched up, a feeling of unjustified pride swelling in your chest at the mention of whom you certainly considered a friend of yours; and at the rather accurate description, even if wrapped in a literary reference.

You fought the urge to grin fully when you heard Sam tease Tony further.

“Ooooooh, look at the well-read man with such apt metaphors!”

“Please, I’m pretty sure he only watched the movies, like you lots with The Hobbit,” Bucky added, a look of mutual respect for roasting a friend exchanged between the two men, until indignation coloured Sam’s expression when he realized he was being teased as well.

It was the most surreal scene to watch; but it was even more surreal scene to feel.

Feeling of knowing Daisy, knowing someone so capable and knowing you belong among her favourite people somehow, was one thing – but it was a whole another thing to realize that watching the Avengers, literally the mightiest heroes on Earth, poke fun one on another, didn’t make you feel out of place. In fact, it made you feel quite welcomed. As if you… as if you could almost, almost belong one day, if not as one of them, then at least alongside them without sticking out.

And it was that dizzying feeling, that traitorous feeling, that made you speak up too.

“Hmm… I don’t know, Tony. I’m pretty sure it was more like the Hogwarts sent her an encrypted message begging her to join so Dumbledore could learn a few new tricks,” you corrected him with a gentle humour; or at least you believed so.

Until you found the whole room suddenly staring at you, Tony even mutely pointing his index finger at you, unable to retort.

The image he made for should be preciously hilarious; you had a feeling that now you truly should be proud, because you had managed to render him speechless. He had to be utterly shocked to be at loss for words. But he wasn’t the only one – and that was the thing that stunned the warm feeling blossoming in your chest, the air in your lungs freezing, a cold coil of anxiety settling in your ribcage instead.

Alongside them. Not one of them. In fact, not even close to the latter, forever stuck in the former.

It wasn’t your place to join the teasing; that was a gross overstep.

You had said too much. You had overstepped by miles. Tony’s face was pure shock. Bucky’s and Sam’s and Wanda’s, when you checked subtly, were unreadable. You had missed by thousand miles. Steve behind you remained quiet and you didn’t dare to turn to him. Pepper appeared somewhat scandalized, even as she was still looking as perfectly put-together as ever, not a hair out of place in her elegant overall and a loose ponytail. You messed up. You had to apologize-

A levelled voice, warm with amusement, interrupted the noise of your mind and the quiet that had settled in the room alike.

“Not wrong, from what I read up on her,” Natasha said.

Tony, still pointing an index on you still, opened his mouth. “How dare you, Casper. I’m always in your corner and that’s what I get? Jail, I say!”

Your shoulders sagged in relief, lungs expanding again with a generous inhale; you felt yourself grin and letyourself do so, lifting your hands in surrender. That was very true, he had been in your corner – and you were grateful for it. Yes, Tony did whatever Tony wanted and you had no doubt he had pushed you and manipulated you into that charity gala, but much like in the case of Steve, you realized now, as reluctantly as it was, that his behaviour was coming from a good place. From a place of a wanting to be helpful and useful and good and supportive… an ally. A reluctant friend, perhaps.

He deserved the same from you. Your grin widened, heart stumbling even as your voice carried confidence.

“Hey, just saying what I know... Don’t shoot the messenger.”

A distinct sound of someone choking on their drink had you snap your head to the couch, taking note of Bucky doubling over as he coughed; several snickers sounded around, causing satisfaction fill your gut – and warmth your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hold on, how come she gets to joke about it?!” Tony complained loudly, taking steps closer to you as he gestured in – hopefully mocked – accusation.

“I think that for starters, she’s the one who got shot-“

“So did he!” Tony cut Sam off, pointing at Steve this time. “What if he’s uncomfortable with it?”

You finally dared to look up at Steve, who was still by your side, now silent for a while – and whose stare you felt for just as long. There was a mischievous grin on his face and if you looked further, a speckle of what looked like a little bit like pride.

They are your friends too, you know.

He glanced up at Tony, shrugging with his healthy shoulder without care for the world.

“I mean… I don’t mind at all-”

“Ooooof course you don’t,” Tony stated, grimacing and looking at Steve somehow both with indignation and uncomfortably knowing look. “When it comes to her, you’re already whi-“

Pepper shot Tony another warning glare and he hesitated as he glanced at you in the least subtle way, causing heat rise to your cheeks, a small swell of panic swirling in your chest at his implication – panic and bottomless source of warmth.

“-spering behind my back, like the whole team,” Tony finished, clearly entirely differently than he had intended. “You know what? Just for that, Rogers, I’m gonna crush you in Monopoly.”

A collective groan sounded around the table, various protests against the game rising, incomprehensible words with a very comprehensible message.

You used the momentary chaos to move, glad to have a second of reprieve at attention was no longer on you.

You had been childishly naïve. Sam’s eyes instantly turned to you as he stood up and offered to take care of your drinks.

“Oh- uhm, thank you. Can I… can I have a cup of tea?”

“Coming right-“

“Tea?!” The exasperated cry genuinely made your heart skip a startled beat, upper body whipping the direction of its origin. “Did she just ask for TEA? It’s a party, Casper, for the love of god. Live a little.”

You could hear Steve, who magically appeared by your side just as Sam had disappeared to the kitchen area, breathe in to protest – but there was no need. This, you got.

“I’m on pain meds, Tony. Not to mention I literally can’t get drunk now. I mean… probably.”

At that, Tony’s eyes snapped to Steve, bright and mischievous. “We can get you drunk now, even without Thor’s help. Wilson, get some tequila in here while you’re at it!”

“You… do know he’s on pain meds too, right?” Bucky deadpanned, voicing the very protest you would have – as amusing as seeing drunk Steve might turn out. It would be quite an experience to see him without a filter, wouldn’t it?

“So? He’ll live!” Tony called out, waving the concern off with a theatrical swipe off his hand. “And I’m sure his liver will recover once they switch again.”

You froze.

Just a joke. A simple sidenote – and yet, you found yourself going rigid, anticipating pain, the kind that had no relief no matter the amount of medication; as if it was going to return any second. And then, cold creeping up your spine, dreadful anticipation of justified judging gazes turning to you; because you were the cause of Steve’s momentary lacking healing factor, the cause of his condition – a condition they didn’t even know the worst part of, from what you understood.

You were the reason; you were the thief. You were the sole reason why Steve wasn’t healed yet, even if that was his very own choice, one you hated him for as much as… appreciated him.

And then you noticed.

No one was looking at you.

There were no glares filled with contempt. If anything, the company seemed both amused and slightly annoyed at Tony’s half-serious suggestion.

Breathing in and out, you forced yourself to relax, consciously lifting the corners of your lips when Bucky seemed highly unimpressed, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“Will it now, Doctor Stark? I mean… we didn’t try any antiserum yet. Switching powers, or bullets weren’t enough. So let’s try if a cocktail of alcohol, salt, citrus and fentanyl does the job, shall we? Come on, Stark. It’s like you don’t know him, he does enough reckless shit on his own… please don’t encourage him.”

Several things happened at once.

Natasha hummed in agreement, her face speaking volumes about how truthful she found the statement.

Next to you, Steve made a small offended noise.

Tony rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “buzzkill.”

You barely stifled a snort of laughter, managing to mask it as a cough; yet, Bucky’s gaze flickered to you, something pleased flashing in his eye.

“Honestly, I think I could beat you even in that state, but Bucky’s right. Let’s leave that to another time,” Steve offered in a conciliatory manner, causing Tony to arch his left eyebrow.

“Is that a challenge--?”

“Maybe-”

Bucky flung his hand towards Steve with what could only be read as mute despair, leaving no hopes for your snort to stay silent this time; but also earning much of your sympathies, as you immediately marked him as your ally. He got it. He agreed with you on Steve being a hypocrite when calling you out. He was, as you had assumed before, the one keeping Steve in check – or to least was trying to do so. Good.

At the sound you failed to stifle this time, Bucky’s gaze found yours again, even if briefly. What you found was warm understanding.

“Aaaalright,” Natasha interrupted the playful – but not quite so – exchange between Steve and Tony, a gentle gesture of stepping between the two. “Down, boys. Let’s get back on track, some of us had an early morning, some of us are on painkillers indeed. What are we playing? Not Monopoly, so…”

At that, you proceeded to tune the noise out, unable to help them decide anyway. When you glanced Steve’s direction again, he charmed an easy smile for you, gently brushing your arm with his fingertips before he sat down, sending both shivers and pleasant tingles through your body, your heart making a funny little flip in your chest at the tender subtle touch.

When you smiled back, genuinely unable to help it, his smile turned blinding and he leaned in, whispering only for your ears – and probably Bucky’s.

“Thank you for joining me in the madness. I’m sure you already see why I needed some strong and reliable back-up.”

It was an easy compliment, a barely-there acknowledgement wrapped in a joke; and yet, you felt yourself smile wider, meeting Steve’s gentle blues, something deep within your stirring.

“I’ve got your six, Captain,” you reminded him. “And thank you for inviting me.”

“My absolute pleasure… but if we end up in different teams, just don’t win with too many points over me, will you?”

You smirked, even as you had a lot less faith in your board game skills than he apparently did; it gave you a confidence boost you weren’t aware you needed. It seemed so effortless to let the playful competitive atmosphere of the night affect you, when Steve’s literal and figurative warmth radiated off of him, caressing your skin even as he was no longer touching you.

“Well… no promises.”

“Hmpf… a wolf in sheep’s clothing...” he muttered, suddenly turning to Tony with a stern look on his face as the billionaire held one of the board games. “No, we will not play Twister, that had better be a joke, you have two people who got shot and one with a sprained wrist-”

You hadn’t noticed, but since the only conclusion of the other injured person was Natasha, you were not surprised she was able to hide it, especially with her sweatshirt sleeves having a thumb hole, easily disguising a splint. And perhaps you had been a little distracted; by your pain medication, of course. There was nothing else to draw your enhanced senses to itself with the force of gravity. Nothing at all.

Even as your heart raced at the turn your thoughts seemed to be running to, you accepted your tea from Sam’s hands with a silent thank you, missing the wordless exchange of meaningful look between Natasha and Bucky, who in turn had not missed how close Steve had leaned in to whisper in your ear even though you were momentarily an owner of enhanced hearing indeed.

But even without seeing that, it felt like what you were doing – something as trivial as being present at a little party in with your colleagues – was moving forward.

And no matter where you’d end up, it felt like it would be a good place; and you’d have a good person by your side, always, be it Steve, or one of his – and one day perhaps yours as well – friends. You’d count your blessings, even as Wanda pulled out the box with the chosen game at last, the number of rules she started to list already making your head spin.

Being surrounded by so many voices had rarely ever felt better; and rarely quieted the ones in your mind. It had rarely felt safe. And as a sweet cherry on top, Steve’s fingers brushed your elbow, his reassuring smile feeling soft even as you didn’t turn your head to see it.

Yes, it was slow; but you were moving forward. And it felt really, really good.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Dear reader, apologies for the long wait on a long chapter. Life got busy, specifically work did, draining all my (creative) energy. And frankly, a part of this chapter fought me tooth and nail – I can only hope you, too, will think I won the battle eventually. But oh, did you think only pure fluff was coming? Well. Sorry to disappoint 🤭 ehm. Anyway.

As always, many thank you for your support – and a gentle reminder I’m always happy to hear your thoughts if you’re willing to share them.

Also, I feel like there might be one more chapter before something I can actually call an epilogue, so stay tuned.

May June be kind to you and your loved ones 💕

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x you #agent reader #shield agent reader #avenger reader #inhuman reader #fanfiction #steve rogers #captain america #back and forth #anika ann

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 29 days ago

Note

hi shannon ! first of all, i love all of your works ! ♡ it's amazing ! i just saw your new post about bucky's child got bullied. what about this time, Y/N is the one who got bullied ? in this case, Y/N work in SHIELD so, her co-workers did that to her. can you also make her hide the pain she got ? maybe one of the 'pranks' her so-called 'co-workers' did to her left a huge bruise or something. i'll leave your creative mind to that. love you ♡

Pranks Hurt » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: SHIELD Agent/Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x SHIELD Agent/Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Your so called SHIELD coworkers prank you that ends up hurting you.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst (not you and Bucky), language, bruises, crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request @grilledcheesewithjalapeno 🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

You love working at SHIELD. It’s just a few people who you work with aren’t so easy to like. Those few people always find ways to mess with you. They think they won’t get caught. They also think you’re gullible enough to fall for it.

“Agent Y/L/N, you busy?” One of the agents who always messes with you asks.

“I just finished training. What do you need?” You asked.

“I was wondering if you could help me improve my fighting techniques.” She says.

“Sure.” You say.

You went back to the gym with agent. There was a couple other agent in there who also messes with you. You looked at all three of them, wondering what they’re up to or if they actually need help with their fighting techniques.

“Do you have any specific techniques you need help with?” You asked.

“You’ll see.” She says mischievously.

You furrowed your eyebrows when you heard the mischief in her voice. Now, you know she and the other two agents are up to something, but you don’t know what it is.

“Show me what you need to improve.” You say.

The agent got into her fighting position and so did you. You were caught off guard when she tried to kick you in the face. You stepped back, only to find out that there’s a weight behind you. You fell backwards and landed on the heavy part of another weight, hitting the back of your right shoulder on it. You cried out in pain and rolled over to your side, your hand holding your shoulder.

It didn’t take you long to figure out that the three agents standing over you and laughing were the ones who put the weights on the floor behind you.

“Aww, are you hurt?” One agent mocks.

“She’s crying.” The second agent laughs.

“We don’t know why you’re crying. It’s just a prank.” The third agent says.

You stood up from the floor and left the gym with tears streaming down your face. You went straight to the bathroom. You lifted your shirt to see if there was a bruise forming on the back of your shoulder. There wasn’t a bruise there yet, but your skin was red there and it hurts. Little did you know that Bucky saw you walk in the bathroom with your hand on your shoulder.

“Doll?” Bucky knocks on the bathroom door a couple times. “Are you ok in there?” He asks.

“I’m- I’m fine.” You answered, your voice cracking.

“Can I come in?” He asks.

“Yes.” You replied.

You quickly pulled your shirt down and readjusted it. Bucky opened the bathroom door at the same time you were wiping your tears away with the collar of your shirt. He could tell you were crying just by looking at your eyes.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” He asks again.

“I’m fine.” You say.

You wrapped your arms around your boyfriend, wanting a hug from him. He hugged you back. You winced when his arm touched the sore part of your shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, pulling away from the hug.

You stared at Bucky with teary eyes, not wanting to tell him what your so called coworkers did to you a little bit ago. You know he’s going to find out one way or another.

“My shoulder hurts.” You say.

You turned around and lifted your shirt, showing him the bruise that is now forming on the back of your right shoulder. Bucky lightly rubbed his finger over it. You flinched away when he did that.

“Who did this to you?” Bucky asks.

Bucky knows you almost never get hurt when you’re training. He automatically knew someone did this to you.

“This is three agents idea of a prank.” You say.

Bucky knew what particular three agents you’re talking about. He has seen them picking on you. He decided to stay out of it to see if you were going to do something about it. Now, he thinks it’s time that he steps in to do something about it for you.

“Where are they?” He asks.

“In the gym.” You say.

Bucky walked out of the bathroom and went straight to the gym with you following close behind him.

“Bucky, what are you going to do to them?” You asked.

“Kick their asses.” Bucky says.

“Babe, don’t do that.” You pleaded.

Bucky sighs, stopping just short of the gym doors.

“At least let me tell them off.” He says.

“Ok.” You say.

Bucky opens the gym door, walking in the gym. The three agents who pranked you are still in there and laughing about what they did to you a little bit ago. They looked over at you.

“Aww, look. She’s back for more.” One agent mockingly.

Bucky seen the two weights on the floor before looking at them.

“You guys think pranking people is funny, huh?” Bucky says.

“If that person is Agent Y/L/N, then yes.” One agent says.

They started laughing again. You teared up and looked down.

“Shut up!” He shouts.

The three agents went silent. Bucky walked closer to him.

“Do you guys think it’s funny when people get hurt?” He asks.

They shook their heads no.

“The little prank you guys pulled on Agent Y/L/N, she now has a bruised shoulder and she’s in pain. Pranks are supposed to hurt people, but you guys don’t care. All you guys care about is yourselves. Now, pick up those weights and put them away before I tell Fury what you guys did to Agent Y/L/N. You guys better apologize to her before you guys leave the gym.” Bucky says.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes.” They say obediently in unison.

They put the two weights away and apologized to you before leaving the gym. Bucky turned his attention to you and hugged you, making sure to be careful to not touch your bruise.

“Thank you for doing that, baby.” You say against his chest.

“You don’t have to thank me, babydoll. I’ll do anything for you.” He says softly.

You looked up at him and stood on your tippy toes to kiss his lips.

“Can you go to the med bay with me so I can get an ice pack?” You asked sweetly.

“Of course I will, doll face.” He says.

“I love you, baby.” You smiled.

“I love you too, babydoll.” He smiles back.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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lefteagleblizzard · 2 months ago

Text

𝔄 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡

Grant Ward x male reader

Summary: a request that I received from a person on tumblr: ”Hey! Could I request a smut fic with Grant Ward after his Hydra reveal? Maybe something intense, with a lot of tension between him and the male reader? Would love to see how things escalate from there. Thanks! You are the best and it’s okay if you won’t do this <3”

Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Fight scene. Some descriptions of blood and minor injuries. Possessiveness. Jealousy. Smut. Dom Grant. Heavy make out sessions. Bottom reader. Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 4000

The air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder, the echo of distant gunfire swallowed by the deafening roar of blood pounding through your ears. Coulson's team was locked in battle with Hydra operatives, but none of that mattered. Not when Grant Ward stood before you, the man who, with a single reveal, shattered the illusion everyone had of him.

Your fists met his with bone-rattling force, each strike carrying enough force to break him if it landed clean. But Ward wasn't just any opponent. He was trained in the same deadly efficiency that you were, maybe even more so. And he knew your movements, your tactics, the rhythm of your attacks like a song he had memorized.

So when your punch came for his jaw, he dodged just in time, twisting away as if he had seen it coming before you had even thrown it.

But you had expected that. Using the momentum, you pivoted sharply, aiming a brutal kick toward his ribs. He caught it. His fingers clamped down around your ankle with bruising force, using your own power to twist you mid-air, body snapping sideways, feet skidding against the concrete.

And he was already on you. Ward's grip shot out like a viper, his fingers closing around your wrist in a bruising hold. You yanked free just in time to dodge his counter, twisting away as his first cut through the air, narrowly missing your ribs. But he was faster than most gave him credit for. The second your footing faltered, he capitalized, arm hooking around your back before slamming you into the cold concrete floor with brutal precision.

The impact drove the breath from your lungs, pain detonating across your spine. His knee pinned your chest, arm drawn back for a strike that could break bone. You caught his wrist mid-swing, twisting sharply, using his own weight against him. The two of you tumbled apart, scrambling to your feet at the same time, bodies coiled like predators waiting to strike.

His expression was unreadable at first, dark eyes shadowed beneath the flickering emergency lights. Then, something shifted. A slow, deliberate tilt of his head, a calculating glint in his gaze. His lips parted just enough to release a slow breath, the faintest ghost of a smirk curling at the edges.

Your fist shot out, a feint with your left before you drove a brutal kick into his side. He grunted, staggering for the briefest moment. Satisfaction barely had time to register before his hand clamped around your leg and possibly ready to snap it.

Your fist connected with his jaw in a savage arc. The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot, sending his head snapping to the side and your leg was free from his tight grip.

Slow and deliberate, he turned his head back toward you. The movement was predatory, spine-chilling in its calculated grace. His dark eyes locked onto you with an unsettling intensity, heavy with something dark and undeniably dangerous.

His lips parted enough to let out a slow, shallow breath, the barest ghost of a smirk playing at the edges, if it could even be called that. A wrathful stare, something far more chilling that sat in the pit of your stomach like a coiled snake.

A fresh trail of crimson trickled from the corner of his mouth, thick and glistening under the dim emergency lights. It dripped in slow, lazy streams, curling against the edge of his lips before spilling down his chin in a slick, broken line. He barely seemed to notice, his jaw flexed ever so slightly, the muscle ticking beneath bruised skin and his tongue darted out to catch the coppery taste before retreating, tasting it as if confirming its presence.

A bruise was already blooming along the side of his jaw, the pain only seemed to sharpen him. He didn’t wipe the blood away. He let it linger and stain his skin, a silent testament to the weight of everything between you, eyes flickering with something dark and possessive.

Before you could react, Ward moved too fast yet again. His hand shot out, shoving you back with a brutal force that sent you stumbling.

His fingers curled around your throat the second you landed, your pulse roaring against the vise of his fingers. He slammed you against the concrete with a force that rattled your skull, his weight pressing down completely, unyielding while cutting off just enough air to leave you gasping. Your hand's clawed at his arms, nails raking against his skin in a feigned struggle, your body twisting beneath him.

But his grip only tightened, fingers digging into your skin with force, breathing rough and uneven. His expression was nothing short of fury, but beneath the sharp edge of his rage, there was something dangerously close to hunger. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted just enough for his breath to fan against your skin, warm and unsteady. Even as he loomed over you like a predator savoring his prey, he didn’t move to end it. No, he held you there, drawing it out, relishing the way you squirmed beneath him.

May intervened in time. Her boot connected with his ribs in a devastating blow, sending him rolling off of you with a grunt. The moment his grip tore away, you sucked in a ragged breath, the sting of forming bruises already settling deep.

Ward barely had time to recover before SHIELD agents were on him, forcing him down, pinning his arms back. Blood smeared his face, his chest rising and falling with every breath, but his gaze never left you. Even as they dragged him away, even as May hauled you to your feet, his eyes stayed locked on yours.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Hours passed after that event, the guard was now lowered and the base was silent now extremely late at night.

The reinforced steel of the walls, security cameras carefully hidden, countless layers of encrypted surveillance. S.H.I.E.L.D. had built its prisons well. You had slipped through them like a shadow.

Your footsteps were soundless against the cold floor as you moved through the dimly lit corridors, each step deliberate, controlled. The weight of everything still lingered in your muscles, the bruises from the fight throbbing in the background like a dull ache.

It was easy to ignore since you weren't here for remorse.

The reinforced door looming in front of you, its small observation window casting a faint rectangle of light into the otherwise darkened space beyond.

Inside, he was waiting sitting on the simple cot of his cell, the dim, almost sterile lighting casting deep shadows across the padded walls behind him. His posture is deceptively relaxed, hands loosely clasped together, forearms resting on his thighs.

He’s clad in a plain gray prison jumpsuit, the fabric slightly loose but doing nothing to hide the definition of his arms. His biceps are prominent, the muscle taut beneath his skin and the short sleeves leave his strong forearms exposed. The muted color of the clothing adds to the bleakness of his surroundings, but it does little to dull the quiet intensity he carries.

His face is rugged, the slight scruff along his jawline making him look both worn and dangerous, as if the hours of isolation have only sharpened him rather than subdued him. His dark eyes, shadowed from the overhead lighting, flicker with something unreadable. There’s a weight to his gaze, a quiet assessment as he looks up, unreadable and yet knowing all at once. His brows are slightly furrowed, adding to the exhaustion and quiet menace in his expression.

Even trapped, he does not look broken. If anything, he looks like he’s waiting.

Watching everything.

The corner of his mouth curled, not quite a smirk, not quite anything. Just the barest ghost of something that flickered and disappeared just as quickly. He simply sat there, head tilted ever so slightly as he took you in. The bruises you'd given each other, the cut on his lip, the faint discoloration around his jaw where your fist had landed.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. running out of interrogators already? Must be getting desperate." He muttered, tilting his head slightly, voice dripping with mockery.

His words were designed to get under your skin. He thrived on pressure. He pushed and prodded, searching for weakness, for tells. He knew how to read people better than anyone, how to twist their expectations until they didn't even realize they were playing right into his hands.

"Or maybe, this is just personal for you." he mused.

You kept your expression impassive. Cold. Unreadable.

He was digging. Pushing past the surface, past the professional veneer, testing just how much of this was real and how much was performance.

And God, was he enjoying it.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, eyes burning into yours now.

"Come on," he said, his voice a little quieter, a little lower. “I know you. I know exactly how you operate. And let me guess—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "You still think there's something left to save here, don't you?"

You clenched your jaw.

"You think that you're different from the others, don’t you?" His smirk deepened, and God, he was enjoying this too much for your liking.

You tilted your head slightly, letting a slow exhale slip past your lips. Keeping your stance controlled.

"You talk too much, Ward."

He laughed. Soft and quiet. A huff of breath through his nose as he leaned back against the wall.

"So what is it this time?" he mused. "Are you here to convince me of something? That I made the wrong choice? That I can still be redeemed?"

His eyes flickered down your body before snapping back up to meet yours.

"Or is it something else?"

Your pulse jumped. He had seen and felt something.

And it was infuriating how easily he could read your mind.

You tapped the security panel beside the door, fingers moving with precision. A soft, barely audible click followed as the locks disengaged.

The door swung open and the shift in the air was palpable.

You stepped inside, slow, deliberate, closing it behind you with a quiet finality.

Ward didn't move.

Didn't have to. Like a predator waiting to see if the threat in front of him was real.

You took another step closer.

"You really think I don't know their security systems by now?" Your voice was quiet, edged with something unreadable. "Cameras are looping."

The mask cracks. Your pulse thrums in your ears and not from fear but because of something far more intoxicating.

For the first time in hours, you breathe without restraint. The weight of the act slips from your shoulders, shedding like dead skin, revealing something raw and unfiltered beneath. The role they forced you to play as the loyal agent is gone, discarded like a useless disguise.

And it feels good.

To stand here, unfettered and look at him and see the way he knows. Everything that you did this far was a performance meant for an audience too blind to question it.

His expression barely flickered, but you saw it. A fraction of a second where his breathing shifted and his pulse jumped at his throat.

He was smart enough to know what that meant.

"Skye taught me that trick," you added. "Months ago."

Understanding dawned in his eyes before smiling. A slow, knowing smile that you knew too well, the barest twitch of his lips.

Satisfaction.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, he moves.

No hesitation or warning, just the sheer force of him crashing into you, hands finding your waist and fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he slams you against the cold metal wall. The impact sends a sharp jolt up your spine, but the way he devours you in the next breath makes it a distant sensation, swallowed whole by something far more consuming.

His mouth claims yours with a brutal kind of hunger, nothing like the deception you played at before when you used to in front of everyone else of the team. There’s no performance here, no restraint. Just teeth and heat and the unfiltered aftermath of hours spent locked away, forced to endure interrogation after interrogation, his body coiled with frustration and mind forced into stillness when all he wanted was this.

His hands roam and he finds those bruises he left on you earlier, the ones he painted onto your skin in the midst of your choreographed battle. His fingers press down, slow and deliberate, grip tightening when you react, satisfaction evident in the sharp edge of his breath. He’s reinforcing every mark, to remind you who they belong to.

His teeth graze your lips, sharp and demanding, then lower, tracing the sharp cut of your jaw, biting hard enough to leave his mark, tongue and teeth working over the same spots his fingers had claimed minutes before, like an apology he has no intention of meaning.

“You have no idea how hard it was to hold back.” His fingers tighten around your hips, keeping you pinned against him with no room to escape, not that you would. Body presses flush to yours, radiating heat, the thin barrier of clothing between you both a laughable pretense.

“Watching you like that,” he continues, voice dark and ragged, the weight of his restraint barely hanging by a thread. “Fuck. I wanted to fuck you right there. Throw you down and pay you back for every little thing you did to me, make you feel just how much you were pushing me.’

His hands skim lower, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your waist before digging in. “You wanted it just as bad, didn’t you?” He growls against your lips, voice wrecked and tinted with something close to obsession. “I could barely hold back.”

You let out a breathless laugh, tilting your head back against the bars, baring your throat to him in blatant invitation.

“Who said you have to?”

A deep, guttural sound rumbles in his chest at that and then he’s on you, his mouth dragging over your jaw, your throat, his hands gripping your ass again, hard, pulling you flush against him.

The fabric gives way under his grip, not carefully, not with any patience. Ripped, torn, peeled from your body like an obstacle he refuses to tolerate. The cold air of the cell rushes against your exposed skin for only a second before he’s on you again, all heat and force, shoving you back against the cold iron bars, gripping your ass with no restraint, fingertips digging into muscle with a force that leaves no room for hesitation, no space for escape.

The groan he lets out against your throat is deep, wrecked. His mouth finds your neck again, lips brushing over the bruises he left earlier, the ones that were meant to look like battle wounds but were anything but.

“You better not screw any of this up,” he mutters, breath warm against your lips. “Everything’s riding on you now.”

Your lips curl into something just shy of a smirk, amusement bleeding through the haze of heat clouding your thoughts. Even now like this, he can’t not remind you of the stakes. He’s always been composed, methodical, always one step ahead. Except here, in this cell, in this moment, you can feel the cracks in his control, the ragged edge of his breathing as his lips drag over your jaw, down the column of your throat, pressing against the marks that only he gets to put on you.

“Relax, Ward,” you murmur, your voice low, velvety, teasing. “The team hasn’t so much as looked me in the eye since you got exposed. They think I’m mourning you. Poor, broken, betrayed agent, left to pick up the pieces.”

Your voice drips with mockery, the idea of it so laughable it nearly makes you chuckle. And, honestly? You’re impressed. They bought it so easily, swallowing the lie whole without question.

You exhale, tilting your head slightly as you let your fingers graze down his forearm, deliberate and slow. Testing and pushing.

“Maybe I should get closer to one of them,” you murmur, your voice casual, but you make sure to watch him closely, searching for the telltale signs. The shift in his stance, the tension in his jaw. “Sleeping with one of them worked well enough for you, after all.”

You see how his eyes flicker, something simmering beneath that carefully controlled exterior. It’s not immediate nor obvious. Grant Ward is too well-trained, too deeply embedded in his own control to make it obvious.

It was impossible to see it coming. His grip tightens suddenly, fingers curling around your bicep, yanking you forward before getting turned around and slammed chest-first into the bars again. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, a sharp hiss slipping past your teeth. Pain flashes through every nerve of your body but it warps instantly into something hot that coils low in your gut and burns.

Thick and hard, his cock strains against the denim of his gray pants, pressing firm and unrelenting against your bare, already red ass. The heat of him is overwhelming, even through the fabric, the solid weight of him sending a fresh pulse of arousal straight through you. A shudder wracks through your body, involuntary, traitorous, the shame of it mixing with the unbearable need clawing at your insides.

Your breath is ragged, your fingers curling around the bars, gripping tight as you will yourself to stay still, to not push back, to not give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much this is already getting to you.

But he knows.

A low, guttural sound rumbles in his chest, deep and unrestrained, reverberating straight into your spine. The vibration sends heat rushing through your veins, leaving you momentarily breathless.

And then he leans in.

His sturdy chest presses tight against your back, his breath ghosts over your ear, slow and deliberate, before he finally speaks.

“You think I give a fuck what you do next?”

His voice is low, husky, like gravel and smoke. His fingers slip lower, dragging down your side, slow, teasing, before gripping your hips tight.

“You think I care?” He’s toying with you. Daring you to believe him.

Your lips curl into a smirk, despite the way your pulse is hammering or how your own dick is aching, straining, desperate for more.

“No?” you murmur, voice just the slightest bit breathless, teasing enough to push at the cracks in his control.

His grip yanks you back, pulling you flush against him.

“No.” His voice is a growl now, his breath hot against the back of your neck. His cock pressing even harder against your ass, making sure you feel him.

“So go ahead.” His tone is mocking now, cruel in the way that makes your blood run hotter, your thighs clench harder. “Go and fuck whoever you prefer.”

His teeth sink hard into your throat, making you gasp, your grip on the bars tightening.

“But don’t forget that you’re still mine.”

His hips roll again, rougher this time, dragging a desperate sound from your lips that you barely manage to muffle.

Ward's fingers dig in like iron, driving the breath from your lungs as he pushes into you harder into the cold metal bars as his thick cock stretches you wide, claiming you all over again with every brutal thrust.

You bite back a moan, too loud and desperate, but he hears it anyway. His hips snap forward in a sharp, punishing thrust, dragging a ragged gasp from you, a broken, helpless sound that betrays just how much you want this.

Ward fucking thrives on that sound. On the way you shudder beneath him, helpless to the overwhelming heat coiling in your gut, to the brutal and relentless rhythm he's set.

Fuck. He was so big, the thick girth of him splitting you open, making you feel every inch of him as your walls clung to him, squeezing down, swallowing him deeper, taking him all.

Every thrust is a a punishment, a brand seared into your very bones. Ward takes you like he's got something to prove, something to remind you.

His cock drives into you without mercy, thick and unrelenting, stretching you open with every forceful stroke, hitting that devastating spot inside you over and over until the pleasure is unbearable, until your body is caught in the violent push and pull of pain and ecstasy.

He doesn't let up nor slow down. Not when you whimper, nor when you shudder or even when your knees threaten to give out.

Instead, he laughs, breathless and dark against your ear, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other snakes up your chest, fingers wrapping tight around your throat.

His teeth sink into your shoulder, lips dragging down the damp skin of your neck and leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses between the bruises his hands are already painting onto your body.

"Fuck," he groans, forehead pressing against the nape of your neck as his pace turns erratic, desperate. His breath is hot and ragged against your sweat-slick skin, grip punishing as he holds you still, refusing to let you pull away.

His cock twitches inside you, thick and pulsing, buried so deep you swear you'll feel him for days.

With a sharp, guttural grunt, Ward buries himself to the hilt, his body going taut, his breath catching as he comes deep inside of you, his release flooding you in thick, hot pulses. The moment stretches, endless, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex.

Ward's fingers drag over your skin, slow and deliberate, tracing the bruises he's left like they're some masterpiece of his own design. There's a glint of satisfaction in his dark eyes as he drinks in the sight of you trembling in his hold and full of him.

He pulls out. The stretch of his cock slipping free sends a sharp wave of overstimulation through you, your body clenching involuntarily at the loss. You barely manage to bite back a whimper, your muscles weak, sore, trembling from the sheer force of what he's just done to you. The sudden emptiness is almost unbearable, leaving behind nothing but a slick mess between your thighs.

And God, does it ache.

Yeah, he wasn't just a monster on the inside, the one you loved to death, he also had a damn monster at his disposal and it knew exactly how to break you apart.

Ward smirks as he watches you struggle to steady yourself, his amusement evident as he tucks himself back into his pants, the sound of his zipper slicing through the silence was like a goddamn victory bell.

You force yourself to keep it together as you retrieve your clothes and pretend like your legs aren't still shaking, like you aren't still leaking down behind your thighs.

By the time you step outside the cell and turn to seal the door, he's already standing in front of you millimeters away.

The bars are the only thing keeping him from reaching you, but even that feels fragile, temporary, something he could snap if he truly wanted to. His eyes bore into yours, dark and unreadable.

"Go." It's a simple command, voice rough but steady, a sharp contrast to the wrecked, desperate way he'd been groaning your name just minutes ago.

You straighten up, forcing your legs to hold steady despite the dull ache still pulsing between them, determined to not let him have the last word.

So you smirk. Let your eyes flicker down to where his hands are still gripping the bars, where his knuckles are white with restraint.

"You always act so detached afterward, but you're already waiting at the bars like a dog for his master."

His arms shoot through the bars in a blur of motion, his hands grabbing you, yanking you forward until your body slams against the cold iron. A sharp gasp escapes you at the impact, muffled by his lips devouring you.

A feral kiss, all teeth and tongue, his tongue pushes past your lips, licking into your mouth with a desperation that contradicts the cold, unaffected tone he had just seconds before.

His teeth catch your lower lip, biting down hard enough to sting before he soothes over the mark with his tongue.

You moan into his mouth, unable to hold back the noise, unable to do anything but get consumed by him.

He shoves you away seconds later. Hard enough that you stumble, your breath heaving, lips swollen.

He licks his lips, tasting you there, his expression unreadable as he lets the silence stretch between you.

"You know where to find me." He spoke like nothing has ever happened.

Like he doesn't already know that no matter where you go or what you do—

You'll always come back.

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