#Captain America Angst

[sunvmars]

only you || s.r.

pairing: steve rogers x reader (brief platonic!nat, sam, and bucky.)

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word count: 7.1k summary: only a few weeks after a breakup, you go out for the night with the team. steve doesn’t show up, and he’s been purposefully not showing up to anything non-work related after the breakup. however, tonight you drink a little too much, and insist that steve pick you up. warnings: angst (breakup, talk of bullying, body image issues), swearing, drinking, *smutty implications.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't know who else to call," Sam explains, his voice raised to speak louder than the blaring music.

"She keeps asking for you, and she won't go with anyone but you," Bucky adds as he and Sam lead Steve through the crowded dancefloor.

The blond sighs and shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. "It's alright, really, but just how drunk is she, exactly?"

Before Sam can respond, they come to a stop right in front of the team's reserved booth. Bruce had only come for all of an hour of the night, but Clint and Tony had left about thirty minutes prior to Steve's arrival, leaving your well-being in Natasha, Bucky, and Sam's hands.

Steve looks over you and Nat; you're laid down on the long, cushioned seat with your head resting on her lap. Her jacket is slung over your lower half to cover your exposed legs from your dress rising up on your thighs. You're looking up at her adoringly, reaching up to twirl strands of her hair between your fingers as you mumble about how pretty her hair is.

"That answer your question?" Sam whispers, chuckling slightly.

Another sigh falls from Steve's lips, and although his heart aches, he has to stop himself from cracking a smile. "That it does."

He steps closer to the booth, taking in the sight of you with softened eyes. Typically, you never let yourself get this drunk, not in the public eye at least. Even though it's clear you've had more than a bit too much to drink, the sight is endearing.

Nat directs her attention from you and up at the three men approaching the table instead. Her expression is one of amusement with a slight hint of relief as she looks down at you again. "Hey, look who's here, honey," she says softly to you.

You turn your head in her lap and let your hands fall back down, finally releasing her hair from your gentle grip. Your eyes land on Steve and you blink up at him before a wide, drunken smile spreads on your face.

"Steeeeve!" you exclaim in a slur, reaching your hand out for him. "You came!"

He crouches down next to the booth, hesitantly taking your hand into his. "Hey, doll. 'Course I came, I always will. Looks like you've had fun tonight, huh?"

You nod excitedly and your smile spreads into a grin. "Nat's hair is sooo pretty, did ya know that? 'S soft too, like a pillow," you ramble, your words somehow not coming out scrambled.

"I bet," Steve says, watching Nat brush your hair out of your face. "Let's get you home, yeah?"

"Your home?" you ask in a softer voice.

Right. His home.

"I don't..." Steve starts before falling into silent contemplation.

He looks up at Nat who's already looking back at him, her expression apologetic and soft. Then his eyes shift back down to you, and his heart clenches in his chest. Your eyelashes flutter as you blink at him, your eyes light up and twinkle in a way that they only do for him, and your lips part a little as you take slower breaths.

How could he say no to that?

"Sure, yeah, we'll go back to mine," he concedes gently, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

You smile again and scramble to sit upright. Nat lays a hand on your back to help keep you balanced, Steve taking your other hand in his free one to pull you up gently. When you're sat up straight, he takes Nat's jacket off your legs and helps you tug your dress back down.

He slides your phone off the table and into his pocket before throwing your arms around his neck. You take the hint to hold on as he slides one of his arms under your legs and the other behind your back.

Effortlessly, he lifts you into his arms. You clasp your hands together behind his neck and a giggle slips out of your lips- a sound that was once music to his ears which had now become one he longed to hear again.

"G'night, Nat," you say sweetly, turning your head to look at her.

Steve's body follows the direction of your head, turning towards the table so you don't strain your neck. Her eyes meet yours and she smiles at you once more.

"Goodnight, babe. Text me tomorrow, alright?" she requests before looking up at Steve and saying, "Make sure to get some water in her, we had to trick her into drinking some by watering down her tequila."

"Will do-"

Your gasp cuts Steve off effectively, her words only just now sinking in. "That wasn't tequila?!" you exclaim, your voice coming out quieter than you realize.

The three at the table laugh a little- even Steve lets out a low chuckle of his own.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Nat starts, her voice dropping to a whisper before continuing, "It was definitely tequila, but you know these guys are no fun, so we can't tell them that."

"Ohhh, right, right. I can keep a secret- you're the world's bestest adult sitter," you reply softly.

"The best, huh?" she questions with a half smirk.

When you nod, she takes a sip of her drink, placing the glass down before saying, "I'll be expecting my plaque soon then."

"You wanna say bye to Sam and Bucky?" he asks, looking over slightly to meet your eyes.

You hum in response and he walks you over a few steps to Bucky and Sam who are sitting at the other end of the table. The pair smile at you, though it's more of an amused grin on Bucky's end, and you return the gesture.

"Bye, Bucky," you say, sleep and intoxication ridden in your voice.

Bucky chuckles and rises to his feet to ruffle your hair playfully. "Bye, doll. You get some good sleep, alright?"

Your nose scrunches at the feeling of his hand in your hair. "Always good sleep when with Stevie."

Bucky sits back down, and Sam starts to speak, "Punch it in," he instructs, raising his fist up to your level.

You oblige happily, curling your hand into a fist to the best of your ability and bumping it against his. "G'bye," you slur, nuzzling your face into the crook of Steve's neck.

"Call us if you need us," Bucky says to Steve.

"Yeah, thank you for watching over her," Steve responds appreciatively, "Goodnight, be safe getting home."

"'Night," the three say collectively, smiling at him in a way that's bordering apologetic.

Steve forces a smile before turning to walk away. He makes his way through the crowd, holding you tight and protectively against his chest.

"You can go to sleep if you want, I can tell you're sleepy," he murmurs low enough for just you to hear him.

A small whimper emits from you, making a warmth spread through his body. He looks down at you adoringly before looking back up, shifting his focus back to the rather slow journey to the exit. Although some people part to make way for who they know to be Captain America himself, most of them are too drunk to care. So, Steve focuses heavily on navigating through the maze of bodies.

When he steals a glance down at you again, you're sleeping peacefully and your head has fallen back away from his neck. You must've felt him move though, because you immediately nestle your face back into his neck, and the warmth of your breath against his skin makes him shiver. The scent of the alcohol you'd been drinking lingers, but it's mixed with the familiar fragrance of your vanilla perfume, and it creates a blend that only you could pull off.

When you reach the exit, the cold, autumn night air hits both of your faces. Steve adjusts his grip on you to make sure you're comfortable and then walks to the car he ordered that dropped him off. The driver steps out, and opens the passenger side door for the two of you, allowing Steve to slide you comfortably onto the seat.

He thanks the driver as you whine at the loss of contact. You melt sleepily into his touch when he reaches in to brush your hair behind your ear to let you know he's not leaving. The bright city lights reflect in his blue eyes, and a soft, but achy, smile plays on his lips at the sight of you. Careful not to wake you or pinch your fingers, he fastens your seatbelt, making sure you're secure before closing the car door.

He walks to the other side of the car and gets in, choosing to sit by the window instead of next to you in the middle seat. As the car starts up, he can't help but look at you and admire you. The admiration quickly turns into longing, though. He takes in every part of your face, his mind plaguing itself with the memory of just over two months ago.

"I don't think I'm right for you."

The words flow easily from your mouth like water between open fingers. Steve looks at you, utterly confused and hurt. His jaw tightens, his eyebrows furrowing as he opens his mouth to speak, only to close it again when he can't find the words.

He gets off the couch, rising to his feet and looking at you from across the room. "You want to leave, to forget everything from the last year and a half, just because you don't think you're right for me?"

The weight of your decision and his words sit heavily on your shoulders as you slouch over, putting your face in your hands for a moment. "I... I'm no good for you, Steve, and you deserve better than me... I can't be what, or who, you need."

"What are you talking about, y/n? You're perfect to me, I wouldn't trade you for anything," he explains, trying to keep his voice soft and reassuring despite the fear and irritation building up in him. "Please, tell me what I can do to make you feel better and I'll do it, I'll do anything-"

"You can't do anything!" you finally snap, your emotions being misdirected towards him. You let the warm tears that were welling up fall freely from your eyes as you continue, "There's nothing you can do, Steven, I'm not the person you need, and I never will be. Drop it, just leave it at that, and move on."

"'Leave it at that?'" Steve repeats back in bewilderment. "We have been together for almost two years and you expect me to drop all of it just like that?"

All you can muster up in response is a quiet, "I'm sorry."

He watches you stand up and sling your purse over your shoulder. Desperately, he scrambles for the right words to say to make you stay. "Baby, please, tell me what's really going on here- this cannot be it for us, I won't let it be."

Steve takes long strides towards you only for you to back away from him. For some strange reason, that small action hurt worse than any of the words that came, or could possibly come, out of your mouth. He stops dead in his tracks, trying to search your face for any sign of changing your mind. When he doesn't find it, he bites down on his tongue to save himself more heartache from the useless begging he wants to let out.

"I'm sorry, Steve. You deserve better, and you always have," you mumble, wiping the tears off your cheeks and walking quickly to the front door.

"I love you," he says, only to receive no response other than the front door slamming shut as you walk out of it.

“You alright back there?” the driver’s voice snaps Steve out of his thoughts. “You need heat or air? Seat warmers? Anything?”

Steve shakes his head slightly, snapping himself out of it. His hand reaches over to you, and he rests the back of his hand on your forehead. “A little heat, thanks,” he says with a smile after nothing the tinge of cold your skin has.

“Of course,” the driver says with a returned smile as he turns the heat on.

As he avigates the familiar route to Steve’s apartment, with the sleepiness Steve feels, he's thankful for the fact that there's only a minute or two remaining of the drive. And on the other hand, he’s sulking about the short time left because that’s two minutes closer to you being gone by the time he wakes up.

He turns his gaze back to you, still peacefully asleep with your head resting against the window. The soft hum of the engine provides an almost calming backdrop that yet does nothing to soothe the ache that persists. Focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest always seems to soothe him though, and it still does so now.

The car comes to a stop in front of the apartment, and Steve reaches into his wallet to pull out some cash. He pulls out his keys too, to make it easier when he gets to the door. Then he hands the cash to the driver with a grateful nod before getting out of the car and making his way to your side. Gently, he opens the door, reaching up quickly to lean your head back on the headrest.

You grumble a little, and he's quick to ease you as he unbuckles your seatbelt. "Sorry, sweetheart, but we're home now."

"Home?" you murmur, still half asleep.

He carefully lifts you into his arms once more, and you instantly cling to his jacket. "Yeah... home."

The building's lobby is quiet as he enters through the automatic doors, the night shift doorman giving him a knowing smile. Steve offers nothing but a small and short nod in return, his focus solely on your drunken state. Luckily the elevator ride is short, but every second feels like an eternity to him.

The weight of your body curled up in his arms provides a comforting familiarity. It's a familiarity he soaks up though, having not seen you outside of work during the few missions you had together. In fact, you hadn't spoken to him outside of work since you left either.

Even during missions, you were short with your comments. And when you picked up your things from his apartment, of which you were actively moving into, you did it on a day when he was gone. You'd left your key under the mat and shot him a brief text letting him know. He replied, only asking how you were doing, but he got no response back.

The elevator dings, snapping him out of his thoughts again as he steps out, taking long strides until he reaches his door. He turns to the side, bending down ever so slightly to unlock the door with his keys in the hand hooked under your legs. He twists the doorknob and pushes the door open, carrying you inside with practiced ease.

The soft glow of outside city lights filters through the open windows. Paired with the dim tv, the lights cast a cool ambiance over the living room. With a deep breath, he heads straight to his room and slowly lays you down on the bed.

The bedroom is dark except for the blue and green aurora projected on the ceiling from the starlight projector you insisted he get since his room was too 'plain.' At first, the light kept him up at night because he found it too distracting, but since you'd left, he couldn't sleep without it on. After all, it was the only piece of you that you left with him other than the few shirts and undergarments.

Steve sighs deeply, taking your heels off your feet and placing them next to the bed. He covers you with your favorite blanket from the foot of his bed, and with a heart heavier than typical, he makes his way to the kitchen to fill up a cup with water. He then carries the glass back to the bedroom and sits it on the bedside table.

He takes a moment to simply watch you as he sits on the edge of the bed next to you. The soft features of your face relaxed in sleep makes him contemplate waking you up- you were always a peaceful sleeper, and he hated disturbing those few moments of peace.

Before he can attempt to wake you, you begin to stir, your eyelashes fluttering as your eyes slowly open. You blink slowly a few times, allowing your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and then a sleepy smile forms on your face when you see Steve.

"Hey," he greets you softly, reaching over to offer you the glass of water from the nightstand.

"Thank you," you say.

It's obvious that you're still not sober as you take the glass and sit up too quickly, the sudden movement resulting in your head throbbing as you groan. "Ouch," you mumble, pressing the palm of your free hand against your forehead.

"You okay?"

"Think so," you reply, sitting up much slower than before.

The cool water soothes you a little as you take small sips of it. A contented sigh falls from your lips, your body appreciating the non-alcoholic beverage. You place the glass back onto its spot on the nightstand and then focus your attention back on Steve.

Your eyes reflect the projector's lights as your eyes rake over him for a few seconds. Slower than you realize, you raise your hand and brush it gently over his cheek in admiration. "You're like... like an angel, but a reaaally handsome one," you croon.

Steve chuckles, a mixture of amusement and genuine joy spreading across his features. "I'm flattered, but you're the angel here, honey," he says with a smile.

He captures your hand in his and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. You giggle in response, the alcohol still evident in your system, and then your happy expression fades away. You look down, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

"I'm sorry for, uhm, causing a fuss t'night. I never meant to ruin your night..."

The look on his face becomes one closer to sympathetic as he drops your hand, now reaching over to cup your cheek. Carefully, he forces you to look at him as he speaks. "Hey, you didn't ruin anything, alright? I'll always come when you need me, and I'm just glad you're okay."

Missing the feeling of his skin on yours all too much, you lean into his touch, letting his warmth soothe you. "Thanks for...everything."

"Anytime, truly," he replies.

There's a comfortable silence that falls between you, the weight of the obvious unspoken words lingering in the air. You look up at him, trying to keep yourself awake. Steve drops his hand and tries to memorize every detail of your face. He knows that tomorrow things will go back to how they were, and he's not sure he can stomach that.

It only takes a few more beats of silence before he breaks the said silence, his voice low and gentle. "Can we talk?" he asks, his blue eyes searching yours.

You hum for a moment, taking a slow breath before saying, "Jus' for a minute, very sleepy."

"I just... I have one question, that okay?"

"Hm?"

Steve musters up the courage to speak, only breaking apart from your gaze for a second. "Could you maybe tell me why you left? Like why you really left?"

When your eyes flicker with hesitation and sadness, he starts to regret asking. The air feels heavier than it ever has, holding the weight of everything spoken and not yet said, but he breathes it all in. Right as he's about to tell you to not worry about it, you take a deep breath and smother your vulnerability with the knowledge that he deserves the truth. Slowly as to not give yourself another headache, you nod.

"S'like I told you, that was the truth, 'm not good enough. You look at me with so much love and admiration, and I know...I know I could never live up to what you think of me," you explain, drawing out each word a little more than you would if you were sober. "'M holding you back, always have been, and you deserve better."

His eyebrows furrow as he takes in your words, his gaze intense and sharp. "I look at you like that because of who you are, not because of who I think you should be," he says in an attempt to reassure you. He reaches out to take your hand in his as he continues, "You're always been more than enough, honey. I mean, hell, you're more than I deserve, and-"

"No, no, you don't get it!" you exclaim lowly, cutting him off and taking your hand out of his grip. "Y-you're perfect, you're America's golden boy, and 'm jus' me. I hate my body, my mind, an-and everything about me. Could never be good enough for you, Steve. As if I don't already hate myself enough, everyone says and sees how much more you deserve, except for you."

Steve's mind races and his heart tightens as he takes in your words. The obvious pain in your voice cuts through him like a scalding knife, the tears welling up in your eyes cutting him even deeper. He's now sure that nothing could measure up to the pain of hearing you talk about yourself in the complete opposite way of how he thinks of you.

Silence passes as he dwells on your words. Then it clicks.

"Who's been saying that?" he questions sternly.

You avoid his gaze like the plague, immediately breaking the eye contact you were holding. Physically, you can feel yourself shrink. Whether it's the guilt from your outburst, the shame from everything you've heard and thought about yourself, or the intensity of his gaze- you're not sure.

His jaw tightens in anger, but not directed at you. "Who, y/n?"

A deep and heavy sigh falls from your lips as your eyes dart around the room. "Phone," you say quietly, holding out your hand to him.

Steve looks at your outstretched hand, confusion covering the concern etched on his face briefly. He pauses for a moment before reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out your phone. Placing it in your hand, he watches closely as you unlock it with shaky fingers. Your eyes scan over the screen, but it doesn't take long for you to find what you were looking for, and your expression tells it all.

You hesitate to hand the phone to him, but you do so anyway, lying down on the bed and curling up into yourself as soon as the phone touches his hands. And, not that you see it, but his eyes narrow as he reads over everything rapidly. You'd had it all saved in a little folder; every message, every media report, every post made about you.

He's not sure what's worse of the situation, to be honest. To know that you'd felt this way about yourself for God knows how long and not have said anything about it was painful, sure. However, the words written about you were downright cruel, analytical, and simply not true at all.

But the amount of things that were written and you had saved for you to read at your whim, only reaffirming whatever untrue things you thought about yourself? That was a different level of hurt that he could imagine hurt you hundreds of times worse than it does him.

Unable to stomach anymore, he places your phone face down on the nightstand. Silently, he scoots up on the bed to be closer, reaching out to place his hand on your cheek. You flinch at the contact at first, but his touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the words you've been subjected to.

"I'm so, so sorry, my sweet girl," he says softly, trying to force down tears of his own.

You take a shaky breath in and out, your voice barely above a low murmur. "Didn't want you to leave me, so I left first."

Steve's heart sinks at your admission, his thumb gently stroking your cheek to wipe away the stray tear that escaped your eye. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a gesture that's meant to offer some kind of comfort and reassurance.

"I would've never left you, and I still won't, okay? I know you care about what they say, but I don't. Nothing could ever skew my image of you, angel, you're my definition of perfect- you don't have any image to live up to in my mind," he promises with a soft-spoken tone.

You can't find it in you to respond even though you want to, all too scared of your voice failing you. Sheer pain radiates from you to the point where it's almost suffocating. While he's more than aware that no words can take back anything you've read or heard, the simple fact that he can't undo what has already been done riddles him with guilt still.

If he could, he would take all of that ache and bear it all for you.

"When did all this start?" he inquires, waiting patiently for your answer.

"I don't know..."

"I know you do, honey, you can tell me."

"Only... Only a week after we got together, got worse after I started moving in here."

"Scoot," he instructs gently, careful to control his tone with you although he feels a deep rage.

You oblige and scoot over slowly. Almost instantly, he lays down behind you, curling up so that his body molds with yours. He brushes a few pieces of your hair back before wrapping his arm around your midsection to hold you protectively against him.

"Can I ask you one more thing?" he asks, adding on, "And you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

After thinking about it for a second, you nod. He tries to find the best way to ask what he wants to ask. Deep down he wants, but somehow already knows, the answer, yet he doesn't want to make things worse. Nor does he want it to seem like the subject is the only thing he was thinking about.

"Is…is all of this, meaning what people have said and what you think about yourself- is this why we've never, you know, done anything together?" he inquires with furrowed brows from the overwhelming amount of emotions. "I'm just asking because I never thought this would be why, I thought I was doing something wrong or you just weren't ready."

Your body tenses at his question, and you have to steady your voice before answering, "Part of it. Never felt good enough, and I didn't want you to see me like that and be disappointed."

Steve frowns, sighing lowly as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. The gesture is simple, but it effectively conveys the depth of what he feels.

"I don't care how long it takes me to convince you, but I'll spend forever trying to get you to see yourself even a fraction of the way I do if I have to," he says as his thumb traces circles on your side. "You're absolutely breathtaking, angel. Fuck anyone who says you're anything other than beautiful."

A quiet giggle slips from between your lips, unable to hold contain your momentary amusement. For the first time in a while, he smiles a real, genuine smile. "You don't know how long I've missed the sound of that pretty laugh."

"You said 'fuck,'" you tease, trying to soak in the temporary joy.

He chuckles and the sounds rumbles through his chest. "Sometimes I can be a little hypocritical, especially when it comes to protecting you."

The smile you hold fades again, and you're left with nothing but the sadness and warmth of Steve's body behind yours. "Thank you," you whisper.

Steve tightens his hold around you and presses another gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. "You don't need to thank me for telling you the truth, it's what I'm here for, and I meant every word."

The two of you lay there in silence for a while. The room stays filled only with the sounds of your delicate breathing and the occasional passing of a distant car. This time, the silence isn't agonizing though. Steve's presence makes it feel comforting, and his words make your brain go mute even if just for tonight, making the weight of the world lift just a little.

"Stevie?" you murmur, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?" he responds.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist. "Don't wanna be alone t'night," you admit.

"Then you won't be," he promises softly. "Do you want me to help you out of that dress? No pressure, of course, I was just thinking it might be more comfortable for you to sleep if you changed. I think you've still got a shirt here or you could wear one of mine, and like I said I could leave if-"

"Steve?"

"...Yes?"

"Don't think I could get out of this dress by myself right now if I wanted to, and I'd love one of your shirts."

Steve smiles at your response, relief washing over him at your comfort with him. He unwraps his arm from around you, sitting up slowly before helping you sit up. When he slides off the bed, walking over to his dresser to find a shirt, you scoot yourself slowly to the edge of the bed. Your legs dangle off the edge and your shoulders slouch as you try to keep yourself awake.

With a worn-out gray t-shirt in his hand, he walks back over to you. "Alright, sweetheart. Let me take care of you," he says.

He places the shirt on the bed and reaches behind you to unzip your dress. You allow your head to fall against his chest, trying to soak in his warmth. His movements are slow and delicate, precise too, ensuring that he doesn't cause you any discomfort.

Once the zipper is down, he leaves his hands resting on your back to help you slide off the bed. Then he slips the thin straps down your arms, allowing the dress to fall to the floor, leaving you in just your underwear.

Crystalline, icy blue eyes rake over your body for a moment as he bends down to pick up the discarded fabric. It's not a sexual ogling, and you know that; he's simply admiring you the way he has always wanted to.

Suddenly feeling bashful, you avoid his gaze. You look at anything but him or your body, opting to focus on the street lights outside the big window. He catches your slight shyness immediately and quickly tries to soothe you.

"Hey," he coos with concern written on his face, one hand resting on your waist and the other cupping your cheek, "You're perfect, angel. Are you feeling uncomfortable, do I need to step out for a minute?"

"N-no," you answer promptly and force yourself to meet his eyes. "'M jus' not used to being looked at like this."

Steve's gaze softens, clearly showing he understands the vulnerability you feel. He leans in to press a lingering kiss on your forehead. "If you let me, I'll help you get used to it- and I'll make sure you never feel unsafe or uncomfortable with me. How's that sound?"

The corners of your lips manage to quirk up into an appreciative smile. "Sounds nice, Stevie," you reply, your voice low but still audible.

Returning the same appreciative look, he picks up the t-shirt and says, "Thank you for letting me see you, and touch you, but let's get into something more comfortable for right now. You need some sleep."

You nod and raise your arms up in the air so he can slide the t-shirt onto you. It's then that you notice he'd given you the same shirt you wore the first night you ever spent the night at his place, and almost every time since then, threatening to make you cry.

The fabric is as soft against your skin as it always has been, and the scent of Steve's cologne envelops you, providing a sense of security. A warm feeling spreads through your chest at how he cares for you.

Steve takes a small step back to admire you in the shirt, and just to get another look at you. A fond smile plays on his lips as he looks you over once more. "Always has looked better on you than it does on me. Good to know it still does," he says, honesty obvious in his voice.

Again, your eyes lock with his. You search him for any sign of anything negative, coming up with nothing almost instantly. He searches you for any look or hint of discomfort, but he finds nothing other than sleepiness and adoration in your gaze.

Silence passes over the two of you like it had just mere minutes ago. The quiet environment feels even more natural and comforting than it did before, though.

He clears his throat, trying to prevent the eye contact from becoming awkward for you. "Uhm, let's get you into bed, alright?"

You step to the side so he can pull the comforter back, your hands playing with the bottom hem of the shirt. He turns to face you, and you take a wobbly step towards him, balancing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. His hand flies to your lower back to offer you more support, and you look up at him through the eyelashes of your sleepy eyes.

Slowly, tracing your way up and down his chest once, your eyes stare into him with something he'd never seen in you before. In fact, the look is so intense that it could make any man weak, he's sure of it. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly at your sudden touchiness.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks, somehow oblivious to exactly what look it is that you're giving him.

"Mhmm," you hum, drawing out the 'hm,' with a voice laced with a soft and sleepy seduction from still being tipsy. "Y'know, 'm not thaaat tired."

"Oh? The way that you're hardly able to hold yourself up says otherwise, angel. We have all of tomorrow to talk, let me just help take care of you tonight."

A giggle slips from between your parted lips in response to his cluelessness. "S'cute when you're so sweet," you croon.

"Do you, uhm, do you need something before bed? Like an Advil maybe?"

Instead of a verbal response, you grab onto his jacket and give it a slight tug. You take a step forward, pushing him back gently to force him to sit on the bed. He looks up at you in confusion, but you don't let go of him as you slowly straddle him. With your weight being supported by your knees on the bed and his legs under you, you lean in, nuzzling your face into his neck.

"Angel, what're you-"

Your lips brush lightly under his jawline, leaving a trail of tender kisses as you gradually make your way down to under his chin.

Steve's breath hitches, and his free hand comes to rest on your waist with a delicate, but firm, grip. "O-oh," he murmurs in a sigh.

You nibble gently on his jaw. "Jus' need you," you mumble before pressing your lips to his.

He lets you kiss him, unable to resist the feeling because, well fuck, how could he?

The taste of your lips is all too familiar, and as his lips work against yours, his hands find your hips. His hold on you is secure, and it does nothing to ease the arousal building up in your stomach. You whine from the contact, and he tugs you closer, still careful to keep you steady on his lap.

His resolve weakens, and he becomes hyperaware of your vulnerable state again. So, he breaks the kiss, looking down and into your eyes.

"Y/n, I'm not sure if-" he starts, only to be interrupted by you dipping down to bite on his neck. You suck harshly on his neck as you reach down and palm him through his jeans.

A low groan emits from his chest, his voice husky when he speaks. "God, baby.”

Thoroughly enjoying the reaction he gives, you whimper against his neck. He can feel the corners of your lips turn up into a slight smile. His other hand is on the other side of your waist, gripping it firmly, as soon as you start grinding down onto his thigh. He loses himself in the moment for just a second before reminding himself of your inebriated state.

“F-Fuck,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Wait, wait- stop.”

You bite down once more, whining slightly before pulling away. The sensitive spot on his neck pulses, rushing with blood from the sucking and vibration. He tenses up with a mixture of both surprise and arousal at your forwardness. Then he lets both of his hands find your hips and settle on them, his hold tightening on you.

"D-did I do somethin' wrong? Did that not feel good?" you ask with a deep frown.

"No, no. That's not it, I promise; everything you've done feels amazing," Steve reassures you, quickly shutting down your negative thoughts.

Once again, he clears his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. "Angel, you're just… not in the best state right now. I won't take advantage of you, and I don't want you doing anything you might regret," he explains as he looks down to meet your gaze.

You're staring up at him with those big puppy dog eyes that you always use as an effective method to sway him. Tonight, though, is vastly different.

"C'mon, doll. Don't look at me like that. If you still want me in a few hours, when you're sober, that is, then I am all yours," he promises, trying to bargain with you.

You stick your lower lip out a little unintentionally, giving him the cutest pout he's ever seen. "Sober..." you repeat, looking away almost in shame as you add, "Promise you'll still want me then?"

Steve tilts your chin up with his finger and forces you to lock eyes with him. "I can promise you. I've never wanted anything more in my life than I want you. And that's never going to change."

Tantalizingly, he runs his thumb across your lower lip, a small smile playing on his lips. "But, I need you to be sure that this is what you want. I want you to remember every moment, not just bits and pieces of it, and know that everything we do is your choice," he says softly.

After taking a moment to process his words, you nod in understanding- noting the sincerity in his eyes. The room fills itself with an assortment of emotions, ranging everywhere from desire, uncertainty, and just a touch of venerable fragility.

Steve brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his expression one of soft neutrality. "Alright. Let's get you tucked in," he whispers, his voice a low murmur.

You let go of his jacket after he scoots back on the bed, bringing your knee from the other side of his leg and lying down. You curl yourself into a ball, and Steve's eyes never leave you as you do so. He takes a moment to appreciate the mere sight of you back in his bed, and a wave of warmth rushes through his chest. His earlier desires are still very much present, but so is the respect for the boundaries he set for your well-being.

He gets up briefly to pull the blankets over you before sitting down in the comfy chair in the corner of the room to take his shoes off. The chair you'd begged him to get as well to fill up the empty space in the room.

After sliding the boots under the chair, he makes his way to the dresser to change into some loose-fitting sweatpants. When he's about to put a shirt on, you grumble a 'no,' that catches his attention and makes him turn to face you.

"No?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow up questioningly.

"Nuh-uh," you respond with a shake of your head.

He chuckles lightly. "Why not?"

"Warmer without it, not a bad sight either," you say softly, following it up with a yawn.

Steve smirks in appreciation of your usual playfulness. "If you insist," he concedes, deciding to forgo the shirt. He slips the shirt back into the drawer and walks back over to the bed.

He settles himself in beside you and lifts his arm up, allowing you to scoot into his side and rest your head on his chest. Happily, you hum, soaking up his warmth and focusing on his steady heartbeat. He then reaches down with his free hand to pull the blanket over himself.

"Uncomfortable?" you murmur, sleep laced in your voice.

"No, I'll be alright as long as you're comfortable."

A second passes by before you speak again. "Thank you."

"For what, angel?"

"For being so...you."

You feel Steve's chest rise and fall with a deep, contented sigh. His fingers trace slow circles on your back through your shirt. "Always," he whispers, his soft voice lulling you even closer to sleep.

The room stays wrapped in a soothing silence, the only sounds heard being the quiet breaths from both of you. As you lay there trying to sleep, you can't help but marvel at the man beside you. Everything about him is truly perfect, from his basic concern for your well-being to the way he has always taken care of you.

Your eyes begin to feel heavy, slowly shutting fully as you find yourself on the brink of slumber. Just before you succumb to sleep, you muster up the energy to mumble, "Steve?"

"Hmm?" he responds, his chest rumbling under your cheek.

"'M glad it's you."

"Wouldn't trade you for anything, sweetheart," he murmurs, placing a kiss on the top of your head. "And, for the record, I'm glad it's you too."

Steve continues to run his fingers over your back as you fall asleep. His fingers create a rhythmic pattern that mirrors the peaceful in and out of your breathing, only making your rest more soothing. He looks down at you and smiles to himself, reveling in the sheer joy of having you back, even if it's only for tonight.

Often the weight of his responsibilities feels too heavy to bear, but with you, there's a sense of solace that transcends the chaos of the outside world. Everything about you and your presence is a sanctuary. It's all a nice reminder that, after everything he does for everyone else, he's worthy of a little tranquility at the end of the day too.

Steve presses another gentle kiss into your hair before closing his eyes, savoring the sweet moment. "Goodnight, angel."

He hears your tired, softly grumbled response before he falls asleep. Though he tries not to let himself get too wrapped up in the moment, too used to your presence again, he does anyway. If there is anything he wants for the rest of his life, it's you next to him.

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[brunchable]

LAZARUS SERUM || Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Part I

Part Two | Part Three Words: 8.5K Themes: Very Angsty?, Break-up, Violence, Kidnapped, Super Human transformation, Action, Attempted Assault, Lovers to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers. Summary: Set in 1942. Steve allowed being a Super Soldier inflate his ego. After a breaking up with Steve, your world shatters then you're abducted and subjected to a mysterious experiment. A/N: I was washing the dishes when this came to me. I thought Y/N was really BADASS at the end. Baby girl is bad bitch, she on Fire. Paint the town red can be her song. A reblog would be noice <3

The sun was setting over Brooklyn, casting long shadows across the streets. You and Steve walked side by side, your fingers intertwined, the cool breeze of the evening wrapping around you both. Steve’s small hand fit perfectly in yours, a comforting reminder of the years you had spent together, supporting each other through thick and thin. 

It wasn’t easy being with him, especially with how the world treated him—just a scrawny, sickly guy who never knew when to give up. 

Your parents disapproved and your friends laughed at you for choosing Steve over James. You always tell Steve, ‘If they laugh, then fuck'em all.’

He has a good heart and you loved him for it— for his determination, his kindness, and his unwavering sense of right and wrong.

As you walked, a heavy silence hung between you. The reason was clear: James or known as Bucky Barnes, was shipping out to fight in the war. The three of you had been inseparable, a trio bound by shared history and deep affection. But now, Bucky was leaving, and the thought of losing him weighed heavily on your heart.

“Well, I guess this is it. I’m heading out tomorrow.” Bucky finally stopped and turned to you both, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You nodded, trying to keep the sadness from showing on your face. “It’s not going to be the same without you, Bucky.”

He gave a small chuckle, though it lacked its usual warmth. “You’ll manage. You’ve got this punk to keep you busy.” He playfully nudged Steve, who smiled weakly in return.

“I should be going with you, Bucky,” Steve said, his voice tight with emotion.

“You’re gonna be fine, Steve. You’ve got that heart of yours, and that’s stronger than any muscle.” Bucky’s expression softened, and he reached out, placing a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder. He turned to you, his gaze filled with concern. 

“And you, Y/N… take care of him, will ya? Someone’s gotta keep him out of trouble.”

You forced a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I will, Bucky. I promise.”

Bucky pulled you into a tight hug, holding you for a moment longer than necessary. When he finally let go, he clasped hands with Steve, their handshake lingering as they both tried to hold onto the moment.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” Bucky said, trying to lighten the mood.

Steve gave a small laugh, but it was strained. “No promises.”

With one last look at both of you, Bucky nodded, then turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the distance. 

As he left, the weight of his absence settled over you like a thick fog. The world suddenly felt colder, emptier without Bucky’s presence.

“He’ll be okay,” Steve said quietly, more to himself than to you, as you both stood there in silence, watching Bucky disappear.You leaned into Steve, seeking comfort in his presence. 

“I hope so. I don’t know what we’ll do if something happens to him.” Steve squeezed your hand, trying to be reassuring. 

“He’s strong. He’ll make it back.” But deep down, both of you knew there were no guarantees in war.

× × × × 

A few weeks later, the day finally came when Steve received his enlistment notice. You were there when he got the news, a mixture of pride and worry swirling in your chest. He had finally done it—he was going to fight in the war, just like Bucky. But that also meant he was leaving you behind, just like Bucky.

“I can’t believe it,” Steve said, staring at the paper in his hands, his voice filled with excitement. “I’m actually going.”

You smiled, though it was bittersweet. “I knew you would. You’re the most determined person I’ve ever met, Steve. They’d be crazy not to let you in.”

 “I couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N. You’ve always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.” Steve looked up at you, his expression softening.

You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m so proud of you, Steve. You’re going to do great things. Just… promise me you’ll be careful.”

Steve’s eyes were filled with emotion as he pulled you into a tight embrace. “I promise, Y/N. I’ll come back to you. I swear.”

But as you held him, a deep sadness settled over you. First Bucky, now Steve—everyone you cared about was leaving, going off to fight a war that seemed so far removed from your life in Brooklyn. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread, a fear that things would never be the same again.

× × × × 

The day Steve came back from the super-soldier program, everything changed. You had waited anxiously for news, praying that everything would go smoothly, that he would come back to you safe and sound. When you finally saw him again, it was nothing like you imagined.

The first time you laid eyes on the new Steve Rogers was outside a government building, where a crowd had gathered. You pushed your way through, eager to see him after weeks of silence. When you finally spotted him, your breath caught in your throat.There he was—tall, muscular, and impossibly different. The boy you once knew was gone, replaced by a man who exuded power and confidence. It was Steve, and yet it wasn’t.

“Steve!” you called out, your voice lost in the noise of the crowd. You tried to make your way toward him, but the throng of people pushed you back, jostling you aside as they clamored for a closer look at the hero.

Steve seemed oblivious to the crowd around him, focused entirely on the conversation he was having with a woman by his side—Peggy Carter. You had heard about her, of course, but seeing them together was different. There was an ease between them that made your heart sink.

“Steve!” you called out again, louder this time, but he didn’t hear you—or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. You watched as Peggy leaned in closer, her hand resting on his arm in a way that felt far too familiar.

Then, as if in slow motion, you saw Steve get into a car with her, leaving you standing alone in the crowd, feeling completely invisible.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to see you, to run to you, to hold you in his arms like he always did. But instead, he was driving away with someone else, and you were left behind, forgotten.

× × × ×

A few weeks pass by with not one word from Steve, the last time you heard his voice was on the radio, giving a speech that would motivate the soldiers out there or in the newspaper. You were sitting by the window, reading a book while your cat rested peacefully on your lap. Then, there was a knock at the door. You kept your ears attentive, though your eyes were focused somewhere else.

You heard your mother answer it, and you listened as she exchanged a few words with whoever was at the door. A moment later, she called out to you, “Y/N, there’s a soldier here to see you.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion as you walked toward the door. A soldier? Why would—?

As you reached the doorway, your breath caught in your throat. There, standing in the threshold, was Steve Rogers, but not the Steve you remembered. He was taller, broader, wearing an army uniform that fit him perfectly, and his entire presence seemed… different. The frail, sickly boy you had known was gone, replaced by a man you barely recognized.

“Do you know this gentleman, dear?” Your mother, still standing by the door, looked between you and Steve, clearly confused. 

“It’s me, Mrs. L/N, Steve Rogers.” Steve gave her a warm smile, his voice deeper than you remembered. 

Your mother blinked, looking Steve up and down before recognition finally dawned on her face. “Steve? My goodness, look at you! I didn’t even recognize you. You look… Well, you look like a different person altogether!”

“Yes, he… he certainly does.” You forced a smile, still trying to process the fact that he's standing there. 

“Well, I’ll leave you two to catch up. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” Your mother gave you a strange look as she walked past, heading back into the house. 

The heck was that about?

As she disappeared into the other room, you turned your attention back to Steve, your heart pounding. You looked up at him, which was something you weren't used to. He's so. . .tall.

“Steve… is that really you?”

“It’s me, Y/N,” Steve replied, his voice deeper than you remembered. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Things have been… crazy in the last couple of days.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” You nodded, trying to hide your disappointment.

Steve smiled, a hint of the old Steve you knew shining through. “I’m more than okay. I want to make it up to you. How about I take you out to dinner tonight? Just the two of us.”

Your heart lifted at the thought. Maybe this was your chance to reconnect, to get back to the way things were. 

“I’d like that,” you said softly. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Listen, I need to go back but I'll see you at our favorite spot? Six-thirty?” He reaches for your hands and kissed the back of it. 

“I’ll be there,” you chuckled at his romantic gesture.

“Don’t keep me waiting.” He winks at you, and you couldn’t help but giggle. This new playful side of him, got you hooked like a fish.

× × × ×

“Good evening, Ma'am. Do you have a reservation for tonight?” the hostess asked politely, her hands poised over the guest book.

“Yes. Steve Rogers?”

The hostess scanned the list, her finger trailing down the page. “Table 11. Right this way.” She smiled warmly and gestured for you to follow.

Your heart quickened as you anticipated seeing Steve, but when you reached the table, your smile faltered. The chair opposite you was empty. The hostess pulled it out for you, and with a quiet sigh, you sat down, your eyes flickering anxiously toward the door.

“Can I offer you any refreshments?” 

“Not at the moment.”

“No problem. Let us know if you need anything.” With a nod, she left you alone, leaving the weight of the evening to settle over you.

Minutes turned into an hour, and you found yourself glancing at the door every time it opened, only to be met with disappointment as someone other than Steve entered. As the hours passed, your hope began to wane, replaced by a growing knot of irritation in your chest.

But as the hours ticked by, your hope began to fade. The restaurant was closing, and still, there was no sign of him. The waitstaff was cleaning up around you, giving you sympathetic looks as you sat there alone, trying to hold back the tears.

The restaurant was winding down, the waitstaff quietly cleaning up around you. Their sympathetic looks were hard to ignore as you sat alone, struggling to keep your emotions in check. You felt a lump in your throat, your eyes stinging as you blinked back tears.

“Miss, I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re closing,” a waiter said gently, approaching you with a cautious smile.

You nodded, trying to muster some semblance of dignity, “I’m so sorry. I’ll be on my way.” You snuffled and smiled as you got up from your seat. Getting up alone was hard, the weight of embarrassment was weighing you down. 

Just as you turned to leave, the door swung open. Steve rushed in, his face flushed and hair slightly disheveled. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, hurrying over to you. “I got caught up in something important. I didn’t mean to be late.”

The staff paused in their work, their eyes shifting between you and Steve. There stood the dashing soldier, looking every bit the hero in his crisp uniform, yet here he was, unmistakably late. As their gazes turned to you in your lavender shirtwaist dress, it was clear they understood why you had waited so long.

“It’s eleven.” Your voice seethed after glancing at your watch, noticing a red smudge on his collar, “They’re closed. Let’s talk outside.”

Without waiting for a response, you cleared your throat and walked out, brushing past him intentionally to make your anger known. Steve followed closely behind, sensing the storm brewing between you two. This was the first time he had been this late, and you were struggling to decide whether to forgive him easily or let him feel the full weight of your emotions.

“Steve, where were you? I waited for hours,” you said, trying to keep your voice whole, this feeling like you were losing him is foreign and hard to keep internally.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I got caught up with something… important.” Steve barely met your gaze, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“More important than us?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, the pain of being pushed aside finally surfacing.

Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping. “It’s not like that. You know I’m trying to do the right thing. There’s so much going on, and I—”

“Forgot about me?” You didn’t want to be this person, but the loneliness and the fear of losing him had been building up for too long. Without Bucky around, you had no one to turn to, no one to share this burden with. “I understand that you have responsibilities now, but you made a promise.”

He finally looked at you, guilt flashing in his eyes. “Y/N, I’m not leaving you behind. I just. . . things are different.”

“I can see that,” you said, you look at him from head to toe. The man standing in front of you wasn’t the same Steve who used to hold you and make you feel like the most important person in the world. This was someone else, someone who had outgrown you, “You’ve changed, and I’m not talking about your appearance.”

“I’m still me, Y/N. But now, I have responsibilities, people who rely on me.” Steve looked down, guilt flashing in his eyes. 

“And what about me?” you asked, the hurt evident in your voice. “Do I even matter anymore, or was I just someone to keep you company when you had nothing else?”

“Don’t say that,” Steve replied quickly out of spite, “Maybe… maybe you were only with me because you felt sorry for me. For who I was.”

His words cut deep, and you recoiled as if he had struck you. “You think I was with you out of pity? Is that what you believe?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, his voice strained.

“How could you think that?” you said, your voice rising with a mix of anger and hurt. “I was with you because I love you, Steve. Not because I felt sorry for you. I believed in you, and I loved you for who you were, not because of what you couldn’t do or how you appear.”

“I’m just not sure where I fit in this new world, and I’m not sure where you fit in it either. I'm trying to wo—”

Your chest began feeling tight because of his words. You had always known that things would change after the serum, but you never expected him to question your feelings like this. 

“So, what are you saying? That there’s no place for me in your life anymore? That I don’t belong because you’ve become someone else?” You emphasized his structure with your hand.

Steve shook his head, looking frustrated. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I just… I feel like we’re both hanging on to something that’s already gone.”

“Already gone? Nothing was gone, at least not on my part.” Tears welled up in your eyes, but you fought to keep your voice from cracking, “Is there someone else? Is that why you’re looking for a way out?”

“No! Of course not. It's because for once in myself I feel like I'm worth something,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

The finality of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had fought so hard to hold onto him, to keep the love between you alive, but now it felt like you were losing that battle. You had wanted him to stay tonight, to make things right, but now you weren’t sure if there was anything left to salvage.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned away, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over. 

“You know what? Just… go, Steve. Do whatever it is you have to do. I will not think less of myself just because you do not know how to love me anymore.” you said, your voice heavy with resignation.

“Y/N…” Steve’s voice was soft, filled with regret, but you couldn’t face him. Not now.

“Please, Steve. Just go.”

What you really wanted to say was, “Please stay. Show me that I still matter to you.” But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. You were too afraid that he wouldn’t fight for you, and the thought of that was too painful to bear.

Steve hesitated, his eyes wandering as if trying to find the right words. He just stood there, saying nothing. 

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you walked closer to him, his face softening as you reached up and gently adjusted his collar. Your fingers brushed against the fabric, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. 

Then, in the calmest voice you could muster, you said, “Lemon helps with removing lipstick stains.”

Steve’s eyes widened in panic, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the spot where your fingers had been.

“Y/N, I seriously don't know how this got here—” he began and it almost sounded genuine, his voice filled with panic as he tried to close the distance between you.

But you took a step back, your eyes now red and brimming with tears. You raised a hand to stop him, your voice breaking as you sobbed deeply, “Don’t. Just… don’t.”

Steve’s heart shattered at the sight of you sobbing, your pain a statement in every tear that fell. His instinct was to reach out, to hold you, but your outstretched hand and the heartbreak in your eyes kept him rooted to the spot.

If Bucky were here… The thought pierced his mind like a knife, and suddenly, jealousy coursed through him, hot and irrational. Bucky. The one person who had always managed to make you smile, even when he couldn’t. The one who could draw out your laughter with just a word, a look. The one who, despite being his best friend, had always been a shadow in the corner of Steve’s mind when it came to you.

Was it easier with Bucky? Did you love Bucky more than him? Had you ever thought of Bucky in ways that Steve couldn’t bear to imagine?

“You should’ve just chosen Bucky.” Steve muttered and with one last, tortured look at you, Steve turned away, his steps. He walked away, leaving you standing there, your tears flowing freely now. He didn’t look back, too afraid of what he might see if he did.

Your breath caught in your throat, the shock of his words slicing through the already unbearable pain. You stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to process the bitterness in his voice, the finality of his statement.

The Steve you had known was gone. You didn’t know if looking for him would be worth it because you knew how it would feel—it would feel like reaching for smoke.

Heartbroken and feeling more isolated than ever, you decided to walk home alone. Your cries echoes the street, water gushing out of your eyes like it’s being released by a dam. The echo of your footsteps on the empty streets was a haunting reminder of just how alone you felt. Steve had left, and with him, it felt like a part of your heart had been ripped away.

Steve’s words replayed in your mind, cutting deeper with every repetition. The idea that he thought you might have been with him out of pity or that you're better off with Bucky was a knife to your heart, twisting with every breath.

The streets of Brooklyn were eerily quiet, the usual bustle replaced by an unsettling stillness. The lamps cast long, distorted shadows across the pavement, and every sound seemed amplified in the silence. You quickened your pace, trying to escape the weight of your thoughts, but it was no use. 

As you turned down a narrow street, the familiar surroundings suddenly felt foreign and oppressive. You hugged your coat tighter around you, your mind racing with a mixture of fear and despair. Ahead, the road forked into two directions—one leading to your home, the other into an even darker, narrower alley. You turned towards home, your heart pounding as you tried to shake the feeling of being watched.

Then, without warning, you heard the screech of tires on the asphalt. Before you could react, a van skidded to a stop in front of you, its headlights blinding in the dark street. The doors flew open, and three men in dark clothing jumped out, their faces obscured by shadows.

Panic surged through you as you spun on your heel, trying to run, but it was too late. They were on you in an instant, their grips like iron as they dragged you towards the van.

“No! Let me go! Help! Please someone!” you screamed, thrashing against their hold, but your voice was swallowed by the night, and the empty streets offered no help. Your heart raced, the fear consuming you as you struggled with the best you can.

A cloth was suddenly pressed against your mouth and nose, and a sickly sweet smell filled your senses. You tried to hold your breath, to fight against the drowsiness that quickly overtook you, but it was no use. The world around you started to blur, your vision darkening as your body went limp.

The last thing you heard before everything went black was the sound of the van doors slamming shut and the dull roar of the engine as it sped away into the night.

× × × ×

DAY ONE

When you woke, the world was a haze of pain and confusion. The first thing you noticed was the cold metal pressing against your back, you were naked. Your wrists and ankles were strapped to a metal table, the restraints biting into your skin. Panic clawed at your chest as you struggled against the bonds, but they held firm, keeping you pinned down.

Your vision was blurry, your head pounding from whatever they had used to knock you out. Slowly, the room around you came into focus—bare, clinical, with walls of stark white. You weren’t in Brooklyn anymore. You weren’t anywhere you recognized.

You heard voices, cold and detached, speaking in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out the words, but the tone sent chills down your spine. Footsteps approached, and a shadow loomed over you.

A man’s face came into view, his expression devoid of any warmth or compassion. “She’s awake. Prepare the serum.”

The word “serum” sent a jolt of fear through you, and you renewed your struggles, trying to break free. But the restraints didn’t budge, and the man paid no attention to your terror or the muffled screams that bounced off the walls.

You felt a sharp prick in your arm as they injected something into your veins. Immediately, a searing pain shot through your body, like liquid fire burning through every nerve. You tried to scream, but your voice was caught in your throat, choked off by the agony that consumed you.

The pain was unbearable and you could feel your body convulsing on the table, your muscles seizing as the serum spread through you. It felt like your entire being was being torn apart, every cell screaming in protest. You began to foam in the mouth, the scene your captors watched was like out of an exorcist movie.

And then… nothing. The world around you went dark, and you slipped into unconsciousness, the pain finally giving way to merciful oblivion.

“Sir, should we stop?” One of them said, “Her vital signs are getting dangerously out of limits, she might go into cardiac arrest.”

“No, keep going until that last vial is finished. I want to see what’ll happen. Then we repeat until there’s signs of success.” 

DAY TWO

You awoke to the sensation of your body being dragged, rough hands gripping your arms as they pulled you across the cold, unforgiving floor. Your vision was clouded, your mind struggling to grasp onto reality as the fog of unconsciousness began to lift. Every inch of you ached, a dull, throbbing pain that seemed to seep into your very bones.

As you were hoisted back onto the metal table, the cold surface pressed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The restraints clamped down on your wrists and ankles once more, their cruel bite familiar by now. The room around you was still the same—sterile, white, and devoid of any humanity.

You tried to speak, but your throat was on dry and on fire, your voice barely a whisper. "Please... stop..."

Your plea fell on deaf ears. The figures in lab coats moved around you with the same clinical detachment as before, their faces obscured by surgical masks. One of them approached, holding a clipboard, his eyes scanning the data as if you were nothing more than a lab rat.

"Her vitals stabilized overnight," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "But... the readings are inconsistent. I'm not sure if the serum is taking effect."

The man from before—the one who had ordered the serum—stepped into view, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. He leaned over you, his eyes scrutinizing your face with a mix of curiosity and impatience.

"Let's see if she can handle more," he said, his voice flat, giving nothing away.

Panic surged through you, your heart racing as you remembered the excruciating pain from the day before. You tried to struggle, but your body was too weak, too drained from the torment they had already inflicted on you.

The man nodded to one of his colleagues, who approached with another syringe, the liquid inside glowing with an ominous, sickly hue. You watched in horror as the needle approached your arm, every muscle in your body tensing with dread.

"No... no, please..." you begged, your voice breaking.

But they didn't stop. The needle pierced your skin once again, and the liquid fire coursed through your veins, more intense than before. The pain was immediate, searing through you like a thousand white-hot knives. You thrashed against the restraints, your screams tearing through the air, but there was no escape from the agony.

The world around you blurred as the pain became all-consuming, every nerve in your body ablaze. You could feel your heart pounding erratically, your vision darkening at the edges. It was too much, too overwhelming.

But this time, there was no merciful oblivion waiting for you. The pain persisted, dragging you down into a nightmare from which there was no escape. Your body convulsed violently, your muscles seizing as the serum wreaked havoc within you.

The voices around you became distant, muffled by the roaring in your ears. You couldn't make out what they were saying, but their tone was one of cold observation, detached from the suffering they were causing.

"Her body's reacting... but the patterns aren't consistent. It’s hard to tell if it’s working or if she’s just... rejecting it."

"Increase the dosage," the man ordered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched your writhing form. "We need to push her further. If there's any sign of success, we'll see it soon enough."

"But sir," one of the lab technicians hesitated, his voice uncertain. "If we push too hard, she might not survive the next round. The readings are already erratic—she could go into shock or worse."

"That’s a risk I’m willing to take," the man replied coldly. "We won’t know until we push her limits."

Your heart sank at his words. There was no end to this. They were going to keep pushing, keep testing, until either the serum took hold of your body or gave out entirely.

As you lay there, barely conscious, the pain began to ebb slightly, leaving you trembling and drenched in sweat. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you tried to cling to consciousness.

"Prepare the next dose," the man ordered, his voice devoid of any empathy.

This time, your heart sank even deeper. The nightmare wasn’t just beginning—it was accelerating, and there was no way out. You were trapped in this hell, at the mercy of those who saw you as nothing more than an experiment, a means to an end. And whether or not the serum was taking effect, you knew that whatever happened next would push you to your breaking point—and beyond.

DAY EIGHTY

When you woke, the familiar chill of the metal table greeted you. The room was as stark and clinical as ever, but something had changed within you. The pain was still there, a constant, gnawing presence, but it no longer controlled you. You had become accustomed to it, numb to its bite. It was just another part of your existence now.

Eighty days.

Eighty days of torment, of relentless experimentation, of feeling your body and mind pushed to their breaking points and beyond. You had lost track of time somewhere around the third week, the days and nights blending into a seamless blur of agony and darkness. But even as the days passed, you remained conscious, aware—alive.

The door to the room opened, and you didn’t bother to turn your head. You knew who it was. The man with the cold eyes approached, his footsteps echoing on the hard floor. He had become a constant in your world, his presence as regular as the pain he inflicted. 

“You’re still with us, I see,” he remarked, his tone as detached as ever. He moved closer, inspecting the restraints that held you down. “Most impressive.”

You didn’t respond. You hadn’t spoken in days—there was nothing left to say. Every word, every plea had fallen on deaf ears. You had learned long ago that silence was your only companion in this hell.

“Her vitals are stronger,” a technician noted, glancing at the monitors that tracked your every heartbeat. “We’ve noticed a significant increase in her strength and resilience. The serum seems to be taking effect.”

The man nodded, though there was no satisfaction in his expression. “Eighty days,” he mused, as if talking to himself. “Eighty days, and you’re still here. Stronger, faster… more than we ever anticipated.”

He turned his gaze to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But are you in control, I wonder? Or has the serum taken control of you?”

His words hung in the air, but you didn’t flinch. The battle for control was something you fought every day, every hour. The serum coursing through your veins had changed you in ways you couldn’t fully understand yet, but you were still you—or so you told yourself.

“Let’s see if we can push it further,” he said, signaling to the technician.

The restraints were released, and you felt the cold metal slide away from your wrists and ankles. You didn’t move, not yet. You had learned to conserve your strength, to hold back until the moment was right.

“Sit up,” he commanded.

You obeyed, slowly raising yourself into a seated position. Your movements were deliberate, controlled. You could feel the power coursing through your body, every muscle coiled with potential energy, but you kept it in check.

The man stepped back, giving you space, watching you closely. “Stand.”

You slid off the table, your bare feet touching the cold floor. You stood, swaying slightly as the blood rushed to your head. But you remained upright, your gaze locked on the man who had been your tormentor for nearly three months.

“Walk,” he ordered, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

You took a step forward, then another. Your legs were shaky at first, but you quickly found your balance. Each movement felt strange, foreign, as if you were inhabiting a body that wasn’t entirely your own. But you continued, step after step, until you were standing directly in front of him.

“Good,” he said, nodding approvingly. “Very good.”

He reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. The touch was light, almost gentle, but you could sense the underlying threat in it. “Now, let’s see just how far we can take this.”

You didn’t react as he motioned for the guards to step forward, their weapons at the ready. You knew what was coming next. This was another test, another attempt to push you beyond your limits.

The guards surrounded you, their faces expressionless, their grips tight on their weapons. The man gave a slight nod, and they moved as one, striking out at you with calculated precision.

But this time, you were ready. The serum had done its work. You were faster, stronger, and as their blows came toward you, you reacted with a speed that surprised even you. You deflected the first strike with ease, the second with even greater efficiency. Your movements were fluid, instinctual, a dance of power and precision.

Within moments, the guards were on the ground, groaning in pain, their weapons scattered across the floor. You stood over them, breathing heavily, your heart pounding with adrenaline. The power surging through you was intoxicating, overwhelming, but you were in control. For now.

The man watched you with a hint of something in his eyes—respect, maybe, or perhaps something more sinister.

“Yes,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

You stood there, the blood rushing in your ears, your body alive with the thrill of what you had just done. But beneath it all, there was a gnawing sense of unease. You had changed, become something different, something more. But at what cost?

As the guards were dragged away, the man turned to you once more. “Eighty days,” he repeated, a slight smile playing on his lips. “And now, the real work begins.”

You didn’t respond. You had nothing left to say. The battle was far from over, and as you looked into the cold, calculating eyes of your captor, you knew that whatever came next would push you even further into the darkness.

But you were ready. Because after eighty days of hell, you had learned one thing—you would survive, no matter what.

DAY 100

The pain had reached a point where it was almost surreal, as if your mind had detached itself from your body to protect what was left of your sanity. You lay strapped to the cold metal table, your skin clammy, your breaths shallow. The serum that had been forced into your veins was taking its final toll. Your vision blurred, the edges of your world darkening as you teetered on the brink of consciousness.

The man with the cold eyes stood over you, his expression hard as he watched the monitors tracking your vitals. He had been relentless, pushing the experiments further each day, determined to force the serum to work. But today, something was different. The lines on the monitor were becoming erratic, your heart rate spiking and dipping unpredictably.

"Her vitals are deteriorating rapidly," a technician warned, his voice tinged with anxiety. "She's not stabilizing. We should stop."

The man clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "We’re too close. Increase the dosage."

"But sir, she won't survive—"

"Do it!" he barked, cutting off the protest.The technician hesitated for a moment before injecting you with another dose of the glowing serum. The liquid fire surged through your veins, and the world around you exploded into pain once again. But this time, it was different—this time, your body couldn’t take it.

You convulsed violently on the table, the restraints digging into your skin as your body fought a losing battle. Your vision darkened further, the room around you fading into an indistinct blur. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, a desperate rhythm that couldn’t keep pace with the assault on your system.

And then, it stopped. The world around you went silent. your life flashed before your eyes, beginning with the warmth of your childhood—the comforting embrace of your mother as she read you stories at night, the sound of her laughter filling your small apartment in Brooklyn. You remembered the day you met Steve, the shy, awkward boy who had tripped over his own feet trying to impress you, and Bucky’s teasing grin as he nudged Steve forward, encouraging him to finally ask you out. There were memories of long summer days spent in the park, the three of you inseparable, sharing ice cream and dreams of the future.

But then, the memories shifted. The warmth drained away as you saw Steve walking away from you, his back turned, his footsteps echoing in the empty space between you. . .

“Dispose of the body.”

× × × ×

D - 100

When you woke up this time, you weren’t in the cold, sterile room. Instead, you were lying in an alley, discarded like trash. The hard, wet pavement was unforgiving against your body, and the chill in the air bit through your clothes. You don’t know what day or even month it was.

Your once neat and tidy outfit was now torn and filthy, covered in grime and dirt from the alleyway. The lavender shirtwaist dress you had worn so proudly earlier was now barely recognizable, stained with mud and who knows what else.

Your hair, once carefully styled, was now a tangled mess, strands sticking to your face, damp with sweat and the moisture of the night. You could feel the grit and dirt under your nails, the remnants of your struggle to free yourself from whatever hellish place you had been held. Your hands were scraped and raw, the skin broken and bleeding in places.

Your face felt gritty, as if you’d been dragged through the dirt. As you lifted a hand to touch your cheek, you could feel the rough texture of dried blood and dirt clinging to your skin. Your body aches all over, every muscle sore from the strain of whatever had been done to you. The cold dusk air bit into your exposed skin, making you shiver as you struggled to push yourself up from the ground.

The street was dimly lit, the sound of distant traffic the only sign of life around you. The once-familiar streets of Brooklyn now felt alien and hostile, and in your current state, you felt like a ghost haunting the city you once knew.

You stood there, shivering and alone, the reality of your situation sank in. Whoever had taken you had done something to you—something that had changed you. But they had deemed you a failure, or perhaps an afterthought, and simply left you to fend for yourself.

You felt stronger, different, but the overwhelming sense of abandonment weighed heavily on your heart. You looked down at your hands, trembling as you tried to comprehend what had happened to you.

Just as you began to move, your disheveled appearance caught the attention of a group of men lurking in the shadows. They saw an easy target—someone weak, vulnerable, alone. Their eyes locked onto you, and you could feel their gazes crawling over you like a predator sizing up its prey. But they had no idea what they were about to face.

“Hey, look what we got here,” one of them called out, his voice dripping with malice. He stepped forward, a smirk spreading across his face as he took in your bedraggled state. “You look like you’ve had a rough night, sweetheart.”

Another man snickered, his eyes narrowing as he moved to block your path. “Where you headed in such a hurry? We could keep you company.”

The men began to circle you, cutting off any chance of escape. Their leers and mocking laughter echoed off the walls of the alley, making your skin crawl. You backed away, your heart racing, but they kept closing in, their intent all too clear.

One of them reached out to grab your arm, but before his hand could make contact, something snapped inside you. The fear that had gripped you earlier was replaced by a cold, detached resolve. 

With a sudden burst of strength, you lashed out, your fist connecting with the man’s jaw. The impact sent him reeling backward, blood spurting from his mouth. He stumbled, crashing into a pile of trash cans with a loud clatter, his smug expression replaced by shock.

The other men hesitated, their bravado faltering as they realized you were not the helpless victim they had assumed. But their hesitation quickly turned to anger, and they surged forward, determined to make you pay for their friend’s humiliation.

But they didn’t stand a chance.

With a newfound power surging through your veins, you moved like a force of nature. You dodged their clumsy attempts to grab you, your movements fluid and precise. Every strike you landed sent them staggering back, their groans of pain filling the air.

One man lunged at you, his hands reaching for your throat, but you ducked under his grasp, spinning on your heel to deliver a powerful kick to his midsection. The force of the blow knocked the wind out of him, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.

Another man tried to grab you from behind, but you twisted out of his grip, your elbow slamming into his ribs with a sickening crack. He howled in pain, clutching his side as he fell to his knees.

The last man standing looked at you with wide, fearful eyes, his confidence shattered. “What the hell are you?” he stammered, backing away.

You stared at him, feeling that cold detachment settle over you once more. “Someone you should never have messed with,” you replied, your voice calm and steady.

Without another word, you stepped forward and struck him with a swift, powerful punch. He didn’t have time to react before he was sent crashing to the ground, unconscious.

As you stood there, surrounded by the groaning forms of the men who had tried to attack you, the reality of what you had just done began to sink in. You had taken them down with ease, without even thinking. The fear that had gripped you earlier was gone, replaced by something else—something darker, more dangerous.

You looked down at your hands, trembling slightly as you tried to process what had just happened. They were bruised and dirty, knuckles bloodied from the fight, but they were steady, powerful. You weren’t the same person who had been taken from the streets and subjected to whatever hellish experiment had been done to you.

You were stronger now, and that strength came with a cold, hard edge that scared you as much as it empowered you.

But there was no time to dwell on it. You needed to get out of there, to find somewhere safe where you could figure out what had been done to you. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before you began to walk away from the alley, leaving the men behind.

As you disappeared into the early morning light, the realization that you were truly alone settled in your heart. You had been discarded, left to fend for yourself. But you would survive this. You would become stronger, faster, more powerful than anyone who had ever underestimated you.

And if Steve had truly discarded you as well, if he had moved on and left you behind, then you would prove that you didn’t need him—or anyone else.

By the time the sun began to rise, you were no longer the same person who had waited at that restaurant, hoping for a fresh start. The flame that once burned brightly for Steve had turned to cold, hardened embers.

You vowed never to let anyone discard you again.

.

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.

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.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you trudged through the streets, your skin a canvas of bruises and cuts, each one a testament to the brutality you had endured. The world around you seemed surreal, almost detached, as if you were walking through a twisted dream. 

People noticed you—how could they not? Their eyes lingered a fraction too long before they darted away, some filled with pity, others with fear or disgust. Concerned mothers pulled their children closer, shielding them from the sight of you as if you were a monster, something to be feared and avoided. Whispers followed you like a shadow, just out of earshot but thick with judgment, dripping with the cruelty of strangers who saw only the surface.

No one approached you. No one dared. The stares didn’t bother you. In fact, you welcomed them. Let them look, let them fear. You would not be pitied. You would not be scorned. If the world wanted to see you as a monster—then so be it. 

As you walked, a familiar part of town began to come into view. You knew these streets well, every crack in the sidewalk, every faded storefront. It had been a place of comfort, of familiarity—but now it felt foreign, like you were an intruder in a place that no longer belonged to you.

Then, through the blur of people, you saw her. Your mother. She stood on the corner, frantically handing out pieces of paper with your picture on them, her eyes scanning every face that passed by, desperate and searching

When her gaze landed on you, her expression shifted—first to shock, then to fear, relief, and heartbreak that hit you like a punch to the gut. Your heart clenched, a pang of pity slicing through the wall you’d built around yourself. You had steeled yourself against so much, but seeing her there, so fragile, so broken, was almost too much to bear.

“M-Mom?” Your voice cracked, a betrayal of the emotions you fought so hard to suppress. For a split second, you felt like yourself again, but then that cold voice in your head reminded you: no tears, no weakness.

She rushed toward you, disbelief widening her eyes, her hand trembling as she covered her mouth in shock.

“Y/N? Is that you?” she gasped, her voice trembling.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to speak as she reached out to you. Her hands, trembling, cupped your face, her touch so familiar yet so foreign. Tears welled in her eyes as she took in your appearance.

“What… what happened to you?” she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

The tears in her eyes reflected the pain you had tried so hard to bury. But you couldn’t let it out—not now. Not after everything.

“I’m fine,” you managed to say, though the words felt hollow. You pulled away from her touch, the warmth of it almost too painful to bear.

“No, you’re not,” she insisted, her voice shaking as she looked you up and down, trying to understand what had happened to her daughter. “Who did this to you? Where have you been?”

You shook your head, the emotions churning inside you too chaotic to form into coherent thoughts.

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied, your voice colder than you intended. “I just need to go home.”

Your mother’s brow furrowed, as she looked at you with a mother’s instinctive fear. “No, we need to take you to the hospital. You need to be checked out, Y/N. You’re hurt—”

“No!” you snapped, the force of your voice startling both of you, desperation in your tone, “No hospitals, no police report.”

“Y/N, please. You need help. We have to tell someone—”

Help? No one helped. 

“I said no!” you repeated, your voice trembling with an intensity that silenced her. “They won’t help. They’ll just ask questions, questions I can’t answer. They won’t understand, Mom. No one will.”

“But, Y/N—”

“I don’t need a doctor. I don’t need the police. I just need to go home. Please, Mom… just take me home.” Your breath came faster, panic rising in your chest as the thought of being in a hospital, of facing the police and their endless probing, became unbearable. 

Her face crumpled with worry, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she wrapped her arms around you, holding you tightly as if trying to shield you from whatever had hurt you. 

Slowly, she nodded, though her worry was still palpable. “Okay. Okay, we’ll go home. But promise me… promise me that if you need help, you’ll let me know. Just… don’t shut me out.”

You nodded, but the motion felt distant, like it didn’t quite belong to you. “I promise,” you whispered, though even as the words left your mouth, they felt empty, a hollow reassurance to ease her fears.

× × × × 

The rain poured down like icy needles, but you barely felt it through your black raincoat. Across the street, through the glowing window, Steve and Peggy danced together, they danced together like a well-rehearsed melody, a song you had once known by heart but now could only hear as a distant echo. Their connection was a knife, twisting in the hollowed-out space where your heart used to be.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms as you stood there, seething. Every drop of rain that pelted against your coat felt like a reminder of the cold, hard truth—you had been replaced. Forgotten. Left to rot in the streets while he found comfort in another’s arms.

Your anger simmered, bubbling up from the depths of your chest. You had been willing to fight for him, to stand by his side no matter what. But what had that loyalty gotten you? Abandonment. Betrayal? And now, as you watched them dance, that anger solidified into something colder, harder.

“Y/L/N.” a deep commanding voice called your name.

Two officials stood in the shadows, their presence barely registering as you finally tore your gaze away from the window. They weren’t there for the party—they were there for you. Without a word, you pushed past them and joined their side.

[rogersideup]

One shot request: the reader from nice to be kneaded and Steve have a baby. Creative control is all yours. I just need a baby in that man’s arms.

Nice to be Kneaded

More Fun Stuff

Just Between Us

Can be read as a one shot, or in conjunction with Nice to be Kneaded.

Series Masterlist More Fun Stuff Masterlist

Post Endgame Steve x Baker reader

Word Count: 1,564

Some things are best kept a secret <3

Getting home from a long day at work at the bakery felt like a billion pounds falling off your shoulders. It had been a long, chaotic day of fulfilling unusually large orders all while trying to appease the masses that never slowed down since the blip.

Unlocking the door and stepping inside, the view in the living room immediately put a smile on your face, and took the weight of the world off your back.

"Dada" Steve spoke to the now almost one year old.

He was splayed out on the living room rug, your little daughter in front of him, belly laughing right in his face.

"Mama!" She responded, laughing even harder at Steve's immediate response.

"No, Dada!" He shook his head, smiling at the sound of her giggles.

Your smile widened as you kicked off your shoes and put your bag down.

"Say dada!" Steve encouraged. "Da-Da"

"Mama!" She responded.

"Dada" He tried again.

"Mama."

The closer you got to the adorable scene, the more you could tell Steve was exhausted and probably losing his mind a bit. He was wearing no pants and a shirt, and he had yet to even brush his hair. But, your daughter looked freshly bathed, fed, dressed, and happy as a clam.

Moments like these always warmed your heart, and you were endlessly thankful to have a husband who was so supportive of not only you, but his own daughter.

You could've never been running two bakeries and raising a kid if it weren't for his wild blonde hair and lack of pants.

"Okay, sound it out." He changed methods. "Start with D. Duh duh duh."

"Duh" She babbled back.

"Now dah! Dah dah dah."

"Dah dah dah"

"Now Dada!" Steve was so hopeful.

"Mama!" Her cheeky smile widened and pointed to you, putting her arms in the air hopeful you would pick her up.

"Hi baby! I missed you!" You enthused, happy to scoop up your little cinnamon roll off the plush rug. "Oh my goodness, did Dada put you in this cute little outfit?! What a cutie!"

"Dada also gave her a bath, because she was a bit stinky." Steve told you, the superhero nearly struggling to get up off the floor, a testament to how tightly she has him wrapped around her teeny baby fingers.

"Do you have the best Dad in the whole world?!" You asked her, she smiled and giggled in response. "Say Yes! Yeessss"

"Yes!" She responded with ease.

"Yay!!" You celebrated.

Teaching a baby how to talk meant every conversation was now grounds for teaching, and you would happily teach her that Steve, was in fact, the best dad in the world.

Steve finally made it up off the floor, which excited her even more.

"Mama!" She squeaked happily, pointing to Steve.

"No, Dada." You pointed to him, trying to help Steve out.

He's been trying for three days now to get her to call her anything close to Dad. She's had Mama down for a week now and you were starting to feel Steve's pain.

"Hi, Captain Underpants" You smiled at him, it was impossible to not be happy and completely enchanted by the sight of him. "I missed you."

He gave you a kiss, and you wrapped your free arm around him to hug him the best you could.

"Hi, Sweetheart. I missed you too" He happily snuggled up to you. "How was work?"

"Chaotic." You stated simply. "How was your morning?"

"It was good, we went on a nice long walk, had breakfast, lots of snacks, a bath, but no nap yet." He told you.

"You look like you could use a nap." You grinned sympathetically, reaching your arm up and running your fingers through his hair a few times. "I've got her, you go get some sleep, baby."

"You just got home, I think you should nap first." He denied.

You shook your head. "I'm not tired, and you do a lot for us. You got up with her like three times last night. I know you didn't sleep well."

"I think I need a shower more than sleep, much like her, I'm also I bit stinky" Steve stated.

"Go take a shower and a nap." You sympathized.

"You're sure?" He questioned.

"Positive." You nodded, giving him another kiss. "Because even the best dad ever needs sleep, too. Huh, Cinny?"

The two of you have been calling her Cinny more than her real name, short for Cinnamon Roll of course.

"Yes!" She used the new word she learned a whole minute ago.

"Best dad ever?" You asked her, pointing to Steve. He raised his eyebrow in anticipation.

"Yes!"

"Who's this?" You asked her, still pointing to Steve.

"Mama!" She stated proudly.

Steve's shoulders deflated. "She'll get it soon." You comforted him. "Go relax, I love you."

"I love you too." Steve told you before playfully and gently smacking your butt and waking off.

You brought Cinny into her room and sat down with her on the glider chair. There was a lot of one sided conversation about how much you missed her and how much you loved her before reading her some books to get her to wind down for her nap.

It took about 45 minutes, but she eventually knocked out snuggled into your chest and neck. You took a very selfish 20 minutes to appreciate the baby cuddles and get your fix since you really did miss her at work today.

After a successful transfer into her crib, you turned the baby monitor on and quickly went upstairs to change out of your work clothes and into something far more comfortable.

Then you were right back downstairs to the other not-so-little human you missed all day too. Steve was asleep on the couch, but this time he had sweatpants on and no shirt.

Maybe one day he could find it within himself to be fully clothed, but for now, you definitely weren't complaining.

You leaned over and gave him a kiss to his temple before sitting next to his head and massaging it.

Being a stay home Dad looked really good on him. You'll admit, after his retirement he seemed a bit lost for a while. Like he had gone so long being Captain America or on the run from the government that he didn't even know who Steve was anymore. But the second he became a Dad, it was like he immediately knew exactly who he was supposed to be.

You thought that having kids would change things. Through your whole life you heard stories of exhausted mothers not having time for life anymore, slightly miserable, never talking fondly of their husbands, or even how their husbands found them less attractive after having their kids. There was a lot of silent fear that maybe that would happen to you, maybe the two of you would be under so much stress you'd start to resent each other, or maybe you'd be less attractive to Steve after your body changed in the process of growing baby Cinny.

But that couldn't be further from the truth. You'd never been more attracted to or in love than you were right now with a happy sleepy baby, and a happy sleeping husband. He took such amazing care of you and in turn, all you ever wanted to do was take care of him.

Even if he was sleeping, you wanted him to know how much you loved and appreciated him, and his crazy blonde hair. In true Steve fashion, even in his sleep he snuggled into you.

He dug his face into your stomach, and his arm held you close. Cuddles from Steve lasted a solid hour before you were nearly dosing off to sleep yourself.

Not all things could be a fairytale, and you knew that because you could hear Cinny start to fuss on the monitor. Small little cries let you know she was awake and ready to be done with nap time.

So you carefully slipped out underneath Steve, and he was so exhausted that you managed to stand up again without waking him.

"Mama" Your daughter pouted and wiped small tears off her face when she saw you enter her room.

"Good morning, honey." You said quietly matching her tiny pout, and cradling her in your arms. "It's okay, baby, you're okay."

You snuggled her and swayed her as her tears slowly came to an end with quiet promises of playtime and more snacks, you even asked her very politely if she could keep her babbles and voice to a reasonable level as to not wake up Dad.

Did she understand? No. Did you try anyways? Absolutely.

Once she was fully awake and a lot less grumpy, you tip toed back into the living room to set her up with her favorite little aquarium toy.

When she spotted Steve dead asleep on the couch, her whole face lit up with yet another cheeky smile.

She pointed at him. "Dada!"

Your eyes squeezed shut and your head lulled back, so immensely disappointed that Steve missed that moment. But, you were proud of her.

"Yes! That's Dada!" You confirmed enthusiastically but quietly. "This stays between us, kid."

You were now fully prepared to pretend like the next time she called him Dad was her first, because really, you loved Steve that much.

[jiarkives]

you weren’t mine to lose

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ summary — you should’ve known that you were no match for her.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ character — steve rogers (marvel)

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ content — angst

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ notes — finally, an angst fic 🤭 reader works at shield,,,,, wrote this in one go so some things might not make sense lol the ending felt rushed too idk

~

When you got into a relationship with the Steve Rogers, you knew he still held Peggy close to his heart. And you understood. Really, you did. You knew from experience how hard it is to let go of your first love, especially since his story with Peggy was cut off abruptly just when it was just getting there.

You didn’t blame him, not one bit. You knew if the roles were reversed, he would have stayed for you too, so you stayed. But looking back, you just wished you had listened to your friends.

Your friends had told you, warned you that it will just end badly for you the moment you told them that Steve was showing interest in you. They had told you to run the other way, but you didn’t.

Your relationship with Steve had been... private. No, scratch that, your relationship with Steve was a secret. On his side, at least. You had spent every waking hour telling your friends about him and how he was as a lover. Meanwhile, his team didn’t even know you knew each other.

You did run in the same circles and worked in the same field, but you never bumped into him at work, never saw each other in public. He made sure of that. He never sought you out, he made sure to avoid your wing and your department.

You were hurt, of course you were, but he was quick to assure you that it was for your own safety, for your own good. He was quick to pull out the hero card, said the world is watching his every move, said he didn’t want you getting caught up in his mess.

And you, a naïve little thing stuck in rose-colored glasses, were quick to forgive him, quick to agree to be his dirty little secret, but looking back, you realized how stupid it all sounded. How incredibly stupid you were to believe him when he told you he didn’t want you getting caught up in his messes. You work in the same field, for heaven’s sake. You see what he sees, sometimes even worse. You deal with the same things he does and he had the nerve to tell you he was protecting you, and you had believed him.

And only when you left did you realize that he wasn’t protecting you; he just didn’t think you were good and strong and competent enough to protect yourself if it all came down to it. He didn’t think you could hold your own, like how Peggy could. Or how Peggy did.

You had stayed with Steve for two, almost three years, before the illusion of your so-called relationship was so rudely shattered by Steve himself.

You had been put in the same mission together for the first and last time. You had watched him from behind the crowd, in the corner of the quinjet. You admired him as he worked, almost completely caught up in his element.

Your heart then lurched when his eyes met yours, but then it cracked when you saw the indifference in them, instead of the softness that you were used to, that you were expecting. You didn’t pay any mind to it. After all, you two were at work. You had to be professional.

The crowd dispersed around him, moving around the cramped jet as they made the necessary preparations, but you remained standing in the corner, still watching him.

Your heart dropped to your stomach when you saw him pull out the familiar gold chain of the locket, then it broke completely when you saw the longing in his eyes as he stared at the photograph of his past lover.

You watched, but you never made a move to approach him.

Then, the mission successfully finished after long, grueling hours. The teams went to celebrate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. Not when you had witnessed his yearning for his dead lover first hand, not when you finally had a confirmation to your suspicions.

Later that night, behind closed doors, you confronted him. You poured your heart out to him, telling him all about the hurt you felt when he pulled out the locket, how you felt like you were competing with someone who’s six feet under the ground, and how you were losing.

You felt raw and vulnerable as you bared your soul to him. You felt humiliated as you practically begged him to make a space for you in his heart. You felt pity for yourself as you begged to be loved and seen by your supposed lover.

Then, you froze in your spot as he finally broke, towering over you as he told you how he could never love you as much as he loved—and loves—Peggy, how you could never even come close to her, and how you were nothing but a mere distraction, ready to be thrown away the moment he deemed you useless.

But then, you thought that it was your fault for believing him.

You should’ve known that you were no match for her. Not when he buried his heart with her.

[buck-star]

Traitor? | S.R

>> Steve and you broke up when you thought he cheated on you. Around a month later you bring out a new song about the feelings Steve caused. <<

Pairing: (Ex-)Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Singer!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.419 Words

Warnings: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, ex-partners to lovers, misunderstanding, miscommunication, break up and make up

Authors Note: The oneshot is based on the song "traitor" of Olivia Rodrigo. If you don't like Bucky being "too much" described then don't read it. The description is important to make it more authentic. Divider made by me. Republished because it just got lost.

Events: Trick or treat [Steve Rogers, trick/treat, ex's to lovers], StevieBB 300 Follower Special [Steve Rogers, break up and make up, "I'm sorry." @steviebbboi, Steve Rogers Bingo [Card SB4054, I3, Proposal] @steverogersbingo

Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist

It was just a month after you and Steve broke up; you still suffered to be without him, but you knew that he was happier now — happier with a woman who wasn’t you. A month ago, you tried to talk to him and tried to understand why he sneaks out and pretends like he didn't do it. He even tried to convince you that your best friend didn't see him with the women and that this is just someone who looks pretty similar.

A month full of crying, screaming, a lot of ice cream, and movies to cry even more was over now. The first time you went on stage after your break. A song that was written just for Steve — maybe if he will hear it, he will understand that he broke more than just your trust. He broke everything — your trust, your heart, your soul, your faith in love.

Posters were taped all over the city, announcing your performance this evening. You felt the pain in your heart still as much as the day you left Steve to let him move on with whoever this woman was. He didn't even get the chance to explain this day; you tried to explain it so many times before that you just couldn't listen to more lies from him. This evening you felt like everything that would slip past his lips was a lie, just like the times before. So you left him with tears in his eyes standing in the living room while you packed your stuff before you left, wishing him luck with the one he prefers over you.

Your heart pounded in your chest; sweat was running down your forehead. As much as you loved to perform, this was a kind of song you never sang before, not only because it was new but also because you used to sing happy and party songs. Your nervousness grew when your manager knocked at the door, peeking his head through the door to look at you.

“Ya look stunnin’, doll,” Bucky said with a smirk before he opened the door even further. His big form filled almost the whole door, and you smirked at his comment. He always made compliments; he was the best manager you could have asked for. Bucky was a supportive and lovely man who made sure you felt alright and who was always there if you needed him. So your work relationship slowly changed into a deep friendship, and when you and Steve broke up, Bucky was always there to keep you from falling even deeper. There was never more than a friendship, but you still loved and adored the man, who kept you grounded when no one else did. “Ready for the big show, pretty girl?”

Bucky smirked as you blushed. You then nodded and got off the chair you were sitting on to fix your hair. Your hands were shaking lightly, and before you even noticed, the big man pulled you tightly against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around your small waist. You felt his heart beating rhythmically against his ribcage, and you just listened to the steady sound while Bucky rubbed his hands over your back.

“What if they don't like it? What if I mess it up?” You asked, looking up at your best friend. He smirked at you, shaking his head. His brown strands moved from side to side when he did that. Bucky then pushed you out of the room and toward the stage.

“Ya can't mess it up, and fuck it if they don't like it... Do ya like it?” Bucky's voice was low and quieter than usual. You nodded; of course, you loved the song. It showed all the emotions; it helped you a bit over the breakup with Steve — even though you feel like a part of you is missing since the two of you broke up. “Yeah, see. It doesn't matter if they like it, as long as ya do.”

You walked closer to the stage, inhaling deeply when Bucky held the microphone out for you to take it. He nodded assuringly and brought his hand to your back once again, kissing your forehead — something he used to do since you became best friends. You then smiled at him and walked onto the still dark stage. Loud voices were audible, and the light was almost completely out in the whole bar. While you looked once again at Bucky, who leaned against a wall and smiled at you, the music started to play quietly, letting you know that they were ready.

Another shaky breath left your lips before you closed your eyes. Your heart was pounding into your chest, but the moment you opened your eyes again, the light on the stage was on, and you felt like the only person in the bar. The music became louder; you took a deep breath before you lifted the microphone.

“Blue guilty eyes and little white lies. Yeah, I played dumb, but I always knew. That you'd talk to her, maybe did even worse. I kept quiet so I could keep you,” you sang, letting your eyes wander through the bar to watch the people's reactions. They were all staring at you with watery eyes, and some even gasped as you sang. Tears threatened to roll down your cheeks as you continued to sing. “And ain't it funny how you ran to her the second that we called it quits? And ain't it funny how you said you were friends?”

Little did you know that the man you dedicated it to stood in the corner of the bar; he was hidden in the shadows where you couldn't see him. And next to him was a woman; she looked at you, then at Steve, who had tears in his eyes while he watched you intensely, listening to the song. He knew exactly that you wrote this song about him. As much as he wanted to explain to you that this all wasn't what it looked like, he didn't know if you would even believe him.

“Now it sure as hell; don't look like it. You betrayed me. And I know you’ll never feel sorry for the way I hurt, yeah,” you sang. Tears fell down your cheeks and your voice shook, but you managed to steady it pretty quickly. You looked at the people in the first rows, watching their emotions visible on their faces. “You’d talk to her when we were together. Loved you at your worst, but that didn’t matter.”

Steve watched you intensely; you were always there for him, no matter what. His biggest supporter, most loyal person, and especially most trusted and loved person. He felt loved with you, but he had to mess things up, and now there wasn’t much left, and it broke him slowly to be so close and still so far away from him. Looking at you from the shadow of the bar, watching and hearing you sing about him. Steve wanted to step out of the shadow; he wanted you to know that he came to your performance. He saw all the posters of it, always with your face on them, smiling at him. It broke his heart every single time, but he needed to see you, so he came. But he didn’t want to hurt you more by seeing him or wanted you to get mad because he came.

“It took you two weeks to go off and date her. Guess you didn’t cheat, but you’re still a traitor.” Steve looked with wide and teary eyes at the woman next to him. Is it what you think he did — that he didn’t cheat but dated her immediately after you broke up?

He wanted to storm onto the stage to tell you that this wasn’t true. Steve wanted you to know that he didn’t leave the house unless he had to and that he spent hours watching videos and photos of the two of you because he couldn’t be without you. He even slept with a shirt you forgot because he needs to smell you; he stays up all night, staring at his phone to get a message from you that you still love him.

Your eyes wandered through the bar once again, and you noticed a familiar face, the blond hair, and blue eyes immediately disappearing back into the shadow. For a moment you thought he was there, but then you were sure it was just the hope you had that he would come and watch you sing.

“Now you bring her around, just to shut me down. Show her off like she’s a new trophy. And I know if you were true, there's no damn way that you could fall in love with somebody that quickly.” You continued, your voice slightly shaking the more you think about Steve and about the memories you shared. Everything for him to betray you? “Ain’t it funny, all the twisted games, all the questions you used to avoid? Ain’t it funny? Remember I brought her up, and you told me I was paranoid.”

Steve swallowed thickly; hearing you sing your thoughts out loud hurt more than he thought. He never told you you were paranoid, but then he understood why you were so hurt. You felt that way, deep down, that he betrayed you. And everything he wanted was you, but he messed it up because he couldn’t tell you everything because he didn’t answer your questions and ignored them instead of lying, but it was enough for him to break your heart. He didn’t mean to hurt you; he never wanted to break your heart or trust.

You looked down; the next words always felt like you ripped your heart out and stomped on it. “God, I wish that you had thought this through before I went and fell in love with you.”

Of course, you didn’t mean it. You were hurt, broken. But the words cut deeper than Steve thought they could. You regretted that you fell in love with him? Tears rolled down his cheeks; he didn’t try to hold back any longer. He broke you, he broke himself, he broke the two of you — and now he had to face the consequences. You left him, and now you said out loud what you thought, your emotions, the way you thought about him, and that you regretted that you ever fell in love with him.

“When she’s sleeping in the bed we made, don’t you dare forget about the way you betrayed me. ‘Cause I know that you’ll never feel sorry for the way I hurt, yeah,” you continued, slowly coming to an end of the song. Most of the audience is crying or close to tears. The song is underlined by your true emotions, readable on your face and the way your voice is shaking. You look around once again, and a soft sigh escapes your lips. “God, I wish that you thought this through before I went and fell in love with you.”

You finished the song, and everyone cheered. Bucky stood still next to the stage, watching you with a smirk. He knew you would sing this song perfectly, and you didn’t disappoint. You looked around once more, seeing the man with the blond hair and blue eyes staring at you; he was no longer standing in the shadow. “S-Steve?”

No one heard it; the microphone turned out, but Steve saw the way your lips moved, and Bucky noticed it as well. The brown-haired man looked at your ex-boyfriend, his eyes narrowing. He knew about your feelings for Steve, but he also knew that you were still hurt, especially when the woman next to him looked at you as well. Tears welled up in your eyes as you rushed down the stage and past Bucky to the personal bar you had behind the stage.

“Doll?” Bucky shouted, showing the others that it was their turn for the music now. He then ran behind you, finding you with a bottle of whiskey in your hand. Bucky chuckled at you, reaching for the bottle to take it out of your hand. “Ya don’t like it neat; ya’re too sweet for that.”

You nodded, watching him place the bottle on the counter. A pout formed on your lips. You knew it wasn’t the best solution to drink to get over Steve, but seeing him with that woman was just too much to bear. You swallowed thickly, wiping the tears away while new ones formed into your eyes and rolled down your cheeks again.

“Bucky… I miss him so much. And... and he comes here... for my— for me performance. To do what? To show off his new girlfriend?” You sobbed, looking at your best friend with puffy, red eyes.

Bucky held his arms out for you, and you moved toward him, letting him wrap his strong arms around you. He placed his chin on the top of your head, holding you close. “I know, but the whiskey doesn’t change it. And if he really came here with that girl to see ya, he can’t mean it seriously with her. Do ya love him?”

“Mhm, more than anything,” you mumbled. Bucky’s muscles tensed, and he pushed you away slowly. You wanted to protest, to ask why he pushed you away, but your unspoken question is answered the moment he turns you by your shoulders away from him.

Your eyes widened as you saw your ex-boyfriend standing in the room, a shy smile on his lips. Steve’s eyes were red, and you noticed the trails of tears all over his cheeks. He dropped his head forward, inhaling deeply before he looked back up at you. “H-hey.”

Bucky was still tensed behind you, watching your reaction. He would punch Steve if he had too, but he also hoped that the two of you finally manage to talk — hoping you can make it work again because he hated to see you suffering like you did. You nodded, watching Steve.

Bucky cleared his throat. “I’m gonna leave the two of ya but if ya need me, you call me.”

"Yes, thank you, Buck,” you mumbled and watched him leave the room before you turned toward Steve. He stood still at the same spot, playing nervously with his fingers while he looked you up and down.

“You look good,” he mumbled, the shy smile still tugging at his plump lips. “A-and your performance was amazing. Like always, it’s just... I-i never... I never wanted to give you the feeling that I betrayed you.”

You didn’t answer, unsure what to say. Your mind was running wild — he was there; he wanted to talk to you, and he said sorry. Your eyes wandered over his face; you opened your mouth but closed it again; there weren’t any words that sounded good to use for an answer. You wanted to be mad at him, to ignore him, but you also loved him.

“I’m sorry. This all… I know you don’t trust me... But it was not a lie when I said I never cheated on you. I never even went on a date with another woman,” he confessed. You raised an eyebrow, titling your head to the side slightly. Steve chuckled softly, knowing exactly what you thought. “She isn’t a woman I went on a date with. I never touched her in another way than you would touch Bucky.”

"But... you sneaked out to meet her. You were out so often with her. My friend saw you, and you tried to tell me it wasn’t as it looked. I asked you, and you... you didn’t answer me,” you said. Steve nodded. You weren’t wrong, and he understood why you thought all that — it really looked like he went on dates with her.

“It— I know it’s hard to believe when it all looks like that, but I promise, sweetheart, I would never touch another woman like I touch you.” Steve took a step closer to you; you didn’t back off. You smelled his cologne, the one he used for your dates, and you sigh softly as your nostrils are filled with the familiar scent of the man you love. “She is a friend; she just helped me to organize something. But before I can tell, I need to know something. Do you still love me?”

“Never stopped loving you, never will stop loving you; you know that, Steve,” you said quietly, looking up into his ocean blue eyes. You noticed the change in his behavior — he was more confident now. A small smile creeped onto his plump lips while his eyes brightened.

Before you could ask any questions, he pushed one of his hands into his pocket and pulled out something. It was smaller than his hand, so you couldn’t see it. Steve drops down onto his knees and looks up slightly. His hands were resting on his knee, and he smirked.

“I wanted to ask it in a more special way, but I can’t stay away from you any longer. My love, I love you more than every word can describe. You’re the light of my life; without you, there is darkness surrounding me; nothing can bring the light back that you took with you when we broke up. You’re the love you will find only once in a lifetime, once in all your lifetime. You’re the one for me, my other half, the other half of me, and my soul,” Steve says, his voice serious and low but still soft and loving. “I need you like a human needs air. I need your smile to be happy, and I need your love to feel. The whole thing you thought was me dating someone else was me asking her to help me plan the proposal. So…”

Steve stopped when your mouth dropped open and more tears fell down your cheeks. You didn’t think that he would propose to you. You were stuck in your fear of being cheated on.

“I hope you don’t regret that you fell in love with me, because if we could travel back to when we met, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. I want you, for eternity, to spend every moment with you. So I ask you here if you forgive me and make me the luckiest man alive and marry me?”

If possible, your mouth dropped even further down. You couldn’t help the sob that left your lips as you nodded. You were speechless; it was everything you always wanted — happiness with Steve. And now he kneeled in front of you, proposing to you. “Y-yes… I-I'm so sorry that I rushed out when you wanted to explain. I-I wanted…”

Steve got up from the ground; he placed one of his big hands on your waist and pulled you closer. Instinctively, you placed your hands in his broad chest, feeling his heart beating fast. He smirked down at you, titling his head slightly. He used his other hand — with still the little box in it — to put underneath your chin and lift your head up slightly.

“Is that a yes? Because I don’t care what happened; I just care about you and what comes, not what was. I love you, and that’s what I know for sure, sweetheart,” Steve said. You nodded; of course, it was a yes. He chuckled, knowing he made you speechless and he loved it.

Steve leaned in, pressing his soft lips against yours. You sighed softly, fisting his shirt to pull him even closer. He grinned against you, his lips moving in a loving and soft way against yours.

As he pulled away, his eyes were shining again, just like yours. He leaned back softly, taking your hand into his, and took the ring out of the box to shove it onto your finger. “My girl, I love you more than anything, Mrs. Rogers. But from now on, I want to be the happiness in your songs.”

You chuckled, pulling him down. Just because your lips met, you grinned at him. “You will, Mr. Rogers." With that, you pull him into another kiss, more heated and more passionate. With more meaning than a kiss ever had, something words could never explain — but they don’t have to — as long as you have one another, everything is perfect. “You will always be the happiness in my songs, in my heart, in my life, and in my everything, Stevie.”

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[ronearoundblindly]

Your Dog, His Tricks

a Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader tale set a little over a year after losing their virginity together and based on this ask.

Summary: Injured on a mission and MIA for days, you return to a very high-strung boyfriend who can't express what he's feeling until it boils to the surface.

Warnings: arguments and smut. MINORS DNI. WC 5.4k

You don’t know when it started, this sort of competition with your boyfriend, but at some point you and Steve became a packaged deal. Unfortunately, that package was labeled: Steve Rogers and his girl. You feel nameless sometimes, and you know you are better than that; maybe you aren’t super like he is, but you are (and were since before dating) a whole-ass Avenger in your own right. You are a stellar agent. You can bring home the top prize. You can finish this shit-show of a mission all on your own.

No help.

None.

You noticed a problem after months and months of fighting with Steve—no, that sounds wrong—beside Steve. 

Okay, maybe it’s not wrong-wrong to say fighting with him because you two do have the occasional argument. Just one argument, really. One argument over and over again about you fighting beside him, why it’s fine, why he should let it go. You are as safe fighting beside him now as you were before the two of you became this set, this lop-sided partnership. He still wants to protect you from shit you are trained to protect yourself from, shit you survived just fine without him, shit like the last three days.

He’s stubborn, and so are you.

You’ve had trouble getting him to back off. The Team is a team, and Steve does great, delegating all sorts of jobs when you are one among many. As soon as it’s you and him alone? He’s…overly helpful, over-protective, and generally over-the-top fussy. He is adoring and caring and competent. Apparently, those things make him feel capable of doing everything for you. It’s sweet until it’s not. Every time you start a project—laundry, cooking, organizing shelves, or leading an actual mission—Steve waltzes in and has to finish it for you.

Because he loves you. Because he’s trying to help. Because he can.

It makes you feel as if you can’t, or, at least, as if he thinks you can’t.

“Well, buddy, you can’t have this one,” you mutter outside of HQ’s gate, gripping your side and flicking open the phone you stole a few states back.

You’ve been gone for just shy of seventy-three hours.

At first, you truly had no way to contact the Team. You were on your own a thousand miles from home, fried comms and a spent weapon. You missed the rendezvous at the safehouse because it took twenty or so hours to find a vet office with the supplies to patch yourself up, and by the time you could have reached out, that ear worm wouldn’t leave you alone.

He’ll swoop in.

He’ll save you.

You’re his girl, so you need him. You can’t handle this without him. No one will believe you did once he gets anywhere near you.

Call it adrenaline. Call it blood loss. Call it shock. You can’t give up this glory, so you told yourself you needed radio silence to keep the recovered intel secure until back on Avengers campus. You told yourself the risk of interception was too high to chance a phone call.

Now, fifty feet from the infirmary, you need to get past one more obstacle.

You know Steve would jump from a third-story window to get to you, know he would scoop you right up into his arms and carry you over the threshold, know that would mean Steve wins.

No. Not this time. This is yours. You deserve the credit. You are crossing that finish line solo.

You jab the last of the epi-pens into your good leg, letting yet more adrenaline heave through what little of your blood volume is left and call the HQ secure line from the burner.

“Friday,” you start, standing at the bus stop, a blindspot from the Avengers’ surveillance cameras because the city already monitors it, “authorization Gamma-Lima-Four-Whisky. Do not declare connection. I repeat, do not declare this connection.”

The AI welcomes you back onto the grid politely.

“Thank you.” A bubble of pain bursts in your throat. “Give them a different location for this call, ok? Tell them it’s from the nearest functional payphone.”

Friday does as you say because why wouldn’t she? It’s not as if Steve is going to pause to question where the ping is—

—and he’s already out, on the bike, pushing that engine to its acceleration limit and narrowly escaping a shoulder check from the slowly opening gates.

You sneak right past, knowing he won’t look in his rearview, not with his eye on a prize ten blocks away, and you collapse just inside the garage ramp.

You wake prone in the Regeneration Cradle after surgery to a kind, smiling nurse monitoring your progress.

It’s difficult to focus. After a few blinks, you can see her features clearly, then beyond her are just eyes.

His eyes.

Piercing blue doesn’t begin to describe the intensity of Steve’s gaze, and his silence is deafening.

Each quarter-minute he inventories the room, and he exhales. That is the sum total of what he can manage to do right now. He’s attempting to keep it together until you two are alone obviously. Steve fails at very few things in life; this is one of them. You can see the outline of his teeth through his tight cheek.

“Doc wanted me to tell you you did a great job,” the nurse states softly. “If you hadn’t packed those wounds so tight, you’d have died for sure.”

Your mouth is too dry to respond, so you flash a wry smile. No one gets the Cradle without…extensive injuries. You’ve never had the ‘pleasure,’ not even for your through-and-through last year.

Steve huffs in frustration, keeping his huge body out of the nurse’s way even when you can feel him try to astral project himself forward to hand you ice chips. Instead, you swallow cotton.

“Captain Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes from above, “your motorcycle has been cited for running five red lights with a further two dozen traffic violations. Shall I claim Official Avengers’ business?”

You croak ‘no.’ He says ‘yes.’

There’s a pause. “I will ask again later.”

Who says AIs can’t throw some serious shade?

Silence descends again as the spindling print needle moves on to a different wound. You’re lucid but wobbly trying to think, a combination of the waning anesthesia and pain meds.

If frowns could kill, your boyfriend’s would devastate the entire med bay.

This is what you hoped beyond hope to avoid, but it’s also why your endgame involved going solo.

“You’re making my point for me,” you sigh, your chest hurting more after surgery than it has in the past twenty-four hours. Clearly, your nerves are back online.

“And what point was that?“ he asks sarcastically, waiting in your own stubborn silence. “You gave me a heart attack.”

“Really?” You’re playfully shocked.

“No, not really! God.” He rushes closer. “What the hell were you thinking? If you had time to send me on a wild goose chase, you could damn well have called to tell me you were alive!”

The cradle’s lights shut off, job complete.

“Language, Steve.” 

He looks incredulous, engrossingly livid, anxious outrage contained by his one frayed thread of control left. 

“We found the intel,” he grits through a clenched jaw. “After power-washing your blood off it, everything was on the drive.”

You can’t sit up on your elbows yet, so you bite back, “good. It all worked out fine then.”

Wafting off him in thick clouds, Steve’s anger is near-flammable in the small room.

The nurse offers to step out for a second.

You say ‘yes.’ Steve barks ‘no.’

This isn’t the nurse’s first rodeo. “Alright, surgery went well. All debris and fragments removed. Your tissue is all intact now, too, but remember, this treatment doesn’t train new muscle fiber or nerve-endings.” She ignores Steve and pushes past to the other end of the table. “Rest up. Tomorrow, you can report to PT. They’ll work with you until you’re field-approved again.”

“She is not—“

“Both of you are ordered to rest,” the nurse snaps, nodding in Steve’s direction “—and make yourself useful by changing her drip when it runs out. If you can’t manage that, Captain, I will find a separate apartment or keep her here overnight.”

“No,” Steve breathes, visibly deflating. Like a scolded puppy, your boyfriend tucks his chin down, rings of grey settling beneath his dark sea eyes. It’s plain as day he hasn’t slept either.

The nurse calls for a wheelchair, and Steve dutifully helps you scoot off the table when it arrives. While he positions the IV to move in tandem, you attempt to push yourself by the huge rubber wheels and fail. Doc was not kidding about muscle weakness.

Steve says nothing.

You’re rolled back to your shared room by the grumpiest Captain America. 

He helps you dress in baggy, comfy clothes and silently reattaches the line of your drip. Not one touch is in a sexual, sensual, or even intimate way even though you are naked at some point.

You can’t remember what you expected; you’ve been so focused on completing the mission for so long. Did you want a desperate homecoming? Did you want him to grovel or worship at your feet? You think, at some point, you knew he’d push back, but you thought…maybe…he’d want you more.

Steve seems to turn his interest on and off so easily, which is great professionally but hard to read personally…or maybe you’re just struggling under the distracting hum of medication. It’s a white noise you can’t ignore, lulling you unconscious, so you can’t analyze the situation anymore. Maybe, you think, you try…but the thoughts don’t come.

He situates you on his side of the bed—to accommodate the cord and stand—and tucks himself quietly into the smallest corner of mattress that his bulk can fit on.

He falls asleep holding your hand. It’s the only place you two are connected. After nearly eighty-five hours apart, that’s still worth it. Maybe.

At some point, his hand goes limp and falls away.

Finally clear of mind, you keep watching Steve the next day. He doesn’t necessarily seem angry, and he doesn’t necessarily seem relieved either. He’s so robotic in his interactions. He won’t talk to you just at you. 

You understand why he was so standoffish last night, but you thought Steve would surely want you after that. You thought he’d start touching you again. 

You two waited so long for your first time, but after that, sex was relatively easy. Steve is an affectionate man when he’s allowed, when he’s in love, and you know he loves you.

Like the nurse said: all your tissue is fully healed. The only restrictions you have are in regards to field work, and the phantom jolts of pain—when you reach into a cabinet or take down a clothes hanger—aren’t real. 

Steve’s always an arm’s length away, just in case, meaning he is there to help you.

Always an arm’s length away.

No closer. No farther.

That afternoon you attempt to start talking about your mission, but that’s when he moves.

Steve practically sprints out the door with a half-baked excuse, so you go to physical therapy alone. You can go alone. That’s not the problem.

If you thought talking to Steve was difficult, you weren’t ready for how hard touching Steve would be.

You try to initiate even a cuddle that second night, and he jumps up claiming to have forgotten something somewhere else that he promised someone. Your boyfriend can’t lie worth beans. You don’t know why he tries.

You’re asleep before he returns.

The next night is exactly the opposite. You spend longer at the gym, slowly and painstakingly repeating every single exercise you know in order to streamline these new muscles. It’s an unholy pain in the ass, but you do it because you can—and will—get back in the field.

Even though the workout was mild, you’re awash with that runner’s high when you return to find Steve passed out already. He looks so peaceful, brow relaxed and lips gently parted. He also looks, well, good enough to eat, but you’ll start slow.

There was one time early on, before you two went all the way, that you woke him up by grinding on him in your sleep. You think now, perhaps, you can recreate that, catch him off-guard and dissipate some of this tension between you. This would be a good release. You don’t normally go this long. Obviously, Steve wouldn’t have masturbated while you were MIA and possibly dead, and every other second since has been accounted for.

He practically can’t have sex anywhere else except naked in a bed. He’s even told you, point blank, that he feels no need to touch himself since he has you. You are what he wants. That’s what he said.

Except he doesn’t wake up to your advances. He just rolls over like you’re disturbing him and softly snores.

For the first time, you wonder if you’ve really broken the two of you. How long will he be mad at you for doing your job? 

Steve rolls back over in his sleep, holding you close like nothing’s happened. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but it’s enough and so, so wonderful to imagine all is well.

About a week into your ‘recovery’ (which is sorta bullshit since you can do everything the same by now just with an occasional, faint twinge, no more than the strain of every workout, ever), Steve takes Sam Wilson up on his offer of 1-on-1 basketball for a while. The Team—minus you—has a raid planned in the morning, and there’s always nervous energy to burn off in anticipation.

Your boyfriend has been a nightmare grump, but no one wants to take on the hassle of convincing Steve that he’s being too Steve to Steve properly. He still won’t talk to you about anything other than the weather, food, or daily schedules.

You’re even considering taking a break from field work because this all has become too much. If Steve is gonna shut down after every dangerous mission—which is, in fact, all of them—then maybe it’s not worth the risk. You’re good, you’re great, but you aren’t super.

“Taste of his own medicine, I say,” Bucky mutters, sitting beside you on the bleachers between courts.

“Huh?” You were distracted, watching Steve and Sam squeak across the floor.

Steve sinks a perfect layup and doesn’t gloat. Do-gooder.

“He used to get so mad when I’d find him in an alley all beaten up,” Buck continues. “Thought I was being too protective. I trusted him, but he was puny and he did get sick all the time. He could take a punch, sure, but every mark took weeks to heal. Half the time, they were still yellow when some idiot landed fresh ones.”

Steve claps beneath the net, encouraging Sam, focused on not outshining anyone.

He’s been the same with everyone else but you, and the whole Team can see it. You shouldn’t be surprised someone is finally talking about it; you simply wonder how Buck drew the short straw.

“Didn’t wanna be babied,” Bucky snorts, fondly glowering at his century-long bestie, “while low and behold, he pulls that stunt with everybody, every day.” 

“Yup,” you pop, looking at the matte metal beneath your feet, knowing there’s a line between the ‘caring’ version and the ‘coddling’ version. Steve nose-dived right over that line this time.

“What he appreciated, though, was consistency.” Bucky swivels his hair around into a bun and ties it. “Punk is dedicated, and even if it was just him--the hund’ed pound soaking-wet guy whose only real talent at that point was getting back on his feet--he knew he’d fight anyway.

“Bit hypocritical to be mad at his girl for doing the same, don’t ya think?” Bucky muses, clucking his tongue.

The brunette watches you bristle slightly at the moniker. His girl. Not only is it what got you into this mess, it feels untrue based on that big, broad, cold shoulder you’ve received from the man racing back and forth in front of you.

Smiling, Bucky nudges you with his elbow. “I’m excited for you to get back on your feet,” he adds.

You’re stuck thinking about that long after Bucky jumps into the game.

It’s no surprise then that when the doctor gives you the all-clear the very next morning, you’re over the moon and ready to strike. You don’t hesitate for a second when the alarm sounds less than an hour later.

The Team needs reinforcements. Your Team needs you.

You hustle into the back of a quinjet with a dozen agents. While the others file out to where the main conflict is raging, you sneak around the perimeter to suss out the mission goal, a treasure trove of enemy tech hidden somewhere in what was thought to be an abandoned village.

Not so abandoned if it’s lighting up like the pyrotechnics show on an action film set...

The explosions rattle the ground, yet you know the Team have breached the main chamber. Those enemy forces still fighting are distracting from a retreat. The other agents can catch them just fine. Your mission is intel recovery.

To keep your approach stealthy, you don’t announce your movements over comms, and Nat doesn’t scan back down the dark hallway you wedge into as she carries out an asset. If you weren’t so far back, you never would have seen him.

An enemy agent slinks out from behind a floor-to-ceiling tapestry right in front of you. His silhouette is short and thin; he’s built for stealth, too.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears as you follow, and that bastard gets close—so close—to Steve’s turned back that the pistol’s muzzle nearly touches.

Not this time. Not a chance. None.

You land a roundhouse kick to the exposed neck above his kevlar, and that sucker goes down like a sack of potatoes.

Steve turns around at the ready, stunned silent in the middle of his instructions to Bucky who is not visible from the other side heaped boxes. The papers still smoke where evidence was burned.

You salute at big, blue eyes. 

“On your six, Cap.” 

Steve looks at you, looks down at the man, and looks back up at you…pissed. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

What the fuck indeed…

All you did was help your team. All you did was stop Captain America from getting his head blown off. In no small fashion, all you did was save your boyfriend’s life.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

His grip on your arm is painful as he leads you all the way back to the jet himself, shoving you into the jump seat between other returned agents and shouting for you to 'stay right there.'

Bucky announces over comms that the rest is clean up. All but the specialized document interpretation and perimeter teams are moving out. 

Steve huffs, contemplates staying on a battlefield instead of going back with you, but decides to sit across the ship in silence again, fuming, making fists over and over in his fingerless leather gloves, bitterly sniffing as loud as possible the entire flight home. He refuses to answer a single person until the jet touches down at HQ. 

“Everyone off,” he bellows, “everyone except you.” 

You can’t stop it. Your hands fly up in exaggerated annoyance automatically.

“What do you want, Steve? I got the go-ahead this morning. I’m allowed to be here.”

“Stop doing that.” He rounds on you.

“Doing what? My job?!”

Chest puffed out, feathers ruffled, cheeks hot and red, Steve peels off his cowl. “Being insubordinate.”

“You’re not my superior officer,” you hiss, “we are equals, and if you think for one second I did anything wrong out there, go ahead and report me. From where I’m standing, I did the work, got cleared for duty, helped out the team, and stopped you from being shot.”

You poke a finger to his chest for each achievement listed.

“Fine," Steve shouts, crossing his arms, "but quit acting like a selfish coward.”

Them be fightin’ words. “A what?”

“You heard me,” he all but whispers.

It’s laughable, truly laughable how bad Steve is at hiding some of those wheels from turning in his head. This isn’t about today. This is the thing he buried the past week.

You roll your eyes. “If you’re gonna throw a hissy fit every time I get a scratch—“

“THREE BULLETS IS NOT A SCRATCH.” He tries—he visibly, painfully tries—to keep his cool one last time. “You weren’t ready,” he concludes, judge, jury, and executioner all poured into one star-spangled package.

“Say’s who?” You’re stepping closer, getting in his face because this is bullshit and unfair. “Last time I checked you’re not a doctor, and you should be thanking me for saving your ass—“

“It’s not your job to save me.”

“We have the same job, Steve! We are both perfectly capable of—“

“I know that,” he barks, hot breath mingling with yours.

“Do you? Because you don’t seem to think I can handle myself.” You push weakly at his chest, taunting, like it's a game. “Maybe you need to walk it off, buddy.”

His face cracks, an avalanche unmoored from a stable mountain.

Oh shit. You’ve done it now.

“Walk it off?! WALK IT OFF?!”

Steve charges like a bull seeing red, crowding you against the far wall, his own derisive finger pointed at your heart.

“You were injured. You didn’t make contact. You went dark for days, and you could have died. Alone. In the middle of nowhere. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find you. No—“ he cups your chin in a tight pinch “—you want to talk about the job? It’s protocol to check in. It’s common courtesy to let me know you’re alive, and it’s goddamn rude to ignore your own safety.”

A dark, hazy sheen layers over his sharp gaze. “Don’t make me keep you home.”

There’s a deep line of frustration carved between his brows. His nostrils flair as he waits, daring you to refute him.

“Well—” you purse your lips in defiance “—isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”

Steve lets go of you, smacked away by your cutting tone.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, whatever, Rogers,” you dismiss. “We both know you don’t have the authority to bench me.”

“Like hell I don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms above your head, He weaves your hands through the cargo net behind you. The loops are tight and complicated in seconds, he’s so fast.

You can’t wriggle away.

“Let’s see how you like it.”

Steve roughly throws the zipper of your uniform down, letting the jacket hang open to show nothing but your sports bra.

“Feeling paralyzed—“ he dexterously undoes your belt “—exposed—“ your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles “—and afraid.” His last word thickens the air on the jet. 

How can this man launch you into unbridled lust in the space of two syllables?

Who. Fucking. Cares. How.

Steve’s fingertips teasingly glide over the swell of your breasts, brush down your belly, and tick their way in a casual walk between your legs. He retracts his touch the instant you let out a longing sigh, unable to restrain how needy you are. His fingers wander to perfectly clean and unmarked flesh…on your thigh, along one side, and a few inches below that. He’s tracing the bullet wounds he watched heal so quickly.

“Maybe I should leave you wondering how it’ll all play out?” he says absently, lost in thought, his thumb shifting to notch into the dip of your hip. “Maybe I should leave you wondering if we’ll ever—”

“Yes,” you whimper, no real idea what you’re saying. That’s not what answer you meant.

“How would you like three whole days of this feeling, huh? You think you’d fare any better than I did? Think you’d make it even five minutes?”

“Uh-uh.” Again, with no clue what you’re truly responding to, you buck your hips forward onto his long fingers.

The cords around your wrists get tighter while you struggle to set a pace. Behind you, the metal rings of the netting hit the hull with a soft clinking noise. 

“Not so fast.” Steve pulls his hand away just far enough to remove all friction. “Because three days, sweetheart, it was torture. Felt like an eternity right on the edge.”

“Please,” you beg.

One deliberate swipe of his fingers through your slick is enough to make you mewl.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. Please, I need you.”

“Need me? You have an odd way of showing it, doll. You have to promise me—“ he thrusts his fingers in “—promise me you’ll never leave me.”

“I’ll never leave you,” you cry, convinced that it’s true for the sole reason: you never want to experience anything other than this Steve for as long as you live.

“You are so brave, and so…capable, and I know you can do anything, but you…can’t survive anything.” He takes excruciating pleasure in slow thrusts and teasing circles. “Promise me you won’t be so reckless. Promise, say it.”

“I promise.” Your weight sags into his ministrations, called to focus on nothing but where his hand disappears between you. “I promise I won’t be reckless.”

“That’s my girl.”

Your head falls limp against your tied arms. It sounds so good from his lips. Why did you ever doubt?

“I promise I’ll come back to you,” you manage out like a prayer.

“Yeah? That’s it. Is that what you want?”

“I promise. I promise, Steve.” You time your movements sloppily with his measured tempo. “Please, I need more.”

“I know. I know.” He’s strung out, too, listening to your pathetic whimpers after less than five minutes, exactly like he predicted.

You’re so over-wrought with desperation you can’t coordinate with his manhandling your legs apart—your knees, really, since your ankles are still caught in your pants. Instead of taking off your boots, Steve simply unzips himself and dives right into your wet, warm, and welcoming pussy.

Knowing he has a thing against anything naughty in his suits makes it sexier. You want his intensity—you’ve always been curious—and finally you have it: unhinged, untethered, super Steve Rogers. Your body makes room out of sheer joy.

“I know,” Steve coos, his face pressed to your chest as he adjusts. “Fuck, I know, honey.”

“Move, Steve.”

“No,” he says with a gentle kiss to your sternum. “You wanna come? Go ahead. You can do it all on your own. You can do anything you want, can’t ya?”

You groan in frustration.

You wanted this, an annoying voice in the muddled depths of your mind calls. You’re independent.

With a sob of both excitement and fury, your thighs weld onto that sturdy, I-beam beast. You brace your bent arms over your angled and hovering body, leveraging the cargo straps to hoist you up and down.

Your muscles burn, strained more than they were on your lone journey back to HQ.

Steve grunts and moans, the ghost of his wide spread palms beneath your back as a safety net.

“That’s it. That’s it, good girl.” 

Amidst your own noises, you can barely hear him. You’re not building to a climax, you’re falling into one at terminal velocity, flailing. Struggling to hang on and let go all at once, you do come, but it’s more of a plateau than a full release.

Steve’s unhappy and takes your ass in a bruising grip, finally pumping his thick length in and out, dragging the head of his cock across that perfect spot over and over.

“You can do better than that,” he snarls, hair wrecked and falling in his face.

Wave, undertow, and wave again, pleasures simply blend into the next. He gets handsy, keyed up and out of control, muttering “don’t you ever fucking leave me.”

You’d scold him for cursing if the air weren’t being punched from your lungs.

“Come on, sweetheart. Three for three.”

You’re almost disappointed he only wants you to come three times in payment for his days of torture. Even as a tear escapes the corner of your eye and your throat breaks in a hoarse “please,” you know you would give him more. You'd give him anything.

When you finally reach that shattering end, Steve is almost incoherently feral, one hand clamped at the back of your neck, the other anchored to the small of your back, slamming your ass to his leather-covered thighs like you are his mission.

“I promise,” you try to repeat, but you aren’t sure they sound like words.

Whether in response to you or as an errant thought, Steve’s own broken voice rattles at your sweaty neck. “You can take it,” he whispers gruffly. “You can take it.”

You’re floating by the time he comes, his hips stilling slowly. The buzz of your body now outdoes anything anesthesia or pain meds concocted.

Steve peppers your skin with lazy, light kisses until you remind him of your bound wrists, but then he’s overly apologetic and scrambling to free them.

He keeps himself inside you and maneuvers to sit with you on his lap.

You stay there for a while, your numb and sore arms folded between your chests. Steve only stops petting your shoulders to cradle your face, soft blue eyes roaming, adoring. He whispers concern that you’re okay, how are your legs, are you warm enough, you feeling good?

Yes, you think, you’ve taken care of your girl.

“I love seeing you like this,” he mumbles long after the pins and needles have abandoned their assault on your tired legs.

You tuck some silky hair behind his ear. “Like what? Fucked out?”

He’s floating too because he doesn’t chastise.

“Happy, healthy—“ he lets out a deep sigh “—home.”

“Speaking of home,” you say, inching ever so slightly higher to let him slide out of you, “wanna cuddle in bed all night and not get up until someone tries to break in the door?”

That knocks some of the glow off him. He drags a hand down his face. “Oh god, the poor people who have to clean this thing…”

“Let’s be honest,” you snort. “This isn’t the worst thing that’s been on you, but if it’s that big of a deal, we could go hose you down before handing our equipment in.”

He smiles, shaking his head in dismissal.

With his help, you climb off his lap and slowly shimmy up your bottoms, realizing he did truly make a mess of you both.

Steve looks down at his own lap, horrified. “Do I need to burn this?”

“That sounds like a challenge to make you filthier,” you consider, but maybe you should change into your civies before exiting the jet…

“Ya know,” Steve muses, passing over to the small locker of clothing overhead and grabbing a t-shirt and sweats, “I almost got shot in the head today, and you had three bullets fished outta you a week ago. I’m thinking we’ve earned a vacation.”

Workaholic Steve? Actively applying for time off? You’ll be damned.

“My my my, Captain Rogers…the real dirty talk begins.”

He huffs out a laugh and blushes.

“Well, I know we didn’t do anything more special than dinner for our anniversary, so…” He pulls you to his chest again, smelling of slightly musty laundry and pungent sex. “Let’s go on a fucking vacation.”

Your neck cranes to his height to see a soft smile. Oof, he’s good.

 “I missed you,” he adds like a prayer, “and you’re the badass who saved me.”

He giggles at your scrunched nose and watches you bask in that glory.

“Like I said, you’re welcome—“ you hug Steve, letting his warmth radiate through you, moving in time with his rising and falling chest “—and I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kisses the crown of your head.

When you open the bombay doors, there’s a thermos left at the base of the ramp, a folded paper tucked beneath it. 

We should talk about how to better soundproof the jets. Brought you some refreshments. It’s hazelnut. ~Bucky

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jamneuromain @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @brandycranby

A/N: I sincerely give up on editing this anymore, so I hope it turned out okay 🙇🏻‍♀️

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[jamneuromain]

Divorce with either Steve/Andy I'm feeling angsty.

Whether happy/sad ending is up to you :)

Hi bestie <3 I'm sorry it has taken more time than I thought but my drabble turns into a one-shot before I can even realize skjksjskjskjksj

hope you'll enjoy this <3

Lie, Lie, Lie

Steve Rogers x You (Mutant!Reader)

Warning: Swearing, Angst, Divorce, (also asshole-ish Avengers?)

W/C: 5.4 K

Summary: A small leak will sink a great ship. -- Benjamin Franklin

A/N: My first entry to the bingo challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty.

It starts with a minor, insignificant detail.

Just some static in the phone, really.

A snippet of sound that common people would interpret as bad signals, considering that Steve is phoning you from thousands of miles away, while you are using the landline.

For holy Mary’s sake, who the hell still uses landlines today?

Apparently, the academic conferences you attend do.

Steve notices the small static buzzing the call you are having, after which you grumble in frustration, “Stupid signals, can’t even function properly.”

He smiles, knowing that you can’t see the expression on his face. You are cute even when you are complaining.

You sigh deeply on the other end of the phone, your voice slightly distorted from the electronic, or wireless, transmission, “I miss you, Stevie. Can’t wait to come home.”

“It’ll only be two more days,” Steve reassures you with his soothing timbre, “I’ll be waiting for you at the airport, alright? First thing you’ll see after getting off that plane.”

“Okay.” You know he can hear you pouting, but you pout anyway, “Gotta have some sleep now. I’m going to the keynote tomorrow morning.”

“Take care of yourself.” Steve holding on to his phone, wincing again as the static buzzes again, but it appears only on his end, as you seem unaffected by it, “Take care of my favorite scientist and my favorite girl for me, okay?”

“I am your favorite girl. And you know I have my powers.” You try your best to stifle a large yawn, but Steve senses your tiredness right away.

“Sleep tight, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Steve blows a kiss, hoping that it would travel across oceans and lands via the phone, and reach your forehead.

“Night, Steve.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

You are about to hang up when the static tortures his ear again.

You hang up.

Static isn’t a problem for most people, who, unlike Steve, don’t have super hearing and super memory.

Steve could think that the static is a minor interference, however, static that appears during phone calls are hardly inconsistent. And if he has learned a thing or two during the time that landlines are still fairly popular – 40s, by the way – is that static doesn’t go on and off, nor does it blur on different pronunciations since static should naturally have a pattern.

Since Stark phones issued by the friendly billionaire is certainly off the question, he suspects that someone might be tapping into your landline.

Something is off. His intuition is telling him. So, he called Tony and asked for a favor.

After some analysis that Steve couldn’t fully understand, Tony presses his index finger to his lips tightly, humming to himself.

“Anything?” Steve watched as Tony chugged down the fifth cup of coffee ten minutes ago, and now Tony has been unusually quiet.

Tony spins his chair around, looking thoughtful. He waves his fountain pen in midair, pointing at his screen in general, “This isn’t some sort of prank Bruce asked you to play, is it?”

“Prank? Tony, this is my wife we’re talking about.” Steve is about to lose his patience. He crosses his arm, dead serious, “What is … this? Am I being paranoid or …”

He wouldn’t dare to think about you in actual danger and he’s sitting cozily in Avengers Compound. He could’ve been risking your precious rescue time. Or warn you, somehow.

Even knowing that you have your special powers.

Your mutant powers.

Still, there are hundreds of ways for you to be defenseless.

A collar could suppress all your powers. A shot of the new dose of Mutant Serum could make you lose your X-gene once and for all. And all those terrible things that could happen to you.

Tony scratches his goatee, his expression is puzzled, to say the least, “this static that you provided, looks like the interface Bruce and I were cooking up for a Friday-upgrade.”

“English, please, Tony.”

Tony magnifies the example of static extracted from the recording that is automatically stored on Stark servers, and pulls out a random MRI brain scan from Steve’s health exam last year, “See what I mean?”

Steve watches the two waves on the screen closely, almost stuttering from what he is summarizing, “They look … similar.”

“Exactly.” Tony throws the MRI scan off the screen and points to the static, “This? This isn’t sound. This is human thinking. Hell, thinking, I’m not even sure it’s human. And it has a purpose. The reason you are hearing the ‘static’ – I’ll name that thing later, is that it serves as a relay, that patches you through its – thinking, whatever, and directs your call to Y/N.”

“It isn’t Friday?” Steve blurts out the only AI he could think of.

“If it is Friday, the Nobel committee is handing me the award right this moment.” Tony snorts, but he turns serious as soon as he notices Steve’s worrying look, “but with this fragment, I can locate Y/N,” and with a few taps on the keyboard, a global map appears in front of them.

Tony mutters to himself, “Can’t track the relay itself, but I can … ”

Another few keystrokes and a red dot blip.

“… in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.” Tony isn’t even sure about what the blipping dot shows, “Now this can’t be right-” Tony looks back at Steve, whose eyebrows are tying up like knots, “Where did you say she’s having this academic conference?”

“Leipzig, Germany.” Steve answers without a second thought, “Quantum 2023.”

Tony looks awe-struck.

“I’m sending a team to get her.” Steve stands up from his seat abruptly, heading to the doorway, but Tony’s words make him stop.

“Quantum 2023 is next week, Steve. And it isn’t held in Leipzig.”

“But that’s impossible,” Steve turns on his heels, glaring at Tony, “She told me that she came into contact with some Professor, who invited her to this conference because she was doing so well with her panel back in January.”

“And what’s that panel?”

“CPS Quantum Computer-”

“CPSQ was never held this year.” Tony shakes his head, “The conference was cancelled because a main member of the CPSQ committee passed away last December. What else has she told you?”

“I can’t tell you.” You dare not read his face. Your gaze lands on the marble counter that you and Steve agreed on two years ago, instead of him. You lied. And you know you lied. And the fact that you know that you can tell him nothing, makes you even more scared and frightened, as you are well aware the last things Steve would tolerate are betrayal and infidelity.

Your shared home, once a sanctuary for you and the love of your life, now withering and shaken, cold and gloomy. It no longer is a safe haven for you.

“Did anyone blackmail you with anything?” Steve asks calmly.

He’s prepared for the worst things to come.

He spent the whole night with Tony trying to figure out the so-called “academic conferences” you were supposed to be a part of, and there were eight of them during the last three years.

Some calls were too old to trace, but Tony has figured out it with the recent three conferences, you weren’t doing Keynotes or presenting your results to academia, but in the same spot in the Pacific doing God knows what.

It was undocumented waters. Tony could only gather so much info that the islands in the vicinity were bought by a mysterious wealthy man who paid through his Kaymen Island account.

And you were visiting it almost every four months. Like clockwork.

There were a few heat signatures on the island, but with no visible vehicle, neither ferry nor helicopter in sight, Tony would have to guess that you would need someone who can transport you from where you were to the island.

“No.” You have no excuse. No reasons. No idea what you should say.

But you weren’t blackmailed. You went there voluntarily.

His gaze feels heavy on your shoulders. From the corner of your eyes, you can see he’s looking at you intensely. Trying to figure out whether you are still lying to him.

“Are you cheating?”

The other possible explanation he has thought of. Frightening, if an answer of certainty comes out of your mouth, but it would explain your lies. Steve curls his hand into a fist, the veins on his hand popping briefly onto his skin.

The hands that caressed your hair and your jaw, cradling your face when he leaned in to kiss you. All the gentle moves. Treating you as a soft and delicate being. Now a hard fist on the table.

He didn’t touch you on your way back to your home. Nor did he accept your hugs and kisses at the airport.

He was very disappointed.

“No.” You answer, with your head low.

How could he doubt your relationship? How could he doubt your love for him? Waiting for him to return after every battle, taking care of his wounds, having-

How could he think all of those were lies too?

“Then what are you hiding?”

Steve maintains his best manners not to crush the table under his fist into bits and pieces. He wants you to answer. Something. Tell him why he has been kept in the dark.

Anything.

You open your mouth, but no word comes out.

“I can’t tell you.” You whisper, your resolve of keeping the secret faltering under his piercing gaze. But you can’t tell him.

There’s turmoil in your stomach, wreaking havoc in your guts. You want to throw up when thinking about the truth, but cannot say it. Not with your teeth and tongue. Not with pen and paper. You cannot. You physically cannot.

Nothing remorseful or any expression similar appears on your face, as Steve observes your reaction closely.

“Please, Steve. I promise I’ll tell you, but now is not the time. It was – is an important … deed, to do.”

Steve stands up from his chair slowly.

Not even looking at you anymore, he sounds emotionless. Cold.

“I thought for a moment you were kidnapped. Tortured. Lured into a trap.”

“Steve-”

“I was this close,” he pinches his index finger and thumb together, “sending a full-blown rescue tactical team, to get you out.”

“Steve, please, just listen-”

“And are you talking, Y/N? Are you telling me what I need to hear?” He stands with his back to you, shaking with uncontrollable anger. “The truth, that’s all I want.”

“I can’t-”

“I can’t, either.” He interrupts you. For the entire time you can remember, from his cute and sweet attempts to ask you out on a date, from his chivalry of taking you out and asking you to be his wife, from the start of your happy marriage, he hasn’t once interrupted you when you were talking.

Tears roll down your eyes as you are tongue-tied, unable to utter a sound.

But Steve didn’t see those tears. If he did, he would have some idea that you are truly sorry for what you have done.

Steve stands with his back to you.

“I’ll save us the trouble and ask Tony to wipe our marriage from the system.”

Almost a shriek, your hands and feet are placed in the bottom of the ice pit, “You can’t-! I- You can’t!”

Your sobbing fills the room that was occupied by a dreadful silence. From your husband.

You would never imagine that a lie would go this far.

“Watch me.”

He can’t, not when you are-

Not when you are working on-

Not when you are trying to-

He can’t.

Realization dawns on you that even if you did tell him one thing that you can say to make him stay, he would consider it a lie.

Or an effort you make, trying to be bound to him.

That your trust is broken forever.

With that realization hitting you, he leaves the room.

Five years later, somewhere near Hawaii.

“This is really nice, what you got over here,” Tony comments in honesty, taking a step back to observe the rippling portal gate, “How long has it been put into use?”

Jean, the woman with flaming red hair and a scarf around her shoulders, has an impeccable smile on her face, leading the way as Natasha and Steve boarded the small vehicle up ahead, “Four. We used to transport to and from all over the world with the help of mutants who can create a portal. But as larger machines and construction materials were needed on Krakoa, the very land that you are standing on, our top scientists decided to benefit us all by inventing an instant portal device- Devices, should I say.”

As there are three large portals, each the size of a house, standing next to each other on the founding stones.

“Why are we even here?” Steve murmurs to Natasha, sounding confused, “I thought bargaining was Tony’s specialty…?”

“Smile, Rogers.” Natasha murmurs back, her eyes scanning the tropical island for any anomaly, “It’s a diplomatic event, not a business one.”

“Like a photo Op?”

“Like a peace offering.” Nat lowers her voice as she notices a mutant with bright green hair start the engine of their car, and take the position as their driver, “Krakoa now has the most efficient cancer eradication solution, and if we all behave and act like adults, the world would accept the possibility of the first mutant country. The UN is considering whether to add Krakoa as a new member country as we speak.”

“And if we blew it, WW3?”

“Worse. We will be hanged before we could say ‘assemble’.” Natasha sits straighter when Tony and Jean, the woman with red hair approaches the vehicle, and asks with a louder voice, “Would you mind telling us about the three-day trip planned on Krakoa?”

“Certainly.” With a look from Jean, the green-hair starts the car and drives away from the beach, heading towards a road that leads to the Krakoa city center. “We don’t have anything planned for this evening, so Lorna – our temporary driver - and I will show you around this place in general and escort you to your residence, where you will have dinner with our high council tonight. Tomorrow you’ll visit our university facilities and our most advanced laboratory, with our head scientist Hank. If you would like to visit any place else, feel free to tell us and we’ll try our best to satisfy your demands…”

Their residence is a small building near the city square. After a brief tour of the area, Jean tells them that normally they wouldn’t expect many visitors, so the building, though more well-equipped than most hotels, only resides the three of them, plus Jean for now.

Natasha strides across the room as Tony takes voice notes on his phone.

“… Their technology is at least two decades, if not three, more advanced than our top scientist.” With that as a summary, Tony stuffs his phone in his pocket.

And the room is filled with deafening silence.

“Do you think they cleared this place out when they are expecting us?” Steve sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at Tony and Natasha.

“They are afraid of us, as we are afraid of them.” Natasha says slowly. Not really answering Steve’s question, but hinting at the opinion that she has in mind. Her striding comes to a halt, “The looks we had on our way here? Not all friendly.”

“Too bad we don’t have a mutant as a middleman.” Tony clicks his tongue, moving around his jaw like he has a toothache.

“Tony-” Starts Natasha warningly.

They all know one mutant who helped around in the Avengers a few years ago. They know one mutant was exceptionally close to Steve. Hell, they were even there to witness the wedding of-

“I’m gonna go get some air.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a long exhale, before walking out of the room.

Of Steve and you.

You were not a powerful mutant. But you would be helpful, under a circumstance like this.

But Steve divorced you a few years back.

No one knows why. No one knows any information regarding the terrible divorce that made Steve leave you, leave the States for months.

Except that you were “missing” from time to time.

Natasha sits on the other armchair in the room, looking closely at Tony, and his greying beard. She chooses her words very carefully, “Was she…” Were you cheating back then? On Steve?

Tony shakes his head, “He never told me.”

“But is it possible that…”

“I wanted to believe the other way.” Tony nibbling at his bottom lip. In the end, he looks back at Natasha, the former Russian spy, “But the incident right after she left…”

A breach that erased all of your data, along with the data of three staff within the Avengers Compound, happened a few months after you left the Compound and disappeared. Not only the records of your information, but also calls and texts, almost every trace of your presence was erased completely from both Avengers Compound and the government system as well.

The three staff later identified as mutants. They fled from the compound on the same day of the incident.

No one knew where you were. No CCTV or surveillance camera has recorded your prescence ever since.

It's a shame to admit, but no one bothered to look either.

After all, there were no demands or ransoms asked. And they were too busy saving the world to care for such trivia.

Nothing else was missing.

A few printed photos that Steve kept in his office survived. Printed photos of you and him together. That he had kept in the bottom of his drawer ever since your divorce.

A week later, Krakoa was established, announcing itself as a country and providing shelters for all mutants.

Steve suspected that the two events might be connected somehow, but Krakoa banned anyone who isn’t a mutant from entering the territory and has been moving on the map ever since, refusing any prying eyes.

Steve wanders into the patch of green a few hundred inches away from the hotel, heading towards the beach.

He was painfully reminded of you.

Of your happy times together.

And the determination you showed when you refused to tell him about your affair.

Yes, your affair. Even though you denied it. Steve believes that you were lying to him. About your location, about your everything.

About your lover.

“… come on down little monkey!” A familiar voice ghosting his ears.

A little girl screams at the top of her lungs, before giggling and sitting at the far end of a branch on a tree a few meters away, “But it’s out of power-Hi, Uncle Hank!”

The girl has blonde curly hair, bouncing as she jumps on the thin branch that could snap at any second. Steve is about to sprint to rescue when he hears you.

Your familiar voice.

“Come on, Mommy will catch you.” You clap your hand, your back facing Steve, who is hiding in the bushes. Your arms stretched wide open, urging the little girl to come down.

Urging your daughter to come down from the tree? From a branch seven feet in the air? How are you even encouraging the little girl while she could break her neck is unfathomable to Steve. This is stupid. Reckless. Irresponsible. A total -

“Come on, little monkey.” You clap your hand again, “It won’t be half as fun if I have to come up and get you.”

“Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t know that the rocket boots will die so soon,” begins a man on your side, apologizing. A thin man with glasses in his 40s. “The battery is supposed to last five hours when I put them on- Oh.”

“Yes.” Steve hears your grumpiness, “Batteries. Hank. My expertise.”

Steve knows your expertise.

Although you studied quantum physics and its application, your interest in Physics derived from your ability to absorb power and power transformation. However, you were not particularly interested in fighting bad guys, that’s why you weren’t on missions as often as he thought you would.

Batteries. You would absorb electricity from it in an instant, even when you are not intentionally doing so.

“Exhibiting her abilities so soon?” Hank gasps in disbelief, raising his head to look at your daughter jumping on that twig, “Normally it would be until their teen years.”

You chuckle, “Missing out on the latest Bio lab, aren’t you? They just published a paper about how mutant parents would cause a higher rate of mutant children, and as a result, their abilities tend to show earlier. Even so,” you kick the sand under your feet, your voice less exciting, “Hers is showing earlier than I did.”

“You showed your ability when you were five, right?”

“Two months till five. But yeah, pretty early. She made the light in our room flick on and off, starting from a month ago.” You make one last attempt at your daughter, who is having her fun with those thick rocket boots on her feet, “Be a sweetheart and come down, alright? Mommy is getting tired and we haven’t had dinner yet.” You plead softly.

“Alright, Mommy.” The little girl answers.

As Steve watches from afar, worrying sick that your daughter would fall from the tree, she spreads her arms and falls from the tree. But like a piece of paper, descending slowly into your arms.

Absorbing gravity to cancel it out. One of your typical moves too. Steve thinks bitterly. No doubt the little girl is your daughter.

Hank offers something as you three walk further from Steve and the bush he’s hiding. Steve didn’t quite catch what he said, but he hears you reply with a certain “Yes”.

Your voice trails away, “But it’ll be fine. Won’t we, little monkey?”

The little girl giggles again.

“Do you want Daddy back, Mommy?” Your daughter Maddie asks abruptly as you take out the storybook before bed.

“I-” It would be a lie, to say that you do not want Steve. But years have gone by and you’ve built your life around Maddie and Krakoa. While you were desperate, wanting him back when you found yourself pregnant with Maddie, the night when he left your house, you knew that the only reason Steve would stick around, which is knowing that you are pregnant. Despite the responsibility he would be burdened with, he would also doubt whether he’s raising some other people’s child, since he already suspects that you were cheating, and your life would be miserable with his indifference.

You remember your panicking and fearing his leave.

Thinking that he can’t leave you, not when you are pregnant, not when you are working on a home and a shelter for your future children, trying to create a safe haven for you and your family.

But he left.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You tuck a strand of her blonde curls behind her ears, gazing into her beautiful cerulean eyes, “I hurt your father really bad when I made the big mistake that we talked about. And he hurt me too. Not that he wanted to, but he left me alone in this world.” You kiss her short chubby hand, placing her hand on your cheek, “We won’t be happy ever again. Because I lied to him. And he will always remember it.”

“Oh.” Maddie sounds disappointed, scrunching her little face together, “But Daddy knows you are doing the right thing, right? Building Kra-Kra-Krakoa and our home?”

She tried a few times to pronounce the word “Krakoa”, making you smile.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You explain to her with more patience than you can ever imagine, “I have never seen your father ever since.”

“He should!” Your daughter curls herself up into a ball in your arms, nuzzling your soft pyjamas, “He should be proud of you. And what you did. You help build the island, Mommy. Daddy should know. And he will forget your lying.”

Kids. Always thinking everything in the world is so simple. A small grin creeps up your lips.

But in your heart, the bitterness swirls into a dark pit.

Everyone else understood. Other mutants who had a family, who told their partners they will be gone for a while, who lied to their partners that they were needed for a job.

Their partners did. Their partners understood the cruelty of separation and the pain that those mutants cannot utter a word about their whereabouts, or the details of the job. The worst you’ve heard of, aside from yourself as an example, was a huge fight between Lorna and her boyfriend, but in the end, she forgave him after a week, having enough trust for both of them to continue their relationship and got married two years ago.

But no. Not Steve.

Steve, who quickly jumped to the conclusion that there was no need to continue this marriage.

Steve, after leaving word of divorcing you, left. To some shit-eating place in South Africa, for two whole months.

Two months. Two months of prying eyes and prodding questions from the Avengers, which you knew they were being kind and helpful, but you couldn’t stay there. Not when it brought pain and scars to your chest every time you’d see some possession that belonged to him, and cry your eyes out, nearly losing Maddie as a result. Not when they were also suspecting that you cheated on Steve and scolding you lightly, telling you to “speak to Steve and ask for his forgiveness”.

They were his family. Not really yours.

Yours is here.

You kiss her forehead, tucking her in, “I sure hope so. Good night, sweetheart.”

Your smile fades as your mind drifts to the human delegation that is alleged to arrive today.

You asked to be kept out of the loop and out of the trails that the delegation is visiting. You even confirmed with Hank today that you would take these three days off from the lab.

You blocked all relevant information regarding those visitors.

You were raised by this mutant family, by mutants such as Jean and Hank and befriended them, and you had your heart broken in the human world. You don’t want anywhere near humans ever again.

“These are some state-of-the-art devices. I have to say, I’m very impressed.” Tony tilts his head to the side, reading the metrics recorded on the screen in the up-state Bio lab, “This is not quite my expertise though, the project you are operating here.”

Hank magnifies the part Tony is observing onto the huge screen behind them, “We are trying to incorporate human thoughts into robots, but in a wireless form. With a thought-” Hank, the man in glasses, places two stickers onto his head, and a robotic arm on the far end of the lab begins writing “Welcome”, stopping dead when it comes to “O”. Hank shrugs, not even bothered by the failure of the demonstration, “We have a talented specialist that helps with coding, but there are always some interferences with the transmission.”

Natasha clears her throat to gain their attention, “I’m also very impressed with the construction of the island as a whole. A construction this large should take … what, five years and a couple hundred workers?”

“Two and a half, to be precise.” Hank gestures for them to move forward onto the Physics lab, peeling the stickers off his temple, “About three dozen mutants involved. It would be sooner if it weren’t…” As if he suddenly was reminded of something, Hank let out a short “Ah”, and a brief pause, “if it weren’t some … unintentional held-up with one of our finest mutants.” His eyes land on sulking Steve, only for a few seconds.

Hank said it with a proud smile on his face. It didn’t take Steve forever to recognize the man from the beach last night, who gave your daughter, very irresponsibly, Steve might add, rocket boots.

Your daughter’s father is very irresponsible too. Not even showing up when your daughter is in danger. He thinks, clenching his jaw, praying for strength that he would punch that guy in the face if he ever meets him.

Natasha and Tony exchange a glance behind Hank, failing to notice Steve and his stern expressions.

“But it must have been a huge effort, even with three dozen, to keep them silent?” Natasha jokes light-heartedly, “There’s hardly any secret in the Avengers Compound without the full staff knowing it in three days.”

Hank nods politely, holding the door for them to come through, “Well, yes. But as you are well aware, a few of our best mutants are telepathic, meaning they could plant a gag order in our heads,” Hank taps his temple with his knuckle, “We couldn’t speak to anyone else about Krakoa for three years until it’s established. Our mind forbade us to speak of it because of the gag order.”

“Masochists, and they are proud of it,” Natasha whispers to Tony in a rush.

“It is troubling. Misunderstandings and arguments have aroused based on the gag order and its implementation.” Hank walks them through the long hallway from one building to another, “But we agreed it’s for the best at that moment.”

Tony makes a face that isn’t as obvious, but Steve and Natasha could tell that’s his disapproving face.

As Hank opens another door for them, the first thing they see is a little girl playing with her toy car on a tall chair. She slides the car down from a colorful track, and the track would deliver the toy car back to her hands.

“Maddison!” Hank rushes to her side, looking up and down to see whether the girl got hurt, “What are you doing here?”

“Mommy needs to pick up something.” Maddie points at you, cheering, “Look! Mommy Mommy!” She drops her toy car to the ground, and jumps off the tall chair, running to you and hugging your thigh.

Steve stops breathing. Seeing you, well and alive in front of him, with your daughter, in a rosy-pink dress that you bought while dating him a few years back.

You look … the same.

“Get behind me, Maddie.” You tug the little girl on her arm, to have her shielded fully behind your legs. An undetectable shakiness in your voice.

Maddie peeks from behind you. She doesn’t understand where this tension is coming from, but she understands one thing: “Mommy, is that Daddy?” She raises her head and asks.

You hate to lie to your daughter. But you are not going to let her be exposed to Natasha and Tony, and most importantly, Steve.

“Christ. It’s Y/N.” Tony mutters.

“Mommy, he looks exactly like the photo you showed me.” Maddie asks in confusion, pointing towards Steve, “He looks exactly like Daddy?”

“Maddison, not now.” It takes all your willpower not to push them all out of the lab at once, “Hank, would you mind?” You glance icily at Hank, urging him to solve the problem at hand.

“Yes, of course.” Hank starts to head the other way, “I’m sorry, but we’re behind schedule. If you would come with me-”

“No one is coming anywhere until we deal with this,” Tony announces, one hand already on his wristwatch, which you know contains a small plasma canon if he activates it.

“Is she…?” Steve knows the answer to his question before he asks. The hair and the eyes are similar to his, and the nose and lips resemble yours-

“Boys,” Natasha raises her voice, “Let’s be civil, shall we?”

“How old is she?” Steve feels a lump down his throat, “is she-”

“Civil?” You let out a dry laugh, the exact opposite of amused, “Tony Fucking Stark is ready to attack when he pulls out that wristwatch. And Natasha, long time no see, the same goes for your widow bites too. Yeah, I saw the glowing blue under your sleeves. You are trying to take my child away from me in a heartbeat and call yourself civil?”

“Tony, Nat.” Steve speaks.

Two words that bring the two of them away from their weapons.

You pick Maddie up from the ground, having your back to the Avengers, protecting your daughter from their grasp, “Let’s go, Maddie. I am apparently not welcomed here.”

“Y/N!” Steve calls to your back, “Y/N, please!”

Natasha is tempted to step forward and ask you to stay and talk this out, being blocked by Hank.

“I assume it is best that you stay right where you are,” Hank says politely, though his thin body has no intention of moving.

Maddie hugs your neck, laying her head on your shoulders. Her blue eyes focusing on Steve while you walk away.

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[heaven4lostgirls]

Never Enough (S.R)

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warning: angst, allusion to breakup, Steve chooses Sharon over reader.

summary: Steve leaves you, thinking you’ll wait for him.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: I’ll be honest, this isn’t my best work, but I thought why not get something out because I’m pretty sure the next chapter of mr americana and the heartbreak prince will be a little delayed cus I have so much work to do but I hope this tides you over until them lmao.

part 1, part 2, part 3

“Steve, I swear to god if you walk out that door, we’re done” you say as tears run down your face. It’s radio silent in the Avenger’s compound as Steve stands in front of you about to leave because Sharon had called him because of an ‘emergency.’ After she had found out that you were Steve’s girlfriend, she found ways to come in-between the both of you and somehow, she was succeeding. This was your third fight about Steve just leaving out of nowhere when she called for him, you don’t know how much of this you had in you.

“Don’t be dramatic y/n” he rolls his eyes, “we’ve been over this, she’s just a friend” he says, and you cross your arms over your chest. “Steve, how many times do I need to tell you that she is not just a friend to you? A month ago, she wanted to get into your pants” you raise your voice and Steve’s expression only grows more annoyed, “She doesn’t want me like that anymore!” he says, your expression grows even more annoyed. “If you step a foot out of that door Steve, I won’t be here when you get back” you threaten him and watch as he hesitates before he says,

“She needs me y/n” he pleads with you and tears if frustration line your eyes at his words. “What about me?!” you cry out at him incredulously, “she! Is not your girlfriend Steve! I am!” you throw your hands in the air as tears run down your face in silence and watch as Steve’s irritated demeanour breaks “I’m going y/n, we can talk about this when I get back” he says and slides a hand down his face in exasperation. “Steven Grant Rogers, don’t you dare” you threaten as he again walks to the door. “I’m sorry y/n, I’ll be back” he rushes to the door as he feels his phone buzz again.

As soon as the door to your shared room closes. You’re sliding down the wall as you sob uncontrollably, why was it so easy for him to pick her? Why did he pick her? Why were you never enough?

The rest of the Avengers stand outside your door, hearing your heartbreaking sobs is enough for tony to get Friday to unlock your door before he crouches down next to you, letting you wrap your arms around him and sob into his shirt. “Why wasn’t I enough?” you cry and Tony’s eyes mist over at your heartbroken whisper, he shakes his head as he rubs your back “you are perfect” he whispers as he kisses your forehead. Tony had always been like a father figure to you since you had joined the Avengers, a little older than Peter, he had taken you both under his wing and taught you everything you needed to know.

As much as it hurt all the Avengers to see you so broken, it hurt Tony that much more that this was the one source of pain he couldn’t protect you from. As your anguished sobbing turned into small sniffles, Tony lifts your head and wipes your nose with his sleeve, “eugh” he makes a face and smiles at the small laugh you produce.

You loom around the room to see Peter, Bucky, Sam, Natasha, Bruce, and Wanda all standing or sitting in different parts of the room, watching you with sad gazes, you know they’ve probably already heard the entire fight and you find yourself collecting yourself before you stand up with the help of Tony to look at all of them, “I cant stay here” you admit to them. Their faces fall as they realise that this isn’t your usual fight with Steve and by him choosing to check on Sharon instead of staying with you, he’s lost his place in your life.

Some nod solemnly and other eyes mist over yet they all share an overall agreement knowing that they are willing to do whatever they need to help you heal. It’s surprisingly Tony who voices what everyone else is thinking, “do you not want to wait to hear what he has to say?” he asks softly as you lean on his chest. You shake your head as tears begin to fill your eyes again. “I asked- “your voice breaks, “I begged him to stay” you tell them and watch as sympathy floods their faces.

Wanda and Natasha are the first one’s moving in order to get you out of there, they give everyone tasks so that you have some breathing room, Tony is organizing a safe house out of state while Sam and Bucky are working on getting a plane and pilot to fly you to it. Peter is making food and trying to stock up the house with groceries for the near future and Nat is overseeing his orders to make sure he doesn’t put just junk food on it.

Whist everything around you is moving faster than you can imagine for you to be out of the compound before Steve gets back, which according to Bucky is in the next hour, You and Wanda spend time packing your clothes and essentials you’ll need to have. The quiet in the room is comforting even though you can feel the anxiety slowly overcoming you at the idea of finally leaving Steve.

Wanda breaks the silence as she bombards you with a hug, “I could feel your pain, I thought this might help” and it does, Wanda has an aura around her that is so comforting for everyone around her. You both continue packing before you’re interrupted by Bucky knocking on your open door, he smiles sadly, “we’re ready for you” he says and you nod, picking up the two duffel bags lying on the floor, leaving a piece of paper on the bed before you walk out to the quinjet.

Bucky stops you before getting on the plane, as he grasps your arm, he pulls you into a hug and you know this is his way for apologizing for Steve’s behaviour. “it’s not your fault Buck” you whisper, and you feel him nod into the hug, you were both friends through Steve and you knew just how scared he must be in fear of losing you because of what his friend had done.

Peter is next and you can’t help but laugh through your tears as you see him with tears running down his pouting face, he looks like a puppy. “c’mon parker pull it together’ you roll your eyes and pull him into a hug as he sobs, “you do know I’m coming back, right?” you whisper as his sobs stop and he nods and you both giggle together. “we’re ready for take-off” you hear the pilot through the megaphone, and you release peter to walk onto the plane.

As soon as the door opens for you, you hear your voice being called desperately. “Y/N!!” you hear, and everyone turns around to meet Steve’s broken expression. “NO! Please just hear me out!!” he’s screaming through his tears however Bucky holds him back. “No! Stop the plane please! I need to talk to her” he yells and tries to fight off Bucky to get to you, but you ignore him and wipe your cheeks and make you way onto the plane, “NO! Please y/n stop! I’ll be better baby! Just get off the plane please!” his screams are drowned out as you make your way to the couches on the plane and sob.

“Y/N! Please! Let me talk to her! Please someone! Let me talk to her!” his voice becomes hoarse from all the yelling as he watches the plane take off, he doesn’t stop struggling in Bucky’s hold until the plane disappears. “I’m sorry, God I’m so sorry” he cries into his hands before he collapses, crushing your handwritten letter in one hand as he sobs. Bucky lets everyone leave as he sits with Steve on the ground, watching his best friend fall apart on the dark asphalt.

[marvelcvte]

forbidden touch - steve rogers

*The above image is not intended to force the reader to identify with any of the people in it. Its purpose is to present the concept of the story.*

pairing: steve rogers x f!reader theme: smut warnings: heavy smut (18+, minors dni), handjob (f receiving), oral job (f receiving), edging, praise kink word count: 1,2k summary: you have a crush on steve and he hears you. a/n: hope you like it!! feedback is always appreciated (:

»»————-　　————-««

The feeling of the much needed rest finally assails you as you get comfortable in your bed. The silk sheet embrace you just as perfectly as it always does.

Working out with Steve Rogers is something that you never thought of doing before, but as soon as you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and Nick Fury, that was the first thing they made you do. And apparently they wouldn't let you on a mission without having completed all the sessions.

You weren't complaining at first, since you had a crush on Captain America since the attack of New York. You didn't know him personally yet and you dreamed about him everyday. But after many, many work out sessions you started to hate him.

Not an enemy-like hate, I mean, you don't want him dead. It's more like you-make-me-horny hate. He is so bossy and demanding, and the fact that he turns you on makes you sick.

Of course, seeing him shirtless for four hours straight wasn't helping either. The hand-to-hand combats are the worst. Seeing him so close to you and smelling those nose-filling pheromones and testosterone is why you ended each session horny.

Today is no different. As your head meets the pillow, the only thing you can think about is him. You still imagine those sweaty pecs bouncing every time he jumped, or his arm flexing every time he took a break and drank from his water bottle.

At those thoughts, you find yourself sliding your hand towards your throbbing core. You are not wearing much, just a pair of panties and a sport bra, and this facilitates your eager hands.

Your fingers run on the fabric of your underwear and your legs begin to shake just at the clothed touch. Not so much time passes, that your hand is in your bare, wet folds.

The index finger finds the little button that gives access to your orgasms and it starts to give it round caresses. All your blood rushes between your legs as you speed up the movement. Your lips are parted, but you don't dare make a sound, at the risk of being heard by someone.

As soon as you pick a good rhythm, muffled words exit your mouth. You can't control your vocal cords anymore, since less and less silent moans flood the room.

For this reason, you can't hear the squeaking of the door and the panting of the person resting on the doorjamb. Steve had heard you and he quietly opened the door to see. He is prying on you even though he knew you wouldn't be happy about it.

But something makes him loose his mind and fully enter the room. As soon as he hears you repeat his rank more and more, he decides to get close to you and touch your thigh, without taking his eyes off what you're doing.

"Do you think of me when you touch yourself?" you hear him say as soon as you open your eyes, frightened. The first thing you do is sitting down and covering your shame with the blanket.

"Steve... I mean, Mr. Rogers, what are you doing here? You scared me," you stutter. Your blood rush from your core to your cheeks.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention," he replies, staring directly at your face. "Please, continue what you were doing," he adds at the end.

"What?" the word leaves your mouth too quickly.

"You heard me. Do it, or I'll do it."

His demanding voice enters your ears and then that part of your brain that makes you obey, too clouded by excitement and shame. Your hand returns between your legs and starts moving as fast as before.

You muffle your moans directly down your throat and you close your eyes so as not to look at the Captain. But this is not what he wanted and that's why he wraps his hand around your neck, making your eyes meet his.

Your lips are parted again, this time letting your cries being heard. "That's more like it," he says.

"Now, tell me, do you think of me when you touch yourself?" he asks again. You whine in response, but he growls at you. "Use your words."

And that's what you do. You moan a breathless "yes". The tremor of your thighs increases more and more every time your hand collides with your clit. Tears of excitement form in your eyes and they are fighting to not roll down your cheeks.

"Let me see," Steve says in a very rough voice that should be illegal. With a big gesture, he takes off your blanket, admiring all your lust.

Without further ado, he sits in front of you and his hand takes the place of yours. The wetness of your flesh slips between his fingers as he opens your folds. In a jiffy, his head is between your thighs, testing your flavor.

Your head, instead, is brought back again on your pillow. The room is spinning as the man under you is licking the fuck out of you. His tongue is quick and experienced, as if he had already done what he is doing a thousand times more.

He englobes your clit between his lips, all while his arm is resting on your stomach, holding you still. Your hand travels down your body, into his hair. At this touch, his eyes light up and he stops the pleasure.

You stare down at him with a questioning look. But as soon as he moves away, his fingers enters you without warning. They curl up inside of you, touching every right spot.

"That's what were you dreaming about, uh? You waited for this for so long, didn't you?" he asks you, staring at you, while you can't even utter a word. His movement are fast and your wetness is his natural lube. They come in and out with ease.

Your moans fill the room, and for Steve they're music to his ears. "What's my name, princess?" he asks you.

His fingers speed up, spurring you to answer. His other hand returns on you neck, making your faces too much close. You can feel his breath fanning your open mouth.

"Steve," you finally answer.

"Again," he says.

You repeat it again and again and with every word Steve's fingers increase in speed. From two fingers, to three, until there are four.

Your little hole is stretching around his hand and he can feel your walls clenching as you're near your high.

"I'm close," you warn him, hugging his arm still resting on your neck. In hearing these words, the Captain stops. You give him a nasty look, but he smiles and sits not so far from you.

At the lack of contact your body trembles. "Go ahead and finish what you started," the same commanding voice that you hear in those training session is now used to make you come.

He watches you as your hand is back again on your clit. "Yes, just like that, good job."

It looks like you're back in the gym, but you're sweating for something else. It takes little for you to pour yourself on the bed. You feel relieved and invigorated after an exhausting evening that never seemed to end.

As you open your eyes, coming down from your high, you find Steve still watching you.

"You did great. Next time, keep your voice down if you don't want me to hear you. Or don't."

[theconstantsidekick]

Captain America: Civil War ft. Static (10)

Pairings: Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings), Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader

Genre: Angst with a sprinkle of happiness?

Summary: Goodbyes are a bitch, aren't they? Especially when you the future better than the people in question.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, codename—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Past Trauma

a/n: i wrote this before the entire fucking series

Captain America: Civil War ft. Static (9) | Series Masterlist | Age of Ultron (Static Origin Story) | The Avengers (ft. Static) | Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) | Static Verse Masterlist

“I have been thinking. I do that these days. I think a lot—all the time. You’ll be surprised to hear that it started long before whatever this shitshow was… I have been thinking a lot and I have to tell you, I hate thinking.” Tony’s sitting in his workshop at the compound as a hologram projection of his sister’s recorded message plays in front of him. He watches as she shakes her head with something akin to sorrow.

“It makes me heavy. It bogs me down with the weight of my thoughts—which inevitably turn into feelings. And you—you, Anthony Edward Stark, know better than any man who’s ever lived that my feelings are so. very. big. Humongous. Ginormous. Brobdingnagian.” Y/n laughs then, a broken small little thing, and shifts in her seat where she’s manspreading like she owns whatever place she recorded this message in.

“I think… I think about friendships. I think about you, and Nat, and Rhodey, and Howie, and Maria, and Peggy. Then I think about Thor off in space somewhere. I think about Bruce too and wish he’s miraculously found Thor and is on his way home, hopefully. I think about Sam, I think about Wanda and Vision and Happy and Pep and—it…it makes my heart heavy. Because sometimes I think about family and somehow all the same names pop right back into my head. It makes me feel warm.” She smiles, and his heart—his cheating, broken, angry heart—takes some solace in knowing that at least that was real.

“I remember when Maria handed you to me after she had spent hours screaming for you to just get the hell out of her in that hospital room. I wasn’t in there—in the room, I mean… I was too scared to go in—private moment and all that… Until your father came barging out, all sweaty and scared, like he was about to shit a brick. He walked past me at first but when he did, I got up on my feet and he turned and looked at me and his face went slack. I have never felt that kind of fear. But it was gone as quick as it came cause Howie was shouting at me, asking me where the fuck had I been this entire time while shoving me inside the delivery room. The moment I went in, your mother fucking screamed ‘thank fuck you’re here’! And that was that. If there was a doubt about it before, it was gone now. I was a Stark, through and through. Alien blood be damned. This was my little family.” Her eyes seem misty, Tony notes. She’s all dressed up in a spectacular all-white three-piece suit, with her blazer laid carefully on the back of her seat.

“I held your mother’s hand and watched as the most important person of my life came into existence. We were all crying by then, tears of joy. 

“After it was over, she wanted to get some rest. Howard had apparently shat that brick he was so desperately holding onto by his perky asshole and was therefore already deep in slumber… which by the way—typical Howard. So anyway, Maria wanted a well-deserved nap so she handed you off to me. And I will never forget what she said. ‘Look after him, will you?’ It might have been framed as a question, but a question it was not. It was an order, as clear as day, written in blood and tears and leftover placenta liquid.” It makes Tony wonder how many more stories he has yet to hear. He’s known this woman his entire life, quite fucking literally and yet, in moments like these, the moments that matter the most, she always has a new story for him. 

“I held you in my arms and I had a purpose. From that point on, I would have a purpose for the rest of my cunty god-forsakenly long life—watch out for you. To have your back, no matter what…” She exhales as her head falls, seemingly too heavy with thoughts for her to carry with any ease at all. “I had a duty of care.”

He watches as she brings her palms over her eyes, pressing them in to try to relieve whatever pain she can… None of it lifts, he knows. He’s speaking from experience.

With a deep breath in, she sits up once again. “I am not telling you all this to say that I would have chosen differently. I wouldn’t have. I never could have, I hope—I just hope one day you can understand why that was. I am, however, telling you all this in some twisted way to explain perhaps? All your life you have been used to the idea of me having your back no matter what happened, and this—this fucking cock boggling mess was the first fucking time I ever faltered. And for that… For that, I am deeply sorry, Anthony. My intention has never been to hurt you, ever. I said a lot of things. Really shitty stuff. I said those things in the heat of the moment—I couldn’t fucking stop it, Stark. I just couldn’t. Try as I might, they kept spilling. Th—there was a fucking hole in my chest, burning and itching and drilling deeper still. I couldn’t control it, it ached and hurt and burnt and I just… I couldn’t stop. Because it was fear. Because I was scared. I was—I still am. I am so fucking scared, Tony. I am always so goddamn scared, you know?” She’s a mumbling crying mess now, and Tony feels like absolute fucking shit. 

“The life I had before all this, before you—it was horrid, Tony. It was so bad. I woke up every day hoping it would finally be the day I’d meet the bullet with my name on it and it would be my last. And every fucking day it wasn’t. Which was worse… but it was also better because I didn’t want to die, you know? I didn’t want to die without knowing what it—what it fe—felt like to be happy.

“I kept living in that filth.” There is so much fucking disdain in her voice as she speaks, his own blood starts curdling. “I kept going, kept doing The Orphanage’s dirty work, then I did HYDRA’s dirty work, then I did S.H.I.E.L.D.’s. Because I was scared. And as badly as I wanted to die, I wanted to live way more. I wanted—” She’s out of breath and she looks so fucking distraught, he doesn’t even know how to fucking react. He has never seen her like this. Years and years of living with his sister, an entire life’s worth of memories, and never did he know she was hurting this badly… How the fuck did he not know?

“I just wanted to live. I wanted to escape… one day. And back then, when I was in the fucking thick of it, it never felt like I could. You have to understand, up to that point, I had lived my entire life in what was the equivalent of one fucking jail cell after another. Never in my wildest dreams did I even think of having a room with a window, let alone a view. Even when I thought of it all ending—when I thought of my freedom, I thought of the ways I could hide, of where I could get passports, of what supplies I would need while being on the run from whatever organization had control of me at that time. I just wanted to own myself—and that would have been freedom enough.” 

She composes herself.

“So, when you came to me with all your, honestly, very good intentions of getting us to sign the accords I was—” Her composer slacks, “I was back there again! I was back in a small tiny room, with an open fucking toilet and a bed that made you want to sleep on the floor. I was back to being controlled and tortured and experimented upon and I was back to being played with like a goddamn machine!” She’s almost pleading now, tears running down her face. 

“I would do anything for you, Tony. You have to know that.” There is a seriousness in her words that scare the shit out of him, cause she says, “I would do anything for you. You want the world? It’s yours. I will burn it to the ground if you asked me to, not even question it. You want it whole and pure? I will conquer it for you in a fortnight. But–but,” she breaks once again, “But I couldn’t—I cannot do this. I cannot go back.” She wipes away her tears.

“I have tasted freedom now. I didn’t know how sweet it was before. I didn’t know what it felt like to have a family, to have friends who love me. I didn’t know what it was like to have a room with a view… I didn’t know what it felt like to have a choice. I can’t give it up now, Tony. Please, you have to understand, I can’t. I can’t go back. Please.” She’s fucking begging him now, she’s so desperate that it rips him apart. Is this what went on in her head when he talked about it all? She seems so fragile and afraid… he did this to her? He wasn’t aiming for this. He was never aiming for this. He just wanted to make up for his sins but… at this cost? At her cost?

“You know why I got the cruelest fucking missions they had? The ones that would rot you from the inside out? Cause they knew my past. They’d see my record, and they’d send me off to missions that were soul-sucking, motherfucking shit that made me puke my guts out the moment I was in the clear. Because jobs that filthy belong to people of filth. I got the jobs that couldn’t be done by someone with a soul, done by a man who was whole. It didn’t matter if it was The Orphanage, HYDRA, or even S.H.I.E.L.D. I got the soulless job because they knew I never had one, to begin with…” 

Fuck him.

He’s the most selfish asshole out there.

She exhales then… a pause, a beat, and a moment of soft introspection. He can practically pinpoint the moment she decides to compose herself. It happens between the nervous bite of her lip and her jaw clicking in place. He knows her at least that well…

She sits up straight. “But that was then, and this is now. Now I have. Now I want. I won’t even let anyone touch my freedom, not even in death.” She clicks her tongue. “So it just makes me think, you know? I think about things like this. About you and your parents, and my friends—my family. I think about them. I think about these things when I wake up, when I fight, when I dream. All that is to say… I’m not callous about this life. I am not callous about the decision I made. It weighs on me heavier than you know. It wretches me apart, with every breath…”

He doesn’t want to hear the part that comes next.

“But—but I can’t stay, Tony. You know I can’t… and for that too, I am sorry.” 

He’s never really spent a day in his life when he couldn’t reach out to his sister. He’s a fairly old dude, so you have to pardon him if he’s quite scared of it. He doesn’t know how to do it. He just doesn’t.

“I didn’t know about Barnes. Fuck, I didn’t have the faintest clue. And I absolutely did not know about that traitorous bastard who I won’t even dignify by naming. I—” Her fist clenches as she brings it up to cover her mouth. Her anger is so fucking palpable that Tony thinks he might just be able to sense it, that is until the footage starts glitching and he realizes, it’s cause her anger is making her emanate power. He thought he could hear static because there is fucking static, it is coming from her. She’s trying to calm herself down.

She breathes in, the footage settling. “He doesn’t matter,” She says with cold unfocused eyes and he can see how deep that secret has dung into her. “This isn’t about him. This is… this is about me, pleading with you, urging you to—to” she pauses, long and hard, with a small smile on her face. It’s the same one she wears when she knows she’s about to do something profoundly fucking stupid. Consider Tony terri-fucking-fied. “This is me urging you to, at a much later date in life—try and forgive Sergeant Barnes.”

“Woman, have you gone fucking crazy?!?!! Did you hit your fucking head when you decided TO DROP A BUILDING ON US?!” Tony knows he’s screaming at a holographic projection but it’s not for naught.

Because his sister is waving away his screams with an annoyed face, “Don’t fucking freak the fuck out. Just like, listen to me! TONY!” His tirade stops. She—her recording, somehow just knows. Cause then she exhales. “I am not saying now, and I am certainly not saying you have to. I am just pleading with you to consider it… Because—well because there are countless people out there in the world who…” she bites her lip. “I am to them what Barnes is to you. Except, unlike me, Sergeant Barnes never even had the chance to rebel, he was brainwashed and tortured, and broken down to be used.” And before Tony can begin to protest, her hands fly up to stop him. “That was all I wanted to say about that. I am done, the decision is completely up to you. Just you, and there is absolutely no right answer, just the one you choose. This was just…” she smiles, “something for you to think about.” 

He can’t help the corner of his mouth from curling a little as well.

She kicks back then, hands crossed in front of her as she looks around wherever she is. “That, yeah. I think that was my grand speech. I know it feels like I’m leaving you behind somehow, but I promise you I am not. I’m just a… actively hunted fugitive of the state.” She shakes her head from side to side in consideration before adding, “And I have a few dues to pay… I’ll be back once they are cleared.” 

She looks up at him then. It almost feels like she’s in the room with him.

“But no matter what happens, I’m here, Tony. You know how to reach me. And I will always come when you call. I will always be there for you. Even if you don’t see me there, trust me. I am there. I will always have your back.”

Something catches her eye, she pulls out her phone and checks it.

Rolling her eyes, she pockets the device and looks back up at the camera.

“Ugh, yeah. I think our time here is up…” She finally smiles, happy and true. “You just pulled in, so I gotta run.”

WAIT, WHAT??

HE JUST PULLED IN? 

TO WHERE?!!

He runs back to his station, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. run diagnostics on the recording, analyze it top to bottom, tell me where it was taken.”

Meanwhile, he watches as his sister stands up. 

“I love you, kiddo. And I’m always right behind you.”

More commotion on the recording as F.R.I.D.A.Y. responds, “Sir, the footage was taken here, at the Avenger’s compound.”

“That cocky bitch,” Tony curses, almost in awe of her. Cause fuck! Even Rogers had the good sense to courier his fucking apology. What was this woman thinking? “Tell me when F.R.I.D.A.Y.!”

He watches as his sister puts on her blazer and fixes up her suit.

“17 minutes ago, sir,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. answers.

“WHAT?!”

“There was a gap in the security footage, it was cloned to play in a loop. It’s almost seamless sir, except this,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. presents the footage on the screen in front of him.

Meanwhile, the hologram of his sister walks up close to the camera and leans down to look at it face-to-face. She presses a kiss to her fingers and presses the fingers to the camera.

“See you, space cowboy.” With that, the holograph is gone.

Tony falls onto his chair in complete surprise and an unwitting smile on his face, as he watches his sister on the CCTV footage waving at him with a wink.

“That fucking—”

Find the series masterlist here. Find other Static Verse works here.

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i post at weird times, please join the tag list to get notified. DMs are open

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Protecting my best friend

PAIRING | Steve Rogers x Avenger!Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 1K

SUMMARY | All of the Avengers are going to a bar, and Steve is keeping a close eye on the man who is trying to get your attention. He is trying his hardest to keep his cool, but he won't hesitate to intervene when things go too far, and you're getting uncomfortable.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Protective Steve, a SHIELD agent making sexist jokes about women, non-consensual touching (not sexual, just physical), and broken bones.

A/N | I would absolutely love to write more for Steve, so if you have a request, please let me know! It can be fluff, smut or angst - or a combination! Thank you in advance! 🖤

Likes, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Main Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist

''Dude, you really need to calm down, everything is okay!'' Sam says as he looks at the scowl on Steve's face. He's been watching you and the man you're talking to like a hawk because he doesn't want anything to happen to you. ''I don't know, she seems uncomfortable,'' he says as he's looking at the SHIELD agent you're talking to. You're completely fine, but Steve has always been very protective of you since you joined the team. While you're talking to the agent you keep looking over to Steve, and you have noticed he keeps staring at you, so you excuse yourself for a moment to talk to him.

''Steve, you honestly have a bigger staring problem than Barnes,'' you say with a sigh as you're standing in front of him. Everyone at the table chuckles at your remark, and you're getting a soft ''Hey!'' from Bucky, but he laughs too. ''I'm absolutely fine, so can you please just let me finish my conversation with Connor before you start burning holes into the back of my head?'' you ask him and he nods, grabbing his drink and turning back on the stool he's sitting on so he's facing the other Avengers again.

You walk back to the agent you were having a conversation with. ''I'm so sorry for that, Connor, Captain Rogers was just worried,'' you say with a small smile, and he nods. ''It's okay, but I would be worried too if I were him. I wouldn't let such a gorgeous lady like yourself talk to other men,'' he shrugs and now you are getting a little uncomfortable even though he called you gorgeous. The two of you carried on your conversation, but he kept making more sexist remarks like that and now you honestly wish Steve was looking your way. ''Sorry, I have to go to the bathroom,'' you say and you're starting to walk away, but he doesn't let you as he grabs your arm.

You let out a small whine at the feeling of him squeezing your arm like that, and due to Steve and his super soldier hearing, he can hear you perfectly fine. His head snaps to the side in an instant and when he sees what is happening, he pulls Bucky off of the stool next to him and he immediately follows Steve. ''Are you okay, Pumpkin?'' he asks and you shake your head, because Connor is still holding your arm pretty tightly, making tears stream down your face. Steve grabs Connor's arm and in an instant, he lets go of your arm, Bucky pulls you away from him and out of the way so he can take care of you.

''How bad does it hurt, doll?'' Bucky says as he inspects the place on your upper arm where Connor squeezed you. ''It mostly burns, but that's it. But I was really scared, he was okay one minute but when I came back he made all these sexist remarks about me and women in general and when I excused myself to go to the bathroom he didn't let me,'' You explain, the tears streaming down your face more steadily now. ''Oh doll, I'm so sorry about what happened,'' he says as he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you as he shields you with his body from what is happening behind the two of you.

Steve dragged Connor outside by his collar and pushed him into an alley, so they wouldn't be seen. You ran after the both of them at first but Bucky was quick enough to stand in front of you since you didn't want to go back inside. ''I just can't believe he's doing this, he has no right to be jealous. I get that he was making sexist remarks and everything, but Steve is going too far now,'' you say, softly sobbing into Bucky's chest. ''Doll, I promise you he's not doing it because he's jealous, he's just extremely protective over you. I get that it looks like he's jealous, but he isn't,'' Bucky says, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

You're well aware that Steve has always been protective - and sometimes even possessive - over you, but you didn't mind until tonight. You could hear grunts and the sounds of broken bones coming from behind the thick wall of muscle your cheek was pressed up against, and it only made you sob harder into Bucky's chest, you never meant for any of this to happen. Not long after you can hear Connor groan so you know he's still alive, and Bucky's body quickly gets replaced with Steve's as he pulls you into his arms this time. ''I'm so sorry you had to hear all of that Pumpkin,'' he says against your hair, but all you can do is cry into his chest.

''C'mon, let's go back to the Compound so you can calm down a little, okay?'' Steve says and you nod. The Compound isn't far from the bar where you were so he just picked you up and carried you there, and Bucky informed everyone inside the two of you went back. ''Can I sleep in your bed tonight? Don't want to be alone,'' you ask and Steve nods. ''Of course, Pumpkin,'' he says, and when the two of you reach his bedroom, he sets you down on the bed and he hands you one of his old t-shirts to sleep in. He goes to the bathroom to change in there so you could have some privacy as you changed into the shirt Steve gave you, which was way too big but it smells like him so it's okay.

''Can I come back in?'' Steve asks and you say that he can. You already went and laid down under the covers, and not long after Steve slipped in beside you. You move over to him and your head finds his place on his chest, your leg put over his. His arms are around you and pulling you closer before he puts a soft kiss on your forehead. ''Thank you for protecting me, it means a lot,'' you say and Steve just smiles. ''Everything for my Pumpkin,'' he says, and your eyes fall shut as sleep is taking over quickly when you're wrapped in his warm body acting like your personal heater. You have a nice dreamless sleep and feel well-rested in the morning, and you're even more thankful for Steve saving you now.

[sunvmars]

bitter sweet | s.r.

pairing: steve rogers x fem/afab reader

next ↠

word count: 2.8k

warnings: obv swearing, pregnancy/pregnant reader, some angst that's mainly reader trying to cover up hidden emotions

summary: you've grown to resent steve after a breakup and give him the cold shoulder for weeks. you soon discover you're pregnant and show back up on his doorstep to tell him the news.

a/n: definitely turning this into a series if it gains enough traction!

It was a warm summer evening like any other when Steve had asked you to come straight home after work, insisting he had something important to talk about. You had entered your shared apartment with expectations of a nice dinner or a movie night. Considering Steve was always one for suspension, surprise plans and at-home date nights weren't unusual.

You set your purse down on the table by the front door before sinking into your favorite recliner. The setting sun cast a glow amongst the living room that you greatly appreciated, although it was a glow that was far too beautiful to be wasted on that night.

"Steve! I'm home!"

Only a few seconds after you'd called out had he come, practically, running. He came to sit on the couch, only a few feet away, his expression conflicted.

"I missed you today," you said.

You beamed at your fiancé, simply happy to see him after another shitty work day. While you were an Avenger, you stuck to mainly office work when you had no missions.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "Y/n, honey, I think we need to talk."

Your heart sank, and a lump formed in your throat. You knew Steve like the back of your hand, and every time he has said the words "we need to talk," it's never been good.

"Is Buck sneaking over to eat all of our sweets again? I thought you talked to him about that," you joked in an attempt to lighten the tension.

"Funnily enough, no, he hasn't done that in a few days."

"Well, don't jinx it."

He chuckled briefly. His hands ran over his face as he sighed, and his broad shoulders relaxed.

"I've been thinking- a lot," he began, avoiding your gaze. "Baby, you know I love you, right?"

You hummed, giving him a nod that allowed him to continue.

"I love you, but..."

As soon as you had heard the "but," you tuned out. Whether it was by choice, or whether your mind and heart already knew what he was going to say and were just saving you the extra heartbreak, you weren't sure. You did, however, catch the last part of it. And luckily, the last part was all you needed to hear from him.

"I can't allow this to continue. I'm no good for you, y/n. I can't be the man you need or deserve right now. It's not fair to keep you waiting while I'm still trying to figure out what I want."

Your brows furrowed as your body started becoming tense. "What...?" you muttered.

It was less of a question and more of you thinking aloud, vocalizing your confusion. Unless you were a completely oblivious idiot, things between the two of you were fine yesterday, and every day before that for the last two years. He sighed, finally meeting your gaze. His eyes were filled with regret that you somehow missed.

"I... I can't take the risk anymore. I need to focus on my responsibilities and protecting the world. It's just... I can't let my personal life get in the way of my promise to the world."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away before they could fall. You had the same job, so how could the man who had proposed only a few months ago just now, after two years, decide he couldn't make this work because of his job? Either way, that man didn't deserve your tears, so you wouldn't waste them on him. You stood quickly, not bothering to look back at him as you made your way towards the door.

"Y/n? Where are you going? Please say something, baby-"

"Don't! You don't get to call me that anymore," you snapped, finally allowing yourself to show some sort of emotion. "Just...stop. There's nothing else to say."

His eyes widened a little at your sudden outburst. You picked up your purse and keys hastily. Your fingers fidgeted with the keys for a moment, then you started sliding your house key off your keychain. It was then that you decided to speak again before he got the chance to, not caring to hear another word from him.

"I'll have someone come get my stuff tomorrow; do whatever you want with the apartment, as long as you don't have to contact me to do it."

"Y/n," he spoke with softened, glossy eyes, "please, just stay until you find somewhere else to go. This is your home too, I-"

"There's too much of you, well, what used to be us, here," you stated plainly as you placed your key on the table. "Where I go isn't your problem anymore anyway."

A sigh escaped your lips as you slung your purse over your shoulder. You turned to face him one last time as you stood in the doorway.

"Oh, and one more thing," you say, "You are a fucking coward, Steven Grant Rogers."

The door slammed behind you. And what you'd left behind was a deeply regretful, and utterly stupid, Steve sitting alone on the couch in the apartment you once shared.

That was almost two months ago, and your heart had not allowed you to heal at all. As if seeing Steve in passing at work wasn't painful enough, now you had an important mission coming up tomorrow, and being chosen to go with him was inevitable. Or at least you thought it was inevitable. It had all started earlier in the morning with a rotten egg- an actual rotten egg, that is.

You were baking cookies for Bucky, fully aware of how much he'd miss your baked goods for the next week or two you would be gone. Over the time that you and Steve had dated and been engaged, you'd gotten pretty close with the brunette. He was equally supportive of both of you during the breakup. Though he did lay into Steve for leaving you. Bucky knew there was more to it than his job; both of you had the same job for Christ's sake, but he didn't push his friend for answers—at least not yet.

With one gentle motion, you cracked the egg on the side of your metal bowl. However, this egg had a smell to it. You brought it closer to your face to observe and smell it. What a horrible mistake, though, because as soon as you inhaled the sickening, sulfur-like scent, it made your stomach turn. But instead of going back to normal, you gagged. The scent was lingering longer than any other scent you'd ever smelled, almost as if you were permanently damned to having the smell stuck in your nostrils.

Then the hot stomach acid started coming up, and it was coming fast, signaling you needed a trashcan now. You bolted towards the nearest bathroom, preferring to take a chance on making a mess in a hallway rather than the kitchen. You passed Steve and Bucky on your way there, both men stopping dead in their tracks to watch as you ran into the bathroom only a few feet behind them.

"Huh," Steve mumbled, his heart throbbing at the sight of you.

"Sometimes I get sick when I look at you too, punk."

Bucky chuckled at his own joke, earning a glare from Steve.

"Go check on her for me, please."

"Always. But I won't keep giving you updates on her, y'know? It's not fair to her, Steve," Bucky sighed.

Steve only nodded in understanding, a smile only staying on his lips for a few seconds. He patted Bucky's back before turning on his heels and continuing on his path.

Your stomach clenched harder, and the vomit raced up your throat faster than ever. You barely got to the toilet before retching and gagging again, feeling instant relief when the bile finally came up. But then came a sudden second wave of nausea that seemed to be worse than the first. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the torture finally ended.

You stood up slowly and made your way to the sink. After tearing off a piece of paper towel, you dampened it under warm water. You wiped your mouth off with the damp napkin and threw it away before opening the door to leave.

"You okay?"

You jumped back slightly, looking over to meet piercing blue eyes. There was Bucky leaning up against the wall next to the bathroom door with his arms crossed.

"Jesus, Buck. You stalking me?"

"Stalking you? Definitely not. If I wanted to stalk someone, I'd find someone more interesting who doesn't eat half pints of vanilla bean ice cream and watch Pride and Prejudice or The Notebook every night," he jokes.

"Hey! It's how I cope and get over things; it's soothing."

"Yet you still pine over him, so how's that working out for ya?"

"...not great. Maybe I do need a new method, huh?"

The two of you exchange a laugh, and you start making your way back to the kitchen with Bucky right on your heels.

"So, are you okay?" he questions again.

"Just felt a little sick, that's all. And, hey, here's a tip: don't ever smell a rotten egg, it's not a pleasant experience," you say with a soft sigh.

He chuckles at your joke and replies, "Thank you for that. I'll remember that."

When you make it to the kitchen, he plants himself on a bar stool only a few feet away from you. You decide to continue making your cookies, holding your breath as you clean up the old egg.

"Wow, I can smell that from here. You weren't lying. That is bad."

His nose turns up and his face scrunches, earning a giggle from you. You two chat as you make the dough, and soon enough, you're finished baking. As you put the last cookies on the tray, Bucky stands up to get a closer look.

"God. Per usual, those smell amazing," he groans, reaching for one of the hot sweets.

You swat his hand away with a laugh. "Not until they're cooled down!"

He fakes a frown that makes you laugh again. You shake your head, making a 'tsk' noise at him.

"You're a menace, Buck," you joke.

He only shrugs his shoulders with a lopsided grin, then he pulls you into a hug. "Somebody has to get on your nerves. It keeps you distracted and on your feet," he teases.

"Thank you for being here for me."

Your body relaxes in his arms. You wrap your arms around his upper waist to return the sentiment. You take a deep breath and then pull away from the hug.

"How are you feeling, by the way?"

"It's almost like it never happened," you smirk.

"That's a lie, and you know it."

You're about to speak again, but close your mouth as soon as it opens. The nausea pools in your stomach again, forcing a huff out of you.

"I think I'm gonna be sick again."

"You're still feeling that bad over it?"

"No, I genuinely think I'm gonna throw up again, Buck," you say hurriedly, pushing by him to get back to the bathroom. "Put those cookies in a bag, Barnes! They're all yours!"

He chuckles and holds his thumb up in the air, even though you can't see it. "And you get yourself to the doctor, l/n."

And going to the doctor is exactly what you chose to do.

Well, almost.

You instead chose to go to the lab with Tony and Bruce, and you only decided to go after about the fourth wave of nausea that came around five hours after the first. Which is how you ended up in the lab with grippy socks on and a cold Sprite in hand as you await blood and urine test results.

"So, how are you holding up, kid?" Tony asks, his eyes glued to his computer.

"Been better, had better days."

He looks away from his computer for a moment, making eye contact with you. "I could just kill him for hurting you, and I hope you know that," he states, his voice carrying nothing but genuine honesty.

"Aw, Tony, you're just like the dad I never dreamed of having—violently overprotective and overdramatic."

Bruce chuckles, but Tony just rolls his eyes, focusing back on his computer.

"That's what I get for trying to be nice to you," Tony scoffs, trying his best to hide the smile that wants to creep onto his face.

"I'm going to take a walk, Tony. I'll be back in a few minutes," Bruce announces as he rises from his chair. "If the computer beeps, it's her results coming back."

"Got it," Tony responds plainly, entirely too distracted by something on his screen.

The computer beeps only a few minutes after Bruce walks out, indicating an update to your information. Tony swivels his chair over to the big screen and pulls up your test results. He studies them carefully, not saying a word.

"So...what's wrong with me?"

He's still silent when he turns to face you. At first, he looks shocked, but then his brows furrow and his eyes narrow ever so slightly. If you hadn't known him for as long as you have, you'd think he was judging you based on his facial expression, but you knew he wasn't. He looked conflicted and confused, almost hesitant.

"What is it, Tone? You're freaking me out here. Is it the flu? A stomach bug? Food poisoning?"

"How about a baby?"

Your jaw drops, literally. The words pool in your mind, and your brain starts feeling like it's going to explode from all the different emotions and thoughts. You start to feel sick to your stomach again but manage to push the feeling down.

"I..." you start, unable to find the words to finish.

"I'm sorry, y/n. I won't tell anyone, okay? Not even Bruce. We need to set you up with a doctor. I have an amazing one I can call to come here and-"

"I appreciate that, Tony, but I need time to think first. We'll, uhm, talk tomorrow if that's okay."

"Of course," he empathizes, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. "Come here, kid."

You shuffle your way into his open arms, not having the energy to return the hug. He pulls away after a few seconds and allows you to step back.

"I think I'm gonna go...or something... I don't know," you mumble, making your way towards the door.

"Hey, y/n?"

"Yeah?"

"If this is something you want, don't let him ruin it for you."

As soon as you leave the lab, it's like you're on autopilot.

Your feet took you to the downstairs office, then outside, and then to your car. When you get into your car, you tell yourself you're going to the store to grab some more ice cream. But your heart has other ideas; ideas such as Steve.

So, you drive yourself all the way to Steve's apartment, just wanting to be comforted by the familiarity for a moment. Then, somehow, you end up outside the front door of what used to be your shared space.

Your soft knock pulls Steve from the closest to sleep he's been in weeks. He curses under his breath, loathing whoever is at the door for ruining his chance at a few minutes to hours of peace.

However, that hate replaces itself with regret and adoration as soon as he opens the door to reveal your slouched-over form. Steve recognizes that look on your face, along with your body language, and it's evident that something is wrong.

As if you showing up at his door isn't surprising enough, you look up at him before letting yourself fall into his arms. He stands in shock as you lay your head on his warm and familiarly sculpted chest. Then sobs wrack through you, shaking your whole body, and that's all it takes for him to give into instinct and wrap his arms around you. The heat of his body and the feeling of his embrace provide a warming comfort as you cry into his shirt, only coaxing you further to let it all go.

One of his hands rubs your back gently while he holds you. "Y/n? What's wrong, honey? Talk to me," he coos.

You feel a tightness in your chest, a feeling that you can't put into words right now even if you tried your hardest to. In fact, all you can do is cry more as you hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt. You practically crumble into his chest, melting in his arms, and Steve understands. That's what made you fall for him in the first place, honestly - he always understands.

So, with no more words spoken, he holds you in the same doorway you walked out of only a couple of weeks ago. He holds you in that doorway until your tears slow and your breathing returns to normal. At some point, his thick fingers begin combing through your hair soothingly, the same way they used to every night at bedtime.

"I don't know what your stance on kids before marriage and after a breakup is, but you should figure it out soon," you mutter into his chest.

His body freezes, and his mind scrambles to catch up with your words. He looks down at your head, his eyebrows furrowing as he tries to make sense of the situation.

Are you truly saying what he thinks you are? You couldn't be...

"I'm pregnant, Steve."

[brunchable]

Love Child | Steve Rogers × f!Reader.

Words: 7.1K Themes: ANGST, betrayal of trust, break-up. Twigger Warning: Panic attack. Summary: You find out that Steve has a child, and the problem was, you weren't the mother. A/N: Read it if you want to hurt. I woke up and chose emotional damage LMAO. Today I am brave enough to post a Steve angst with no happy ending, I have been stalling but eh. A/N: Also I need to organize who wants to get tagged for ALL of my Steve Rogers fic. I am in a mess here, so if I am not tagging you, that's the reason.

Tags: @mrsevans90 @haruvalentine4321

You stared at the letter in your hands, the words blurring as tears welled in your eyes. Your chest tightened, the walls of the room closing in on you. The world tilted and spun, a sharp pain cutting through your heart as if it had been pierced by a dagger you never saw coming.

The paper crumpled in your hand as the weight of the revelation crushed you. Steve has a child. And the mother was Sharon.

A ragged breath escaped you, your body trembling as you stumbled back, gripping the edge of the counter to keep yourself upright. How long? The question echoed in your mind, over and over again.

How long had Steve kept this from you? How long had he looked you in the eyes, told you he loved you, and hidden this secret?

The door creaked open, and you turned, your heart already in tatters, your hands gripping the countertop so hard your knuckles turned white. Steve walked in, his expression soft, unaware of the storm raging within you.

He froze when he saw your face—your red-rimmed eyes, your trembling body. His gaze dropped to the letter in your hand, and in an instant, you saw the recognition hit him hard.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice careful, cautious, like he knew he was stepping into dangerous territory.

“You—” Your voice cracked, but you forced the words out, the pain burning through your chest. “You have a child?”

Steve’s face paled. He opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“No. You don’t get to talk right now,” you spat, your voice shaking with barely controlled fury. “How long were you planning to hide this from me, Steve?”

“Y/N, it’s not what you think—”

You laughed, the sound bitter. “Not what I think? Steve, you have a child with Sharon. A child. And you didn’t think I had the right to know?”

His jaw tightened, guilt flickering across his face, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing he could say now would ever be enough.

“How long?” you demanded, your voice rising. “How long have you known?”

He hesitated, and that hesitation was like another stab to your already bleeding heart.

“Three years,” he whispered, barely able to meet your eyes.

You froze. “Three years?”

It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you, the air knocked from your lungs. You took a step back, trying to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

“Three years, Steve?” you repeated, your voice soft but trembling with every word. “You’ve known for three years, and you didn’t tell me? You didn’t think that I should know that the man I love has a child?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Steve started, stepping forward, but you recoiled from him, shaking your head.

“That’s your excuse?” you said, incredulous. “You didn’t know how to tell me? So you just decided not to? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you think this would never come up?”

Steve’s face twisted in pain, but you couldn’t stop. The dam had broken, and all the hurt, the betrayal, poured out of you like a flood.

“Do you have any idea what that feels like? To find out like this?” You threw the crumpled letter at his chest, your voice breaking as the tears spilled over. “I’ve stood by you through everything. I’ve defended you when everyone else doubted you. I’ve fought for us. I trusted you with everything—and you kept this from me?”

“Y/N, please,” Steve pleaded, his voice cracking. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” you repeated, your voice trembling with disbelief. “Well, guess what, Steve? You did. You hurt me more than anyone ever has. You kept this secret from me, and now I don’t even know who you are.”

He took another step closer, desperation etched into every line of his face. “I didn’t love Sharon. It wasn’t—”

“I don’t care about Sharon!” you shouted with a bite, cutting him off. “I care about the fact that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. I care about the fact that you’ve looked me in the eyes, slept beside me, told me you loved me—all while hiding this.”

Steve’s lips parted, but no words came out. And in that silence, something inside you shattered.

“I loved you, Steve,” you whispered, the tears flowing freely now, no longer caring to hold them back. “I loved you more than anything. But now? Now all I feel is… hollow.”

He flinched as if the word struck him deeply, but it didn’t stop you. 

“You had a choice, Steve. You could have trusted me. You could have told me the truth. But instead, you chose to keep me in the dark. You chose to lie. And now?” Your voice broke again, the weight of your words settling in the air between you. “Now, I don’t even know if I can ever forgive you for that—”

“Oh my God! Will you let me explain?!” Steve exploded, his voice shaking the walls. He stepped forward, fists clenched, his entire body vibrating with anger. “You keep going on and on, like I wanted this to happen! You think I wanted to hide this from you? You don’t even know what it was like!”

Your head snapped back, and your voice matched his fury. “I don’t know what it was like? I’m the one who’s been fooled! For three years! You kept this massive secret from me, and now I’m the one who doesn’t understand?”

“Yeah, you don’t!” he shot back, stepping closer, the space between you charged, toxic. “You have no idea what it was like carrying that around. Every day, wondering if telling you would blow everything apart!”

“Well, guess what?” you yelled, voice rising as your hands trembled at your sides. “You didn’t have to wonder, Steve. Because it’s blown apart now!”

Steve’s jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might shatter. “I didn’t lie, Y/N. I didn’t know about the kid until after we were already together!”

“You lied by not telling me when you found out!” you screamed, your chest heaving with the effort. “You made me believe there were no secrets between us, and all this time, you’ve been hiding something so huge! You have a child! A whole other life with Sharon!”

“It’s not a life!” Steve roared, his voice breaking under the weight of his anger. “It was a mistake! Something I never wanted in the first place!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide it? Were you too much of a coward to be honest with me?” Your words hit like daggers, your chest burning from the emotional wreckage piling up between you.

Steve’s face twisted into something hard, something darker. “Coward? Coward? You want to talk about being a coward? How about the time you lied to me?”

Your breath hitched, your eyes narrowing in confusion and shock. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he spat, his voice venomous. “You remember that night you said you were out with Nat, but really, you were meeting with Bucky behind my back. You lied to me about that. Don’t act like you’re innocent here.”

“That’s not the same thing!” you snapped, shaking your head as you stepped closer, your heart hammering in your chest. “I didn’t lie about having a whole ass child, Steve! There’s a pretty huge difference!”

Steve let out a bitter, angry laugh, running his hands through his hair. “No, it’s not the same, but you still lied. You lied because you didn’t want to deal with my reaction, just like I didn’t want to deal with this.”

“I lied about a mission! A mission. Not something that would change everything between us. Don’t you dare try to make this about me when you’re the one who’s been hiding a child for years!”

“You’re so self-righteous,” Steve snapped, his voice full of heat, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger. “You act like you’re perfect, like you’ve never made a mistake. You’re so focused on my screw-ups, but you don’t even see your own.”

Your mouth dropped open, the words barely able to form as you stared at him in disbelief. “You’re trying to make this my fault? You’re actually blaming me for this?”

Steve’s eyes blazed as he stepped forward, his voice low, seething. “I’m saying you act like you’re the only one who’s hurt here. Like you’re the only one who has a right to be angry. But guess what, Y/N? I’m angry too. I’m angry that I had to carry this weight alone because I didn’t know how to tell you without you tearing me apart for it.”

“You chose that!” you shot back, your voice shaking with fury. “You chose to keep this from me, Steve. Don’t try to make it seem like I forced your hand. You had every chance to be honest, and you didn’t. That’s on you.”

“Of course, it’s on me!” Steve shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “But you act like I’m the only one who’s ever messed up, like your lies don’t count. Like your secrets are somehow better.”

You felt your chest tighten, the tears of rage building again behind your eyes. “You have no right to stand there and compare this to anything I’ve done. You hid a child from me, Steve. Do you even get how massive that is? You took away my right to know.”

“I know!” he yelled, his voice breaking. “I know I fucked up. I know I should’ve told you, but I was scared, okay? I was scared of what it would do to us.”

“And now look at us,” you whispered, the words filled with raw pain. “It’s worse. It’s so much worse because you waited. Because you lied.”

Steve took a deep breath, his voice softening but still tinged with anger. “I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“But you did,” you said, your voice breaking. “You hurt me more than you can imagine. And the worst part is, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at you the same way again.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as the weight of your words settled between you. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, stepping back, the tears spilling over now, hot and fast. “You broke us, Steve.”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice small, broken. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to fix this.

“I hope it was worth it,” you spat, turning your back on Steve as you stormed toward the stairs. The anger radiated off you, the floor trembling beneath your footsteps as you ascended.

“Y/N—where are you going? What are you doing?” Steve called after you, his voice still thick with frustration and desperation. You didn’t turn back, didn’t even acknowledge him as your heart pounded violently in your chest.

Your feet carried you faster, the distance between you and Steve becoming a chasm you knew neither of you could cross again. You reached the bedroom, flinging the closet doors open with a sharp tug. Your hands shook as you grabbed your suitcase, throwing it onto the bed with a loud thud.

“Y/N, stop!” Steve’s voice was closer now, frantic as he followed you up the stairs, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. “What are you doing?”

But you kept your back to him, ignoring the pleading edge to his voice as you tore clothes from hangers, shoving them into the suitcase with reckless abandon.

“Y/N—talk to me!” Steve’s voice was sharp, almost panicked now, but you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

The closet was a blur of motion as you threw more and more into your bag, your breath coming out in ragged gasps as you fought to keep from sobbing. You had to focus, had to keep moving, because if you stopped—if you stopped for even one second—you knew you’d break completely.

“Where are you going?” Steve demanded, his voice breaking as he grabbed your arm, forcing you to face him. “What are you doing, Y/N?”

Your eyes snapped up to his, blazing with fury. You ripped your arm out of his grasp, your voice dripping with venom. “I’m leaving, Steve. What does it look like I’m doing?”

He blinked, stunned by your words, his hands falling to his sides. “You’re not… You can’t just—”

“I can,” you cut him off, zipping up the half-packed suitcase with a sharp tug. “And I will.”

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths. “You’re just going to walk away? After everything?”

You whirled on him, your eyes flashing. “What else do you want me to do, Steve? Stay? Pretend like everything’s fine? You betrayed me.” 

You shook your head, grabbing another handful of clothes and shoving them into the suitcase. “I can’t do that.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, his voice filled with a desperate edge. “I made a mistake, Y/N! I know I did. But you can’t just throw everything away like this.”

“You threw it away,” you snapped, your voice rising again, your hands trembling as you yanked open the dresser. “The second you decided to lie to me, you threw us away.”

His hand slammed against the dresser, stopping your frantic movements, his voice breaking with emotion. 

“I didn’t want to lose you!”

You froze, your fingers gripping the edge of the drawer, your heart pounding in your ears. 

“Well, congratulations, Steve,” you whispered, your voice raw and ragged. “You lost me anyway.”

You pulled away from him, resuming your packing with a fury, trying to shove everything into the suitcase as quickly as possible. You couldn’t stay here any longer—not with him, not after everything.

“Y/N, please,” Steve’s voice cracked, and for the first time, you heard the fear beneath the anger. “Don’t do this. We can fix this.”

You snapped the suitcase shut, turning to face him one last time, your throat burning as you fought so hard not to break down in front of him. “We can’t fix this, Steve. You broke it. You broke us. And I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.”

His face crumpled, the pain in his eyes matching the hollow ache in your chest. “I love you, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat as you turned away from him, grabbing your suitcase and pulling it off the bed. 

“I wish that was enough,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Steve took a step forward, his hand reaching out as if he could pull you back, but you were already gone. Already walking toward the door, the weight of everything crashing down around you.

You didn’t look back as you left, didn’t let yourself see the devastation on his face. Because if you did—if you saw the hurt in his eyes—you might have broken completely.

× × × × 

The rain hammered against the windshield, streaking in endless lines, distorting the world outside as you drove aimlessly through the storm. The wipers struggled to keep up, but it didn’t matter—you could barely see through the blur of tears clouding your vision.

Your hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as your chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths. The weight of everything was too much—the anger, the betrayal, the unbearable ache in your heart. It felt like your whole world had collapsed in a single moment, and now you were drowning in the wreckage.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

With a sharp jerk, you pulled the car to the side of the road, the tires skidding slightly on the wet pavement. The sound of the blinker clicked furiously in the sudden stillness, an incessant reminder of the chaos swirling inside you.

And then, the dam broke.

A sob ripped from your throat, deep and raw, shaking your entire body as you collapsed forward, your head falling against the steering wheel. The tears came in a rush, uncontrollable and violent, each breath harder to take than the last. You gasped, but no air came—just the suffocating weight of your own grief, crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Your chest ached, a sharp, stabbing pain that radiated through your ribs, like something inside you was breaking apart, splintering under the pressure. You tried to breathe, but the sobs came too fast, too strong, wrenching your body with each convulsion.

It felt like your heart was being crushed, squeezed until it couldn’t beat anymore. You pressed a hand to your chest, desperate, coughing between sobs as you tried to force the air back into your lungs. But it wouldn’t come.

You were drowning.

The sound of the blinker ticked steadily in the background, but all you could hear was your own ragged breathing, the gasps for air that never came, the broken cries that tore from your throat.

You couldn’t stop.

The tears burned as they fell, hot and endless, but you didn’t wipe them away. You couldn’t. Your body was shaking, your chest so tight it felt like you were being crushed from the inside. Every sob sent fresh waves of pain through you—pain so deep it felt like your heart was being ripped apart.

You heaved, gasping, your hand clutching your chest as though you could somehow hold yourself together. But you couldn’t. Everything inside you was breaking, crumbling under the weight of the agony that consumed you.

You coughed, your throat raw from the sobs, the pressure in your chest building until it felt like you might burst. You wanted it to stop—needed it to stop—but the pain only deepened, settling into every corner of your body, pressing down harder with every breath you couldn’t take.

You screamed then, the sound tearing through the car, harsh and guttural, a cry that came from somewhere deep inside—the part of you that had been shattered beyond repair. It filled the space, mingling with the sound of the rain and the steady tick of the blinker, a scream of pure, unfiltered anguish.

And still, the tears came.

It felt like hours before the sobs began to slow, before the heaving breaths turned into shallow gasps, your body trembling from the exertion. But the pain remained—a deep, aching wound that throbbed in your chest, a constant reminder that everything you had was gone.

Your hands shook as you wiped your eyes, though the tears wouldn’t stop completely. You leaned back in the seat, staring blankly out at the rain-soaked world, feeling empty. Hollow.

And as the blinker continued to tick, the world outside was nothing but a blur of rain and darkness, you realized you didn’t know how to pick up the pieces of what was left of you.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your phone, the weight of it heavy in your palm, the screen blurred by the tears still streaming down your face. Every part of you ached—your chest tight, your breath shaky, the sobs still threatening to break free. You could barely see through the haze of grief, but you needed someone. Needed someone to pull you out of this spiral before it swallowed you whole.

With a shaking hand, you scrolled through your contacts, and your thumb hovered over her name—Nat. The one person who had always been there, who wouldn’t ask too many questions, who would understand with just a single word.

The ringing felt like it stretched on forever, each second punctuated by the relentless ticking of the blinker, the steady beat of rain against the windshield.

Finally, the call connected.

"Y/N?" Nat’s voice was soft. 

You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. A choked sob escaped you instead, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You clutched the phone tighter, your other hand pressing hard against your chest, as though you could hold yourself together long enough to speak.

"Y/N?" Nat’s voice sharpened, filled with worry now. "What’s going on? Are you okay?"

"I—I can’t—" The words came out broken, shattered between sobs. You coughed, gasping for breath, trying to force out the words that felt stuck in your throat. "I can’t… breathe."

"Hey, hey, breathe." Nat’s voice softened, grounding you, pulling you out of the suffocating darkness. "Take a breath. What’s going on?"

You sucked in a breath, but it was jagged, painful. The tears wouldn’t stop, your chest still heaving, but Nat’s voice kept you tethered, kept you from spiraling further.

“It’s Steve,” you whispered, voice barely audible through the sobs. “He—he lied to me, Nat. About… everything.”

Silence on the other end. Nat didn’t press. She didn’t need to. She knew there was more, something deeper, something that had torn you apart from the inside out. And she waited.

“I left,” you managed to choke out, your fingers trembling as you gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. “I just… I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay.”

“Where are you?” Nat asked, her voice calm, steady—a lifeline in the chaos.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, blinking through the blur of tears as you glanced out at the rain-soaked road. You didn’t even know where you had driven to—just away. Away from him, away from the lies, away from everything that had broken you.

“Okay,” Nat’s voice was soothing now, a steady rhythm against the sound of your sobs. “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. Just breathe, alright? I’m coming to get you. Just tell me where you are.”

You coughed, the pain in your chest still sharp, still suffocating. You pressed your forehead against the steering wheel, forcing yourself to take a shallow, shaky breath. “I’m… by the old bridge, off the main road.”

“I know where that is,” Nat said, her voice quick, decisive. “Stay there. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You nodded, though she couldn’t see you, your hands still trembling as you pulled them away from the steering wheel. The exhaustion hit you then, hard and heavy, the adrenaline leaving you drained, hollow.

“Nat?” your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t… I don’t know how to… how to deal with this,” you admitted, your chest tightening again as the sobs threatened to resurface. “I don’t know if I can.”

Nat’s voice was soft, but firm. “You can. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

The phone went silent, and for the first time in hours, you let out a breath that didn’t feel like it was tearing you apart.

She was coming.

× × × × 

The rain pounded against the car’s roof, each drop falling harder than the last. It was as if the sky itself had opened up, matching the storm raging inside you. Your hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, your chest still heaving from the sobs that had wracked your body. The air inside the car felt suffocating. The sound of the blinker—tick, tick, tick—was the only steady thing amidst the chaos of your breath and the downpour outside.

You couldn’t stop shaking. 

When Nat’s car finally pulled up beside yours, you didn’t move. You couldn’t. The weight of your grief had pinned you to the seat, your body too exhausted to do anything but tremble. Her car door opened, and within seconds, she was there—ripping your passenger door open and sliding in without hesitation.

“Y/N.” Nat’s voice was soft, firm—grounding.

She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to. The look on her face said everything: she knew. She always knew when things were falling apart. Her hand gently rested on your shoulder, the touch comforting in its simplicity.

You tried to speak, but your throat burned, your chest too tight to form words. Another sob broke free instead, and Nat’s hand squeezed your shoulder gently, her presence steady even as your world seemed to collapse around you.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, her voice a soothing anchor. “We’ll get through this.”

But you weren’t okay. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw movement just outside the car—Bucky. He stood there in the rain, his hair dripping wet, eyes shadowed with concern as he watched from a distance. He hadn’t stepped closer, hadn’t spoken, but you could feel the weight of his gaze. Like he wanted to be there for you, but wasn’t sure if he should.

The door on Nat’s side clicked as she spoke again, her voice a little more urgent now. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Slowly, with her guidance, you unclenched your grip from the steering wheel and wiped at your face with shaking hands. Your body was so worn out that you could hardly feel the motion of it as you finally opened the door and stepped out into the rain. Nat was at your side instantly, holding an umbrella over you as she guided you toward her car.

Bucky was there, too, close but not too close, watching every step you took as if he was waiting—waiting for something to fall apart that he could help catch.

Nat opened the back door and gently helped you inside, her presence so calm, so steady, it nearly broke you all over again. “You’re safe now,” she murmured, tucking you in as if you were something fragile. “Just breathe, Y/N.”

You nodded, though your chest still felt like it was caving in. And then, in the middle of the downpour, you heard Bucky’s voice—low, hesitant—from behind Nat.

“I’ll drive her car back to the compound.”

Nat glanced over at him, “Yeah. Thanks.”

You could hear the shuffle of Bucky’s footsteps through the rain as he climbed into your car, the engine rumbling to life. And in that moment, you felt a strange tug of comfort—knowing he was there, that he was watching out for you, even from afar.

Nat slid into the driver’s seat beside you, her hand resting lightly on the gear shift. She turned her head just slightly, her gaze soft. “You’re not alone, Y/N.”

But as she pulled away from the curb, the rain still lashing against the windows, you couldn’t help but feel like part of you had been left behind in the storm—shattered and scattered, waiting to be pieced back together.

And when you glanced out the window, you saw Bucky’s figure in the distance, his eyes never leaving you as you disappeared into the rain.

× × × ×

Nat’s room was a cocoon of warmth compared to the cold, stormy world outside. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the space, casting long shadows that felt strangely comforting. You sat on the edge of the bed, your arms wrapped around yourself, the weight of everything still heavy on your shoulders. Nat was beside you, her hand resting gently on your knee, her presence steady, unwavering.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her voice laced with concern, “you’re going to get through this. I know it feels like everything’s falling apart right now, but you’re stronger than you think.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding even though you didn’t entirely believe her. The weight in your chest made it hard to breathe, and it felt like no matter how many words of comfort she offered, the broken pieces of your heart would never fully heal. But Nat was there, and her words were like a balm, even if they couldn’t fully take the pain away.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just… I want to get away. Far away.”

Nat’s hand tightened slightly on your knee, her expression understanding. “Where do you want to go?”

From the far side of the room, Bucky shifted, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his face shadowed in the dim light. He hadn’t said much since they brought you back to the compound, but his presence was constant, like a silent protector.

“Where would you go?” Bucky asked quietly, his voice low but steady, cutting through the silence. His blue eyes met yours, calm, as if he’d follow you anywhere if it meant keeping you safe.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart still aching, but then—despite everything, despite the pain—a tiny smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Switzerland.”

Nat’s eyebrows shot up, a small laugh escaping her lips despite the tension. “Switzerland?”

You shrugged, forcing a laugh of your own, though it was weak. “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to live there. You know… fresh air, the Alps, chocolate. All that good stuff.”

Bucky’s gaze softened, his arms dropping slightly as he watched you. His lips quirked into a faint smile, the kind that barely reached his eyes but still offered some kind of warmth. 

“Switzerland, huh?” he said, his voice lighter, though you could still hear the worry beneath it. “Sounds like a solid plan.”

You nodded, trying to hold on to the fleeting moment of levity. “Yeah, I’ll just… disappear into the mountains. Maybe open a chocolate shop. Be a hermit or something.”

Nat let out a small chuckle, squeezing your knee gently. “Well, if you’re moving to Switzerland, I expect free chocolate for life.”

For a moment, the heaviness in the room lifted, the faint laughter between you, Nat, and Bucky providing a small reprieve from the storm inside. But it didn’t last long. The ache in your chest was still there, gnawing at you from the inside out.

“I just… I don’t know if I can stay here,” you whispered, your voice cracking again.

Nat pulled you into a soft hug, her arms wrapped around you as she rested her chin on your shoulder. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just know that whatever you decide, we’re here for you.”

“Let’s go. We’ve got the Quinjet.” Bucky said casually.

You blinked, taken aback, your mind struggling to process if he was serious. “Wait… isn’t that illegal?”

Bucky’s smirk grew a little wider, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Not if you say you’re living in the Alps. No one will know.”

Nat chuckled beside you, shaking her head in disbelief. “Seriously, Buck?”

He shrugged, still leaning casually against the wall. “I’m just saying. You want to go to Switzerland, we can be there in a few hours.”

Despite the exhaustion weighing you down, you couldn’t help but laugh softly, a real one this time. The thought of disappearing into the mountains with Bucky and Nat—away from everything, even just for a moment—felt like a breath of fresh air in the midst of the chaos inside you.

Nat gave you a playful nudge. “See? Even Bucky’s ready to smuggle you out of here if you need it.”

“But I have to handle something first,” he added, his voice dropping slightly, that protective edge returning. “When I’m done, we’ll go.”

× × × × 

The night was dark, the rain having slowed to a light drizzle. Bucky stalked through the compound grounds, his mind racing, heart pounding with a mix of anger and frustration. He’d seen Steve’s name pop up on his phone—a heads-up that the man was on his way here. To see you.

And Bucky couldn’t let that happen. Not after everything Steve did.

Steve’s figure appeared through the mist, walking toward the compound with his usual purposeful stride, but the moment he caught sight of Bucky, his steps slowed.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was wary, confused.

“You’re not going in there.” Bucky stepped into his path, his face hard. 

Steve frowned, his eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about? I need to see Y/N.”

“You’re not going near her.” Bucky’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. 

 “She’s my girlfriend, Bucky. I have a right to talk to her.” Steve’s gaze darkened, his frustration mounting.

Bucky’s laugh was bitter, sharp. “Girlfriend? You lost that right the second you lied to her. The second you hurt her, you punk.”

Steve stepped forward, his voice low, angry. “This isn’t your place. I need to fix this. I need to talk to her.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed with fury, and for a moment, all the years of holding back, of stepping aside for Steve, bubbled to the surface. He moved closer, his voice low and dangerous. 

“You don’t get it, do you? I gave up on Y/N for you. I stood back—for you—because I thought you’d take care of her. And now? Now you’ve gone and fucked her over.”

Steve’s face twisted in confusion, anger flashing in his eyes. “What are you talking about? Gave up? She’s never been—”

“She was,” Bucky snapped, cutting him off. “Before you even realized what you had, Steve, I was there. But I didn’t do anything because I thought she’d be better off with you. You were the golden boy, the hero. And now you’ve ruined her.”

Steve’s eyes widened in shock, his chest rising and falling with barely controlled breaths. “You’ve been in love with her this whole time?”

Bucky didn’t flinch. His voice was steady, hard. “Doesn’t matter now, does it? What matters is you hurt her, Steve. You don’t get to fix this on your terms.” 

Steve’s fists clenched as he stepped forward, his face twisted with anger. “Move. This is between me and Y/N.”

“I’m not letting you through,” Bucky said, his eyes blazing, daring Steve to push him.

Steve’s frustration boiled over, and with a sharp movement, he shoved Bucky hard in the chest, trying to get past him. “Get out of my way, Bucky!”

Bucky stumbled barely, but he recovered almost immediately. The moment he regained his balance, he shoved Steve back with just as much force, his voice a low, angry growl. 

“You’re not going anywhere near her!”

Steve snarled and came at Bucky again, this time grabbing him by the collar and pushing him against the doorframe. “I need to talk to her! You don’t get to decide!”

Bucky’s hands flew up, gripping Steve’s jacket as he shoved him back again, harder this time, their faces inches apart. “She doesn’t want to see you right now!”

Steve’s eyes flashed with desperatiom, and before either of them realized it, they were nose-to-nose, fists clenched, chests heaving, the tension dangerous.

“You think you’re the only one who cares about her?” Steve snapped, his voice low and venomous. “I love her.”

“And you’ve proven exactly what that means to you,” Bucky bit back, his voice filled with icy fury. “You’re not fixing this by charging in like you always do. She’s done with you.”

Steve let out a frustrated growl and swung his arm out, pushing Bucky off him. “You think I’m just supposed to walk away?”

Bucky shoved Steve back again, his grip tightening on Steve’s shirt, their faces just inches apart now. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. “You think stepping in now, after everything you’ve done, makes it better? She’s broken because of you. You did that, Steve. And I’m not letting you make it worse.”

Steve’s nostrils flared, his eyes dark with a mixture of anger and something deeper—guilt, maybe. His grip tightened on Bucky’s jacket as he squared up, their bodies tense, on the edge of an all-out brawl. “And what, you’re just going to sweep in? Take care of her? You think that’s what she needs right now?”

“I’m trying to keep her from getting hurt any more than she already has,” Bucky hissed, his voice barely more than a whisper now, his eyes locked on Steve’s. “She trusted you. She loved you. And you broke her. So yeah, I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep you away from her until she’s ready to deal with you.”

Steve’s breath hitched, his voice sharp with frustration. “You think you’re better than me? You think you haven’t hurt her too?”

Bucky’s grip tightened as his eyes flashed dangerously. “I never lied to her. I never betrayed her.”

Steve let out a short, bitter laugh. “But you kept quiet, didn’t you? You stood there, watching, and said nothing. You let me take her, and now you’re pretending like you’re the hero. But the truth is, you were a coward then, and you’re still a coward now.”

Something snapped in Bucky at those words. His fist shot up, shoving Steve hard enough to slam him back into the doorframe with a loud thud, his chest heaving as he glared at his best friend with pure fury in his eyes. “You don’t get to talk to me about being a coward. I gave her up because I thought she’d be better off with you. But you ruined her, Steve.”

For a second, Steve’s eyes flashed with something close to regret, but the anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface. He stepped forward again, ready for whatever came next. “I didn’t know. I didn’t—”

“You never knew,” Bucky growled, pushing him back again, but this time it was more controlled, less of a full force shove and more of a warning. “You were too busy being the hero to see what was right in front of you.”

Steve took a deep breath, his hands still balled into fists, but something shifted between them—like they both realized, in that moment, that this fight wasn’t going to solve anything. Slowly, almost reluctantly, they both let go of each other, their chests still heaving with the remnants of the almost-fight that had just played out.

The tension between them lingered, thick and heavy in the air, but neither of them moved. They stood there, inches apart, breathing hard, their anger still simmering just beneath the surface.

“You don’t get to just walk in there and fix this,” Bucky said, his voice low but firm. 

Steve took a step back, his face still tense with frustration and guilt. He didn’t say anything.

“Go home Steve.” Bucky insisted, “You’ve done enough.”

× × × ×

6 months later.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee curled in the air as you stepped out of the café, clutching the two steaming cups in your hands. The world seemed quieter here, like the city didn’t press in on you quite as much, even though you had only been back for a few days. Six months. Six months of distance, of trying to build yourself back up after being shattered into pieces.

You inhaled deeply, letting the cool breeze rush over you, easing some of the tension coiled tight in your chest.

And then—everything stopped.

From across the street, you felt it. The weight of someone’s gaze locking onto you. Slowly, you looked up, your heart skipping a beat, your body freezing in place.

Steve.

He stood there, as if time itself had conspired to bring this moment crashing down upon you. His face was frozen in shock, his hand mid-motion as the small boy next to him tugged on his sleeve, trying to get his attention. But Steve’s focus was entirely on you.

He looked the same—yet older, somehow, like the months had worn him down in ways you hadn’t expected. His eyes—those familiar blue eyes—locked onto yours, and the rest of the world fell away.

Your heart thundered in your ears, drowning out the city’s noise. All that existed was the look on his face—surprise, yes, but there was something else too. Regret. Pain. Questions he couldn’t voice.

You felt rooted to the spot, torn between the urge to run and the overwhelming need to hold your ground. You could see it in his eyes—he wanted to come closer, to ask where you had been, why you left, why you never told him. His hand gripped the boy’s shoulder like he needed something to tether him to the moment.

And then, with a jarring snap, the moment broke.

A warm arm slid around your waist, pulling you into a comforting embrace towards his body. 

“Hey love,” Dane Whitman’s familiar British accent rumbled softly beside you, his lips brushing your temple as he pressed a gentle kiss there. “Got your ham and cheese croissant.”

The simple, easy intimacy of it would have been grounding—if not for the fact that you could feel Steve’s eyes still burning into you from across the street. You could sense him standing there, as if the world had collapsed around him. As if he was watching something slip away that he hadn’t even realized he was losing.

Dane’s brow furrowed as he noticed your tension, noticed the way you hadn’t responded, hadn’t even moved. 

“Y/N?” he asked softly, leaning down slightly to meet your eyes. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer.

When you didn’t answer, Dane followed your line of sight.

He stiffened.

You didn’t need to see his expression to know what was happening. The air between the three of you felt charged, heavy with unspoken words, with everything that had been left behind. Dane’s fingers flexed against your waist, a silent claim—a reassurance, or maybe a question he didn’t dare ask.

Because he knew who Steve was. And he knew exactly what seeing him again meant.

You could feel the tension roll through Dane’s body as he lifted his gaze from Steve back to you, his eyes softening. He didn’t ask, didn’t press. But his arm around you was both a comfort and a shield.

“Let’s go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t dare look back at Steve again. You couldn’t.

Dane gave a subtle nod, but his hold on you never faltered. He gently guided you down the street, his body leaning protectively into yours as if he could shield you from the weight of the past you were leaving behind.

But as you walked away, the image of Steve lingered. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back, watching as you disappeared from his reach once again. And even though you didn’t turn around, you knew—you knew—what he had seen.

You. Walking away.

With someone else.

The distance between you and Steve had always been a wound, one you had tried to heal in the months you were gone. But this? This felt like salt poured into an open cut, the sting of it sharper than you’d anticipated.

Because despite everything, despite the way your heart still aches from the cracks he had left, a part of you wondered—what if?

But the life you had returned to wasn’t the one you left. And as Dane’s arm tightened around your waist, grounding you in the present, you knew that the past—no matter how deeply it was woven into your soul—was behind you.

Even if it wasn’t behind Steve.

[rogersideup]

Helloooo! May I request a Steve Roger’s fluff! ✨Where reader has anxiety and one of the ways Steve calms her down is by skin contact. Maybe he takes off his shirt at random moments and he holds her and he lets her touch his body to feel the skin. He gives her massages once in a while. Maybe even lay naked together in bed to feel their bodies and heartbeat!! ❤️✨✨

‧₊˚౨ৎ˚Skin to Skin˚౨ৎ˚₊‧

It might not be exactly what you asked for, but I wrote this last night while having a lot of anxiety and it helped me regulate so I hope you love it regardless <3

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,076

Summary: Sometimes even the hardest days have the best endings 🧸

Warnings: descriptions of symptoms of anxiety

The hallway of your apartment building was dead silent.

Usually you'd hear the faint chatter of people behind their front doors, locking and unlocking, heels clicking, neighborly hellos.

But right now, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Or maybe it was spinning way too fast and you had no control over it. Really, you didn't know which of those two scenarios you'd prefer, but regardless it all felt like too much.

There was no chatter to distract you from the sound of your own heart pounding so hard you could hear the blood pooling in your ears, no foot steps from friendly faces to urge you to look up from your own feet, no small talk to distract you from how Steve's thumb was apologetically rubbing the back of your hand, the one that was holding his tightly.

You trailed behind him, blinking back your tears and urging them not to fall until you got inside the comfort of your shared four walls. You stopped because he stopped, allowed your emotional barriers to start slipping at the sound of his keys unlocking the front door, then the first one fell down your cheek as his hand on your lower back ushered you from the hallway right into your living room.

Shaky, choppy breaths were all you could manage as Steve put his keys in the catch-all next to the front door. There was only a split second opportunity to see the exhaustion on his face before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight hug. He cradled your head into his chest, and gently swayed you from side to side.

The smell of your boyfriend's cologne, and the ribbed cotton of his sweater beneath your hands was the last blow to your emotional barrier, that's all it took for you to start sobbing.

From the moment you woke up this morning, you were just having a bad day. It started with a nightmare, which ultimately led you to waking up 5 minutes before your alarm, not allowing much time for Steve to comfort you before you had to get ready for work.

The nightmare almost felt like a bad omen, and it sent your anxiety spiraling for the rest of the day.

The big project meeting you worked so hard on was cancelled, you forgot your lunch on the counter at home, and it unexpectedly started raining while you were wearing a white silk blouse. By the time you got home you were soaking wet in a see through shirt and hungry. You didn't have a single moment to stop and regain your composure, because you promised Steve you'd attend the Avengers monthly team building event with him.

When he saw the state you arrived home in, he urged you to stay home and promised it would be fine. But you knew deep down that he really wanted you there, so you put on a brave face and tried to salvage as much of your hair and makeup as you could, but the rain completely ruined your plans.

Instead of your hair being down and perfectly curled as planned, you had to settle for a sleek, slicked bun and a natural makeup look. This led to your outfit not looking how you wanted it, which also led to you feeling completely unhappy with how you looked and how you felt about yourself.

With hunger levels, annoyance, and sadness being very high, your self confidence, energy, and persistence was very very low.

You weren't saying that you didn't feel great about yourself, but Steve could see it in your posture, and he could tell by the way you went completely quiet. He assured you multiple times that you looked absolutely beautiful, and he wasn't lying. You always looked beautiful.

That at least earned him a small grin and a gentle kiss, but then he threw you in a room full of superheroes and their respective friends and family, and that immediately made everything worse.

Already feeling quite self conscious and insecure while being surrounded by people who were the smartest, strongest, and greatest in their respective ways had you feeling like you couldn't even take a breath.

Even on their worst days they could save the world, meanwhile you were on the brink of tears because Black Widow and the Scarlet Witch looked so pretty.

In a very bold self preservation attempt, you pushed it all down. Steve deserved some happy and chipper arm candy, and you already committed to being that for him so you tried your best to play the role.

To him, this was family and to you, this was a room full of people you didn't even deserve to be in the presence of. Although most of them became friends of yours and accustomed to your habits, they knew enough about you to know that something was wrong, but not enough to know that they shouldn't push your buttons about it.

It left you as the target of all of the jokes that evening. Nearly every conversation had a minimum of one passing comment. Steve tried his hardest to shut down as many as he could, even changing the topic a few times, but there were some things he couldn't save you from.

You appreciated him trying, but wondered if he would've rather you stayed home instead of damper his evening with your self pity. That also spiraled into some nasty thoughts, the meanest part of your brain convincing you that he didn't really love you, and you weren't good enough to even be around him.

Thats when you quietly slipped away to the bathroom just for a few moments to take some deep breaths and dry the tears pooling in your lash line, your mascara wasn't about to meet its fate twice in one day.

You knew that anxiety was most of the issue, you knew that you just needed some reassurance and a warm meal, maybe a hug and a warm shower. The thought of all of the snacks out on a grazing table for everyone to enjoy made you pull yourself together, you were hopeful that some food in your empty stomach could really help.

And it did, for about 10 minutes before Tony made yet another back handed, rude remark about you. So sly that Steve didn't even catch it, and when you grabbed his hand to try and comfort yourself, Tony threw you a wink.

Thats when you knew there was no turning your mood around. Your white flag waved high and proud as you spent the remainder of the night making yourself small, trying not to drag any attention to yourself or take any fun away from Steve.

He caught onto the way you let go of his hand and got up to grab some water, then when you came back you sat further from him. Shoving yourself into the corner of the couch leaving plenty of space between your bodies. Knowing damn well you were struggling, he could assume your brain tricked you into thinking he didn't love you, because really, he knew you that well.

Making his way over to you, he wasn't shy to put his arm around your shoulders and use his hand to draw little shapes in the top of your arm before giving you a very quick kiss to your temple.

You didn't speak for the rest of the night unless it was to say goodbye to everyone on your way out, or politely thank Tony for hosting. You didn't even speak to Steve on the way home, and he understood. Rather than trying to force you to speak, he gave you the metaphorical space you needed to keep your composure as he kept one hand on the wheel and one hand on your thigh.

That led to this moment, soaking his sweater in your tears. You felt pathetic, but it was also the first time all day you felt safe.

"I'm so sorry, honey." Steve spoke gently. He hated seeing you so upset, swearing he could physically feel his heart breaking in his chest. "I love you so much."

You sucked in a shaky breath before mustering up the only sentence you could speak. "Tony is an asshole."

"I know, Baby." Steve agreed, petting your hair and trying his best to comfort you. "They were all laying in on you way too hard. You didn't deserve it."

"They were just joking," You tried justifying between sniffles and cries. "but I couldn't handle it tonight."

"But they could've stopped after the first time I told them. I know they can be too much sometimes. Just because they're just joking doesn't mean it wasn't hurting your feelings." He justified. "You've had a long day, I think you need some love and food and sleep."

"I just want to stay here." You cried, holding on just a bit tighter. Finding your nervous system starting to regulate itself for the first time all day, you weren't feeling ready to let go of your boyfriend just yet.

Steve kissed the crown of your head multiple times, "We can stay here as long as you want."

He held you for a little while longer until your sobs turned into slow tears and you finally felt brave enough to let go of him. After getting you comfortable and warm on the couch, he walked away for a bit to make you your favorite dinner.

When he came back with two bowls and handed you one, it was the first time all day he saw your real, genuine smile. Though you were still crying, he was confident that he could turn your mood around.

Your favorite show playing on the TV, snuggles, a fluffy blanket across your lap, and eating dinner on the couch was a good start. When you were done eating, Steve took the bowl back from you and wandered off to clean the kitchen and do the dishes.

When he came back he hovered over you with a sad pout when he noticed how quick your breathing was and how he could practically see your pulse from the artery in the base of your neck. Approaching slowly, he gently placed his index and middle finger to your neck and left them there for a second before his pout deepened.

"Baby" He sympathized. "You've gotta slow that thing down, your heart is going to run away from you."

"I've had the worst anxiety all day long." You explained, wiping tears off your face. "I don't think my resting heart rate has been normal since I woke up this morning."

You could see his gears turning before he leaned over and gave you a kiss. "I know how to fix it, I'll be right back."

He wandered off again before coming back and holding his hands out for you, pulling you up off the couch. There were a few small complaints about how you didn't want to get up, or how you were so warm and comfortable, but he swore this would help.

Dragging you into the bathroom, you noticed he lit a candle and started a bubble bath. The sight alone made you release a long sigh, and Steve took that as a good sign.

The two of you fell into silence once more, words were useless when you already knew how this was going to go. Besides, all the talking would do was mask the sound of the rain pattering against the roof, and that was loved deeply by the both of you.

He flicked off the light switch leaving just candlelight to softly illuminate the bathroom while you both undressed and sank into the hot water.

Steve sat behind you, and you sat between his legs with your back leaning against his chest. The moment you settled in, his arms wrapped around your tummy and rested on top of your thighs.

With his soft skin against yours, and the pressure of the hot water against the whole of your body, your mind began to slow enough to start thinking rationally.

You could feel Steve's calm, deep breaths as his diaphragm inflated and deflated against your back, subconsciously making your body match his.

Very quickly, you went from feeling like you weren't good enough to even be around him to feeling an overwhelming sense of safety and gratitude for his love.

Especially when you never had to worry about what your body might've looked like while sitting down, or if your tummy was too soft underneath his arms. You especially didn't have to worry about what he might've felt beneath his wandering palms as starting moving them about your body, applying some pressure to your tense shoulders and the tops of your arms. You didn't have to worry about the pressure of being in this situation, already naked with his hands roaming about. His intentions were always very clear and he didn't even need his words to state them.

You were safe in the hands of the man you loved, and he loved you so much that you didn't have to worry. You didn't have to put out for him or give him anything in return right now, he just loved you, and he wanted you to feel better.

He gave you an occasional chastise kiss to your shoulder between massaging various parts of your body, and oxytocin flooded your brain faster than you understood.

The tears eventually stopped wetting your cheeks, and the rain only started falling even harder outside.

Your head leaned backwards and a bit sideways to rest on Steve's shoulder, and you couldn't help but to lift your hand up out of the water and reach back to cradle the side of Steve's face.

"I love you" You whispered, not wanting to ruin the peace. "I'm sorry I didn't say it back earlier."

"It's okay, baby." His voice also gentle and full of adoration. "I know you love me, you don't have to say it for me to know it. I trust that you know I love you too, even when your brain is being very unkind to you."

You very subtly nodded, understanding exactly what he was saying.

The two of you weren't unfamiliar with nights like these, skin to skin in the bathtub, or in the shower, even the bed or on the couch. Between the nature of Steve's job and your chronic anxiety, the two of you have become experts at being present for each other. When the world was spinning too fast or it came to a screeching halt, you could always trust the other person to know exactly how to grasp it and make it spin just right.

It wasn't something that came easy or naturally, you both learned a lot from each other and your methods were ever changing much like every season of life. The closer you bonded, the easier it was to understand each other's needs.

There was a fine line between needing affirming words and complete silence, needing support but also needing to be left alone. Some nights looked like a few hours of alone time, some looked like you were super glued together, but every anxiety attack was ended with your bare bodies regulating as one.

He knew you had your fill of silence, and your words told him you were ready to talk.

"You know you never have to shy away from me, I'm always happy to be with you even if you think otherwise." He reassured. "Thank you for coming with me tonight. I know that was really hard, but I appreciate you."

"I just didn't want to ruin your fun, I felt bad that I wasn't at my best and I didn't want you to have to deal with it. That's not fair." You explained quietly.

You learned very early on in your relationship to just be upfront and honest with Steve, another privilege of being with him. He never made you feel bad or weird about your true feelings, and he always knew just the right things to say. In turn, he was completely open and honest with you, and you've never trusted anyone more in your whole life.

"You didn't ruin the fun, the fun was ruined the moment everyone decided to make you a target and that's not your fault." Steve shook his head. "What's not fair is you thinking that having an off day makes you an inconvenience to anyone else. You're allowed to be sad or upset sometimes, baby. It's life, it's okay. How many times have you cancelled plans or altered your day just because I turned into a ticking time bomb of panic? I'm happy to return the favor, I enjoy taking care of you."

"It's different." You denied with a slight shake of your head. "You're a superhero, Stevie. Most of those days are because you've gotten shot or stabbed or you've witnessed and been involved in unthinkable horrors. I work an office job four blocks away and can barely handle that pressure."

"Thats not a fair comparison." Steve denied. "At the very root of it, we're both human and life will never be completely perfect all of the time. Regardless of if you're smiley and bouncing off the walls or just need a day to cry in bed I love you just the same."

You kissed the corner of his jaw in acceptance before completely relaxing your body against his. Steve's hand reached up and rested right over your heart.

"Besides," He started again. "I think that you're also exposed to all of those unthinkable horrors just from having to put up with me every day. The way you handle it and the way you treat me contributes a lot to my ability to do what I do everyday. I understand I probably make your anxiety worse sometimes, because I wouldn't even be able to handle dating me."

"It's worth every second of digging bullets out of you with tweezers, baby." You grinned, earning Steve's smile in return.

"See? You're a superhero too." He pointed out. "And your heart is slow and steady. That makes me really happy."

"You make me really happy." You replied without a second thought. "Thank you for this, I feel so much better."

"Anytime, Beautiful." He kissed your cheek. "I'm sorry you had a bad day. I know for sure that tomorrow is going to be so much better."

[jiarkives]

wanting was enough

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ summary — wanting was enough. for steve, it was enough.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ character — steve rogers (marvel)

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ content — angst ; steve’s pov to this

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ notes — timeline? we don’t know her 🤪 for the sake of the plot, bucky was found after eg and no one died ,,, also i hope this makes sense because i am like half asleep as i am writing this

~

Steve Rogers had always loved and will always love Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter. For him, no one will ever compare to who she was as a soldier, as a woman, and as the one who held his heart. Or so he thought until he was pulled out of the ice and was thrusted into the world he knew nothing about, until he met you.

You were a rookie agent when Steve was pulled out of the ice and when he woke, Nick Fury assigned you your first mission—to help Captain America get back on his feet and adjust to his new world.

You and Steve didn’t hit it off immediately. In fact, you got off on the wrong foot. With your wits contradicting each other’s, and your smart mouth, you were bound to disagree. You would bicker at every waking hour you spent together, but he would be an absolute angel to everyone else, fueling your irritation further and so you gave the same energy back, maybe even more.

You directed all your anger onto him. At every moment, you were ready to reply with something snarky. You were always short with him, but you were the opposite to everybody else. In your head, you were giving him a dose of his own medicine.

And he let you because in his head, that was better. Your distance was so much better, not because he despised you, but because he saw her in you.

He saw her in the way you moved, the way you handled yourself with confidence and strength, the way you put deserving people in their places. But then as if a bucket of cold water was dumped on him and he realized.

He realized that everything was different, that she was gone. And for the first time, he saw you, and it just became so much worse because you were here, you were real, you were alive. You were someone he could hurt.

Then, not even a year after he was assigned to you, Fury reassigned you another mission, and the both of you were internally grateful. You were grateful to have been given a break from his insufferable ass, and he was grateful to have been distanced from you before his heart positively combusted.

Months passed right before his eyes and before he knew it, it was 2012. Fury sought him out for the Avengers Initiative and once again, he was Captain America.

With the shit that had gone down since he became an Avenger, he was always almost too busy to let his mind wander to you. Then, he found out that Peggy was alive. She was in this world and all of a sudden, he felt he had something to hold on to when the world moved too fast. And with his mind occupied with Peggy, you were almost completely wiped from his mind.

Then Peggy died and his world crumbled around him. He had seen it coming for a while. With Peggy’s age, he knew it was bound to happen sooner than later, but it was still a pain he never imagined.

Almost immediately after her death, the accords happened and faster than he could even blink, he was a fugitive, an enemy of the state. Everything went to shit after Peggy’s death and he felt as if he lost control over his own life.

Then you sought him out and took him in. You weren’t an Avenger, so you weren’t included in the whole mess in Germany, but you were still an agent of SHIELD.

You gave him shelter when he was on the run despite your connection to SHIELD. You were ready to throw everything away for him despite your history.

And during his time on the down low, your feelings started to bloom, seeing him in a new light, seeing him, not as Captain America, but as Steve, the scrawny boy from Brooklyn who wanted to kick bullies’ asses, but always ended up getting his ass kicked. But neither of you acted on your feelings.

Then all of a sudden, he was being whisked away because apparently, a titan from another planet was planning a universal genocide. They fought, but were unsuccessful.

Half of the world was wiped away and the first thing he thought to do after the battle was to seek you out, so he did. But you weren’t there. You weren’t in your own home and the only thing left of you was the pile of sand on your kitchen floor and a mixing bowl next to it.

Despite half of the world’s population being gone, it felt as if the world was moving too fast. Or maybe it was the grief slowing him down. Maybe it was both, but before he even realized, five years had passed and they were all presented a chance at getting half the world back, courtesy of Scott Lang.

With a lot of hiccups and injuries, but thankfully no deaths, they were able to get the world back and the titan was gone. Truly gone.

After the battle, Steve didn’t even wait until he was fully recovered to seek you out, and there you were in your house, coping with the fact that you have just lost five years of your life, despite feeling like you have only been gone for no longer than a minute.

He had barged into your home, looking you over before kissing the life out of you and there, something had bloomed.

At first, he was almost ecstatic at the thought that you were finally in his arms safe, sound, and alive. Then, he was scared. You were alive. You were someone the world could take away from him. You were someone he could hurt, and so he kept you a secret. He didn’t want to risk the world finding out about Captain America’s weakness and ultimately using you against him.

To his relief, you agreed to be his dirty little secret. It was fair, he thought. You got to keep your relationship with him and he got to keep you safe.

But it didn’t ease his fear. Despite the world not knowing about you and him, he was still scared. You were still with him and he could still hurt you, unlike Peggy, darling, dearest, dead Peggy.

And so unknowingly, he was pulling away from you and slowly holding on to the memories of Peggy, the memories of the world he knew before everything went to shit.

He knew damn well it was gone, that it didn’t exist anymore, but if it wasn’t real, if it wasn’t here, if it wasn’t alive, then he couldn’t fuck it up. The world wouldn’t be able to take it away from him because it was gone.

But you noticed, of course you did, and he didn’t expect anything less. You were a smart woman, his smart woman, and he knew you would catch on, but he didn’t expect you to confront him right after that mission. The mission where he found out that Bucky was alive, but he wasn’t his Bucky anymore. He was turned into one of HYDRA’s greatest weapon and he was taken because he was someone to Steve Rogers, he was someone to Captain America.

But he was there, he was real, he was alive, just like you are. And like Bucky, you could be taken away and used against him, and he wouldn’t know what he’d do if that ever happens, so he pushed you away. He told you lies. He held onto the memories of Peggy like a lifeline in hopes of keeping himself sane as he watched the best thing that ever happened to him crumble right before his eyes.

He watched as you left, unknowingly taking his heart with you.

In your head, his heart was buried with Peggy, completely unaware of the fact that you had taken his heart as you left.

[avengersfantasies]

Anymore - Chapter 4

Summary: You and Bucky go to dinner. Steve and you come to an understanding.

What to expect: angst, fluff?

✩ Read the series here ✩

taglist: @kandis-mom @missvelvetsstuff @mavrellover91 @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @blackhawkfanatic @haruvalentine4321 @felicitylemon @vonalyn @aboobie @stinkerbelle007 @crist1216 @je-suis-prest-rachel @buckysforeverprincess @bathwater101 @frickin-bats @lovely-geek @winterslove1917

Steve stood outside his girlfriend’s apartment – exhaling and eventually knocking on the door. He was not looking forward to this conversation one bit. The door opened within seconds of him knocking – she had been waiting.

            “Hi,” Steve greeted his girlfriend – walking into the apartment when she stepped aside. “We uh, we need to talk.”

            She crossed her arms and sat on the sofa. “Obviously.”

Steve sat down next to the blonde bombshell. “So…she’s uh…pregnant.”

Her face dropped, and she went from angry to furious. “So, you’ve been fucking her behind my back?!” She stood up and slapped him in the chest.

“What?!”

She scoffed. “Should’ve known better…once a cheater always a cheater.” She went to hit him again, but he managed to catch her hand this time.

“Will you stop it?!” Steve yelled back. “I didn’t sleep with her behind your back!”

“Then how is she pregnant?!”

Steve stood up. “She got pregnant while we were together! God, do you not know how reproduction works?!”

The girl crossed her arms and shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t,” Steve scoffed. “I came here to tell you and hoped you’d be by my side with this.”

“That’d never happen,” she spat. “The only way we’re gonna be together is if the only kid there is belongs to us.”

Steve shook his head. “Then we’re done.”

Before he had time to react, his now ex-girlfriend managed to connect a left-hook to his eye – shocking him but not really hurting him. Without a further word, Steve left the small apartment, not even bothering to grab the couple of outfits he’d left there.

Bucky had you giggling almost nonstop during dinner. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the two of you weren’t currently trying to figure out what to do with Steve.

            “I do want him involved,” you sighed – using your fork to play with the noodles in your bowl. “It’s hard not to.”

            Bucky nodded. “Baby deserves a father.”

“Or two,” you quietly added on.

Bucky smiled softly. “Or two.”

You exhaled. “If we do this…you and me…and he wants to be involved…you know that he’ll have the final say for things as the dad.”

He nodded. “I do. And I won’t try to argue or interfere unless you ask.”

You smiled at him softly. “Before we decide to start something serious…I need to have a sit down with Steve…make him understand that he and I are over for good.”

“Probably a good idea,” Bucky agreed – sipping his beer. “He’s an asshole, but he’s still my best friend. Last thing I want is him thinking we’re going behind his back.”

You scoffed. “Oh no, how horrible,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “He’d deserve it.”

“He would,” Bucky nodded, “but I know it’s not like you to want to hurt him.”

You smiled softly. “I’m gonna come back to the tower with you tonight…sit down and talk to him.” You exhaled. “I’m just…scared.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Of what? Steve?”

You shrugged. “Myself,” you answered, “scared I might fall back into his spell…end up in bed with him or something.”

“Do you think that’s something you’d want?”

“I don’t know, Buck,” you admitted. “I don’t think I could be with him like before, but there’s a part of me that’s still just…”

“Attracted to him?” You looked down – feeling embarrassed that he knew how you still felt about the super soldier. No matter how much he broke your heart, there was always a part of you that would nonetheless be attracted to Steve Rogers. Bucky chuckled and reached his hand across the table – holding yours gently. “Sweetheart,” he spoke softly, “whatever you need so that you can be happy, I’ll support it.”

“I don’t want to fall back into bed or love with him,” you told him quietly, “but I’m scared that there’s that part of me that’ll never let go.”

“Do you want me there?” Bucky asked – stroking the back of your palm with his metal thumb.

You nodded tearfully. “Please.”

            Bucky drove the two of you back to the tower after dinner – holding your hand as you walked inside, but he made sure to keep a short distance and let go once inside. The last thing you needed was gossip about you and Bucky being together. You followed him up to Steve’s room, and he gently knocked on the door.

            “Steve,” Bucky called out, “can we talk?” A few seconds passed before Steve opened the door – an ice pack held up to his black eye. “What happened to you?” Bucky asked.

            “Nadia hits harder than I thought,” Steve informed him.

            “Are you okay?” you asked – your voice was meek and quiet.

Steve gave you a soft smile. “I will be.” He put the ice pack down on his nightstand and sat on the foot of his bed. “So, what’s up?”

“We need to talk,” you told him – sitting on the edge of the bed while Bucky sat on the chair across the way from you. “We need to…be clear about things.” Steve nodded and signaled for you to continue. “You and me…we’re—”

“I know I fucked up,” Steve began to interrupt. “Whatever I can do to fix it…just tell –”

“No, Steve,” you cut him off with tears in your eyes. “You did more than fuck up…Do you remember what you told me? I’ll remind you in case you forgot…you told me you didn’t love me anymore.”

Steve looked down to the floor – clearly ashamed at what he had done and said to you. “I know I can’t take that back…but believe me I didn’t mean it.”

You looked over at Bucky for some backup. You could feel yourself falling for him again, and you wanted so badly to throw yourself into his arms and tell him you forgave him. Bucky’s soft and caring expression gave you strength, however, and he was a very strong reminder that there were other men out there. You didn’t need to settle for someone who had so badly shattered your heart and soul.

“Steve,” you exhaled, “we’re done…you cheated…said horrible things to me…I can forgive you, but I can’t trust you....Not with my heart, anyways.”

He nodded. “I get it.”

“I’m more worried about how we’re going to do this whole parenting thing,” you continued. “If you say you want to be there but then end up leaving—”

“That won’t happen,” Steve insisted. “I do want to be there.”

You began to feel a sigh of relief. Maybe things would work out in the end. Maybe the two of you would never be together again, but at least, maybe, your baby would have their biological father in their life in some way. At least, that’s what you had hoped, but you had always found out that life had other plans.